It was early nightfall when the train arrived in Bellinghall. The mid June sun hung low above the tops of the trees, peeking out from behind the ridges of the Grampian Mountains. Thick, heavy clouds threatened rain, but none had fallen on the entire ride from Hogsmeade to Bellinghall. Fog was rolling down from the high gray peaks, blowing unseasonably cold air down into the valley where my hometown was nestled.

The events of the past week still haunted me like my sister's ghost. I could still smell Fenrir Greyback's stench of dirt, sweat, and blood in my nostrils. I could feel the coldness of the kitchen floor from 12 Grimmauld Place seeping through my shoes into my feet. The violent-blue of Mackenzie Folsom's eyes still pierced me as deeply as his threat had. The fact that I was now going to be receiving private training sessions with a former colleague of his did little to comfort me.

Remus and Lily, my closest friends, were the only ones I wanted to see this summer. Though it was easier to sympathize with Sirius now, I still didn't want anything to do with Potter. The size of his swollen head made it impossible to feel anything but tolerance for him. And Peter… he was more persistent than a hungry mosquito following his quarry.

I sighed deeply and pulled out my ash wand, studying the hard surface silently. Within the wood, a single feather of Fawkes resided and gave the wand its magical powers. Somewhere in the hand of another wizard, the brother of this feather lived.

The only difference was, my wand had never been used to take the life of another. And Voldemort was known to have murdered, even if the Ministry was trying to keep it hushed up. Voldemort was enough of a threat that Dumbledore was taking proactive matters in defending his students. Starting with the ones who had tread a little too far into the personal lives of his companions.

Did Voldemort even have companions or friends?

The conductor passed by, frowning slightly down at me. "Isn't this your stop?" He glanced at my ticket.

"Yes, it is." I said quickly, rising and swinging my bag over my shoulder and pulling my suitcase behind me. The wheels rattled over the aisle and down the steps onto the platform. I had been so deeply engrossed in my own turbulent thoughts that I hadn't even noticed when the train had lurched to a stop in my hometown.

To my surprise, my father was waiting for me by his old blue Ford. He waved once, hands in his tan jacket. Even in June, he wore long jeans and work boots, owing to the unseasonably chilly air that permeated the valley. Shivering slightly and tugging my sleeves down to cover more skin, I walked to my father and offered a perfunctory smile. I still hadn't forgotten his outburst last summer, intoxicated as he had been. It didn't excuse for the cutting words that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Hey, Amber." Dad said, smiling down at me through his light golden fuzz of facial hair. His green eyes were warm, but I could tell that he was a little nervous. I doubted he too would be able to forget that night.

"Hi." I chewed my lower lip, suddenly wishing I had just walked alone back to the house.

Dad stood awkwardly, his gaze following the train as it rolled out of the station and disappeared around a moss-covered stone wall. "Are you hungry?"

At his words, my stomach rumbled slightly. But the thought of being alone with him while we ate food was unappetizing, and I shrugged. "I guess. A little. I can wait for dinner."

"Well, if you're hungry, I can take you down to St. Bride's and get you something to eat. How about a veggie burger?"

"Dad, they're closed at three, remember?" I said as I heaved my heavy suitcase into the bed of the truck. I thought of spending the next two and a half months like this; awkwardly talking and navigating my way around my parents, and I felt a cold swoop of dread inside, chasing away the gnawing hunger. I almost wanted to cry, but tears never solved anything.

Dad seemed to sense my discomfort, because he nodded once and gestured to the car. "Well, whatever you want for dinner. Your mom mentioned making fish, but you could have something else. The garden's starting to produce. We've got lots of stuff."

"Sure, thanks, Dad." I said politely as I climbed into the cabin of the aging car. Dad turned the key. The engine coughed and died.

I drew out my ash wand and pointed it at the ignition. "Initium."

The car jerked to life. Dad raised a brow.

"You aren't supposed to do magic outside of school." He reminded me, guiding the Ford down the quiet country road.

I shrugged. "Someone had to do it."

Dad half-smiled and didn't bring it up again. Regina Vintage was singing through the speakers, rising her voice to a graceful soprano. We listened to her in silence, the memory of his outburst sitting between us like a hippogriff.

At last, the car rolled up to the familiar yellow bungalow. Gently rolling fields spread out beyond the house until they met dark green forest; beyond that, huge, purple, majestic mountains cut jaggedly into the skyline. Distantly, I could see tiny white specks on the flank of the nearest mountain; a herd of wild sheep was grazing on the slope.

