So Close to Magic

by Sonny13

Winona was new to the whole 'magic' thing, but she was pretty sure that even by Hogwarts' standards, drawing the future was freaky. She's content just to let her secret gather dust in a dark corner of her mind, but as she soon learns, the future waits for nobody, and when the young boy from her visions finally arrives at Hogwarts, the real work begins. Fred/OC

28. I had a right to know

A/N: Here we are, at the final chapter for the Prisoner of Azkaban storyline. You're going to get a lot of answers in this one, as well as a few new questions. Hope you enjoy!

---

She'd been lying when she'd told everyone that she didn't care what her exam results would be. She cared, just not for the same reasons as everyone else did. She was painfully aware of it being somewhat of a catch-22. Either she didn't study hard enough, and as a result, failed; or she did study enough and failed anyway. Either way she looked like an idiot.

So what she'd decided was not to study while other people were watching, and instead spent her insomnia-riddled nights curled up in bed, reading and rereading passages in her textbooks, willing herself to understand. It was easier this way, she told herself; even if it did exhaust her.

It was the Sunday before their first OWL when Fred and George became wise to her ploy.

"How much sleep are you getting?" Fred asked without introduction, taking a heavy seat beside her on the bench. Shooting upright from where her weight had been leant against the stone wall of the corridor, Winona's eyes snapped open. She'd been dozing in the brief moment of peace and quiet.

"Enough," she answered once she realised where she was, the words spoken around a telltale yawn.

Fred snorted in divided amusement and incredulity.

"What's going on then?" George spoke up this time. She blinked up at him blearily. He was leaning against the wall on her other side, watching her knowingly. "Sneaking off for late night rendezvous' with a new beau, perhaps?" he suggested. Winona was suddenly awake, the implication trickling like ice water through her nervous-system.

"No," she snapped defensively, reaching a hand up to her neck where a scarf was covering a rather embarrassing hickey given to her by Jeremiah the night before.

Okay, so when she wasn't covertly studying by wand light, she was meeting up with Jeremiah and letting him have his way with her in the many broom closets and empty classrooms littering the castle. She felt naughty and excited, sneaking around with him like it was some kind of forbidden romance – which, she supposed, it kind of was.

She'd jokingly compared them to Romeo and Juliet the night before; Jeremiah hadn't understood, nor appreciated, the comparison to a piece of Muggle literature. Things had stopped for the night rather quickly after that. She told herself it wasn't because he was disgusted by her less-than-pure blood. It might have been hard to see, but she was growing sure she meant more to him than a quick shag every now and again.

"Me think the lady doth protest too much," sang George.

She rolled her eyes and changed the topic, moving onto whether they thought she could get away with skiving on Binns' class in favour of getting more pie from the kitchens.

Winona had to admit that, despite everything, Angelina had made a good point. Exams weren't something she could just ignore until they went away – they were approaching with all the speed of a moving train, and if she didn't at least try, she'd feel even worse about herself than she already did. And really, the twins were right, who cared what anyone else thought?

Besides, everyone was so stressed about their own results, they barely had five seconds to spare to tease Winona about hers.

So although all she wanted to do was sit by the lake, drink butterbeer and bury herself in her sketchbook, she instead found herself crammed in the library between a frazzled Angelina and a half-asleep Alicia. The twins sat opposite them, alternating between studying and charming paper birds to nest in one another's hair.

Winona tried to focus on the textbook in front of her, a heavy tome on Transfiguration, open to a chapter on the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law. McGonagall had hinted it would come up in the OWLs, and though she knew it was important, she still felt her eyelids droop with uncontainable boredom as she attempted to read a particularly dull passage on conjuring consumable liquids.

Her eyes had momentarily shut when she saw the first flash from behind her closed lids. With a silent gasp, Winona shot upright, eyes wide open as she focused on putting off the inevitable. Dopily, minds muted from seemingly-endless study session, her friends looked up from their books.

Winona shot the girls the closest thing to a smile that she could manage, and both looked back at their notes with tired huffs. Winona made sure to catch the twins' eyes, quickly tapping at her temple in a move that had come to be meaningful between the trio.

"Winnie, let's go find that book I was talking about on Switching Spells," Fred exclaimed suddenly, a little too loud to come off as casual. It made the girls look up again in bewilderment.

Winona wasn't sure what to do, but Fred was used to covering for her and quickly leapt from his seat, reaching down and grasping Winona by the hand. He yanked her into a standing position, grabbing her bag in a single swoop and dragging her around the corner and out of sight, leaving two befuddled girls and an exasperated twin behind.

Being so close to exams, it was difficult to find an area not populated by studying students, but Fred knew all the best hiding spots in the castle – even in the library. Blindly allowing him to drag her through the aisles, she thought vaguely that people might have thought they were looking for a place to snog. The idea made her snort and Fred sped up at the sound, probably thinking it was an outburst of pain.

Finally he found an alcove between the Divination and Dragons sections, shoving her into it and throwing her bag into her arms.

"Thanks Fred," she whispered to him, head beginning to ache from the strain of keeping the vision at bay.

"Don't thank me," he hissed back, making sure she was properly seated before turning to stand in front of her, acting as a kind of bodyguard. "Just draw it before your head explodes," he added, tossing a playful eye roll over his shoulder. Doing as she was told, Winona tore open her never-ending sketchbook, yanked a sharpened pencil from her case, and leant her weight against the wall.

Once she was sure she was comfortable, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply into her diaphragm, and finally allowed herself to be sucked under the unsteady, uncontrollable current of time.

It wasn't a very tangible vision. Sometimes her glimpses of the future felt so real that she was almost sure she could reach out and interact with them, but this time it was foggy and distant. She tried latching on, but it wasn't working. It hovered just out of reach. All she could do was listen intently, inner eye narrowed as she struggled to make sense of the flashes blinking across her vision like powerful, fleeting forks of lightning.

As usual, she wasn't aware of her physical body until she came out of it, and when she finally came to, there was a large, accurately drawn picture on the paper before her.

Someone was crouched to the ground, looking up at a standing Harry, who was smiling widely, their hand pressed against the Boy-Who-Lived's chest in a tender gesture. She didn't understand – she couldn't see this mystery person's face, but from the ugly, dirty prison robes he was wearing, and the long, tangled mess of inky hair, she could make a pretty accurate guess.

Why was Sirius Black sharing a moment with Harry, and why wasn't Harry screaming or fighting back? Why was he smiling as though Black was the greatest thing that'd ever happened to him? Why had the vision been murky and distant, like nothing about it was decided yet?

"Win?" Fred's voice murmured, and she looked up from her blindly drawn artwork to blink up at him in surprise. "Oh, thank Merlin. You're back," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Madam Pince came by – I panicked and told her you were having 'lady problems', so she went to fetch Pomfrey," he explained, reaching out a hand to help her off the floor.

She took it gratefully, his warm, calloused skin grounding her more than anything else ever could. He hefted her to her feet, and then held out a hand for the sketch. She handed it over instantly, and he frowned as he stared down at the snapshot of days to come.

"No idea what it means," she answered his unspoken question. "Don't know when it's meant to happen, either," she added with a frustrated scowl, taking the sketchbook back and tucking it into her bag before grasping Fred by the arm and tugging him out of the alcove. "Let's get out of here before Pomfrey forces a Pepper-Up Potion down my throat."

"I'll go get George – we can finish studying in the courtyard or something."

"I'll meet you there," she agreed, smiling at him gratefully once more before turning and darting from the library, making sure to stay out of sight in case the school nurse appeared with any unnecessary potions for her to drink.

She was only a hallway away from the library when she ran into Hermione. The younger girl was, predictably, making a beeline for the library, three thick, heavy tomes in her small arms. "Hey 'Mione," she said, noting the frazzled look on her face, hair even more wild than usual, as though it was where she was carrying all of her anxiety.

"Hi, Winona," Hermione greeted her distractedly, mind clearly elsewhere, lids heavy with exhaustion.

"You look dead on your feet," Winona told her without preamble. Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet hers, a frown in their depths.

"So should you," she responded sharply, casting Winona a narrow-eyed look of glaring disapproval. "Are you prepared for your OWLs?" she asked, casting another look that made it obvious she was referring to her row with Angelina in the common room only a few days previous.

"Getting there," Winona said calmly, rather than rise to the bait. She knew Hermione was just overwhelmed with all her extra classes – she couldn't even imagine taking every single class Hogwarts offered at once. Most days Winona thought Hermione walked the line of brave and stupid, much like Harry and Ron, who somehow got into more trouble than the twins and herself, combined.

At the cool response the fight seemed to drain from Hermione, who suddenly looked apologetic for her sharpness. "You'll do well, I'm sure," she said quietly, shoulders drooped with exhaustion. Winona didn't necessarily think she believed what she was saying, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless.

"You're going to do amazing on your exams too, Hermione," Winona told her gently, trying to erase the wild glint to her eyes. It didn't disappear, but it did ease slightly, so she counted it as a win.

Hermione smiled gratefully, readjusting her grip on the textbooks cradled in her hands. She was about to let the girl go, knowing she probably wanted to get back to studying, but she began to talk, surprising Winona. "Buckbeak's appeal is set for the sixth," she said, and guilt flooded Winona like the thundering rapids of a gushing river.

She could tell by the resigned sort of tone to her voice that there was more to the story. "And?" Winona pressed. "That means there's still a chance, isn't there?"

Hermione was already shaking her head, her eyes glassy. "They're bringing the executioner with them," she revealed sadly. "They've already decided."

"I'm sorry I haven't done more to help," Winona said. "I guess I just got caught up in my own problems…" she added remorsefully. "But that's no excuse."

"It's okay," Hermione murmured, eyes seeming to inflate with her sadness. "I don't think there was anything anyone could have done, not once Lucius Malfoy got involved," she spat the name with a bitter hatred that surprised Winona, but it was one she understood.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the image of one of her recent visions floated into her mind, and she paused, eyes going glassy as she focused on it. Buckbeak was going to be okay. She knew this, as she always did; in her gut.

