Zelda Sellaphix affixed a kiss on both her eldest son's cheeks.  Figaro tolerated the gesture like a good lad, but as soon as he was released started looking around.  His 10-year-old brother Frank was sulking - he worshipped his older brother and would continue to sulk for a few more weeks.  Zelda Sellaphix on the other hand, while she missed Figaro when he was at school, would be somewhat relieved to have the rowdy 16-year-old out of her hair.  The family Apothecary was open again and running it by herself was no easy task, although business was barely trickling in.

"Remember what we talked about, Figaro," she told him.  "The best thing you can do is get your head down and get to work.  Your O.W.L.s are important and I do not want another note from your Head of House."

Figaro, however, wasn't paying attention - his eyes scanning the platform and waving at his mates as he saw them going through the same ritual.  But Zelda was not joking and she rapped him on the head.  Frank finally cracked a smile.

"Mind your mum, Figaro! What did I just tell you?"

Impatient Figaro rolled his eyes.  "I get it, I get it.  Can I just go?"  But the look his mum gave him then made him check his tone.  "Sorry, yeah.  I'll do better."

Zelda seemed satisfied and kissed his head again.  "Get on, then. Say good-bye to your brother, Frank."

Frank hugged Fig around his middle and then went back to sulking.

"Bye, then!"  he shouted and barged up towards the nearest car.



He barged through the noisy train corridors, shoving past people and greeting them loudly.  He'd been grounded for most of his time at home, and not being a letter-writing sort, he'd been completely bored out of his mind.  All he wanted to do was catch up with his mates.  As he went through the train, he opened the door to every compartment and shut it again when he didn't find who he was looking for.  The occupants either protested loudly or didn't have time to as he made his way in this fashion down the way.

Finally, he opened one to find Sasha Schlagenweit.  He heaved his trunk onto the rack and shucked his heavy winter robe onto the floor and pulled off his sweater.

Hair static-y and face grinning he nearly shouted at the other fifth year, "Oi yea! Sasha, what's up, mate?"

For the first time in Sasha's Hogwarts career, the young Ravenclaw hadn't seen himself to the train.  Compared to previous years when Sasha took the train from Guildford to London on his own, having both Jacoba and Dreogan there on the platform to see him off had been a proverbial - and welcome - crowd.  It was a little strange offering both of them goodbye but, after accepting their words of encouragement, he hoisted a small backpack to his shoulder.  His trunk and most of his belongings were, presumably, still where he'd last seen them when he'd left his dorm room for Transfiguration almost seven weeks ago. 
 
Strange glances followed him as he climbed onto the train and weaved his way down the corridor.  Many of the glances seemed curious; a few - he wasn't sure, but - seemed almost suspicious.  He did his best to disregard all of them, and focused on trying to an empty compartment.  He tugged a few books free from his bag and dropped them on the seat closest to the window before tossing the bag up in the luggage rack. 

At regular intervals, a stray face would peer through the window of the compartment but, in most cases, they quickly passed on, much to Sasha's relief.  There were even fewer people than usual that Sasha would be pleased to see joining him.  Hoping to appear as unapproachable as possible, Sasha set the spare books on the seat next to his and lay one open across his lap. 

The door slid open and a familiar voice broke through the silence.  Unfortunately, the blond Hufflepuff that stepped into the compartment was not listed amongst those Sasha was pleased to find joining him.  Which was a strange feeling; Sasha had always considered Figaro a friend though, if the rumors Fergie had heard were true, Sasha really wasn't sure what to think of the Hufflepuff anymore.  Cognitively, Sasha knew Figaro wasn't to blame for anything beyond falsely accusing Sasha of cheating but, emotionally, it was hard to disconnect that one event from everything that seemed to have followed in its wake.

Not to mention Figaro hadn't even bothered to tell Sasha.  Even now, the Hufflepuff was greeting Sasha as if nothing had happened.  Maybe it wasn't true; maybe the rumors were just that.  Or, maybe it was true and Figaro was just intending on continuing to lie to Sasha. 

