IT TAKES A WHILE FOR THINGS TO SHIFT BACK TO NORMAL. For weeks the silence is loud, muffled cries and sniffles and echoes of footsteps in the halls. Classes are duller, seem longer, and there's a bit of tenseness in the way professors lecture. Everything drags, everything's slow. Emmeline says that the Ravenclaw common room has been a miasma of grief, almost too thick to walk through. She sneaks into the Gryffindor common room most nights, curling into Jo's side or Hestia's up in the Hufflepuff common room. She's not the only one, either. The Gryffindor common room seems fuller than it usually is, blue scarves littered about.

Henry Fernsby is everywhere in death; he is the subject of every conversation, of every newspaper. People whisper about Stefan Balan as his trial is underway, waiting for more names, waiting for more answers. There's speculation and rumors and horror and it's almost inescapable for the first few weeks. People talk about how it happened. People talk about why it happened. People talk about it when it might happen again.

Jo's first years have never clung so tightly to her before. They trip over themselves to huddle closer to her in the halls, especially after hearing about the incident before the break. Their fear is palpable; something about it makes Jo feel righteous, indignant. She glares at anyone who looks at them a little too long, clenches her fists, makes silent threats.

At first, Jo feels like her movements are slowed, like she's dragged through the days. It's a miserable sort of feeling, to be constantly bogged down by anxieties and anger. She worries for her friends, worries something like this might happen to Dorcas, or to Hestia, worries she won't be able to protect them, worries it'll only get worse. There is a bad taste in her mouth almost daily. But as time passes, so does the sourness, the stillness.

The first time things start to feel somewhat normal is when James and his lot release glitter bombs in the Great Hall. It's harmless, a bit tame for them but it's enough to get a bit of laughter going again (though there was none from Jo, she's just furious at the glitter stuck in her hair). They don't even get a detention for it; just a bit of scolding from the professors-the lightest punishment they've ever gotten. By the time January is almost over, the Ravenclaws have returned back to their own common room, have begun laughing on their own again.

And though a bit of the heaviness remains, the tragedy does not hold tight onto them for too long. Almost everything has returned back to normal.

The notable exception being Regulus Black, of course.

Jo's late-night walks with the Slytherin boy have become a common occurrence, and it's no longer accidental. Regulus is now a company that Jo seeks out, nightly. He is always there when she looks for him. And every night, they walk, and they talk.

They talk about classes, the flaws, and virtues of their least favorite and favorite professors (Jo fancies Sprout and her cheery disposition, whereas Regulus prefers Slughorn, due to his obvious Slytherin favoritism). Jo tells him stories of her growing up, about the time she almost killed James (by accident), about the time she got lost in muggle London. She tells him of her adventures with her friends, sneaking out into Hogsmeade and getting drunk at Hog's Head Inn. Regulus tells her of his fondness of his family house elf, Kreacher, of his fondness of all house elves, the softness he has for them. He tells her stories of witches and wizards she's never heard of. He impresses her with his knowledge of things past and things present. Jo tells him about the muggle world, about records and television and Harrison Ford and Carrie. Regulus seems just as transfixed in the new knowledge she provides as Jo is by his.

And then, when the sun is about to rise and there is a drag in Jo's step, Regulus walks her back to the Gryffindor Tower, says goodnight, and is on his way. She will sleep for what feels like seconds, and when she wakes up, she tries to recall exactly what she had said the night before. Regulus Black is on Jo's mind a lot, whether he is near or not.

He stands next to her now, near the end of their last Potions block of the week, sharp knife in his hand as he chops up wet, gray, messy meat. Jo is still hardly paying attention to the bubbling brew in front of her, almost gagging as she watches Regulus work. "I don't know how you do that," she says thickly, biting down on her tongue as the substance squishes. Its odor is strong and raw and it makes Jo hold her breath.

Regulus looks down at her, over his shoulder. He does that a lot, shoots her quick, studying glances from her side, a small smile twisting on his lips, always looking bemused. Jo will sometimes find herself grateful that she's seemed to unlock another expression besides complete, forced indifference and tears. "Do what?" he questions.

Jo grimaces. "Touch frog brains with your bare hands like that."

"Are you that squeamish?" Regulus teases, letting his white teeth peek through in his grin.

