ALL AT ONCE, JO REMEMBERS WHY SHE NEVER WANTED TO PLAY QUIDDITCH.

The rain is heavy, beating down on her skin all at once, overwhelming, heavy and cold. Jo feels as if her bones are soaked, weak, soggy, and mushy to the touch. It blinds her, forcing her to blink rapidly to push the raindrops out of her vision. But it's stormy and foggy and cold and so goddamn wet Jo thinks that she's about to go mad.

The Ravenclaw Chasers aren't nearly as pathetic as James had made them out to be, either. They're swift and organized, albeit predictable, using formations and plays she's seen hundreds of times before. She reminds herself of what James told her earlier. Davies prefers his right. Cattermole fakes the middle but will go either way. Hughes is a wildcard, but slower than the rest.

Mostly, Jo's just been going with her gut. She's right more than half the time, anyways.

The hundred to twenty score proves it.

Jo's blind to whatever's going on the other side of the pitch, has absolutely no clue where any of the Seekers are, and the crowd is just a large blur of brilliant reds and rich blues. It's all she can do to rely on Remus's dead awful commentary.

"Looks like Byrne managed to open his eyes this once to block the Quaffle, and he passes it back over to Davies, now Cattermole. Looks like they're doing the same thing they've been trying this whole time. Wonder if it'll work this time, lads."

"Mr. Lupin, please-"

"Sorry Professor. Back to Davies again, narrowly missing a Bludger from McKinnon. Decent dodge, I have to say. Better off, too. The other Potter's looking a little bored over there in the goal posts."

The other Potter. Jo would have to lay into him, for that one.

Jo sees the blue robes rush towards her, whipping in the wind behind them and she braces herself, hands tightening around the front of her broomstick. She tunes out Remus's ramblings and watches, watches as the Quaffle bounces from Davies, to Cattermole, to Davies, to Hughes, to Cattermole. They're trying to trick her, she thinks, trying to be too quick for her to follow, making her chase after them. The unnecessary passes, the way they weave in and out between each other. Jo feels like a cat, waiting to pounce on the right mouse.

"And it looks like Shacklebolt's finally stopped dicking around and spotted the Snitch-"

"Lupin-"

" And Vance is quick to follow. Brilliant flying on her part, though Merlin knows how she can see anything through all that hair-"

Jo narrows her eyes, focusing in on the Quaffle, and she notices that when Davies passes it over to Hughes, he catches it not with the entire palm of his hand, like he has before, but with the curled tips of his fingers.

"And now Black has pulled his head out of his arse and put that Beater's bat to good use-"

"I am tired of telling you to watch your mouth! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"Alright, well that's fair."

Jo jerks hard to the right when she sees the way the Quaffle curves, and she reaches her arm out, stretching long and leaning forward. She feels it slam hard into the curve of her fingers and she's quick to tuck it into her chest, barrel rolling to slow her momentum and when she straightens, she doesn't need to search for Prewett before she's chucking the Quaffle back at him, hard as she can, and Gryffindor is in possession again.

"A beautiful block from Potter, the younger one, obviously. Seems like McKinnon is currently trying to maim any Ravenclaw player she can get close enough to."

Jo's shivering now, through the rain and the wind and she is praying for Shacklebolt to just catch the bloody Snitch to end it all. And by the time Cattlemole comes back at her with a swift Quaffle down the middle that she blocks with the brunt of her elbow, she's thinking that she would be okay with Vance catching it.

Cattermole seems to have figured out that Jo's got him pegged, and scores a few more times on her when he switches up, unexpectedly. She can hear James cursing her over the rain and the cheers whenever he does, and Jo feels a bubble of shame in her gut.

When it finally ends, Jo is catching the Quaffle, letting it hit her hard in the gut, pressed tight against her. She gets the news of the victory from Remus's bellowing of, "Fucking finally. Shacklebolt's caught the Snitch."

"Lupin-"

"Final score, Gryffindor two-hundred-and-seventy, Ravenclaw fifty."

That, Jo thinks, is a brutal victory. Two-hundred-and-seventy to fifty. And Jo is there, up in the air, wind and rain whipping in her face, and she breaks out into a grin. Her muscles tighten, and she hollers, voice disappearing among the storm.

