Chapter Twenty-Five: Albus: The Wounded

There comes a time in your life when there's one person that makes you forget everything. Emily's frighteningly good at that. When first realized I fancied her (and told her), I didn't even stop to think why I hadn't dated anyone for two years. It was as if I was so caught up and distracted by her, in being friends and pushing for more. She's just so hilarious and cute and amazing that I was stuck in a daze.

I don't think you understand how difficult it was to resist her. Everything just makes me want to snog the living daylights out of her – how she twists her hair when she's nervous, how she's so comfortable around me… and her laugh.It's bloody addicting.

Everything about her just pulled me in this sort of fog where I couldn't remember anything – it was just Emily, Emily, Emily, and her freaking smile and how she left my skin tingling every time she kissed me and the way it felt like my insides were ripping open whenever I pushed her away, because she just looked so wounded.

Like when I split the bed in half.

Merlin, if I knew that was going to happen, I never would've done it.

It's just that she fell asleep way faster than I did, and when we first came back from Rome, she wouldn't be able to sleep unless I held her. She would shake from anger, and instead of being a mighty Gryffindor and shit and facing up to it, I held her. And she calmed down.

But then I couldn't sleep. I'd been thinking too much lately. More than I'm used to, anyway. And trust me, when you have someone sleeping in your arms looking like a bloody angel, your thoughts tend to stray towards her, and how peaceful and not-angry she looks. Then before I knew it, I would subconsciously push hair out of her eyes and kiss her cheek while she was sleeping.

That had to stop.

And thanks to my brilliant plan, I was stuck sleeping in a much smaller bed without blankets (I let Emily have them. She always hogs them, anyway) and silently talking to the ceiling. I knew she wasn't asleep, but I had a feeling if I talked to her right then, she'd kill me. Either physically or with that same hurt expression. Bloody hell.

The ceiling was unresponsive, as usual.

Me: So I shouldn't tell her, right?

Ceiling:

Me: Because that would be ridiculous, of course. I mean, she doesn't need to know.

Ceiling:

Me: It's just that she looks so sad. And if she knew why, maybe she'd agree.

Ceiling:

Me: But what if she doesn't agree? What if she keeps trying to win me back? It'll just make things worse!

Ceiling:

Me: Bloody hell, what if she snogs me? I'll never keep my resolve!

Ceiling:

Me: Merlin, you're no help.

I glanced back to her bed. She wasn't really that far – about a metre away – but she felt far away. She was lying on her back as well, hair spilling all over her pillow, chest rising and falling with her breathing.

I felt so bad.

"Emily?" I whispered, hating how my voice stuck in my throat. Man up, Al, man up.

She took a moment to respond, but she did. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

I could tell she wasn't expecting that. After my countless attempts for the past week to push her away from me, why would I apologize? I had to do this. It was for her own good, and if I had it my way, I would keep her as far away from me as possible.

But that would hurt her, and that's what I was trying to prevent.

And the worst part was when she spoke. "It's okay," she said, as if she were assuring me. Forgiving me. When I didn't deserve it. Emily turned around so that her back was facing me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed to Merlin that she wasn't going to cry.

After all, isn't that what got me into this mess?

The people who came over the next day wanted the house. I was surprised, honestly; everything may have been clean, but it was bloody small. Muggle logic is irrational, if you ask me.

We discussed it at dinner.

"I think we should sell it to them," Malfoy suggested, picking at his mashed potatoes. "They made a good offer."

"Should we really sell to the first people who offer?" I asked, frowning. "I mean, that's pretty much our asking price. Maybe the house is worth more than we thought."

Emily snorted. "I doubt it. Those people were a little out of it, if you asked me. That's the best offer we're going to get."

I looked to Rose, who didn't say anything. In fact, she was glaring at me.

"What?"

"I need to talk to you," she muttered, standing and yanking me out of my chair. I caught a glimpse of Emily and Malfoy as I left; they were silently communicating their simultaneous confusion.

Don't get jealous. They're friends. Just friends.

"What is this about?" I asked as Rose led me into my own room. I learned long ago not to argue with a pregnant woman (too many of those in my family), but it was though she was looking for an argument.

Oh, who am I kidding. It's Rose.

"What is this?" she demanded, pointing at the two beds. I'd pushed them back together for the showing, but once you shifted the blankets a little, there was a clear indent between the two. Rose flipped it off to reveal the severed mattress. "I don't think I bought this bed for you to break."

