Chapter 13: The Dynamic Duo

"He'd half meant to speak but those eyes had altered the world forever in the space of heartbeat."

- Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses

It was nearing the end of Madeline's first year at Hogwarts, and she was thrilled about her latest Transfiguration homework assignment, so she took off running to the library to get started. She was going to learn how to transfigure a teacup into a guinea pig!

Although Madeline hadn't given any thought to it, she had left the Gryffindors and her Hufflepuff Housemates behind. Oliver and Elaine hadn't seemed as thrilled to get started, so they turned towards the Great Hall instead. Madeline wasn't sure where Claire would be, but that didn't matter too much. She'd go to dinner after she found the correct scroll she needed. It would only take Madam Pince a few moments to help her find it.

Her hazel eyes glowed bright as she ran along the hallway, oblivious to the older students leaving their final classes of the day. Halfway there, she had to slow to a walk because there were so many older students, and, she noticed, a bunch of Gryffindors and Slytherins. They were shouting, and it only took Madeline a moment to discern the topic of interest. Quidditch. Of course.

The final match of the year, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, would take place that Saturday. Madeline looked around for any professors, prefects, or even the Head Girl or Boy—but there was no one of authority around. Madeline didn't have time for this, so she began using her small frame to slip through the growing queue so that she could get to the library faster—she too was ready for another meal in the Great Hall. She hadn't decided who she would sit with this evening, but she was good at deciding on the spot. Maybe she'd sit with Elaine and Murray this evening.

Madeline was thinking longingly of custard tart as she made her way through the crowd, and when she broke through to a clearing, she thought she had made it—but she was wrong. There was a group of Gryffindor boys standing opposite a group of Slytherin boys, wands drawn and faces taut with anger. Madeline took a quick, discerning glance around and decided to make a bolt for it—there was no one to stop her, and the boys seemed to be at a standstill—so she ran.

Nymphadora Tonks, age 14, her hair short and a lively violet, was standing on the opposite end of the clearing and had watched the whole event unfold as though in slow motion. One of her Housemates, a wee first year, had just wanted to cross—probably to make her way to the library. Tonks watched in horror as the girl bolted through the clearing just as the boys tried to curse each other, resulting in the girl being hit with literally every curse, at least ten of them.

Tonks screamed aloud, and she wasn't the only to do so. Wand aloft, Tonks stunned as many of the boys as possible before she rushed to the clearing to tend to the girl who was unconscious and visibly convulsing—there was no telling what all she'd been hit with. There were welts growing on her arms, large patches of black fur growing on her legs, and her face was swelling with what seemed to be stinging charms. There were people shouting from every direction, and the noise was confusing and annoying.

"We need to get her out of here," said a gruff, teenage-boy voice to Tonks while she was assessing the damage to the girl she had recognized as Madeline Palmer before she was hit. Palmer was the Hufflepuff first-year whose friends were primarily Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The older Hufflepuffs talked about her as the one who was always sitting at a different House table, similarly to how the whole school talked about her, the girl who could look like anyone. Take the lot, indeed, Tonks thought ruefully.

Tonks glanced sideways to see Charlie Weasley kneeling next to her. When she looked up, she saw that much of the crowd had dissipated in fear, but the boys responsible were still stunned. She would ensure that they would receive some form of punishment, even if she wasn't a Prefect or whatever. She didn't care—her housemate had been seriously injured (nothing Pomfrey couldn't fix with ease, but still, the pain must have been excruciating), and these boys would suffer for it.

"I want to wait for—ah, there she is," said Tonks, who glanced up to see McGonagall walking swiftly towards them. Weasley stood to face his Head of House.

"Professor, I just got here," he said, "but I think Tonks can explain."

"I certainly hope so. Why are these boys all stunned? You should know better than to—"

"I stunned them, Professor," said Tonks, who stood tall and proud, her housemate at her feet. "Because of what they did to this poor first year."

"What's happened—oh my, who is that?"

"It's Madeline Palmer," said Tonks. "She ran through just as these boys began attacking each other. I was on the other side, or I would have stopped her. I think she was trying to get to the library."

"She was, indeed," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "I sent her in search of something. Well, thank you for your… activism Miss Tonks, but you are free to go. Mr. Weasley—"

"I can take Palmer to the Hospital Wing," he said, interrupting her. "I didn't see it, unfortunately, Tonks did—I've no idea what they've done, and I have no intention of defending them. Quite frankly, I would rather be angry elsewhere."

"Very well," said McGonagall, her lips in a thin line. "I will have to notify Severus, but rest assured, I will deal with your housemates."