Sopping from the rain and doused in her own sweat, Jo had barely made it off the pitch before she is swept up, swinging, lifted off her feet. Ivan holds her close to his chest, lifting her feet slightly off the ground. "I'm going to have to come up with some really creative ways to get you off the team before you go up against us," he says into her ear, and then places her back down on her feet. "Jo, that was brilliant!"

Jo laughs, smiling up at the blonde boy. She watches as his eyes flick down, back up and down again. "Good luck with that. I forgot how much I like winning," she tells him with a smile.

Ivan inches down closer to her and Jo, for whatever reason, turns her head and leans into him, making his lips collide with her cheek. She doesn't know why. She just does it. And Ivan smiles down at her after but it doesn't meet his eyes. "So what are you going to do now that you're the hero of Gryffindor?"

"Suppose I'll go and get pissed."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gryffindor victory parties have always knocked Jo out.

She can remember clearly being hoisted up on Sirius's shoulders, the cheers of her fellow Gryffindor's echoing in her ears as they celebrated their first win of the season. She can remember that someone, likely Marlene McKinnon, handed her an entirely full bottle of Firewhiskey that feels much lighter in her hand now. She remembers Leo Bainbridge approaching her and telling her that there are really no hard feelings, that he respects that Jo earned her spot as Keeper and he was just as pleased to see Gryffindor start out the year with a win. She remembers gluing herself to Remus's side, his arm tight over her shoulders as the Firewhiskey burned her throat, the chants of "chug, chug, chug!" distant in her ears as Remus kept her upright. She remembers giving McKinnon a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek while they swung their hips in unison to Dancing Queen.

The floor is moving beneath her feet, and she stumbles. She thinks Remus or Sirius or maybe Dorcas are telling her to slow down but Jo has the rush of victory in her veins, and she is in love with the way it feels.

Fellow classmates blur in the movement around her and she can hear faint bits of chatter, rumors, and fights that bounce throughout the common room. The strong smell of cinnamon and the sickening, poison smell of alcohol linger together and make Jo close her eyes, swaying slightly as a Queen song plays, slightly scratching, over the booming conversation.

When she opens her eyes, Jo finds that she has her legs on Peter's lap, her own bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand. He's laughing and she doesn't know why but it's making her laugh too. Jo likes Peter. She likes the way mischief lingers in his soft smiles; eyes squinted. She likes how he never seems to take himself as seriously as the rest of his mates. She likes his subtly, the way he creeps up on you. Peter isn't the type of person you expect, Jo thinks. "Can I tell you something?" Peter asks her, in a sudden moment of severity, looking down at Jo with those unreadable eyes.

She laughs through her answer, a quick, "Yes," that wavers due to her breathlessness. She can't fight the smile on her face. The bottle of Firewhiskey feels much lighter than it did before, and she doesn't know how Peter is maintaining the straight face.

"I fancied your mum when I was eleven," he tells her.

Any air that was remaining in Jo's lungs is knocked out at once. Her laughter is rapturous, and she's staring at Peter with wide eyes, completely breathless. "You what?" she exclaims, unsure if she should be horrified or impressed or amused.

Peter cracks, laughter shaking his shoulders as he holds his hands up defensively. "It was only for that one summer!" he choked out. "She made very good sticky toffee pudding, and I thought I wanted to eat that sticky toffee pudding for the rest of my life."

Jo can remember that summer. She can remember a younger, little blond Peter with chubbier cheeks, sitting at their kitchen table with that same toffee pudding smudged all over his face. Her mum called him adorable. "You dog! My mother?"

"She's very pretty," Peter explains, reaching for a drink he had on the floor beside the couch. He takes a large sip. "I told Sirius, and he said if I was going to fancy any Potter, it should've been you. But you look too much like your brother."

"And my mum doesn't?"

"You two look more like your dad!"

"Oi!" Jo exclaims, and lightly hits the side of his arm. Peter throws his head back, laughing. "My dad's a very handsome bloke. I can't believe you fancied my mum."

Peter snaps his head forward again, and then he leans his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm sorry! I have a taste for older women!"

Jo shakes her head, and with the tips of her fingers, pushes him away from her. "You dirty, dirty dog."

