four

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Milo was looking at Wren expectantly, waiting for an answer as to why she had been acting so strange lately.

"You're not allowed to judge me ok?" She pleaded, anxiously twirling a strand of her brown hair around her index finger.

The two were sitting on Milo's bed in his dorm, Milo having kicked his roommates out, one of his pillows in Wren's lap for comfort. The other Gryffindor boys were used to this, packing up their things and leaving the room without even a word when Milo gave them a certain look.

"Wren, I'm not going to judge you." His features were soft, sincere, as if he were upset she would even think that in the first place, "Come on, you can trust me!"

"I know!" She quickly defended, "It's just embarrassing."

Milo laughed, "It can't be more embarrassing than the time I fell over during the sorting ceremony, and then had to sit in front of everyone and get sorted with bright red cheeks."

Wren giggled, "Okay maybe not embarrassing, just," She paused, "Bad."

"Bad girl Wren." He teased with a wiggle of his brows, "Spill."

Wren shot him a glare, "So, you remember on my birthday?"

"Yes," He nodded, "Worst night of my life. No offence."

Wren smiled, "You know when you were sick and you came out and I wasn't at our table?"

Again, Milo nodded, "Yeah, you were in the bathroom?"

"Technically I was at the bar," She rushed to correct him, "But yes, I went to the bathroom."

"I really don't know where you're going with this Wren." Milo stared at his friend blankly.

"Ugh," She sighed. She was really hoping she wouldn't have to spell it out to him. "I was with a man, Milo."

It took him a moment, but the second that realisation dawned on him his expression contorted to that of surprise. Wren had been in relationships in the past but having sex with random men wasn't something she would usually do, and Milo knew that.

"In the bathroom?" He asked.

"Yes." She replied, dropping her head into her hands, "Up against the wall."

She mumbled the last part of that sentence, only for Milo to repeat it louder. She slapped him lightly on the arm, begging him to be quiet.

"I'm sorry but who are you, and what have you done with Wren?" He laughed, swatting away Wren's hand as she tried to slap him again.

"Milo, please!" She urged, she hadn't even gotten to the problem at hand yet.

"You fucked a guy that you met in a bar while you were drunk," He explained, more so needing to hear it for himself out loud. "So what?"

Wren squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to whisper the words, "It was Professor Lupin."

She opened one eye, peeking at her friend's expression. His face was blank, the sound of the cogs whirring in his head nearly audible.

"Are you being serious?"

"Why would I just make something like that up?" She snapped, looking at Milo with her brows pinched together in a look of disbelief, small frown lines appearing on the olive skin of her forehead.

The deadpan look on his face quickly turned into a wide smile, "Oh my god! You're so gonna pass Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

*

Wren was not built for Quidditch. Unlike Milo, who was zooming through the air with sheer determination, Wren was struggling to simply hover, wobbling dangerously on her broomstick.

"Get in goal!" Milo shouted over the noise of the wind. Although sunny, the wind was tangling itself in the brown curls of Wren's hair and making balancing on the broom ten times harder.

Wren shot her closest friend a sceptical glance, before positioning herself in the centre of the large, circular goal post. Milo was one of the most talented beaters that the Gryffindor Quidditch team had seen in a while and Wren was, well, not on the Quidditch team.

It wasn't that she didn't like Quidditch exactly, just that her father's skill and fame in the sport hadn't been passed down; Thomas Winslow had been the Slytherin captain during his time at Hogwarts, bringing his team to glorious victory nearly every time they played. Professor McGonnogal had practically forced Wren to try out in her third year, obviously expecting great things, only to watch her quite literally crash and burn.

She steadied herself, before letting go of the broom with one hand to tuck her hair into the collar of her jacket. A knitted jumper and a thick puffer coat were wrapped around her torso, protecting her skin from the bitterness of the wind, no matter how gentle it may be.

"Are you ready?" Milo asked. He had the Quaffle under one arm, his right hand holding onto the broom and his bat simultaneously. Wren had no idea how he hadn't yet fallen off.

"Not really." She replied, but Milo had already thrown the Quaffle up into the air. The red ball collided with the wood of his bat with a threatening thud, before hurtling towards Wren at a speed too quick for her brain to comprehend.

The ball flew past her, missing her head by only a few scary inches.

"You're supposed to at least try to catch it." Milo sighed, as he repositioned himself before her again, Quaffle tucked back into his left armpit.