Charlie nodded and bent to pick up the first year. Madeline was swollen all over, and it was looking quite unfortunate, so he walked as fast as he could while carrying her.

Tonks was sent to notify Professor Snape and then find Elaine Ellison, Palmer's dormitory mate, to explain to her what happened. Charlie, once he made it to the Hospital Wing, kicked the door open with his left foot, which was rather more dramatic an entrance than he had planned. He laid the first year on one of the several free medical beds and explained to Madam Pomfrey what happened just as Madeline was waking up.

"What happened to me?" she asked groggily, her face still swollen.

"I'll tell you when I'm done healing you, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. "You're free to go, lad."

Back in the Great Hall, Charlie made his way to the Hufflepuff table first, which was always an odd experience for him. Tonks made him uncomfortable for reasons he didn't fully understand (he knew part of it was the strange sensation of knowing that he didn't really know what she looked like), but he wanted to know what happened, and he knew he was still too angry to ask his mates. She saw him coming and turned to face him.

"Is she alright?" she asked, her bright green eyes—not her real eye colour, he assumed—alight with worry.

"She'll be fine. Pomfrey was deflating her when I left. What happened?"

Charlie took an empty seat so that he wasn't awkwardly standing at the Hufflepuff table. One of Tonks' friends blushed and giggled.

"The Slytherins only got thirty points docked and a detention each," said Tonks, her head shaking angrily. "McGonagall was not so sparing. The Gryffindors got twenty points each—all five of them—and two detentions each."

"Brilliant," said Charlie, clenching his jaw. "I don't even want to look at them. So reckless, and right before the bloody match—"

"You can eat with us," said the girl across the table, a strained tone of hope threaded through her words. He thought her name was Michelle, but he wasn't sure—next to Tonks, it was difficult to be noticed or remembered.

"Thanks," said Charlie gruffly, "but I've got to go inform the first years what happened. She's friends with Oliver Wood, isn't she?"

"If that's his name. They're damn near inseparable," said Tonks. "She's friends with some Ravenclaws, too, but I'm not sure which ones."

"They'll find out eventually," said Charlie, who stood and nodded. "Thanks."

He walked away without another word, and while Michelle sighed dreamily, Tonks continued eating her food and tried not to be furious about the light punishments.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Charlie found the first years sitting together in a group at the end of the table. Wood, Tennant, and his younger brother, Percy.

"Oi, Wood," he said as he approached them. He took a seat next to Percy, who greeted him with a nod and mouth full of food. "You're friends with that Hufflepuff girl, aren't you?"

"Maddie?" he asked, his small face scrunching with concern. "Yeah—why?"

"Now, I don't want to frighten you, lad, but she's in the Hospital Wing. She's alright—I took her there myself—"

None of this mattered to Oliver, whose eyes grew large—all he heard was "frighten" and "Hospital Wing". He threw down his fork and bolted from the table, and Nicolas Tennant followed him. Percy glanced up with concern and asked for details about what happened, which allowed Charlie to finally plate himself some food.

Sunday morning arrived slowly, but Madeline was the first in the flat to make it into the kitchen. She was wearing a comfortable jumper, a pair of Oliver's maroon woolen socks, and some mismatched pajama bottoms; she tousled her hair into a bun above her ears and danced to a song in her head. The early-morning slants of sunlight crept onto the sitting room furniture and slowly into the kitchen, and the plain, Muggle houseplants Claire had bought months ago seemed to stretch with joy into the early-December light. It was cold and quiet in the flat, but Madeline didn't mind.

Charlie joined her just after she made the coffee and began frying some eggs and ham. On the weekends, they usually let Oliver and Charlie sleep until they were hungry, so she was surprised to see him.

"Morning," she said quietly.

"Morning," he replied. He yawned and pulled down a mug for the coffee.

"You're up early," said Madeline. It wasn't even seven.

"Hungry," he said. "And I couldn't go back to sleep."

"I'll be done in a few," she said. "And then you can cook whatever you'd like. Or I can make you something?"

"I like cooking," he replied. "I didn't at first, but when you live alone for long enough, you learn to enjoy it. I wish I'd learned more from my mum."

"I wish I liked it more. I'm always scared I'm going to burn something. In fact, I wish I were more like Claire in several ways."

"I don't see why you should," he replied, taking a test sip of the hot coffee.

"You don't? Claire isn't the perfect woman to whom I should aspire?" asked Madeline as she plated her eggs.