Dad climbed out and grabbed my suitcase before I could. The air was slightly colder here than it had been at the station, since the elevation was greater and a river cut through the forest just a few hundred feet away in the shadows of the towering trees. A thin column of smoke issued from the chimney; Mum must have started a cooking fire. Or maybe even just a fire to keep warm.

I rubbed my hands together and followed Dad through the blue front door and into the threshold. He didn't bother taking off his tan jacket. Much warmer air flowed through the house than outside, but I kept my sweater on. I wasn't planning on staying inside long.

There was the sound of movement coming from the kitchen. A moment later, I glimpsed Mum, who was busily moving about the kitchen with a spatula in one hand and a hand moving toward a cookbook with the other. The aroma of falafel, olive oil, and garlic drifted toward me. My stomach gave a huge rumble of approval.

"Looks like she's changed her mind about fish." Dad said, sounding amused. He walked into the kitchen, talking in quiet, low voices. I seized my chance and hurried unnoticed up the stairs and onto the second floor.

My feet made the tired hardwood floor creak with every step. I pushed open the door to my bedroom and blinked as the smell of dust, cold air, and neglect chased away the odor of cooking food. From my window, I could see the thick white clouds rolling down the sides of the mountains, obliterating the landscape with their snowy tendrils. I set my bag on my quilt, which sagged slightly. I glanced around the room, making sure everything was just as I'd left it. A few witches who had been popular in the fifties waved at me from their four separate posters on one wall, each sporting a different bathing suit or dress, all wearing fire engine-red lipstick. Two pictures by Vincent Van Gogh, Café Terrace at Night and Starry Night, were tacked to the wall. A few pictures of my family and friends hung on a corkboard on my desk. Unzipping my bag, I withdrew a handful of new photographs that I had developed this morning before the train had departed from the castle. Carefully, I added the pictures of Remus, Lily, and Angelina. I pulled out Sean's picture and hesitated. Did he really count as a friend?

I decided with a blush that it didn't matter, and placed his photograph next to Angelina, who, like many of the female students at Hogwarts, harbored romantic feelings for the handsome Hufflepuff. I wondered if he would write me this summer at all, in spite of our infrequent meetings.

"Why does it matter?" I muttered to myself, shaking off the thought of Sean like an irksome fly, and found a few more photographs. These were of the four male Marauders. Rolling my eyes at the arrogant and obnoxious looks on James' and Sirius' faces, I grudgingly tacked them onto the corkboard, knowing I'd probably take them down in a few days once the sentimental value of my Hogwarts peers wore off.

My gaze stilled over the one photograph of Virginia that I owned. She was smiling serenely down at me, sitting on a tree branch that was barely five feet off the ground. But if Mum had known she had done such a thing, she would have taken my aged camera from my hands and locked it away until my final year at school.

I felt a familiar pang of sadness and guilt as I realized that she was gone. Despite the familiarity of my room and the house I'd grown up in, I knew she wasn't in the next room, taking her daily nap, or outside petting the new foal or watching over the adolescent chicks. She was buried outside in the yard, underneath the willow tree.

A lump formed in my throat at the fact that my sister was resting underneath the very same species of tree responsible for her death. I jerked my eyes away and returned to my bag, unpacking and replacing my belongings to distract myself. I hung a new banner of Ravenclaw over my large window and hung my uniform in my closet. I organized the neat closet until it was as good as a retail display. I had left my suitcase downstairs, and, not caring if I got into trouble or not, waved my wand at the slightly open door and said, "Accio Suitcase!".

The door burst open as the heavy brown suitcase flew into the room and landed before me. Predictably, I heard Mum shout, "Amber! No magic outside of school!"

Grinning smugly at her expense, I disgorged the contents of the suitcase on the floor and reshelved those items too. When there was nothing left to do, I knew I couldn't stall it any longer; I had to go see my parents and have dinner with them.

Clearing my throat (and thankful the lump was gone), I descended the stairs slowly, trying to brace myself for whatever I was about to encounter. The smell of cooking food was stronger now; my mouth watered as the aroma of falafel overwhelmed me. But I couldn't stop remembering last summer, couldn't shake the niggling feelings of guilt or dread that this summer could be just as awful as the last one.

I cautiously entered the kitchen, swallowing hard. Mum had her back to me, pushing a final trio of falafel patties across the cast-iron skillet. I watched her for a moment, wondering why facing my own mother scared me more than the fact that a vampire was probably going to come after me at some point in my life.