"Maybe there's more hope than you think," she murmured to Hermione, whose brow furrowed at the statement.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, thrown by the words.

Winona cracked a small smile, the expression so gentle that it was jarring against the rush of anxious panic filling the school this close to exams. "There's always hope," she said warmly. Hermione could only stare. Winona smiled once more, deciding to leave her to her studying. "See you, 'Mione," she said, patting the shorter girl on the shoulder before heading away, eager to meet up with the boys in the courtyard; even if it would bring more studying with it.

The days seemed to slip through her fingers like water, and before she knew it, OWLs were upon them.

"I think Ange is going to have a nervous breakdown," she told the twins as they left the common room, making their way up the stairs towards the Great Hall, where they were to sit for the written portion of their very first OWL.

They all looked ahead to where Ange was walking, hands tapping anxiously on her legs, a look of frustration on her face as she muttered under her breath, much like Wood might before a big Quidditch match.

"Maybe you should go comfort her, Freddie," George added slyly. Fred rolled his eyes.

"Tried that last night, she nearly bit my head off. You'd think she were Granger with how stressed she is for these OWLs."

"Which head?" George asked with a massive, shit-eating grin.

Winona gasped, then broke out into loud, roaring laughter, having to hang onto George's arm in an attempt to keep herself upright. Fred snorted, giving his twin a shove, a loud guffaw escaping him.

By the time they arrived at the Great Hall they were all still in stitches. People around them stared like they seemed crazy, and Flitwick opened the door to narrow his beady little eyes at them.

"Please, get ahold of yourselves," he said in his squeaky little voice, a look of exasperation on his face. He was far too used to this happening to be surprised, or to bother asking what was so funny.

Pinching one another in an attempt to stop laughing, eventually they quieted, and once they had, the Charms professor let everyone into the Hall. The House tables were gone, replaced by rows and rows of individual desks.

Taking their seats, Winona avoided looking at the boys to keep from breaking out into any more childish giggles.

"You have one hour and thirty minutes to complete the written portion of this exam," said the moderator, a tall witch with hair as dark as night and an awful scowl on her face, without even introducing herself first.

Leaning over her test, Winona summoned all the Gryffindor courage she could physically handle, picked up her quill, and began to write.

---

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Angelina was saying as they filed from the Hall, an hour to go until lunch, then they'd be moving on to the practical portion of the exam. "How'd you do?" she asked the rest of the group at large, and she was met with replies that varied in degrees of confidence.

Alicia responded and the pair began to talk about their answers regarding the Levitation Charm, while Winona dropped back to keep step with the twins, who were snickering about something or other at the back of the group.

"We're alive!" Fred exclaimed rather theatrically when he saw her, and a passing first year gave a terrified squeak at the sudden outburst. Fred threw an arm over her shoulder, ruffling Winona's hair, and she shoved him off with a playful hiss.

"How'd you do?" George asked, more restrained than his twin.

"Completely forgot the theory behind the Cheering Charm," she admitted with a scowl, glancing over at the others to be sure they couldn't overhear. They were all focused on teasing Lee for passing wind in the middle of the exam. He said it was on purpose, for a laugh, but Winona could see the embarrassment in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it," George said dismissively. "You'll completely ace the practical portion this afternoon. I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, Georgie," she murmured, hoping he was right. "What about you two? Think you'll be getting an OWL?"

"Oh, definitely," Fred nodded seriously, "I made that test my bitch."

Winona let out a surprised laugh, ducking out from under his arm to poke him in the stomach, making him flinch. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Fred Weasley's good at everything." Fred beamed proudly, putting his hands on his hips and staring out into the distance majestically. "Except simple maths and pleasing a woman," she added in a rush, and his smug, superior expression melted into one of shock.

George snorted, and Winona grinned delightedly, poking her tongue out at Fred, who lunged at her. She danced out of the way, racing to catch up with the others, using Lee as a human shield.

The two weeks of OWLs went by so fast that if you blinked, you'd have surely missed it. She did awfully at both portions of the Transfiguration exam, her Vanishing Spell ended up working more like a Severing Charm, as only half her pineapple disappeared. Herbology was just as much of a train wreck – her Fanged Geranium bit into her index finger, making her bleed.

Defence was probably her best test in the whole first week; the written part was difficult, and she struggled through it, but she was positive she did well at the practical portion. Sure, her Counter-Jinxes weren't anything to brag about, but her Defensive Spells most certainly were – she pulled off Reducto so well that the test dummy was rendered to ash. She cast a perfect Riddikulus in spite of that near-disastrous first day in DADA, and so she walked out of the test feeling a hell of a lot better than when she'd walked in.

Thankfully, she had Friday off, and although the others wanted to go play Gobstones by the Lake, Winona was keen to spend some time sketching. She liked to do as much towards the end of the year; take the time to sit in the quiet, somewhere she could see the mountains, soaking it all in before she had to go back to her hellish summertime accomodations.

She supposed she was probably growing predictable – that, or she subconsciously wanted Jeremiah to find her, because she chose her usual spot, and soon enough the Slytherin fifth year himself was sauntering up, his black school robes flowing around him like a cape in a comic book.

"Where've you been hiding?" he purred as he reached her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was around before ducking in to press his lips to her pulse point.

Breath leaving her lungs in a helpless puff, Winona's eyes slid shut as she leant into the contact, her concentration disappearing, the rough sketch of a unicorn laying forgotten in her lap. "I've missed you," she murmured as he nibbled her sensitive skin.

He hummed in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't respond, thick, strong arms winding around her middle and tugging her to him. Her back pressed against his front, and his fingers began to creep up under her jumper, running along the underwire of her bra.

She sighed again, leaning into the touch, but he unexpectedly pulled away. Spinning around to look at him, he was heading across the corridor, towards the empty classroom they'd used for their rendezvous before. A thrill of excitement filled her, and Winona swallowed, but before they could reach it a familiar voice was calling out her name, and both fifth years froze with a sinking knowledge that they'd been caught.

It was Harry, but to Winona's relief he hadn't seemed to notice anything suspicious. He was jogging up to them, a panicked sort of worry splashed across his face. Concern swelling in her gut, she turned to say goodbye to Jeremiah only to find him already halfway down the hall in the opposite direction.

Pursing her lips, she bit back a sigh of disappointment and turned back to an alarmed-looking Harry. "Wotcher," she greeted him once he came to a stop in front of her. "How'd your exams go?"

But Harry wasn't in the mood for smalltalk.

"Have you seen anything in the future? Anything about tonight? Anything at all about Voldemort or his followers?" he blurted, staring at her with warring hope and dread.

Winona's eyes went wide at the question, and she scanned the hallway to make sure they were really alone before nodding Harry over to the bench at the far wall, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Where's this coming from?" she asked, patient and concerned.

"Have you seen anything?" he asked again, seemingly in a hurry as he didn't answer the question.

Frowning, she began to dig in her bag, rooting around in search of her sketchbook. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll show you what I've drawn," she bargained.

Harry took a deep sigh, and she noticed a tightness around his eyes. He was worried and tense, like something had seriously spooked him. "I just had my exam with Trelawney," he told her, seeming to calm down at her prodding. "She – well, she kind of zoned out – then all of a sudden she was telling me things, about Voldemort and Sirius Black, and how they were going to be reunited tonight-"

"Harry, Trelawney's mad as a hatter, I wouldn't put too much stock in her ramblings – she once asked what kind of hair colour charm I use – as though I were a bottle blonde. It was actually rather insulting-"

"She was predicting it," Harry argued strongly, ignoring her tangent. "It wasn't pointless rambling. It was a prophecy."

Swallowing at the conviction she saw in his eyes, she knew she believed him. Harry was sharp, and he knew what he'd seen. Who was she to argue against it? "Okay," she said, and he seemed surprised she'd accepted it so quickly. "What exactly did she say?"

"That tonight, before midnight, Voldemort's most loyal servant will break free and rejoin his master once and for all," he told her in a rush, a dread in his eyes that broke her heart. She wasn't sure what to say – what was there to say to something like that? "So, what have you drawn?" he pressed, deadset on answers.

Winona grimaced, flipping to the right page. "I only drew it a couple of days ago. It's kind of contradictory to what Trelawney's just told you," she said as she handed over the sketch of Black kneeling at Harry's side, a hand pressed tenderly over his heart. Harry stared down at it with hard eyes. "I don't know what it means," she added quietly. "But I get the feeling there's more to this whole thing than meets the eye."

Harry handed her back the sketchbook, and she politely ignored the way his hand trembled. "Sirius Black betrayed my parents," he said, voice like steel.

"Yeah," she replied, however soft and unsure.

"I've gotta go," Harry said, standing sharply to his feet.

"Harry!" Winona called before he could rush away. He turned back to her expectantly, green eyes glittering from behind his circular glasses. "Be careful tonight," she said, her gaze meeting his, imploring. "Promise me," she begged him when he didn't move to speak. "Please."

Harry hesitated. "Yeah, I'll be careful," he finally said, but the words felt empty, ringing with insincerity. Brow pulling downwards in concern, Winona could do no more than stare after him, hoping beyond all hope that the foreboding twist of her gut was nothing but a warning of oncoming bad weather.

She remained where she was awhile longer, processing what had just happened with Harry and trying to lose herself in her sketching. It proved, for maybe the first time in her life, impossible.

She found she couldn't connect, her brain buzzing away inside her head. It was an insistent and pressing feeling, telling her that Harry, Ron and Hermione knew something. Ever since that night all those months ago, sat in the common room with Harry while they talked about their parents…there was something she was missing, and it was driving her up the bloody wall.

Giving up on trying to draw, Winona shoved her things away and made a beeline for Gryffindor Tower. The common room was full when she arrived, everybody hanging out and debriefing after the long day of exams.