I held my hands up. "Hey, I did this on purpose. It wasn't a temper thing."

"Good, because if you ever release that temper on Emily, I might have to murder you." The next thing I knew, she was holding me by the ear, practically pulling it out of my head.

"Rose!"

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, wrenching harder.

"Nothing!"

"Why are you doing this to her?" She let go of my ear and held her hand as though she were about to slap me. "Do you enjoy leading her on? Is that it? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I stepped back, actually fearing for my life. "Not the face. Please not the face."

"Albus Severus Potter…"

"Okay, okay." I let my hands hang at my sides. "I'm not leading her on. I swear. That's why I split the bed in the first place."

"Al, what happened?" she asked wearily. "Is it Emily?"

"No."

"Then it's you."

"Yes."

She sighed. "If it's that stupid thing with Holly, then I swear–"

"It's not stupid!" I protested indignantly, guilt bubbling in the pit of my stomach. "That was my fault! I can't let that happen again!"

She stood. We'd had this argument too many times to count, and if she thought my mind was going to change now, she was mad. Absolutely insane. "How did this start? Weren't you seducing her in Rome?"

My ears burned red. I could feel it. "Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"I forgot." I dropped my gaze to the floor. "I forgot what I did. Then I found out about David, and what he did to her. And then I was going to – well, break up with her in a sense – but she kissed me. And I forgot again."

"Then?"

"We fell in that fountain," I mumbled. "I hurt her."

To my disbelief, Rose scoffed. "That wasn't you, moron. That was the fountain."

"Well, I could hurt her, couldn't I?" I shook my head and crossed my arms. "You wouldn't get it, Rose."

She pursed her lips and smacked me on the head, and hard, before storming out and slamming the door. I stared after her. She didn't get it. She'd never get it. She didn't understand that if I kept doing what I was doing, I would hurt Emily more.

Rose could give me the silent treatment all she wanted. I didn't care in the slightest.

A few days passed, and Rose still refused to speak to me. Malfoy had accepted the offer, and we were expected to move out of the head by next week. We still hadn't found a place to stay. Emily was still being inexplicably nice to me.

(And when I say "nice", it's not a good way to describe it. A better word would be – as much as it pains me to admit it – caring.She treated me as if there was some hope left, and honestly, I was still pushing her away, even if I felt like a douchebag.)

Oh, and what was I doing?

I was writing an article on the ministry.

Before this summer, I didn't have any emotional connection to the shit that's going down over there. My writing was objective and entirely detached, but now… my wife is the target of the shit. And yeah, that definitely concerned me.

I scanned my notes. The ministry was controlling The Daily Prophet. I hadn't written any articles about the ministry since April. They'd probably been selective with what they assigned me, like always. I was hired based on my merit, but I was given special treatment based on my name. It's why I was allowed to choose my hours and have my own office or have the choice to work from home. I would've complained, but I wanted those things.

I was hired the summer before my sixth year for an internship, and before seventh year, the firm hired me. I worked year-long from school, sometimes getting out of the castle to do research. The editor always assigned me these random articles he thought would be best told from a youth's point of view.

This usually included the ministry. Looking back, I could see how the minister had slowly built up to the Death Eater law that Emily was running from. He'd been slowly passing laws that lead up to it: everyone who was pure blood and related to a pure blood had to submit their names. Death Eaters had to be located (reasons unknown).

The article I was writing was supposed to be detailing the good the recent laws were doing for the Wizarding community. I was supposed to outline the improvements to the security of the country and how the laws ensured that people were safer.

It was completely and totally biased. How was Emily supposed to feel safe when she knew they could take her family to prison at any time they wanted? How was she supposed to relax when they could kill her father at any time? Why was the minister hyping up a fear that only existed in his mind?

It was so wrong. I felt sick as I wrote it.

I finished the article, still feeling disgusted with myself. It was like I was selling out to keep a job, no matter how detached the words sounded on paper. To distract myself, I unrolled a copy of The Daily Prophet that had been sent to me with my assignment.

As strange as it sounds, I rarely read the damn paper. It was widely known to be supported and controlled by the ministry in a biased fashion, no matter who was ruling. There weren't many other magazines besides Witch Weekly, and The Quibbler was garbage, save for a few articles; the writers on that magazine preferred to use their imagination.

So did I, but I never wrote things from my imagination for a newspaper.

But as I read the headline, my stomach plummeted further.

