Winona didn't sleep that night – half because most of it was spent with Jeremiah, but once she got back to her dorm she was just emotionally pent-up and physically sore from the Slytherin's vigorous enthusiasm.
She spent the night drawing, sketching up an old hag hovering over a bubbling cauldron, then adding colour to it just for something to pass the time. She left for breakfast early, only just as the girls were beginning to wake up. She donned jeans and a sweater, then tugged on her school robes and meandered down to the Great Hall.
She was full of contradicting emotions, full of a biting turmoil that she struggled to get ahold of. The twins weren't telling her something – that much was obvious. But on the other hand, she wasn't telling them something too, so she didn't exactly have the higher ground.
As she sat alone at the Gryffindor table, far before anybody else had drifted down from their common rooms, Winona contemplated the dilemma she was faced with. She didn't want to be angry at the twins, but the hurt was still there, simmering beneath her skin. She knew she couldn't just ignore them for no reason – and she didn't want to; it would only make her miserable. As the food appeared and she piled her plate high with bacon, she came to a decision.
The twins must have had a good reason for not telling her. They were her best friends, and she was theirs. They would tell her in time, she had to believe that.
In the meantime she'd try and act like she knew nothing, because what better way to get over her hurt than stuffing it into the deep, dark recesses of her mind to let it rot and fester forever? That was how she usually dealt with things, and she was still kicking, wasn't she?
People began to wander into the Hall, and soon it was full of students and a loose buzz of chatter. McGonagall came over and handed Winona her schedule, then after a moment of thought gave her Fred and George's as well, telling her to give it to them when she saw them.
Winona chewed on a particularly crispy strip of bacon as she scanned all three schedules, checking them against one another. They had everything together except for her Arithmancy class, during which Fred had Divination and George took Muggle Studies.
They joined her eventually, robes draped around them haphazardly. They and Lee were already talking about the Triwizard Tournament as they sat down, tossing about different suggestions and theories about how to hoodwink the supposed 'impartial judge'.
"I mean, an Aging Potion will do the trick, surely," Lee said emphatically as they all sat down opposite her. Winona handed off the twins' schedules to them both, and they scanned them halfheartedly.
"What if the way they check is by looking at our records and seeing our date of birth?" mused George.
"Easy," piped Fred. "We fake the records."
"How exactly are you planning to fake the Ministry's records?" asked Winona dryly. She had the utmost faith in the twins, but there were just some things that she doubted even they could achieve. Breaking into the Ministry and altering the records of their birth was one of those things.
The twins shot her identical sour expressions that she ignored, turning back to her food.
They had double Transfiguration first, in which McGonagall spoke mostly about their course load for the year. Winona sat beside George and behind Fred and Angelina. She caught sight of the budding couple holding hands under their desk, and couldn't help but roll her eyes.
They all decided to go out to the lake for lunch, since the storm from the night before had cleared up. Angelina and Fred held hands all the way down to the water's edge.
Winona was reminded of something Fred had told her over the summer – that he was going to officially ask Angelina to be his girlfriend. The very thought made a pit appear low in her stomach. She wanted them to be happy, but something deep inside of her was telling her it was a bad idea, that Fred was maybe pushing something that wasn't really there.
She could see it in the crease between his eyes, in the hollow glint to his gaze that told her something just wasn't right. And it wasn't Angelina's fault, she was beautiful and amazing and perfect, but something just wasn't clicking. Winona didn't know why Fred was pushing it, but she was hardly the right person to be doling out relationship advice.
The only experience she had was a bit of compulsory snogging with Adam and the passionate trysts in empty classrooms with a Slytherin that always left her feeling like she was in desperate need of a shower.
Despite this, she wanted to say something, wanted to sit down with her best friend and ask what he was doing; whether he was okay. But she knew both of them well enough to know that anything she said would likely only be seen as insulting, so decided to give up before she'd even bothered to try.
They had double Defence in the afternoon, one of the first classes anyone had with Moody. Winona wasn't sure what to expect. She'd heard stories from the twins and Mr Weasley, and rumours whispered throughout the school, but other than that she knew very little about the grumpy, enigmatic Professor.
They all settled into the Defence classroom, Winona taking a seat near the back. She noticed Fred automatically move to sit beside her and was already shifting her bag out of the way when Angelina swiped his hand and persistently tugged him to an open desk to her left. The look on his face was dismayed, but he didn't argue, going with her willingly.
Winona rolled her eyes again as George took the spot beside her.
"It's sickening, don't you think?" she asked through a grimace. George certainly didn't need her to elaborate on what she was talking about. "All they did was snog a few times last year, but now all of a sudden they're attached at the hip?"
George reclined in his chair, already focused on folding a spare scrap of parchment into a sloppy little hat that he proudly put atop his head. "I think they're young and randy," he replied smoothly.
"We're all the same age," she reminded him.
"Never said I wasn't randy, too."
"Ugh," she gagged. "More than I ever want to know, George."
"Fair enough."
"Constant vigilance!"
The words were screamed so suddenly that everyone in the whole room jumped about a foot in the air, most letting out yelps of shock.