"How was Professor Ramsey's midterm?"  The question was presented in a cold, flat tone.  He tried to meet Figaro's gaze.  It was a highly unusual gesture for Sasha but he was certain, even if Figaro continued to lie, he'd be able to see the truth in the boy's reaction to the question.

"Ho, gods!" Figaro exclaimed dumping himself into the seat across from Sasha and putting his legs up, nearly atop Sasha's books.  He wiped his face with his hands and looked at Sasha with an expression of pure exhaustion.

"You're so lucky you missed that," he gushed insensitively.  Figaro seemed to have the memory of a goldfish sometimes.  He was so excited that life was returning to something resembling normal that he wasn't really thinking about what Sasha had been dealing with - still dealing with - since November, what had happened to him over winter holiday.  And even in this  moment, he wasn't thinking at all about the errand he'd run for Devlin Matthews and for which he'd framed Sasha, likely contributing to Sasha's unfair suspension.

"It was brutal.  I nearly trolled it.  Mum came at with me with an axe over that one," he said with a pained look on his face.  He exhaled in a whoosh and shook his head.

"Glad it's over.  Don't have to worry about that class again until O.W.L.s.  So what about you - you got to make all that up? Don't suppose you had much time to get to it over holiday.  Bad luck, mate."

Figaro's story-telling was so passive, so casual.  All he felt was relief to be with Sasha again.  It was strange even, considering he hadn't seen or heard from Sash for two whole months when they'd grown accostmed to seeing each other every single day.  It was just nice to be back.  It seemed business as usual that Sasha was sullen.

The Ravenclaw's eyes were glued to the Hufflepuff as he casually dropped himself into a seat on the opposite bench. At first, Sasha was tempted to assume the casual response meant the boy was innocent.  He really wanted that to be the case, after all.  But, when the other boy plowed on into general comments about midterms and the holidays, it occurred to Sasha that he could just be ... well ... Figaro. 

Was it naivity that made Sasha want to give the boy the benefit of the doubt?  Or, after having lost so much, perhaps it was some foolish need to hold onto whatever he still had as tightly as possible.  "So, you got your grades already?"  Of course, that shouldn't be Sasha's first concern but it was.  But, he didn't like the idea that everyone had their marks when he had yet to sit his.

Sasha blinked at Figaro, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.  "Well, if you worry about it a little more during the semester, there'll be less to worry about come O.W.L.s"  It seemed logical to Sasha, at least - enough so he wasn't sure why it wasn't logical to the Hufflepuff. 

"If they'll let me," Sasha replied with a shrug, looking down at the book in his lap.  He scowled, frustration wrinkling the skin around his eyes.  "I was suspended for academic reasons, though, so they're not obligated to.  And, I don't see Professor Ramsey bothering to write another exam for me."  He'd only sat one of her detentions, after all.  Was she going to make him make up those?  Was she just going to flunk him on the exam?  What about the new professors? 

What if none of them let him sit the exams?  Or didn't give him time to catch up on the material he missed?  He'd missed five weeks of lessons - over a third of the term.  Was he ... Was Sasha going to flunk all his midterms?  He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. 

"I didn't get to any of it," he admitted.  "I didn't think I was coming back; I thought I was changing schools."

Figaro refrained from rolling his eyes at Sasha for his friends' sake.  Academic advice from Sasha was as frequent as anything else, but Sasha's seemed kind of off, maybe, so Fig didn't give him any grief.  He was probably right, anyway.

Even though the train hadn't even pulled out, he ripped into the snacks his mum had sent with him.  He dug his fingernails into a big orange, a little spritz of citrus sprining up, filling the car in a fresh fruit scent.  He tore off a little peice of the flesh skin, a circle about twice the size of a galleon.  Then, instead of finishing the peeling job, he brought it up to his mouth and dug his teeth in and sucket at it loudly. Squeezing it in both hands.  He'd always claimed it was the best way to eat oranges.

