"I'm Head Girl! I don't get detentions! That's not supposed to happen!"

Dominique rolled her eyes far, far into the back of her head and buried her face in her hands. As much as she loved Cecilia, her best friend in the entire world and someone she so ardently admired, she could not stand this amount of complaining. Dominique had been forced to listen to nearly a half hour of ranting at this point.

"Ceils, it can't be that bad."

"Y'know, I should have just left him," Cecilia grumbled, pacing around the common room furiously. "I shouldn't have tried to be nice, I should have just left him to deal with his own dumb actions, left him to pay the price for his stupidity."

"He's always getting into mischief," sighed Dom, "While they were dumb, don't shame him purely on breaking the rules, that's a bit hypocritical of you."

Cecilia frowned. "I'm not! I'm not saying we've never broken the rules, we've just never gotten caught."

The strawberry-blonde Weasley girl smirked slyly to herself. "That's true. Remember the late night kitchen feast last year? When we stole all the food? Brought it back to the dorms?"

Cecilia smiled a bit, becoming a bit nostalgic. "Yeah," She snickered. "Sam's room reeked for months of that last rotten piece of steak and kidney pie we couldn't find. It was so funny finally finding it stuffed underneath his trunk." Dominique giggled back, but suddenly Cecilia remembered her anger and annoyances. "But still! I never got detention!"

"I know," Dominique exhaled heavily, her shoulders drooping. "Look, it's still probably not as bad as you think, I reckon you're just exaggerating."

"I'm not exaggerating!" brooded Cecilia moodily.

"You're acting as if my cousin's the devil incarnate! He's not, I should know, I'm the one related to him."

"He's... frustrating, that's all." Cecilia mustered out. "I wouldn't have to report to McGonagall tonight if it weren't for his recklessness."

"Well, he is reckless, I'll give you that." Dominique conceded, watching as her friend finally calmed and stopped her pacing. Cecilia's dark curls bounced as she flopped dramatically onto a couch.

There was a short silence of sulking until she finally pouted and asked, "What do you think they'll even have me do?"

"Clean, most likely." Dom shrugged. "Trophy cases or classrooms, maybe courtyards. No magic."

Cecilia groaned.

*********

And clean she did.

Later that night, she had reported to McGonagall's office, where she met with James (glares shared around) and Mr. Filch. Mr. Argus Filch was the old caretaker of Hogwarts, always cranky and always eager to punish young witches and wizards. Cecilia couldn't help but feel a little bad for him, however. After all, he was a Squib, unable to use magic, and was constantly surrounded by magic at Hogwarts. It must've been torture, Cecilia couldn't even imagine.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, on the other hand, was a brilliant and proper witch with a discerning gaze that could make anyone listen to her. Her gray hair was in a bun tight atop her head, rigid, mirroring her personality. Although she often was strict, Cecilia could tell she really did care about her pupils. She really was admirable, or at least Cecilia thought so.

"Miss Donahue, are you listening to me?" asked a sudden sharp voice, breaking Cecilia out of her thoughts. She looked up wildly, seeing the stern but kind face of her headmistress.

"Y-yes, Headmistress!" Cecilia smiled sheepishly.

James muffled his laughs and Cecilia shot him a look of bloody murder. He shut up instantly.

"As I was saying," continued McGonagall, unfazed, "You two will be cleaning the trophy cases by the main courtyard first, and as your two weeks progress, will make your way cleaning the courtyard. There's a rather nasty infestation of doxies there, I'm afraid."

Ugh, thought Cecilia, What a way to start my first term on the last year of my Hogwarts career.

"Mr. Filch, if you'll escort them, please." McGonagall nodded her head towards the door and turned, but then turned back and added as an afterthought, "Miss Donahue, as Head Girl, I can't help but say I'm disappointed in you."

Cecilia withered. "I'm sorry, Headmistress. It won't happen again." There was no use in protesting her punishment anymore, the sentence had already been given.

James snickered some more as they left, following Argus Filch. Cecilia pretended not to hear not only him but also the snide comments of the past headmaster's portraits lining the walls.

"That's why us Slytherins don't listen to filthy half-blood Gryffindors," grumbled Phineas Nigellus Black hatefully. "

"Oh, stuff a sock in it, Phineas," Armando Dippet scolded.