Before I could duck out, Mum turned around. Her sky-blue eyes – Virginia's eyes – widened. Then she smiled. "All unpacked?"

I stared at her, realizing just then that she and I were now eye-level. I was no longer looking up at her, but was now straight in her field of vision. Maybe I had grown quickly since the last time I'd seen her, nearly nine months ago. But I knew better. The truth was that the last time we had really interacted, face to face, had been so long ago that I had simply grown up more in the time spanning between encounters.

I did not know what to say, because the lump was back in my throat.

Mum frowned slightly. "Is everything alright, dear?"

I searched her face, for any sign of accusation or mad grief, but she was appraising me with concern, devoid of anything but maternal concern. I felt myself relax slightly.

"No… everything's fine, Mum. I'm just tired."

Her face brightened. "Well, I expected nothing less! An owl arrived from school this morning, from Professor Flitwick. He told me that you are doing exceptionally well with your classes. Second to the top of your class, in fact!"

She was beaming. I couldn't share in her obvious pride, because Mum had never once taken the slightest triumph in my academic success. I peered into her face, relentless.

"Mum, are you sure everything's alright?" I pressed.

She waved her hand, clearly dismissing my question. "Oh, Amber, I'm fine! Honestly dear, you sound like you think I'm usual a crazy nutter!" She turned back to the stove and removed the three falafel patties and placed them on a paper towel to dry. I watched her carefully, and then, against my better judgment, walked deeper into the kitchen.

"Do you need any help setting up the table?" I ventured.

She nodded. "Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. Would you mind setting for four? Naomi will be back from Celia's house any moment now."

I felt myself relaxing a little. Naomi. Surely Mum would hold onto her sanity when her youngest child was present.

"Where's Dad?" I said, trying to make small talk with a woman I spoke to less often than Remus.

Mum carried in a bowl of fruit salad. "Outside tending to the animals. He got the whole day off of work, can you believe it? They work that poor man too hard."

I wondered how much harder Dad would be working, now that he didn't have the weight of Virginia's medical bills on his shoulders, and hated myself the moment I thought of it. I would have worked every day for the rest of my life if it meant I could have saved my sister.

"You look so tired, Amber." Mum said, breaking me out of my reverie. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I raised my eyes to hers – brown into green – and lied to my mother's face. "I'm completely fine."

Mum opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the front door slammed open. The sound of running feet vibrated in the floor, and a tiny hurricane collided with my waist, squeezing out my air. "AMBER!"

I felt my worries melting away, thawed out by the innocence and enthusiasm of my littlest sister. "Good to see you too, Naomi."

She squeezed me tighter. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back! Never ever leave again! Promise!"

"You know I've got to go back to school, Ny." I teased, smiling down at her. She had grown a few inches too; her brown hair was longer, but her green eyes still brimmed with childlike faith and innocence that I had lost.

"You look different." Naomi said after a moment. "Why do you look sad?"

"I guess I just… miss Virginia." I admitted.

Naomi sighed heavily. "Me too." She moved like a tornado, throwing her shoes by the front door and picking up things from the floor. "Here, I want to show you what I did for my class! Mrs. Fish said it was the best one!"

She shoved a painting of a butterfly in my face. It was very well done, especially for a nearly-eight-year-old. I pulled back and examined it. "Very good. Are you happy it's summer?"

Naomi's face glowed with delight. "I am now that you're home!"

The warmth of her words melted away most of my sorrow and guilt. Mum emerged from the kitchen with a pitcher of iced tea. "Will you girls go fetch your father? I don't want dinner to get cold."

"Yes, Mum." We answered in unison. We exited the house together and found our father using magic to usher the horses in from the pasture. A silver moose was cantering around them, guiding them back into the red barn. A small black foal, accompanied by a red and white one, galloped around and around the silver moose, trying to catch it, but unable to since it was only light.

Dad turned around at Naomi's excited squeal. He grinned at the both of us. "I don't suppose either of you knows how to conjure a Patronus yet?"

"I need to learn." I said, coming to lean against the old wooden fence with Naomi, watching Dad's Patronus in the field. "Dumbledore assigned me summer homework."

"Dumbledore assigned it?" Dad said incredulously. "Not Flitwick? Is something going on?"

"Amber's just really smart!" Naomi piped up. "She can do anything. I bet she can produce a Patronus in no time! She's a Ravenclaw, she's good with hard stuff. Not like you, Dad. That's why you were a Hufflepuff."

