A/N: This is the chapter to top 200,000 words :D happy reading!

Chapter 35

Dear Sera,

Hi sweetheart! Are you alright? Dean and I are worried about you and Wes—and after that nonsense that she said at the funeral, it's obvious that things aren't going to get better of their own accord. I also wanted to reassure you that what you said to your grandmother is true: Dean and I are working for custody in October. You just need to hang in till then, alright?

Xo

Monica

……………

Dear Sera,

I am so sorry about your mummy. Jamesie told me you were sad and that I should write you because it'd make you happy. I hope you stop being sad. And that you like my picture of the turtle that Hugo and I found yesterday. And that I see you next Christmas.

Sincerely

Lily Luna Potter

……………

Sera—

Sorry about Lily's letter to you—she just saw how sad the funeral was and decided she wanted to draw you a picture. And she decided that a really gross turtle would be a great way to make you feel better.

How your grandmother's? Is she treating you okay? I mean, she's not hitting you or anything, right? Just because she looked like she was hurting your arm and then I didn't get to say goodbye at the Funeral because she just apparated away with you… were you okay with that, by the way? I know apparition freaks you out.

Write soon.

James

……………

Sera,

I'm so sorry about your mum. And I'm so sorry that we fought at Hogwarts—it was stupid. You can like whoever you want to, I shouldn't get to be mad about that. And I think you've got enough on your plate already without me being a right git added to that.

Sorry,

Louis

…………

Dear Sera,

James and Louis told me they hadn't heard from you and I realized I hadn't either… Are you okay? Your grandmother's scary and I'm worried about you.

Also, Conan told me he hasn't heard from Wes.

Love

Rory

………………

Dear Sera,

Maybe you didn't get my last letter? I'm kind of worried, though—Louis and Rory haven't heard from you either. And apparently neither have Conan or Eli.

Miss you!

James

……………

Sera,

Are you getting these letters? Eli told Teddy who told Victoire that Eli hadn't heard from Wes either—are you guys not allowed to write people? I thought my dad told me that Longbottom was going to tell your grandmother that that wasn't okay…

Xoxo

Louis

……………

Sera Sweetheart,

I'm worried about you—neither you nor Wes have responded and we're getting very, very concerned. Please write us—or if you're angry for whatever reason, please write Alec. Just let us know you're okay, angel.

Love,

Monica

…………..

Sera,

Where are you? No one's heard from you. And no one's heard from Wes, either—Selma told Teddy she hadn't heard from Wes and now Ted thinks something's up too. Write me.

Love,

Jamie

…………….

Hey,

Okay, so I'm writing to you, which obviously means there's a problem. James wrote me to find out whether I'd heard from you and I haven't but sometimes that happens anyway.

Sera, write to people. They're really worried. And now I am too.

Alec

……………

It'd been two weeks since I'd gotten to my grandmother's, and I'd gotten a lot of letters, none of which I'd responded to. I would have, but I wasn't allowed to write. Or rather, I could write, but since I wasn't allowed use my owl, I couldn't send what I wrote. In fact, I didn't even know what my grandmother had done with my owl, but I was under the impression she'd sold Duke. Poor bird probably thought I hated him, now.

I'd been pretty much banned to my room. Or, well, my room and the kitchen. But I wasn't supposed to be in any other room in the house except my room and the kitchen, and I was only supposed to come out when I absolutely had to, for food. And oddly enough, I didn't mind it. The alternative was that I stayed out of my room and saw my grandmother pretty frequently and had to battle with her. The beauty of this system was that I literally had not seen her since the day she'd shown Wes and I our rooms.

My room was actually pretty large, with a nice queen size bed and a big, full bookshelf. I had a dresser, and a mirror, and a desk and a chair. Oddly enough, I had more furniture here than I had at home, where people had actually cared about me. But this room was darker—the walls were made of stone (since this was a castle, and castles are made of stone). I had a really big window, which was nice, because I could look out at the gardens, which were perfectly manicured by my grandmother's staff. But I could only open my window about two inches, lest I allow in the owls of my friends and thus be able to write back to them with their owls. So even though there was in fact light present in my room, it was still pretty dull. But I'd hung up the picture of the turtle Lily had sent me and I had a poster of the Roman Red Caps that Mum had given me for my tenth birthday. And I'd hung up some photographs. So the room was at least, indistinguishably mine, even if it was dark and lonely.