She strode past the common room, heading up to her dorm, but a peek inside told her it was full too. Angelina, Alicia and Hope were all gathered around one bed, laughing about something or other and painting each other's toenails. Winona wasn't in the mood, and she knew she needed privacy for what she wanted to do next. She snuck inside and darted to her bed, quickly opening her bedside drawers and fishing out her small stash of candles from within.

The girls noticed her and called for her to join them, but she just made a hurried excuse about promising to play chess with the twins before darting back out again.

Hurrying back down to the common room, she went directly for the group making the most noise, immediately locating Fred and George where they were doing an improvised skit for a group of starry-eyed first years.

She caught Fred's eye, and just as abruptly, the entire scene came to a halt. Fred made a lighthearted excuse about needing water for his 'singing voice' and broke away from the group, leaving George and Lee to keep things moving.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked her quietly, eyes scanning her up and down as though searching for an injury.

"I need your help with something," she said, staring up into his blue eyes, hopeful.

Fred nodded once. "Anything."

She grasped his hand, turning and leading him up the stairs to the boys' dorms. A seventh-year made a lewd, suggestive noise as they passed him on the stairs, but Winona only kicked him hard in the shin before continuing to pull Fred along without pause.

"Okay, you're worrying me now," Fred told her as she made it to his room, pulling him inside and shutting the door, using her wand to lock it. "What's going on?"

She moved over to Fred's bed, putting down her bag and beginning to pull out the candles she'd stashed there. "Don't freak out," she began as she placed the candles in a perfect circle around the bed, "but I'm going to induce a vision."

Fred blinked at her, struggling to understand. Moving with easy efficiency, Winona pulled out her art supplies, setting them down in her lap before leaning forwards and flicking her fingertips over the wicks of the candles. Fred wandered closer, coming to a stop beside her and watching as she wandlessly lit each candle.

"Why?" he asked, probing and more cautious than usual. "What happened?"

"Something's going to happen tonight," she told him, leaning back against his headboard and looking up at him. "Come sit here," she said, patting the spot in front of her. "I need you to spot me."

"Spot you?" he echoed, confused.

"Would you just sit down?"

He did as she asked, climbing onto the bed so he sat directly opposite her, crossing his legs to copy her stance and staring at her carefully. "What d'you mean something's going to happen tonight?"

She flipped to a fresh page in her sketchbook, running her fingertips across the crisp parchment, the feel of it against her skin more grounding than anything else. "I don't know," she muttered, equally as frustrated by the answer.

"Winnie," he said, slow and purposeful. She met his eyes, which almost seemed to glow in the candlelight. "Take a breath and explain."

Knowing he was right, she stopped, taking a deep breath and rolling her neck to try and help herself relax.

"This whole year – actually, my whole time so far at Hogwarts, I've felt like I was missing something," she began quietly, absentmindedly cracking her knuckles to relieve some of her tension. "Something other people seem to know, but I don't. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Harry – even your parents. Something's being kept from me. I don't know why, but I'm sick of being kept in the dark, Fred."

He stared at her, trying desperately to understand, which she loved him all the more for. "And you think…this…will help?" he asked, gesturing to the candles surrounding them and the sharp, flowery scent they were giving off as they burned.

"I'm going to induce a vision, and I'm going to really, properly look for some answers."

"What'd you mean something was going to happen tonight, though?"

"Sometimes I just know things," she said, something he already knew, but it could do with restating. "And what I know is that tonight's important. I know that tonight, I'm finally getting the answers I've been searching for. I just need to take my head out of the sand and start to really look." Fred still looked concerned, and she grit her teeth anxiously. "Are you with me?"

He didn't need to think about it, just reaching out to grasp her hands in his. The touch soothed her, and she relaxed a little more. "I'm always with you," he promised. Winona smiled gratefully. "So, how does this work?" he asked, still gripping her hands as he eyed the candles around them and the sketchbook in her lap. "What do you need me to do?"

"I've tried to induce visions before, but never to this extent," she told him, holding his hands tighter, comforted by the scrape of his callouses against her palms. "The candles are made with herbs that help channel my inner eye – according to Trelawney, anyway. All I know for sure is that the scent helps pull me under."

"Pull you under what?"

She just smiled, knowing it would be too hard now to explain the way she felt when she yielded to the current of a vision. There would be time for that later.

"I just need you to watch me. I've never intended to actually succumb like this before. I don't know what will happen to me, to my physical body, but I just know that I–" she cut herself off, the next words suddenly feeling too intimate to say aloud.

Fred's cornflower eyes glittered with warmth. "You don't want to be alone," he finished for her, and her lips twitched up in a smile of gratitude.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone for–" she started to say.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, and she squeezed his hands, overcome with affection.

"Okay," she said bracingly, reluctantly letting go of his calloused hands and turning her attention to her sketchbook. "Alright," she said again, trying to convince herself she was okay. "Pencil, pencil," she muttered, turning her head to try and spot the thing in question.

Fred's hand shot up, moving over her head and disappearing into her hair. She felt his fingertips graze her scalp and had to restrain a shiver. When he brought his hand back down it was holding the pencil she'd shoved into her untidy bun earlier that day.

She smiled and he grinned back, the expression roguish and charming as she took the pencil from his long fingers, then turned her full attention to her task. "Ready?" she asked him quietly, staring resolutely at her blank page.

"Ready."

And so she closed her eyes, inhaled the sweet, near overpowering scents of the candles, and began to try and shed her physical body, just as Trelawney had taught her.

As she'd described it before, it was very much like a current. One not within herself, but rather a force that she had the unique ability to tap into. Time was like a river, she'd found. With practise, it was growing easier to dive in and experience it all at once.

Like she'd said, the concept was a complicated one.

For a long time – she wasn't sure exactly how long – she remained in the room, eyes closed as she desperately tried to sink into a state of Sight. She could hear Fred's steady breathing, feel his eyes on her face. It wasn't uncomfortable but rather reassuring. Like she knew she was safer than ever before, because she had Fred there to watch over and protect her physical body.

With this in mind, she took a deep mental breath and plunged head first into the river of time.

She didn't know what she was looking for, she just knew that she'd know when she found it. She couldn't go back in time, couldn't See the past like she could See the future. Her only hope at getting answers was Seeing a conversation that was going to happen, rather than one that already had.

It was difficult to sift through the massive amounts of input she was getting. Like looking for a needle in a stack of identical needles that was the size of the castle itself.

She searched and searched, everything just a blur of colour and a single, constant buzz of sound. It was all similar and different and identical and unique. It was everything all at once. Some of it wasn't set in stone, but rather in flux, ebbing and flowing like the tides of the ocean, mere possibilities of what could be. Just when she began to give up hope, stuck in the turmoil of it all, unable to feel her own breath or heartbeat, she was plunged into a room.

This vision was different to the others. Usually they were stabs of light and sound, too much for her consciousness to comprehend – but that was because she always fought against it. She always battled with it, reluctant to give up control, scared of what might happen if she did.

Now, for the first time since learning what she was, Winona allowed herself to succumb to it, handing over control and letting herself submerge into the scene of what was to come.

She was in some kind of room. It was completely destroyed, like a rabid animal had been let loose inside of it, shattering furniture and shredding the wallpaper with large, claw-like slices. She wasn't alone.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all there, staring across the room with wide eyes. There was a man with a rat-like face and balding hair, and he was cowering away from Professor Lupin, who had him chained up and was glaring with hatred. Beside him was Sirius Black, eyes sunken and face waxen, but there was a spark of renewed life to his eyes. Winona felt her heart jump in her chest at the sight of him.

"What about Professor Snape?" Hermione's voice asked, and Winona scanned the room to find Snape collapsed against the wall, blood trickling down from his hairline.

"There's nothing seriously wrong with him," Lupin replied smoothly. There was an ease about the exchange, like they weren't standing there with an unconscious teacher, like a convicted murderer wasn't stood between them, like nothing in the world was wrong. "You were just a little — overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er — perhaps it will be best if we don't revive him until we're safely back in the castle. We can take him like this…"

He muttered, "Mobilicorpus." As though invisible strings were tied to Snape's wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, limp feet dangling.

"And two of us should be chained to this," said Black, nudging the crying, balding man on the floor with his toe, like he were no more than trash he despised. "Just to make sure."

"I'll do it," said Lupin quickly, eyeing the ratty man with contempt.

"And me," said Ron with conviction, limping forwards. Winona began to wonder what had happened to his leg, but her attention was quickly snagged by Lupin, who turned to look at Black with a serious frown on his face.

"Sirius, before we leave, while we have a chance to talk – there's something you need to know," Lupin professed, and Black looked up from where he was shackling Ron to the sobbing man on the floor. "It's about…it's about Winona," he said, sounding choked, like the words were difficult to get out around a lump in his throat.

Black's face twisted in pain and the entire room filled with tension as the Golden Trio watched on with wide eyes.

"I know," said Black in a strained voice. "I know she's alive."

"You do?" asked Lupin in surprise.

"That night I snuck into the Gryffindor common room –– I saw her. Face to face, I looked her in the eyes, Remus. I saw her," he said, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Winona couldn't feel her own body, certainly not her own heartbeat, but if she could, she was sure it would have been racing.

"Wait, how do you know Winnie?" demanded Harry, looking between them critically. "And why did you think she was dead?"

"Because that was what Dumbledore told me – that's what he told everyone. Said she'd died, in an effort to protect her, no doubt," he paused, seeming to take a moment to collect himself. "You know her well?"

"Yeah," Harry responded, mystified.

Winona would have had to have been blind to miss the hope in the escaped convict's eyes. "What's she like?"

"Brilliant," Harry replied, sincerity in his eyes that warred with his confusion. "She's smart. Kind. A little bit crazy, but in a good way." He stopped, swallowing loudly. "How do you know her? Are you her godfather, too?"

Black opened his mouth, but the words didn't seem to come, blocked by an emotion none of them could name.