'HARRY POTTER FIRED AS HEAD OF AUROR DEPARTMENT'

My body tensed in my chair. Why was he being fired? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the most influential people in the Wizarding World, being the Saviour and all? He was the best auror there. I didn't understand.

And why didn't he tell me?

Bloody minister,I seethed, clenching my fists and trying to breathe. What if something bad happened? What if Emily and I needed my dad's help? He couldn't give us that anymore. He'd been fired. He lost his authority - his power.

As if on cue, I felt arms slide around me and reach at my chest.

"You're home," I acknowledged unnecessarily. My voice was hoarse and didn't sound right, as though someone else was speaking.

"What's wrong?" Emily whispered in my ear, sending shivers up my spine. "You're all tense."

I took a deep breath. "I think I'm going to go visit my family tomorrow."

"Really?"

Numbly, I slid the paper a few inches towards her. She leaned forward to read. A bit of her hair brushed against my cheek and nose. It smelled nice.

"He didn't tell me," I said, my throat tight.

She glanced at me, her expression softening. "It says the minister fired him because they got in some sort of argument. You should ask him about it."

"I will."

She smiled sympathetically and leaned back up to kiss the top of my head. "It only happened last night. You don't live with him anymore. He's probably really busy or something."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Whatever, I don't care."

"Al -"

"What?" I rounded on her, glaring. "I don't." She looked away, and I instantly regretted lashing out on her.

"If you say so."

"I don't," I said softly.

She ignored me this time - and rightfully so. She lifted herself off me and went to sit in another chair at the dining table. I couldn't smell her anymore. "I checked out an apartment on the way home. The one a few kilometres from here."

I nodded. I told her I was okay with pretty much anything, as long as the place was functional. "And?"

"The carpets smell funny."

"We could get rid of the smell."

"But the room was overall disgusting," she explained with a grimace, "and the building that Rose and Scorpius are in is full."

"Dammit. Where should we check next?"

She bit her lip. She looked worried. "Al, we have until Wednesday to find somewhere to live."

"So?"

"I think we should ask your parents if we can move in. Temporarily," she added hastily at my expression. "Just until we can find a place of our own."

"Why can't we ask your parents?"

She looked away again. "I asked today. Mum said no. There isn't enough room unless you camp out in the basement, and it isn't finished. You'll probably freeze to death down there."

I wasn't listening anymore; there was something in her expression that wasn't quite neutral. "You visited your mum today?"

"Yeah. Asked her to visit Dad with me tomorrow." We'd received an OWL this morning from the ministry that Emily was scheduled to visit Saturday afternoon.

"Do you want me to come with you?" She shook her head, and I sighed in relief. Azkaban is a scary place. I wouldn't ever step foot in there voluntarily. "So how's your mum? She doing all right?"

"Fine," she said shortly, pushing her chair back noisily. I stared at her retreating back as she headed up the stairs. Moments later, I heard our door slam close. Obviously, something had happened, and she wasn't going to tell me.

Shit.

Did Emily not trust me anymore?

Emily was more upset than I thought she was. She helped Rose cook dinner, and though I knew they were talking about something important, I couldn't hear a damn word. I think they cast Muffliato on me.

So unfair. I AM NOT THE ENEMY.

She avoided my gaze at dinner and went to bed early. It was driving me crazy. What did I do? I mean, yes, I split our bed in two. I might've pushed her away when she was being affectionate. I might've told her to get over me.

Bloody hell, never mind. She had every right to be angry at me.

Maybe I'd been going at this all wrong. She needed to get over me - that wasn't up for discussion - but maybe I shouldn't have been pushing her away to get her to do it. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were before, when we didn't have feelings for each other and screwing everything up. When we could just tell each other everything.

But I have to admit, that's kind of stupid - to expect her to trust me while I'm treating her like shit.

I'm really smart.

BUT THEN HOW DO I DO IT?

I decided to give it a try. Just wing it, just to see what happened. It was around ten in the morning when Emily came in from her run. I looked up from tying my shoelaces; she'd disappeared in the closet.

"Hey, Emily?"

"Yeah?"

I swallowed my pride. "I'm sorry for yesterday, when - I guess I yelled at you. I didn't mean to." I knotted the shoelace before continuing. "And I think I was wrong with the way I went about things."

"What things?" she asked. She sounded bewildered, but that might've been because she was still in the closet, looking for something. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. Considering my options.

I mean, it's only fair. I should tell her.

