The first Hogsmeade trip found Brooke locked up in her dorm, refusing to leave what she deemed a safe place. But as the second weekend approached, she decided that she was not going to allow Josh to rob her of her joy. She was going to get up, she was going to go to Hogsmeade, and she was going to have fun, be damned to anything that tried to stop her. There was no way she was going to let the older boy take anything else from her.
She knew, however, that it was easy to say, and even more so to think, but it was beyond difficult to actually carry out. How was it possible to not feel the stab of pain or the pang of guilt that resided inside her every time she caught a glimpse of Joe? Or hurt and disgust at one of Josh? Those were feelings new to her, for she had been raised to show love, kindness and compassion to everyone she met, be it a person, animal or creature. She could only hope that in time, she would return to normal, but something deep down inside of her knew that this was not possible, and that what took place had changed her permanently. It was up to her whether this change was going to hinder her, or help her, make her a stronger person.
As she forced herself down the path to the village on Saturday morning, she tried to think of good thoughts. Christmas had been good, with it being Tristan’s first time celebrating it, and he had enjoyed himself thoroughly. For that, she had been glad.
Her first stop was Zonko’s, and she left empty handed, her usual interest in all things mischievous having been subdued for the better part of two months. Moving into the sweet shop had proved better luck, and she made a few purchases for herself, her friends, and even her family. It had made her feel slightly better – giving was almost a hobby for her, and as most hobbies did for people, usually improved her mood.
Although her mother had given her a clean bill of health before Brooke left for Hogswarts, walking too much or doing anything too strenuous, including spell work, caused her stomach to ache – as though punishing her for trying to forget, for trying to move on and get better. It was not something she told anyone, not wanting to cause more worry. Hoping that it would go away with more time, she headed to the Hog's Head. Slipping into a booth, she called over a waiter and ordered a firewhiskey, half surprised at her own audacity at wanting alcohol. Don’t you dare get drunk, she instructed herself, even as the drink arrived. After staring at it for a few moments, she relaxed slightly, leaning back into the seat and began to sip at the liquid.
Home 
