Standard disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by JK Rowling. No money is being made from this and no copyright infringement is intended.

AN: Thank you so much for deciding to read this story. This is a continuation of the Ebb and Flow and Shown like the Sun stories. It is OC heavy.

In the misty tangled sky,

Fast a wind is blowing….

—Donovan

Chapter 1

"At least we're all clothed," Althea mused as she looked across the field of wizards and witches milling about their tents.

Grey smoke lazily ascended from the chimneys and hung like a thick fog above the earth-colored tents assembled for the Quidditch World Cup. She laughed through her nose at the blatant violations of the International Statute of Secrecy: green and purple fires, children skimming along on toy broomsticks, and a two-story tent with a balcony. They don't give a damn, do they?

"Peacocks?" she remarked and laughed condescendingly at the tent in the distance. "That bastion of understated elegance mustbe Malfoy's tent. D'you have your camera?"

The young woman to her left with thick, brown hair—the feathers of the kelly green fascinator fluttering in the slight breeze—wrinkled her nose. "No," Afina said. "Absolutely ridiculous."

The two women cringed at the sound of a cannon in the distance.

"Damn," she murmured as Afina directed her to the left. "Sirius would've enjoyed a laugh at Malfoy's delusions of grandeur."

"Wouldn't we all?"

The sounds of whistling and clapping caught Althea's attention, and she turned her head to her right and smiled. A group of children—no more than ten-years-old—spun and twirled in a large circle, barefoot, feet covered in mud and their smiling, cherubic faces painted green. She thought about her unusual ninth birthday—the saffron robes swirling about her muddied feet—and the rhythm of the drum circle that encouraged her frantic spinning…a few of the drums seeming to play on their own. She couldn't imagine herself—now—being so oblivious to the expectations of others, driven by the simple impulse to seek happiness. Such actions at her age would cause disruption and mortification—she had responsibilities (or burdens) to uphold. She sighed, lamenting the loss of childhood freedom. She hoped that no parent would whisk a child away from such joyful play when her magic became too obvious. It's a bit like that rock festival, she thought as the children hooted with laughter. Except no Muggles to hide from.

Afina let out a guttural sound of embarrassment. "How stupid do you have to be?" she said, pointing to Althea's left.

Althea, disappointed that she must ignore the children, turned and observed an older wizard—with scraggly grey hair—in a brightly colored woman's nightgown. Her lips quivered into a smile, as she did her best to suppress her rude laughter at the gruff-looking man who paired a fuchsia and purple flower print nightgown with green Wellingtons.

"We were told to dress like a Muggle," she said and covered her mouth as the man bent over to collect firewood. "At least he's wearing pants."

"God," Afina remarked with disgust.

Althea smiled sympathetically at Afina's sneer. "He's the reason Hogwarts has Muggle Studies," she said, thankful the man had returned to his modest tent.

"Indeed," Afina breathed as the two continued to walk the dirt and matted grass path between the tents.

"I reckon this proves I'm not completely useless."

"Oh, Auntie, you're not—"

"Let's continue on, shall we?"

It was impossible not to feel some dread for the upcoming school year. More lesson plans, more essays, and more interaction with Snape had become increasingly difficult to stomach. Her letters, carefully crafted with numerous reasons and extrapolations for her resignation, were each answered with Dumbledore's refusal. She thought of personally delivering her last attempt along with her replacement to Dumbledore, but it was thwarted by her replacement's acceptance of a job with the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.

The strap of Althea's sandal dug into her right heel, and she began to walk with a slight limp. Oh, this is right awful, she thought and grimaced from the sharp pain with each step. How much longer?

"Hang on," she said and stopped. She winced at the searing pain in the back of her heel as she lifted it over the strap. "Calcane sanentur," she said, pointing her wand at her heel. She twisted herself to see if the sloughed skin and redness vanished. "Is it gone, do you think?"

Afina nodded. "I charmed that pair myself," she said and grabbed the shoe from Althea. She carefully inspected the shoe and clicked her teeth. "Unbelievable."