Lupin was the one to speak up, and when he did, it was like pieces of a puzzle slotting into place. "Sirius is Winona's father, Harry," he said gently, easing him into it slowly, knowing it would be a lot to process.

From her invisible vantage point, Winona almost seemed to stop existing entirely, lost in the realism of the moment.

Harry took another moment to process this, seeming suspiciously less stupefied than the rest of them. "She told me her mother's name was Jessica," he said, voice subdued, almost like some part of him were afraid of the answer. "She thinks her last name is Andrews – but that's not true, is it?"

Lupin and Black exchanged a long look, full of a shared history that none of those witnessing it could even begin to understand.

"Because Jessica was my aunt's name," Harry continued with bated breath. "My dad's sister – Jessica Potter. That's who her mum was." Black gave a waning smile, and Winona had never seen an expression of such intense love mingled with such unbearable agony. Harry paused again. "So…so all that…makes Winona-"

"A Potter," said Hermione for him, sounding like she'd just had the wind knocked from her lungs. "Harry, Winona's your cousin."

Coming out of the vision wasn't rough and jarring like it usually was. Instead, Winona seemed to blink her eyes and she was back in the boys' dorms. Fred was standing a few feet away, but he wasn't alone. George was stood beside him, their heads bent as they muttered between themselves.

Fred seemed to realise she was back first, but he did so without even turning to look. "Hey, Win," he said, and George snapped his head up too, looking at her with relief. "Welcome back."

Winona couldn't process all of this, she could only stare, unseeing in a completely different sense.

Her head was both loud and quiet. Like a raging storm and a pristine desert of silence, her mind was torn in two. She couldn't think, couldn't process what she'd just learned.

Could she trust it? Part of her wanted to call it a hallucination, but it was wishful thinking. She knew what she'd witnessed, knew the truth of it, even as it burned a hole in her chest like a melted down acid pop.

"Win?" Fred's voice asked, and she blinked, turning her eyes onto him. He was staring back in concern, knowing her well enough not to take her silence as a good thing. "George knocked," he explained when her eyes flickered over to his brother. "Didn't think you'd mind. It'd been awhile, so he came looking."

"Awhile?" she asked, surprised to find her throat dry and her voice hoarse.

Fred hesitated, like the next words were big ones, and therefore needed to be handled with the utmost care. "It's been over three hours," he said, gentle but matter-of-fact.

Winona's sore eyes went wide, and she blinked until the stinging stopped.

"You okay?" George asked from the end of the bed. "What'd you see?"

"Did you get the answers you were looking for?" Fred added hopefully.

Winona blinked again. "Yeah," she said, the words weak and hollow at best. Feeling the familiar weight of her sketchbook in her lap, she quickly glanced down, heart leaping into her throat as she did.

It was much like the image she'd drawn a few days ago, of Harry and Sirius Black down in the Hogwarts courtyard. This time they were standing beside one another, with one glaringly obvious addition.

The sketched figure of Winona herself was stood opposite them.

It was a detailed sketch, done with the kind of precision only three hours could bring you. Mouth dry and eyes burning, Winona quickly began to shove away her things. Time was wasting, she didn't have long before the window of opportunity was gone forever. She needed this, needed to face this – it – him. She needed to know.

"Win?" Fred asked warily, watching as she scrambled gracelessly to her feet.

"I've gotta go," she said quickly, heart racing in her chest. She thought about taking her bag with her, but it would only slow her down. "Watch my bag – I'll be back for it soon," she promised the boys. George looked mildly alarmed by the fact that she was planning to go anywhere without it, but Winona didn't have time to explain.

"Win, what's going on?" Fred demanded, uncharacteristically anxious.

"I really need to go – it's important," she told him, making a beeline for the door only to come to a sudden stop. She turned, heading straight for Fred and quickly pressing herself up to peck his cheek affectionately. "Thanks, Freddie," she said sincerely, but the concern on his face never waned. She reached out to grasp onto George's hand, squeezing to convey her gratitude. "I'll explain later!" she called as she flicked her wand at the door, unlocking it and barrelling out into the hall.

She wasn't wearing any shoes – something that was happening with more and more frequency, these days. The floor beneath her feet was cold as she all but tripped down the stairs, toppling out into the common room and sprinting for the portrait hole.

"Winona? It's after curfew! You're not allowed to leave!" Percy shouted at her, but she didn't pay him so much as a second of attention. All his words – everyone's words – were nothing but white noise compared to the storm raging inside her head. The reality she was suddenly faced with – the possibility that Sirius Black was…

She couldn't think the words, couldn't acknowledge their truth. She couldn't think about how it made sense, or felt right. She didn't know what to think, or feel. Should she have been happy? Or angry? And if so, at who?

She sprinted through the empty, silent halls of the castle. It was dark, but moonlight seeped in through the many windows built into the walls, bathing her in a silvery, ethereal glow. She ran faster, an invisible, ticking clock in her head. She had to get there, before time ran out and Sirius Black left – possibly forever.

When she finally arrived at the courtyard she was filled with a wave of relief, but that just as quickly disappeared when she finally laid sight on the criminal himself. Sirius Black was crouched down by Harry at one of the benches, his hand splayed over his godson's chest.

They glanced up sharply when she burst noisily into the courtyard, and everyone was perfectly silent for a beat, nobody knowing what to say. Then Black stood up, the movement slow and controlled, like he were worried about spooking a nervous animal. Winona wondered what her face must have looked like, to draw such a reaction.

She just kept staring at him, trying to understand, trying to find the truth in his eyes.

"Winona," he said, just like that night in the Tower, and her heart seemed to freeze in her chest.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper; it was a miracle they heard her at all. Black didn't answer her. "Is it true?" she repeated with more force, demanding a reply.

He took a few hurried steps towards her, but stopped shy of touching her. The expression on his face was torn, full of pain and hope and longing. She wondered whether any of it was real.

"Winona – he's innocent!" Harry exclaimed from the bench, shooting to his feet.

"Is it true?" she asked for a third time, hoping she wouldn't need to again.

"You're my daughter," Black confirmed and the words were like a weight from her shoulders. So many years of thinking she was an orphan, now to now her father was alive? It lifted a weight but left a sadness in her heart. How could nobody have told her? How could they let her think she was alone, all these years? "How did you find out?" Black continued, eyes still glittering with emotion that hurt her heart to look at. "I thought you didn't know-"

"I just found out," she interrupted him, not in the mood to rehash her sorry history. "Doesn't matter how," she added just as firmly. Just because he was her family by blood, it didn't mean he'd earned the right to her secrets; earned the right to know her. "And Jessica – my mother –– "

"Was a Potter," Black finished for her, eyes now glinting with regret, a remorse she couldn't fully understand.

"Is she really dead, or was that just another lie?" she snarled.

Black flinched back like the venom in her words had burned him. "I would never lie to you, Winnie," Black said, taking the few steps closer so they were within touching distance. The lack of space between them was screaming at her. Her father so close, she could touch him. It was like a dream – but not necessarily a good one.

"Sirius!" hissed Hermione from the other side of the courtyard. "You've got to go."

Black ignored her, and so did Winona. "I don't have time to explain – believe me, I wish I did," he said, sincerity a tremor in his voice. "Go to Dumbledore. Demand answers. With any luck, you might even get them. And talk to Remus, he can fill in the blanks that Dumbledore won't."

He stopped, like his thoughts had come to an abrupt halt. He lifted a dirty, grimy hand, bringing it up to her porcelain face so his fingertips could brush over the apple of her cheek. Her heart hammered in her chest. Up until the moment they touched, some part of her still thought he was just a ghost, that he was going to blow away like smoke the moment a strong enough breeze brushed by.

Winona stopped breathing altogether. Their eyes locked, and she thought now that she remembered him.

It was years ago now, but looking into his eyes she saw a ghost of a man, much younger and full of life, making silly faces at her while she giggled. She could remember how he used to smell; like pine forests and a good kind of wet dog.

"You look like me," Black whispered, the words meant only for the two of them. "You have my eyes."

And it was true. Their eyes were a matching grey, like the foreboding clouds of an oncoming storm. Winona had always loved the rain.

She felt her lower lip tremble and the realisation that she was about to cry horrified her – but that wasn't enough to stop the tears from coming. One spilled over, unwelcome, onto her cheek, trailing down the length of her face and showing the world exactly how much this hurt.

"I never meant to leave," he told her, and somehow is sounded like a promise. "If I could go back-"

"Sirius!" Hermione hissed again.

"I have to go," Black said, his voice layered with years upon years of regret. "But I'll see you again," he vowed, turning to include Harry, who watched on with hope in his eyes. Hope that Winona wished she didn't share – but she did. It was there, burning in her heart like a traitorous little flame. "Both of you," Sirius promised.

Then he turned, feet hitting the stone beneath him as he raced back to Hermione and Buckbeak. He clamoured onto the hippogriff's back and turned to look at Winona and Harry one final time. They could see the pain in his eyes, knew he wanted to stay, to fix things – but time was cruel, and it stopped for nobody.

Buckbeak catapulted himself into the air, taking Winona and Harry's only surviving family with him.

Then they were gone, and everything was silent, Winona's head a jumble of half-finished thoughts and pulsing emotions, ears ringing like in the wake of an explosion. But before she could so much as utter a word to Harry, Hermione whirled around, tugging at his sleeve.

"We've got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us — before Dumbledore locks the door—" she said in a hurry.

"But – Winnie-" Harry tried to say, turning to who he now knew to be his cousin, eyes alight with emotion. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to say. Winona felt the same, but reality was rarely that convenient.

"Go," Winona told him, the single word coming out choked. "I'll come find you."

He looked like he still wanted to argue – then Hermione yanked on his sleeve again and he relented. "Okay," Harry said reluctantly. "Let's go."

Winona waited until they'd disappeared around the corner before finally allowing herself to breathe. Standing alone in the middle of an empty courtyard, the silvery moonlight filtering down onto her face, all of a sudden it all felt startlingly real.

