Author's Note: A belated dedication of the last chapter (and this one too, if she wishes) to Alana because it's her birthday right now. I can't give her a present because where I live it's not her birthday yet, so this will have to do.

Also, infinite gratitude to WolfNightwind for feeding me some ideas and talking out some plot points with me. Thanks to our correspondence, exciting things will be happening very soon.


The Three Broomsticks was buzzing with activity as Hogwarts students filed in and out for tankards of warm butterbeer. Myka loved that the first real snowfall of the season had happened on the day of the Hogsmeade trip, enjoying the knowledge that her footsteps were the first to disturb the white blanket that now covered the village. Conversation on the way over with Helena and Pete had been sparse, mostly consisting of Pete making comments about Quidditch and Helena politely but unenthusiastically murmuring her assent. But now, sitting at a table over butterbeer, the conversation had finally turned to something they could all relate to– OWLs.

"I'm gonna ace the Charms practical," Pete declared, taking a drink of butterbeer but neglecting to wipe off the foam moustache that remained. Myka was about to suggest he use a napkin when Helena caught her eye, and the secret smile that they shared stopped her.

"Has your colour-change charm improved, then?" she asked, smirking inwardly at the memory of Pete on the day they met Claudia, with his singed hair and a handful of purplish grass. Helena, having heard the story from Myka, smiled.

"Well, not all of us can get an Outstanding in every class we take," Pete retorted, wiping his mouth absentmindedly with his sleeve. "But I'd like to see you try and write the Herbology OWL for that matter. As if you could even get two hundred words down about a fanged geranium…"

"Personally, I look forward to the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical," Helena said, glancing at Myka. "Thanks to Miss Bering's careful instruction, I have high hopes for success."

"Oh, stop it," Myka said, finishing her butterbeer. "You're really not as bad at it as you think you are."

"Only because you took the time to help me," Helena answered. "We should really consider organizing some Potions study sessions, you know. I worry about the written portion, seeing as the theory of Polyjuice Potion can be quite troubling at times."

"Not to mention the practical will probably be finicky as anything," Myka answered. They then fell to a discussion of the precise cauldron material, size and temperature to brew a flegmaflip potion when suddenly, Pete drained his tankard and stood up, jamming his hat onto his head.

"Ladies, as fascinating as this conversation is, I'm headed to Zonko's. Mykes, you coming?"

Myka looked at Helena, who waved her on encouragingly. "Go on," she said. "I'll be fine. Go have fun." But Myka wrinkled her nose, turning to Pete and shaking her head regretfully.

"I'll pass," she said. "I'll see you at dinner, though." Pete shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and disappearing out the door of the pub.

"I don't want to keep you from spending time with your friend," Helena said once he had gone. "You didn't have to stay with me."

"I know," Myka answered, "but I wanted to." Helena smiled widely, tucking her hair behind her ear and adjusting her scarf.

"So what would you like to do, then?" she asked.

"I don't know," Myka said. "Any suggestions?"

"Well…" Helena hesitated, but continued when Myka raised her eyebrows expectantly. "I do have one idea, although it certainly requires a healthy sense of adventure."

"I can do adventure," Myka said, smiling lopsidedly as she put on her hat and mittens. Helena followed suit and soon they were leaving the pub, heading up the road to the Shrieking Shack. They walked huddled together, bent against the cold wind. When they reached a thick of trees, Helena stopped and looked around to make sure nobody was watching them. Then, she dashed into the trees and Myka followed close behind.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they emerged in a small glade. Helena turned around and held out her arm.

"Grab hold and don't let go," she said. Myka regarded her with suspicion.

"Why?" she asked, suddenly wary.

"Hold on to my arm," Helena repeated. "Just trust me, Myka. Please." Myka studied Helena's face, looking into the dark eyes that were so soft and honest and imploring. The wind had whipped a delicate shade of pink into Helena's cheeks, and her lips were pulled into a tight but tender smile. She nodded in encouragement as Myka sighed resolutely and entwined her arm with Helena's.

"Are you ready?" Helena asked. When Myka nodded, Helena turned on the spot and in an instant, they vanished.