Althea stood, perched on one leg. "You can fix the charm later," she said, cringing as the cool mud touched the tips of her toes. "The ground is disgusting."

Afina looked at the muddy ground that Althea's toes were hesitant to touch. "That is the last I design shoes!" she said, handing Althea her sandal.

Althea smiled sympathetically. "It's not the first pair," she said, slipping on her sandal. "Come on," she added, taking Afina's arm. "Let us resume our never-ending trek towards Gran's Xanadu."

It was difficult not to feel some hesitancy as the two women meandered through the makeshift village of wizards and witches. It was a display of magic that Althea had never witnessed. Magic on such a large scale that it dared not to be hidden. It was that secrecy that Althea knew best, and as she observed the singing decorations and small toy brooms buzzing about the camps, she could not help but feel mild resentment. She had her very well defined place in Muggle society, and yes, she was considered an eccentric (and who wasn't with her station—a very distant cousin once studied the life-cycle of the lesser silver water beetle for ten years) but very much a Muggle. Magic was the slight of hand of street performers, the illusions of a television magician, and the realm of silly children's books. It did not exist. It could not exist. Why choose a rickety old broom when one has first-class air travel?

She would have arrived earlier to meet Afina, but she spent at least twenty minutes helping four Wizarding families manage Muggle money. It seemed odd to her that a person could be so cloistered from the Muggle world as it is inescapably all round, but there were many and most did live sequestered in the country. The only interaction was the rare occasion of the Hogwarts Express, and then, they took for granted that Muggles did not notice. Why Sirius's family chose London—the epicenter of all things Muggle—to live, I'll never understand, she wondered, an impish smile crept upon her face. He was a blood traitor at the first bird in a miniskirt.

"Where did that old woman have them place our tent?" she asked, the brown, beige, and olive tents becoming a muddy blur. "Aren't these families good enough?"

Afina laughed lowly. "We're next to the Irish Minister's tent."

Althea threw her head back. "Damn."

"He's not that awful."

"No, he isn't," she admitted, clasping her hands behind her back as they walked. "Very nice to look at—"

"Looking would become very boring—"

"Going places, or so I've been told—"

"A Minister's wife—"

"It's just…I'm with the most eligible bachelor in all of Wizarding Britain," she added and noticed the Irish flag perched high atop a large green tent. "Did I mention he's exceedingly wealthy, too?"

Afina disregarded Althea's remark. "Here we are," she said and nodded to the tent to the right of the large green tent.

"Good Lord," she murmured as she walked forward, wrinkling her nose at the noble purple fabric. "How much of my money did she spend on this?"

Afina shrugged. "She wanted to live comfortably—"

"For one night?" she remarked, the corner of her mouth upturning into half a smile. "We're lucky we don't have house-elves."

Althea followed Afina into the tent and could not hide her derision. There, before her, was the entrance hall of Northfield. It's paintings, fixtures, and furniture all recreated for one night in this tent. Her low-heeled sandals clicked along the black and white tiled marble floor as she examined the open doorways. Her eyes drifted toward the staircase and she shook her head.

"A bit rustic, isn't it?" she said as she passed the informal dining room.

"It will do," Afina replied, her posture rigid in her best imitation of Gran. "I have taken the liberty, Althea Rosemary—"

"Althea Rosemary?"

Althea stopped at the doorway to the drawing room. She looked up at the vaulted ceiling—impressed at the uncanny recreation of the 18th century fresco—and sighed. Right, she thought and swallowed for strength. Despite returning to England, more than a week ago, it was to be the first meeting between the women since their confrontation in Bermuda. Gran's deceit and mortifying disclosure of her past were still raw with Althea. Every thing in its place, she thought, hesitating before she entered the drawing room. Afina gave Althea a gentle nudge. Right, she thought, casting a dark look upon the furniture, maybe this will be your new home, old woman. Gran, dressed in emerald, did not look up from her needlepoint. Althea peered into Gran's lap and wrinkled her nose at the needlepoint glorifying the Irish National Team.