"I'm not squeamish," Jo defends with a scrunch of her nose. " It's just gross."

Regulus snickers, and with the edge of his knife, scoops the frog brains onto the blade and reaches over Jo to dump them in the cauldron. The yellow fizzing is a reminder to Jo to stir it three times, clockwise. She leans up on her toes, peering into the potion and watching as it calms under her tending. Regulus watches her with careful eyes. "You know you'll have to deal with a lot worse than frog brains if you plan to be a healer," he asserts.

Jo quirks an eyebrow as she turns her gaze to him. "How do you know I want to be a healer?"

His smirk is something Jo's become accustomed to, indicative of his quiet sureness in himself, a calm sort of confidence that has her intrigued. "I know everything," he quips.

"So arrogant," Jo rolls her eyes, but now maintains a smirk of her own.

"Maybe," he concedes, "but what would you do without me? Chop the frog brains on your own?"

Jo purses her lips and stares back down at her potion. "Suppose I would just have to fail."

Regulus takes the three beetles' eyes, the last remaining ingredients, and drops them in. Jo is quick to incorporate them, watching as it shifts from a yellow to a sickly sort of green, just as text describes, "Thank goodness you have me then. Otherwise, the world would have to go without our perfectly brewed Essence of Insanity."

"Why would anyone make a potion like this anyways?" Jo questions. "Who wanted to drive someone insane so badly they mashed up frog brains and beetle eyes?"

"Libatius Borage, apparently."

Jo looks up at Regulus. "Arrogant and a smartass."

Regulus smiles down at Jo, a moment of quiet between the two of them before the bell chimes, ringing in the end of the block, and Regulus says to her, "Good luck on Saturday against Hufflepuff. I'll be rooting for you."

They leave their potion out for Slughorn to examine, though Jo's certain it's as perfect as it usually is. Regulus is out the door before her, taking long strides back to the Slytherin common room before she has even packed up her bag. She's still at her table, shoving her potions book into her bag when Dorcas approaches her, grabbing at the back of her arm. Jo jumps as her warm form creeps up behind her. "Shite, Meadowes," she says a bit breathlessly.

"Can I ask you something?" Dorcas jumps right into it, as Jo slings her bag over her shoulders.

Jo nods, and links her arms with Dorcas, like she always does, and leads her out of the "Go for it."

"Are you and Regulus Black, like, friends?" she rushes out as the two of them join the crowds of the hallways.

Jo flinches. "What?"

"I mean, you two seem to be having a good time together in Potions," Dorcas explains slowly, loosening her grip on Jo's arm just a bit. "And there was the whole thing with Dolohov."

"I told you he's not that bad," Jo says with just a bit of a shrug, heat climbing up her neck. She likes to keep Regulus in dark shadows, away from the sunlight and warmth she associates with Dorcas. Talking about him with her feels like some sort of breech.

Dorcas tilts her head, a frown working on her lips. "Yeah, but there's a difference between thinking someone's not that bad and giggling with them over a potion."

"Does it really matter either way?" Jo questions.

There is a beat of silence as they march up the stairs, out of the dungeons, a pair of first years, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves, fall in line behind Jo. "I mean, it's fine if you are, I suppose," Dorcas says. "Just weird. I thought he was well, you know what? Never mind."

Jo frowns at her. "Are you alright?"

"'Course," Dorcas answers, making it very clear that she's not.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jo thinks her ribs might be broken.

The wind is biting, and she can feel the redness pounding behind her cheeks, fighting against the cold January air. Every breath is agony up there on her broom, watching yellow and red robes dash around in front of her. Gryffindor is down two hundred to one-thirty. She has never performed so pathetically, and it's all Ivan Reed's fault.

She wishes that she had dated and broken the knees of a Chaser, or another Keeper. Or even a Seeker. Or, even better, someone who can't stay on their broomstick for more than three seconds. But no, Jo had to pick a Beater.