Moody was at the back of the room, his scarred, grotesque face either scowling or smiling – it was genuinely impossible to tell the difference – and once he was sure he had their attention, he began to stalk up the aisle, wooden leg clacking loudly against the floor.
"To survive in this world, one must have constant vigilance," he began in a rough Scottish accent. "The Dark Arts are a thing of majesty and malice, the likes of which none of you are likely to ever understand. It is my job, however, to make sure you're prepared."
He came to a stop at the front of the classroom, turning to face them, his magical eye flickering over each and every face in the class. Winona felt a shiver run down her spine as it passed over her.
"You're sixth years now. NEWT students. Do you know what that means?"
Nobody in the room so much as dared to move an inch. The entire class was frozen, staring at him in varying degrees of awe and trepidation.
"It means that the training wheels have come off. It's time for you to learn what you're up against. Learn the truth about the world you live in. That's where I come in."
He turned to the board, producing a small stick of broken chalk and writing something down in sharp, harsh lettering.
It read Unforgivable Curses. Winona felt another chill run down the length of her spine.
"The Unforgivable Curses," he read, turning back to them, twisted little scar of a mouth pulled down into a sneer. "How many are there?" Nobody dared raise their hand. "Surely somebody knows," their new teacher snarled, looking very much like if nobody answered him, he might very well perform the curses on them one by one, just to give them a taste.
A hand raised, and Winona was surprised to see it was Jeremiah. Moody turned both his eyes onto him, but Jeremiah didn't look scared under the weight of them.
"Nott, was it?" asked Moody thinly.
"There are three Unforgivables, Sir," Jeremiah said, clear and confident.
"Can you name one for me?"
Jeremiah didn't need to stop and think. "The Imperius Curse," he relayed with ease.
Winona thought a smile might have flickered at Moody's lips – but again, it could have just as well been a grimace. "The Imperious Curse is the ability to control one's desired target."
"Control?" asked a Ravenclaw boy from the back of the room, quill already poised to take notes.
"Complete and total control," Moody confirmed, and though the words were probably meant to be said grimly, Winona instead was left with the strangest feeling that the thought made their new professor almost…giddy.
With a gnarled hand he reached into the jar on his desk, pulling out a small spider and securing the lid back on.
Some of the girls in the front row gasped and squeaked at the sight of the creepy insect, but Winona and her friends just leaned forwards with interest. Moody charmed the spider to be three times its usual size, and again there was a low hum of mutterings throughout the room.
Winona could only watch, horrified, as Moody aimed his wand at the creature, cast the Imperius Curse and made the spider do his bidding.
Next was the Crutiatus Curse, as brought up by Angelina, who looked sick even as she spoke. Winona looked away in thick disgust as Professor Moody tortured the poor thing until it was barely clinging to life. She didn't want to even think what it must have felt like – but Moody explained anyway.
"Like a million searing hot needles cutting into every square inch of flesh on your body," he said, a gleeful note in his growling voice that sent chills of disgust across Winona's skin. "Like all your organs are being cooked in boiling water at once. Like someone's pouring acid over your nerves. That's what the Crutiatus Curse feels like. Cast it for long enough and you'll be able to break anybody, no matter how strong of mind."
His tongue darted out, licking his lips before shooting back inside his mouth. Winona ground her teeth together, looking away.
"Can anyone tell me the final Unforgivable?
There was only silence, nobody game enough to answer. Moody didn't quite look disappointed, but he certainly didn't look understanding either. He tutted, like they were all immature children who couldn't stomach the realities of his harsh world.
"The Killing Curse," he said, hard and emotionless. "Quickest and easiest way to kill your desired target. Instant death to whoever it hits, no exceptions – except one."
And suddenly Winona knew what was coming. Her hands balled into fists, a lump appearing in her airway, making it difficult to breathe.
"Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse thirteen years ago," said Moody, and everyone shifted in their seats except Winona, who was perfectly, dangerously still. "To this day, nobody knows how," he said, sounding almost wistful. Winona hated him a little bit more. He cleared his throat and continued on. "The thing about an Unforgivable, particularly the Killing Curse, is that you have to mean it."
He lifted his wand, aiming it at the spider on the desk.
"Avada Kedavra," he snarled with feeling.
Like the words were some kind of instant trigger, the world disappeared around Winona, reality slipping away as she was caught by the tide of time.
It was cold, in the sort of way that chilled your bones rather than your skin. It smelt of death and decay, the stench was overpowering. Flashes of bright light, red and green, and ghostly, urgent whispers from all around her.
Winona came back to the present abruptly, only to find everybody's chairs scraping the floor as they stood to their feet and left the classroom, all jabbering excitedly about how thrilling a lesson it had been. She'd missed virtually the whole thing, thanks to a bloody vision. At this rate she was never going to pass her NEWTs.
"Miss Andrews, was it?" Moody was directly above her, peering down at her both with his magical eye and his regular one.
She pressed the page holding the prediction against her chest, keeping it hidden. George was still beside her, now with Fred hovering on her other side, identical concern shining in their eyes. She was relieved to have them there, and could only hope nobody else had noticed anything was off.
"Come have a chat," Moody said, the lighthearted words contradictory to his severe appearance.
Winona didn't particularly want to go anywhere with Moody, but she wasn't about to refuse him. He was still a teacher, after all. The last thing she needed was a detention.