I swung my legs over the side of my bed, sitting up from where I'd been lying, the pile of letters I'd read over for the tenth time. I really wanted to write letters back. But I couldn't. I pushed myself to my feet instead, stretching my arms above my head and clasping my hands, arching my back. Then I dropped my arms back to my sides before I glanced at my closed door. I hadn't seen Wes in a day and a half, since we ran into each other getting lunch. And I wasn't technically allowed in his room. But I was pretty sure my grandmother was out, because I'd heard her apparate this morning and I hadn't heard her return, yet.

I grabbed the pile of letters that were on my bed, tucking some of my hair behind my ear as I slipped into the hallway. I ducked my head, hugging the letters to my chest as I took a couple steps down the hallway before I started on the long staircase downstairs. My bedroom was at the top of a tower, very much like Rapunzel's in the fairytale. Except, y'know, I was twelve, not however old Rapunzel was supposed to be, and I didn't have a prince and I wasn't a princess. I was just some kid with a creepy grandmother.

I got to the bottom of the staircase and opened the door with a shove from my shoulder—it got stuck sometimes—and peeked into the hallway warily. My grandmother wasn't there, and although some house elves and a maid were, I'd learned from experience that no one cared enough about my comings and goings to report to her. I walked purposefully, before stopping in front of Wes's room. I knocked nervously, and Wes opened his door a half-beat later, looking confused. I just pushed past him, and he closed the door behind me, turning to me.

"You're going to get in trouble, genius." He told me with a small frown as I crossed to his bed and sat on it, crossing my legs.

"I'm bored." I told him, my overwhelming maturity shining through. I held up the pile of letters I'd brought with me. "And I think my friends are pretty sure I'm dead." Wes frowned, coming forward and taking the pile of parchment out of my hand. He glanced over the first few, before he scowled at one, glancing up at me.

"Louis likes you?" He asked, and I exhaled shortly, leaning forward to snatch my letters back from him. I frowned defensively at Wes, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't hand me papers you don't want me to read." He said. I shrugged defensively, looking down at the letter. "But since I saw it, Louis likes you?"

"He and Jamie both do." I admitted softly. "And I think they're fighting over it, because they've both liked me since, September or something, I'm not really sure—but anyway, they promised each other they wouldn't do anything because they're cousins and they've been best friends forever, Wes, like, like—Alec and me, y'know? They're family and friends, and they didn't want me to come between them…" I sighed shortly. "And then Jamie asked me to the dance without talking about it with Louis but it wasn't—planned. It wasn't like James planned to betray Louis, if you can even really call it betrayal because that conveys malcontent and James really didn't want to hurt Louis's feelings. But Alanis asked him to the dance and he said no because he was taking me and then he told me about that and how I didn't have to agree if I didn't want to he'd just said my name because he didn't want to take Alanis because that implied that he liked her so he said he was taking me." I said all in one breath, the words nearly tripping over one another on their way out of my mouth. Wes raised his eyebrows. "It's not as weird as it sounds, I swear, and he was really—I mean it was just—really classic James, but really nice, too, y'know? Because Greg Landau asked me to the Holiday dance except that was a fail because then Brian bullied him into not bringing me and Greg was really embarrassed that I called him on that so when we had that sparring defense seminar thing he got really mad when I beat him…" I shrugged.

"Greg Landau asked you to a dance?" Wes asked with a mischevious grin, and I grabbed his pillow, pressing it onto my face as I fell back on his bed. "Aw, c'mon, I'm your brother—I don't get to make a little bit of fun of you?" He demanded. Wes seemed to replay part of my speech in his head because he followed that point up with something else. "Greg bailed on taking you to the dance?"

"Brian Gallagher got super mad at him for asking me—I'm not even sure why, it's not like he should have a problem with that. Brian has nothing to lose by Greg bringing me. And then he made fun of Louis me at the dance even though we were just talking after James and I had a fight…"

"My first year was not this complex." Wes pointed out sympathetically, grabbing the pillow off my face and looking down at me. "And it sounds like Brian Gallagher, for all that he's a complete asshole for hurting you, likes you."