As she left the office, Cecilia heard Phineas' rude retort, and then a fed-up sounding McGonagall telling them to shut up and stop arguing.

"Are they always like that?" wondered James aloud.

Filch let out a scratchy cough and cleared his throat noisily before responding. "Unfortunately, Potter."

"Cool."

Mr. Filch led them through the castle, down the grand swiveling staircases, by candlelight. The trio walked in silence. No, wait, quartet, counting Filch's nasty cat, Mrs. Norris, who stalked the halls alongside her owner with almost as much menace. Cecilia was usually fond of cats, but this one, this one was downright vile. Its' matted fur was a disgusting brown and reeked of filth. A soft hiss was constantly trickling out of the feline's mouth, claws bared and hair stood on end. Peeves, Hogwarts resident poltergeist, floated by and poked at the cat, making it screech horribly.

As she watched Peeves glide away, she realized that the castle was quite eerie at night. The paintings were going to sleep and so was everyone else, from the students to the professors. Only the ghosts roamed the halls. Suddenly, a shrill opera voice pierced the air and caused Cecilia to jump, feeling a shiver sent down her spine.

"Who- or what- was that?" Cecilia gasped.

James merely grinned at her, cocking his head. "Sounded like the Fat Lady. She likes to sing sometimes."

"Oh, right, your common room portrait," Cecilia shook her head, attempting to regain her composure. "Do you really call her that, the 'Fat Lady?' That's kind of mean."

"Says you, you Slytherin call your house ghost the 'Bloody Baron.'"

"Well, good point," admitted Cecilia. "He is bloody, though."

"And she's a bit... well... plumper."

"No talking, you two!" growled Filch, waving his lantern at them rather violently.

He escorted them to the courtyard and trophy case, gesturing to the bucket of cleaning supplies for them to use. Cecilia attempted to tune out the caretaker's speech and his repeated instructions in vain. The moon was pretty tonight, she noted to herself. She wished she was back in her common room, stowed away under the Black Lake, wanted to see the flickering green glow of the candles and the squid that swam near the porthole ever so often. She wished she was tucked away in bed by now, under comfortable and warm blankets, bundled up in warmth, surrounded by friends... not out in the cold autumn air, her only companions being Filch, Mrs. Norris, and a certain Gryffindor named Potter.

Soon, Mr. Filch left, having to attend to his other duties, which were, as he put it, "making sure no little maggots get out of bed after hours". He had heard a loud noise coming from Gryffindor tower and "needed to investigate" but Cecilia rationed that he was being daft and it was probably just the portrait singing again. She shook her head and busied herself in shifting through the cleaning supply bucket as he hobbled off in alarm.

"He sure runs stupid, doesn't he?" James commented.

"Stop talking. He might hear you." Cecilia said dryly as they gathered their stuff by the dusty trophy cabinets.

"Doubt it," scoffed Potter, "He's already down the hall. What's with the sour mood?"

Cecilia looked at him as if he might as well as had a house elf perched on his head. "I could be in bed right now if it weren't for you." She accused.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Did you?" Cecilia rolled her eyes, spraying the spray bottle on the glass and wiping. "I must've missed it."

"Well, I'm sorry," James frowned. His voice took a softer, more apologetic tone. "I didn't mean to set them loose." When she didn't reply, he added with a moody, defeated huff, "So now you hate me or something?"

Cecilia sighed heavily, turning to face him. "I don't hate you." She said plainly. "I really don't hate anyone. Hate's a rather strong word. You just don't like to listen."

"Ah, yes, well I suppose that's my headstrong Gryffindor heart speaking, against the logic as always."

She snorted. The corner of her mouth tipped up and her eyebrows sank into a disbelieving gaze, shaking her head at James much like a mother would to her child. "We should get back to work." She noted, turning back to the cabinet.

"You think detention kids actually work?" laughed James.

"The quicker we're done cleaning, the quicker we can get out of this mess right?" Cecilia furrowed her brow.

"Well, I suppose, but whether or not we have a fast pace and an efficient work ethic won't change the fact that we serve for two weeks."

"Maybe we'll make them change their minds." Cecilia mused, pursing her lips as she scrubbed with such intensity James thought she might shatter the glass. "I don't deserve to be here."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Saying stuff like that. I said sorry."

"It didn't sound very genuine."