"I think... maybe I should've explained everything." The ceiling was unresponsive, yes, but somehow encouraging. I stood up slowly and walked towards the walk-in-closet, leaning on the door frame. "You know, why I wanted you to get over - what the hell is that?"

Emily gave me a funny look as she walked out of the closet. "What?"

"On - on your chest!" I spluttered. It was even clearer when she was out of the closet and into the light of the room. Emily glanced down and found what I was referring to: a dark bruise in the middle of her cleavage.

She blushed. "Why are you looking down my shirt?"

My face heated as well. "You call that a shirt?" It was some sort of tank top for exercising. It was stretchy and stuck to her body. I shook my head and tried to force my eyes back to her face. "What is it?"

"I'm sure you know what breasts are, Al."

"How'd you get a bruise there?" I asked shakily, my eyes unwillingly drawn to it. How did I never notice that before? "I don't think you didn't run into a pole or something, because then your face wouldn't be so pretty."

Emily flushed a deeper red. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Not the point," I dismissed. I felt like a pervert, staring, but I was honestly staring at the bruise. It was purple and green and blue and all sorts of gross colours. It looked really bad, and I wasn't even looking at the whole thing; it extended downwards. "What is it?"

"It's a bruise," she said hesitantly, walking over to her dresser and fishing out one of the t-shirts she wore to bed. After she pulled in on, she gave me look, saying, "There. Better now?"

"No..." I tried to breathe. I'd been finding that difficult lately. "Emily, who did it?"

"Al."

"Was it someone at work? Did someone corner you or something?"

"Al," she started again in a reasoning tone, but I shook with impatience.

"Tell me." I crossed my arms. "Please. I'll help. I'll -"

"Stop it." Something in her voice made me stop; it was sharp and forced. Her eyes were blazing and angry. I stepped back.

I held my arms tight against my chest, defiant. "What?"

The the strangest thing happened: she peered at me curiously. As if she were checking something to reassure herself. Then, just when I thought she was about to open her mouth to yell at me, she stepped backwards.

What was happening?

When she spoke, her voice broke. Shit. When did I hurt her?

"You're not lying."

"What?"

"You really don't remember."

"Remember what?" I asked. I racked my brain fiercely. Did Emily tell me about any bruises?

She stepped back again, as though she were mildly stunned. Why? What happened? Was it because I didn't remember something? "Al..."

"I don't remember you telling me anything about bruises..."

Her back hit the door of the bedroom. She looked as though she were about to cry. I didn't understand why she was feeling or acting this way. "Al, you didhave feelings for me, right?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "I don't know what this has to do with -"

"Right?" she asked again, almost desperately. Wait, definitely desperately. What the hell. What was she thinking? Why was she desperate? Why was she crying? Why was she backing away from me? How did my fancying her have anything to do with this?

I couldn't even answer, I was so confused. My head was spinning. "Emily, I -"

"Damn it," she whispered under her breath. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but the floor. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

"Emily -"

"It's okay," she cut in, her voice loud but wobbly. She still wasn't - wouldn't- look at me. "I get it. I understand what's going on."

"Em, I -"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped suddenly, her watery eyes finding mine. A tear slipped out. She wiped it away immediately. "You don't - you don't have the right to."

I didn't even know what to say anymore.

Suddenly, she squared her shoulders and strode over to me. My only reflex was to step backwards. I was defenceless, as though I was transparent in front of this girl - and that was my own fault. I was the one who left myself get this way: without anything to defend me from getting hurt. I let my guard down.

She didn't stop until my back was against the wall, her brown eyes brimming with tears but refusing to overflow. I, on the other hand, couldn't think anymore; she was much too close and smelled too good. All I knew is that she was inches away and her arms were around my neck and she looked hurt. And I didn't know why.

Emily was reaching on her toes, leaning even closer to me. I could hear her breathing intermingling with mine, or maybe I felt it, because my heart was much, much louder than that. It was thudding with every second and I was afraid she'd be able to hear it, and perhaps even feel it, because her chest was pressing against mine, her chest with a bruise that I didn't know where it had come from, everything was in slow motion even though it couldn't have been that long, really, but she smelled so good, something like citrus, and the past few nights of not inhaling that was catching up to me in my senses, so even if I wanted to push her away, I couldn't push her away, even if I still didn't know what was going on and where her bruise had come from and why she was crying -

And then her lips were on mine.