"You guys go on ahead," Winona told the twins, forcing a smile onto her lips. "I promise I'm fine."
They didn't look convinced, but they also knew it was more trouble than it was worth to argue the point. Nodding, they picked up their things and reluctantly turned to go. "See you at dinner?" Fred asked, and she was quick to nod.
They disappeared out the door, leaving a reluctant Winona completely alone with ex-Auror Moody.
The Defence teacher grabbed the chair in front of her desk, dragging it closer with a sharp ring of noise that made more chills appear on her skin, before collapsing into it with something of a relieved sigh.
"Sorry about zoning out like that, Professor," she began to apologise. "I've got a bit of an attention disorder–"
"I know all about your particular gifting, Miss Andrews," Moody interjected, and the words fell dead on her tongue. "Dumbledore explained everything."
An uneasy feeling curled in her stomach. "Did he?"
"I suppose I'm part of the inner-circle, now," he said, and Winona got the feeling it was meant to be some sort of joke. She mustered up a fake titter of laughter, but it was faint and unconvincing. "May I see what you've predicted?" he asked, leaning further over the table, tongue darting out again to wet his lips.
"Dumbledore doesn't like it when I show other people what I've drawn," she said, not technically a lie. "If he thinks you should see it, then I'm sure he'll show you, Professor."
Moody's normal, beady little eye hardened like concrete. "You always do everything Dumbledore tells you to?" he asked sharply, the words more spat than spoken. Winona frowned, taken aback by the malice behind the response. Moody reached into one of his many pockets, pulling free a small flask, popping the top and taking a healthy sip of whatever was inside. "Forgive me," he said once he'd put it away. "To find someone who sincerely possesses the Sight…" he trailed off, a hungry look in his one good eye. "It's more rare and valuable than you know."
Ice settled low in Winona's gut. "Valuable?"
"To the right people," he replied, matter-of-fact. "These are dark times we're in, Miss Black."
That definitely was no slip of the tongue. He was showing her exactly how much he knew, and she nervously wondered why. "It's Andrews," she corrected him, her voice as pretty and as hard as diamond.
"Not by birth," he countered, magical eye spinning around in its socket.
"No, but by choice." There was a pause, each assessing the other, silent and considering. "What do you mean, these are dark times?" she asked, the words getting stuck in her head. "The Wizarding world is at peace."
This time Moody definitely smiled; an ugly, twisted expression. "Is it?" he asked, and she decided once and for all that this guy was batshit crazy, with an unhealthy dose of creepy mixed in.
"I should go," she said, shoving her sketchbook back into her bag and climbing to her feet, shouldering the strap and heading for the door.
Moody said nothing as she scurried away, and she didn't look back as she left, rushing directly through the castle towards Gryffindor Tower, the one place she knew she'd feel safe. And the image she'd drawn of an empty, eerie graveyard seemed to be burning a hole in the material of her bag as she walked.
The week passed quickly and despite Winona's personal resolution to keep from growing upset by whatever secret the twins were keeping, she couldn't help but feel slighted. They would huddle together more often than not, sometimes leant over parchment, writing something that they would hide whenever she got close. They would whisper to one another, and weren't as quick to mess around between classes. Once they even passed up an offer of strudel in the kitchens in favour of visiting the library for 'study purposes'.
She was struggling to keep herself from forcefully demanding answers. She reminded herself over and over again that they had every right not to tell her something. But despite her best efforts to keep cool, calm and collected, it was late one Thursday night that things finally came to a climax.
She was heading back up to Gryffindor Tower after her first lesson of the year with Professor Trelawney. It had been virtually as useless as ever, she'd learnt nothing, and her time would have been far better spent working on homework – and yet she'd gone anyway, because Dumbledore said she had to.
She thought that maybe Moody was onto something – did she always have to do everything Dumbledore told her to? Although, however interesting a topic, it was a question for another day.
She was just passing the Charms corridor when she was yanked into an alcove in a move that was becoming frightfully familiar.
"Jeremiah," she hissed as his hands gripped her hips. "What're you doing? It's after curfew. You should be in your common room," she said, bracing her hands on his wiry chest.
"Wanted to see you," he mumbled around the wet kisses he was lavishing upon her neck.
She let him grope her, but her thoughts were elsewhere. They went from her musings over her blind obedience to Dumbledore to her blind involvement with Jeremiah. What was she getting out of this? Did he love her? Did she love him? Was that even important? Was there a point to any of it?
When she thought about him, about him looking at her and touching her, she felt butterflies. Maybe it was simply because it was forbidden, or maybe there really was a connection there. It was so hard to tell. The lines were beginning to blur.
"What're we doing?" she'd asked before she could stop herself.
Jeremiah pulled back, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, so tight it bordered on painful. "What are we doing?" he parroted cooly, somehow coming off as unimpressed by the question.
"I mean, we snog, we shag, but that's it. There's never anything else. Don't you want more?" she asked, clinging to a pointless hope. Jeremiah's expression was cold, and with shaking hands she reached up to press her palms against his cheeks. "I want more," she admitted shyly, feeling very much like she were baring her soul.
