Author's Note: Welcome back! I hope you are all doing well. I'm having a bit of a busy week, so I always forgot that today was Wednesday. Fortunately, I realised in time to proofread this chapter and put it online. :) I want to thank LeahLovesPotter and TheMushroomGuild for their absolutely lovely reviews of the previous chapter. And don't worry, I'm not done with this story any time soon! I have much more material ready and still more planned out for after that. In any case, you may expect many more months of updates before we reach the end. And you are quite right, Leah, Sophie should tell her parents!

Anways, enjoy this chapter!

August 8, 1996
Bath

They had stayed at the pub for a little longer, languidly sipping from their drinks as Ryan filled her in on the concert that she had missed and she listened – half-heartedly. At the same time, however, she found herself still thinking of Grimmauld Place 12 – and all the things she could have done more to help.

Over the next few days, she would find it near impossible to block those thoughts out, and in fact, would find them increasing as the days progressed. By the time Wednesday came around, she was frantically leafing through her notebook, making notes in the back of her math notebook of all the things that may be important for the Order to know. The Deathly Hallows, the infiltration and ultimately fall of the Ministry. Her attempt to order her thoughts however only increased her panic, as she realised just how much more important information there was. As she lay in bed that night, once again unable to find sleep, she realised what she had to do.

-xxx-

'I owe you,' she admitted, completely serious, to the girl on the other end of the line.

'I know,' Emma joked. Then, after a short silence in which neither knew what to say, she asked carefully. 'You are okay, right?'

'I am.'

'I just mean that… well, if something's up I would also actually like to help, rather than just pretend to be involved.' As Sophie was about to assure her that she was, really, fine, Emma said softly. 'You are my best friend.'

'And you are mine,' she said vehemently. It would be so much easier if she could tell Emma the truth, if Emma could help her decide what to do. Perhaps one day she would tell her. For now… 'Perhaps there is one thing after all: please be careful in Lockeridge.'

'And I assume you can't tell me why?'

'No…'

'Alright,' Emma said, sounding suspiciously as though she was biting her lip, 'You be careful as well, okay – whatever you're caught up in.'

'I promise. Thank you so much again!'

-xxx-

'Mom!' Sophie called as she rushed down the stairs, quickly locating her mother in the kitchen. It was near dinner time and from the smell of it, her mother was making her famous red curry.

'In here,' Tilly called, her back still turned so she didn't realise her daughter had already found her.

'Smells great!' Sophie complimented, lingering in the doorway as she schooled her expression in a more reserved one. 'Mom?'

'Yes, Soph?'

'I was wondering… Well, I just got off the phone with Emma and she mentioned that it would be nice to see each other again before the start of the new school year. Would it be okay if I go visit her?'

'Of course, if you want to leave before the weekend I can drop you off tomorrow afternoon after my appointment at the hair dresser.'

'Uh no, that's okay Mom, I'll get there by public transport, but… Well I was actually thinking of staying there a couple of days – we haven't seen each other in quite a while.'

'If Emma's mother doesn't mind, it's fine with me if you stay the weekend.'

'How about a week?'

'A week?' This was the first time that her mother turned around from her cooking, scrutinizing her in that way only a mother can. Then at last she nodded, 'Well if Emma's mother is alright with you two lingering around the house all week…'

'Thanks Mom,' Sophie smiled, moving into the kitchen to press a kiss to her cheek. 'And that does smell delicious!'

'Yes yes, now shoo. I'll call you when dinner's ready.'

August 9, 1996
London

By 11.30 o'clock the next day, she was packed and ready to go. Or at least physically – mentally she didn't think she would ever be ready for the positively nauseating experience of side-along Apparation. Still, she supposed it was a necessary evil, and tried to tell herself that it would only be a minute.

The previous evening she had impatiently waited until her parents had gone to bed, before sneaking back down the stairs and into the living room, carefully closing the door behind her. With some difficulty, she'd started a fire in the hearth, the rather unnecessary heat quickly filling the room as she had dearly hoped that it wouldn't wake her parents. Then, she had reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled out the small velvet pouch professor Dumbeldore had given her. She'd taken a generous hand of the powder, throwing it in the fire as she'd whispered – trying to articulate as clearly as possible – the address of the Headquarters. The flames had turned green and she had stuck her head in them without giving herself a moment to reconsider. In the next, her head had been squeezed and whirled and turned upside down until she'd found it restabilising in the familiar Grimmauld Place 12 kitchen – all while her body had remained unmoved, kneeled in front of her fireplace in Bath. She'd scanned the room for life, but found it empty.

Suddenly aware of the time, she had feared that all inhabitants of Grimmauld Place 12 had already retired to bed. Then, quite luckily, the door had opened and in shuffled Mrs Weasley wearing a frayed bathrobe in an ugly mint green shade.

'Mrs Weasley,' Sophie had breathed out in relief.

'Sophie,' the woman, who Sophie now noticed was wearing a horribly mismatched pink night cap over her red hair, had greeted back, 'professor Dumbledore informed me you might contact us.'

'Yes, I… Well, I would need transportation tomorrow, if that is possible.'

After that, it had been quickly arranged that "someone" would come pick her up the next day at noon, waiting for her in the same alley that professor Dumbledore had Apparated into the previous time.