I didn't expect this. Anything but this. I was shocked, frozen against the bedroom wall. For two weeks I'd promised myself I would never do that again, and there I was, relishing how soft her lips were and how amazing she tasted and how it felt too good to be real. Something inside was nagging me to push her away, that I'd promised, sworn to myself I wouldn't do this, but I couldn't move. I didn't even react. I only closed my eyes. Stood motionlessly. In the moment.

And then it was over. It hadn't even lasted more a few seconds. Her arms slid so that her fingers were gripping the back of my neck, toying with the hairs there. It felt good. Everything about her was bloody addicting. I opened my eyes, something curling in the pit of my stomach as I found more tears sliding down her face and I still didn't know why.

When she spoke, I could barely hear it, even if I was inches away. It was softer than a whisper. It was like mist, brushing over my senses like cooling waves. "It doesn't bother me," she said, "that this didn't make you feel anything." She let her hands slid off me, and I immediately yearned for her touch. "I don't care, either."

The next thing I knew, she'd run out the door.

And I was fuming.

Not feel anything? Was she mad? She made me feel as though I would explode. She caused things in me that I was a hundred percent sure was unnatural. How could she say I didn't feel anything?

And why didn't it bother her? Why didn't she care?

My head was spinning so much now that my vision had begun to blur. My head was heavy. Everything was too warm and the room was dark and suffocating. I had to get out.

I grabbed my wand and apparated. I landed in a bed, but before I could discern where, sleep had found me and decided to take advantage of my symptoms.

Or, more likely, I fainted.

This is why you don't go around unarmed. Protect your heart, people.

I woke up to an ugly face.

"You're not Emily," I groaned, twisting to my side and groped the right side of the bed for her. Nothing. "Where is she?"

"You really are delirious, little bro," muttered the ugly face. Someone had removed my glasses. I squinted. It was James.

"What are you doing in my house?" I asked, trying to sit up. James immediately pushed me back down and stood up straight, snickering to someone else in the room.

"You're home," said someone who sounded a lot like my sister. I squinted some more.

"Lily, is that you? I can't see you behind this big butt of a brother."

"I liked you better when you weren't talking," James mumbled, reaching to the bedside table for a bottle. I noticed my shirt was off and there was some sort of wound on the left side on my abdomen.

I reached for my glasses on the bedside table. Relief went through me as everything came into focus; I was in my bed, in my childhood room. I must've somehow apparated there. And...

"Splinched," James said, unimpressed as he shook the dittany in my face. "Lily and I heard you apparate in. You were saying all sorts of things in your sleep. We figured you'd fainted from the pain and blood loss."

I frowned. "Funny. All I remember is feeling dizzy."

"It was probably exhaustion."

I closed my eyes in defeat. "I guess it's because I didn't sleep last night."

"Atta boy. That's the first step. Admitting you have a problem isn't as bad as you think it is!" I grinned at the sound of my sister's voice, and this time when I sat up, James didn't stop me. Lily bounced across and room to hug me. "I missed you, Al."

"Hey, Lils." I felt the pain this time; my left side was burning. I ignored it. I turned to my brother. "What, no hug?"

He cracked a smile for the first time and ruffled my hair. "Hey, little bro."

"Hey, James." I reached under my glasses and rubbed my eyes. "Can't believe I apparated here. I didn't even know where I was going."

"You must've been thinking about it subconsciously," he said, pushing me over so he could sit on the bed. "Probably why you splinched yourself. Why didn't you sleep last night, huh?" I looked up; he was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed. "It wasn't like that." I let my hand graze my side and winced; I really didn't want to see what was there. "We had a fight just now."

"Really?"

"We've been fighting for the past few weeks."

"Why?" Lily asked curiously. "You didn't seem like you were fighting at Dad's party."

I snorted. "We fought during the party."

"But why?"

"I dunno..." I answered, trailing off in thought. That day's fight was still unclear to me. She had bruises. And she told me about them before. And then she was demanding if I fancied her, and... I never answered. Then she kissed me, and told me she didn't care.

Fuck.

Her bruises were from David.

It was as if bricks had been dropped on my head. Or boulders. Yeah, that sounded a bit more accurate for my realization. My head was suddenly throbbing, and I dropped my face in my hands. I'd forgotten that she messed up a spell and her bruises were still there, as if she'd just gotten them. I'd completely and utterly forgotten.

Bloody hell, and I was going to explain why I wanted her to get over me. Of all the insensitive things I could've done, I demanded who'd done it to her and asked if I could help. As if I could do anything about a memory she was trying to overcome. Instead of making her understand the real reason, she'd understood something else.

