What Connected Us All

The Fool on the Hill

Sirius Black never thought that he, of all people, would be tied down. And moreover he never thought that the girl able to achieve this feat would be five feet tall, curly-haired, sarcastic, willful (to say the least), and headstrong. Actually, until quite recently Sirius had envisioned himself marrying a girl not much different from those he'd used and dumped over the years. He had imagined finding someone with the breasts and arse of his dreams, winning her over and marrying her (effortlessly), and living out the remainder of their lives in a child-free existence, shagging at every possible opportunity. The latter is probably still in the picture, but winning over Farren Graham--forget marriage--will be everything but effortless. And, her charm aside, Farren does not top the charts on fittest bodies in Sirius's imaginary book. He has seen and had better: countless women with bodies that quite perfectly matched those of the swimsuit models in those muggle magazines. And yet, Sirius finds himself being highly more attracted to Farren than every one of those other girls. This fact not only troubled him deeply but had also caused him much confusion. What was it about Farren that made her so undeniably sexy (for James had agreed with Sirius when he had confessed)?

"I think," Sirius had said while trying to make sense of it all, "I think it must be the confidence. It's not that phony confidence that most birds have. You know, the bitchy confidence that just means their insecure. It's real. Like she's seen enough that she doesn't need to be told she's pretty and all that bullocks... Know what I mean?"

James nodded. "Yeah I do. That is quite sexy. Lily's got that too."

Sirius had tolerated James's endless prattle on Lily Evans for so many years that he felt comfortable enough to discuss his inner-most feelings about Farren. He raised the glass of sherry he'd nicked to his friend and made a toast. "To our women..." Sirius stopped, laughed at himself and shook his head. "Who am I kidding? To the women we pretend are ours but that really have our testicals in a nice, neat box under their knicker drawers for safe keeping."

He probably wouldn't have admitted to this fact under any other circumstances, but why bother pretending when you're drunk and with a brother who's going through the same thing? It's kind of like preaching to the choir. You don't really run the danger of getting the mickey taken out of you.

James laughed. "Now that, I'll toast to."

Yes, that is the core of Farren's sexuality: assurance. She will sometimes lie there on his bed, utterly naked for hours after they make love, completely uncovered by sheets or blankets. It is usually he, Sirius, who forces her to dress, sickened by the idea of Peter or one of the other boys catching a glimpse and pleasuring himself to the image later.

That is another change brought about by Farren: jealousy. But Sirius has suspicions that this particular case of jealousy is not exactly unwarranted. He sees the way Snivellus watches her in potions, as though he too knows the arching curve of her hips or the slight indents on the small of her back. He finds himself wishing desperately for the Marauders Map Wormtail had gotten confiscated in the prior year. Maybe then he could understand what it is Farren and Snape are really doing while "studying potions."

He is well aware of the invisibility cloak stashed away in James's trunk. He knows the question could be answered with a simple and short trip to their meeting place. But the only problem is that Farren refuses to tell him where it is. She says it's because he and James would wreak havoc upon their meetings and sabotage her current O in Potions by angering Snape.

It is horrible, this incessant but unsure feeling of betrayal. He finds himself sinking into a near madness sometimes when the feeling is at its worst. Without meaning to, Sirius is sometimes harsher on Farren than is entirely necessary. He fights with her for minor slip-ups and she's cried a fair number of times (she's a surprisingly easy crier). This, of course, always ends with Sirius apologizing and the two of them having makeup sex. And then afterward Farren will rest her head against his chest and sigh something like, "Look at us, Padfoot. If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were happy."

Sirius would look down at her slight smirk and say, "Yes, I would too... That is, if I didn't know any better."

And then Farren would stifle a laugh into his chest and kiss him.

On some nights they will accidentally fall asleep on his bed. Farren will have all the intention of sneaking back into her own dormitory to lessen her chances of getting caught. But then she'd doze off in exhaustion and Sirius wouldn't have the heart to wake her. Her sleep would be fitful and full of mumbling and sometimes even tears. Sirius would try to calm her but she'd wake in a sweat. He'd kiss her eyelids and whisper into her ear, wanting nothing but to stop the small whimpers of fear that escaped those heart-shaped lips. But his verbal reassurances would do nothing in her panic and Sirius, very careful not to make any noise, would crawl out of the sheets and transform into Snuffles. Then he'd bound back onto the bed and cuddle dutifully beside Farren. This always worked. She'd curl in beside him and shape her body to fit his. Then, with a small mew of content, she'd doze off again.

When Sirius asked Farren why it was this always seemed to comfort her more than anything, she'd only smiled.

"Well, what was the one thing that kept you sane when you lived with your fucked up family?" she inquired.

"Motorcycles," he said without hesitation.

"Well, when I was a little girl, animals were my equivalent to motorcycles. Particularly dogs."

It gives Sirius a certain pride to know that he was the only one who could placate Farren's nightmares. She was the one who finally freed him of Grimmauld Place, and so he would be the one to free her of nightmares. And though he will never acknowledge it aloud, helping Farren and seeing her happy was the best sensation he'd ever known. It is rather humorous in a way. All those years of being sustained by sex and partying, and the one thing that feels better than all that is something as innocent as making someone else happy. Sirius would find it funny if it wasn't so bloody maddening.

