He didn't know where to go, at first, after leaving[1] the Headmaster's office. Maybe... Oma.

Johann's mama was kind and sympathetic and everything a boy could want in a grandmother. But Feliks was shy to approach her, to explain what he concealed. Uncle Onuris, too, would be disappointed, and he was not sure if he could face that either. While he dithered this way or that, his feet carried him down passages and stairs.

Feliks avoided the Great Hall, where everyone would soon be gathering to receive the Hogsmeade groups. For all he knew maybe everyone was already back, after Lucinda and Greer were attacked.

He descended into the dungeons, dragging his broom dejectedly - far away from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers, from imagined owls and mysterious packages.

"Sulwen!" Feliks exclaimed as he hopped off the last few steps, catching sight of her coming towards him from the opposite direction. "Did you hear about what happened in Hogsmeade?"

Seeing his housemate made him realise that he wanted to be among his friends more than any grown-up.

1.	17th March - The Only Other Sound

Sulwen smiled at Feliks a little, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her friend. She'd just been thinking about him after finding out that a house elf had called him out of the kitchens. They never did that. Though she was still in her comfortable Quidditch clothes, she had put away her broom and her coat and cleaned up a bit in the dormitory, and had ventured into the halls again to see if she could find Feliks back in the kitchens, or at least to find out more about the very little she'd overheard.

"I heard that SAWS started a fire in the joke shop, and a bonfire in the woods," Sulwen raised an eyebrow, sounding skeptical. Why did the older kids act like such Gryffindors? If any of it were true, all the exciting things happened when she wasn't around to observe them from a distance.

"I was looking for you though. What fire did you just crawl out of?" She nudged the end of his broom playfully with her foot where the bristles dragged on the floor. Maybe then he'd carry it properly.

A fire! He had not heard about any fires.

Feliks brought his broom up with a jerk, so that it shot up a little above his head and then levelled out to float alongside them. "That does not sound like something Zeta would do..." he frowned as he walked on. "Maybe someone else in SAWS did it."

As enthusiastic and fiery his Pepper cousin could be, Feliks did not think she would do anything really dangerous. The boy wizard looked at Sulwen, wondering how to tell her what had happened to him - how he came across what he knew. But he thought maybe it was easier not to explain much first.

"Professor Greyfriar and Professor Storm wanted to see me," he said as he slid on to the broom to sit sidesaddle while it crawled along. "Lucinda and Greer were attacked in Hogsmeade by... um, by somebody with my face."

Again, that irritation in his gut.

"They were there too," Feliks added as he scooted to the end of the broom to give Sulwen space to hop on. "They were SO angry at me! But I didn't do anything to them!"

It took a lot to surprise Sulwen, but this was news she hadn't heard anything about and couldn't have ever imagined happening. Someone had attacked the two werewolf girls in Hogsmeade, the same day of the protest? Why would they pretend to be Feliks when he attended SAWS meetings, sometimes?

"Someone with your face," Sulwen repeated incredulously, taking a seat beside Feliks on the broom. Someone didn't know that Feliks was a first-year, or they were trying to get him into more trouble.

"The professors think it was you?" Sulwen gave a slight shake of her head. Feliks had been with her, playing Quidditch, the whole afternoon. Hufflepuff had been there too, not just Slytherin, so the professors couldn't assume Slytherin was being sneaky and making up stories.

"How serious was the attack?" She lowered her voice, hoping Feliks would do the same.

"I don't think they think it was me..." he trailed off, swinging his legs as the broom crawled along.

If the Headmaster and Professor Storm believed it was him, they would not have let him leave the office just like that, no? Feliks pressed his lips together for a moment as he thought about how angry Storm had been, and how Greyfriar was not his usual understanding self. But that wasn't to do with the attack.

            "How serious was the attack?"

"They looked messy," he answered, matching her tone, "but they did not look very hurt. I think Professor Storm saved them."

Whoever had stolen his face should have thought twice. The Defences professor was terrifying and he was sure that opinion extended into the grown up world too. "Greer thinks I did it, though." Feliks remembered the third year's parting words.

He shook his head and swung his legs harder, eyes spitefully tracking the dungeon passageway ahead.

"If I had attacked them, I would not have used my real face!" Feliks glanced back up at Sulwen. "I'm not stupid."

Feliks wasn't stupid! Just impulsive.

"I know that," Sulwen assured him, giving his shoulder a bump so slight he might mistake it for an accidental touch caused by the broom ride. She didn't hold back while playing Quidditch. But here, in the castle, she reverted to her usual reserved self.

She glanced up at the portraits on the walls. Did they look especially stern, or was it just her imagination? If the professors understood that Feliks wasn't at fault, then that was what mattered, though in the halls of Hogwarts, an angry older student could do a lot of damage.

Sulwen barely knew Greer, but she'd heard lots of rumors about Lucinda's temper.

"You wouldn't have attacked them at all. They should know that. Professor Storm should explain it to them if he hasn't already told them to stop whining," Sulwen said confidently, then glanced at Feliks out of the corner of her eye, her expression less certain. As much as she trusted the scary capabilities of the Defense professor, someone had attacked those Gryffindors and in a way, was also targeting Feliks.

"Who would steal your face?" She wondered aloud without rancor, glancing at his curly hair and unhappy eyes.

He was glad Sulwen did not think him stupid. Feliks was learning new things every day - not only in lessons but about the kind of lives other people at Hogwarts lived when they were not at Hogwarts. And the words he wasn't supposed to use either, like the mudblood incident.

             "Who would steal your face?"

The boy wizard hesitated, glancing at his friend. Lucinda or Greer might start telling people about those gloves but he didn't want to wait for his friends to hear it from them.