"Alright, some girls have guys who are friends." I told him with a frown. "I realize that you were best friends with Selma all those years because you had a super huge crush on her and didn't want to say anything about it, but we're not all you, Wesley. Some of us are more mature than that."

"You would not be on that list of people." Wes said flatly. "And of the two of us, which one of us is obviously better at calling who likes you, hmm? It's not you." Wes said dramatically, grinning down at me, and I blushed. "It's someone else. Who is the best, coolest big brother ever—"

"I think it's Alec." I said suspiciously, and Wes pressed a hand to his heart, putting an expression of awful hurt on his face.

"Oh, how you wound me." He said sadly. I giggled, scooting over on Wes's big bed so he could lay down on his side, and we stared up at his ceiling. Wes had taped a bunch of pictures of him and his friends on the ceiling above his bed, and there was also a picture of him as a little kid, asleep—at five years old, maybe? Six?—with a little blond toddler in a little pink dress lying in the bed beside him. "Is that me?" I asked him, squinting.

"Yep." He said, smiling a little. "You were a fat baby."

"Hey!" I protested. I paused. "But yeah, seriously." I frowned a little. "I don't remember us ever sharing a bedroom though."

"We didn't. You were like my shadow, though, so you spent a lot of time in my room." He pointed out. "And you had a paralyzing fear of thunderstorms. So you'd come into my room at night when you were scared." He chuckled softly. "You did it up until I was, what, eight?"

"I don't remember that." I murmured, surprised, looking at Wes. "Why'd I stop?" Wes winced at that, running a hand over his hair.

"Because when I was eight and you were five we were arguing about who got go on the slide and I pushed you." Wes said plainly. "And then you told Dad I pushed you and I lied and said you'd fallen and Dad believed me and not you." He sighed heavily. "You got really mad so you started to not come in when you were scared and then we fought more." Wes looked sort of guilty feeling. "It was sort of the beginning of the end for you and me." He glanced down at me. "Like how we used to fight."

"Oh." I murmured. I paused. "Seriously? That's how our arguing started?"

"Yep."

"Over you pushing me when we were in line for the slide."

"Yep."

"I must have been one of those really annoying super sensitive kids." I muttered, and Wes laughed quietly. I sat up, grabbing my friends' letters to me and flipping through them, stopping at Jamie's. I looked down at it, before I glanced up at Wes. "Y'know, my friends know something's up." I told him after a moment, my eyebrows drawing together as I cracked my knuckles: Wes winced. "James and Louis have talked long enough to figure out that neither of them has heard from me, and Rory hasn't either." I tilted my head to the side, frowning a little. "James wrote Alec and then Alec sent me a letter, so he knows no one's heard from me, which means that Monica and Dean know too. And Selma, Conan and Eli haven't heard from you. And Selma and Eli wrote Teddy." I paused. "So the Potters, at least, know that no one's heard from us." I paused, tucking a few strands of hair. "James and Louis—they're really worried." I watched Wes's expression, hoping for some stroke of genius that would allow me to write my friends, but he didn't come up with anything. "You haven't really seen Jamie worried. I don't want to do that to him."

"What d'you expect to do about it?" Wes asked quietly, and I pulled back, a little stung by the words. Wes was usually nicer to me about this kind of thing, more comforting than confrontational—but then again, I was depending on him a lot. I wanted him to fix everything that was wrong, when he was just three years and four months older. That was a lot to expect of him. Wes just held my gaze seriously. "Sera, we're in trouble, here. I don't want to scare you, but I would guess that, unless she really and truly flips out, we're stuck here this summer and next, probably without word from our friends." He said firmly. "She really hates the Potters, she really hates everyone but the Landaus, and of course, I'm friends with the one member of that family that is nothing but unacceptable." Wes rolled his eyes. "It sucks, but we're going to have to tough this out."

"Why does she even want us here?" I demanded softly. "She hates us."

"It's a family pride thing, I think." Wes said quietly. "She's trying to prove the MacBrides are still as powerful as they've always been." He cracked an ironic grin, and I didn't smile back: Wes when he was this grim-sounding scared me, a little bit. "I think, oddly enough, family's really important to her. Which is why we're here instead of with Dean and Monica."

"How is that possible?" I demanded desperately. "We're her grandchildren! If family was important to her—wouldn't she love us?"

