After two and a half weeks of no word from Lucy—despite owling her cousin three times and having Mum's owl return with an unopened letter and even attempting a Floo call once to Lucy's flat that was never picked up—Roxy decided that her older cousin was avoiding Roxy, which was, if anything, even stranger than Lucy's near fit at their grandmother's kitchen table.

Why was Lucy avoiding her all of the sudden? Had she suddenly decided that Roxy—"chosen" or not—didn't need to know about the "ghosts" that were supposedly trying to reach out to Roxy and Lucy?

And the little girl that Lucy had brought up, the one who could also see them; Roxy now had a strong suspicion she knew who Lucy had been speaking about, and she didn't think—if she were proven to be correct—that it was very likely that anyone would choose Roxy and her niece for the same cause.
But she remembered, at the party, when Faith had insisted that her father was sitting in the corner of the sitting room. That Freddie, whom Faith had never met, was sitting right there in the Burrow and was talking to them. If Faith was seeing Freddie at parties, and if Lucy was insisting that the ghosts had never left the world at all...

No.

Roxy shook her head, trying to clear it. She was just letting a bunch of weird coincidences and eerie behaviour scare her into seeing things that weren't really there. The ghosts were gone. Everybody knew that; after all, what good would it serve them to fade away from sight for twenty years, so that no one could see them or hear them?

It just didn't make any sense. This was clearly all just another one of Lucy's silly daydreams—she was spending too much time with Mrs. Scamander, letting the older blonde fill Lucy's head with paranoia and conspiracies. The ghosts were not—and could not be—back. Roxy was just letting the flood of panic sweep her along into believing something that simply was not true.

If she let Lucy sweep her up into a bunch of nonsense, then Roxy would quickly lose track of what mattered; what did it matter that Lucy thought she saw ghosts, when there was no conceivable way for that to ever possibly be true?

Roxy sighed, rolling her shoulders back to relieve the tension that had begun to build up between her blades. Why was she getting so worked up over something that she knew wasn't even true? Obviously, if she just thought about it for a minute, it was rather obvious that Lucy was either playing some sort of trick on Roxy, or she was in legitimate need of psychiatric help.

Because any reasonable, rationally thinking person could easily come to the understanding that of course the ghosts weren't coming back—and of course they had left—and Lucy's protest that this was simply not the case would soon find themselves shelved away amongst the thousands of other silly and preposterous conspiracies, like the wizard who had thought the moon was full of cheese and could be reached by broom.

At that week's family dinner—which Roxy had gone to by herself, as Mum seemed to have come down with some sort of cold and was lying in bed with a cauldron of Pepper-up Potion—Roxy was placed right in between her cousins Rose and Albus.

Roxy wasn't sure what had happened since she last saw them, but an argument must have broken out between the two because Rose was refusing to look Albus in the eye, while Al insisted on loudly clearing his throat every time Rose attempted to start a sentence. Across the table, Molly kept rolling her eyes at the younger cousins' actions, but no one had reprimanded them yet.

Roxy, to be honest, found it rather amusing to watch the two—adults, and best friends since they were in nappies—acting like little kids once more. It was funny to see how, despite being twenty-two, her cousins could still seem like six-year-olds when they got mad, instead of acting their age. Roxy certainly thought it made her seem more mature by comparison.

"Can you pass me that plate, Roxy?" Rose asked, pointing towards a plate that was on the other side of Albus' elbow, far from Roxy's reach.

She stared at her cousin, unsure of what to do. "Uh. I, uh, I dunno, Rose. Um. I can't really, uh, reach it, and, er…"

"Here," muttered Albus, rolling his eyes. "At least one of us ought to be civil and act our age, don't you think, Roxy? Instead of being petty and fighting about stuff that isn't going to be changed just because some of us don't agree with it?"

"Or, some of us could recognise that when a person of much higher intellect proposes an alternative that provides better arrangements, then maybe it would be wiser to go with the more appropriate option, don't you think, Roxy?" Rose's voice was clipped, sarcastic, and it made Roxy nervous.

Suddenly she didn't think it was quite so funny to see her older cousins fighting like little kids. Especially Albus and Rose, who were always so friendly and nice and considerate.