"Is that what you are wearing?"

No, 'Hello, my lovely granddaughter. Did you have a nice flight? Are you enjoying Northfield?' Always, have to keep up appearances, don't we, she thought, and looked upon her frock. She thought it to be the perfect dress for the match—a shift dress in white with eyelet and small, embroidered shamrocks and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

"It isn't the Grand National, if that's what you're going for," she said and pointed toward Gran's matching emerald hat and its considerable plume of matching feathers. "I'm the least bit shocking, I can assure you."

Gran narrowed her eyes over her thin-rimmed spectacles.

Althea smirked. "He's not coming. Your reputation is safe," she said and nodded with thanks as Afina handed her a glass of lemonade. "He's probably sitting at the wireless, sulking."

"Are you sure?" Gran questioned.

"Very," she answered and took a sip of lemonade. "Would you like me to ask Remus to check up on him?"

Gran returned to her needlepoint with vigor.

"He isn't stupid—"

"Enough, Althea Rosemary," Gran said with forced calm. She placed her needlepoint upon the table. "The Irish side looks very good this year," she explained and Althea thought she saw a hopeful smile. "True talent, if you ask me. All Bulgaria has is that Seeker—"

"Good," Althea said and finished her lemonade. She pursed her lips at the last of the tart, sweet juice. "I've wagered Northfield."

Gran gave her a stern look.

Althea gave Gran a condescending smile. "You have this tent," she replied, spreading out her arms.

Gran's stern look remained.

"It is as fine as Northfield," she continued, placing the glass on a suspiciously similar silver tray. "It is Northfield. I would love to know how much this cost me. You should be lucky that I'm letting you live in London."

Gran lifted the ornately decorated watch that dangled from her long silver necklace. "The match will start shortly," she said, looking at the two women. "I will meet you there as I will enter with the Minister."

"Right," Althea sighed.

"I do not want you to be late, Althea Rosemary," she continued and Althea fought the urge to sigh once more. "Minister Griffin is a dear friend—"

"I understand," she said over her grandmother. Althea took Afina by the arm. "Let's leave this monstrosity," she whispered through gritted teeth.

As the two women exited the tent, it was Afina who spoke first. "Are you sure you won't spend the night?"

Althea shook her head.

Afina pouted. "She didn't bother to recreate my room," she said, casting a gloomy look at the tent from over her shoulder. "Or yours…. She'll drive me mad."

Althea frowned slightly. "You could stay at the true Northfield," she said as the two women walked arm and arm toward the impressive stadium—the joyful singing and chanting growing louder. "It's Sophie's birthday and I promised her."

"You aren't—"

"We are," she replied, looking at the large throng of people clamoring into the stadium ahead.

"The village is one thing, but—"

"It'll be dark," Althea whispered, patting Afina's arm, "and we'll be surrounded by Muggles."

Afina shook her head. "I can't believe those spells worked," she muttered, and Althea winked at the group of four men who eyed the women as they walked by.

Althea leaned close. "He figured out Animagus transformation at fifteen—he's too brilliant for his own good," she whispered, smiling at their cleverness. She laughed quietly. "Stephen Potter lives."

"Professor!"

Althea stopped immediately, which jolted Afina forward. She gasped—she knew that beautiful voice. Of all the thousands of people, she mused, and her heart quickened its pace at the thought of Prudence.

Afina laughed lowly as she eyed Althea, "Professor?"

Althea shushed her.

She smiled at the hurried footsteps muffled in the muddied grass. The thought that Prudence was excited to see her, hurried to see her, caused a surge of confidence and elation in her heart. She inhaled deeply, smoothed her dress, and slowly turned to face her daughter. Prudence had grown at least two inches since their last meeting at Hogwarts. My hair was just as long at that age, she thought as Prudence, smiling, smoothed a curl behind her ear.

"Hello, Prudence," she said, stepping closer. "Enjoying your summer?"

Prudence nodded. "I had no idea you'd be here!"