"Nah, no one's perfect. Claire's no different," he said. He looked at Madeline carefully but not unkindly. "D'you know why she doesn't want to live with me?"

Madeline glanced at Charlie and sighed. She'd been waiting for this question since Elaine's wedding, and she'd already given it some thought.

"I think she's comfortable, and I think she's developed some commitment fear because of Richard. She doesn't trust herself."

"Come again?"

"She doesn't trust herself," said Madeline as she stepped away from the stove. "She doesn't trust her own judgement enough to give her heart away so quickly. She might care for you, but I don't think she trusts her ability to trust."

"I'm not awake enough for this," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. "Commitment issues I can handle—whatever else you said made no sense."

"Simply put, she's worried that she's going to get hurt again and blame herself again."

"She blames herself for that bloke dumping her?"

"Yes," said Madeline solemnly, with a firm nod.

"Why?"

Charlie moved into the kitchen and began preparing his breakfast while they talked.

"Claire feels—felt—responsible for Richard's insecurity," said Madeline as she ate some of her eggs, ham, and toast. "He basically told her that her love wasn't… I dunno… sufficient, even after all those year."

"What a numpty," said Charlie.

Madeline laughed and sipped on her coffee just as Oliver strolled out of his room yawning and shirtless. The sight made Madeline smile and shake her head.

"See—that—how do I get her to look at me like that?" said Charlie.

Madeline barely heard him, as Oliver pulled her close and kissed her hard.

"Come back to bed," said Oliver, voice low and grumbly, as she turned back to her plate and sat down. "You're not supposed to choose food over me."

"You were sleeping," said Madeline. "You know I don't like to wake you."

"Damn that smells good. What's that, mate?"

"Bangers," said Charlie, who glanced over his shoulder at them. "But Maddie's more important, so shove off."

Oliver's stomach rumbled with amazing timing, and Madeline nearly burst with laughter.

"Are there more?"

"Yeah, go for it," said Charlie. "Just tell me this—d'you have any tips for—how'd'you phrase it, Maddie—making Claire feel like she's enough? Does that make sense? Merlin, I can't believe I'm asking for relationship advice from 18-year olds."

Oliver was not quite awake, and he glanced from Charlie to Madeline and back to Charlie. And then to Madeline again.

"Translation?" he asked, looking at Madeline.

"If I told you that I didn't feel like my love was enough for you, what would you say?"

While Madeline spoke, Oliver rubbed his face pensively.

"I'd say you lost your marbles," he mumbled. "I'm not even sure if I know what you mean."

"Like… my love wasn't enough for Nicolas, so he broke up with me," said Madeline.

"That wasn't love," said Oliver coolly. "It was attraction."

"Is that all?" Madeline asked, her eyebrows raised. "Don't tell Nicolas that."

"He should be well over that by now," he replied, looking seriously at Madeline. Charlie sat next to Madeline at the bar and watched as Oliver cooked his food.

"Should be? Is that why he accosted me about Seti at Elaine's wedding?"

"What?"

"He basically accused me of cheating on you with that Balinese man," said Madeline. "He wanted to know 'what really happened that night.' I was surprised to see him at the wedding, so of course Nick read into it."

"I didn't know he brought it up," said Oliver. "You never told me."

"I forgot. A lot was happening then," said Madeline. "But it bothered me that he felt the need to confront me on your account, like you and I weren't capable of having the conversation ourselves. I s'pose it's nothing, really."

"It's certainly something, but we won't worry about it now. I'm still struggling with this concept," said Oliver. "How did this come up?"

"Claire and Richard," said Madeline. "He made Claire feel like her love wasn't enough for him."

"Mmm," said Oliver. "I think Richard just got scared and hurt her to push her away. And it worked. Not that I blame her, but Claire didn't put up as much of a fight as I expected she would. She didn't fight him... or for him... at all."

"She was devastated," said Madeline defensively.

"Would you let me walk away from you?" asked Oliver, turning away from the stove. He met Madeline's eyes.

"If you sat me down and unloaded all these fears and concerns about yourself and the future and then said our relationship was over because you were scared to 'hold me back,' or whatever else Richard said, I'd think you were under the Imperius curse or something. I'd think you were someone else. You've a different personality and way of... handling issues."

"What if I came in one day and told you I had fallen in love with someone else?"

Madeline felt her blood run cold. Her skin prickled like gooseflesh, and she looked down with horror at the cup of coffee in her hands.

"You're scaring her, mate," said Charlie.

"She shouldn't be scared. That's the point," said Oliver. "It should sound unrealistic because it is."