"I'm going to sound absolutely insane, here, but hang with me for a sec," Wes asked, and I nodded once. "Because Eli explained this to me because I spend a lot of time moaning and groaning about what a psychopath she is and Eli has first-hand knowledge of pureblood insanity." I nodded again. "Alright, I think her saying those things about Mum, trying to distance Dad from her and us from her—I think that is her way of accepting us as family. She just writes off Selma and James and people who aren't pureblood—but for us she's trying to—in a really twisted way—make us pureblood, or at least accidentally of mixed blood." Wes said carefully, and I swallowed.

"But she's awful." I muttered.

"I didn't say it excused it—I just meant she thinks it makes sense." Wes said firmly. "But it doesn't. Not to a logical person." He sighed, glancing away for a second before he looked back to me, apologetically. "Kiddo, I'm sorry that this is such a disaster."

"Not your fault." I said softly, swallowing bravely.

"You're my responsibility," Wes reasoned quietly. "And now you're living with her. And it's not my fault, per se. But I should have found a way to do something for you to make this better." Wes said firmly, raising his eyebrows as if daring me to argue with him. I just stood up carefully. "I'm trying, though, okay?"

Trying. That was what Mr. Potter had told Wes and me at the Ministry of Magic. He'd told us, a little desperately, that he was trying. That had been the best he could offer us—the children of a former friend, the godchildren of a good friend, and his son's best friend. Trying. And now Wes was running on empty and offering me the same sentiment. Except this time, I felt bad for Wes.

"It's okay." I said after a second. Wes sighed, looking away. I'd known he'd needed to hear the words, so I'd said them. And he knew that. "I'll see you later, okay?" I said, raising a hand to say goodbye, hugging my letters to my chest again. Wes nodded, and I slipped into the hallway.

"You're not supposed to be in there." A woman's voice came quietly, and I froze dead, my eyes widening. She didn't sound like my grandmother, but that didn't matter—if she told my grandmother, I'd be killed.

I turned carefully to face the woman standing in front of me. She crossed her arms, and I swallowed, biting my lip. She was about my parents' age, in grey-with-pinstripes suit pants, and a frilly white shirt on that made her look a little bit silly. Her hair was black, with brown highlights, and she looked down at me with a small frown. "Who're you?" I asked quietly.

"Astoria Malfoy." She said, scowling. "Saraid asked me to stay here with you all while she went to have lunch with my mother-in-law."

"Oh." I said after a second. "You're not going to tell her I was in Wes's room, are you?" I asked anxiously, biting my lip.

"Maybe." Mrs. Malfoy said to me, her voice level. "You're Serafina, right?"

"Yes." I said quietly.

"I'm sorry about your mother." She said quietly. Her gaze flicked to the letters that I was clutching to my chest, and she glanced back at me, a small smile on her face. "Letters to your friends?" She asked me, her voice less cold.

"I'm not allowed." I told her, biting my lip. "My grandmother took away my owl."

"Did you do something wrong?" She asked me, raising her eyebrows.

"I am my mother's daughter." I said dramatically, putting a hand over my heart, and Mrs. Malfoy cracked a smile. "No, but my mum was probably muggle born." I explained with a shrug. "That's evidently a crime punishable by isolation."

"Ah." Mrs. Malfoy said understandingly. She paused. "Your owl's the brown and white one?" She asked, and I felt my heart flutter as I nodded hurriedly, my eyes widening desperately. "He's a handsome bird, I saw him last time I was in your grandmother's study." She said carefully, and I nodded slowly in understanding. "He was there with another owl, a dark brown one, a girl?"

"Minnie." I said softly. "She's my brother's." I bit my lip, chewing on it for a second before I smiled a little at her. "Thanks."

"I was simply telling you the last time I'd seen the bird." Mrs. Malfoy said with an innocent shrug. I grinned at her, now, and she smiled, self-satisfied. "So you're Gryffindor?" She asked.

"Just like Dad." I said proudly, straightening up a little, and she smiled in a little bit of a condescending way. "And Dean."

"Dean Thomas?" She asked. I nodded. "I know his wife, Monica Selwyn? We were in the same year at Hogwarts."

"Monica's my godmother." I said with a smile.

"She's a nice woman." She paused. "I'll write her to let her know I saw you, just since you haven't been able to write recently." She studied me for a long moment, and I bit my lip uncomfortably. "Your father was a…" she paused. "Competitor of my husband's."