She wasn't sure how unexpected it was when he rolled his eyes, pulling away from her sharply. "I thought we were over this, Andrews," he said in a frustrated sort of voice, like she'd done something to disappoint him. "I thought you weren't like other girls. I thought you just wanted a bit of fun."
Feeling a flare of misplaced bravery, Winona swayed closer, swallowing around her dry mouth and pressing her hands to his chest once more, hoping the contact might warm him up some. "I'm beginning to…" she trailed off, struggling to find the words. "I want more," she finally said again, hopeful and sure.
Jeremiah's expression went dark. "Holding hands and sitting at one another's House tables isn't something we can do," he told her sternly, not a note of gentleness in his voice. It was all Winona could do not to flinch back like she'd been slapped. "I want to keep doing this with you, but I'm not ready for more. Not now. Not ever. This has to be enough."
Winona looked away, feeling the humiliating sting of tears in her eyes. Jeremiah pulled away from her with a small sound of irritation.
"Come find me when you've gotten yourself together," he said callously, stepping away from her and wiping off his shirt like her touch had left some kind of residue on the fabric. With a final, derisive sort of glance, he swept away, disappearing around the corner and out of sight.
What was wrong with her? Was she too needy? Was she being insecure? Clearly he wanted someone with more maturity.
Hurt filled her, along with a sharp sense of inadequacy that left her feeling like she'd been tossed carelessly off a cliff face and met the bottom with open arms. She took a few deep breaths, trying to get herself under control, then turned towards the path that would lead her up to Gryffindor Tower.
The walk felt longer than usual, and so much more lonely. By the time Winona got to the Fat Lady, she was no longer close to tears, but instead had gathered herself, pasting on her most unaffected expression.
She was more than tired as she climbed clumsily through the portrait hole, smothering a yawn with her hand. The day itself, along with everything with Jeremiah, had left her exhausted. She prayed to Merlin that she might fall asleep with ease, knowing her best bet at escape was unconsciousness.
Her plan was to head straight up to bed, but then she caught sight of the twins pressed together at a table along the far wall, a piece of parchment between them as they muttered between one another quietly.
Struck with inspiration, she changed her trajectory towards the two people who she knew could always make her feel better, no matter the circumstance.
Wandering over, filled with a thin bubble of hope, she greeted them with a simple, "hey guys."
Before she could take another step closer, Fred had not-so-subtly slipped a book over the top of whatever they were working on, leaning his elbow on it to keep it hidden from sight. Winona paused, staring at them both, considering her next move. Immediately she knew this encounter wasn't going to leave her feeling better at all. But she was in too deep to back out now.
"What's going on?" she asked, the words slow and deliberate, emotion curdling in her gut like bad milk.
"Homework," said Fred, wholly unconvincing even as he innocently batted his eyelids.
"Homework," she echoed skeptically.
"Yup, essay for Potions."
"We don't have an essay due in Potions," she called him out on his blatant lie.
"Extra credit."
She stared back, unimpressed. "So you're not going to tell me whatever it is you've been keeping from me?" she asked, giving up the pretence altogether and staring at him intently. From beside him, George was glancing between the two of them, torn and just a little bit wary.
"I told you," Fred insisted stubbornly. "It's homework."
Hurt rattled her insides, and it must have shown on her face, because Fred's innocent facade faltered and gave way to a guilty wince. But Winona wasn't in the mood for his guilt. He seemed to sense this too, and his hackles rose instead of dropped.
"Well, what've you been keeping from me?" he asked suddenly, and her stomach swooped.
"Excuse me?" she bit out, the words like ice. Harry and Ron were perched in the corner working on their homework, and they both looked over as they heard the oncoming argument. It was rare for Winona to pick a fight with one of the twins. Rare enough that it felt almost like it went against the natural order of things.
"You say we're hiding something from you, but it goes both ways," Fred told her, the words sharp and defensive. "How about you tell me who you keep getting notes from, and where you keep sneaking off to, and then I'll tell you what we're doing?" he said, the ultimatum blatantly offensive.
She hadn't realised he'd noticed these things happening to her, but she knew now that she should have given him more credit. He wasn't an idiot. He was so intelligent, if not one of the smartest people she knew. She supposed she'd just hoped that if she'd stuck her head deep enough into the sand, all of her problems would disappear on their own.
Despite this sound logic, she felt a small flame of irritation and anger flicker within her, like a fire being fed. Fred's eyes were hard and angry, showing no sign of guilt or compassion, and so she reacted in kind, gritting her teeth and glaring back at him icily.
"I am under no obligation to tell you anything," she hissed coldly.
"Oh, you're right, why would you? I'm only your best friend!" he shouted back, sharp and sardonic.
"I have a life outside of you, you know?!" she yelled, fingers curled into angry fists.
"Well, so do I!" he countered hotly. "But if you have to keep sneaking off with some guy, the least you could do would be to tell me. Or are you too ashamed to admit you're whoring yourself out to the whole school?"
Winona's heart dropped so low that it disappeared beneath the floor, along with any hint of calm she might have retained. "Excuse me?" she snarled, hoping against hope that he might hurry to take back the hurtful words.
"Fred, come on," said George carefully, reaching out to grab his twin's shoulder, attempting to pull him away from the brewing storm. "That was out of line," he tried to say fairly.