Because loving Farren Graham is maddening. It's the best and worst thing that could have ever happened to him. While she seems to have liberated him of his past, she has also set a new inescapable trap. When Sirius thinks of Farren, he imagines the golden girl flittering around his heart, weaving in and out of its depths but always pulling back before he could catch her. It was a dangerous game and addiction he could not, for the life of him, stop.

And that's why he is here now, running like a crazy person around the entire Hogwarts castle. No matter how many people Sirius asks, they all seem just as unaware of Farren's whereabouts as he is. Finally, when it seems his search will end in vain, a Hufflepuff from her Herbology class tells him he saw her go out onto the grounds. Sirius doesn't even thank him. He just sprints down the stairs, determination pumping through his blood.

He will make Farren forgive him. He will explain. He'll jump off a building if he has to. No matter what it takes, Sirius will catch Farren Graham and she will love him.

Several books are sprawled on the grass, abandoned by the sleeping, big-haired girl beside them. She rests peacefully and deeply in the sun, the catlike creature curled upon her stomach rising and falling in sync with its master's breath. None dare disturb her, knowing all too well how that sweet, angelic face could so easily turn to one of wrath.

But one brave girl risks the infamous wrath which so many of Hogwarts's students have fallen victim to before. Lily Evans silently slips next to the blonde on the ground, moving a Herbology textbook aside.

"Farren," she says quietly.

...Nothing...

"Farren," she tries again.

The kneazle opens one lazy eye at the annoyance, but the girl remains motionless.

Lily takes a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she is a member of the Gryffindor house and would not be unless she were brave. And, this reminder giving her courage, she extends a gentle arm and shakes Farren ever so lightly.

Immediately, a tiny hand grabs Lily's finger with a surprisingly strong grip. She gasps and looks at Farren. Her eyes are open but there is something terribly wrong with them. They are strange, almost freakish and Lily realizes this is because the pupils are slited.

"Farren?" she chokes in horror.

The girl blinks and the freakishness vanishes as quickly as though it had never existed.

Farren smiles serenely. "Hello, love. What's wrong? Have I missed a class or something?"

"Y-yeah. Herbology. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh." Farren notices her hand clutching Lily's finger and her brows furrow in confusion. "When did that happen?"

"Just now. Are you alright? You seem a little... off."

Farren thinks of the previous night. She'd returned to her dormitory at precisely 5:30 in the morning, earning her a whopping hour of sleep. "Never been better." She sits up and Pandora mews in displeasure. Farren pats the kneazle and she quiets.

"She's gotten so big," Lily notes, pointing to Pandora and still looking a little shaken.

Farren nods down at her pet proudly. She feels an entirely new connection to animals now, especially those of the feline family.

"Weird that you only got her last Christmas. It feels like forever ago. " Lily studies Farren intensely.

She shrugs. "Not that long ago."

"Yes, I suppose it only feels that way because so much has happened," Lily puts more emphasize on the words than is entirely necessary.

Farren raises a dubious eyebrow. "We're not talking about Pandora anymore, are we?"

"No," she answers hesitantly. "I... heard about last night."

She sighs tiredly and lies back down, looking up at the cloudless sky. "Which part? The part where you never told me about James or the part where I found out my boyfriend is an attempted murderer?"

"Both."

Farren laughs humorlessly. "Yes, last night was full of fun surprises."

Lily watches her, worry shinning in her emerald eyes. "You know, I didn't tell anyone about James. He didn't even tell Sirius. If I had gotten the chance, I would have told you myself sometime--"

"But you didn't," Farren says quietly. Her tone is not angry, just hurt. Which usually stings more than anger. "You know almost everything about me, Lily. You know things I'll never tell another soul."

"Yeah and you tried to obliviate me because of it!"

"Regardless of how it happened, you still know. And I would appreciate it if the favor was returned."

Lily does not argue back. She nods and says, "We're engaged."

Farren shoots back up so fast that Pandora jumps in fright. "YOU'RE WHAT!?"

Lily shushes her. "I haven't told anyone!"

"Engaged? You can't be. You hardly know him!"

"I've known him for seven years, Ren. And you've no idea what it's been like since Christmas. I know how it looks, I do. But someone once gave me the advice to live a little. I'm so sick and tired of planning every decision I make like it's the one that's going to finally break me if I get it wrong. And it doesn't feel wrong. This is the one thing I never planned on happening and it's the one thing that feels...right. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Farren does not answer the question because it hits a little too close to home for her comfort. But she does hug Lily. "You could have told me. It's not like I would have teased you or something. Trust me; I have no right to tease you. You have no idea."

"Because you're having an affair with Severus Snape?"

Farren's heart stops. Her blood goes cold and a slight hum begins to ring in her ear. Her arms are still around Lily, but they've lost all intentions of being warm. "What?" she manages through numb lips.

"Really, Ren. Did you think you could hide this from me when I sit behind you in potions?" Lily whispers into her ear.

Thoughts race through Farren's head at what seems like 100 miles per second. She tries to speak, to defend herself, to stop Lily, but the world won't seem to stop spinning long enough for her to gather her wits. After several moments, she feels strong enough to face Lily's gaze. It is hard and blazing and painful to see. "Lily," she begs, voice watery. "Oh, please don't. Don't look at me like that."

"You have no right, as a fellow Gryffindor, to ask anything of me right now. You are supposed to be loyal."