That I never had feelings for her. That I never felt anything when she kissed me. That I'd used her like she was using me. That everything was a lie.

Emily told me she didn't care. Because that's what she did when she was trying not to.

Shit.

She was finally trying to get over me - but for the wrong reasons.

I was vaguely aware that Lily was hugging me, muttering that it'd be okay. My little sister was scared for me. I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her hair, not telling her I was okay because that would be lying. I wasn't okay. I was dizzy and my head was pounding and my side felt like it was going to split in two. That wasn't okay, was it?

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that James was watching me. I raised an eyebrow at him as Lily let go of me.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" he responded heavily.

I shrugged. "I haven't cried in years."

"Yeah, not since..." He struggled for words.

"You've changed," Lily supplied suddenly. She and James were staring at me, scrutinizing me - trying to figure me out. She even moved her red hair out of her face to look at me better.

"She's right..." He reached over and flicked my forehead with his fingers. I grimaced. He sat back with astonishment. "See? You never used to react to that. You had the whole sarcasm-emotionless thing down. You laughed off everything. It's like you didn't have a heart."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Aw, does Al actually care about something, now?" Lily teased, ruffling my hair. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Of course I cared," I said quietly.

"Yeah, but you didn't show it." James shrugged after a moment, leaning back on his hands and smirking at me. "I guess that's what happens. You change when you fall in love."

My head snapped in his direction. What I really wanted to say was that it's not love. It can't be. If it was love, it wouldn't be so screwed up. But as it was, he didn't know it was a fake relationship, and I was going to keep it that way.

"What do you know about love?" I demanded, my voice getting caught in between. "You've never been able to hold onto a girl for more than two weeks."

He shrugged again. "Didn't find the right person."

My chest lurched wildly again. Emily was not the right person.I just fancied her. A lot.

I sought to change the subject. "What time is it?"

"About five o'clock," Lily told me after glancing at my clock on the wall. "You've been out for a while. Mum's been worried sick."

"Mum's home?"

"She just got home at four."

"Where is she?"

"Talking to Dad," said James. "He's been in and out for two months, now. Trying to figure everything out at the ministry."

Lily hesitated. "Don't tell them this, but we think Dad's lost any influence over the ministry. Have you read The Daily Prophet lately?"

"No. Except for the headline yesterday."

"They've made him a joke," James explained solemnly. "It's like he has to defeat another evil Dark Wizard for anyone to respect him again. No one remembers what he did except for our family and friends. But that's not enough."

"People are blaming him for the minister's doing," Lily added. "It's not fair. He's trying to fix everything and get people out of jail and defend people's executions, but none of that matters. They think Dad's on Mr. Birch's side."

I exhaled loudly. "And of course, Dad won't tell us any of this to protect us and all?" They laughed, and I hung my heavy head, smiling for the first time that day. "Of course not. Same old Dad."

I felt a deep sense of longing. I'd missed my siblings more than I thought; even at Hogwarts, James, Lily and I were really close. I think it started when our parents had started leaving us home alone when their jobs clashed. Don't get me wrong: they were amazing parents and were around a lot. But those times made a huge impact, and I couldn't even think of my childhood without remembering my adventures with James and Lily.

I gingerly stood from the bed and made my way to my closet to slip on a shirt. My side burned painfully, and I groaned from the pain.

"You okay?" James called.

"Fine," I said, gritting my teeth and trying to breathe. "So Dad's lost his job. But he's still trying to fix things at the ministry, right?"

"Of course."

I shook my head as James and Lily got up. We headed downstairs; I could smell dinner cooking, which was good. I was kind of hungry. We'd reached the landing and wandered over to the kitchen, where I was expecting to find food... but instead found Emily. Just casually sitting at the breakfast bar, chatting with my mum and dad.

I stopped dead in my tracks. "What are you doing here?"

She was biting her lip and twisting her hair. Shit. Her eyes were red and there was something in her expression that made me think she was guilty. Very guilty. But she had nothing to be guilty about.

Right?

"Al." Her voice was quiet and trembling. She made her way to me and pushed lightly at my chest so we were back in the hall. She was shaking madly from nerves, and couldn't stop biting her lip.

"What's going on?" I asked. I couldn't help but think of the last time I'd seen her, which was this morning. When she was crying and upset and assuming things. I had to fix that, somehow, but right then, there was something else going on. Something else had happened. "Emily?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering. "I told them."

"What?"

"Al." She opened her eyes and looked in mine determinedly. "I told them everything."