"Oh?" I asked unsurely, frowning a little: I hadn't heard someone bring up Dad out of the context of we used to be friends in months. "Dad never really talked about people he was competitors with—he just talked about his friends, I think?" I paused uncertainly. "But I'm sure he liked your husband fine." I tried softly.

Mrs. Malfoy condescending smile returned. "Alright." She paused. "Serafina, you go back up to your room. I'm not supposed to have even really spoken to you beyond getting you back into your room." Mrs. Malfoy told me quietly, and I nodded, stepping carefully away from the door of Wes's bedroom and passing Mrs. Malfoy. I crossed the hallway and walked a little further, before stopping in front of my door. I looked back at the black haired woman with a small smile before I slipped inside the door that led to my staircase, closing it behind me.

Mrs. Malfoy was a little odd, I decided, as I began up the staircase slowly. I swallowed, suddenly, realizing I had no idea where my grandmother's study was. And in this huge a castle, what Mrs. Malfoy had told me wasn't exceedingly helpful, though it was certainly a step in the right direction.

I was a little bit closer to talking to my friends.

……………

Squirt—

No one's heard from you or Wes and we're worried. Floo call us or write us, please.

Thanks,

Teddy

……………

Sera,

Are you okay? Louis floo-called last night—he's freaking out, Ser. You haven't talked to anyone since the funeral—not even James, apparently, and now, of course, we're worried. I assume you're getting these letters because no one's owl brings them back—is your grandmother holding you hostage, or something? My mum's looking into some way where she can visit you—she's a social worker—just to check you're okay, but until there's a complaint, she can't really do anything. Please write!

Xoxo

Edie

……………

Sera,

I'm really worried. Please write.

Love,

James

……………

Three more letters, four days, and I still didn't know where my grandmother's study was. It also occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to use my owl without her noticing that my owl was missing. But I was willing to run that risk, if I could figure out where the study was. I'd told Wes that Minnie was there too, but we hadn't gotten to talk very long because then my grandmother had gotten home, and I'd almost gotten caught in his room, which meant I hadn't been able to tell his reaction. I'd had to sprint up my stairs and prayed she'd not seen me.

I'd also done a boatload of reading, mostly because I had so little else to do. I finished my summer homework in a heartbeat, and then hungrily gone through two and a half of the books on my shelf, which were all a little old but otherwise none the worse for wear. I'd learned a bunch of new defensive and attack spells, but I figured they'd be useless, at this point: the attacks had stopped, since Spring Break, just before my grandmother had gotten custody of us.

The good news was, I'd written long responses to everyone, so that if I could just get ten minutes with Duke, I could get my letters out. And Duke would take forever, but I knew if I could just get the letters to James, he'd dissipate them. But he didn't have them yet.

So that left me sitting at my desk, staring at the folded parchment in my hands, wondering whether I'd ever get to send these. What if I did have to wait for September first to talk to James? What if James didn't even want to talk to me then—what if he was too mad? Just because he didn't get that I wasn't allowed to write him.

"Hey kiddo." Wes said happily, opening my door and coming over to press a kiss to the top of my head before he fell into the large armchair beside my desk. My grandmother had left this morning and Mrs. Malfoy was here, which meant we had (slightly) more reign over our own lives. And Wes and I took what we could get.

"You are in a seriously good mood." I noted with a half-hearted grin: my lack of contact with James was getting to my head, but I wasn't about to destroy Wes's good mood. Wes just grinned sunnily at me, and I felt my half-hearted smile fade into a grumpy frown.

"I got a letter from Selma." He admitted, pulling a well-folded piece of paper from the pocket in his shirt. He unfolded it quickly, grinning down at it for a second before he looked back up at me. "Apparently Mrs. Malfoy told Monica who told Selma that we couldn't write. But Selma's still going to write me till September."

"You are legitimately sickeningly in love with her." I told Wes with a disgusted look. "It's bordering on disturbing, there, big bro." I paused. "How long did you like her before you dated her?" I asked, and Wes blushed, grinning sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Halfway through second year she kissed my cheek as a thank you for not letting the bludger hit her during a super hard game and I've been a total disaster ever since." Wes admitted, chuckling a little. I felt my eyes widen—Wes would have been twelve, halfway through his second year. I was twelve. I'd kissed Jamie's cheek on his birthday and I certainly liked him and he certainly liked me. In two years, would we be like Wes and Selma?