"Then I ask you as a friend!" Farren pleads, her voice becoming horribly too high to control.

Lily turns away from her in either disgust, pity or both.

A dull pounding begins to pulsate in Farren's brain, coinciding with her thumping heart beat. "I beg you; just let me try to explain. I know it's horrible. I am a horrible, selfish human being and--" her breath comes short and Farren must inhale sharply to continue. Her throat aches with bottled emotion but she fights it, knowing that she needs to tell Lily. "But I... I don't know what to do anymore."

"How could you get yourself into a situation like this?"

"I don't know. I never thought it would come to this. I didn't know that I would actually end up lov--liking Sirius--Or if I knew being with Severus would be like this, then I'd never..." she trails off desperately.

"There is no excuse for what you've done, Farren. Sirius truly cares about you. He has given up so much for you, gotten into fights with his best mates for you. Do you know what this would do to him?"

Farren does not want to hear this. She wants to run away and curl up into a ball, clasp her hands around her ears and pretend she isn't going to hell. Instead she just shuts her eyes.

"He loves you Ren," Lily says softly.

"No," she croaks, having had enough. "No, Sirius may like me and he may have grown attached to me, but he doesn't love me."

Lily's tone is incredulous now. "What do you mean? Of course he loves you--"

"HE CAN'T!" Farren cuts herself off, surprised by her own outburst. She takes a deep breath. "He can't. He just... can't."

"You stupid girl," Lily says with an awful sort of wonder, shaking her head. "You stupid, stupid girl."

"Don't call me stupid," she mumbles feebly out of habit.

"That's why you're doing this, isn't it? Why you think it's okay? Because you don't think he loves you or that you're not worth it or some bullocks like that."

"No. I just... don't believe in teenaged love."

Lily scoffs in frustration. "Well whether you believe it or not, it's real. And the pain Sirius would feel if he found out is real too."

Farren looks up at Lily, once again braving the fiery girls gaze. It is at first as merciless as before. But then there must be something in Farren's face because she softens and touches her tenderly on the shoulder.

"Oh, Ren... what have you done?"

A soft moan escapes Farren as though she is physically being pained. Lily had voiced the eternal question she'd been asking herself for months. "Help me," she pleads softly. Pitifully.

"I can't. You're on your own on this one."

Farren nods. "I know." Something in her chest clenches with the guilt she harbors.

The bundle of fur which rests quietly in her lap feels greatly comforting. Pandora's eyes are closed delicately, her pink nose twitching every now and again. The vibrations from the kneazle's soft purrs rumble up her leg. She thinks back to the day Sirius had presented the gift to her, beaming proudly. Farren had given the kneazle its name without much thought. But she is beginning to believe that somewhere in her subconscious; she had foreseen what was to come. And she had pulled the Greek legend and taken pity on Pandora. "Do you blame Pandora?" she asks suddenly.

There is a pause during which Lily visibly struggles to understand this leap of logic. "Do I blame your kneazle? For what?"

"No, I mean the Greek legend of Pandora. She was a woman created by Zeus to punish mankind and was gifted with charm and beauty. She was also given a box which contained all the evils of man within it. Zeus told her not to open it, but Pandora was further cursed with curiosity. When she opened the box, greed, vanity, slander, lying, envy and pining escaped... I'm just wondering if you blame her for opening it."

Lily looks at her friend with a mixture of bewilderment and pity, suspecting she has finally gone off the deep end. But after initial incredulity, she concludes that she won't ever be able to understand Farren Graham fully, no matter how hard she tried; and attempting otherwise is fruitless. The best Lily can do is simply play along. "Yes. I suppose I do blame her. Zeus did warn her not to. And curiosity killed the cat..."

"I thought you'd say that. You know, everyone thinks that the act of opening the box was done out of weakness. But I don't think that at all. I think only a very brave person would have dared to open a box that Zeus himself told them not to."

"It was still foolish."

"I didn't say it wasn't. But bravery often is foolish."

Lily nods, resigned to the fact that Farren must believe in this slightly twisted account of the legend for sanity's sake. She reaches out her hand and touches Farren's thigh.

Somewhere deep inside her, Farren knows she doesn't deserve Lily's kindness. She knows the right thing to do would be to take her just punishment and refuse the mercy. But then again, she'd never been very practiced at being a good person.

She laughs shakily, hoping that it sounds more convincing to Lily than it does to herself. "And who's to say the world isn't better off with a bit of evil in it? How can you appreciate goodness without the contrast of badness...Right?"

Lily lifts her chin up and smiles in a sad, motherly way. Or at least what Farren thinks must be a motherly way. She wouldn't really know. Farren lays her head on Lily's shoulder, allowing someone to cradle her and tell her everything's going to be alright. It's useless, of course, all illusion. Everything won't be alright. Not now. Not ever. But she guesses that that's what mothers are supposed to do. They're supposed to make you feel safe while people are being killed and murdered and hurt around you, even when you're the cause of it.

"You're going to make a wonderful mother," Farren blurts out without meaning to.

Lily chuckles. "We'll see."

"No, I know these things." Then Farren grins into Lily's shirt. "You're going to take good care of James Potter Junior."

"Don't start with me," she warns, but she's hiding a smile as well.