She tries, her hardest, to keep a straight face, to maintain her scowl. But Peter is staring up at her with big, wide eyes and a pouty lip that quivers as it tries to fight back laughter. And it causes Jo to crumble. Her stomach aches, and she thinks she likes the way Firewhiskey makes her feel.

There is a heavy weight that weighs down the couch in the spot next to her, and Jo turns to see her brother grinning at the two of them. "What are you two laughing about?"

Jo starts off with, "Peter-", at the same time Peter says, "Nothing." And the two of them exchange a look and a quick, suppressed chortle.

James drops it quickly though, and he balls up his fist and pushes it into Jo's arm. "You absolutely killed it today, Josie!" he gushes. "I swear, I've never been so proud of you."

Jo blinks while he talks, trying to make her eyesight clearer, to get rid of the blur that permeated her vision. "Yeah, I could tell," Jo slurs, "from the way you screamed at me across the pitch."

Her brother ruffles the top of her hair. "Tough love works for you, I suppose," he says, and then he straightens up, "Josie, you have got to hear this story Lily was telling-"

It's amazing how quickly she can sour. "I don't want to hear it," she cuts him off, no hint of the laughter that was bouncing off the walls not a second ago. Her tongue spits out the words, coldly, without a second though.

Peter shuffles uncomfortably next to her, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Prongs why don't you-"

But James is smiling, like he doesn't know what he's doing, and Jo bites down on her tongue. "No, it's a riot. Lily!"

"James-" Jo tries to interrupt, but she can barely keep her eyes open.

He continues, still, leaning forward and waving his arm, gesturing at Evans to come closer. Jo can't see her. Jo can't see four feet in front of her but she gives Peter a look of desperation. "Lily, come over here and tell my sister that story about Mulciber!"

Peter places a hand on Jo's shoulder. "Prongs, I don't think that's the best idea."

"No, Josie'll love it."

The bottle sloshes around in Jo's hand. "James, I don't want to talk to Evans."

"Josie, seriously, you're being a prick," James tells her dismissively, sparing her a quick glance. He looks forward again, "Evans, tell Josie about-"

And perhaps it's the Firewhiskey or perhaps her patience was slowly being chipped away but Jo snaps, "No, James, I don't like your stupid little girlfriend." James is frozen at her words, like she slapped him. But Jo carries on, and hardly even notices the way Lily Evans stands in front of her, shifting on her feet and picking at the skin on her nails. "Date her all you want but stop trying to make her be my friend because I don't like her."

It is the soft, strained voice of Lily that snaps Jo out of it. "Erm, I'll just, um," Lily rushes out, and the tears in her words are unmistakable as she turns away from the group of them. Jo watches as Lily disappears into the crowd of unaware students, and something twitches in her gut, something that feels strangely like guilt.

But any feeling of that is completely washed away as James turns to her and says, "Are you happy with yourself?"

Jo furrows her brow and gives her brother narrowed eyes and a furled lip. "How is this my fault?"

"Why can't you just be nice to her, for once?" James questions, hands waving wildly in a fury.

"Why do you keep trying to shove her in my face?" Jo retorts. "I've told you dozens of times I don't want anything to do with her!"

James is red in the face when he says, "Because you're my sister and you're both important to me!"

"Well if you wanted me to like your girlfriend you should've dated someone else!"

Jo had forgotten that Peter was seated next. "Erm, I think I'm gonna go," he says, shifting to stand, but Jo and James pay no mind to him.

"Apologize to her," James demands, severity etched into every detail in his face.

But Jo is stony, teeth grinding. "You're barmy if you think that's happening."

"Apologize to her before you think of talking to me again."

Jo stares at the back of his head as he turns away from her, tipping the bottle against her lips, letting the last gulps of Firewhiskey burn on the way down. And she leaves.

It's not pretty, the way Jo spits up and chokes out any remaining substance and dignity she has lingering in the pit of her gut. She's grateful no one's around to see her wipe the lingering spit off her chin as she stumbles out of the empty boy's lavatory.

Sweat glistens on her forehead as she drags her feet down the empty corridors. She's unusually appreciative of the chill of the castle. Her skin is hot, she stripped off her sweater and left it somewhere on the floor of the common room. Dry mouth and pounding headache, Jo wanders, like she normally does, aimlessly and dizzily, a stagger in every step that she takes.

