The next few days passed without any specific routine in place, but Winona found she liked it. She spent a lot of time baking, Remus fetching ingredients from the shops – seeing as neither she nor Sirius could leave Grimmauld Place – and her holed up in the kitchen making cakes and pastries to her heart's content.
Sirius would sit at the table, reading that day's issue of the Daily Prophet or sampling her creations, making light talk while she worked. Remus would pop in and out – as an active part of the Order, he had places to be and missions to complete, so he wasn't so much a steady presence as Sirius was.
Her dad kept things simple. He didn't try to engage her in any deep and meaningful conversations about their pasts or the family that had been stolen from them so long ago. Instead, he asked her about school, and her friends, and they chatted about the teachers they'd shared and the classes they'd both loved and hated back at Hogwarts.
Eventually they got talking about her art, and one afternoon Winona lamented how she barely got any opportunity to use oil paints on proper canvas. Sirius was quiet and she thought nothing of it, then she woke up the next day to an obscenely large pile of fresh art supplies down in the drawing room.
She turned to gape at him. "Tell me you didn't spend that much money," she begged him. The supplies before her – a sturdy looking easel, a large box full of all manner of paints and brushes, and at least two dozen canvases of varying sizes leant against the wall – had to have easily put him back dozens of Galleons.
Sirius batted her concerns away. "I'm in control of the Black family fortune, Pup," he reminded her. "We're old money. This is nothing. I could buy you an entire art studio, if you wanted. Besides, it's your money too, y'know?"
That made her go quiet, and Sirius watched her as she stared wordlessly at the pile of supplies, the likes of which she'd gone to sleep her whole life dreaming about.
"Win?" he finally asked, sounding unsure.
"I grew up on nothing but a small allowance from the Ministry, and what little I could wring out of my foster parents," she confessed, still staring. They weren't just supplies to her; they were a symbol of her new life. "It's only just occurred to me that I have money now."
Sirius smiled. "Believe me, it gets old eventually."
Winona didn't think that was possible, but she didn't argue the point.
"Come on," he said, gesturing to her heaping pile of supplies. "Let's levitate it all up to your room, and you can get started."
She hesitated. "But I was going to make you some lemon squares today."
"How about we give the poor oven a rest?" he told her lightly. "Besides, if I eat any more of your sweets, I won't be able to fit through the doorway." Winona wasn't convinced, and Sirius' smile widened. "I can see how you're eyeing those canvases. I want to see what you can do with them."
And Winona's resolve broke. "Okay," she said, finally breaking her stare with the supplies to look up at him with a tiny smile. "But I want to paint down here."
He looked surprised. "You do?"
Winona shrugged. "I think it can get a little lonely up there, sometimes."
"Okay," he agreed, seeming pleased with the arrangement. "Down here it is."
They set up the easel and Winona balanced one of the moderately sized canvases on top of it, then sat down to sort through the different paints and brushes and other miscellaneous art supplies he'd gotten for her. It looked like he'd bought Scribbulus' entire art catalogue, and Winona pressed her lips together to try and stem the bubbly feeling in her chest. It was such a sweet gesture, but she got the feeling he was trying to make up for over a decade of missed birthdays and Christmases in one go. She wished she knew how to tell him he didn't need to; that just having him back in her life was present enough.
As she sorted through the basket of supplies – admittedly a little lost in the euphoria of having so many colours and tools at her disposal – Sirius disappeared into the other room. When he returned, it was with a decently sized crate full of what appeared to be old records.
"Do you like to listen to music as you paint?" he asked as he set the crate down on the ornate coffee table.
"I dunno. I've never tried."
"Wanna give it a go?"
Winona nodded, distracted by her new paints as he began to finger his way through the records. They worked in easy quiet for a few minutes, then Sirius chose a record and made his way over to a modest record player in the far corner that she hadn't noticed. For a moment there was the comforting crackle of static, and then the opening notes of a familiar song filled the room.
Winona sat up straight with a gasp. "No way," she said, dropping the brand new paint palette she'd been looking at, turning to stare at him in delight. "Sticky Fingers?"
Now it was Sirius' turn to be surprised. "You know The Rolling Stones?"
"Are you kidding?" she demanded excitedly. "They're my favourite, and this is the best album ever."
Sirius looked rather like someone had thumped him over the head. "This is my favourite album," he said slowly, as if it were a fact that didn't make sense. He hesitated, almost as if unsure he should continue, but whatever he saw in her face seemed to convince him. "I used to play this for you, actually, when you were a baby," he confessed, and Winona's heart stuttered. "When you couldn't sleep, I'd put it on and you'd be out before the end of Wild Horses."
Winona couldn't help but smile. "Not exactly the most child-friendly album."
Sirius didn't look one bit ashamed. "Jess – your mum," he added quickly, as if she needed reminding, and her heart gave another stutter, "she told me that all the time. But it worked every single time, so she couldn't really argue the point."
He had a wistful smile on his face, the kind that hurt to see. She wished she could remember more about Jessica, wished she knew more than the cold facts. She wanted to remember how she smelt, and the way she laughed, and what songs she did think were appropriate for a toddler to listen to at bedtime.
But Jessica was gone, and the only remaining person who could tell her those things was Sirius. She realised with a start that she was ready. Ready to know it all.
For so long she hadn't been. She'd been afraid that learning how she took her tea and whether she was who she'd gotten her dimples from and what her opinions on art as a career choice would be would only make it hurt more. But now, safe in Grimmauld Place with Sirius – in her home, with her dad – she realised there wasn't anything that could hurt her. And maybe it was time to stop being so afraid.
"What was she like?" Winona asked, turning to the blank canvas in front of her so she didn't have to see his face. He said nothing, stunned into silence by the question he'd probably begun doubting would ever come. "You don't have to tell me, if it's too hard to talk about her," she told him quickly, eyes focused on the canvas.
"No, that's not it," Sirius told her, watching as she began to drag the tip of her pencil across the canvas, sketching out a basic idea to build from. "I just wasn't expecting you ask any time soon."
Winona stayed quiet, tracing the wings of a brilliant phoenix surrounded by rings of flickering fire. Sirius took another moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
"She was…full of life," he began softly, the sound of the Rolling Stones record slowly fading into the background. "I used to joke she had music in her bones. She was always singing; sometimes making up songs when she was bored. She played piano – her parents had her take lessons as a kid. She'd play and sing, especially late at night, and I got so used to the sound of her voice…"
She could hear the wistfulness in the words, clinging to his voice like a song of its own.
"It doesn't surprise me that you're creative, like she was," he continued. "She always said she wished she could draw… She'd be so proud of you."