She turned, walking in a daze as she made her way through the castle towards Dumbledore's office. It was late, almost midnight, and she didn't doubt that the Headmaster was busy dealing with the events of the evening. But she didn't care. She'd camp outside the gargoyle guarding his office all week, if it meant getting the answers she so desperately needed.

The castle was empty and silent, few people roaming the halls at this hour. Still, she nearly ran into Snape and the Minister. They were stalking towards the hospital wing, Snape shouting about something or other, and the Minister attempting to calm him. Neither noticed Winona as she crouched in the shadows. She didn't spare the time to consider herself lucky, taking off again in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

The Gargoyle seemed to eye her as she approached, but she didn't pause in her delivery of the password. It leapt aside and she climbed the stone staircase, arriving on the landing and knocking loudly on the heavy, wooden door.

There was no answer but the door still creaked open, miraculously unlocked. She slipped inside to find it was empty. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, but she realised this was a good thing. She needed some time to collect herself, lest she explode in the Headmaster's face like some kind of childish time-bomb.

She walked over to Fawkes, who cooed softly as she approached, letting her reach up to stroke his glowing, crimson feathers.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest, like it were threatening to drop down into her feet. Her insides felt hollow, like Sirius had taken them with him when he'd flown away. Her head felt like it were full of cotton balls, thick and fuzzy, making it difficult to think.

Again, she wasn't sure what to feel, couldn't seem to settle on one emotion. Should she have felt happy that she knew the truth? Angry that it had been kept from her this whole time? Furious and betrayed that she'd been lied to all her life? Sad that her – that Sirius – was gone, and their future was completely uncertain?

What was she meant to think? Feel? Believe? Who knew if what Dumbledore told her now would even be true, should he tell her anything at all?

It was like she didn't know who she was anymore. Like her sense of self had been scooped out and used to fuel somebody else's fire. Because who were you but where you'd come from? Your history was such a big part of who you were, and suddenly everything she'd known was a lie. Did that mean she wasn't real? That she was just a fabrication of the people she'd come to trust?

She was just beginning to spiral when the door creaked open behind her. Winona turned, realising she'd been stood in the same position for at least an hour now, stroking her fingers over Fawkes' shiny red plume.

"Winona," Dumbledore greeted her pleasantly, like she wasn't standing at his desk with a face wet with tears and betrayal glittering in her eyes. "How are you?"

Winona couldn't speak for a long moment, gathering together all her swirling thoughts, struggling to convert them into intelligent speech. "Were you ever going to tell me?" she finally asked, voice scratchy from her tears.

Dumbledore didn't react, merely wandering over to his desk and taking a seat in his large, ornate chair, golden robes settling around his frail body. He swept a hand at the seat opposite him, but the gesture went ignored, Winona opting to stand.

"No," he eventually told her – not sounding particularly apologetic about it, either. "No, I wasn't going to tell you."

She choked around her next breath, the words like a pill she had to swallow. "Why not?" she softly, remarkably calm considering the circumstances.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, peering at her where she was pacing in front of his desk, her steps slow and steady but nonetheless firm. "At first it was for your own safety," he said, voice ancient and crackling. She didn't meet his eyes, listening on as she stared darkly down at the rug beneath her bare feet. "Then it was for your peace of mind."

"Because thinking I was alone my whole life really gave me a lot of peace," she spat, but Dumbledore didn't so much as blink.

"But you weren't alone," he said, utterly calm. "You have your friends; the Weasleys; Harry."

"Who happens to by my family," she hissed back, humiliated as her eyes began to burn again. Hadn't she cried enough for one night? "I had a right to know," she snarled, feeling the truth of the words in her very bones.

"Telling you of your connection to Harry would have created more questions than it would have answered," he told her evenly. She wasn't sure that was true, but she was sure she might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Dumbledore was a Gryffindor too, so she knew just how stubborn he could be.

"I had a right to know," she repeated stonily, voice losing some of its venom, reaching up to wipe at her eyes.

Dumbledore stared at her, thoughtful. Maybe it was how pathetic she looked in that moment, or maybe he could sense her pain, but eventually he relented. "Perhaps you did," he admitted quietly. She didn't miss the glaring lack of an apology. "What did you see?" he continued in the same breath. And wasn't that always what it came down to? What she'd Seen? "What do you know?"

"Not enough," she said, stepping closer and slapping her palms against his desktop, finally meeting his eyes, stormy grey clashing with glittering sapphire. "Tell me what happened tonight," she demanded, the furthest thing from a request. "Tell me what happened that night twelve years ago. Tell me how he's innocent."

She was obstinate, and he could tell. She stared him down, unflinching under his eyes, which suddenly looked less like glittering sapphires and more like little chips of needle-sharp ice. Cold and dangerous and impersonal.

So she was surprised when he did just that, leaning back in his chair and beginning to tell her the story of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew; how the Pettigrew had framed Sirius for his murder, and that of the Potters. She listened silently, asking no questions, absorbing the information she was given like it were the most important lecture of her life.

In many ways, it was.

As he spoke, she felt herself relax, felt herself slowly begin to trust Black. Until then, she'd been torn. Was he a good man, or was he really the murderer everyone assumed him to be? She didn't want a murderer for a father; and, apparently, she didn't have one.

Once Dumbledore had finished rehashing the events of the night, Winona couldn't help but ask, "who told you all of this?"

Dumbledore eyed her before saying, "Your father himself."

"Don't call him that," she snapped, surprising herself with the sharpness to her voice. Dumbledore took it in stride, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "So I know he's innocent," she began again, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. "Why did he think I was dead? What happened to my mother? Why was the truth kept from me all these years?"

Dumbledore made a show of glancing over at the grandfather clock standing in the far corner. "It's getting late – or early, rather – we can pick this up in the morning––"

"No," she interrupted him sharply. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed into icy darts. She placed her hands on the desk again, leaning closer, fire burning in her eyes. "I do everything you ask of me. I run to you every single time I have a vision. I keep the secrets you tell me to, I lie to the people who mean the most to me, and I go to every private lesson you arrange. So for once you are going to do what I tell you; for once you are going to answer my questions."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, staring at the young Gryffindor with unbridled curiosity – her eyes aflame with fury, her hair crackling with magic. Winona could see the cogs turning behind his cold eyes as he considered what to do, but she knew the only way he was getting out of telling her the truth was to cast a Full Body-Bind Curse and levitate her back up to Gryffindor Tower himself.

In the end, the Headmaster relented. Whether it was because of her strong words or simply the trouble the other option would have been, she wasn't sure, but it got the desired result.

"Jessica was James Potter's older sister by just over a year," Dumbledore began in a low, rumbling voice. Winona stepped back from the desk, watching the Headmaster closely as he spoke, taking in the faraway look to his blue eyes. She wondered what he was seeing, then decided she didn't care. "She wasn't as well known as her brother. At school she kept her head down, focused on her studies, didn't get into nearly as much trouble," he paused, considering. "She was in Gryffindor, but you wouldn't have known it. I always thought she had more of a Hufflepuff's heart."

Winona stared back as if in a daze, struggling to picture her mother being a soft, studious, mild-mannered like the all Hufflepuffs she knew.

"It's safe to say you take after your father," Dumbledore told her with the tiniest hint of amusement, as though she wasn't still utterly furious with him. She glared at him, but his smile never faded, as if oblivious to her ire. "She died the morning of Halloween," he continued quietly. "Death Eaters raided her house – your house. Sirius was away on a mission for the Order of the Phoenix – a secret organisation spearheaded by myself to fight Voldemort when he was at his peak, back in the First Wizarding War," he explained at her look of confusion.

She didn't twitch, staring, urging him to carry on.

"The wards put around your house alerted the Order to the attack. They got there in time to save you, but not your mother."

Winona felt her eyes sting, but she stubbornly ignored it.

"Because he was away, Sirius didn't find out Jessica was killed until after he was arrested for the murders. He'd gone to the Potter's first, to check they were okay, and that's when he found them. That's when he went after Pettigrew. The story of your mother's death had already leaked, with one false detail – the reports said you'd been killed too."

Winona swallowed around the lump in her throat.

"Sirius had already been told, but the Minister wouldn't allow me to meet with him, so I wasn't able to correct the mistake."

"So he just…thought I was dead?" she asked weakly. "All these years?"

"Yes."

"But why did you lie to me?" she demanded, refusing to allow herself to be distracted.

"The Minister decided it were for the best that you grew up away from the limelight. If the press had heard you were alive, they'd have never left you alone. As the daughter of Sirius Black, you would have been ostracised. She thought it best you weren't told of who you were, or who your parents had been. She considered it an act of kindness."

"She?" Winona echoed. "It wasn't Fudge?"

"The Minister at the time was Millicent Bagnold," Dumbledore told her. "She really did have your best interests at heart."

"Did she?" Winona asked, voice like the ice of his eyes as she began to pace, this time like a caged tiger, full of sparking magic just dying to be set free. "So, she had my best interests at heart when I was sent to the Feldman's as a foster kid? When they gave me this scar?" she spat, yanking up her sweater to reveal the ugly scar at her middle. "How about the Morrison's, when they only let me eat once a day to save a bit of cash? Or the Blair's, when they cut off all my hair and kept me locked in a small room until I screamed loud enough to draw the neighbour's attention?"

"Miss Andrews-"

"But that's not my name, though, is it?" Winona snarled, eyes wet again. But now it was more from fury than it was pain. "Where'd they get it from? Did they pick it out of a hat?"

Dumbledore sighed, the sound full of forced patience. It made her hate him, the abhorrence burning in her gut. "The Minister chose it," he told her quietly.

"Winona Black?" she snapped, venomous once more. "That's my real name?"

"It is."

It didn't even sound right on her tongue. Like someone had taken two random words and pressed them together, creating some meaningless nonsense.

"And why not tell me when I first came to Hogwarts?" she demanded. "Why couldn't I know?"

"How would you have felt, knowing that your only living relative was in Azkaban for murder?"

