Ava sat at a desk, tapping her quill impatiently against the worn and marked wood. From her position she could see the door to the library and some of the students filing out after finishing their work. Ava and Sasha were still to start their work for the day, continuing their arithmancy project. Her foot wiggled impatiently under the table. Where was he? They had arranged to meet here, hadn't they? Why wasn't he here yet?

Ava was feeling particularly antsy at the moment. Things were getting stranger and stranger as the days went on, but for the last few days she felt as though that magnetic pull in her brain had been loosened. Like something had been clamping her down and suddenly it had relented. She felt more like herself than she had in the last month, and it scared her that she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong.

"Come on, Sasha." She muttered under her breath. She was less eager about doing the work, than picking his brains. Out of everybody in the school, out of all of her friends, it was odd that she felt the only person she could actually trust was the fifth year she had tormented so much. He owed her nothing, and yet she knew deep down that if she needed help, he would help her. It was in his nature, and for once she was thankful of him being so chivalrous.

She couldn't, actually, think he was still going to do that assignment with her.  Surely.  Right?  Granted, Ava Grosvenor had never been, exactly, nice to him.  In the past, most of the time, she was content to ignore him or flash those condescending scowls and glares in his direction that seemed to be a prerequisite for being in the Slytherin house. 

During the Arithmancy class when they were partnered together (actually, when she'd opted to be partner herself with him), Sasha was almost convinced Grosvenor was, actually, trying to be nicer to him.  But, he'd been a fool.  Watching her egg Harper and, especially, Knight on - and even joining in the taunting - had only proven that.  It had been humiliating; she'd enjoyed every moment of his humiliation.  Was she really waiting for him, expecting him to show for their little group assignment? 

He'd briefly convinced himself that it was unlikely Ava Grosvenor was actually sitting in the library waiting on him.  Sitting in the Ravenclaw common room hunched over his potions essay, the minutes ticked on.   But, finally, five minutes after he was supposed to meet her, curiosity (and that nagging sense of obligation) got the better of him.  Against his better judgment, he pushed himself to his feet, gathered his things and reluctantly made his way to the library. 

To his disappointment, she was sitting there in the library, quite prominently.  Prominently enough that there was, unfortunately, no way to pretend  he hadn't seen her.  Sasha knew he was just setting himself up for another round of humiliation but the alternative was to turn and walk out again - both of them fully aware he knew she was waiting for him.  At least it was unlikely she'd do anything in the middle of the library.  It was on the strength of that motivation alone that prompted Sasha to approach the table.  Without looking at Grosvenor, he let his things fall on the table before sitting down himself. 

"Let's get it over with," he said flatly, still avoiding looking at her.  "Do you know what you are doing for your assignment?"  He asked.  With some effort, he managed to avoid adding, I hope so.  But, the more prepared she was, the sooner they'd be done and the quicker he could get away from her.  From between a few sheets of parchment, Sasha withdrew a stationary, muggle photograph and set it on the desk next to his things. 

Fiddling with her quill was boring. Not that doing school work was interesting, but working with Sasha would be. She was curious to find out what his views on her problem would be. Suddenly her eyes snapped up to the door as she caught some movement. She had no doubt it would be someone else, as in the past ten minutes she had looked up everytime someone came in and out of the library, only to be disappointed when it wasn't Sasha.

But it was. Her face lit up as he walked towards her, and she straightened up slightly, setting her quill down on the desk. To smile, or not to smile? She wasn't sure, so she settled with half of each, resulting in an odd lopsided sort of grin that was rather uncharacteristic of Ava.

Her expression fell and her shoulders slumped slightly as his things fell out onto the desk and he refused to even look at her. He had agreed to work with her, so the least he could do was show some politeness like she was attempting to.

His tone was flat and emotionless as he spoke and Ava's brow furrowed slightly as she looked down at the desk. He pulled out a photograph, which Ava could only assume was muggle. It looked like a mushroom on top of a tree stump, and the picture wasn't moving at all. Not that mushrooms made a habit of moving in general, but even the flowers and grass weren't swaying slightly in a breeze.

He asked if she knew what she was doing and she looked up at him, suddenly feeling very small. When had the universe retreated backwards enough for her to feel belittled by him? It was all wrong. A red tint came to her cheeks as she shook her head. "I- I hoped you could help me. I...don't know what to do." The double meaning behind her words made her take in a sharp breath.