He said that last bit thoughtlessly, like it were just a simple fact of life, but it made her throat go tight and her eyes begin to sting. Winona kept her focus on the canvas in front of her, finishing off her rough sketch with the pencil and moving onto the oil paints. She squeezed an array of warm colours onto the palette, dipped her brush in some red, then held her hand frozen over the top of the canvas.
Sirius was still talking from behind her. "She hated Mondays and loved pasta more than any other food – Moony used to call her Garfield. It was a joke none of us understood until he explained it. After that, it sort of stuck. She always had fresh flowers in the house; she said no home was complete without them."
Sirius' voice faded away, and Winona knew he was lost in his memories, both comforting and painful. Her hand was still hovering over the canvas, some small part of her afraid to mar its pristine surface with her bright paint. But nothing stays perfect forever, and she finally touched her paintbrush to the canvas, painting a streak of fiery red across the expanse of empty white.
"Were she and James close?" Winona asked, a question she'd wondered for awhile now.
"They liked to pretend they weren't," Sirius told her with amusement in his voice. "And they fought like any siblings do; James said she was too bossy, and she said he was too crass. But at the end of the day they loved each other, and she was always there for him…looking out for him, even when he didn't really want her to." He paused, words seeming to get caught in his throat. "You actually remind me of them," he admitted quietly. "You and Harry. The way you are together…sometimes it's a little hard to watch, actually."
Winona said nothing, something about the confession breaking her heart. She stared at her work, but her mind was elsewhere.
"And, y'know, she was maid of honour at the wedding," Sirius continued, forcing his tone to stay light.
That was news to Winona, and she glanced away from the canvas to look at him. "She was friends with Lily, too?"
"She was a year ahead of the rest of us, but she took a shining to Lily just as James did, albeit in a different way. She was a Pure-blood, and Lily was a bright-eyed Muggle-born, so she took her under her wing. They were more like sisters, really."
Winona saw suddenly, in her mind's eye, the four of them with perfect clarity. It wasn't so much a Seer's glance as it was a girl imagining where she'd come from, where her story had begun. James was best friends with Sirius, and Lily was best friends with Jessica, and somehow, amongst that, they all fell in love. That is, if they even had been in love.
"Were you in love with her?" Winona wondered before she knew what she was doing. "Jessica, I mean."
The words couldn't be taken back, and they hung in the air between them like a tangible thing. She could tell Sirius was surprised by the question, and it made her want to smile as she kept her attention on her painting. It took him a moment to answer, but not because he wasn't sure. Rather because the answer was a painful one.
"Very much so," he said quietly, the kind of reverence in his voice that Winona only held for the great painters of the Renaissance era. Winona wondered if anyone would ever sound like that when they talked about her; but something in her doubted it. She was no Mona Lisa.
"You weren't married," she said, and it wasn't a question. She knew they hadn't been married, and some part of her had always wondered why that was.
This time Sirius' silence was sheepish. "I wasn't really the marrying type," he admitted. "I know she wanted to. She was always giving me hints – and you should know, Jess was about as subtle as a freight train – but I wasn't ready. And she knew that; I don't think she minded, really."
"She loved you?" Winona asked, eyes kept firmly to her canvas.
"I'd like to believe she did," he said softly, voice thick with yearning.
She got the feeling it was growing difficult to talk about, so she shifted the focus elsewhere. "And so you, Jessica, Lily and James were all sort of one big foursome?" she wondered lightly. "Did you ever go out on double dates?"
To her surprise, Sirius barked a laugh. "Sometimes, when the girls could wrangle us together."
"And I was left forever the fifth wheel," came a new voice, and both of them turned to see Remus step through the doorway. They'd been so involved in their conversation, they hadn't even heard the front door open. "It was all right, though. I didn't mind. It was just entertaining to watch you and James fall over yourselves around them." He glanced at Winona with an impish look in his warm brown eyes. "Your dad would like you to believe he was always smooth, but the truth is, Jess made him trip over himself like you wouldn't believe."
It was enough to make Winona smile, and her grin widened at the glare Sirius shot his best friend. "Well, she loved David Bowie and knew every nasty hex in the book," he said defensively. "How was I supposed to resist? She was basically the perfect woman."
The three of them fell silent, Sirius' words ringing in the space between them. Was, he'd said. It was a sobering reminder that that woman – the one who loved Bowie and played piano and thought her little brother was a perpetual idiot – she was gone. And she wasn't coming back.
"I got us pizza for lunch," said Remus after a moment, and Winona was glad for the distraction. "Either of you hungry?"
"So hungry I could eat a Thestral," Sirius told him, but the words didn't have the same carefree ring to them. "Coming, Pup?"
"I'll be in soon," she said, returning her focus to her work. "I just wanna finish this outline."
The two men left the room, Sirius turning up the volume of the retro-style turntable as he passed it. Winona certainly had a lot to think about, but she didn't think about it specifically. Rather she let her mind drift as she painted, losing herself in a buzz of indistinct thought and the croon of Mick Jagger's familiar voice.
She painted until the end of the Sticky Fingers' record, then took a short break to wander into the kitchen. Sirius and Remus were engaged in a scathing conversation about someone named Mundungus Fletcher, and Winona waved them away when they tried to change the subject to something she could be involved in.
"S'fine," she said as she piled two slices of pizza onto a plate, already making her way back up to the aptly-named drawing room. "Busy."
The pair of them stared after her as she shuffled out, but her mind was already back on her work. She changed the record as if on auto-pilot, keeping the Rolling Stones theme going and putting on Let It Bleed. The opening notes of Gimme Shelter cut across the warm crackle of record static, and she began to hum along as she chewed absently on her pizza, getting back to work.
The day passed in a pleasant haze of cheesy pizza, colourful paint and great music, but Winona was so unaware of time passing that it was only when the music cut off and Sirius told her she should get to bed that she realised the whole day had passed her by.
"What time is it?" she asked, squinting across the room at her father. It had been hours since she'd looked at something other than the bright reds and yellows of her painting.
"After ten," he told her, amusement on his face. "You've been at this since before lunch."
A little bit sheepish, Winona reluctantly put down her palette and paintbrush. "Sorry. I can get sort of…consumed, sometimes."
"Don't apologise," Sirius said firmly. "I think the fact you're so passionate about painting that you can do it for over twelve hours without stopping is kind of, well, badass."
It was enough to make her laugh. "Thanks?"
Sirius clapped her affectionately on the shoulder, but instead of heading up to bed, Winona went down the stairs to the kitchen, setting about making herself a cup of tea. She wasn't expecting Sirius to follow, but he did, taking a seat at the table and watching her work.
