slide away {lorenzo berkshire}

69. i did something bad

TW - smut

"And bless the daughter
but fuck the family.

What is a home
if not the first place you learn to run from?"
- Clementine von Radics

~~~~~~~

Cassie Avery

"You know, trouble," Lorenzo drawled lazily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You've got grass in your hair".

I narrowed my eyes as he leaned over to pluck something invisible from my head. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, curling a strand before letting it drop. "There's nothing there."

"There is. I'd know," he said, settling back on his elbows with that infuriating grin. "I spend a lot of time looking at you."

I didn't move out of his reach. "You're delusional."

"Mm. Delusional and right, though", he said smoothly. The sunlight caught in his curls, his tie was loose, shirt sleeves rolled up. Every bit the picture of carelessness - and every bit the distraction I couldn't seem to tear myself from.

The Black Lake shimmered a few feet away, sunlight catching on the ripples. It was the first properly warm day of spring, and somehow, unbelievably, we'd managed to steal it for ourselves.

It was the end of March now. Weeks since that night in his dorm, weeks since Theo's ridiculous "agenda", weeks since the five of us had sat in the Room of Requirement, pretending to be more in control of our lives than we were. And in that time... something had shifted.

Not officially. Not in words. God forbid Lorenzo and I admit to anything resembling seriousness. But there were stolen mornings like this one that bled into afternoons, and smuggled smiles across crowded classrooms, and his hand brushing mine under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world. Once, he'd walked me back from the library in the middle of the night and we ended up pressed against the door of my dorm, him whispering filthy things in my ear until I'd laughed so loudly I was sure I'd wake the whole of Slytherin house.

And then there were the quieter things - him sneaking chocolate into my bag, him listening without interrupting when I needed to rant, him leaning his forehead against mine like he could pass me strength without words.

It terrified me how much I needed those things.

Lorenzo's voice pulled me back. "You're quiet".

I tore my gaze away from the water. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit," he teased.

He didn't press, but my thoughts stuck anyway, clinging like vines. About what we'd been doing since January. The five of us chasing whispers like bloodhounds. I still remembered Theo cornering that Ravenclaw third-year, trying to threaten her into admitting she'd seen Potter in Hogsmeade. She'd burst into tears, swearing she hadn't. Mattheo had been sharper, crueler, trying to hex answers out of a terrified Hufflepuff boy until Draco finally pulled him off.

And me? I'd flat-out refused. I couldn't.  I couldn't point my wand at some terrified second-year and spit curses at them for answers. I couldn't even bluff it.

Lorenzo hadn't done it either. He'd questioned a few Slytherins half-heartedly, all lazy smirks and vague threats, but he never pushed. Never raised his wand. Not once had I seen him cast an Unforgivable, though I knew the others had. I hadn't dared to ask why - because asking would make it real, and real meant dangerous.

And yet the guilt gnawed at me anyway. Because for every lie I told, for every "I don't know" or "I didn't hear anything," someone else was dragged away. Someone else was hurt.