They stay like that for a while in silence, not caring that people were beginning to shoot curious and suspicious glances. Farren finds she cannot care about other people these days. They seem less and less like actual people and more like leeches by the day. She is dreading the end of her moment with Lily: when they'd have to leave for the next class and return to reality, where no one understood that you meant well and forgave you for your sins.

And her dread is answered when Lily says. "You should probably get up now."

She groans. "No. Why? Do I really have to?"

"Yes. Because Sirius is practically flying over here toward us."

Farren raises her head quickly, trying to wipe all traces of the conversation from her face. She turns her head nonchalantly to watch him hastily meet his destination. When he comes into a more focused view, Farren notices how much has changed in Sirius since last night. There are bags under his eyes and the usually tanned skin looks more pallid and sickly. His good-looks seem like a ghost on his chiseled features, a whisper of their original might. Somehow this makes him all the more endearing to Farren, and consequently, tightens her chest with guilt yet again.

"Can I talk to you?" he says breathlessly, all his attention fixated on Farren.

She nods and Lily helps her to her feet. "Yes. I think that would be a good idea."

There is a split second where he reaches out to touch her but stops himself mid motion.

She feels another pang in her heart at his distress, knowing her deserves none of it.

She takes his large hand into hers. "Sirius..."

"No," he says gruffly. "Not here."

He begins to lead her away from the people, toward the outskirts of the forest. In some distant part of her mind, she registers that they are near the alcove. But the thought is distant because she is too focused on the poor, tortured boy before her.

"This is far enough," Sirius concludes, stopping her.

"Sirius..." she tries again, but he puts a hand up to silence her.

"Let me talk first..." He begins to pace and she watches as he runs his fingers shakily through his shaggy hair. "I am an idiot. No--I'm serious," he says when she laughs. Farren apologizes and allows him to continue. "I'm an idiot and I've been one all my life. And I have absolutely no control over my idiocy. I'd do these pranks and I'd know they were dumb but it was like in some fucked up way by breaking the rules, I was defying...them. Whoever they are--"

"Your family," she interjects.

"Yes. I think. I don't know. Look, all I know is that it made me feel better and less angry so I kept doing it. And once I... got out of hand. I wasn't thinking--or thinking less than usual and Snape was there--" He shakes his head as though trying to relieve himself of the memory. "Look all I know is that when I'm with you, I'm not an idiot anymore. I'm not arrogant or a marauder or angry... Well most of the time I'm not angry," he corrects. They both laugh, thinking of their numerous fights. But then the smile slides away from his face and, for all his broad and strong beauty, Sirius appears incredibly vulnerable. "I'm not any of those things I used to think defined me. I'm just...me." He grabs her shoulder in a tight grip and Farren flinches instinctively. Something in Sirius's face scares her. It is desperation--addiction. "And I can't let that go. If I loose you, I don't know what I'd do. Do you understand?"

She nods, a little wide-eyed. Inside, her heart feels suffocated under a weight she is quickly becoming acquainted with. She is beginning to suspect that this pain is permanent. A new wound to haunt her for life.

Lily had been right. She'd been so stupid. So very, very stupid. "I don't think you'll need to worry about me leaving," Farren says, not certain what she will do now, but sure that she will keep her word. No matter what it takes.

Something has shifted in her mind. Or maybe in her heart. Whatever it is, she knows there is no going back now. And at that exact moment, Farren made a promise to herself: she would die rather than let Sirius find out about her treachery. And the game had to end. They would play their games no longer.

"I know," he says, bringing her back down to earth. "But with all the messed up shit that's been happening, I can't help thinking about you getting hurt."

"I've told you before: I'm not a defenseless little girl."

Wanting only to avoid the resolution she feels manifesting within her, an idea strikes Farren. "Actually, I've got something to show you that will prove I'm not defenseless. Follow me."

She leads them further down the forest, into the alcove. Then, without any further explanation, she wills the beast within to come forth. Instantly, the already familiar tingling sensation spreads throughout her skin in tiny explosions of warmth and prickles. When next Farren opens her eyes, her form has been altered completely and she is closer to the ground.

Sirius's mouth is in the shape of a perfect "o". He seems almost paralyzed with awe.

Enjoying his shock, Farren slinks to him and wraps her supple lioness figure around his legs. She adorns the part of an innocent house-cat, taking pleasure from the friction created by the fabric of his trousers rubbing against her fur. She purrs imploringly, trying to get a verbalized reaction from him.

"Dear God," Sirius finally whispers, stroking her head. "You did it. You actually did it! But this is wonderful, Ren! Now we can all go out at night!" Sirius bends down on one knee in order to be at eye-level with the lioness. He chuckles loudly, his excitement equivalent to that of a toddler on Christmas day. "A lion: how perfect! Incredibly independent, brave, ferocious, confident." But then as Sirius glances back at their surroundings, a bit of his excitement turns to worry. "I suppose you couldn't have picked anything less conspicuous? Like a bird or something. I mean this is Scotland and you are a lion."

Farren growls indignantly and Sirius laughs his bark-like laugh. "I'm only joking. You're Farren Graham. God blessed you with conspicuously large blonde hair. If your animagus form blended in, it'd be quite uncharacteristic of you."

With an ecstatic and proud grin, he steps back. In seconds, he too is four-legged and furry. He nudges her with his muzzle and licks the lioness. Farren imagines what a sight they must be to behold: a cat and a dog playing flirtatiously. Well, as Sirius had said before, they'd never really been the most normal of couples anyway.