"Somebody who doesn't..." he spoke slowly, a complex thought forming with the words. "... who doesn't actually know me."

This, he felt for certain. The note he had received in response to his query was disappointing. It was something you would write to scare someone much younger than Feliks.

They were fast approaching the Slytherin common room, corridors clear ahead for the broom to glide along less slowly. "Um. Last month somebody owled me gloves that were made of werewolf hands," he spoke quickly - neatly skipping over his unwise handling of the medallion. "They think it was the same person."

Feliks shrugged. By now he had gotten over the grotesque concept of the gloves.

Sulwen looked at Feliks curiously. Why would someone who didn't know him want to target him, or the werewolf girls, for that matter? Could it be someone who was angry at Feliks for being the son of Ira Almasy?

It wasn't his fault who his mother was. He had a new family now, and friends at Hogwarts to play Quidditch with. Anyone who knew him should know that. So maybe Feliks was right, and the attacker didn't know him.

Perched beside him on the broom, Sulwen was lost in thought for a moment when Feliks spoke next.

Gloves. Those sounded nice, though winter would be over soon.

Gloves, made out of werewolf hands.

Startled, Sulwen hopped off the broom and stared at Feliks as the broom kept flying gently down the hall.

She paused, then moved forward, walking beside the broom, as they didn't have long to go to reach the common room.

"Gloves made out of werewolf hands," Sulwen lowered her voice further, as she always seemed to do when these things happened to Feliks, and repeated his words, as she always seemed to do when these things happened to Feliks.

Was that as awful as it sounded? Were the hands huge and clawed? How did he know they were werewolf hands? Was a werewolf out there, somewhere, with no hands?

She repressed a shudder.

"Feliks, that's scary."

Scary, and much more serious than she'd imagined. Professor Storm must have saved the werewolf girls before the attacker could have done the damage they'd been intending.

He was only a little surprised by Sulwen's reaction - she was still much calmer than the portrait[1] in Headmaster Greyfriar's office. The broom wobbled as his friend disembarked and he caught his balance without thinking, eyes on the witch. Was everyone going to be like this if they found out?

            "Feliks, that's scary."

Scary? Feliks pressed his lips together in concentration, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. The gloves frightened him at the time but he did not truly understand how to name his feelings. It was more he knew he should be scared, instead of actually experiencing the fear. So he trusted instead in what papa told[2] him.

"I know," he spoke slowly as he slipped off the broom, taking it in hand as they turned into a passageway that led up to the common room entrance. "Someone dangerous sent it. But I do not know why?"

Feliks sighed and glanced at Sulwen. "It is something to do with my mama. I wish she wasn't my mama sometimes," he added irritably, scowling.

1.	19th Feb - The Present is a Gift
2.	Then he took one of Feliks' hands. "Do I feel any different to you?" Balfour asked and Feliks shook his head, words caught in his throat. "Don't give them any more power than how they have already affected you. Understood? Feliks?"

His mama. Someone was mad at him because of what his mother had done, Sulwen guessed. But Feliks had nothing to do with that! No one could help the things their parents did, whether they killed people like Ira Almasy had, or got themselves thrown in Azkaban by awful, vindictive Aurors looking for a scapegoat.

Sulwen didn't know what his mother had to do with werewolves, but Feliks seemed confident that the attack and the gloves were connected to her. Maybe the Headmaster had offered words of comfort for him to be so calm about it. This time, she thought it was a good idea that he'd actually told the Headmaster. First he'd gotten The Lycan book, which hadn't seemed so bad, and now he'd gotten the gloves, which were really bad. Perhaps the packages had come from the same dangerous person?

She looked at him for a long moment, feeling a pang of understanding. That was the thing about pureblood families. Reputation was everything, and even the best names could so easily become tarnished.

"I'm sorry, Feliks," she lowered her gaze. "It's not fair that someone out there is targeting you for her misdeeds."

She turned to the stone wall.

"Deadly Doppelgänger," she spoke the password.

The stone wall slid open smoothly, and Sulwen stepped into the short passage leading into the quiet and cold common room she thought of as her second home.

Today, the air in the common room smelled faintly of the outdoors, of Honeydukes sweets and damp socks, butterbeer and - Sulwen looked around for the culprit - a strange whiff of putrid smoke.

Sulwen narrowed her eyes at one housemate who stared at the pair of them and whispered to another housemate. Still standing close to Feliks, she turned to him and raised her eyebrows in question, unsure what to do after her one moment of reassurance. Should she encourage him to stay in the common room with her? Should she give him space in his dormitory? Should she take his sleeve and run back to the Quidditch Pitch, or cast a discreet Silencio at the rude whisperer?

"Do you want to see if someone's willing to share their sweets?" Sulwen offered with a twinge of hopefulness, well aware of Feliks' sweet tooth.

It's not fair.

Hearing his friend say that out loud felt strange. He had been thinking it without realising - the unfairness of it all. Feliks didn't ask for any of the bad things that happened to him; but then again, he never asked for the good things either. Coming to live with his papa, attending Hogwarts. He had never imagined this life, much less knew to ask for it.

This train of thought, as they entered the common room, brought his indignant feelings to a gentle stop. Those nasty packages seemed small compared to the good things.

With the obliviousness of a boy lost in his thoughts, Feliks gaze swept over the ones eyeing him oddly. "Sweets!" he answered quickly - surprised by how hungry he felt after that confrontation in the Headmaster's office.

They approached the fireplace together, where it was easy to get lost in the swarm of pupils who were either fresh off a day on the grounds or in Hogsmeade. Somebody was boiling a cauldron of sweet smelling drink, while others chatted about their day or the fact that the Hogsmeade trip had to be cut short.