"How are you?" she asked slowly.

Unwillingly, Sasha caught a glimpse of Ava as he settled himself in his seat.  Her shoulders were slumped, her features crestfallen.  Almost as if she was disappointed.  What was she expecting?  That he'd pretend things were great and dandy?  That he was actually looking forward to working with her?  Did she really think him that gullible and stupid?  Was she hoping he'd pretend that this was all good and fun? 

If she was expecting that, the expression on his face when he looked up at her again should have dispelled any misconceptions.  The look was fleeting, though, and he quickly turned his attention back to his notebook. 

At first, Sasha muttered a quiet "great" under his breath as she announced she didn't know what she was planning for the project.  His hopes of getting this little rendezvous over with in a timely manner formally dashed.  But, there was something about her response - or more importantly - the way in which she offered it that made him pause.  He looked up, again.  The blush on her cheeks, her uneasy demeanor seemed much closer to the humble and nice person he'd seen during class rather than the she-devil he'd seen on the quidditch pitch. 

Who was likely just toying with him, again he reminded himself. 

He turned his attention back to his books, only to slap it closed when she had the audacity to ask how he was doing.  Confusion and offense scrunched up his face and he shook his head at her. 

"The bruises have pretty much healed and my sides don't hurt, if that's what your asking," he breathed at her, trying to keep his voice down, despite his exasperation.  "What do you want me to say?  That I'm doing great and everything's fine?  That I don't care that you just stood by and watched?  That you're probably laughing at me behind my back?  I ... whatever.  Can't we just get this over with?"  He looked back down at his page and gripped his quill. 

She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this, and was beginning to wish she hadn't suggested they work together. She had thought that Sasha would be the most considerate if she confided in him, but she had proved herself wrong. He would judge her, just as every other person in the school would judge her. Her brow furrowed slightly as she continued tapping the quill against the desk in annoyance, sinking lower and lower into her chair.

She stopped tapping and looked up as he said something about the bruises healing. "Bruises?" She asked quietly, her brows pinched together with genuine worry. What he said next caused her eyes to widen. She stood and watched what? "Laughing..? I'm not- I didn't - I'm not laughing at you!" Her defenses were raised immediately, and her voice got a little louder, causing some people to turn and stare.

Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she shut her mouth just to hear him say he wanted to get this over and done with. "Sasha-" her hand went out and briefly touched the fist that was clenched around a quill. She pulled her hand away quickly and looked down. "What's going on? What have I done wrong?"

This was business.  This was work.  That's how he had to approach it.  Sometimes you had to work with people you didn't like; it was a fact of life.  But, as long as you kept yourself focused on the task at hand and the goal, it wouldn't matter.  With his chin up, Sasha kept his attention fixated on setting up his supplies, laying out his parchment and whatever else he could think of to allow him to avoid looking at Ava.  He didn't need the guilt he felt when he glanced up and across at her increasingly defeated and ... well, small ... appearance.  And, it was foolish, anyway.  He had nothing to feel guilty for.

And, the very least Ava could stop pretending she had no clue what he was talking about.  Maybe witnessing beatings wasn't note-worthy in her diary but to have forgotten it completely?  "Well, at least I know I'm so easy to forget in your world," Sasha said quietly, trying to make it sound offhanded even.  Again, he felt a slight twinge of guilt but it also felt good in its own way. 

But, now, she'd gotten louder and was making that type of scene girls seemed to love making.  Sasha became painfully aware of everyone who was turning in their direction.  His own face was scarlet but Sasha's eyes fixated on the parchment beneath him and tried to ignore everything else. 

Her fingers touched the back of his hand and Sasha flinched.  In an effort to cover up (or distract) from the response, Sasha slapped the quill down on his parchment, spraying a few droplets of ink across the page.  "You can't honestly sit there and tell me you don't remember standing there and egging Knight on as he beat -"  Sasha took a deep breath and, in that moment, his own anger and humiliation ebbed away enough for him to take a good, unbiased look at the girl sitting across from him. 

Something about this was not measuring up.  Of course, this could still be a trick but Sasha forced himself to take another deep breath and swallowed his pride.  "You ... really don't remember at all?"  He asked, more calmly and much more like his normal self.  "You don't remember coming onto the Quidditch Pitch and Harper and Knight ... This was just last Saturday?  You don't remember it at all?" 