They initiate a game of tag, the lioness always able to nimbly slide out of reach of the dogs more straight-forward and blunt tactics. Farren allows her mind to ignore the task that is beginning to loom over her head. She knows she can't run away from her thoughts forever. But at the very least, she will post pone the storm for just a little while longer.

Farren ruffles through the piles of messy men's clothes, knowing that the blessed toxic must be there somewhere. Instead, her hands come away with a pair of undergarments festively patterned with leopard print.

"You would," she mutters, words already slightly slurred from the first bottle of poison.

It had started innocently enough--as innocently as anything involving alcohol could. She'd returned to her dormitory after having skipped the rest of the school day with Sirius. She'd lain upon her bed, knowing full well that in a couple hours time, she'd be meeting with Severus. Also, knowing full well what she would have to do...

The sherry had swum into her memory. Sirius had given it to her on April Fool's Day, whispering furtively, "just in case." And it had seemed a harmless act to take just one swig...or two...or the whole bottle's worth. And she is fine, really. Only moderately pissed. Kind of.

But it hadn't been enough. Which is why she is here now, looking for the stash Sirius had hidden somewhere.

But even after a few more minutes of tearing through the contents of his trunk, Farren only finds the bottom. She is growing slightly weary of the time Sirius would take to return from dinner. And her excuse of not feeling well wouldn't hold very well if she were caught waltzing around his dormitory, (slightly) blitzed.

But just as Farren sighs in defeat, her eye catches something odd with the trunks material. It looks to be a different color and texture than the rest. With increasing excitement, she passes her hand along the bottom and sure enough, her fingertips find a clasp and she pulls up the faulty flooring.

In that moment, Farren believes whole-heartedly that she has found the greatest discovery of all mankind: bottles upon bottles of sherry. It would have been physically impossible to fit such a vast amount of the toxic without the aid of magic. And, thanking Sirius's brilliant wand capabilities, she takes two bottles and swiftly scurries out of the room.

She sways slightly as she goes down the stairs, giggling when she thinks about why it is she is able to enter the Boys Dormitory with such ease. The founders had thought girls would be more moral. HA! Farren can be more bad than the badest boy, wilder and more uncontainable. And no one can stop her.

The liquid slides warmly down her throat. She feels such appreciation for being alone, with all her fellow Gryffindors at dinner. Without the influence of sherry, this might have upset her. But now she realizes how wonderful it is just to be alive, young, beautiful, supple.

Slinking toward her full length mirror, Farren watches her reflection. She glides her hands along the curve of her hips and torso. Why shouldn't she be allowed to feel sexy? Why do people think it's such a bad thing to enjoy your youth? You should never enjoy it to the point where it makes you feel used or abused or uncomfortable, but it's pointless if youth is wasted away with too much caution. People expect teenagers--good teenagers--to be carbon copies of adults: all business and politically correct. But you can be sexy and slightly reckless or a little too angry and still be a good person.

She thinks of all the other people who have thought her thoughts: teenagers of past generations. What had been different for them? They are wizards, so cultural revolutions that occurred in the muggle world did not have the same tumultuous affect on them. But still, she feels quite certain there must have been a mod-like movement during the 60's and maybe even a few hippies. It is impossible that the two worlds didn't shape each other, even if indirectly. Being muggle-born, she had been shaped by their world in more ways than one. Sometimes she even misses the innocence of it all: not knowing that this underground world existed and, with it, more wonders and horrors than one could ever imagine. She misses listening to the Beatles every day after primary school, taking such comfort in the rock and roll, which was as frustrated with life as she was.

Farren reaches into her schoolbag and pulls out the leathery green diary, opening it and smelling a strange sort of musk that reminds her of rain. She flips through the pages before finally coming across what she had been searching for: a date. 1945 is scrawled in that eerily familiar handwriting she couldn't place.

They really were brave, she thinks. To be lesbian during the 40's--hell to be lesbian at all. She knows it hadn't been a conscious decision on their part. But still, they hadn't ignored it like others had and still do. They'd allowed themselves to love. Or at least Eileen had. She didn't know about Ella yet.

Farren retraces back to where she had left off, feeling a sudden swoop of hope. As senseless as it sounds, she is certain that when she finally finished reading the diary, all questions would be answered. She would know what to do with Snape and Sirius and the memory of her dead mother and grandmother and maybe even how to forgive her father. Eileen and Ella would help her because they too had been pained by their own feelings...

Dear friend,

I cannot stop thinking about that letter I found in Ella's school bag. I've never kept knowledge from her before. Our relationship has always been quite blunt--almost to the point of rudeness.

Ella is a very strong person and sometimes difficult to understand even for me, who has always been adept at psychoanalyzing human actions. There are times when I believe she is an open book, like when she speaks incessantly of her day its mundane occurrences. At those times, Ella appears to be someone of mediocre intelligence and moderate emotional depth. And yet there are other instances which contradict all I have ever established of Ella Mulciber's character.

One time, when I was lying in the Girls Dormitory and reviewing for an Arithmancy exam, she moved quietly into the room. It was unlike Ella to do anything quietly, so I was immediately wary.

"What is it?" I asked, expecting that Tom Riddle hadn't looked at her when she'd tried to get his attention or something.

But Ella didn't say anything. And that was when I realized this time was different.

"What?" I asked again in a forcibly softer voice.