"But he's not my only living relative, is he? Because I have Harry!"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers once more. Winona turned away, unable to stand the sight of him. She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing deeply. Rage was licking like flames at her blood, threatening to consume her. She hated the world – hated Voldemort for killing her mum, hated the Weasleys for knowing and saying nothing, hated herself for not figuring it out sooner. But most of all, she hated Dumbledore. She hated him more than she'd ever hated anything.

It ate at her like an acid, and she wondered what would be left of her when it finally stopped devouring.

"The connection between the two of you has always been apparent," Dumbledore agreed thoughtfully, like the whole thing were some interesting, philosophical dilemma. "It was like you both knew the truth without really knowing the truth."

His words brought nothing but disgust. "I had a right to know," she said once again, dark and full of burning resentment.

"You did," he agreed, for the first time sounding at least the tiniest bit apologetic. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

She decided not to acknowledge the words. "Who else knows?" she asked, insistent.

"Myself, Professors McGonagall, Snape and Lupin – some people your parents were friends with back in the day have figured it out, too," he added, and he didn't need to say the Weasleys' name aloud. She already knew. "As well as some select people in the Ministry," he finished. Her stomach twisted like somebody gripped both ends and wrenched.

Like her energy was drained, Winona suddenly didn't feel like talking any more – or at least, not to Dumbledore. She turned, running her hands down the front of her jumper. "Okay. I'm going to bed now," she announced without fanfare.

"Are you okay, Miss Andrews?" he asked before she could take so much as a single step in the direction of the door.

The sound of her false name from his lips only made her angry again. Her fists clenched but her voice remained even. "Don't you think I should change my name back to Black?" she asked hotly.

Dumbledore considered her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "That, I believe, is entirely up to you," he said, voice carefully measured.

She was relieved when the Headmaster said nothing more, simply letting her wander from the office and pad her way back up to Gryffindor Tower alone. As she walked she found the sun beginning to rise over the mountains, bathing her in a golden, peachy glow. She inhaled the crisp morning air, stopping to rest her head against one of the columns holding up the corridor and taking the time to watched the sunrise.

When she finally made her way back up to the Tower, it was without any interruptions. She didn't run into anyone – not Filch, not any students, and not even Peeves. It was just her, dangerously alone with her thoughts.

Stepping into the common room, she was met with the low crackle of a dying fire and the sight of her two best friends sprawled across couches that they barely fit onto anymore, eyes closed as they restlessly slumbered.

Winona surprised herself by smiling. She'd thought maybe the ability to smile had been lost in the havoc of it all. It had certainly felt that way for a while there. She was glad to find it hadn't.

She gravitated naturally towards Fred, kneeling down by his head. She hesitated a moment, eyes flickering over the constellations of his freckles and admiring the way his long, pale lashes splashed across his cheekbones.

Reaching out, she pressed a hand against his shoulder and shook him gently. His eyes snapped open and he shot up like he'd been struck by lightening. His head spun around, looking for something, until finally his eyes met hers and he relaxed, slouching against the couch cushions.

"You're back," he said, reaching up to scrub as his tired, hooded eyes.

"You shouldn't have waited up for me," she whispered back, taking care not to wake George, who still slumbered on the next couch over.

"What time is it?" Fred asked rather than acknowledge her words.

"Just after sunrise," she told him, sitting back on her heels.

He nodded, brow knitted in concern as he looked at her. He suddenly reached out, gently brushing the pad of his thumb across the space below her eye. Her heart stuttered at the unexpected contact. "You've been crying," he murmured, frown deepening.

"I'm okay," she promised him, but he didn't look convinced. "Or, I will be, given some time," she amended herself quietly. I hope.

"What happened?" he asked, suddenly much more awake as he sat up, patting the space beside him. She climbed into it, relieved to be sitting down.

"George," she said at a regular volume. George gave a sleepy snort from where he lay, so Winona kicked out her foot to nudge his arm. He jerked awake, much as his brother had a moment before. "If I'm going to tell it, I'm only telling it once," she told them, and once George was properly awake, sitting up and looking at her with concern similar to his twin, she began to explain.

---

The twins had been shocked, to say the very least. They'd had a million questions, very few of which Winona knew the answers to. Mostly they were just supportive, which was exactly what she needed after the night she'd had.

They talked until people began to wander down from the dorms in search of breakfast. They wanted her to go upstairs and get some sleep, but instead she forced them all down to the Great Hall to have a bite to eat. She gobbled down a few slices of french toast, then packed up a small tower of the stuff and stood back up to her feet.

"Where're you going?" asked George around a mouthful of pancakes and strawberries.

Winona considered all the ways to reply, and eventually found one that felt the most sincere. "To see my cousin."

They blinked at her, unsure whether to gape or to smile, but she just turned and left for the Hospital Wing.

Stepping inside the Hospital Wing, she saw all three members of the Golden Trio were propped up in separate beds. Hermione and Ron were both asleep, no doubt exhausted from the combination of a long night and considerable injuries. Harry was the only one awake, emerald eyes blinking up at her from behind his circular glasses.

"I bring treats," Winona whispered as she approached, holding up the stack of toast in her hands.

Harry said nothing as she took a seat beside his bed, handing over the french toast with a small, hopeful smile. He smiled back, the expression just as small and laughably timid, before taking a bite of the toast. They fell into a silence that was, for the first time, uncomfortable.

Unsure what to do or how to fix it, Winona eventually caught Harry's eyes, and the laughter came easy, spilling from their mouths, mingled with only a dash of hysteria.

"This shouldn't be so weird," she said with a snort, shuffling her chair closer to his bed and leaning her elbow on the mattress, propping her chin up on her fist.

"You're right, it shouldn't," he agreed, munching on his breakfast slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"How are you?" she asked, eyes running over the small cuts still on his face and taking note of his waxen complexion.

"I'm okay," he said, putting down a slice of the toast and smiling wider. "I can't believe everything that's happened, it still feels like a dream," he continued in barely-concealed awe. "In a single night I gained both a godfather and a cousin I actually like. I gained a family."

Winona hoped it wasn't obvious her eyes were shining. She smiled at him, snatching another piece of toast, if only for something to do with her hands. "When did you know?" she asked once she'd swallowed a mouthful.

"When I first heard about my aunt – about Jessica – that was when I thought that maybe…" he trailed off. "Sorry for not saying anything," he apologised quickly, but Winona waved it away.

"It's okay," she promised quietly, leaning forwards in her chair. "If you'd told me any earlier, I probably would have freaked out."

"How did you know to come to the courtyard?" he asked suddenly. "How did you know you could trust him?"

"I knew how I always know," she replied simply. "I had a vision."

They were quiet for another few moments. "What's it like?" he asked her, voice soft and lacking confidence. She met his eyes, confusion swirling in her own. "Finding out your dad's alive, after all these years you've thought he was dead?"

Winona didn't quite smile, she just pursed her lips, carefully considering the question. "I don't think it's fully sunken in yet," she told him honestly. "It's so surreal."

They chewed on their toast, enjoying the company and the quiet, each lost in their own world of thoughts. "You know, Sirius told me he was going to ask us if we wanted to move in with him," Harry finally said. Winona glanced up at him in startled surprise.

"He what?"

"Once this all dies down and he clears his name, he said we could go live with him – if we wanted to."

"You're kidding," Winona gaped. "He wants us to move in with him?"

"He said we could be a proper family," he told her gently, the smile on his lips slowly growing. "Would you do it? I mean, anywhere's gotta be better than where we are now."

"Yeah," she agreed, the word breathy and faint. Her eyes stung more intensely than before, and she turned away, clearing her throat to try and get herself under control. "Maybe," she finally said once she was sure no tears would come. She turned back to Harry with a slightly-forced smile, reaching out and grasping his hand, curling her fingers around his and squeezing.

Harry smiled and she let go, quickly finishing off her slice of toast.

"Of course, this all depends on whether or not he clears his name," she murmured, hating to be a downer, but also knowing they needed to be at least a little realistic.

"He will," said Harry with unending optimism. She grinned at him, leaning back in her chair and watching as he munched on his toast, a lightness to his emerald eyes she wasn't sure she'd ever seen before.

They weren't just a fifth year and a third year anymore, they weren't just mere friends. Now, they were family – all one another really had. And Winona felt relieved, like she'd been missing something before, something big that she'd never been able to put into words. And now she'd found it; in Harry and in Sirius Black.

After hearing from Harry all about who Professor Lupin really was, Winona couldn't help but hurry off to his office the first moment she had a chance. Besides, Sirius had told her before he'd left to go to him for answers, and she wasn't planning on leaving the school without them. Dumbledore had covered the basics, but the stuff she really wanted to know wasn't anything she thought Dumbledore could tell her.

Walking into his office, she found Professor Lupin standing by a table in the corner, appearing to be sorting through his potion ingredients, packing them away neatly into a ratty old case.

"Winona," he said before she'd so much as cleared her throat. She blinked, eyeing him suspiciously. He turned to look at her and as he did she saw him glance at his desk. On it sat a very familiar piece of parchment.

"The Map," she said like it explained everything – because, really, it did. "Harry told me that you're Moony," she added, stepping deeper into the room. "One of the four Marauders."

"I am," Lupin confirmed, before his face pulled into a frown. "Or, I was," he amended slowly, like the words caused him great sadness. "Harry didn't mention you knew about the Map," he said, more conversational than a moment ago.

She'd never really had a proper conversation with Lupin, not one outside of class, anyway. It was a strange feeling, but there was also this sense, this familiarity that she couldn't quite explain. He felt, all of a sudden, like a dear old friend.

"Fred and George found it our first year," she explained. "But I was the one to figure out how to open it."

Lupin looked intrigued. "And how did you manage that? The password isn't the kind one simply stumbles upon."

Winona gave a small, secretive smile. "I have my ways," she told him, and that was that. "Can I ask you something?" she continued on, wandering a little further into the room and taking a seat in the chair opposite his large, ornate desk.