But he brought it down and stared at Sasha incredulously.

"Wait what? The hell would you change schools for? You'd be just as behind, woudln't you? You weren't going to actually go to that muggle horse school were you?  C'mon mate, it's not all that bad, right? Least your friends are here at Hogwarts."

More orange now as Figaro raised his eyes waiting for Sasha to loose the gloominess and admit he had it good.

An orange scent filled the train compartment, followed closely by the particularly loud and uncouth sound of Figaro extracting the juices from the fruit.  As if the boy's method of eating were something inappropriate and worthy of privacy, Sasha let his head fall back against the back of the seat and turned to peer out the window.

Sasha's attention was still trained out the window when there was a break in the slurping so he missed the incredulous stare the Hufflepuff offered him.

"It wasn't my choice," Sasha said, a touch of defensiveness in his voice as he turned back towards Figaro.  So, the other boy's first assumption had been that Sasha had been choosing to run away?  Granted, there were brief moments when the thought had occurred to him but they'd never lasted long and he'd never taken them that seriously.  "I never wanted to run away even if everyone thinks I'm some cheating troublemaker." 

"I got suspended."  Whether or not those rumors were true, it was inevitable Figaro knew about them.  They'd been all over the Prophet after all.  "They had to tell my parents about-"  His voice faltered and turned back towards the window, watching the ground outside the window start to move as the train lurched into motion.  "I was getting sent to a different school; it wasn't my choice.  I wasn't running away." 

Sasha took a deep breath and held it before looking back towards Figaro.  Seeking a conversational diversion, he plowed onto getting whatever gossip there was to get about school.  "What's been going on?  Was Transfiguration the hardest midterm?  What about Runes?  And - what are the new Professors like?" 

Sasha had a point about that - it was the adults who'd decide where he went to school, as if it had anything to do with them.  School was school - what'd they care what Sasha wanted?  That thought made Figaro smirk sympathetically.  Meddling adults, throwing things out of control.

"It's all the same, mate," Figaro reassured him, blandly.  Something Sasha had said brought up a nasty little lump in his throat.  Something he'd been trying to forget about.

"Ravenclaw won that Quidditch match - Peyton caught the snitch.  And the Creatures professor and me are well good chums.  Trolled runes, big surprise.  Kelyn kissed Aiden.  Everyone missed you, blah blah blah, good story," he rattled off dismissively.

"Look, I thought you got suspended for like... SAWs or something.  Or being muggleborn or some bollocks.  Ramsay turned you in...? For...that...?"

He didn't want to have to say it, so he shoved the orange in his mouth again. Figaro had thought that Ramsay would just stop at detention - Figaro could have lived with that.  Ramsay hadn't even told his his parents, let alone the Headmistress.  But Professor Ramsay turned in Sasha? Fig had thought her ... cooler than that.  But that's why Sasha was out of school for two months and might have to fail some classes because of Figaro's big stupid lie? Not very  much fun.

It wasn't all the same but Sasha doubted there was anything to be gained from being contradictory.  With a slight sigh, he shook his head and glanced back out the window.  It seemed a ridiculously simple assumption to make: that it was all the same.

"I heard - that's good."  Sasha turned back.  "Was he really good?"  To be honest, Sasha had mixed feelings about the victorious Quidditch match.  On the one hand, he certainly wanted Ravenclaw to win.  To wish otherwise would be selfish.  But, he couldn't help but hope Peyton didn't catch the snitch too easily.

Midterms.  Sasha was optimistic Professor Reid was amongst those that would allow Sasha to still sit his midterm.  "Oh. Oh?"  Kelyn kissed Aiden?  For reasons entirely unrelated to that news (ok - mostly unrelated), color rose brightly in Sasha's cheeks.  In some other compartment on the train, were students huddled around talking about how Fergie had kissed him?  Or, was that already old news?  Maybe, only a few students knew about it and Figaro wasn't amongst them. 

