Milo Courtney had killed his mother, said the tabloids.

Rumour had it, he'd finally found out where she'd been all these years and turned up on her doorstep. He hadn't even used a wand. He'd done it the muggle way, a dull kitchen cleaver his weapon of choice.

This was all from the gossip section of the Daily Prophet, mind you, but apparently the muggle authorities had found him kneeling beside her, trouser knees soaked through with crimson and hand gripping the blade he'd pulled from her ribs.

That's why five-foot-eleven Cass Hangsworth and five-foot-six Renée Röeder were striding on either side of five-foot-three Milo Courtney, protecting him from the families giving him disgusted looks and the whispered judgments of students, and protecting them from an Angry Milo.

They barely reached that scarlet monstrosity of modern transport when somebody stopped them.

It was somebody's father, saying, "Son, I really don't believe it's the best idea for you to be here."

Milo wheeled around on his heel and stared up into the man's face with a look of unfathomable anger on that soft face of his. "And I don't believe it should be legal for so many people to be stupid enough to believe tabloid gossip, but here we are. Good day, Sir."

He stalked onto the train, leaving Renée to make hurried apologies to the man and Cass to jog after him. Milo was already skulking in the corner of a compartment when they caught up.

"Jesus, Milo," Renée sighed, sitting close beside him and resting a hand on his muscle-hard thigh. "If you don't want them to believe it, don't act so foul."

"I think I've earned the right to act foul, Renée," Milo snapped in response, the gold flecks in his brown eyes flashing fire in the low light. "They all think I killed the woman who gave birth to me. That's the highest order of crime through family eyes."

"But you didn't, and that's what counts," Cass cut in, then added unsurely, "You didn't, did you?"

Renée threw her brown arms up in exasperation. "Of course he didn't, Cass. Who do you think he is?"

Milo snickered and gave a cold smile to a group of twelve year olds staring at him. Renée tugged the shutters down.

"You're not helping yourself, Miles," she snapped. "Stop acting the way they want you to and start acting like Milo Courtney."

"I don't think I'm allowed the Courtney anymore, seeing as I murdered her."

"Milo!" Renée shrieked, finally breaking through his angered haze. "For God's sake!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching out for her hand. She let him take it and squeeze as tight as he needed, and looked him in the face for as long as he did.

Because you only needed to take one look at Milo Courtney to realise he wasn't a killer. He had a face younger than his years, brown doe eyes that watched like an attentive child, a mouth that curved upward despite the hardships of his youth, wavy brown hair that looked like he'd always come back from a weeks-long adventure somewhere unknown, bronzed skin that gave him the glow of the sun all year round. He wore pastel button-ups and brightly-coloured trainers, and he owned more scarves than anybody in their right mind should. He was dating Renée, and if she wouldn't grow up to save lives and help people in trouble nobody would. He was best friends with Cass, who acted tough but was really a sucker for a good romance novel. He was Milo, and he cried when somebody said his name too loudly, and he cried when people pushed him too hard, and he cried with Renée took a nasty spill off of her broomstick last June at the Quidditch finals (Hufflepuff had won anyway, though).

But now his jaw was set and his hands were fists, and he was wearing a faded black t-shirt with a high neck that clung to his broad shoulders and looked too tight on his upper arms. Renée wasn't about to complain about it, but he didn't look like the same person without his soft shirts and cozy scarves.

"You don't have to be the person they think you are, Milo," Renée said softly, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. "You know that."

"I'm going to go and find Javier and Robin," Cass announced. "Unless you need anything else, Miles."

Milo shook his head and offered his friend a smile, but the smile dropped when the door was held open after Cass had disappeared.

"Good summer, Courtney?" Sirius Black greeted, grinning down at the seated pair. Peter Pettigrew was hovering at his side, wearing what he must have thought was a menacing look but looked more like something horrible-smelling had been placed before him.

Renée's eyebrows creased. "Black, can you just leave him alone?"

Sirius's lips quirked as he snarked, "I just wanted to tell Courtney that I think he's really brave. I meant to pull something like that on my mother years ago, but I never could. He's finally grown a pair, and I respect him."

"I didn't do it," Milo snapped. Renée squeezed his hand and he settled slightly. "You don't believe everything the paper tells you, do you?"

"No, but I'd like to think you manned-up enough to do it. Well, goodbye."

Milo's fists were clenched for a while after they left, but he supposed he was meant to be glad. They'd simply taunted him and moved along, rather than jinxing the daylights out of him.

He didn't know why he got so stressed about it. It was only a joke.