"Please," he said, kind and open.

"Did you know me – when I was a baby, I mean?"

Lupin paused, seemingly frozen where he stood, before he turned away, moving over to a small chest in the corner. "Would you like a butterbeer?" he offered.

Winona paused, considering. "Are you technically allowed to offer a student alcohol?" she asked with something of a smirk, already knowing the answer.

"Being as I am no longer a teacher at this school, I think it's a rule I can afford to bend," he replied, moustache twitching with amusement.

"You were sacked?" she asked in surprise, taking the butterbeer he offered her, unscrewing the cap and placing it delicately on the corner of his desk, taking a sip of the warm, butterscotch liquid.

"I resigned," he corrected her, picking up a butterbeer of his own and taking a healthy sip. "You already know of my condition, of course."

She nodded her head, thinking back to that day in Dumbledore's office, months ago now. He'd been such a stranger then. And while he technically still was, there was a connection between them now that hadn't been there before.

"Well, by this time tomorrow, the rest of the school will too," Lupin sighed. "It seems not even Dumbledore's gag order was enough to keep Snape quiet. It's best I leave before parents begin sending me death threats."

Winona nearly choked on her butterbeer. "Death threats?"

He gave a sad, wry kind of smile. "It's happened before. I'm used to it," he added, as though that made it any better.

"Are you avoiding my question?" she asked instead, and he smiled again, this one more genuine than before.

Lupin sighed, staring down at his butterbeer forlornly, an echo of old pain in his eyes. She wondered, for the first time, what his background was. It couldn't have been easy, being a werewolf. But how hard had it been, exactly? If death threats were nothing to pause over, she had to wonder what other horrors hid in his past. But she digressed.

"Black – Sirius, I mean," she corrected herself quickly. They were blood relatives – might as well be on a first-name basis. "He told me to come to you for answers."

Lupin's moustache twitched, but this time not with amusement. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much," he told her quietly.

"Can't or won't?" she challenged.

Lupin chuckled, the sound low and throaty. "You're a lot like your parents, you know?"

Now it was Winona's turn to look down at her butterbeer bottle, toying idly with the label. One edge of it was peeling, and she picked at it, avoiding his eyes.

"Dumbledore said my…my mother was a Gryffindor, too," she murmured, stumbling over the 'M' word. It wasn't one she'd ever had much experience using.

"That she was," he told her quietly, a small smile on his face, like he were remembering something fondly. "She was lovely. Eloquent and kind. She was the perfect Pure-blood daughter, but she had a flare for the creative. Drove her parents insane."

"She was a Pure-blood?" Winona asked, a frown knitting at her brow.

"The Potter family always was – until James married Lily, a Muggle-born."

"But Sirius is my..." she trailed off. Her brain had already put together all of the facts, lining them up and trying to make sense of them, but her emotions were struggling to keep up. "Are you saying I'm a Pure-blood?"

Lupin arched a single eyebrow. "Does it matter?" he asked, pleasantly curious.

"No," she answered immediately, but she still frowned. "It's just – I grew up thinking I was a Half-blood. I talk shit about Pure-blood elitists, and now all of a sudden, I am one. It's a lot to swallow."

"You're the same person you were yesterday, Winona," Lupin reminded her, a steady voice of reason. She nodded, reminding herself that he was right. Her blood status changed nothing. She was who she was – whether that was Pure-blooded or not didn't matter. Besides, look at the Weasleys. They were all of Pure-blood, even if they were technically considered to be Blood-traitors.

"So, you knew me when I was a little, then," she began again, putting those musings aside.

Lupin put down his bottle of butterbeer, warm eyes narrowing as he considered her. "What do you want to know?" he asked plainly, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Winona chewed on her words for a moment, taking another sip of butterbeer just to put off talking that little while longer. "It's gonna sound stupid…" she finally muttered, tapping a fingernail restlessly against the tinted glass bottle.

"I highly doubt it," Lupin said kindly.

Forcing herself to draw on her supposed Gryffindor courage, Winona tilted up her chin and looked him in the eye. "Was I loved, Professor Lupin?"

Lupin seemed stunned by the question, which was apparently far from whatever he'd been expecting. Sympathy shone in his eyes, the kind she usually hated, only his wasn't born of pity, but rather a warm concern that was difficult for her to resent.

"Your parents loved you more than anything, Winona," he told her, and she was relieved to find it didn't sound like something he'd said to mollify her. It sounded sincere. "You were their pride and joy. They talked about you even when you weren't there. It drove the rest of us crazy sometimes…" he trailed off, eyes alight with memories she could never share.

"Why didn't you take me in?" she asked, unable to stem her curiosity. Lupin was stunned by the unexpected question, blinking at her wordlessly. Then pain flickered across his expression, and she knew the answer. "You thought I was dead too, didn't you?" she asked, but she already knew. She stood from her chair, too full of irritation to stay sitting down. "Everyone thought I was fucking dead. It isn't fair."

It sounded childish, when she said it like that. But that was how she felt. Like she'd been cheated out of something. Like something valuable had been stolen from her as a child. And it was – her identity. Her very life.

"Dumbledore and the Minister were only doing–" Lupin began to say.

"–what they thought was in my best interests, I know," she finished in a huff, downing the last of her butterbeer and placing it on the edge of the desk beside its cap. "But maybe I wouldn't have minded growing up to be known as 'Sirius Black's Daughter'. Maybe I would have liked it."

"You're angry," Lupin said gently. "I understand. I'm sorry."

The fight drained from her, and she collapsed back into her chair, reaching up to rub at her aching temples.

"You have a grave," Lupin told her, quiet and steady. She looked up in mild surprise. "In Godric's Hollow, you're 'buried' beside Jessica – beside your mother." He paused, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Every year on Halloween I go visit you. And Jessica and James and Lily. I leave flowers, talk to you all for awhile. It helps."

Winona was touched, her chest aching with a mixture of warmth and pain. Somehow the words helped. It made it easier, knowing that while he may have thought she was gone, he'd never truly forgotten her. Even to this day, she still mattered. "Thanks," she said, but the single word didn't quite encapsulate everything she wanted to convey.

Lupin seemed to understand, though, smiling at her gently, eyes flickering over her strong features and white-blonde hair.

"Why'm I blonde?" she asked abruptly, reaching up to finger a lock of her unusual hair. "Was my mum-" she cut herself off. It sounded too strange. She didn't like it. "Jessica," she said instead, "was she blonde?"

"No – you get that from Sirius," Lupin explained with a small twitch of his lips. "His family carries the blonde gene. You can see it in the Malfoy boy from Slytherin."

Winona's stomach dropped out from underneath her. "You're not saying I'm…" she trailed off, barely able to stomach the thought.

"Related to them?" he finished for her, the twitch turning into a smirk. "Unfortunately. Draco Malfoy's mother is a Black – Sirius' cousin, actually, making Draco-"

"My second cousin," she muttered, shuddering with disgust. "I think I just threw up in my mouth."

Lupin gave a low, unmistakable chuckle. "You'll get used to the idea, I'm sure," he said, finishing off his butterbeer and placing it gently beside hers.

"It really sucks that you're leaving," she told him with a sigh. "You are, without doubt, the best Defence teacher we've ever had."

Lupin smiled, small and just a little pleased. "Thank you, Winona," he said modestly. "That means a lot, coming from you most of all." She smiled up at him, and there was a moment of total peace, each of them happy in one another's company, but then Lupin's eyes flickered down to the Map, and then opened his mouth and said, "Harry," just as Harry himself lifted a hand to knock on the door.

Harry looked stunned, and Lupin pointed down at his beloved Map.

"I saw you coming," he explained, but Harry didn't smile.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, looking between the two anxiously.

"No, no," Winona assured him, climbing to her feet. "I was just going." She wandered over to the doorway, casting a look back at Lupin. "Thank you, Professor. This meant a lot."

"Just Remus, now, if you would," he said, a strange tension in his eyes. Like he thought she might reject him even now; shun him and pull away.

But Winona just smiled. "Remus," she agreed.

She squeezed Harry's arm as she passed, stepping out into the hall and taking a deep breath. It felt like the beginning of something, but she didn't know what.

She'd almost completely forgotten about Jeremiah – with everything that had happened over the past few days, her Slytherin lover wasn't exactly very high on her list of priorities. But he wasn't so easily neglected. He found her the morning they were due to get on the train back to London.

Using his customary greeting of yanking her into an empty classroom, she gave a yelp of surprise as he sealed his lips over hers. She wasn't really in the mood for a snog, but she kissed him back anyway, trying to make herself enjoy it.

It wasn't until he began to yank her shirt up over her chest that she gently pushed him away. "One for the road?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow in a move that almost made her give in.

"I can't," she told him quietly, pulling her shirt back down over her plain bra. "I've gotta get going."

"Surely you can spare a few minutes?" he pressed, leaning more aggressively into her personal space.

She wanted to make a smart-arse quip about him only needing that long, but it didn't seem like the sort of thing that would go over with him well.

"I really need to go," she said apologetically. She just wasn't in the mood, and she wasn't going to force herself to do something she didn't feel like doing. "I'll see you next term?" she asked hopefully.

He didn't look very happy, pulling away with a displeased scowl. "Fine," he said curtly, reaching up to adjust his immaculate green robes. She suddenly felt inadequate in her paint-stained jeans and holey old Weasley jumper.

"Will you write me over the summer?" she asked, hating how small she sounded, but not knowing how to fix it.

"We'll see," he muttered, striding back over to the door and peeking out. He looked back, casting her a final, intense stare, his dark eyes scanning up and down her body until finally he turned back around, tugging open the door and disappearing out into the hall.

Winona was left feeling numb, but it was hardly an uncommon side effect of her encounters with the Slytherin. She straightened her clothes, patted down her hair, told herself she was fine, and stepped out of the classroom, securing a smile on her face.