"I think I'd be devastated," said Madeline.

"Maddie," he said, almost as though he was chastising her. He turned to look at her again. "You wouldn't think I was someone else?"

"I—I dunno," said Madeline. "It'd cross my mind. I'd certainly be confused and angry, but I think I'd be upset first."

"Bollocks," mumbled Oliver groggily.

Oliver plated his food and joined them at the counter to eat his food, and they let him get a few bites in without commenting.

"Mate, don't worry about it. I don't think there's any such thing as 'not enough love', or whatever," said Oliver to Charlie. "You either have the trust and communication to work through things or you don't."

"That's the sort of answer I was hoping to hear," said Charlie. "You either make it work or you don't."

"So what d'you do in Claire's case, where one of them gives up entirely?"

"She deserves someone who won't quit her because they're scared," said Charlie. "Simple as that."

"Agreed," said Oliver.

Madeline saw that there was no argument to be made with the two Gryffindor men, so she said nothing. Claire exited her room not long later after Oliver began washing all the dirty dishes, which was his Sunday chore. She always looked beautifully groggy, and Madeline still wasn't sure how this was possible in so consistent a manner. She walked up and greeted everyone with a universal "morning," and then placed herself in Charlie's arms, which were always ready to receive her. He kissed her temple twice and she grinned.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Mhmm."

"What d'you want?"

"Anything. Maybe those Belgian waffles you made a few weeks ago?"

"They'll take some time," he said into her neck and then pressed a kiss there.

"Mmm, that's alright," she said, her eyes closed. "We've plenty of time."

After Claire and Madeline finished eating and donning their winter layers, they apparated into Hogsmeade, which was bright with thick layers of snow and ice. Once inside the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta grinned. There were a few people dressed in heavy cloaks tending to their mid-morning breakfasts, but otherwise the Three Broomsticks was emptier than they'd ever seen it.

"Palmer and Denson, there you are. McGonagall's told me that I'll be seeing you two. I'll try not to be disappointed that there aren't any handsome lads with you," said Rosmerta. "The room she's arranged for you is upstairs, and you lot can order drinks and food there."

They followed Rosmerta up the stairs into the layers of bedrooms and parlor rooms. They both grew warm after the first flight of stairs and pulled off their cloaks. They walked all the way to the third landing, and once in front of an unnumbered, age-worn door, Rosmerta turned and looked at the girls.

"Go on, he hasn't been waiting for long," she said.

"He?" asked Madeline, but Claire was already opening the door and walking in. When Madeline could finally see past Claire's flurry of scarves and blonde hair, she recognised him immediately.

"Professor Lupin!" cried Claire happily, walking up to him quickly and shaking his hand. "We'd no idea! How exciting!"

Madeline thanked Rosmerta and smiled at the scene before her. Lupin met her eyes and she grinned.

"I should have known," said Madeline. "Who else would McGonagall trust to help us?"

"It is a pleasure to be working with the two of you again," said Lupin. "Please, sit? And you no longer have to refer to me as 'professor'."

"So, Mr. Lupin, then?" asked Claire, who was grinning as they sat on the dingy green sofa across from him.

"Whatever you prefer," he said. "I will use your first names if that is alright with you."

"Fine by me," said Claire.

"Well, I don't see a need for getting straight to business," said Lupin. "I'd love to hear about your Healer training, Madeline."

They three of them spoke for some minutes about their first foray into professional occupations, and Lupin was an excellent listener, as always. Claire spoke highly of the library, and offered to bring him books about anything he could wish for. Madeline explained how her training had been going and about her offer to complete her mentorship in New York City.

"That's quite exciting. It sounds as though you're both quite busy. So why then did you accept Auror training?"

The two young women looked at each other and then lowered their eyes before looking back up to Lupin.

"I suppose," said Madeline, "we thought we could handle it. It's not an opportunity given to many, so I personally felt that I should give it a shot."

Then, there was a sudden gush of green flames and a rumble at the fireplace, and the tall, wobbly shape of a woman appeared. The three of them stood out of curiosity and caution. The woman spurted ungracefully out of the green flames, tripped over an upturned end of the carpet covering the wooden panels of the floor, caught herself, and straightened up.

"Hello, there," she said, her voice bright and peppy.

Lupin cleared the dust, smoke, and soot with a large, sweeping motion of his wand, and then she was fully revealed. Madeline recognized her almost immediately, and she spoke before Madeline could.

"Am I in the right room?" she asked, grinning as though she had stumbled upon something unexpected. She looked from Claire and Madeline to Lupin. "I'm supposed to be helping two young ladies with Defense Against the Dark Arts training… but then, who are you?"