He was getting more and more frustrated, she could tell. But she was getting more frustrated too, because she had no idea what he was going on about. She flinched as his quill was slammed on the desk and the droplets of ink played out over the page. Though he didn't finish his next sentence, the anger in his words, and the words he did say forced Ava's eyes wide. "Please say 'beat you in a game of quidditch'." She spoke quietly, her brows furrowed, knowing full well that hadn't been what he was going to say.

He took a deep breath, and she looked up as he spoke to her as though she wasn't a complete monster. "You're mistaken." She shook her head, an incredulous expression on her face. "I-I didn't...it wasn't me." she swallowed and shrugged. "It must have been someone who looked like me. I'm not like that." And it was the truth. Yes, she'd acted unfairly in the quidditch match at the end of the last year, but her intention had never been to hurt anyone - or be hurt in return.

Though, this would explain why things had been so odd lately. Why, suddenly, Callum and Erin had been acting as though she was the most upstanding member of the Slytherin household, and why she had sudden bouts of amnesia, leaving her unable to remember large chunks of what she'd done on certain days. She'd be in the great hall one minute, and in the library the next, with no idea how she got there.

Was Ava serious?  Did she really not remember any of it?  Sasha understood how, perhaps, something like this might not be considered that important or memory-worthy but usually those thoughts just fell out of conscious thought.  It didn't usually leave someone drawing a complete blank on an afternoon's activities.  That wasn't normal.  This wasn't just selective memory - unless Ava was putting forth a very convincing act - this was something more. 

Sasha was well aware that he was prone to being soft - to most people, the few moments of vindictive  bitterness would have been considered almost negligible.  But, it had felt good.  Now, logic was winning over the emotions.  Slowly, Sasha shook his head, actually feeling slightly guilty for dispelling her current optimism.  "No.  There was no 'game of quidditch' though it seemed Callum was trying to beat me into participating in target practice with the bludgers.  Or something."  Sasha brushed back the lock of hair that had been carefully styled to conveniently cover the near-healed bruise above his eye.

"You're right - it might have been someone else who tries to embarrass me by ... you know... like the game."  Kiss was what he'd meant to say but, of course, voicing it was much harder than thinking it.  Sasha was used to being the butt of a lot of teasing and bullying but, so far, Ava seemed to be the only one who used kissing as a humiliation tactic.  Sasha shook his head and sighed.  "It was you.  Well, and the other two Slytherins."

"You really don't remember any of it?  At all?"  Sasha asked.  "What ... what do you remember that day?  I mean - you have to remember something.  Right?"

Ava winced slightly as Sasha spoke - albeit in a softer, calmer, more Sasha-y voice - about Callum 'beating' him into practice. Then he brushed back some well-styled hair to reveal a bruise over his eye that was fading. She gasped slightly, her hand moving to her mouth in shock. After everything she had put Sasha through, all of the times she had laughed at him, embarassed him and exploited his good nature, this was something she would never have wished upon him. Never.

Then he mentioned the quidditch game, and Ava cringed sinking even further - if it was humanly possible - into her chair. This was perhaps the first time in her life she had been humiliated with herself for having humiliated someone else. It was a turning point, a real "Dear Diary" moment. "I-" She what? What could she say to that? Apologise? She was throwing too many apologies around to warrant another being piled on top. She didn't want to seem insincere, and though she was sorry - truly sorry - she didn't want him to think that once again she was playing him for the fool.

She needed his help, afterall.

He asked what she remembered. She swallowed and bit her lower lip, averting her eyes from his direction. The stack of books closest to them, the A-Z encyclopaedia of potions, suddenly seemed very interesting. "I came out to fly around the pitch." Her voice was a little broken, and she cleared her throat to make herself sound less vulnerable, if that were at all possible. "I remember getting to the pitch, hearing voices, and-" she stopped and sighed. "-and then I don't remember anything until I was back in the common room doing homework."

She sighed and finally looked at him. "At the time it didn't seem...odd. It's been happening a lot, lately...minutes...hours, even..." her brows pinched together in frustration. "Times when I don't remember anything. But it's only been in the last day or two when...when it's all seemed so much more noticable." She shook her head and looked down into her hands that were clasped tightly together on her lap.