But Winona was too far gone to let him help cool things off. If Fred wanted a fight, then he sure as hell was going to get one. "What does it matter if I have a boyfriend? At least I actually have feelings for the person I'm with – I'm not just with him for the sake of it!"
"What's that supposed to mean?!" shouted Fred.
"You know exactly what it means," Winona snarled. "Do the decent thing and break things off with Angelina. Anyone with eyes can see you're kidding yourself."
Fred took a large step forwards, glowering down and towering over the much shorter blonde. But Winona wasn't so easily intimidated. She stood her ground, glaring up at him defiantly, nostrils flared with fury.
"You don't know anything about me or my relationship with Ange," he hissed at her hotly.
"Yeah? Kind of like how you don't know jack about me and––" Winona cut herself off sharply, stopping just before saying Jeremiah's name. She snapped her teeth shut, grinding them together and scowling at Fred, who leaned closer and held a hand to his ear facetiously.
"No, no, please," he said around an uncharacteristic sneer. "Tell me exactly who is so important. Tell us all who exactly is worth it all."
"None of your goddamn business, Weasley," Winona snarled at him, feeling her eyes begin to water with rage.
Fred took a step back, scoffing loud and sharp. "What happened to you?" he asked darkly.
"What are you keeping from me?" she countered coldly.
There was silence, neither of them answering. It was a tense stand-off, and George looked especially nervous from his place behind Fred, gaze shifting between the two warily.
A hand touched Winona's elbow, and she flinched, whipping around to glare at the person darkly only for the expression to drop when she found it to be nobody but Harry, his brow furrowed with a deep concern.
"Maybe you should head up to bed," her cousin suggested softly, casting a subtle glance around the room, where a small portion of Gryffindor House were staring at the group of them openly. Some looked irritated that the screaming match had interrupted their studying, while others were gaping, struggling to believe exactly what they were seeing.
Winona Andrews fighting with a Weasley twin? It was unprecedented.
"Yeah," she finally said, refusing to look Fred in the eye as she turned. "I think I will," she muttered, not bothering to say goodnight to anyone and gripping the strap of her bag, storming up the stairs leading to her dorm. That same fury was bubbling beneath her skin, blood like a potion in a cauldron set to boil over a flame.
Shoving her way into her room, she found the girls all sitting on their beds, essays and books in front of them, but none were paying them any attention. They were all staring at her in absolute silence, no doubt having heard the screaming match from downstairs.
Alicia and Hope's eyes were wide and shocked, while Angelina's were full of tears. Winona was too worked up to care, she grimaced at them all, making a beeline for the bathroom where she took a shower so hot, it was a miracle her skin didn't melt off. Then she went straight for her bed, shutting the curtains and casting a muffling charm on them so she didn't have to listen to her dorm mates' gossipy whispers about the fight.
She slept fitfully, eventually giving up and sketching absently by wand light. Her eyes stung all night long, but she didn't let so much as a single tear escape. She was stronger than that. She had to be.
The next morning, Winona was alone in the common room. She was sketching, just a simple outline of a night sky that she was planning to add colour to later. It was early, far before breakfast, before anyone else would even be awake. She loved the common room at that time of morning. It was peaceful, and just what her racing head needed.
To her great surprise, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and her throat tightened with panic, thinking for one brief moment that it might be Fred – and that she wasn't ready to face him yet. But to her relief, Harry's head of messy black hair appeared at the base of the staircase, his eyebrows lifted in surprise to see her there.
"Morning, Boy-Wonder," she gave her customary greeting, but the usually playful words fell flat.
"Are you alright, Winnie?" he asked, moving closer and gesturing to the spot on the couch beside her. She lifted her legs and once he'd sat down she placed them back in his lap. He looked surprised by the move of familial intimacy, but she soaked it up, enjoying the fact that he was probably the one person in the whole castle who wasn't currently cross with her. "I've never seen you and Fred fight like that," he said gently, pressing his hands gingerly to her ankles.
"I don't wanna talk about it," she mumbled, absently dragging her pencil across the page in her sketchbook. "What about you? Why the early start?" she asked, desperate to keep the attention off herself.
Harry's expression was suddenly guilty, and Winona felt her stomach swoop with concern. "There's something I haven't told you," he began quietly.
"Pray tell," she said, heart hammering with concern.
Harry took a deep breath, then began to speak. He told her all about his dream, what had happened in it, what he had seen. Winona listened intently, putting aside her sketchbook and shifting her full attention to her cousin.
When he was finished, she frowned at him in confusion. "But why didn't you tell me?" she asked him, undeniably hurt. She'd thought they told one another everything – and if not everything, then at the very least something this important had to make the cut.
"I know how you worry," he shrugged, a guilty look on his face. "I wrote to Sirius about it, though," he added, the guilt turning into concern. "That's actually why I'm up so early. He wrote back, said he was heading north, coming back towards Hogwarts."
"But he'll just risk getting caught," she exclaimed, panic seizing her. "He can't come anywhere near Hogwarts. The Ministry's still out for his head!"
Harry was already nodding. "I'm going to write him now, tell him not to come."