"Tonks?" asked Madeline. "You're to train us as well?"

"What, we have two mentors?" asked Claire.

"Are you Madeline Palmer and Claire Denson?" asked Tonks.

"Yes," said Claire and Madeline at the same time.

"Dear lord, you definitely aren't children anymore, are you?" she asked, laughing like the bright, homey sound of Christmas bells. "I remember you two as wee third years, especially you, Maddie Palmer. Itching to be on the Hufflepuff House team, dedicated to being first in your year. McGonagall's told me you were Head Girl last year? I suppose your hard work paid off."

"Just barely beat the competition, I suppose," said Madeline with a confused glance between Lupin and Tonks.

"Ah, that sounds like a Hufflepuff, alright," said Tonks. "Well, I'm Nymphadora Tonks, but you will all call me Tonks because I will stuff your arses into your faces if you don't."

This made Claire laugh loudly, and Madeline joined her—that was certainly the Tonks that Madeline had known briefly at Hogwarts. Lupin did not laugh or smile. As Tonks approached the sitting area, Lupin stepped out to greet her.

"Remus Lupin," he said, shaking her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I know Ted Tonks—you're his daughter?"

"Yes," said Tonks. "McGonagall asked me to help train these two, but she didn't mention that I'd be working with someone else."

"I was under the same impression," said Lupin. "However... I'm happy to share the work."

Madeline and Claire watched as they continued awkwardly interacting with one another, and eventually she sat next to him on the sofa.

"Well, had you arrived a few minutes prior, you would have heard all about their current professions and training," said Lupin. "Would you mind giving us another brief account?"

"Sure," said Claire. "I'm a librarian and Maddie's a Healer. We were accepted into the initial rounds of Auror training and Proudfoot was an absolute arse."

"Ah, yes," said Tonks while nodding. "I remember that phase. I gave them absolute hell until they left me alone."

"You sound like Nicolas Tennant," said Claire. "He's remaining in the program—we've just quit."

"No, you didn't," she cried, slumping over melodramatically. "That's what he wanted! You've just reaffirmed all his toxic stereotypes and warped ideologies!"

"What would you have us do? Kill ourselves to keep our full-time jobs and Auror training?" said Claire.

"You could've quit your other jobs," she said without hesitation. "We need more women. That's likely why you both got in—you were probably top in your class, and ol' Bones hoped you could make it through as I have."

Claire was shaking her head and smiling sadly.

"I love my job," said Claire.

"That's why we're here," said Madeline. "We want to continue our defense training but don't want to be tied to the Ministry."

"As difficult as that decision might've been," said Lupin slowly, "I think you both have acted wisely."

Tonks rolled her eyes and glared sideways at the man sitting next to her.

"I swear I've heard your name before, but I know nothing about you. How'd you qualify to teach them anything?"

Madeline bristled—Tonks was assuming that because she didn't know him, he wasn't qualified to be here.

"McGonagall obviously thought he was qualified. You don't trust her judgement?" asked Madeline.

Tonks looked to Madeline and laughed.

"Oh, this is going to be brilliant fun, I can tell."

"Lupin was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year, and he was the best we'd ever had," said Madeline. "I am more surprised to see you than I am to see him."

"Oooh," said Tonks, though it was difficult to tell if she was genuinely impressed or feigning it. "A professor. How exciting!"

"I think we should discuss a plan," said Lupin, his calm, hoarse voice easing some of the tension. "I'd had one in mind, but I'm not sure it will be sufficient for a fully trained Auror."

"Depends," she said, smirking. "What's your plan, gaffer?"

"I'd like to gauge where their nonverbal skills are, then test their knowledge of defensive spells," said Lupin evenly. He was not affected by her language. "If they are both where I believe them to be, I think it would be safe to begin testing their dueling skills."

"You think they're that advanced?" asked Tonks, surprised. "They're what—seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Eighteen," said Claire. "We both can perform the Patronus Charm with varying degrees of corporeality."

"You're joking," said Tonks, who laughed brightly again. "That took me ages to learn."

"Madeline's Patronus is a wolf," said Lupin. Tonks' eyebrows shot up high into her forehead.

"I've not gotten a full form yet," said Claire, who shrugged.

"That just means your memory isn't the happiest," said Tonks, who shrugged in return. "It'll come to you one day."