His strategy of whacking the Bulger at Jo every opportunity he has is petty, vengeful, and almost sad. And the worst part about it is that it's actually working. Jo can't get close to the Quaffle without taking a Bulger to the face, arm, gut, ribs, whatever. And when she does manage to make a block, she's nearly knocked off her broom in the process. She's never been so close to plummeting to the ground. While Gryffindor's in possession, she goes over her injuries: potentially broken ribs that feel like they're suffocating her, a busted nose that is bleeding freely over her robes, bruised hands and knuckles, overall aches, and a rage in her chest that is burning so harshly it is more consuming that anything else she is feeling. Jo wants someone to end this so she can get off her broom and kill Reed once and for all.

James scores, and Jo braces for whatever is coming back her way. She squares her shoulders back, wipes the blood away from her nose, and glares. Reed is out of her eyesight, likely zooming about, trying to get a good hit at the Bulger.

She thinks that Marlene and Sirius must be off somewhere with their thumbs up their arses, because not once has she seen a Hufflepuff get hit, and there's a bitter part of her that's convinced Marlene's doing it on purpose. Jo watches the Quaffle as it bounces between Hufflepuff players, back and forth, left, and right, before it gets shot right down the middle, right towards Jo.

She leaps up, almost launching herself off of her broom for a second and catches the Quaffle between the palms of her hands, right as the Bulger slams into the side of her hip, sending her into a violent spin. Jo uses one hand to clutch the Quaffle to her chest and the other to grip the shaft of the broom. A low, guttural yell escapes her at the pain, and she straightens out to see that Reed is pleased as punch, hovering about sixty feet above her, watching her struggle, and Jo is suddenly wishing she did use an Unforgivable on him.

"And it seems Ivan Reed, Hufflepuff Beater, is still bitter about being dumped by Jo Potter," Remus announces, low voice clear over the boos and protests of the crowd, the commentary almost making her forget her lingering resentment. "Real pathetic bloke, if you ask me. Complete twat."

Jo is surprised there's no interjection from McGonagall.

Arm sore, she throws the Quaffle back to Prewett, not as hard and not as fast as she would like, and catches a glimpse of long, dark hair nearby.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jo shouts to Sirius, voice raw, carrying over the wind. "He's killing me out here!"

Sirius hovers by her, and yells back, "He's just sitting here! By the time we get back over, he's here with the advantage!"

"Then stay here and keep him away from me!"

Sirius does as he's told and sticks by Jo. The added protection seems to have curbed Reed, at least a little. The blows still come, but Sirius is there to block him, and counter. It proves problematic in its own right, as Sirius's rushed and frantic attempts to protect Jo get in Jo's way. More than once, Sirius blocks the Bulger just to collide straight into Jo, letting the Quaffle pass. And no amount of cursing and swearing and blaming and being screamed at by James prevents it from happening again.

Another hour goes by, the score now two-hundred-seventy to two hundred, when Shacklebolt finally catches the Snitch, though Jo has already amassed a few more broken bones and bruises.

There is wild cheering that sounds like blurred white noise in Jo's ears. All she can feel is soreness and stabbing and pain and there is a ringing in her ears, and she turns towards Sirius. "Pass me your bat," she calls to him, the Bulger flying by in the corner of her eye.

Sirius does so without question, and Jo races towards the whizzing Bulger, fast as she can, faster than she's moved since her ribs shattered. Reed is cursing, back to Jo, and flying slowly off the pitch, an easy target. And with one hard swing, there is a loud crack, and the Bulger is flying, hard, in the direction of Reed. Jo knows the consequences that will be coming her way as she watches the Bulger twirl, rushing towards Reed and hitting him square in the back, right in the spine.

Jo smirks.

It doesn't last long, though. After she's been patched up, broken bones straightened out and bruises faded, and after she's sat through a rather brutal, long scolding from McGonagall ("Nothing, and I mean nothing gives you the right to attack another student!" "Sorry, Professor", "I think another month's detention should suffice, and I'll be personally attending to them," "Yes, professor"), Jo finds herself beaten down and positively exhausted. She plans on chugging down the rest of her Pepper-Up potion, bollocks to James, and napping the rest of her Saturday away. And she's thinking that maybe her sleepless nights and long study sessions and endless practices have left her a bit too drained to carry on. For whatever reason though, she's not feeling particularly inclined to skip her late-night walk, though after today she's partial to the idea of leaving the Quidditch team and letting Bainbridge have at it.