"I think I need some tea if I'm going to be able to get to sleep," she told him to fill the quiet, putting the kettle onto the stovetop to boil. "You want some?"
"Sure," he said, and she fetched a pair of sturdy mugs from the cupboard.
"I was thinking…" she began, slowly spooning sugar into their mugs. Sirius was silent, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. "After what we spoke about this morning…well, I had another question."
Sirius stared at her, surprisingly patient. "Shoot," he said when she paused.
"It's not going to be an easy one," she warned him.
His curious expression softened. "You can ask me anything, Winnie. Anything."
The kettle began to whistle, and although she could have done it by magic, Winona wanted to have something to do with her hands. She picked it up by the handle, carefully pouring the hot water into each mug. She waited until they were both full and she'd taken a seat across from her father, and even then pressing on was difficult.
"What happened that night?" she finally asked, no sense beating around the bush. Sirius' expression was carefully schooled, giving nothing away. He didn't immediately answer, and she felt compelled to elaborate. "The night my mother died – all I know is what little I've been able to piece together from Harry. It was the same day James and Lily died, wasn't it? Halloween, 1981?"
By now Sirius was staring down into his tea, the shine behind eyes haunted in a way she'd only ever seen once before – that fateful night down in the courtyard at Hogwarts, when she'd been reunited with him again after all those years apart.
She wanted to tell him it was okay if he couldn't talk about it – but something stopped her. This was her own history they were talking about, and she had more of a right to know how it happened than anybody. There was a piece of her that had always been missing, and for the longest time she hadn't known what it was.
But this was it, here. She needed to know what happened that fateful night, needed to know who to blame, and whether she'd been there for an event she couldn't remember but had changed the course of her entire life forever.
"There's not really much to tell," Sirius finally said, eyes distant and glassy as they stared into his untouched tea. Winona doubted that were true, but said nothing as he continued on. "Pettigrew betrayed us all. You and Jess weren't under the protection of a Fidelius Charm – we didn't think anyone would go after you. We didn't think it was…necessary, I s'pose. We were so foolish."
Sirius ran a hand down the length of his face, and Winona stared at him, heart aching in her chest. Not for herself, but for him, the man who had seemingly lost both his partner and his daughter in the same day.
"I was on a mission for the Order," he continued after clearing his throat. Winona took a deep drink of her tea, its heat warming her from the inside out. "I'd been away for days. I don't know the specifics of what happened, only that Death Eaters appeared at the house. The rest of the Order was alerted, got there in time to kill the Death Eaters before they could find where you'd hidden.
"I don't know anything more about the raid. Nobody could get ahold of me in time to let me know what had–what had happened. From my point of view, I got back from the mission late that night with the knowledge that Pettigrew was a spy. I went straight to James', since, because of the Prophecy, I assumed they would be the target. I found their bodies and tried to take Harry, but Hagrid wouldn't let me – er, I think you know this bit."
Winona nodded her head slowly, and Sirius finally lifted his tea to his mouth, taking a slurping sip. She pretended not to notice the way his hand trembled as he did.
"Well, I didn't find out about you and Jess until after I was…apprehended…by the Ministry," he continued quietly, that haunted look still in his eyes as he stared at her, like he were looking at a ghost. "Reports said you'd been killed, and Crouch seemed to take pleasure in…taunting me with that knowledge."
Winona felt a surge of hatred for Barty Crouch Sr., but it was pointless. He was already dead and gone, murdered by his own son. Besides, she couldn't deny that the evidence had been perfectly stacked against Sirius. From the Ministry's point of view, she supposed it were something of an open and shut case.
Sirius let the quiet sit awhile, tapping his fingertips against the ceramic of his mug. "Sorry I don't know more," he finally murmured. "If you want to know the specifics, you'll have to ask Remus. He was one of the Order members called to the house. I've never asked for details, myself. Too painful."
Winona said nothing, staring at him, taking in his pallid, sunken appearance. He looked so old, all of a sudden. Older than she knew he actually was.
"Do you ever wish you'd known?" he asked so suddenly that she started, blinking at him in surprise.
"Known what?"
He shrugged like the answer didn't matter, but once he said it, Winona knew it did. "That you were my daughter."
"Yes," she told him, and by the way he looked up in surprise, she knew it hadn't been the answer he'd been expecting. "Of course I wish I'd known."
The look in her dad's eyes was startlingly vulnerable. "Even if the world did think me a murderer?"
She attempted a smile that fell flat. "I grew up thinking I was entirely alone. To know I had a father out there – deranged though he may have been," she slipped in teasingly, and Sirius managed a rueful smile, "and Harry as a cousin – it would have made all the difference in the world."
Sirius leaned forwards. "What was it like?" At her confusion, he elaborated. "Your childhood. You said – that day in the cave…that some of your…foster parents – they hurt you?"
Winona immediately retreated into herself, cupping her hands tightly around her mug even though the ceramic burned her skin, feeling suddenly like the air had gone thin. "You really don't want to know," she told him, barely a whisper.
"No, I do," he pressed stubbornly. "I want to know everything."
And maybe that was true – maybe it was her who didn't want him to know. She'd grown up in a shitty, abusive situation. It wasn't exactly news to anyone. But saying it aloud, it was akin to shoving a serrated knife in her gut and twisting. She'd never really spoken the words aloud before.
Occasionally, in a fit of rage, she'd blurt out something telling; like the placement of her various scars, or the fact there had been periods where she'd gone days without a decent meal. She refrained from telling people – she didn't want their sympathy.
Even the twins – the two people she trusted most in this world – knew only the bare-bones of the situation. She didn't want them to look at her and see only the trauma she'd suffered. She wanted them to see their best friend – the strong, feisty artist they'd come to love. What if she told everyone the truth of what happened to her as a kid, and the image she'd carefully constructed over all these years got swept away by a wave pity?
She wasn't sure she'd survive it.
But looking at Sirius now, staring at her, so open and raw, Winona knew she couldn't feed him the pretty lies she fed everyone else. After all he'd endured, her dad deserved the truth.
So she told him the truth of it, just the fundamental facts of her upbringing. She stayed away from the more traumatic stories, keeping things rather vague, but she didn't lie about any of it. Didn't make it seem easier to bear than it was.
Sirius was stoic as she spoke, the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight. She wondered at one point whether he were even still listening, or whether she might as well have been shouting into the void. But then Sirius said, "Can I see them?"