She was glad that her mother had already left for the hairdresser, or she would have certainly – very well-meaningly – insisted on driving her to the station. Still, it left her with very little to do, and she settled back on the couch and opened her backpack. Truthfully, it contained far less than it had on her last visit to London – if only because most things were now packed away in the large duffle bag that stood near her feet. The only items of some interest were her notebook and the math notebook, and the knife that she had for some reason still not returned to the kitchen. In the duffle bag she had packed several changes of clothes, toiletries, and just to be sure two books in case she needed something to pass the time. In addition, she had packed two sets of washed and neatly folded robes – she had tried to explain to her mother that they were all the rage in Paris, with limited success.

The thought of the robes brought her thoughts to Draco, and she wondered how the past few days had been for him. Had he gotten settled in? Was Harry still bothering him? Professor Dumbledore had offered them protection, but not necessarily comfort, or respect. And perhaps it was only fair, she thought with a sudden queasiness in her stomach as she remembered what covered the inside of his left forearm.

A quick glance at the old grandfather's clock told Sophie it was time to go – and she was suddenly glad for the fresh air. She slung the duffle bag across one shoulder, the backpack across the other, and then, after regaining her balance, left the house.

In hindsight, she thought as she lugged her duffle bag through the streets, it was probably a good thing she had left a bit early, and she wondered how the bag had become so heavy. She didn't have much time to consider it, however, for it was at this moment that she arrived at the mouth of the little alley – and she found a middle-aged, dingy looking man already waiting for her.

'Sophie?' He called to her, a strong Irish lilt to his tone. At her nod, he stepped forward, 'Mundungus Fletcher. Mrs Weasley asked me to come pick you up and deliver you to Headquarters.'

'Right,' she nodded, as she tried to remember who he was – and why, apart from the obvious, she felt such an instant dislike towards the man. He did not give her much time to think, however, because just then his hand clasped around her forearm, and they disappeared with a crack.

-xxx-

When she stumbled into Grimmauld Place 12, only barely held upright by Mundungus Flether – who she now remembered was the person who found and pawned the Slytherin locket; she would have to keep an eye on him – Sophie was instantly greeted by Mrs Weasley. The witch greeted her in a low tone, giving the wizard at her side only a disapproving sidelong glance, before taking her duffle bag from her and sending it upstairs with a single flick of her wand. Then, she gestured for Sophie to join her in the kitchen.

When they entered, Sophie was disgruntled to find they were not the only ones. Instead, she found Ronald Weasley already there, stopping his assault of a bacon sandwich as his eyes landed on her, and narrowed.

'Tea?' Mrs Weasley asked, before her son had a chance to open his mouth. At her nod, she had a teapot fill a china cup and levitate over to the young girl. 'Have you already had lunch? I've just prepared a tray for Ron to take up to the drawing room for Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and himself. You may join them if you like.'

'Uh, that's okay Mrs Weasley, I'm not so hungry. I would rather go unpack my things if that is alright?'

August 9, 1996
London

Once she was in the bedroom that she had shared with Hermione and Ginny before – and it now seemed she would be sharing for a little bit longer – Sophie found she actually had very little desire to do any unpacking. Instead, her hands stilled at the uppermost article in her duffle bag, and she relinquished the rich feeling of the black robes. For a moment, she was lost in fantasy – in a world in which she wore black robes, a pointy hat and, proudly displayed on her chest, a badge proclaiming her House. In her previous life, she had often given the matter of Sorting much thought, always hoping that the hat would put her in Gryffindor so that she could be close to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Then, at the start of this life, she had found herself hoping to be in Slytherin – if only so she already had one friend going to Hogwarts. And maybe it was even a good fit, given how she had lied to everyone she cared about in this life.

She quickly pulled her hands back, breaking the fantasy and bringing her back to the present. With a sigh, she pulled both sets of robes out of the bag, fixing the folding, before exiting the room.

Reaching the landing of the third floor, Sophie took a last steeling breath, plastered on a smile, and knocked on the first door. After a moment of silence, she pushed it open.

Draco was casually lounging on the bed he had previously occupied, his back against the headboard and a book that Sophie could not identify held open in his right hand. She noticed several more books on the nightstand beside the bed, but apart from that the room had changed surprisingly little in the days that she'd been gone. Then again, she wasn't sure what she had expected – it wasn't as if he could drop by the Manor to pick up some of his things.

At her entrance, his gaze moved slowly from the pages of his book to her, but his expression was unreadable, and he said nothing.

'My Mom washed your and your mother's clothes, I thought you might like them back.' At his continued silence, she moved forward and put the pile of robes on the unused bed. She was about to turn back towards the door, determined not to show her disappointment, when he spoke.

'I thought you left.'

'I did,' she smiled, genuinely, 'But I'm back now!'

'How lucky we are.' And he turned his attention back to his book.

She wanted to say something in return, bite back at him maybe, but wasn't sure what. With a sigh too low for him to hear, Sophie left the room.

-xxx-

Professor Dumbledore returned to Grimmauld Place 12 shortly after dinner. He kindly declined Mrs Weasley's offer for dinner, but did not say no to a portion of the lemon sorbet they'd had for dessert. An uncomfortable five minutes followed, in which everyone simply sat and waited for the old man to finish his sorbet. When he finished at long last, he fished a freshly pressed lilac handkerchief from some invisible pocket in his light blue robes, and dabbed at his mouth.

'That was delicious, Molly. Now, I wouldn't mind a cup of tea to chase it down.'

'Of course, professor Dumbledore,' Mrs Weasley said, making to stand up until he held up one long-fingered hand – once more the one that was not blackened, Sophie noted.

'Oh please don't bother yourself on my account, Molly. I can easily prepare myself some tea – and between you and me, I wouldn't mind a glass of that brandy I spotted behind some pots and pans last time I was in the kitchen. Are you coming, Sophie?'