"I'll write him too," she decided, and Harry moved over to the closest flat surface, produced a quill and a piece of parchment and began to write. "Can I use the same parchment?" she asked once he'd finished signing his name.
Harry nodded, and she took his quill, dipping it in ink and then pausing. What could she say? What should she say?
She wanted to tell him things were awful, that she felt like her sanity was slipping away, like she was losing her very best friends, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. But, at the same time, her and Sirius' relationship had yet to evolve to the point where she felt comfortable baring her soul. At the heart of it all, they were still complete strangers.
Father or not, it took more than a single meeting and a handful of letters to build trust between two people. Taking a deep breath, she began to write.
Sirius,
Please don't head north. Harry's fine, I'm fine, and there's absolutely no reason for you to go putting yourself in danger. Please, be smart. Write us when it's safe and let us know you're okay.
-Winona
She handed the letter back to Harry, and he sealed it in an envelope. "Want to come up to the owlery with me?" he offered. She leapt at the opportunity, nodding her head and sweeping to her feet, shoving away her art supplies and following him to the portrait hole.
They walked in companionable silence, wandering their way through the utterly silent castle. Winona felt a wave of sadness at the realisation of how much she loved it there, and how limited her time there was. It was already her second to last year. Time really did fly when one was having fun.
She opened her mouth to mention this to Harry, only to be interrupted by a loud cackle from overhead. Both of them started, turning to grimace at Peeves, who hovered above them, a wicked grin on his impish little features.
"Awfully early for a stroll," he cackled like it were side-splitting a joke. Winona wasn't surprised – apart from the Bloody Baron, she wasn't sure there was anything Peeves didn't find hilarious.
"We're just heading to the owlery," Winona told him impatiently. "Go harass someone else, Peeves. We're not in the mood."
"Oh! Itty-bitty Andrews isn't in the mood!" he crowed in that high-pitched, playful voice, floating around them in circles.
"Come on," said Harry, taking her arm and gently pulling her along, keeping his head ducked to avoid meeting the poltergeist's eyes. Like that might help.
Peeves only cackled again, and when the cousins looked back up it was to see a large, ornamental vase falling from its podium towards them. Letting out a yelp, Winona acted on instinct, yanking her wand free from her hair and yelling the first spell that came to mind.
The vase froze in mid-air, like someone had hit pause on the television. Harry blinked in surprise, and Winona turned to glare at Peeves. "Get lost, Peeves, or I'll fetch the Bloody Baron and see what he thinks of your little tricks," she threatened him darkly.
Peeves pouted like a scorned child, blew a loud raspberry in their faces, then zoomed out of sight before either Gryffindor could so much as say another word.
"What spell is that?" breathed Harry, eyeing the frozen vase cautiously.
"Freezing charm," she told him with a huff, thinking internally that it was far too early in the morning for this shit. "You learn it fifth year," she added distractedly, muttering a quick Wingardium Leviosa and gently guiding the large, and no doubt expensive, vase back onto its stand.
She finished, rolling her neck to work out the kinks and tucking her wand back into the knot atop her head, setting off once more for the owlery. She would have had to have been blind not to notice Harry's stare on the side of her face.
"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"You're just really good at magic," he told her, giving a small shrug. Winona couldn't help but snort in callous disbelief. "You are," he insisted, and she sent him a fond smile.
"I'm good with Charms and Jinxes, I s'pose," she conceded. "But never trust me to turn a turtle into a tea kettle. My Transfiguration is rubbish."
Harry smiled, and they continued on in silence for awhile. Outside the air was sharp and brisk, autumn slowly becoming winter, and Winona revelled in the chill in her lungs.
"I know you said you didn't wanna talk about it…" Harry trailed off suddenly, eyes on his feet as they wandered across the courtyard, slowly heading for the owlery.
Winona tightened her grip on her bag, reaching up to fuss with the topknot in her platinum hair. Without even saying much, she knew he had a point. She didn't particularly want to talk about it, but she also knew that if she didn't she'd probably explode from the tension next time it was least convenient. Besides, if she was going to tell anyone, she'd rather it be Harry.
"They're keeping something from me," she told Harry, with no need to clarify who they were.
"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.
The look she shot him was equal parts fond and exasperated. "If I knew that, there wouldn't really be an issue in the first place, would there?" she countered quickly. Harry's cheeks went a little pink, making her chuckle.
"You haven't Seen it, I mean?" he asked, dark brows pulled into a frown.
"Nope," she shrugged, making it seem less depressing than it felt. Harry's frown deepened, his concern for her obvious. "If I got a vision for every problem I had in life, things would be a hell of a lot simpler, wouldn't they?" she mused, nudging his shoulder playfully with her own. "Besides, as upset and irritated as I am with those two, I'm not going to invade their privacy by spying on them with my inner eye," she added reasonably.
"Yeah, I s'pose you're right," Harry murmured. "Do you think you'll make up with them?"
"The proud, bitter part of me wants to say no," she admitted to him quietly, the words an admission for only him to hear. "But of course I will. I need them. They're my people. Besides, I know they probably have a good reason for not telling me whatever it is they're not telling me," she said around a heavy sigh, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I guess I just have to trust them," she finished, the words a little flat and a lot sad.