Without speaking, Ella crawled onto the bed and laid her head on my stomach,

"Do you love me, Eileen?" she said.

I stiffened and went all cold and emotionally vacant.

After several minutes in which I did not answer, she gave a watery laugh. "It's okay; you don't have to say it. I know you do. It's just..." she hesitated, "It would be nice to hear sometimes is all. So, I love you Eileen... And I know you love me too."

In all the seven years of our friendship, that was the only time those words were ever mentioned. Until now, that is...

And that night, when Ella seemed so unusually fragile, I realized something: we are both--or perhaps all of us--the same. No matter what else we pretend, each one of us is affected by love. Whether it be a lack of it, an excess of it, or because we yearn so deeply for it; we are all affected. And we don't all have to be unfortunate or abused or ugly to feel broken. Everyone is broken in some way. And I think it's rather better that way.

And that thing they all speak of--call it soul mates or true love or whatever--is having another person who can make you feel just a little less damaged. And so you cling desperately to that person and give yourself completely to them in the hope that you will both survive it all; not exactly unscathed but relatively happy. Fulfilled.

The centaurs are right: their love probably is more pure. But purity is largely overrated. Only the broken, the condemned, live fully. And so I say long live the condemned. If we really are damned, then at least we'll have plenty of company in Hell.

I'm tried of doing the charade. I will tell Ella everything. I don't know what we'll do once we acknowledge it, but I can't really care anymore. Cheiron was sent to us for a reason. The centaurs have powerful magic and I know he can help us. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that could either mean I'm about to reach nirvana or that I'm going to have my heart ripped out. I've never done anything driven by a feeling, especially none as powerful and uncertain as this one. But I'm beginning to realize I've been doing it wrong all along. And I think I'm finally ready to do the right thing and jump. If I crash and burn and no one catches me, at least I'll be too far gone to feel anything.

Always,
The Prince

Farren smiles to herself, a twisted sort of pride bubbling in her. She understands now why Cheiron believes she is more like Eileen than Ella. It isn't because she's smart or any bullocks like that. It is because they were both fools. Endearing fools, fools which are hopeful and naive. But still so damn foolish.

From the beginning, Farren had known her story would never end well. When she had given in to Severus, she'd been fully aware that, no matter the outcome, someone would get hurt. But she'd gone. And she'd... loved. She winces at even the thought of the word, but she is finally beginning to accept the fact that she is in love. She hadn't meant to. She didn't want to be. But, there it is.

She goes to the trunk similar to Sirius's in its messiness, trying to occupy her hands and mind. She comes across a hard piece of cloth and removes it for inspection. It is the second part of Sirius's Christmas present which she had nearly forgotten about by now. The black, lacy corset looks oddly inviting. She begins to strip one article of clothing at a time. It isn't as uncomfortable as expected and fits rather nicely. She's no super model, but Farren adores her imperfections at the moment. Her eyes are fierier than any cow of a model. Her body rings with resilience and rebellion. Her hips are too wide and she's too short and she's in love with two men. She's condemned. She is completely and utterly fucked. And maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the Prince's words, but she couldn't be more exhilarated. The feeling won't last, but she embraces it for all it's worth.
Defiance pumping in her, Farren covers the corset with her regular school clothes. She grabs the sherry and stashes the other bottle inside her bag.

Luckily, most of the students were still in the Great Hall, probably polishing off desert. None bother her with trivial small talk and she has a direct path to her destination. She does the necessary process to enter the strange room and the door dutifully appears.

Farren stumbles in with a little too much vigor, loosing her footing and only just catching herself. Instantly, someone is beside her, cool fingers protectively grasping her arm.

"Are you alright?" Severus asks.

She chuckles. "Peachy."

When she looks up into his face, Farren notices his clever gaze calculating the situation. They dart from her too rosy cheeks, then to her haphazardly buttoned outfit, and finally to her wobbly stance. "Are you drunk?"

Weakly, Farren attempts to escape his grasp. "No...Well, only a little." After a few moments of sluggish struggle she surrenders and, feeling suddenly exhausted, rests her head against his chest. "Well, maybe a lot." But, remembering something, Farren becomes animated again and extracts the unopened bottle. "But I brought you some too!"

Snape gives the sherry a withering look. "I think you're pissed enough for the both of us."

She laughs, uncoordinatedly wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're funny, Severus. You don't try to be, but you are."

He snorts. "One of my many attributes."

Farren inspects his face with a fresh wave of wonder. She can't understand people who don't find him beautiful. The large nose is not unattractive, but rather strong and masculine. And his bone structure, in contrast, remains still boyishly young. And the eyes, of course, eternally mesmerizing now that she knows their secret.

"Farren," he says softly. There are two sides to Snape's voice: either angry, sarcastic, and sexy or very honest and vulnerable. At present, it is stuck in the latter. "Farren, why are you getting drunk on a school night?"

Her previous excitement vanishes when she hears the one question she wishes not to think about. For the second time, she tries to wiggle out of his hold. This time she is partially successful, but then trips over her own feet and sends them both tumbling to the ground.

Farren bursts into peels of that earsplitting laughter, the booze dulling the pain. But Snape furiously scrambles to his feet, grunting and grumbling. She only manages to catch a few of his muttered words, none of which are complimentary to her character.

"Oh, don't be a kill-joy," she giggles, still on the ground.