And she knew he meant her scars. With trembling hands, Winona slowly rolled up the hem of her shirt, just enough to reveal the ugly, twisted scar that marred her otherwise smooth skin. Sirius didn't try to reach out and touch it, in fact, he only looked at it a moment before turning away, like he couldn't bear the sight of it.
Self-conscious, Winona tugged her shirt back into place. Sirius seemed to read her thoughts in her eyes, and pain twisted on his face.
"I'm – Winnie, I'm just so – I'm so sorry," he stumbled over the words some, maybe because they felt so heavy and useless on his tongue.
"It's not your fault," she whispered, staring down into her empty mug. The dregs of her tea gathered at the bottom. Some distant part of her mind wondered whether she should bother trying to read them, but she dismissed it. What did it matter, at this point?
"Yes, it is," Sirius said, self-hatred burning like Fiendfyre in his voice. Winona looked up in surprise, seeing the self-loathing in his voice mirrored in his stormy eyes. "If I hadn't let my need for vengeance get the better of me – if I'd gone home to you, instead of rushing off to confront Pettigrew-"
"Don't do that," Winona told him sternly. "Don't ever do that. Take it from a Seer; the what-ifs will only tear you apart."
Sirius couldn't quite manage a smile. "My own parents – they beat me," he said, blurting it like the words had been stuck beneath the surface, itching to burst free. "And – Winnie – I never wanted that for you," he said, tears in his eyes that made Winona's own eyes burn. "When you were born, I swore that wouldn't happen to you. That I'd raise you right – that you'd be free from that kind of oppression…and I failed you…"
He pressed a hand over his mouth as if to physically keep the words from pouring out, and Winona reached across the table for his other hand, gripping it tight. He met her eyes, pain glittering in their stormy depths – so like her own – and she knew what to say.
"The past is in the past," she told him firmly. "It cannot be changed. But the future can. The future is ours now."
He gripped her hand tightly, like it were the only thing left keeping him from sinking into the hell of oblivion. "I'll never let anybody hurt you, ever again," he vowed. "On everything I am, I swear it."
"I'll never let anybody hurt you, either," Winona swore, and she could feel the oath in her very bones. Along with it came a weighted sort of feeling in her chest, like something was latching onto her heart and trying to drag it into another place; another time.
Her vision began to flicker, and Winona gasped. Her dad called out her name in alarm.
"Get me something to write with," she demanded, her grip on the world already beginning to slip away, the current of time pulling her down beneath the undertow.
"What? Why?" he asked. He'd never seen her in a vision before, didn't know how to react.
"I need something – parchment, a book – anything," she told him urgently. Her vision flickered again, flashes of colour at the edges of her eyes, the vision crowding her head like a smog. "Quickly!"
A moment, then one of the smaller canvases was pressed into her reaching hands, along with a thin stick of charcoal. Sighing with relief, Winona let go and let the current of time take her away.
Flashes of blinding light; a large, cavernous room; a cane with the silvery head of a serpent; cackling laughter, the kind that itched at your skin and turned your blood to ice; her father's voice shouting, "Nice one!"; then a scream that filled every inch of her body. It was familiar, she realised with a twinge, but it took her too long to recognise the voice as her own.
"Winona?!"
She hadn't realised she'd come back to the present until she finally heard her dad's voice calling her name and felt his hands gripping tight to her tense shoulders.
"I'm here," she blurted, coming back to herself. "I'm back."
Relieved to see her back to her usual self, Sirius took a heavy seat on the chair beside her. "Was that a vision?" he asked wearily.
"Yeah," she said, clearing her throat, surprised to find it felt raw.
"Do you always scream like that?"
Winona blinked. "I was screaming?"
"Sirius!" came Remus' voice, followed closely by the loud sound of heavy footsteps clunking against the stairs. Remus finally appeared in the doorway, brandishing his wand, more dishevelled than Winona had ever seen him. "What happened? Winnie? Are you okay? What happened?" he demanded in a panic. "Should I call the Order?"
"Take a breath, Moony," said Sirius with a breathless sort of chuckle. Seeming to finally realise there was no threat, Remus collapsed against the wall, sucking in breaths of air.
"You wear matching pyjama sets to bed?" Winona wondered, eyeing Remus' set of pale blue flannel pyjamas. "Why am I not surprised? You're such a square, Moony."
Sirius laughed, and by now Remus was getting the sense there was really no reason for him to have panicked, and he took another deep breath, looking like he very much regretted leaving bed. "What in Merlin's name did you scream for?" he asked crossly.
Winona held up the small canvas in her hands. "Vision," she told him apologetically. "Sort of unavoidable."
The canvas reminded them all that she had visions for a reason; and as one they all looked down at the sketch she'd blindly etched onto the canvas with her stick of charcoal. It was a simple drawing; a large, stone archway sketched into the centre of the page. As Winona stared down at the archway, pieces of information came back to her.
The evil laughter; the flashes of bright light – like spells being cast; the way she was going to scream out in pure, unadulterated horror sometime in the future. Sirius was saying something, but Winona couldn't hear him. She was lost in the memory of her foreboding glimpse.
"I think I'm going to head to bed," she said before she'd even realised she'd spoken. Whatever the two Marauders were saying came to an abrupt halt, and when she looked up they were staring at her in concern.
"Winnie," said Sirius reproachfully. "What did you see?"
And she knew she'd said she wasn't going to lie to Sirius – but unfortunately, some fates were just inescapable. "Not sure yet," she lied fluently. "I'll try and work it out – let Dumbledore know by the next meeting."
Sirius didn't look particularly convinced, but she hadn't really expected him to.
"I am really tired though," she told them, standing to her feet, the prediction held tight to her chest like if she kept it from ever seeing the light of day, then maybe it would never come true.
"You'd tell us if it was important, right?" Sirius pressed.
Winona could lie no more. "I'll always tell you what I can," she said fairly, something she knew Sirius couldn't argue with. Like she'd predicted, he sealed his lips shut and leaned back in his chair, begrudgingly placated. "Sorry for waking you, Remus. I'll see you both in the morning. Oh, and Sirius," she said, pausing in the doorway. "Thanks for the art supplies. They made me really happy."
Sirius smiled, but the expression in his eyes was tight. "I'm glad, Pup."
With that, Winona escaped up to her room. It remained undecorated, the walls bare and most of her things still stored in the safety of her trunk. Winona shut and locked the door behind her, then set the foreboding sketch on the desk and stared at it for so long her eyes began to sting.
Three things she knew with complete certainty: One, that sometime in the future, she was going to find herself in a cavernous room with an archway in the centre.
Two, that when that time came, Sirius was going to die.