"But you do, don't you?" Harry pressed, that puzzled frown on his face. "Trust them?"
"With my life," she replied immediately, the words an instinct, but nevertheless true.
"Then what's the problem?"
Winona didn't speak, lips pressed into a thin line as they began their climb up the steep steps that led to the owlery.
"They said you were keeping a secret, too," Harry said halfway through their trek. "Is it because you know that if they're honest with you, you'll have no choice but to be honest with them?"
Winona couldn't help the small quirk of her lips. "When did you get so wise, Boy-Wonder?" she asked him with another playful bump.
But Harry didn't smile, he only frowned, seeing right through her weak attempt to derail the conversation. "What's your secret, Winnie?" he asked quietly.
Winona felt physically ill, faced with a terrible decision. If there was one person in the whole world she wanted to be honest with – even above the twins – it was Harry. But this wasn't something she could just say. Telling him the truth, admitting what she'd been doing, it was too much. Maybe she was just ashamed, or maybe she was too scared she'd lose his respect. Probably because she'd long since lost her own.
"Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies," she murmured to herself as they stepped onto the landing of the owlery.
"Sorry?" Harry asked, not understanding.
She smiled wryly. "I'm saying that I don't wanna lie to you, so it's probably best you don't ask me anything else," she replied, blunt and a little sad.
Harry frowned, considering. "Is it dangerous?" he pressed on heedlessly; ever the Gryffindor. "Are you in trouble?"
Emotionally, yes, but that probably wasn't the kind of danger he meant. "No," she told him, unsure whether it was true or not. "It's nothing, really," she added as they made their way over to Hedwig, the only snowy white owl in the whole tower. She stood out, feathers shining in the early morning light, seeming to glow against the dark browns and tawnies that surrounded her.
Harry didn't look up at her, cooing at his beloved owl and handing her their joint letter. Winona was suddenly struck with an urge to be honest – or as honest as she could manage, at least.
"It's just this guy I'm seeing," she revealed, and Harry looked up in surprise, one hand still gently stroking Hedwig's glowing feathers. "I don't think my friends would approve, and right now I just want to keep it a secret. We're not ready for people to know." And she doubted they ever would be, but she couldn't make her mouth form the sad, extra words.
Harry frowned again, pensive. "Is he dangerous?" he finally asked, a perfectly reasonable question, one she felt compelled to answer honestly.
"I don't know," she admitted softly, looking away to hide the pain and confusion in her eyes. "I'd like to think he isn't, but…" she trailed off, not knowing how to finish.
"Are you happy?"
Winona paused again, considering the question seriously. "I don't know."
Harry leaned closer to Hedwig, murmuring something to her, to which she made a clicking sound and took off into the sky, off to find Sirius, the only family either of them had – other than each other.
"Well, from what I know of relationships – which really isn't much," he told her around a wry smirk. Winona had to smile. "I think you should be doing something, be with someone, who makes you happy."
She chewed on her tongue a moment, debating how to answer. "The world isn't black and white like that," she finally said. "Love isn't black and white like that."
Harry's expression made it obvious he didn't agree. "I think it is," he said simply. Winona didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything, merely winding her arm through his and leading the way back down the stairs. As once they headed towards the beautiful, looming figure of Hogwarts castle.
"What about you?" she asked him once their feet were pressed to soil rather than stone, trudging their way through the grass towards the school.
"What about me?" he echoed in confusion.
"Anyone caught your eye, yet?" she said playfully, gripping his arm tighter, grinning at him eagerly.
Harry's cheeks went bright red, and he let out an embarrassed groan. "I'm not talking about this with you."
"Oh, come on," she complained. "We just spent ten minutes gossiping about my love life. Why can't we gossip a little about yours?"
"There's no one," he said, voice breaking a little over the words, and her grin widened.
"Am I gonna have to go get myself a vision, or will you just tell me now and save me the trouble?" she laughed.
"Hey!" he cried, pulling away from her, scowling at her with a mix of petulance and indignation, in the way only a teenage boy could. "You said you wouldn't do that to the twins, so you can't do that to me, either!"
Winona laughed, grabbing his arm again and pulling him along. "Alright, you have a point," she conceded with a playful roll of her eyes. "No visions for self-gain purposes," she droned like a child at daycare, reciting the rules to an overworked teacher.
"Thank you," Harry nodded, but even he couldn't hide the hint of a smile playing at his lips, and Winona grinned, her spirits lifted and her heart that little bit lighter.
They made their way to breakfast together, coming in about ten minutes after everyone else. Harry's friends were down the very front, near the teacher's table, so she let him go with a quick ruffle of his hair, then turned towards the pair of identical redheads sitting with Lee up the very back, closer to the doors.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she started forwards, dodging a group of first-year Hufflepuffs and winding her way over to them. George and Lee were discussing something, and from Lee's enthusiastic gestures she assumed it was Quidditch related. Fred, on the other hand, was twirling his spoon listlessly in his bowl of porridge, chin propped up on his open palm, eyes glassy and vacant.
She sat down beside Lee and opposite the twins, making sure the sound of her bag hitting the floor was loud enough to garner their attention.
The boys fell silent at her sudden appearance. She didn't bother with pleasantries, speaking loudly and clearly, eyes darting from Fred's to George's and back again.