"A kill-joy? Here you are, acting like a bumbling, drunken buffoon while I have actual work that needs to be done. You think that because you don't do any of the work, it just magically does itself. Well, it doesn't Farren--I do it!"

Farren stops laughing, unprepared for this harsh slap of reality. "Well, excuse me for trying to live a little. How very silly of me. I must have forgotten that I was talking to my father--"

At that moment a powerful force yanks her violently to her feet. Farren cries out in pain and surprise. "Ow! What the--" she begins to protest, but stops when Snape's face comes into view.

"Never call me your father," he hisses, so close to her that she feels his breath on the nape of her neck. "Never, do you understand?"

Farren nods, startled by his sudden vehemence. She hadn't meant it like that.

"Good." Snape pushes her away with equal amount of forcefulness. After a long pause he suddenly snaps, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that! With those wide eyes--like I just killed your damn, bloody puppy. Makes me feel like a bloody pedophile!"

Farren turns away, ashamed that tears were welling in her eyes and knowing they would only anger him further. This hadn't been how she'd wanted their last meeting to be like. She hates when he gets like this. He is the only person in the world who has the ability to make her feel so ashamed. With everyone else, Farren is able to write them off as being jealous or stupid or wrong when they try to discipline her. But Snape is her equal. He is her mirror, mercilessly revealing her every defect.

Feeling an inevitable sob coming on, Farren buries her face in her hands. When it does come, she manages to silence it enough so that it is only a hiccup.

But it is not silent enough to fool him. She hears his footsteps and though her eyes are closed, Farren knows he is directly behind her. It may only be her mind playing tricks, but Farren is almost sure that she can feel the cold permeating from his pores and chilling her skin.

For several moments they stay like that, centimeters apart but not touching. Her tears have stopped but she does not feel ready to turn around and face him yet. Then, in the silence, Farren identifies a sound that must be the ruffling of his robes. Snape mutters something inaudible and instantly a string of what looks like film appears before her.

Utterly bewildered, she watches the hovering film. It is of two crude caricatures, one with a comically large triangle for a nose and the other with comically large hair. The large-nosed figure jumps up and down, presumably yelling at its partner. The girl takes it for several minutes without moving. But finally a giant hammer appears in the big-haired figure's hand and the boy stops, a large exclamation point appearing above his head. He attempts to escape, scrambling in haste. But the girl crushes him and he ends up as a large splatter on the floor, the large nose remaining the only distinguishable body part left.

Farren laughs as the cartoon begins to play again.

"Would you like me to conjure a giant hammer?" he whispers silkily into her ear.

Despite herself, a smile creeps onto her salty lips. She sighs and turns around slowly. "As tempting as that sounds, I don't think I'll need it."

His eyes flash in what she identifies as both triumph and relief. "That is very big of you."

"Don't go brown-nosing me just yet." She wags a finger at him. "My ways of revenge are more subtle than mauling you with a giant hammer, but no less painful."

"I beg you," Snape groans in true distress, "no more leaving me in broom cupboards with a stiffy."

She leers. "I'm not making any promises."

Snape bends down to kiss her, but Farren stops him. All the hope for forgiveness leaves his eyes and he returns to looking guarded. But that isn't why she had stopped him. In fact, she isn't quite sure why. Perhaps it is because of what she knows she must soon do. In her dormitory, Farren had promised herself she wouldn't think about it. She would enjoy their final meeting. But the alcohol seems to be wearing off now and there isn't much she can do about it. So instead, she grabs the sherry and walks away, taking generous gulps of the poison.

She dances to the table and picks up the potions book that, for never having read much of it, holds a surprising amount of sentimental value to Farren. The scrawled writing in the margins makes her pause, stirring something in her memory. But she decides to ignore it when she can't remember why it seems so familiar.

"Do you like making potions?" she inquires, turning back to him.

Snape remains frozen where Farren had left him. "Sometimes."

"When?" She takes a whiff of the potion currently brewing in the cauldron and wrinkles her nose in revulsion. Smells like Celia's sweaty socks.

"When it presents itself as a challenge."

Farren shoots him a cat-like glance. "Yes, you like challenging things, don't you Severus?"

He finally moves toward the table, simultaneously crossing his arms. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

She takes a whiff of the potion currently simmering in the cauldron. The smell reminds her of cheap perfume. It appears to be a beautiful technicolor. "What potion are we making tonight?"

Snape laughs humorlessly, probably because of the use of the word we. "We have finished making Professor Slughorn's Beautifying Solution."

Her interest peeked, Farren swirls the liquid with the ladle. "A Beautifying Solution, eh? Don't suppose I could snag some for myself?"

"I suppose a spoonful wouldn't hurt. But, if you drank it, it would be at your own risk."

"Risk? Risk of what?"

He shrugs. "Who knows? I may have done something wrong. You could as easily end up with a unicorn tail and rainbow gills on your neck. I am an amateur, after all."

Farren snickers. "There are many things I would call you, Severus. Amateur isn't one of them."

His gaze is challenging. He wants to make her pay for having rejected him earlier. "Very well, if you're so confident in my abilities--" Severus scoops the colorful potion into a mug and swiftly hands it to her, "--then bottoms up."