"Really?" I asked softly. Wes raised his eyebrows, nodding once, before he grinned at me, realizing what I was thinking.

"You and James will date." Wes assured me. "It won't be for another two years if he knows what's good for him," Wes continued protectively.

"Hey, it won't—happen—can we not talk about this?" I demanded uncomfortably. "I'm not sure what's going to happen but—I don't—want to talk about it." I pulled a face. "Especially not with you." I said, and I saw a flash of surprise and hurt flick over Wes's face. I felt bad instantly. "No, I don't mean that." I told him hurriedly, scooting back in my chair and lifting my legs up, crossing them like little kids did. "I just meant that you're my big brother, you know? I don't want to talk about this stuff with anyone—especially not with the boy who told Victoire that I was joining a convent or something…" I shrugged a little. "It's like talking to Dad or something."

Wes chuckled. "I had to do that." He said, reminiscing, and I rolled my eyes. Wes had (somehow) gotten it through his head that he was older and wiser and thus had several stories to tell me that were akin to "in my day, we used to walk uphill both ways through the snow. Twenty miles."

I looked at Wes for a long moment, sombering instantly. "Wessy?" I asked softly, and Wes seemed to realize I'd quickly gotten serious. "Are we ever getting out of here?" I asked him, tilting my head to the side, and my brother sighed, swinging his legs around to the front, dangling them down. He looked at me seriously.

"Sera, I'm not going to let you grow up here, okay?" Wes said to me seriously. "We probably do have to tough out the rest of this summer, but chances are, Dean and Monica will get us in October. We'll get a different set of judges, hopefully, and I'll be there, and you'll know what to expect, and now everyone knows that Dad's Mum is insane." He sighed. "And if all else fails, we'll tough it out next summer too, and I get custody of you a year from February."

"She really hates me, though." I said shakily. I did believe that she hated me, but I hated the idea: no one who knew me, hated me. Brian hated me, but because I was James's best friend and fought back and sometimes made him feel stupid. Greg didn't really hate me, I didn't think. But my grandmother sort of knew me, and hated me.

"Ser, kiddo, it's honest-to-God not that simple." Wes said firmly. "I know that makes no sense at all but I've seen this stuff from afar with the Landaus—she doesn't hate you, she just hates that her perfect bloodline was messed up when Dad had kids with Mum." Wes's voice softened unintentionally with my mother's only name.

"But Dad's Dad is a muggle!" I exclaimed in irritation, and Wes stood up, stretching his arms above his head for a second before letting them hang at his sides. He put a hand on top of my head and tilted it back, looking at me seriously.

"I'm not making excuses for her." He told me. "I agree with you, you're right, she treats us, especially you, in a way that makes me sick to my stomach." He fixed me with a serious look. "I just want you to understand that while she is twisted and incredibly stupid and so many other things, she's got something she believes that backs her up. Her racism and pureblood elitist crap is worthless, but she is mostly just a really old woman who was raised differently than us."

"I think she's just insane." I told him frankly after a second, and Wes sighed.

"My philosophical statements are lost on a twelve-year-old's deaf ears." He said dramatically, and I grinned, bouncing to my feet. My stomach growled loudly, and Wes grinned, a little disbelievingly, at me. "Or maybe you're just too hungry to concentrate." He noted. I grinned sheepishly. "Alright, c'mon, squirt. We'll get you something to eat." He pushed me gently in front of him, and I just slipped out the door easily, feeling kind of happy for the first time in a long time. Wes would make sure I was okay. Even if I wasn't sure I was.

………………

An hour later, I was wandering around my grandmother's castle. I was far too bored to obey the law of staying within my rooms or Wes', and Wes had gotten much too obnoxious about how in love he was with Selma, leading me to ditch him.

My grandmother had a beautiful castle, for all that she was an actual insane woman. The castle was huge—but it was a castle, so that wasn't altogether shocking—and surprising bright, in most of it, for real estate that belonged to my grandmother. I'd peeked in a few rooms in an effort to locate my poor owl, but I hadn't seen him. I'd inspected the rooms though: they were beautiful. To live here with family who I liked and who liked me—that must have been wonderful. Before she had flipped out, Dad must have loved it here with his mum and dad.