Claire laughed a tad bitterly, though Madeline might have been the only one to notice. Tonks sat quietly, pensively stroking her long, dark auburn hair, and staring at the floor. Madeline didn't remember what her real hair colour was because Tonks was always changing it. Today she was also sporting bright, ice-blue eyes and a long, straight nose like Nicolas'.

"I think that's a right solid plan," said Tonks, who finally looked up and nodded at Lupin. "But it needs to be flexible as well. I've just gone through an immense amount of training and passed all my qualifying exams, and I'd love an opportunity to share what I've learned."

She jumped out of her seat, threw her arms in the air, and grinned.

"Let's vanish this furniture and get to work!"

Lupin, cup of tea nearly to his lips, indulged in a small smile.

The Christmas season appeared sooner than expected, and Madeline was relieved to spend some time at home away from her friends and work. She and Claire met with Lupin and Tonks once more before the holidays, and they worked on nonverbal defensive spells again. Tonks was not pleased with their pace; she didn't think they were ready to begin dueling. Lupin, though, was all humble confidence and suggested that they discuss it further after the holidays.

Once at home, Madeline and her mum spent their time baking and talking about what Madeline's field of interests were, while Oliver and Henry talked about the ministry and living in London. At Oliver's home, the talk was all Quidditch. But the best part of being at home was the consistent smell of gingerbread cauldron cakes, homemade cider, and cedar from the forest. She spent a good bit more time at Oliver's house than ever before, but it wasn't weird; Gwen and Paul had always been very much like parents to her anyway. When Oliver's mother wasn't around, Paul took great pleasure in referring to Madeline as his daughter, which always made her laugh.

The day before Christmas Eve, as she and Paul walked to town together to get a few last-minute food items, was one such instance.

"Hurry along, daughter, we're not to dally today," he said when she had stopped to stare at the frozen loch, the forest, and the mountains off in the distance. She had missed that sight. She needed to visit home more often.

"You only call me that when my mum or Gwen aren't around. Why is that?"

"Because I imagine they're both too thrilled about your marrying my son as it is," he said gruffly. "We sort of knew, but now it's all exciting, yeah? They'll want to plan a wedding all traditional like, I'm sure. Does that frighten you?"

Madeline sighed and shook her head. "Well, no, but planning a wedding sounds like monstrous work, and I'm certainly not looking forward to it."

"What about being married?"

"To Oliver or in general?" asked Madeline

"To my son, of course!"

"That I can manage," said Madeline with a laugh. "He makes everything easier."

"Mmm," said Paul. "Enjoy that feeling while you can. It won't always be that way."

"Won't it?" asked Madeline. "I can't see why not."

"You won't always agree on everything," Paul warned.

"That's not what I meant—I only meant that Oliver's way of handling problems is a relief. He's also become far better at knowing how to stay calm under pressure; I think being with Puddlemere has helped him grow a lot. I'm so proud of him."

"We're quite proud of you, too, Maddie. Don't forget that."

They were just outside of town when Madeline finally expressed the question that had been lingering bitterly on the top of her tongue.

"D'you really think Oliver and I won't be happy?"

"Oh, dear, no," said Paul, who stopped and stared at Madeline. "That's not what I meant at all. I should've been more careful with my wording."

He stuffed his mittens into his simple, Muggle-fashioned coat ("I think it looks dashing, don't you?") and looked around at the fairy lights twinkling all over the town.

"You'll be happy, but being together long-term means adjusting and redefining what happiness is, see," said Paul gruffly. "I shouldn't of opened my mouth, look where it's gotten me. Ah… Maddie, you'll both be alright. You won't always agree, but that's life, y'know?"

"Yeah, I suppose," said Madeline.

"Listen, it's Christmas, let's not worry about the future, yeah? You and Oliver have little to worry about, and you should enjoy that feeling before life gets more complicated, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," said Madeline.

While they walked through town, Madeline thought of Nicolas and Richard, the two men she knew had difficulties dealing with the future. But Oliver? The thought confused her. Oliver was level-headed and confident, and he usually had a plan. Richard was the one who crumbled from his self-induced anxiety about the future, Madeline thought. But what could possibly shake us?

Paul and Madeline then passed a group of children of all ages who were having a snowball fight. When they were safely past the snowy war zone, Madeline turned and watched the children from a distance. Some were quite small, maybe five or six, while others were nearly twelve or thirteen. There seemed to be teams, and Madeline was beginning to discern them when Paul called her to attention.

On the walk home, boots crunching through thick pillows of snow, Madeline's train of thought followed one path: Do I want children? Does Oliver want children? Why did our parents only have one child each? Why didn't I have siblings? Claire, Nicolas, Richard… none of them had siblings either. She was certain that Margaret had half-siblings in Italy somewhere, but the rest of their group were raised as an only child. Why?