Farren looks from the potions, to his blazing eyes, and back again. She snatches the mug out of his grasp, giving a defiant flip of her hair. She already has a tendency toward recklessness and being tipsy couldn't help matters. So, raising the mug in a mock toast, Farren repeats, "Bottoms up!" and downs the potion.

It tastes of lipstick and other rubbery, plastic-like things. The cheap perfume smell fills her nostrils and she has a pressing desire to sneeze.

She does--violently. In fact, the power of the sneeze forces her to hunch over and nearly collide with her own knees. When she manages to regain her poise, Farren resurfaces and turns to him expectantly. "Well, do I have a unicorn horn?"

Farren knows she has gotten better at reading Snape's expression because she can now discern just a little disappointment. "No," he grumbles. "You look...beautiful."

"You bastard, you actually look disappointed!"

"I could have fixed it anyway if something had gone wrong. And at least it would have taught you a lesson."

Farren laughs derisively, noticing as she does so that her chest feels heavier. Her breasts have been enlarged, of course. Typical. "You must have realized by now that any sort of lesson falls on deaf ears with me."

"You have too much faith in me--and my abilities for that matter."

She shakes her head. "Faith isn't the right word. It's too... uncertain. I've got proof of you abilities. Just look at my knockers." She gives them a little shake.

Those sarcastic lips twitch. "Now that I did not know would happen."

"The hell you didn't. Does the rest of me look as whorish?"

"No more than usual," he retorts easily.

"Mmm," Farren purrs. "I love it when you sweet talk me like that."

A full smile spreads across his face and Farren basks in its rarity. "You'd think that tongue would get old after a while, wouldn't you?"

She answers by maturely giving him a good look at the tongue in question.

"So now that we established that I'm right and that you are quite adept at potion-making..." she gives a smug leer, "why not do it as a living? After you graduate, I mean." As soon as the question leaves her mouth, Farren wishes she could snatch the words back. What an idiotic thing to suggest. He won't have time for a career once he graduates. He will live out his life-long servitude to Voldemort. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I--"

"Stop. Please," his face is screwed up in something like pain, "don't. Don't apologize."

After a short awkward pause, Farren manages to bounce back with effort. "Well would you ever want to be a teacher? You've taught me for nearly a year now."

Snape's eyebrow rises skeptically. "Would you entrust me with your child?"

She gives him a once over. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether she's a looker or not."

He snorts. "You think I'd fuck your daughter if she were my student?"

"If she had half my charm, how could you resist?"

"Don't forget half the volume in hair," he reminds her sincerely.

Farren laughs and flips her mane exaggeratedly. "Now," she returns, sobering and hopping onto a space on the table unoccupied by the cauldron, "what subject would you teach? Potions?"

"No. Defense Against the Dark Arts. That way I could torture the little buggers and not go to Azkaban."

"Severus Snape, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor," she says, testing the title out with a dramatic wave of her hand. She shakes her head disappointedly. "I don't like it. I much prefer something like: Severus Snape, Defense Against the Dark Arts Master. Or: Severus Snape, Potions Master."

He looks at her curiously. "Why Master? Why not just Professor?"

Farren shrugs. "Because I know you. You'd never settle for such an ordinary title. And anyway, you could never follow a name like Severus Snape with just plane, old professor," she says the word with distaste.

Severus shakes his head. "You know, the most frightening part of it all is that I'm beginning to understand your incomprehensible logic."

"Oh Professor Snape, sir," Farren simpers, ignoring his last remark and making her voice even more high-pitched than usual. "I have a present for you."

"What is it Farren."

"No, no!" She quips, "Call me Miss Graham."

Snape rolls his eyes but Farren knows he is secretly enjoying the game. "Very well. Present your gift then, Miss Graham."

She begins to unbutton her blouse and something in Snape's expression tells her that things suddenly became all the more interesting for him. The expression widens as she discards more clothing to reveal the lingerie beneath it. She glances down to inspect her own body, which has changed slightly to her annoyance. Not only is her chest larger, but her hips are more nimble and her legs longer.

"How very... thoughtful of you, Miss Graham," he says when she is finished.

Farren fights a giggle, trying to keep a straight face. She reels him in with her fingers and entwines a leg around his torso. "Anything for you, Professor." Placing a small hand on his hardened cheek, Farren kisses Snape. The kisses feel different now that she knows they will end. They are sweeter now--or rather bittersweet.

There is a definite sense of frenzy in the way they clutch each other that night, as though there are forces around them trying to physically pull them apart (which, in a sense, there are). Farren appreciates the beauty of this fact. That, despite all the horrors of life, she and Severus are still able to give themselves over completely to one another. That they are able to play a silly little game while the future promises mounds of pain and suffering. And that, years ago, another pair had also surrendered to themselves.

She realizes the entire world could be at war and burning beneath the fire of their own hatred, and still this young and very foolish couple would be making love.

Farren breaks away from him, gasping for air and feeling light-headed. He doesn't stop touching her, kissing her chin and neck. She wonders if he can sense it--brilliant and observant as he is. Does he know that their story will soon end in tragedy? Can he see the horrific visions of loneliness that flash, unbidden and fervently, before him as she can?

"I love you," she admits into the black fabric of his shirt, still panting.

"What?" he says distractedly.

A tear trickles down her cheek and she hopes he does not see it. "I said I trust this earns me an O, professor."

Snape chuckles. "Miss Graham, this earns you an O and a hundred points for Gryffindor."