"I don't expect you to believe me." She spoke quietly. "Or to forgive me. But I am sorry. For...for everything."

He was, perhaps, too gullible for his own good.  As earnest as she seemed, this could all still be a joke - some trick.  It's not like she'd ever, truly, been nice to him - she was usually either ignoring him or joining in with the other Slytherin's mockery.  The closest she'd ever come to being earnestly, thoroughly, kind to him was when she chose to sit with him on the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term.  Even then, it seemed she was there as much for her own amusement following the quidditch game.  He had every right to be suspicious - every right to get up and walk away, even.  But, he didn't.  He couldn't. 

Good grief, he was a gullible prat.  And, he was going to feel like such a fool if this backfired on him.  What was new, though? 

"You weren't the one throwing the strikes," Sasha said as Ava stumbled over her words.  "It's - it's in the past."  He was such a schmuck.  He shrugged, dismissively, when she apologized and flipped his books closed - a clear gesture that he was accepting the importance of this issue.  Especially given how eager he was to finish this exercise as quickly as possible a few moments ago. 

"Are ... are you getting enough sleep?  Have you seen the nurse?"  Sasha asked.  He reached out towards Ava, hesitating awkwardly a moment, before resting the back of his hand against Ava's forehead.  He wasn't sure what information that would Surely, there had to be a simple, organic, normal explanation for this.  Exhaustion and dehydration could, sometimes, mess with someone's memory.  To some extent - maybe more so in witches and wizards.  It seemed an unlikely explanation but who knew.  "How long has this been going on?  I mean - when do you ... last remember this not happening?" 

Regardless of her answers, Sasha knew this was beyond his capabilities.  There would be a limit to how much he could help her - other than to help her find the help she needed.  "You ... you should come talk to the nurse.  Or one of the Professors."  Or, someone that could do something.  Convinced that was the best route to take, Sasha began to gather his things. 

She raised an eyebrow as Sasha's hand came towards her forehead as though testing her for a fever. Her mouth fell open slightly in an 'o' shape. Nobody ever really cared enough to check her temperature. Only the Grosvenor nanny ever did that, and even then she left when Ava was considered old enough to look after herself. After that, she had been expected to fend for herself in every sense except earning money.

"I don't need to see the nurse." She sighed as he took his hand away and continued his medical interrogation. "Oh, I don't know...Just before school started, I suppose." She watched him as he began packing up his things. "Wait, we're not fin-" Her eyes widened as he stated she needed to see the nurse or one of the professors. Instinctively her hand reached out and latched onto his arm, worry etched across her face. "No!" She breathed out helplessly, her brows knitted together. "Please, I don't want to speak to- I just..." She shook her head and looked down, not for a moment loosening her grip on his arm. "I want to talk to you." She swallowed and took in a deep breath. "I need you."

The Slytherin seemed as surprised as Sasha at his gesture of care.  Where it had come from - why it had surfaced, given his previous suspicions, he couldn't say.  But, he was aware something had changed, even if he wasn't sure what it was.  But, whatever the symbolic reasons were for the gesture of care, feeling her forehead produced little in the way of useful information.  She wasn't running a fever; there was no cold sweat.  In his highly unqualified opinion, she seemed healthy and fine.

She insisted on not needing to see the nurse - so far, Sasha hadn't found any concrete reason for insisting that she do so.  Other than, of course, the massive memory loss.  He didn't protest when she took his hand, insisting, again, she didn't need help from the nurse.  He couldn't blame her, though, that new nurse unnerved him slightly.  "Alright," he conceded, sitting back down.  Okay, not seeing the nurse made sense but ... "why me?"  He asked, suspiciously.  "I ... I'm not sure how much I can help, you know?"  But, he was willing to help any way he could. 

"What's ... what's the last thing you remember? I mean - concretely.  Did you ... do you remember falling or hitting your head or something?  You - you should journal, you know?  Try to make notes of when you remember things and not."  Whether it would help, Sasha didn't know, but it seemed a reasonable idea.  Maybe, if she - they found some patterns it might help explain what was going on.  He reopened his books and read over the homework assignment.  Would your fortunes be differently if you'd been named differently?  "You know, we could save this for another day - if you'd rather just talk.  About this."  Maybe the distraction would help; maybe the assignment was relative.  He really didn't know what the appropriate next step was in a situation like this.