There was a short pause in the conversation, where only the squeaks of sponges, suds, and rubber gloves could be heard in the empty corridor, before James broke it with a, "You hold grudges, don't you?"

"No," lied Cecilia, scoffing.

James looked at her oddly, sensing that she was lying. He didn't say anything, as he was not able to fully conclude his theory, nor wanting to deal with the consequence of her poisonous words that would for sure follow if he falsely accused her.

"We were getting so well along before, you know." James contemplated. "What happened to that?"

Cecilia remained silent, mulling over thoughts in her head, avoiding eye contact with James.

He grabbed her arm suddenly, frightening her, and positioned himself so that her gaze met his. "Hey," He said firmly. "I said I'm sorry. I really am."

He sounded earnest. The intensity of his eyes shocked and scared her. They were so green, blazing with a fire that surely could never be put out. Cecilia wondered for a moment if these orbs were the famous Potter family eyes. She deliberated with herself wordlessly. Maybe she was exaggerating the whole situation a bit. Maybe Dom had been right about her troublemaking, reckless cousin.

"It's fine," Cecilia said finally, only half lying.

And James knew that was the best he was going to get out of the stubborn, blunt girl. At least for tonight. He smiled slightly at her melodious voice. He tried to hide it, but failed miserably, much to Cecilia's amusement. As she spoke, every muscle in her body relaxed. James could feel it, by holding her arm. It made him acutely aware of the fact that he was touching her, and he dropped it instantly, not wanting to hurt or make her feel uncomfortable. Cecilia took note of this and turned away from him awkwardly.

She grabbed hold of her spray bottle again and began to clean, pretending not to take note of the awkward silence between the two.

The only noise was a limping footstep nearby, probably of Filch. Cecilia actually did think the way he ran was pretty funny.

She looked over at James wistfully, wanting to say something smooth and clever to relieve the obvious tension, but suddenly felt fur brush upon the skin of her lower leg. Looking down, she saw the ruddy fur of Mrs. Norris. She was unexpectedly purring.

"Son of a bitch!" Cecilia screamed the instant claw met flesh. She dropped her bottle on reaction, the cleaning liquid spilling all over the floor. The abrupt shriek made James leap and Mrs. Norris flee the scene quickly.

"What the hell?" James gaped at her with wide eyes.

"That dumb cat scratched me!" She bent down to inspect her injury. Three long, jagged scratches, from her mid-calf to her ankle, through her green-striped knee high socks. It bled freely, soaking the fabric.

"Ugh, I hate that thing." James glared down the hall at the feline, looking like he wished to curse it. "You alright?"

Cecilia drew her wand, pressing it to the cuts. "I'll be fine," She said, furrowing her brow together. "Episkey." The wound healed at once.

"That was brilliant." James smiled in awe at her.

"Not really," She said modestly, trying to fight the flush come to her cheeks with determination.

James offered her a hand and helped her up. He then pointed to a clean, dust-free spot of the trophy case. "Look, I'll be there one day."

"For Quidditch?"

"Yeah," He said proudly. "I'm captain this year, might as well aim high, be next to my parents and all."

Cecilia stared at the names on the golden trophy. Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley.

"Lofty goals," She commented monotonously.

"It's a lot to look up to," James said, his eyes shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm sure you'll do it just fine," Cecilia sensed his change in tone and changed hers accordingly, to a soothing voice she did not even know she had. "Dominique tells me Gryffindor means trouble this year."

"Oh, she's not scared of me, she has the best team Slytherin's had in years-"

"Nah, she's scared." laughed Cecilia unexpectedly. "Told me herself."

James looked astounded and then began to laugh too. "I'm glad," He said, "We'll do our best to give them a run for their own money."

"Hopefully. Nothing easy is ever worth having. I think some Muggle said that once or something. It's a complicated thing, Quidditch. Sometimes Dominique needs a challenge." Cecilia folded her arms within herself, studying the trophy case quite fixedly.

"I'll do my best to conquer mine, too." James chuckled, looking at the petite girl clad in green. Cecilia felt a bit uneasy as she felt his stare. She turned with an intense look contorting her face, and for the second time that night, those same piercing emerald eyes met hers. They always seemed to enrapture her. As Cecilia heard the words flow out of James' mouth like the cool breeze in the night, she got a shiver down her spine. She blamed the chilly air for her sensation, but she also got the feeling that he wasn't exactly talking about Quidditch anymore.