I would have loved to be here with my mum and dad.

To be fair, though, and my memories of my childhood might have been highly idealized by my own (accidental) doing, I had loved growing up in my tiny, cozy house. Yes, my house looked like it belonged in one of those fairytales, specifically the one where Snow White comes upon the cottage in the woods filled with dwarves. Yes, my room was probably a closet, in another life. But it'd been my dwarf-housing-cottage. My closet-turned-room. And I missed them. And I missed everything that had been there. Most of all, I missed the feeling of being home. You know that feeling—once you've been travelling for a while or away for a while, you got to come home, to your things and your room and your bed.

I didn't have things. I lived out of a trunk that I was hesitant to unpack lest I unintentionally send my grandmother the message that I was comfortable here, in this pile of stones on top of a cliff in Ireland. And the closest thing that I allowed to consider my bed was a twin-size that I was going to outgrow soon at Hogwarts.

It was a sad day when a kid spent her summer break wishing for school.

I turned down another hallway, running a hand through my hair and stopping as I realized that a house elf was standing in front of me. It looked sweet as could be, really cute, very small, clothed in what looked like a pillow case. She—and for some inexplicable reason I knew the tiny beastie before me was a she, despite the lack of factors that applied in people—had a curtain chord tied around her waist as a kind of makeshift belt, and I smiled shyly at her.

"'Ello Young Miss," She said, sweeping into a deep curtsy, and I smiled at her. She had this squeaky little voice—so cute. "I's is Dorothy." She straightened up. "Does Young Miss need something, Dorothy is wondering?"

"I'm fine." I said with a small smile, then it struck me: she might know where Duke is. "Actually—Dorothy, you said your name was?"

"Yesm," She said with a pleased smile.

"I'm looking for my owl…he's light brown? With little white feathers here and there?" I suggested. "D'you know where he is?"

"Dorothy's not supposed to tell the young miss where the bird is." The house elf said anxiously, looking very sad. "Dorothy's not supposed to tell but Madame told me—she told me, you see, told Dorothy—that young miss was not supposed to leave her room very much, but young miss is the daughter of the Master and Dorothy did love Master…"

"Master?" I asked softly. "My dad?"

"Yesm, yesm, Master Seamus is a good boy. He used to give Dorothy things to wear—not clothes, because the Mistress wouldn't have heard of it, but used to sew things together for me. What a wonderful boy, Master is." She nodded as if this was an essential truth.

"Wait, wait—my owl," I said, trying to keep the point of this conversation in sight, somehow. "You know where Duke is?"

"No, no, Mistress would have my head." Dorothy said worriedly, shaking her head very worriedly. "Dorothy is bad, very bad, for even thinking of telling young miss, even if she is Master's daughter." Dorothy shook her head again, very fast. "Oh no, oh no, oh no—Dorothy must hurt herself—" I gaped at her for a half-second before she grabbed the wall and promptly began to hit her head against it. I grabbed the back of her pillowcase and pulled her back, turning her to face me and grabbing her shoulders, the way Wes did sometimes when he wanted me to take whatever he was saying very seriously.

"Dorothy doesn't need to hurt herself." I said hurriedly, but this didn't seem to comfort the tiny elf.

"No, Mistress said that Dorothy must not tell young miss—" I struggled to remember what I could of house elves—endlessly obedient, I knew, but of whom? Just their mistress or master? Or also of young misses?

"Wait, no—Dorothy, I forbid you to punish yourself." I said hurriedly, and Dorothy looked up at me, her already huge eyes growing larger yet, though she stopped struggling. I released her carefully, only moving an inch away as I prepared to grab her in case she hadn't listened, but she didn't move, so I dropped my hands to my sides, straightening up. "Alright, Dorothy, you don't need to tell me where Duke is." I told her, and she seemed to nearly collapse with relief at this revelation. "I just need to know which one is my grandmother's study."

"Alright, alright, Dorothy can do that. Mistress never told Dorothy not to do that." Dorothy said fretfully, grabbing my hand with eerily spindly fingers. She dragged me after her, and I had to bend down so as not to rip the house elf's arm off. She was so skinny that I was almost kind of worried about that.