"I'm not in SAWS," Sasha answered, curtly and a little defensively.  He'd been at part of the first meeting because that nurse had asked him to bring supplies down to the hospital hut.  He didn't go looking for trouble like that - that was the type of thing Fauna Blake would do.  Apparently.  Not him. 

Sasha shook his head.  "I don't know.  Professor Ramsey told me she would keep it between us but I think Snark found out."  Who knew how.  There were portraits and ghosts and poltergeists all over.  Nothing in that castle - nothing was ever private.  As Knight's letter about the kiss in the loo had demonstrated.  "That was part of it. 'Sneaking out of the castle' to go to London was part of it - even though I had permission from Professor Bombay and the Ministry."  Which should have been sufficient. 

"I still can't believe she thinks I cheated!  I just ..." his face wrinkled and he shook his head.  It just sucked.  But, he quickly shook his head again, trying to push past that.  What was done was done.  "I just hope I don't have to finish the detentions I missed."

Figaro was unusually quiet as Sasha went on about Quidditch and midterms - things Figaro normally would have been chatty about.  Instead he just nodded and shrugged, the orange cradled in his hands in his lap.  It was going to be a damn long trainride. Hours. An even longer spring term if this kept up.  Figaro tried to get a look at Sasha when Sasha wasn't looking at him.  Catch some sort of clue about what the right thing to say is.

Normally Figaro just blathered on without worrying so much about what other people would want to hear, but normally he didn't tell giant lies. Trying to sort out what he was supposed to do was confusing - he couldn't imagine how other people spent their whole lives trying to say the right thing.  Because it was impossible to know.

"I can't believe it either..." Figaro agreed.  He remembered exactly that. At how Professor Ramsay had seemed so convinced, just trusted him and took him at his word.  And how after serving his own detentions, he hadn't heard a thing about it. His folks hadn't been called.  The Headmistress never heard about it. He remembered the relief. 

"Did you ever hear that rumor that it was me who said it was you?" he asked trying to keep his tone light.  He scoffed a little, nervously.

Being in less of a mood for talking than usual, himself, Sasha didn't recognize the other boy's abnormal degree of silence for what it was.  Not at first, at least.  Having already started to, quite willingly, dismiss the rumors as just that Sasha had turned back towards the window as the train continued to pick up speed.

But, then, Figaro brought up the rumors.  Like an elevator who's cable had snapped, Sasha felt his stomach drop. 

Sasha looked down at the book in his lap, his lips pursed in thought.  Ignorance was, certainly, bliss and as long as Figaro neither confirmed nor denied the rumors, there was some hope of Sasha keeping his head firmly buried in the sand.  He had to know but, at the same time, he didn't want to. 

"Yes," he said, looking almost pleadingly across the train compartment at the Hufflepuff.  "But, that's all it is, right?  A rumor?"  It really had to be.  That was the type of thing he'd expect from kids like Knight.  Or Tawse.  Not Figaro.

Damnit, Sasha. Figaro took his feet down from next to Sasha and shifted to lean forward with his elbows on his knees.  The juice-less, battered orange carcass was forgotten on the bench nearby.  Why did Sasha always have to be so passive, so proper as to not believe what people told him?  If he would just get angry and accuse Figaro this could be over much sooner and with much less pain.  But Sasha was living in denial and Figaro would have to come out with it.

Sasha was looking right at him and Figaro rubbed his face.  He had to know by now right? The look on Sasha's face - he had to know.  He sighed and glanced out the window.  The landscape was still hurtling by with an inevitability that was hard to avoid.

"You already know."

He looked up at at Sasha with a sort of sullen, pained expression.

"What's the point?"