"My Gran had an extra ticket," she said, patting her small, white beaded purse. She glanced at Afina, who stared upon Prudence with a slightly parted mouth. "This is my niece, Afina," she said with a nod. "Afina, this is Miss Prudence Parker."

Afina blinked. "Hello," she mustered.

Prudence smiled. "Hi."

"Prudence!" a woman shouted with some annoyance.

Prudence sighed. "Genevieve's mum," she explained, shoving her hands in her pockets. She rolled her eyes. "She's convinced I'll be kidnapped."

Althea's elbow connected with Afina's side. "We wouldn't want that," she said and spotted the frantic woman, walking quickly toward the three. "You've been gone for a while, haven't you?"

Prudence shrugged. "I've never seen so many like me."

"Of course," Althea murmured and leaned to whisper to Prudence, "and I haven't either."

Prudence smiled with kinship and surprise. "You haven't?"

Althea shook her head. "No."

The petite woman with long blonde hair sighed with relief—her eyes recognizing Prudence. "Thank you," she said to the women with slight embarrassment.

"No worries," Althea said, smiling at Prudence. "She's a student of mine."

"Oh, oh," the woman said—her eyes widening in recognition. "You're—"

"Professor Morrigan, yes," she said, holding out her hand. "How do you do?"

"Constance Rourke," she said, taking Althea's hand. "The girls talk about you so much. I hope they're not too bothersome."

"No, not one bit," she said, giddy that her daughter thought so highly of her. "I find them very entertaining," she said, playfully narrowing her eyes at Prudence, who pretended to look interested in the conversation.

Mrs. Rourke looked upon Prudence. Prudence smiled pleasantly. Althea bit her bottom lip as not to snicker.

Mrs. Rourke sighed. "You're so very lucky Professor Morrigan found you," she said, placing her hand upon Prudence's shoulder. "Where have you been for the last hour?"

"Looking at the horses—"

"It's so very dangerous!" she continued, oblivious to Prudence's answer.

"They had wings—"

"Aethonans," Althea offered.

Prudence gasped. "That's what they're called?"

Althea nodded.

"You could've gotten lost," Mrs. Rourke said, "or worse. Sirius Black—"

Althea's happiness faltered. I will not have you poison her, she thought, her trembling hands tightening her grip upon her purse.

"Is far away from here," she said, "I can assure you."

Mrs. Rourke stopped speaking—her expression puzzled. "How—how would you know?"

Althea felt Afina straighten herself. "Well…this place is crawling with the Ministry," she began, fiddling with a loose bead, "and I doubt with all this security, he'd bother to show up."

"But—"

"Witch Weekly said he didn't even like Quidditch," Afina said and directed her mock horrified face at Prudence.

Prudence smiled faintly.

"And if I were escaped from Azkaban, I'd want to spend my time upon a tropical beach—"

"Fiji," Afina chimed.

"Or Tahiti," Althea continued as Prudence looked at her with great interest, "and not some moor."

Mrs. Rourke frowned.

"At least that's what I would do," Althea shrugged as more people walked toward the stadium.

"Right, well, don't run off like that," Mrs. Rourke said, wrinkling her brow at Prudence.

Prudence shrugged.

Mrs. Rourke looked to Althea and Afina. "Thank you," she said, turning Prudence away from the women. "Enjoy the match."

Althea nodded. "You're welcome," she said and waved.

Prudence twisted to look at the two women and waved, but was soon shuffled along by Mrs. Rourke. The loneliness crept back into her chest with every step Prudence took. Althea watched them as they walked four tents away, to the left, and out of sight. Do you know you won't return to Hogwarts, she wondered, her nails digging themselves between the small beads of her purse. And we can do nothing? Althea thrust her arms at her side in frustration.

Afina sighed sadly. "He would buy her a winged horse, wouldn't he?"

Althea nodded as she looked at the empty space where Prudence once stood. "Granian and she'd have lessons."

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and feel free to leave your comments, reviews, etc.