"Aren't my potter boys just adorable?" Rose asks me, flicking ash out the window.

I look at them, Albus drooling and James watching the smoke dance in the air, glasses falling down his nose, and I nod. "Well, I think so."

"Nora, we want you to join the paper," Emma cuts in.

"That's been established," I tell her, my hatred unintentionally shifting. I make sure to say the next bit with a kinder tone. "But not in what capacity."

"An advice column," Scorpius says seriously.
 

The first issue of Hogwarts Weekly featuring Anonymous comes out today. I tried to forget, but, of course, Rose will not let me. I love her for so many things, and always shoving me towards greatness is definitely one I have to will myself to love.

"Why are you always on the grounds, actually on the ground, when you're upset?" James sits next to me, farther away this time than when he wrapped us both under his cloak. I want to feel his closeness to me again. I do not reach out.

Turning away, the bathroom light streams out of the open doorway, accosting my eyes. The light flicks off, and Deidre steps out. Her shadow tiptoes to her bed; I hear a sniffle. Unmoving, I watch her. She sits on the side of her bed and fingers the petals of a flower standing on her bedside table. In the darkness and the distance, I do not recognize the flower and wonder its meaning.

I turn my head to look back into the greenhouses through the blades of grass and the occasional dandelion and find James still looking at me. I imagine myself in a blue dress and saddle shoes, Lucy to his Schroeder. There are infinite worlds with stories like this.

“Is that a question or…?” I respond, reaching to steal a chocolate from his box. As my hand hovers near, I am struck with the question of how James perceives my fatness. What will he think of the fat girl reaching into his box of chocolates? I tell myself these thoughts are irrational but watch as my hand retreats anyway.

James, ever oblivious to my inner turmoil, picks up a chocolate and places it in my hand.
 

It’s coming on Christmas; they’re cutting down trees; they’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace; oh, I wish I had a river I could skid away on.

I find myself, eyes closed, singing along, however softly, to the words I have heard many times. I open them to chance a look at James and find him staring back at me, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I breathe in and close my eyes once more.
 

I think of my parents standing on the other side of the glass door watching us, their hearts hurting from the words Jane must have spewed at them during her attack. It always goes like this, at least in the last four years, calm and quiet and peace but underneath that peace is anticipation, building and building until it cascades over a wave of panic and defeat. Jane lashes out at everything around her, and my parents try to find a way to make everything better. Then it doesn’t get better, and Jane goes to the hospital.

“Emma!” I shout, finding the former seated, using her forefinger to scan a document.

She turns quickly, and even from far away, I can see her cheeks grow pink as I approach. I recognize the unease in her eyes.

“Did you even consider warning me?”