Yes, Sasha knew.  And, he'd known it before the boy across from him shifted a little straighter in his seat and diverted his gaze out the window.  But, it took Figaro saying it - confirming that fact - for Sasha to accept that he did know. 

Sasha continued to stare at Figaro, searching the boy's demeanor for any clues that would explain why he'd offered up Sasha as a scapegoat.  Sasha had thought they were friends but this just wasn't something friends did.  But, there was nothing there - nothing beyond useless, meaningless guilt.  All guilt signified was an acknowledgment of culpability - it provided no explanation, no reasoning for what had transpired. 

He finally dropped his gaze and turned his attention back to the book in his lap.  His eyes followed the lines on the page.  Each word they passed over even registered briefly in his head.  By all outward appearances, he was back to simply, quietly reading.  But, none of the information stuck.  He turned the page twice before looking up to peer out the window himself. 

His shoulders hitched up in a muted shrug as he shook his head.  "What is the point?"  Sasha shook his head again, looking vaguely in Figaro's direction.  "Why?"

Sasha seeme to go back to his reading, leaving Figaro alone to sit there and hope that was that, no matter how disatisfying that conclusion would be.  In a fantasy world, Figaro supposed, where fathers weren't in jail and Ancient Runes was held in a bouncy, inflatable castle, Sasha would laugh and slug Fig on the shoulder and say 'Water under the bridge, mein Freund!'

But after a few minutes, Sasha spoke again, just to turn the the question back at him, looking for an explanation.

He shrugged back and picked at his fingernails.

"Dunno anymore," he said, wishing he had a better response.  Figaro felt numb and tongue-tied when it came to talking about serious things or how he was feeling, especially around smart people like Xavier, Sasha or his parents and professors.  They seemed to want something more than his shrugs and 'dunnos', but he didn't know what else he was supposed to say.  His reason was stupid and he really wasn't sure why Sasha's name had popped in his head that night..  Maybe he, like everyone else, had seen his friend Sasha as an easy target.  He was quiet, bookish and never seemed to get mad about anything.  Figaro wasn't intimidated by him like he was of Devlin and the Snarks and the Pennyapples. 

"Honestly, I didn't think Ramsay would believe me.  Was just stupid, I guess. I didn't think it'd turn into anything.  I heard your detentions were just practice so I figured it was... no big deal..."

Sasha snorted something that sounded like a single laugh. 

Clearly, in Figaro's world, that whole exchange had been a rather simple and insignificant act.  One not worth remembering.  What had Figaro gotten for his part of it?  Had he gotten off easier than Sasha because Professor Ramsey had assumed Sasha had been the mastermind? 

"She didn't even listen to me," Sasha admitted with a shrug that he hoped was convincingly indifferent.  "She didn't even ask."

Sasha turned to look out the window, again.  So, that was it?  The short and the long of it.  It all seemed insultingly anti-climatic.  All that all that grief and mayhem had started with a single act of stupidity.  Not that Sasha blamed Figaro for any of the events that followed.  Not directly, at least.  "Yes, it was," Sasha confirmed flatly. 

"Who did I take the fall for?"  He didn't know if he'd get an answer but he certainly felt like he deserved one.  "Who did I ... protect?" 

Sasha's angry little laugh - was that the front and back of it? Figaro just didn't understand Sasha.  If it was Figaro, or any of his other friends, he'd be furious. Not only that, but Sasha cared about school way more than Figaro did.  Figaro was used to getting scolded and told to sit down and be quiet, and detention was a pretty predictable part of his life every couple weeks or so.  But Mr Perfect didn't seem to be mad at all.

"Why aren't you mad?" he asked, his own voice rising with confusion and vexation. 

"Why don't you ever get mad? I - I-," he hesitated, "I screwed you over, mate! And you're not mad about that?"

He gestered at Sash, pointing at himself than at Sasha as he spoke.  Then with an exasperated sigh and fell back into his seat and crossed his arms.

"I don't get you, mate."