"Naomi!" I said indignantly, heat rising to my cheeks, but Dad laughed and smiled wider.

"You've forgotten your sister's sass." Dad told me, eyes twinkling. "Did your mother send you two ladies out to tell me dinner's ready?"

"Yup." I said, just as Naomi slipped under the fence and ran, laughing, to chase after Dad's Patronus, which trotted playfully from her, just out of reach.

Dad and I watched Naomi play for a moment. Then he approached me. Hands in his pockets, not looking at me. I knew from running around with a group of boys that this was how males communicated, especially when there was something serious to be discussed. They wouldn't make eye contact. They would act casual. They didn't like to stir up drama.

So I watched Naomi and waited for my father to speak.

"Your mother has missed you." Dad said quietly.

A mosquito buzzed in front of me. I slapped it away. "I guess."

"She has." Dad insisted. "She just… got lost in her grief. You know how much she loves… loved Virginia. Loves all of you."

"I'm sure." I answered automatically, unable to banish the flood of memories, which were now coming full-force, now that I was back on ground zero. I could still see Mum, in her night dress, tearing up my first flower garden I had planted over Virginia's grave. I could still feel her stinging slap of the hand on my face. Her relentless rejections.

"Amber, please." Dad pleaded. "Don't think badly of her. She isn't perfect, you know. She's doing the best she can."

"I guess so." I wasn't sure how to answer him honestly, when I still couldn't banish the memory of his outburst nearly a year ago.

Dad let out a sigh. "I know you need time to think about this. Process it, analyze it, whatever. You're my oldest child. I've never raised a teenage girl before, but I know that hormones, and boys, and… difficult stuff can stress our relationship, as father and daughter. Please, don't let be that way. You can always talk to me. And your mother. Whenever you're ready."

I couldn't look at him. I knew that if I did, I would start crying. And I didn't want to give anyone the pleasure of seeing that. So instead I kept my gaze trained on Naomi, who had finally caught up to the bull moose and was reaching for its silver muzzle.

"Time for dinner." Dad said, and the Patronus slowly faded away into nothing.

Naomi followed us back into the house, chattering away about her past year in elementary school and how she couldn't wait to get her first wand at Ollivander's and try to make a Patronus Charm. Mum had hot bread waiting for us and was still smiling placidly, as if death had never settled over this house like a fat black crow. I ate sparingly for dinner, despite my hunger, and acquiesced to a few games of Exploding Snap. It felt odd to be here in the tiny yellow house instead of the sprawling stone castle of Hogwarts. Ironically, I was homesick for my school, not the place I had grown up. It was a strange feeling. In one place, I felt at home. The place where I'd grown up was familiar, but as uninviting as the tundra. I looked around at the pictures resting on the mantle, the faces smiling back at me, and wondered how many of them would miss me if I had remained at Hogwarts and never returned to Bellinghall.

Mum served us lemon bars for dessert, along with tea. The nights were still chilly. Dad stoked the fire and sent us both to bed.

"You've had a long day of travel." Dad said when he saw my brow lift in indignation. "You need your rest."

"We'll have plenty of time to catch up." Mum added. "The whole summer." She enfolded me in a hug that I could only half-heartedly return. Mum wasn't one to initiate a hug, or really, hug at all. Awkwardly, I shuffled upstairs to bed, only saying a single word ("okay") and not looking back at either of them. Just like in the car, a hippogriff was in the room. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, and I wasn't even sure how to approach it.

But would it matter if we acknowledged it? Or would that make it worse? Perhaps stuffing it deep down inside and away from daylight would suffice. Just like I had done with Virginia's death.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, surprised when I looked into the mirror and found myself standing in the small upstairs bathroom instead of the large girls' lavatory at Hogwarts. How long would it take me to readjust?

I shuffled toward my bedroom, and then paused. Virginia's door, next to mine, was firmly closed. A small line of moonlight glowed white at the bottom of the door. I hesitated. Did I want to enter into her old room, her shrine? Did Mum and Dad ever go in? Did Naomi?

Curiosity won me over. I gently pushed open the brass knob, which clicked and creak with lack of use. I was expecting to see her bedroom just as she had had it in life: white iron wrought bedframe, enchanted flowers that would not die on every surface, and pictures of family and friends on the walls.

I was not expecting it to be bare.

I stepped inside of the room, stunned. Every picture had been removed from the walls. No flowers or cloying scent filled the stale, musty air. The furniture was gone. The only thing that remained was the color of pale blue on the walls.