And three, that on her life, she wasn't going to let it happen.
The day the Weasleys arrived at Grimmauld Place came as a total shock. Winona was in the kitchen just after lunch sketching an outline onto a fresh canvas to paint over later while Sirius and Remus stood by the fire nursing glasses of whiskey. They were talking in low voices, not particularly trying to keep her from overhearing, but not going out of their way to include her, either.
Winona didn't care, too busy with her art to be bothered trying to listen in. If it was important enough for her to know, then sooner or later, she would.
The front door opened with a loud creak, and voices filled the hallway. For a long moment they were foreign and indistinct, but then Winona heard the telltale sound of a fake leg thumping against the floorboards, followed by the critical voice of Mrs Weasley.
"Honestly, you'd think this were home to a family of ghouls! Look at the state of things. Oh, we'll be cleaning this up right away. I won't have any family of mine letting this place stay so filthy. What do you think, Arthur? It could do with a little more light, couldn't it? Would it kill someone to open a window?"
Winona looked up at Sirius and Remus with wide eyes, and Sirius was smiling knowingly. He nodded once, a silent confirmation, and Winona abandoned her task, leaping excitedly to her feet.
Mr Weasley appeared first in the doorway, a patient look on his face as his wife rambled on. Mrs Weasley appeared next, and her expression lit up when she saw Winona stood in the middle of the kitchen, a look of eager anticipation on her face.
"Hello, dear!" she said, shuffling along the tight fit of the narrow room to reach Winona, bringing her into a warm embrace. "Oh, it's so good to see you! How have you been? You've been eating enough, I trust?"
More redheads were spilling into the room before Winona could answer, and she lit up even more at the sight of Ron and Ginny, the both of them a sight for sore eyes. But before she could greet them, an impatient voice cut through the noise.
"Win?!" Fred's voice called, and Winona simultaneously perked up and relaxed at the sound of it. "That you?!"
"Fred!" she called, watching as Ginny and Ron were rudely pushed out of the way, making room for Fred to bowl through them. He ran at Winona with all the speed of an overexcited puppy, and she let out a pealing laugh as he swept her into his arms, spinning her playfully around in circles in the middle of the kitchen.
"It's barely been a week," Ron griped to Ginny in an undertone. "You'd think they hadn't seen each other in years."
Winona and Fred ignored him with ease, too wrapped up in each other to care about Ron's sour complaints. "This is where you've been hiding out?" Fred was asking, finally putting her feet back on the floor, long fingers curled around her hips, grounding her like nothing else. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to – Fidelius Charm," she explained, hands still hooked around his neck. He was tall and solid against her, skin radiating warmth that bloomed in her chest, making her heart feel hot. "But you're here now! Is everything okay? You guys are all safe, right? Where's Percy?" she asked, eyeing the gathered group, stomach swooping at the idea that something might have happened to him – even if he was technically her least favourite of the Weasleys.
She wasn't expecting the visceral reaction her innocent question received. Mr Weasley went a rather alarming shade of purple, and tears appeared in Mrs Weasley eyes.
"Y'know, you're kind of a rubbish Seer," said George, appearing in the doorway, an amused look on his face.
"George!" she called, reluctantly letting go of Fred to slide into George's arms, wrapping her own around his middle and holding tight.
"We'll explain the Percy thing later," George whispered surreptitiously in her ear. She nodded against his chest, pulling back just as Sirius interjected, smoothly change the subject.
"Welcome to my home," he said with a perfectly straight face, making it sound like he were awfully proud of the place. The strange reaction of Mr and Mrs Weasley subsided, and they were left speechless. It would be impossible Sirius hadn't heard Mrs Weasley's criticism of the house as they'd entered. She looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
"Sirius, be nice," Winona scolded him, leaving George's side and moving automatically to Fred's. She slipped her hand into his, holding tight. "Sorry about him, Mrs Weasley. He thinks he's funny."
"I am funny!" argued Sirius, but he went ignored.
"We know this place is a dump," she continued like he hadn't spoken. "We've tried to tidy up a bit, but the house has been empty over a decade now, you see, so it's rather a big job."
"Well," said Mrs Weasley with a thin smile, "now that we're all here, it should go much quicker."
Ginny and the twins let out matching groans, suddenly seeing their futures as clearly as if they were Winona; and it was going to involve a horrendous amount of cleaning.
"Why don't I show you to your rooms?" asked Sirius. "You can all get settled in."
Mr Weasley agreed, and with Sirius at the front the lot of them began to make their way back up the stairs that led to the other floors of the house.
Ginny's room was first. "I put you by yourself, but with room for Hermione, when she arrives tomorrow," Sirius told the youngest Weasley.
Nobody missed the way Mrs Weasley curled a protective arm around her daughter's shoulders. Although it was a little offensive, Winona couldn't find it in her to blame Mrs Weasley. As far as they knew, until very recently, Sirius Black had been the most dangerous mass-murderer in Britain.
They dropped Ron off at his room a floor up. "Same with you, Ron, with room for Harry," Sirius said, waving Ron into a small, shadowed room with a bed pressed to either wall.
"Great," said Ron with a tentative smile. "Thanks."
Another floor up and they reached Mr and Mrs Weasley's room. Sirius led them inside, showing them where they could put their things and letting them know where the nearest bathroom was. The room beside theirs belonged to Remus, so they skipped over that one, and the one at the back of the floor was designated Fred and George's.
Sirius waved them in. "It's rather small, but I'd say you're probably used to sharing tight spaces," he said jovially.
"Yeah, of course," said George, clapping Sirius on the shoulder with easy familiarity. It took Winona by surprise, but that was the twins – they'd give anyone a chance. Even an escaped convict. "We don't mind. No doubt Fred'll be bunking with Winnie most of the time, anyway."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Winona watched the realisation trickle over George that he'd just said that to her father. Winona pressed a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter at both George's horror and Fred's bright red ears.
Sirius looked less than impressed, and it was enough to sober her some. To her surprise, he didn't immediately outlaw it. Winona got the feeling he was doing his best to honour what he'd said when she'd first arrived – that he might be her father, but he wouldn't try to control her life.
Instead, he turned to Fred with danger in his eyes. Although Winona knew Sirius wasn't actually a cold-blooded murderer, in that moment, it was easy to imagine he could be. "I should warn you, I have the room right beside Winnie's," he told Fred, slow and deliberate. "And the walls are thin."
By now Fred's whole face was fire-engine red. "Um, I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said, sounding choked.