"Sorry I was a tosser," she said plainly. "Something went down on my way to the common room, and when I got there and you were being all secretive again, I just snapped. I said some uncalled for shit, and I'm sorry for that. Most of it was said in anger and hurt. I didn't actually mean it."
The twins both blinked at her as one – in fact it would have been a little creepy if she weren't so used to it by now.
"If you don't want to tell me whatever's been up with the pair of you, that's fine, I respect you and your privacy, and I can only hope you can do the same for me."
The twins didn't seem to know what to say, glancing at one another, communicating in their silent way.
From beside her, Lee snorted loudly. "Who're you and what've you done with Winona Andrews?" he asked playfully. "The real Winona would never handle this with so much maturity."
She didn't hesitate to glare at him. "Shut up," she warned him, and he wisely fell silent. Turning back to the twins, she watched as they switched their focus back to her.
"It's already forgiven, Win," said George with a small, affectionate smile. Fred nodded his head, although she couldn't help but notice an edge of ice that clung to his cornflower blue eyes. "We're sorry too, by the way," George added quickly.
"It's already forgiven," she promised him, and he grinned, turning back to his food and pulling Lee back into their previous conversation about the Holyhead Harpies.
Winona focused her attention on Fred, a small frown knitting at her brow. "What made you wanna apologise?" he asked after a moment, and her frown grew. "You're usually too stubborn to be the first one to concede."
She smiled, the expression a little dry. "I spent the morning with Harry," she revealed with a shrug. "He had some surprising words of wisdom for me."
"And what were they?" he asked curiously.
She considered not telling him, but in the spirit of forgiveness and honesty, decided to tell the truth. "That I should focus on what makes me happy," she told him simply. "And you make me happy."
Fred tilted his head, the look in his eyes suddenly intense. Winona felt her heart rate spike, but before she could so much as open her mouth, a familiar figure slid into place beside Fred, a wary frown on her pretty face.
"Both of you, I mean. You and George," Winona quickly amended, swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat and nodding her head at George, who was now using a salt shaker to illustrate whatever outlandish story he was telling. Angelina's frown was now more of a glare, and Winona knew more than just one apology was in order. "Sorry for what I said last night, Ange," she said, meeting her friend's eyes with only slight hesitance. "I didn't mean it, I was just acting out. I think you and Fred are perfect for one another."
Ange's steely expression melted, replaced by something more gentle and familiar. "Do you really think so?" she asked, a little wary but mostly just hopeful.
Winona chewed on her tongue, but saw no way out of the situation other than to say, "yeah, I really do," even though it was a complete and utter lie.
Angelina smiled, forgiving even despite Winona's cruel words the night before. "We all say things we don't mean," she said graciously, and Winona smiled back, hating herself that little bit more because, who was she kidding? She'd meant every single word.
Angelina began talking, saying something about some riddle her friend in Ravenclaw had brought up, but Winona wasn't listening to any of it. It hadn't escaped her notice that Fred had yet to offer an apology for his own words spoken out of anger the night before.
He had most of his attention on Angelina as she spoke, and so Winona took a moment to stare at his face. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what what going on inside his head. She'd been hurt more than she could say by what he'd said, and she wondered if maybe he wasn't apologising because somewhere deep down he'd really, truly meant every word.
That terrified her to the core, and she took a shaky breath, shutting her eyes a moment and willing the pain in her chest to go away. It took a minute, but finally the pain began to ebb. Slowly, she opened her eyes only to find Fred staring at her unabashedly.
She met his eyes without hesitation. She'd always been able to read him, no matter the situation. But suddenly he was like an ancient rune – impossible to decipher. She wondered what he was reading in her eyes; but she knew she'd never be brave enough to ask.
"What do you think the answer is, Winnie?" Angelina asked loudly, bringing her attention back to the conversation at hand.
She blinked, breaking her stare with Fred. "I think the answer is a cowboy wearing rain-boots."
Angelina frowned – clearly she wasn't anywhere in the realm of right, but Winona didn't particularly care. George leant over and started talking excitedly about this new Jinx he'd heard about, and Winona took the opportunity to pile her plate high with food and start eating.
Why did the world only seem to make less and less sense, the older she grew?
A/N: Hey guys, I wanted to say thanks for the support last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one. Again, for those of you who are desperate to see Jeremiah piss off once and for all; it'll happen. We're getting there. But I'm taking this story slowly and realistically. Don't worry though, he'll get what's coming to him.
Thanks for your kind words about the fires. My family and I are still safe, but a lot of other families in my country aren't as lucky. Consider supporting them if you can, or even just tweeting at our Aussie government to get them to pull their finger out and actually do something about this catastrophe.
Review of the week goes to Bjosefine: thanks for your kind words about my writing. It's important to me that I balance canon and original content. I like seeing both types of settings when I'm reading fic, so it's fun to get the best of both worlds in my own writing. It's my hope that this story explores some facets of the Wizarding world that aren't in the books, and that it expands on the characters I enjoy most. Also, thanks for your thoughts and best wishes for my family in the wake of the fires. Like I said, we're all fine, but there are plenty who aren't as lucky.
I'll see you guys soon with another new chapter!