"How am I supposed to catch it when you throw it like you're trying to knock me off?" Wren huffed, eliciting a mocking smile from Milo.

The two went on like this for another twenty minutes, Wren not being able to catch a single ball. Not for lack of trying though - she had attempted to grab at the Quaffle the best she could without tumbling from her broom and falling to her inevitable death.

"Mr Shaw?" A shrill voice cut through the slight whistle of the wind, drawing both Milo and Wren's attention. Professor McGonagall was peering up at them from the edge of the Quidditch pitch, long trench coat layered over her cloak. Next to her, much to Wren's dismay, was Professor Lupin.

Milo dove to the ground, landing effortlessly just before the two professors. Wren's landing wasn't as majestic, as she nearly tripped and fell straight into Professor McGonagall.

"Sorry professor," Milo spoke through laboured breaths, "Wren was just helping me practise."

McGonagall looked to Wren with a worried glance, "I think you may need a better partner, Mr Shaw."

Wren's hair has escaped the confines of her coat collar, sitting in unruly waves across her shoulders, and her cheeks were painted a scarlet red.

Milo scoffed, "She's trying her best."

Wren tried to speak through ragged breaths, though she wasn't sure anyone understood what she was saying, "It's... really.. windy!" She turned away for a moment, mumbling to herself, "God, I'm unfit."

"Get on your brooms." Minerva instructed with a wave of her hands as she walked further onto the pitch. Lupin quietly followed suit. Wren shot a worried glance at Milo, who simply shrugged and followed their professors onto the pitch.

He turned and shot Wren a warning glare as she hadn't yet started following, causing her to sigh a huff of annoyance as she trudged behind Milo across the damp grass.

McGonagall took the Quaffle from Milo's grip and handed it to Wren, before the two students found their positions only a few feet above the ground.

"There's no point in practising your aim with a goalie who can't catch," Minerva's hand found the slight curve of her hips, "But, she can throw."

Wren was sure she heard the woman whisper a hushed "I hope" to the professor beside her, who had to practically wipe the smirk from his lips. Professor McGonagall turned out to be a rather harsh coach, a fact that only made Wren all the more grateful for not making the team.

Wren only managed to throw the ball a couple of times before their professor summoned them back down to solid ground. "Miss Winslow," She started, with a slight shake of her head, "That is not how you're supposed to sit on a broomstick!"

Wren went to protest, to make fun of the fact that there was a specific way one was supposed to straddle a piece of wood, but was rendered speechless by Remus' rather large hand pressing against the small of her back.

Her eyes met with his, her breath hitched in her throat.

"You're supposed to," His voice was gentle as he pushed lightly on her back, "Lean forward a bit."

Remus had to force his eyes not to drift down to the arch of her back, instead opting to hold eye contact. His hand was still resting on her back despite Wren leaning forward how she was supposed to. Minerva seemed to be unaware of the situation unfolding in front of her.

Milo coughed in an attempt to get Remus' attention, "Did you used to play Quidditch, Professor?"

Wren's eyes lingered on Remus for a moment longer, before her gaze fell upon the animated expression of her best friend. Remus quickly withdrew his hand, intertwining his fingers and clasping them behind his back; He wasn't sure he could stop his hands from finding their way back to the curve of Wren's body if they weren't firmly held behind him.

It wasn't even because of the way her trousers hugged at her body, but for the fact that he had seen what was underneath them.

"Uh," Remus found himself fumbling over his words, "No. But I used to help James Potter practice."

Milo's face lit up, "Oh my god! You were friends with the James Potter?"

McGonagall cut in before Remus could reply, "They were pretty much brothers."

She gave Remus a small smile which he returned, before turning back to Wren. "Right, go on then," She ushered, "Get back up there."

Wren and Milo knew better than to protest against their professor's instructions, as they kicked off from the dew-covered grass, Wren still wobbling on her broom slightly despite her newfound position.

Milo shot her a small apologetic look, not noticeable to the two professors only a few feet below them. He was balancing perfectly, both hands holding the wooden bat out to his left, ready to pound it against the Quaffle once Wren had worked up the confidence to throw it.

She lifted the ball to be parallel with her head, launching it feebly in her friend's direction. Her throw was weak, pathetic, the ball just about reaching Milo. With the sudden movement, and only one hand to hold her steady, Wren suddenly lost her balance on her broom, a small gasp leaving her lips as she struggled to recover.

