The Slytherin Transfer

40: "I'm drinking to forget, ladies."

I have nowhere to go. I realize that the minute I step outside and remember that I can't go back to Sirius's. I've got six days left in Easter break and nowhere to spend it.

I lug my trunk down the street, heading closer to the heart of the city and trying to keep my thoughts calm. I think of anything but Sirius. I think of Mary, about her slow burn, excruciating relationship with Head Boy Dean. I think about Marlene's ongoing attempt to date Marcus. I think about James—wait, I can't think about James. If I think about James I'll think about Sirius. I can't think about Remus, or Peter either.

I think about Lily, and how she's still going strong not talking to Snape. I think about Alice, and Frank, who are so hopelessly falling for one another it makes me sick. And I think about—

"Dorcas?"

I frown at the girl that's busy putting a cigarette out on a tree and taking a swig of a flask. It's undoubtedly Dorcas, even though I can't see her face before she turns, I know it's her.

"Cass?" She asks when she sees me, looking at my flimsy sling, "What happened to your arm?"

"I — uh, fell," I answer, "fractured my wrist, and hurt my shoulder. It'll be fine in a few days, though."

She nods, scanning over my shoulder, "Where's Sirius?"

"Uh—gone," I say, and she raises her eyebrows, "it's a long story."

"Well my place is up the street." She points over her shoulder, "I've got too much whiskey for my own good if you want to come over and tell me about what a prick your boyfriend is."

I laugh slightly, feeling relieved to see a familiar face.

So I nod, and we make our way down the road, chatting about this and that before we come to a dingy building that looks on the verge of falling apart. It's on a street packed with homeless people, and Dorcas nods to them all before we go inside.

"Friends of yours?" I ask with an amused smile, and she gives me a look before closing the door in my face. I laugh, opening it myself and catching up with her at the elevator. She presses the button over and over before kicking the doors, which creak open at snail pace before stopping one third of the way out.

"After you," Dorcas says dryly, and I smirk before squeezing through the crack, which is just big enough for me and my trunk. She follows, kicking the doors again so that they close.

"How long have you lived here?" I ask as we begin going up, and she shrugs.

"Just since the start of break. My uncle conveniently died and this was his place, so," She sighs, "I took it. Had to fend off my nose-picking cousins, though."

I snicker, and we leave the elevator at the fourth floor, squeezing out and heading down the mouldy hall to the room at the end. She jams a key inside and jiggles it around until it turns, then she takes a moment to yank it from the lock before shoving open the door with her shoulder.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she says, and though she speaks in the same dry tone, I hear a hint of pride in her voice as she throws her keys on a table and steps aside so I can enter.

I look around. It's a small flat, with enough room for a living space, a bathroom, and a bedroom. A kitchen is crammed in the corner, and the window overlooks another building adjacent. There's a dusty smell, the ceiling is stained, and the hardwood flooring creaks with every step. The curtains are moth eaten, the  couch has rips in it, and the rug is so frayed it's shrunken significantly in size. Her trunk sits in the corner, her owl and a number of empty glasses stacked on top.

"I know it isn't much," Dorcas starts, eyeing me carefully for my reaction, "but it's all mine."

I turn to her and grin.