Her words to James play in her head, over and over, in a loop, some disco song she can't recognize mixed in with them. They don't fight often, and when they do it's hardly ever anything serious. Jo's annoyed with him, constantly, and James takes pleasure in the way he torments her. Jo calls him a tosser; he calls her a git. Jo steals his things; he takes food off her plate. But they don't fight.

It feels stupid that one thing they do fight over is Lily Evans.

Nausea washes over her in waves, and she thinks of getting to the kitchens and begging the house elves for some sticky toffee pudding, because now Peter's got it in her mind and it's all she can think about. Her stomach grumbles, eyes closed.

"Potter?"

Jo has to swallow the bile that's working its way up her throat when she turns, desperate to avoid that level of humiliation. She's too aware of herself. The vomit and alcohol on her breath, the disheveled state of her hair, the sweat coating every inch of her skin, her hunched shoulders, how her arms dangling limply in front of her. Regulus Black is, of course, perfectly put together. Not a hair out of place, robes smooth and posture looking painfully straight. She rolls her eyes at the sight of him; he almost makes her sicker. "What do you want?" she grunts, tired and weak.

He approaches her slowly, cautiously, taking in the state of her with a quirked eyebrow. "Are you drunk?" he asks.

Swaying on her feet, Jo blinks. "I don't know how to answer that."

"I think you just did," Regulus remarks, no emotion in his tone, though Jo's looking for disgust. "Do you want me to walk you back to your common room?"

The thought of walking back into the middle of the victory party in her current state, having to face her brother, having to face Evans, is enough to make her enraged all over again. She puffs out her chest, clenching her fists. "I don't want to go back to my common room."

Regulus stands a safe distance from her, looking over his shoulder for a moment and back over at her. "Do you intend to just wander the castle until you sober up?"

Jo blows out a stream of air, stepping side to side, eyes trailing up the walls, examining the portraits. "That is currently my plan."

"And if you get caught?"

"Then I get caught. Who gives a shit?" she retorts.

Regulus frowns and takes another step closer to her. "Are you alright?"

Jo whirls around to face him. "Are you? What's with all the fucking questions?" she grits out through clenched teeth.

He eyes her carefully, jaw titled up and lips downturned. Jo wants to know what he's thinking when he's staring at her like that, examining the details of her. She wants to know what it is he thinks of her. "Alright, c'mon, Potter," he says after a long moment of silence. "You're going back to your common room."

"No," she protests, jerking away from him. She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Her legs are sore. "Can I just go to yours instead?"

There's a twitch on his lips. "I think you know that's not a good idea."

Jo frowns. "Suppose it's not," she concedes.

"C'mon," Regulus says, motioning for her to follow him, "let's go and get you some fresh air." He turns on his heel, strutting down the corridor without looking back to see if she would follow.

For a moment, Jo doesn't move. She frowns; he walks like he's floating; movements smooth and his dark, shiny curls bounce slightly with each step. It's without thought that she starts moving to follow him, taking long, quick strides to catch up with him. "Why are you always out here anyways?" she asks as she reaches him, though she's still stuck a stride or two behind. "Every time I come down here, I run into you. What are you always doing out in the corridors?"

Regulus shrugs. "I like it."

"More than sleep?"

"Sleep doesn't come easy for me," he says, like it's nothing, and he glances at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"''M fine."

Regulus looks straight ahead again, and Jo examines the way he locks his jaw, bites down on his cheek and carefully places his gaze. Everything about him, Jo finds so calculated. "I'm sorry it's me you ended up with," he tells her. "I'm sure you would prefer Reed's company to mine."

Jo frowns. "That's a strange thing to say."

"Not really. I mean, he is your boyfriend, isn't he?"

The idea of Ivan causes another rush of nausea and annoyance to come over her. "I don't want to talk about Reed anymore."

"Alright, then."

They walk in silence for a while. Regulus with careful and elegant strides and Jo, tripping over her own feet, unable to maintain a straight line. The laughter that rang in her ears with Peter seems so far now and now all she can feel is sickness. Sickness and instability.

Regulus doesn't look back at her as he leads her down the corridor, towards the doors. By the time Jo realizes that he's heading towards the Greenhouse, she can barely keep her eyes open.

Jo pushes past