Chapter 4
Hermione excused herself from her seat at the bar, walking towards the bathroom.
As she was walking back, she saw the man she’d been talking to slip something in her drink.
Sighing, she sat at the other end of the bar and ordered a new one, watching the bartender as he made it.
~*~
Neville had just been trying to walk home from the shop. He’d been wearing baggy sweatpants and an even baggier sweatshirt.
He’d taken all the precautions damnit.
His house was only a few blocks down, and normally he would floo, but he was in the mood for some fresh air.
He shouldn’t’ve walked. He knew the dangers of walking alone at night.
Thank god they hadn’t snapped his wand.
He dragged himself, covered blood and come, towards his wand. Once he reached it, he apparated to his bed and collapsed sobbing.
He shouldn’t have walked.
~*~
Luna knew everyone thought she was barmy.
But she didn’t mind, what people didn’t understand they either mocked or feared.
She was glad for her few friends, but people’s words still hurt. She tuned them out as much as she could, worked on articles for the Quibbler, searched for crumple-horned snorkacks, and meditated until she was blue in the face. But she could never seem to block them out completely.
There were always moments of quiet, and in those moments, she had urges.
She’d been ignoring them for so long, but it got harder too with each passing day.
Of course, it would be easy to simply capitulate. To spell just one more line into her scarred skin.
But no, she mustn’t.
She keeps a constant stream of chatter with the creatures and people and even herself if no one else was around.
And so, her wand doesn’t get further bloodied, nor her arm further carved.
~*~
Blaise Zabini hates this part of drag.
The walking-home-being-catcalled-and-assaulted-and-harassed part of drag.
No matter how much fun you have while in drag, and no matter how much you love it....
There’s always this part.
The part that ends in bruises and broken bones. The part that had broken his nose.
The part that would have killed him if he wasn’t a wizard.
Muggles or not, he cursed them to hell and back and then apparated to the nearest hospital.
His arm was snapped, his lung punctured, his leg stabbed, and his clothing absolutely destroyed.
But he’d be fit as a fiddle in the morning, magic and all, and then he’d go home.
And then he’d do it again next week.
~*~
Draco Malfoy is in a bathroom stall.
There is a large man pounding on the door.
He can’t apparate from inside the club, there are wards and charms against it (to prevent drunk apparating and splinching).
So he is stuck.
“Open the door you little cocktease!”
He sobs and crushes as far into the corner as he could.
Suddenly the door bangs open, and he goes completely silent.
The stalls start opening, until his is the only one left.
The door slowly opens to reveal a large beefy guy with a terrifying grin, “I found you.”
He lunges forward and grabs Draco, lifting his short skirt and palming his ass.
“Please, please, leave me alone,” he was full on sobbing now.
The man leans down and whispers into his ear, “If you didn’t want to be fucked you shouldn’t have worn such a slutty outfit.”
When he felt dry fingers probing his hole, he screamed bloody murder and kicked as hard as he could.
“HELP ME! HELP ME PLEASE! ANYONE PLEASE.”
“No one is going to help you,” he rips off Draco’s skirt and slicks himself up with his spit.
Just as he was about to push in, the door is blown open and someone tackles him off.
Draco collapses to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself and sobbing.
Someone touches his shoulder and he flinched violently, “Please don’t touch me, please, help me, anyone, ple-ase.”
“Hey, it’s me, it's okay, shhhh. We got him taken care of ok? Let’s get you some clothes.”
A jacket is draped over his shoulders and he’s lifted into strong arms while he continues to sob.
He’d just been trying to have some fun. He’d thought he’d looked good.
Never again. Never. Again.
~*~
Ginny Weasley didn’t want to be Ginny Weasley anymore.
They weren't a she, they were a they.
And their mother didn’t believe them.
“You’ve always been fine before.”
“You’re too young to know.”
“You are my only girl and you will stay that way!”
They’re 18 now though.
They get their testosterone and their top surgery, they pay for it themselves.
Fred, Bill, and Charlie were the only ones supporting them.
They helped them through the hormone drop after surgery, and the testosterone dip in between shots, and they used their proper pronouns and name.
Ron refused, saying that, “Ginny just needs some time to experiment, it’s just a phase. It’ll pass just like her other ones.”
Forrest was kicked from the Burrow, but Fred let them stay in the apartment above the shop.
They hate the slurs, and all the abuse, and the discrimination.
But god did it feel amazing every time someone referred to them correctly.
So they’d suffer through the bad, for the good.
~*~
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were “best friends”.
None of the other boys mentioned when they woke up in the same bed, or drank from the same cup, and ate from the same for.
But the Slytherins aren’t so quiet.
There’s always a whispered ‘fag’ when they pass the snakes in the hall, and they’d each gotten notes in their books and potions in their food.
There was the time they’d been cornered in the Astronomy tower, and the time Seamus had had to drag Dean from the edge of it.
There was another time that Dean had found Seamus hanging from the ceiling, and he’d learned that Seamus hadn’t put himself there.
They’d tried telling adults, but “Kids could be cruel” and they were sent on their way.
So they kept each other from drowning, and stuck together when they could.
And when they died years later, they would be buried together, ‘best friends’ in life and in death.