Every part of her aches as she practically crawls up the stairs to her dorm and she is dreaming of the softness of her bed as she reaches for her door and pushes it wide open.

It takes a few moments for Jo to process the scene in front of her. At first, all she sees is flashes of color-red, brown, and golden yellow. She then makes out the long, lean form of Marlene McKinnon, shirt abandoned on the ground below her and Jo thinks that perhaps she has wandered into the wrong dorm until she sees Dorcas, nearly half-naked, sprawled out underneath her, scrambling and squirming and clearly much more quick to realize the situation she's suddenly in than Jo.

When it hits her, the reality of it, Jo can do nothing but let her jaw slack and yell out, " Holy shit!"

"Jo!" Dorcas screams as she struggles to pull her shirt over her head. Marlene, in a struggle to put her own shirt back on, has half-fallen off of the bed.

Jo feels like her head is spinning. "Erm, I'm um-"

"Get out! "

"Right," Jo nods, swallowing thickly and stepping backwards, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Every moment behind that door feels like an eternity as she tries to process the scene she just witnessed. And the first thought she has is that she's seen more of Marlene McKinnon than she's ever wanted to see. The second being that if Dorcas was looking to mash her mouth against another girl's she could've picked someone better than Marlene McKinnon.

Something's brewing in her as the blonde girl steps out of the dorm and brushes past Jo without so much as a glimpse of eye contact. There's no words, no nothing. And in that moment, Jo thinks that the rift between them is bigger than it was when Jo told Marlene off after practice. She goes back into her dorm feeling stiff, unsure.

Dorcas is fully dressed now, leaning up against her bed with her hair tousled up and lipstick smudged. Her arms are crossed and she's staring at the floor. Jo doesn't make a move for her own bed, she just stands there in the doorway, like her presence is still an invasion. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" she whispers, so softly Jo has to strain to hear.

"No, of course not," Jo assures her quickly and firmly. "Not if you don't want me to."

"Alright," Dorcas nods, and looks up at Jo with big, watery eyes. Jo's seen it before in her, and each time it makes something deep within her grumble. She can't stand the sight of tears in Dorcas's eyes. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" Jo counters, trying her best to match the softness and the delicacy set by Dorcas. It's strange for her.

"Because of Marlene, because we're, well-"

"Dorcas, I don't mind, really," Jo cuts her off, trying her best to sound comforting, not to relay whatever nasty gut feeling as lodged itself in her throat. "It was just a surprise to well, walk in on, but I'm not mad."

"So it doesn't bother you?"

It does bother her. But not for the reasons Dorcas might be thinking, not for the reasons it would bother anyone else. But from the state of Dorcas, eyes wet and nose running, Jo figures it's a conversation best left for another day. "No, no it doesn't bother me."

"Okay, alright. You swear it?"

She smiles. "I swear it. You're my best friend, Meadowes."

Dorcas says nothing but launches herself across the room and into Jo's arms. Her grip around Jo's middle and freshly healed ribs is so tight Jo thinks she might be breaking them all over again. But she says nothing and keeps her hand soft on the back of Dorcas's head as she sobs into her shoulder.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Regulus greets Jo that night by tossing her a pack of licorice wands, and she's tearing into them before he can even get a word out. "Thought you might need a bit of a pick me up," he comments, taking in the state of her; curls thrown up in a lazy bun, deep set bags under her eyes that almost match his, a torn up old sweater of Remus's and a freshly scarred nose.

Jo reaches his side, falling into place next to him as they begin making their rounds about the castle. takes a rough bite out of the end of a wand. "Thanks," she grumbles, noting how he remembered that licorice wands are her favorite. "Been a bit of a shite day. How many times do you think I have to break a part of Reed's body before he learns to leave me alone?" she questions, chewing.

"Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing it happen a few more times," Regulus says, sounding almost contemplative. "It's always a sight to behold,"

Jo snickers. "He got me pretty good today, though. A broken rib, broken nose, bruised bones. Put me in a right foul mood."

Regulus looks down at her with someone unreadable in his eyes. "I admire how a completely broken body has only managed to put you in a bad mood."

"I admire how you admire me," Jo muses through a mouthful of licorice.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "Now who's being arrogant," he says, speaking to her in such a soft and gentle tone, one that makes her lean in closer to