But now, to see them being passive-aggressive towards each other—and especially to drag Roxy into all of it—she wasn't so sure it was amusing. In fact, she very suddenly wanted them both to stop arguing and make up right there at the table.

"I don't understand you two," said Grandmum, letting out a small sigh. "You're twenty-two years old! Rosie, you're married, and Albus is about to be—"

"Understatement of the century. He's worse than any girl I've ever met. Talk about a total bride-zilla," Rose grumbled under her breath, and Albus attempted to kick her response, but only managed to whack Roxy in the shin by accident.

"You ought to be acting more mature, now that you're adults. You ought to be setting a good example for your younger siblings—and for Roxy, too! What if she suddenly starts thinking it's okay to break her grandmother's heart right here at the kitchen table just because she can't let go of some childish argument for long enough to enjoy a good meal with her family?" Grandmum said with a frown directed at both cousins.

If she had been standing up, Roxy imagined her grandmother's hands would be on her hips, waggling her finger at Rose and Albus like she had caught them playing Quidditch without the proper equipment. Somehow, though, with just her small frown—and with the hint of sadness lining her face—Grandmum managed to look more disappointed in the two cousins than any time before.

"We're sorry Grandmum," the two mumbled abashedly, neither able to meet the matriarch's eyes. Rose slumped forward in her seat, while Albus let his fork scrape across his empty plate.

"Mmhm. Now," announced Grandmum loudly, clapping her hands together. "I think that dinner is over, so why don't you crazy children—and any old people who think their hips won't break for trying—start up a nice game of Quidditch outside, yeah?"

The family cleared out pretty quickly after that, with most of the family disappearing outside to claim brooms and various positions on the homemade Quidditch pitch. Rose drifted after her brother without a word; Albus, instead, slipped up the staircase, claiming he wanted to "look at something" in Aunt Ginny's old room.

That left just Roxy to hand her grandmother dirty dishes and watch the old witch as she meticulously waved her wand over every plate, pan, and cup to make sure it was properly cleaned. It was always fun to watch Grandmum clean, because she used magic to do it, unlike Mum, who insisted that they were perfectly capable of doing it the muggle way.

"I don't suppose you know why those two are bickering, do you?" asked Grandmum, but Roxy only shrugged. She had an idea—something to do with wedding planning—but Roxy couldn't be certain. "I just don't understand. I mean, those three were so close during their days at Hogwarts, but now? To see them argue and fight over something so silly as an invitation list or a colour scheme?" Grandmum shook her head sadly. "I hope everything gets settled soon, and they can go back to being reasonable adults once more. I hate to see you all fight."

"How long has there been a sign on Dad and Uncle Fred's door?" Roxy asked suddenly. She wasn't sure where the intense need to ask had come from, but now that the words were out, Roxy couldn't take them back.

Her grandmum dropped the pan she had been pointing her wand at to send it scrubbing, her face losing all colour. She turned to look at Roxy with an expression that could, at best, be described as fright. "What sign are you talking about Roxy?" she whispered.

"There's a sign, er, on their door? Something about "do not enter"? It wasn't there the last time we spent the night, but I noticed it one time when I was watching the house, so I thought that maybe it'd been hung up recently or something?"

Grandmum shook her head. "Roxy, that sign has been in your grandfather's shed for thirty years. No one's touched it since your father tried to blast it apart and threw it into a box. I don't know what you thought you saw, but there's no sign on that door upstairs."

Roxy started, at a loss for words. No, she had seen the sign, seen the messy scrawl that she recognised as her dad's. She had seen it, she had. And it hadn't looked like anyone had tried to blast it—merely old, like it had been taped up a long, long time ago and then forgotten.

"Roxy?" Her grandmum gave her a questioning look, concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you alright? I would think that nineteen is a bit young to be losing track of things, don't you?"

"No. No." Roxy shook her head. "I saw it, I know I did. It was hung up on Dad's old bedroom. I saw it. I'm not crazy or imagining it. I swear, it was there, when I went upstairs and-"

Was this what it was like to be Lucy? To be Mrs. Scamander? To have people look at you like you were crazy and spouting nonsensical ideas that had no basis in reality?

But no; Roxy knew she had seen that sign hanging on her father's old room. She had not been so drunk as to imagine an old sign that she barely even recalled had existed before she spotted it.