Winona smothered another laugh, and Sirius grinned innocently, clapping her boyfriend cheerfully on the shoulder. "Call me Sirius," he said, but there was a threat in the words that you'd have to be deaf to miss. Fred went from red to white in an instant.
There were footsteps on the landing, and Mrs Weasley poked her head through the doorway. If she was suspicious about what they were talking about, she didn't show it. "We're calling a little meeting downstairs in ten minutes, Mr Black. Just to talk about the rules of your house, mealtimes, that sort of thing."
"Sirius is fine, Molly," he said with an easy smile, and Mrs Weasley attempted one in return. She slipped from the room without a look back. He turned to Winona with raised brows. "Rules of my house?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion. "Er, is it bad that I can't think of any?"
"Yes," said Winona solemnly. "It means you're a terrible parental figure."
Sirius just rolled his eyes. "See you in ten," he said, ruffling her hair in the way she always did to Harry, making her wonder if it was something she'd gotten from him after all, then giving the three of them some space to get reacquainted.
"You two seem close," said George, pulling a miniaturised trunk from his pocket and laying it on his bed. With a flick of his wrist it grew to its usual size, and he opened it, already beginning to unpack. "Been good, staying here with him?"
It was hard to concentrate on what George was saying. Winona distracted by the way Fred's fingers were drawing shapes into the small sliver of skin revealed by the hem of her shirt. "Been great," she told him succinctly. "We've been getting to know one another. It's actually been really…nice," she said, swallowing back a giggle as Fred's fingers danced over a ticklish spot.
George looked up from where he was sorting through his novelty sock collection. "Oh, all right, I get it," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Go…canoodle, or whatever is you so desperately need to do. I'll just sit here and sort through my sock collection alone like an idiot, shall I?"
They'd both stopped listening. "Thanks, mate," said Fred distractedly, Winona already tugging him towards the door. George called something scathing after them, but neither cared enough to hear it.
"This way," whispered Winona eagerly, taking hold of the front of Fred's shirt and using it to tug him along. "I'm upstairs."
Fred went with her without a word, hands still holding tight to her hips, like he were half afraid she might disappear if he let go. He was on her the moment they were on the upstairs landing and could kiss without the danger of breaking their necks on the stairs.
Winona laughed into his eager kiss, still gripping his shirt in a tight fist, dragging him across the landing to her bedroom door. It was ajar, swinging open when she all but threw Fred against it. He tripped inside with a very unsexy yelp that made her laugh, and she quickly shut and locked the door behind her, sealing them inside.
But he didn't care she was laughing at him – he just wanted to be kissing her. They met in the middle, his arms winding solidly around her waist, tugging her so she was flush against him. Winona sighed into his mouth, bringing her hands up to thread them through his hair. Something was different, and she pulled back with a blink. Fred chased her lips, but she was stubborn.
"You got a haircut?" she asked in surprise, eyeing his new, shorter hair.
"Mum finally snapped and sat us down to cut it," he chuckled, hands still gripping her waist. "You really didn't notice until now?"
She grinned, pushing up onto her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I was so happy to see you, I guess I overlooked it."
"Do you like it?" he asked, rubbing his fingertips up and down her spine, causing little sparks of desire to tickle at her nerves.
She hummed a yes, dipping her hands back into his red hair, the shorter length of it feeling different, but something she could definitely get used to. "Suits you," she told him with an impish look in her eyes.
"Yeah?" he asked, pleased.
She laughed, tugging his head back down to her level so she could kiss him again, slanting their mouths together and all but climbing onto him in her enthusiasm. He gave a muffled grunt as his hands wrapped around her thighs, hefting her up against him and pressing her back soundly into the closed door.
He broke away from her ardent kisses to take a much-needed breath. "Miss me?" he asked playfully.
She rocked her hips into his and tugged him back to her by his hair. "So much," she said, swallowing his groan.
"Don't do that," he said when they pulled away again. "I have to go downstairs in five minutes and somehow look your father in the eye, y'know?"
She pouted dramatically. "Are you really thinking of my father at a time like this?" she asked him, tugging gently at his hair, just enough to make a pleasurable shiver run down the length of his spine.
"No," he said earnestly. "I'm really not."
There were about three minutes of wonderful, wonderful bliss before their amorous snogging and wandering hands were interrupted by the shrill, unwelcome shout of Mrs Weasley.
"Fred! George!" she shouted impatiently, voice muffled by the door but clear all the same. "Time to come down."
With a shared sigh of disappointment, Winona unwound her legs from around Fred's waist and slid reluctantly to the floor. His hands glided up her thighs back to her hips, which he grabbed and held tight. She drifted forwards until her forehead bumped against his clavicle, wrapping her arms around his middle and burrowing her face into his neck.
He smelt exactly the same as he always did – like fresh soil and that ashy smell in the air after fireworks had just gone off. It was more comforting than anything else in the world, and she breathed it in like an addict.
"We're not going to get any time alone here, are we?" Fred sighed into her hair, seeming to breathe her in just the same.
She giggled against his neck. "We're going to try," she promised him. "And that's probably going to be half the fun."
Very reluctantly they made their way from her room, meeting up with George on the floor below and making their way down the stairs together to make it less obvious she and Fred had just been necking in her bedroom.
She wound her arm through George's as they walked. "I only just noticed your hair," she told him lightly.
"Well, I imagine you were rather distracted," he said, amusement warm in his voice.
"A little," she replied, the furthest thing from ashamed. She glanced back at Fred, shooting him a playful wink that made him laugh.
"D'you like it?" George wondered, much as his twin had, reaching up to fuss with the newly cut hair. "I wanted to keep it long – but mum said we were looking too much like Bill and made us cut it."
"It looks brilliant," she assured him. "Where is Bill, by the way? I thought since he moved back he'd be staying with you."
"Nah," said Fred as they made their way down the final staircase. "He's got his own place in Diagon Alley – close to Gringotts. Makes it easier for him to get to and from work."
"Is he part of the Order?"
The twins paused as they made their way into the kitchen. "The Order?" asked George curiously.
Winona opened her mouth to answer him, but she was interrupted by a stern bark of her name. Surprised, she looked up to see Sirius eyeing her meaningfully and she realised with a start that, in the excitement of it all, she'd nearly forgotten all about the Unbreakable Vow she'd made.
Mr and Mrs Weasley, along with the rest of their brood, all sat at the table with glasses and a pitcher of water being passed around. Remus and Mad-Eye were stood against the wall, while Sirius was sat at the head of the table, putting down that morning's copy of the Prophet as he saw them ready to begin.
"Take a seat, you three," Mrs Weasley ordered them sternly.
