, Mr Snape Wannabe ran, more like sprinted, over the homework. The entirety of the lesson had been used up by his slow, painfully so, talking, yet when it came to the thing he would punish you for not doing well enough let alone at all, he flew through it like there was no tomorrow.

I began packing up my things along with everyone else once the lesson did finally end. Most people had already fled from the classroom by the time I flung my bag over my back and was making my way towards the door.

"Ms Dubois," he said, voice as slimy as his hair. "You need to be engaged in lessons."

"Yes, I know, Sir. It's just that I-"

"No excuses," he cut in, and then gestured around him. "Attwood is the most prestigious school in the country, as you well know. People work their entire lives to get in if they do not have the pocket otherwise. Don't waste your opportunity."

He was staring so intently that I found it difficult to maintain eye contact. His beetle-like eyes were so slicing that I found it difficult to not feel like squirming, not to mention that with every time the light caught them, it seemed as if the beetles were truly moving about.

"I- Yes, I know, Sir. I'll be back to normal next lesson, promise."

He took a moment, but seemed bored within seconds. "Quite right."

He turned back to his desk, actively telling me that the conversation was indeed over. Taking my cue, I ran (well, paced because running was forbidden and would warrant at least triple the fore mentioned homework), almost launching myself through the door.

I collided with something hard.

Fuck, I've run into a wall again. Such an idiot.

But, as I began to fall, like in slow motion, two hands caught me. It took me far longer than it should have to clock that most walls didn't have arms, so the probability of this wall having arms was... slim.

"Mr Jawl, hey?" Archer asked when I pulled away to look up at him, nodding his head to where I'd just been. I stepped back to give our bodies some distance and dusted myself off.

He was wearing his renowned trench coat, but that was to be expected. It was suited well to the harsh cold, but I wondered if he wore it all year round. You know,for the aesthetic. It seemed like something he would do. Pretentious asshole.

"Yeah, you've had him?"

"No," he laughed, eyes alight. "Thank god. But I've heard the rumours."

"Okay, well the rumours, ten times worse."

"Really that bad?"

"Really."

Strange though it was to have a normal conversation with Archer Redwood or as Jack so expertly named him and what I shall call him from this point forward, Mr Rich Boy, it didn't feel all that abnormal. Like for a moment, only a split second, everything felt like it did prior to Attwood and the carnage that ensued after getting here.

I'm not quite sure if I was glad that Miles came up to us at that moment or whether I would have liked to be able to just cling to that normality a tiny bit longer.

"I'm going to steal your girlfriend for a few seconds, that alright?" He asked him.

Archer's eyes flickered from him to me before he nodded, the light smothered ever so slightly. At this, Miles took me by the arm and began dragging me off in the other direction. I looked back to see him standing there a moment, before turning as we had and walking the way, I imagined, he'd come.

Miles stationed us out of earshot and view and began bombarding me with questions, a varied nature to them.

"Literally nothing is going in," I told him, pointing to my head. "Slow down."

He huffed, but asked more calmly and slowly, "Let's start with, how the fuck did you secure that fine piece of arse?"

"It's a long story," I said, picking at my nails. "A little boring, really."

He stared. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it is. Seriously, what the fucking fuck?"

So, I started telling him what I hoped was a believable story, trying to keep it simple but slipping in minor details every now and then that I hoped I'd remember for the next time I had to recite this load of bull.

He nodded, taking it in. I genuinely began to think he didn't believe me, the occasional 'mm's and 'hmm's were less than encouraging. "That's mental. Actual madness," he said. "You better be sure to get yourself in that will."

"Secure the bag," I joked.

"Ask if he's got any cousins for me."

We left the confides of where we were and chanced which direction to walk in.

"Please," I said, jabbing him with my elbow as we went. "They'd run a mile."

He tugged at a few strands of his tightly curled hair and brought them down to his chin. "Yeah, into my arms."

"Whatever you say, mate."

"Wait, wait I gotta show you something. I went exploring the other night and I found this place. It- god, it's amazing."

So, he began leading me this way and that, up there and along here, past the paintings I knew and paintings I didn't, until we were confronted with a door. It was pretty old and looked a tad worse for wear— brittle to touch and with small chunks having been taken out of it.

Even still, Miles didn't look in the least bit bothered by the door's appearance. Instead, he checked there was no one around, before using most of his weight to push on it. It jolted open.

"Gets stuck sometimes," he told me. I followed him through the door, getting the distinct whiff of damp and staleness, like the room hadn't seen the light of day in years and years.

Together, we journeyed up the narrow staircase, Miles reminding me to watch my step in the darkness. I did so, watching carefully each time I transferred my weight to another stair.

"Miles, are you sure this is the right place?" I asked, when it seemed this set of stairs would eventually lead to nowhere and in the darkness and with no railing, I was feeling less than secure.

He reached the end, me a narrow step behind him.

Instead of reaching for the bare wall in front of him like I'd expected, he reached upwards. With an almighty push, even greater than the one needed for the door, he pushed the ceiling. Like magic, a crack of light appeared.

"Ye of little faith," he said with a grin as we both peeked our head through the opening to see what it had hidden. He pulled himself up first before offering me a hand. I took it and heaved myself up onto the wooden flooring, too.

All around were the remnants of what must have been an astronomy tower. There was a large opening, glass covered, out of which you could see the entire sky. Dotted around the room were parts of machines and such that were just about covered in dowdy cloths to keep them protected.

Miles yanked at one. An avalanche of dust ensued, to which we both seemed to be close to hacking up our lungs at our coughing fits. Once it had resettled, though, he lay it down on the ground and sat on it. He patted the space beside him, so I, begrudgingly, seated myself as well.

"So, tell me," he said. "Is one accompanying the Redwoods and the other Elite to the Alpes this encroaching year?" He said in a very put on posh accent.

"What do you mean?"

"You know," he said, once again returning to his usual tone. "They always go on a skiing holiday, don't they? Are you going?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't been asked or anything."

"Tell me when you do."

"When? If I do, you mean."

"When you do," he emphasised. "We should really come here tonight, you know. See the stars and all that."

"Didn't know you were into that sort of stuff," I sighed, turning to him. "You'll be telling me how my star sign means I'm about to have an unwanted guest come into my life or something."

"We're not at that stage yet, but you never know. Could happen."

"God save me the day it does."

He gave a derisive laugh. "I'll be using the stars to tell you about your heartbreaks and health, and you'll be grateful."

"Okay, okay," I laughed. "I'll be grateful. Maybe need to take you to a doctor, but I'll be grateful."

"Damn right."

(3/12)