She practically flipped, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt her body fall through the air. Her back hit the ground, ridding her body of all the wind as a sudden pain shot through her head.

The little sunlight peeking through the clouds was blocked by a tall and broad figure as Remus knelt down beside Wren, his hand gripping her arm.

"Wren," He whispered, a tone of worry lacing his voice that was too strong for just a professor checking up on his student, "You ok?"

Wren managed to open her eyes, squinting at Remus as he leant over her. This was the closest he had been since the night in the pub and so, through her partial delirium, she took a moment to look into the mesmerising deep brown of his eyes.

"Wren?" He reiterated, his brows furrowing in confusion as Wren began to giggle; A small sound that gradually developed into a manic laugh as she threw her head back.

Milo appeared on the other side of her, kneeling on the grass opposite Remus. The platinum blonde of his hair was practically sparkling in the sunlight, as he too started laughing. It felt as though the two students were speaking a different language entirely, as their laughter only grew with each glance at the other.

Remus stood, shaking his head slightly in disbelief as he made his way over to where McGonagall was standing. The elder professor was also shaking her head, but mainly due to her utter disappointment in how awful Wren was at Quidditch.

"Kids." She shrugged, with a small raise of her brows.

*

Multiple owls of different shapes, colours and sizes soared above the Great Hall in a blur, loudly screeching as they dropped down to deliver students' mail.

Most would be receiving a carefully handwritten letter on how much their parents were missing them, or little reminders to get some new shoes, or a new quill, next time they ventured into Hogsmeade.

Wren didn't receive parchment sprawled with words of admiration, an owl instead landing next to her on the long oak table with the latest edit of the Daily Prophet clasped in its small beak.

She shot the owl a weak smile as it dropped the newspaper, its shiny black feathers perfectly pruned.

"Hello, Lils." Wren sighed as she patted the owl between the ears. With a huff, Lils took a small step back, the bush of her brow furrowed.

"Oh, sorry!" Wren quipped, rooting around in her cloak pocket for a rogue owl treat. Lils was Snape's owl and he had taught her to be just as cold hearted and judgemental as he was, but the owl had a special place in her heart for Wren after watching her grow up.

Another trait that Snape and his owl seemed to share.

As the girl handed Lils the treat, she nuzzled the soft part of her head into Wren's arm before letting out a rather loud screech as she flew away.

The paper was folded, a random article about how "purple capes have turned frumpy" and that "the colour black is chic and timeless" printed on the back.

Milo's voice cut through the hammering of Wren's heart from beside her, "My father broke his toe.. again." He sighed with a shake of his head.

Wren stifled a laugh, "How? Is he ok?"

"He stubbed it on a curb." Milo said as his eyes scanned the words on the letter, "I swear he would have been dead by now if it wasn't for my mum."

Milo's last sentence reminded Wren of her own parents for a brief moment; There had been countless times during her childhood when little Wren was hiding in her room, listening to her parents argue and praying to a God she didn't even believe in that Thomas wouldn't snap and kill her mother.

She shook the thought from her head.

Wren could feel Snape's beady watch from across the hall, as she opened the newspaper to read what was on the front page - to read what the feared professor wanted her to know.

Big, bold writing spanned the page, the title reading;

THOMAS MERLIN WINSLOW

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

Wren couldn't help but roll her eyes; Who did the Daily Prophet think they were writing made up, nonsensical bullshit about something they couldn't even begin to imagine. Her gaze lifts to meet that of Snape, as he gives her a tight lipped smile and a small shake of his inky bob, as if to say "idiots!"

Every time the Winslow's were mentioned in the infamous newspaper, Snape would get Wren to read it. He saw it as a friendly, keeping her in the know sort of thing. Wren saw it more as torture.

She drops her head again to read through the article, the first paragraph already making her feel sick to her stomach.

Thomas Winslow is widely known in the wizarding community as one of You Know Who's right hand men. He spent years curating his master's werewolf division, helping him build an army of vicious beasts one furry paw at a time. That's the bad, so now let's get onto the good.. THOSE ABS!

Wren couldn't help the grimace that donned her face as she re-folded the newspaper, not wanting to read any more of that printed nonsense any longer. With a hushed 'incendio', the paper curled up mid air before bursting into a bright array of orange and red flames. A small spark landed on Wren's arm, sizzling as it touched her soft skin.

Milo's eyes were wide with shock, "What was that?" He asked.

"Just.." Wren thought about what to say for a moment, "Tabloid bullshit."

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