"Well," said Fred once they were seated, Winona between the two of them. "This is ominous."
Mr Weasley sat forwards in his chair. "There's just a few things we want to go over with you all. Now that we're here, we can talk freely."
"Yeah, and where exactly is here?" George wondered. "It looks like it belonged to Death Eaters."
"That's because it did," said Sirius, and the twins sobered at the blunt answer. "It was my family's house, and let's just say they weren't known for their sunny dispositions. Now that they're all gone, it belongs to me. I offered it to Dumbledore as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix."
"Yeah, but what is the Order of the Phoenix?" Ron asked, desperate for some answers.
Remus stepped forwards, using what Winona had come to call his 'teacher-voice' as he explained what the Order was, why they were operating out of Sirius' decrepit house, and why it all had to be kept so secret.
"You're part of a secret society?" George asked his parents, face scrunched as he considered it. "That's so cool."
Mrs Weasley looked exasperated, but Mr Weasley just smiled in quiet amusement.
"So, the aim is to fight You-Know-Who even though the Ministry says it's all bollocks?" asked Fred, rocking on the two back legs of his chair. "Brilliant. Where do we sign up?"
Mrs Weasley's eyes flashed. "You will not be signing up for anything, Fred Weasley."
There was a low thump as all four of Fred's chair legs hit the floor. "What?" he asked, blindsided. "Why not?!"
"Because you're still in school. It's not proper," she was vehemently shaking her head. "When you've graduated – maybe then we can discuss-"
"But we're of age!" shouted Fred. "You can't stop us!"
Her eyes flashed again, this time in warning, and even Winona was a little bit afraid. "I most certainly can," she said, voice sharp enough to cut diamond.
"Molly, dear…" sighed Mr Weasley, already mopping nervously at the bald spot on his head.
"No," said Mrs Weasley, eyes like fire. "I will not have any of them signing up, Arthur. I'm putting my foot down. I simply won't allow it."
And Mr Weasley clearly knew he was fighting a losing battle, and he relented with a sigh. Remus stepped forwards again, looking exceptionally awkward in the wake of the argument. "Being this our headquarters, we'll be holding frequent meetings here-"
"Which means you're all to stay in your rooms until you're told you're allowed to wander about," interjected Mrs Weasley in a harsh voice. Mr Weasley looked like he was contemplating stepping in, but not even the most courageous Gryffindor would wade into that mess.
"What, so we're not allowed to know anything?" Ron asked hotly.
"No, you're not," snapped Mrs Weasley. "You're too young. It's no business of yours."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," scoffed Fred. "We're seventeen. We deserve to be in there as much as anyone. Tell them, Win!"
Eyes flew to Winona, and she shrank back in her chair, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. "Uh, well, Mrs Weasley," she began, mouth dry, "if I'm allowed in the Order, I don't see why the twins can't-"
"You're in the Order?" Mrs Weasley demanded shrilly, outraged.
Winona winced. "Technically?"
The twins were gaping at her, and she felt strangely guilty, even though she knew she'd done nothing wrong. "And whose idea was that?" Mrs Weasley demanded.
"Dumbledore's," said Mad-Eye in a no-nonsense growl.
"But she's still in school-"
"Winona's of age," Sirius reminded her. "And although I don't feel like it's really my decision, I did give my blessing as her father."
Mrs Weasley seemed utterly speechless, staring at them all like they'd gone barmy.
Sensing she needed some reassurance, Sirius continued on. "Winnie's not an active member," he told her soothingly. "She doesn't go out on missions. She doesn't even leave the house. She's in the Order because her knowledge and insight are invaluable to us. Dumbledore said it himself; we can't win this war without her. But she's not in any unnecessary danger, Molly. Do you think I'd allow it if she was?"
And not even Mrs Weasley, stubborn as she was, could argue with that.
"Well, you might as well read us into the Order right now, then," said Fred importantly, "because if Winnie's a part of it, then there's no way George and I won't hear about everything anyway."
And now the guilt had a reason for being there, and she hated it. "Er, actually…" she said awkwardly, and both the twins turned to stare at her in disbelief. "Not that I don't want to tell you everything – you know I do – but I sort of…" she trailed off unsurely.
"You sort of what?" Fred demanded.
Winona could only make a nervous humming noise. "Dumbledore's condition for her joining the Order was an Unbreakable Vow," Sirius said so she wouldn't have to. "Winona literally cannot tell either of you anything."
Fred was staring at her in shock, and Mrs Weasley had gone pale. "Winona," she said in stark disapproval. "Why would you do such a thing?"
Winona didn't quite like her tone. Mrs Weasley was a lot of things to her, an incredibly important part of her life, but that didn't make her Winona's mother, or even as good as. "I made my decision," she said strongly, refusing to give. "It's done."
Mrs Weasley suddenly looked like she were about to cry. The guilt returned with a vengeance, and Winona sighed.
"The Order needs me," she told Mrs Weasley firmly. "Harry needs me. I did what I had to do to help. This is war, Mrs Weasley. We're all going to have to make sacrifices."
Mrs Weasley burst into tears, and Winona sat back in alarm. The plump woman climbed out of her chair and shuffled along the wall to reach Winona, plucking her from where she sat and drawing her into a wet hug.
"Oh, dear Merlin," she cried into Winona's shoulder. "Such a heavy weight on your shoulders, Winona. I don't mean to nag. I know you're doing your best. Oh, sweet girl…"
Mr Weasley stood to pat her comfortingly on her back. "C'mon, Molly," he said gently. "Give Winona some room to breathe. Why don't we put on some tea?"
Reluctantly pulling away, Mrs Weasley wiped at her eyes and shot Winona an unconvincing smile before shuffling over to put on the kettle.
There was a minute of cautious silence, then, "Does this mean George and I can join the Order now?"
"If they're joining, there's no way I'm not," interjected Ron. Sirius dropped his face into his hands, exhausted already, and Winona shut her eyes with a sigh. Fred began to push the point, telling his mum all the reasons why he would be an asset to their ranks, George at his side. Ginny joined in, but her arguments were mostly based on her parents' ageist decision making skills.
Mr Weasley had finally had enough. "Nobody's joining the Order!" he shouted with enough force to silence his family. They stared all at him in surprise. "Nobody's joining the Order, and that's final," he said in a more mild tone of voice, and not even the twins dared argue with that.
As the kettle began to whistle it was ready, Mrs Weasley spoke. "It should go without saying, but nobody's to ask Winona anything about Order business," she said, giving the twins a meaningful look. "It'll be hard enough as it is, keeping quiet, without you lot begging her for something she can't give you."