Before she knew it she was on the train back to London, and the further they travelled from Hogwarts, the worse she began to feel. What if Jeremiah never spoke to her again? Should she have just done what he'd wanted and shagged him? What if he was going to dump her, toss her away like yesterday's rubbish? The thought made her insides twist uncomfortably.

"Cheer up," said George loudly, thumping her on the back like it might in some way help. She turned away from where she'd been staring out the window, sullenly watching the Scottish countryside pass her by. "It's the Quidditch World Cup this summer, remember!"

"Is it?" she murmured distantly.

"Yeah! Dad said can get some tickets through work," Fred agreed brightly. "We'll get him to grab you one too, and you can come with us!"

Winona smiled, glad her friends were always there to help make her feel better. "That sounds great," she said, grinning back at them with an inch more sincerity.

"Are we not invited?" asked Lee dryly from the other end of the compartment.

"We know for a fact you're already going with your own families," George drawled.

"Still," pouted Lee, "it'd feel nice to be asked."

George threw an unopened Chocolate Frog at him, smacking him in the head and making the compartment roar with laughter. Winona was just getting into the spirit of things when the compartment door slid open and the group of rowdy friends all turned to eye the newcomer in surprise.

It was Harry, and he winced apologetically for interrupting. "Harry!" Lee crowed dramatically, the rest of the compartment – all members of the House team, added their own cheers. Harry looked uncomfortable under all the attention.

"What can we do for you, four-eyes?" asked George jovially, the cheerful grin on his face ensuring Harry wouldn't take the teasing to heart.

"Can I speak with Winnie for a moment?" Harry asked, catching his cousin's eye meaningfully.

Winona stood to her feet, smacking George upside the head as she moved. He yelped, but she didn't stop to look, ducking from the compartment with Harry, shutting the door securely after them.

"Everything okay, Boy-Wonder?" she asked him quietly. The corridor was empty, no one around to listen in, and the compartment behind them was full of noise again, her friends making the most of the time they had left together.

"We got letters from Sirius," Harry told her quietly, just to be on the safe side.

Heart leaping in her chest, Winona watched as he pulled an envelope out from his pocket, handing it over to her with a small smile. Glad her hands weren't shaking, she took it, eyeing the lettering on the front.

Her name was written in black ink, done in a beautiful cursive one could only achieve with lessons.

"They came to me so I could give the owl they came with as a gift to Ron," he added, as though concerned she would be upset they were delivered to him and not her. She only smiled, unbothered.

"Thank you, Harry," she said sincerely. He smiled back, waving her off before turning and walking back the way he'd come, giving her the time and space she needed to read the letter. Now that she was alone, her hands did begin to shake. She was filled with a mounting sense of anticipation.

The words she'd exchanged with her father the week before had been quick and hurried. They hadn't had the time to say what so desperately needed to be said. She was almost scared, knowing that whatever was in the letter had the power to either make or destroy her. This was her family; her dad.

She leant against the window of the corridor, facing her friends who were paying her no attention, now playing some sort of game that had them all laughing uproariously. With trembling fingers, Winona ripped open the envelope, pulling out the parchment inside and laying her eyes on more of that immaculate cursive.

Dearest Winona,

The last time I saw you, you were only three years old, showing me a drawing you did of your mother and I. I still remember the colours you used, and the way the green had gotten stuck under your fingernails.

I held onto this memory in Azkaban. I held onto every memory of you. They kept me sane, kept me alive. For the longest time I thought you were dead, and to see you again, alive and standing in the Gryffindor common room, grey eyes wide and so like mine – words cannot express how it made me feel.

I have to stay in hiding, at least until I can find a way to clear my name and once more become a free man. Then I want nothing more than to start over, with you and Harry, as a family.

I understand if this isn't what you want – if you'd rather stay where you are now. But I hope you'll let me into your life. Let me try and be your father again.

I can't tell you where I am, but I can promise that I'll write you again soon. I'd like to keep up a correspondence, learn more about you – what you do and don't like, who your friends are, what you want to do after school. I want to know everything there is to know.

Know that I'm sorry for how things worked out. If I could go back in time, there is so much that I would do differently. Stay safe.

All my love,

Sirius

She was choking back tears when Fred found her, quietly sliding the compartment door open, closing it after him and stepping out into the deserted corridor with her. "You alright, Win?" he asked delicately, taking note of her teary eyes.

"It's a letter. From my-" she cut herself off abruptly, knowing she wasn't ready to say that out loud. Not yet. "From Sirius," she amended, fingering the edge of the parchment fondly. It was a connection to him, the only one she had, so far.

"What does it say?" he asked, gentle but curious.

Winona smiled, the expression tinged with a lovely pain. "That he wishes he could go back and do things differently. That he wants to know me. That he loves me," she whispered, warmth mingling with hope in her gut.

"That's good, right?" Fred asked, unsure at her sad expression. "Aren't you happy?"

"I am," she said quickly, meaning it. "It's just…a lot to process. One minute I'm an unloved orphan, the next I've got a father and a cousin who want to become a real, proper family. It's…intense."

"But, that's good, yeah?" Fred pressed. "Don't you want that?"

Winona smiled. "Yeah," she confirmed with a cautious nod. "I think I do."

Fred smiled back, happy she was happy, and she nodded for them to duck back inside the compartment. She was content to play mindless games until they pulled into the station, enjoying the lingering grip she had on the magical world and her friends.

George helped her with her trunk when they arrived at King's Cross, pulling it from the train for her before moving to get his own. She said goodbye to her friends, making them promise to write and organise to meet up soon.

Their group whittled away until it was only her and the twins left, and both boys brightened when they saw the rest of their family standing by the barrier, waiting for them.

"Fred! George!" Mrs. Weasley called, dragging them into tight hugs the moment they were within range. They grumbled about it, but Winona could tell they were happy. "Winona – how are you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley continued when she noticed her, pulling her into a hug just as tight.

"Good thanks, Mrs. Weasley," she said, the words muffled in the older witch's shoulder.

"And where're your parents?" Mrs. Weasley asked, pulling back and scanning the sea of people for someone who looked like Winona might have belonged to them.

"Foster parents," she corrected, a tiny bit sharp, for which she felt bad. Mrs. Weasley smiled apologetically, and she did the same. "I'm taking the Knight Bus home," she told her, lifting her shoulder in a shrug.

"They couldn't come pick you up?"

"They're busy people," she waved off the woman's concern.

"Geez, hasn't seen her own sons in months and she's still more interested in chatting it up with Winnie," drawled Fred, utterly sarcastic.

Winona turned to smirk at both twins playfully, but before she could form a retort Mrs Weasley's attention was snagged by Ron and Harry, who were approaching quickly. She leapt onto them eagerly, leaving Winona alone with the twins.

"Write me, you hear?" she ordered them as sternly as she could.

"As soon as we hear anything about the Cup, we'll let you know," George swore.

"I'll just be happy to get out of the house as soon as possible," she muttered, watching as Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry, the boy's cheeks a little pink. "Let me know when I can come over," she said, and the twins promised they would. "I should go," she said when she saw Harry begin to edge away. "I'll see you soon?"

"Don't you doubt it," Fred replied, and she quickly pressed herself up onto her toes, wrapping her arms securely around his neck. She hugged him tightly, shamelessly breathing in his perpetual scent of gunpowder and fresh soil. He squeezed her back, and she pulled away long enough to smile at him before quickly hugging George just the same.

Not wanting to miss Harry, she dropped back to her flat feet, blowing both boys a final kiss before turning and dragging her trunk in the direction of Harry and his uncle.

"Boy-Wonder!" she yelled over the hustle and bustle of the platform.

Harry turned around just in time for her to arrive, slipping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing him tightly. "Winnie," Harry greeted her with a bright look.

"Hey Uncle Vernon, I'm Winona – we met last summer," she said, beaming up at the walrus of a man brightly, like they were the best of friends. The older man's face went an alarming shade of purple.

"Don't call me your uncle," he spat like her mere existence offended him.

"Oh, but you see Uncle Vernon, Winona's my cousin," said Harry, utterly cheerful.

Vernon's jaw flapped about in shock. "Your – your…" he didn't seem to be able to form the words.

"My mum was his dad's sister," Winona told him brightly, still squeezing Harry tightly, the two of them having far more fun than they probably should have been. "We only found out a week ago, so it's still pretty fresh."

"You – I don't –"

"And my father is also Harry's godfather," she added happily. "Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

"Godfather?" he sputtered in pure shock, eyes wide and bloodshot. "You haven't got a godfather!"

"Yes, I have," said Harry brightly. "He was my mum and dad's best friend. He's a convicted murderer, but he's broken out of wizard prison and he's on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though…keep up with my news…check if I'm happy…"

Vernon looked about ready to burst a vein.

"Well, I'll leave you be, Uncle Vernon," Winona continued goadingly. "Give my best to Dudley – because I suppose I'm sorta his cousin too, now." Harry covered his sniggers with a cough, and Winona turned to wink at him playfully. "I'll see you soon, Harry," she said, ducking down to kiss him affectionately on the forehead before grinning at Vernon a final time and turning towards the barrier, in much higher spirits than before.

Because maybe nothing was certain, least of all the future, but now her past made some degree of sense. And maybe knowing where she'd come from was going to give her a clue about where to go next.

And damn if that didn't feel a lot like hope.

---

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter – it's on the longer side, but I'm getting the sense you guys prefer that. I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review – some of you guessed half of this, while others had theories they didn't want to share. I hope this answered at least some of your questions about Winnie. I know there are more answers you all want; be patient – they'll come in time.

Review of the week goes to Toreh – thank you so much for your review. When people take the time to write out their thoughts like you did it makes me feel less like I'm screaming this story into the void. You make me feel heard. I'm so glad you like the characterisation of the twins; it's a fine line to walk between keeping them true to canon – boisterous and loud to a fault – and adding in my own flavour of what I think they're like behind closed doors. I hope you continue to enjoy where I go with this story!