She led me down one staircase, then up another, turning down a hallway with plush carpeting on the stone floor and a wall of huge windows on my left: she stopped in front of a large set of double doors with large knockers. "Is that all Dorothy can do, young miss?" She asked me anxiously, and I nodded, my breath catching in my chest at how close I was to writing Jamie. "Alright, well, whenever Dorothy is needed, young miss need only call for me." She snapped her fingers and disappeared with a soft crack, quieter than apparition, but the noise still made me jump in the relative silence of the hallway.

I turned to the large double doors in front of me, hesitating before I put a hand on one of them and pushed against I heavily, having to leverage my weight against the door to get in. I slipped inside and closed it behind me, turning to face the large room before me.

The ceiling was double height, twenty-some feet high, and there were towering windows on the wall opposite the doors. The other walls, the two that faced each other without windows or doors, featured a fireplace on each side with full bookshelves framing them, as well as staring on top, above the mirror that was above the fireplace. In the middle of the room, there was a large desk—and by large, I mean twice the size of the headmistress's and looking a bit more like a command center than a mere desk—with one of those large swivel chairs that were fun to scoot around in.

I glanced around for floo powder, but found none, but I spotted two cages beside the windows: Minnie and Duke. "Duke!" I cried with a grin, flying across the room to open the cage, and holding out a sweatshirt-covered arm: he hopped on happily, leaning forward to bump his head against my shoulder gently, then looked up at me, a reprimand for not seeing him for so long. I just smoothed down his feathers, before I looked at a very lonely-looking Minnie. I held out my other arm for her, and Duke took off from my arm, flying up to settle on the mantle piece, so I had a free hand to pet down Minnie's feathers, smiling at her quiet coos of appreciation. She took off too, enjoying the tall room, and I grinned at both of the birds for a second before I realized—I could write back. Yes, I had letters to all of my friends in my room. But I could rewrite one—just to Jamie. Now that I knew where he was, I could send him out. I sincerely doubted my grandmother would ever notice he was gone.

I turned to the command center/desk in the center of the room, spotting a pile of stationery and a quill almost immediately. I snuck around the desk, sinking down in the chair and scooching up to the desk, before I grabbed the parchment and the quill, and began to write, very, very fast, all the things I'd wanted to say to James for the last three weeks spilling onto the paper.

………………

Dear Jamesie,

I'm finally allowed to write you! Well, able to is more accurate, as I'm not supposed to be writing you, but I don't think my grandmother will notice, and she'll be out for a while yet, so I have a chance to send this out.

I miss you so much! I never realized that Dad's Mum would make good on her threat not to let us write, but she has—Duke and Minnie were taken away the very first second that they got here. I haven't even seen Duke until today, but my grandmother's house elf showed me the office, because she's a sweetie pie. She's so cute!

Surprisingly, living with my grandmother is kind of okay… mostly because I haven't seen her yet since she showed Wes and me our rooms. We're kind of confined to our rooms—we're allowed out for food because she's much too lazy to supervise our eating schedule—but it's a pretty good system because I'd rather be bored than have to fight with her. Since she's, y'know, insane.

I love your letters—you have no idea, I've read them over and over again—and I hope you send more. I don't know how often I'll be able to respond because I can only write you when she's out and when I can re-find her office, but I'll try, I promise. I miss talking to you so much, it's worth it. And I hope it'll be okay if I send you the letters I want to go to Louis and Edie and Rory and maybe even Alec—I just can't send more than one letter at a time with Duke since he carried that stupid cursed package that hurt Wes, and I know that I'll be writing you the most of the above mentioned people. Also, and I know I'm asking you to do a whole bunch and I understand if you can't, please tell Dean and Monica I'm okay, even if it's through your dad. Monica sent me a few letters and she sounds kind of freaked out…

I've said this twice already but here goes again: I MISS YOU! We spent a lot of time together, when I think about it (and I have a lot of thinking time on my hands, these days) and I don't think, since we've met each other, we've gone this long without seeing each other. I'm actually really sure about that, but I just feel like a big stalker counting those days, even though I have nothing better to do in this castle.

Tell Lily I say hi, please, and thank you for the beautiful picture of a turtle: it's brightening up my entire room. If she ever wants to send another picture, she should.

Love,

Sera