At New Year's Eve, Nicolas invited all but Richard Callaghan and Peregrine Dixon. Margaret refused to be the only woman who dressed well, so she wrangled Madeline and Claire into dresses and heels. When Madeline finally exited Claire's room, Oliver smiled to see her and pulled her into his room. The others were still busy with last-minute food and decorations, so no one noticed their absence.

"I'm nearly your height in these shoes," said Madeline. "Power dynamic's going to change, I expect."

"Power dynamic?"

"It's a Claire phrase. Forget it."

"You're beautiful, as always. But you know I don't need all this," he said, gesturing to her dress and face, "to think that, right?"

"I know. You probably prefer Quidditch-pitch-sweaty-gross Maddie to all else, right?"

Oliver grinned with something like embarrassment and laughed.

"Yeah, somethin' like that. Does this look alright?"

Madeline looked over his dress shirt and trousers and nodded.

"Very handsome. But I think I'd prefer less clothes."

"Don't you get that started, alright? We don't have time for—"

"For what?" asked Madeline, grinning coyly. "It was just an observation."

"Observation my arse, Maddie," said Oliver, his pupils growing large with adrenaline. He pulled her into him and said, "Can I kiss you? Will I get lipstick everywhere?"

"No, you won't. Margaret set it magically."

Oliver picked her up, carried her to the bed, and after laying her down, began unbuttoning his nice shirt. Madeline kicked off her shoes, got up on her knees, and offered her assistance.

"Lock the door," said Madeline.

Oliver slid the shirt off his burly arms and pulled his wand from his back trouser pocket.

"We should probably be helping them," she said as Oliver propped himself over her.

"No—don't you start, they're fine," he said, leaning down to kiss her neck. Although the sensation itself triggered reactions in her body, Madeline's mind was elsewhere. She knew then that she shouldn't have said anything. She'd started this—it was all her fault, and they wouldn't get anywhere. They hadn't really gotten anywhere yet, and they certainly didn't have time now. What was she doing? Why was she doing this to him?

"Oliver, we should stop," she said, her voice small. "I don't—it'll just be more disappointing the further we go."

"What're you talking about?"

"You know what I mean," she said, sitting up. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Oliver sat back, staring at Madeline blankly as though she had slapped him. She slipped to the end of his bed and pulled her shoes back on. They both sat at the edge of the bed, their elbows on their knees. Oliver was still shirtless and covered his face with his hands. She heard him take several deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," said Madeline. Her eyes grew wet but she kept the tears in check.

Oliver stood, picked up his shirt, buttoned it, and tucked it in without saying a word. Madeline felt a chill run through her, like she'd been submerged in ice water. He wouldn't look at her. She had done this—this exact same tease-excite-retract maneuver—over the Christmas holidays, and she had just done it again. Why?

"Oliver?"

"It's alright, Maddie. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I know you are," he said, sitting next to her again. "I just wish I…"

Madeline waited in case he found the courage to speak his mind. He didn't, and the silence hung in the air like dark, low-lying clouds. Madeline took his hand and kissed it.

"What d'you wish?"

"I wish I wasn't so easily excited. I nearly go mad every time you look at me," said Oliver. "And that's not your fault, so don't burden yourself with more guilt. No—I know you will try, so don't. This isn't your fault."

"Not my fault? For endlessly teasing you?"

"My reactions are my responsibility."

"And I feel like I'm not taking care of you—"

"That's Claire talking, damn it," said Oliver harshly. "I'm not Richard. Our relationship isn't dependent on anything like that."

"But it should be a part," said Madeline, her eyes welling up again. "And I do feel guilty."

"We will talk about this again tomorrow, alright? For now, we're alright. I'm not upset with you," said Oliver, who was still standing next to the bed.

"You should be," she replied quietly.

At this, Oliver laughed bitterly and threw his arms in the air, and Madeline looked up in surprise.

"Is that what you want? D'you want me to be angry?" Oliver asked.

Madeline shook her head, her face scrunched with pain and fear.

"What d'you want, Maddie?"

It took Madeline a minute to formulate her response.

"I just... want this to be easier. I don't want to feel anxious every time I start thinking about us… y'know…"

"Baking biscuits?" Oliver suggested, to which Madeline laughed. They both laughed for a few good moments, Madeline starting up again every time she saw Oliver's grin.

"Yeah," she replied. "I don't know that I'll ever be comfortable... 'baking biscuits' here, even if everyone is gone, but especially if everyone's here."