Her grandmum stepped closer, forehead creased. "Roxy? Perhaps you need to lie down for a bit? You're looking a bit flushed, I mean, so—"

"No!" Roxy yelled, surprising even herself. Her chest was heaving, her heart beating rapidly. "No," she said again, struggling to sound calm. "I'm not sick or crazy. I'll prove it to you. I'll prove that I'm not just imagining this."

She stood up, fists clenched, and sprinted up the stairs, feeling her blood pumping in her ears. When she finally got to the door, though, Roxy paused, stopping herself at the last moment to blink at the door. She looked at the wood, which did not even hint of having held a sign recently. There was no shadow, no lighter set of wood to indicate that anything had hung on the door in ages.

"No, that's not possible, I'm not imagining things. I'm not. I just can't be." Roxy shook her head again. She knew she had seen a sign right here, just above eye level; it had been the sign from the shed, she remembered that now, she knew that. But it had been here, the night of the party.

She had...she had been standing here, because Faith had convinced her to come up here and Roxy had seen the sign Enter at your own risk and everything had gone dizzy and she had felt so lightheaded. It had been real—Roxy knew it was real, because it had to be. She wasn't going crazy. She wasn't seeing things.

Maybe you were drunk. Too drunk. That happens sometimes and it can cause hallucinations, can't it? Roxy thought to herself, but even still she didn't recall having been very drunk at that point, because Emily had left Faith with Roxy, and Emily wouldn't have done that if Roxy was too terribly drunk.

Right?

"Rox?" It was Albus, coming down the stairs in that odd way of his; he made almost no noise as he moved from one step to the next, and if he hadn't spoken, Roxy wouldn't have even noticed he was there at all. "Hey, is something wrong, Rox?"

Roxy looked up at her cousin, his features watery and blurry through her tears.

(She hadn't even realised she was crying.)

Albus was thin, with small, narrow shoulders and a few scattered freckles across his cheekbones. For the most part, he was almost a mirror copy of his father, with Uncle Harry's bright green eyes, his narrow nose, and messy hair. There was very little of Aunt Ginny in Albus—perhaps the cheekbones could be hers', but Uncle Harry's were also very regal-looking, so it was hard to tell.

He was four years older than her, a Gryffindor like his siblings and parents and grandparents and like so many other generations of Potters and Weasleys that had come before him. But he was not pompous like his brother, nor reckless like his sister. In fact, many times, Roxy had suspected that Gryffindor had not been the only house that the Sorting Hat had offered to place Albus in.

The Hat had done the same thing to her—offering to place her in Gryffindor, because that was where most of her family had been sorted, that's where Weasleys belonged, and so, the Sorting Hat would put her there, if that was what she wanted. If that was what she asked for. But her full potential would never be achieved, not in the house of lions.

And besides, Roxy suspected, if she had let the Hat put her with her brother, then it would have only proven that she was not brave enough for the lions, because to let herself pick the easy route would be a cowardly, self-serving move.

No, there had been only one house that was ever meant for her. And, like a Gryffindor, who was brave and made choices with the consequences be damned, she had let the Hat place her in Slytherin.

Maybe life would have been different if Albus had also been placed in Slytherin. Maybe she would have adapted more quickly and easily with an older cousin to guide her amongst the snakes, like all her others cousins had. Or maybe she would have simply become too dependent on Albus and begun to use him as a crutch, refusing to ever branch out and approach any of her house-mates in favour of befriending the one person she knew she could trust.

"There was a sign here," Roxy mumbled. Anyone else probably would have given Roxy a questioning look, but Albus merely nodded.

"Uncle Fred and your dad's sign, right? The one with the warning about staying away?" Albus moved closer, reaching out to the door, his fingers running across the old wood. When Roxy gave him a puzzled glance, he shrugged. "You can see the faded area, where it would've been, thirty years ago. And I've seen it in the shed a few times, when James would send me in there to go digging around for brooms. So I know what you're talking about."

"But I saw it here just a little while ago. It was—it was actually hanging up, and I ran across it one night when I was house-sitting for Grandmum and Grandad. I swear I didn't just imagine it."