Speechless, I backed out of the vacant room, a sick feeling rising in my throat. I closed my eyes and tried to banish what I had just seen. I knew Virginia was gone, but I had always believed that her bedroom would be kept as a memorial to her. I never thought that Mum would ever let anyone pack away her favorite daughter's things or change even the layout of the furniture.

And it was empty.

I thought of the pictures downstairs on the mantle. Frowning, I crept back down the stairs. Mum and Dad were speaking softly in the kitchen, hidden from view. Their voices were too low for me to make out what they were saying. Worried about the creaky floor, I whispered, "Muffliato!" and snuck closer to the fireplace. The flames had died down, now small flickering embers among the red-hot coals. I stood before the mantle, bemused. There were captured scenes of a trip to the beach, a wedding, a picnic, and a large family portrait. But missing among the family members was Virginia. She was absent from the family portrait taken of the entire Harkstone family three years ago in Inverness, even though she had been present. With alarm, I noticed that even though Naomi and I both had individual shots, framed beautifully on the mantle, Virginia wasn't among us.

I turned my face toward the kitchen, my heart pounding in my ears. Virginia's room had been cleaned, no, evicted, of her belongings. And now her photographs were missing.

Dad had warned me that Mum had moved on from her grief. And maybe… the only way she had been able to was to eliminate the reminders of her dead daughter from her house.

Shaking my head, I climbed silently back to my bedroom, letting the door sigh closed behind me. I looked at the pictures on my corkboard again, and I felt a jolt when my gaze roved over Virginia's.

Though Mum had stripped away her memory, I would not. Even if it had been my fault.

There was a tapping noise at the window. A snowy-breasted barn owl with a heart-shaped face fluttered by the glass, a letter tied to his right leg. Soren. My link back to Hogwarts.

I prised open the protesting windows, which squealed, but quickly submitted to my strength. Soren soared inside, landing gracefully on the frame of my bed. He hooted softly, fluffing out his speckled feathers. He extended a white, feathery leg, beady black eyes watching me.

I untied the letter, embossed on the back in red wax, and stroked his back. Soren hooted again, his feathers cold. "Thanks for flying to me, buddy." I murmured, smiling as his eyes drifted shut in contentment.

I slit open the letter, expecting to find another message from the Headmaster. But this time it was from a woman I had just met the other day, someone who had made Mackenzie Folsom retreat in fear. Her handwriting was even more elegant than Dumbledore's.

Dear Miss Harkstone,

As a reminder, your lessons begin with me tomorrow morning at ten a.m. I will be arriving at your residence by Apparition, and we will be traveling to Queen's Hall, located in the heart of Bellinghall. Please bring lunch and a water bottle as we will be practicing from ten thirty a.m. until four in the afternoon. I will escort you home after each lesson. I look forward to working with you this summer.

Willow H. Smith

"Well, that was enlightening." I muttered as I cast the letter onto my desk. Soren was preening himself, oblivious. I threw myself onto the bed, startling him, but he remained seated on the iron frame with his back to mine.

I stared out of the window into the inky darkness. Clouds shrouded the moon, and the cold seeped in through the bones of the old house. The castle, hewn from stone, had always been comfortably cool. I inhaled the familiar scent of fresh paper, mown grass, and wildflowers. This was home. This is where I had grown up.

So why did I feel so numb?

The cold air drove me underneath the heavy comforter. I watched Soren finish cleaning his feathers and then gaze at the moon. He leaned forward, eyes trained on something moving outside.

"You want to hunt?" I mumbled, my eyes tired from the darkness, from the weight of the day's events. "You going to leave me, too?"

Soren was still and silent, transfixed, his profile outlined in the moonlight. Then, as if he were a gambling addict turning down free money, he wrenched his gaze away and focused on me. He blinked once, ruffling his feathers.

"Come here." I said, tapping the iron frame.

Soren paused, and then, silently, glided over to the frame above my head and gripped it with his talons. He gave a yawn, exposing his pink mouth, and closed his eyes. I watched him fold in on himself, and relax into sleep.

At least my owl cares about me. I thought sleepily as my subconscious overtook my waking mind. Things had changed so much in just a year. But Soren - who represented Hogwarts and its stability - remained. With that comfort in mind, I slipped into the soft world of half-wakefulness, half-sleep. I was too tired to notice the second letter that had come with the first, which had fallen to the ground and underneath my bed, written in what could only have been the calligraphy of Remus Lupin.