"Fair enough," said Oliver. "I'm going to hex Nick for making you paranoid."

"You should! It's affected my psyche, Ol. It's all—his—fault," said Madeline. She stood and tried to maintain a serious expression while Oliver pulled her back to his chest. They kissed, reigniting the flame, and Oliver stopped sooner than usual and sighed.

"Maybe all I really need is a bit of firewhisky," said Madeline. "I'd be calmer?"

"Perhaps. Let's have fun tonight and worry about this later, yeah?"

Madeline nodded and smiled. They kissed briefly again and rejoined their flatmates.

Everyone arrived in good time, and Temperance brought her new boyfriend, the Quidditch player named Ademar. He was of interest to Charlie and Oliver, who spent a good hour or so talking to him. Madeline greeted everyone and, after taking a shot of firewhisky with Claire, retreated to the outdoor area Nicolas had constructed in the last week. It was cold out, but Madeline wasn't bothered by it. In fact, it felt quite nice. She had only been outside for a few minutes when Nicolas joined her, and she didn't think to question his appearance.

"D'you want a cloak?" he asked when he first joined her.

"Nah, I'm alright," she replied.

"Why're you out here all alone?"

"Just… cooling off before dancing," said Madeline, knowing this would appease him.

"Mmm," said Nicolas. "I'd noticed the sexual tension between you and Oliver peaked again tonight."

Madeline laughed through her nose and stared at the lights of London. "Oliver's miffed at you for making me paranoid about us getting caught."

"That's the problem, is it? My presence? Oh, dear, that's not a good sign, is it?" asked Nicolas, who was grinning. Madeline didn't rise to his bait.

"I think Oliver's also sick of me parroting Claire's relationship advice," said Madeline, who laughed softly. Nicolas said nothing, and for that, Madeline was thankful. There was no good way to respond without taking sides, which Nicolas was learning not to do.

"I have… an awkward question to ask you," said Madeline after a few minutes of thoughtful silence.

"Yeah?"

"Might be very awkward," said Madeline, trying to warn him properly.

"It's alright, Maddie," he said. "Get on with it."

"D'you remember when we used to snog?"

"Yes," he said. He tried not to think about what it felt like to hold her and taste her skin. He failed. "I remember."

"Did I ever seem… easily distracted or evasive?"

Nicolas was silent again, and this time he sighed and nodded.

"Why?" asked Madeline, her face crumbling. "I still do it…. I can't commit to trusting Oliver in that way, and it's really starting to frustrate the both of us. What's wrong with me?"

"He wasn't there when… when Flint…. I'm not sure he'll ever fully understand that sort of embedded fear," said Nicolas.

"I'd forgotten about that…" said Madeline softly.

"Lucky for you, eh?"

"Nick, I haven't really forgotten. I've just… not considered that."

"No, it's alright. I'm glad nothing worse happened. I had a feeling that you'd have issues after that. That's not something easy to recover from."

"I don't feel damaged by it, though?"

"Except that you've just said that you're struggling to trust the one person you've never trusted more in your entire life," said Nicolas. He wore his 'you know I'm right' expression, and Madeline gave him a playful shove.

"I dunno what to do, honestly. I suggested a bit of firewhisky—"

"That usually gets the job done."

"—but Oliver wasn't keen on that."

"No, I'm sure he wasn't."

"What am I supposed to do, Nick? Calming charm?"

"No, don't do that," said Nicolas. "It'll wreck any passion you're feeling."

"Brilliant," said Madeline. She threw her head up and stared at the dark sky, littered with stars barely visible because of the city lights.

"Maybe your focus is the issue, rather than the worry. Try focusing on just Oliver rather than anything or anyone else."

"Maybe…"

"But I think it's just a simple case of learning to just let go, in which case, firewhisky will do the trick. You're all gooseflesh—let's get inside."

Madeline grudgingly followed Nicolas back inside, where the air was much warmer. Then she saw why no one had missed her—Amelia had arrived, and, once again, she had brought with her a handsome friend.

Chapter 14: Doppelgänger

"D'you have feelings for me?"

She laughed and didn't stop for some time.

"Yeah, alright, don't laugh your trousers off."

"Nicolas Tennant, what on earth could you want with me?"

"I don't—I don't want anything, you just seemed particularly attached to me, so I wanted to get it out in the open. I don't have feelings for you."

"That's alright. You're not my type," she said evenly.

"Nonsense. I'm everyone's type," said Nicolas with a crooked smirk.