"I'm sure," Albus said in an agreeable manner, though Roxy was suspicious. Albus had always been the friendliest of the cousins, but Roxy couldn't be sure her cousin wasn't about to turn this all into a big joke at Roxy's expense.

"I didn't imagine it," she said again, more forcefully. Albus nodded, no hint of a smile on his face, and no teasing lilt to his voice, like James might have had.

"I know, Roxy. I believe you when you say you didn't imagine it. Lucy's been trying to convince the rest of us for years that there's something wrong with—well, not this house, so much as the whole world. Something is missing. And you seeing the sign up on their door, even though it hasn't been hanging in three decades...well, I suppose that's just another way that the universe is telling us that things aren't how they should be."

Roxy shot her cousin a look of disbelief. Did he seriously believe Lucy and her crazy theories about all the ghosts and such? Or was this actually all a big joke, and Albus was going to start laughing at her because she was gullible and foolish and paranoid?

She tried to read his expression, peering up at Albus' intense green eyes. Roxy chewed briefly on her bottom lip, while Albus continued to smile down at her innocently. He didn't seem to making her into a joke, but she could remember "friendly" Gryffindors from Hogwarts who had turned out to be the nastiest of them all, pretending to like her at first only to mock Roxy in front of the whole school.

But he's your cousin. He wouldn't be messing with you, would he? Not about this, right? Isn't family supposed to care for each other? Right. Roxy snorted at that thought. If family was supposed to love one another and care unconditionally, no one had ever told James, who picked on her. No one had ever told Dominique, who had called Roxy a dirty snake and then disappeared forever. No one had ever told Hugo, who shied away from Roxy like she might convert him to the Dark Arts.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" asked Roxy sullenly, imagining that her cousin was most likely smiling internally at how naive she was. "You're just playing along to—to make me feel better. Is Lucy a part of this, too, to make up for all the times she's been teased for having weird ideas? She got you to go along while she pulls a prank—taking the mickey out on me-to convince me that I'm going mad. Isn't that what's happening here?"

Albus' eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically. "No, no Roxy, we aren't pranking you or anything like that. I promise." He was so earnest that Roxy wanted to believe what he was saying, but some part of her held back.

Perhaps Albus was just another Gryffindor, who saw her as a dumb little snake. He was just like his brother-just like all those older Gryffindors—who had mocked her and teased her throughout school, all trying to make her feel bad at the house she had been put in at Hogwarts. Albus is nice, though. He never made fun of you in school.

But maybe he was starting it up now.

"No." She shook her head. "No, you're mocking me. You think this is funny. Let's make little Roxy into a big joke. Let's make her think she's seeing things that aren't really there, that the ghosts are all coming back, that—"

"Wait, what?"

Roxy tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. Was this all just another part of the joke, or did Albus honestly not know about Lucy's insistence that the ghosts were all still here—that they had never even left.

"Lucy." She looked over at the faded wood of the door, remembering when she had stood here two months ago and seen that stupid sign. "She thinks all the ghosts—all the dead people—they're coming back, or they never left, and some of us can see them, some of us can hear them."

"But most of us can't?" Roxy nodded. "And she thinks that she's one of them. Thinks you're one of them." Roxy nodded again. "Is that connected to the door? To the sign being here when no one's touched it in years?"

Roxy shrugged. That was why she had come up here, wasn't it? Because some part of her suspected that all of these strange events were coming together, like a puzzle, to form something that was so intensely bigger than herself.

Lucy's insistence that she could talk to ghosts; Faith claiming that her father was at the Burrow; the sign appearing on the door and pulling at Roxy; waking up in her brother's room when she had even gone so far as locking her bedroom door to keep from leaving. And back in June, when they had graduated. She had put Freddie's picture in her trunk, but had returned to find it still out, as if someone had moved it while the ceremony was going on.

All of these things, separate from each other, seemed like nothing. They were just strange events with explainable answers—Lucy being a dreamer, Roxy wandering in the night—but all of it together, happening within such a short time? There was too much happening all at once for it to be mere coincidences. Something was happening, and Roxy was quickly finding herself in the middle of it.

And she wasn't sure this was something she wanted to find herself involved with, because when the world changes, not everyone makes it out untouched or unbroken.

Not everyone even makes it out alive.