It was unexpectedly thoughtful, and Winona smiled at Mrs Weasley in gentle thanks. She smiled back, still just a little bit teary.
"Now, Sirius," she continued as she began to pour them all tea. "Why don't you tell us the rules of the household?"
Sirius blinked. Clearly he'd been hoping her comment from before wouldn't eventuate into anything.
"Erm – can't think of much," he confessed a little woodenly. "Oh, er, don't go into the master bedroom on the second floor."
"Why not?" Ginny asked immediately.
"Buckbeak lives there."
Mrs Weasley frowned in confusion. "Who, exactly, is Buckbeak?"
Sirius began to explain, as best he could, exactly who and what Buckbeak was. But Winona wasn't listening. Instead she was fretting about the twins' reaction to what they'd just been told. Were they mad at her? Were they going to hold it against her, agreeing not to tell them anything about the meetings? Did they see it as a sort of betrayal?
Somehow sensing her unease, Fred's hand slid onto her thigh underneath the table. There was nothing sexual about the touch, it was just a gentle, reassuring presence. It seemed to say:
I'm not angry with you. I'm worried about you. Are you okay?
Winona took his hand in both of hers, holding tenderly and tracing patterns onto the back of his hand with her fingertips. It was both an answer and a thank you.
Thank you. I adore you. I'm fine.
"Well, as a thank you to Sirius for letting us stay in his home," Mrs Weasley began once Sirius could pull no more random rules out of his arse, "we're going to clean this place until it's spotless."
Ron's jaw dropped open in disbelief. "The whole house?"
"Yes, Ron, the whole house."
"But that'll take us weeks!"
"Well, then we'd better get started."
"Actually, Molly, why don't you give them the night off?" said Sirius quickly, and they turned to look at him, the kids all shocked he'd dared speak out against the Weasley matriarch. "As much as this place could do with a clean, I think they're entitled to at least one night of decent rest before the work begins. Don't you?"
Mrs Weasley couldn't possibly disagree without looking like the bad guy, so she reluctantly nodded her head. "All right," she said reluctantly, turning back to her children. "You can spend the rest of the night relaxing. But tomorrow I expect each of you up early to begin cleaning."
"Yes, mum," her brood chimed robotically.
Winona caught Sirius' eye across the table. "Thank you," she mouthed. Her dad winked back playfully and it lightened the weight on her heart.
Mrs Weasley promptly sent them all off on their own for the hour or so before dinner to give her some space in the kitchen to work. Ginny and Ron disappeared immediately, off to do their own thing, but the twins stayed with Winona.
As much as she'd have loved to drag Fred back up to her room to finish what they'd started earlier, she knew they couldn't abandon George like that. Besides, she'd missed hanging out with them as friends. Sometimes, in amongst all the changes, it was easy to forget that was what they all were at the core; best friends.
"Wanna see my makeshift art studio?" she asked, fingers intertwined with Fred's with one hand, the other tugging George impatiently by the elbow. "I mentioned to Sirius that I wanted to start using canvas again, and I woke up the next morning to this massive pile of supplies."
She pulled them up the stairs to the first floor sitting room where she'd set herself up. The couch had once been in the centre of the room, but she'd pushed it back to make space for her easel, and now you had to shuffle around it awkwardly to get into the room, but Winona didn't care.
"Wow," said Fred, moving over to the row of canvases she'd lined up along the wall to dry. She let go of his hand to let him wander, moving instead to the canvas atop the easel where her latest project lay half finished. "I don't think I've ever seen you work with oil paints before," he murmured as he strolled down the line of artwork.
"I can't very well work with them at Hogwarts, can I?" she asked. "It's too messy. The girls would never let me make a studio out of the dorm, no matter how much I begged."
"So what've you been doing with your time, other than painting?" asked George as he took a seat on the couch, bouncing twice on the springy cushion.
"Spent awhile baking," she admitted. "But Sirius complained he was getting fat and bought me all this equipment, so I've mostly just been hauled up in here, listening to records and painting."
"And how are things going with Sirius?" Fred asked, moving away from her row of masterpieces to wrap an arm around her middle, almost like he were anchoring himself to her. It made her heart flutter and she wrapped her own arms over top of his.
"Really well," she confessed. "Incredibly well. Unexpectedly well."
"You two've been talking, then?"
"Yeah," she nodded, leaning back against Fred, feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin as her boyfriend slowly began to rock from side to side with her in his arms, like a dance without the music. "We actually, um, we talked about my mum."
Fred never paused in his rocking, but when he spoke, his voice held surprised. "Really?"
"Thought you were holding back from that till you were ready," said George from where he'd picked up the sketchbook she'd left laid on the couch and conjured a pencil absentmindedly. She opened her eyes as he began to sketch halfheartedly on a blank page.
"Guess I decided I was ready," she murmured.
"And?" Fred asked quietly. "What'd you learn?"
"Not much," she admitted. "She played piano and liked to write songs. She hated Mondays and loved pasta, so her Moony called her Garfield. She always had flowers in her house, and she really, really loved her little brother."
Her eyes had turned distant and glassy, and Fred's arms tightened around her. "Well, that's an awful lot more than you knew last week," he said optimistically. It made Winona smile; trust Fred to always see the positives.
A thought came to her suddenly, and her expression darkened as she remembered what she'd drawn the night before. She opened her mouth to tell the twins on instinct, but something stopped her. Maybe telling people wasn't a good idea; maybe this was one of those things she was meant to keep close to her chest.
She trusted the twins with everything she was; but this wasn't a burden she could share lightly. This was too important. Maybe it was even the answer to her oldest question: why she even had these abilities in the first place.
Could it be that the stars had aligned to give her this gift with one very specific purpose? To save her father in the not-so distant future? Because she knew, deep in her bones, that this was her new mission in life. She was going to save Sirius Black.
A/N: Grimmauld Place domestics are one of my favourite things to write. Didn't get much of a response on the last chapter, so I'm really, really hoping you guys are still enjoying this story. What did you think of this one? What are you hoping to see in this OotP section of the story?
ALSO: just to clear something up, I've been getting messages telling me that someone is uploading my stories to AO3, and I'd like to reassure you all that it IS me. My pen name over there is ImaginationFever, if you were curious. Thanks to everyone who let me know, though! Never stop checking, because if it hadn't been me, there's no way I ever would have known. You're the best!
Spotlight review goes to: Raven that flies at night – because you mentioned wanting to read about Jessica Potter, and so I hope you enjoyed this glimpse of her. There will be plenty more Jessica content in the future, perhaps even a flashback or two (though not for awhile yet).