Mum's an early riser, so I stuff the paper beneath my mattress as soon as I return to my room. There will be leisure to peruse it later. Time now for a shower. I don't expect Violet to be up for hours, given how late we stayed up talking, but I suppose our late-night explorations of the Hogwarts corridors have altered her circadian rhythm, because by the time I dress and step out of the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping a towel around my head, voices are coming from the front room.

I take a few steps in that direction and stop as the murmurs coalesce into words.

"...him, isn't it? Annie's father?"

"Yes." I can see them in my mind, standing before the pockmarked mantle, which has always held, for reasons clear only to Mother, a penknife and a single Persian slipper, smelling of tobacco. I can see the photo in my mind, too. A digital one, slightly pixelated, taken on an early smartphone with a none-too-impressive camera. There are better photos, but this one is Mum's favorite, and I know why: it's because he's smiling, dispensing for once with the blank expression he usually wore in life. Smiling at me, in his arms.

I have no memory of that smile. Just a tall, lean, distracted figure, a deep voice, a cashmere scarf. That, and a picture in my mind of how he died. I didn't see it happen, but Mother was honest with me, as she always is about death. And the image in my mind is as vivid as though I was there.

"Annie said he's…"

"Dead, yes. Suicide."

"Merlin," says Violet's voice shakily. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't know."

Mum pauses. I picture her lips pursed in thought.

"Does she talk about him?"

"Annie? Only if I ask."

"And have you?"

"Not really," says Violet, and I bless her silently. Our conversation about the Slytherin attitude toward Muggleborns is one I warned her to keep from my mother.

"I won't tell you otherwise," Mum says, and sighs. "Just…stay close, won't you, Violet? Andrea's lucky to have you."

"And I'm lucky to have her. Who else is crazy enough?"

Violet's visit lasts three days. When she has gone, I pull my accumulated pile of newspapers from their hiding place. I can't keep stealing the landlady's newspaper every morning - she might mention it to Mother. And it's too much to hope that Mum won't hear me getting up every morning to "borrow" it. Getting a hold of an extra copy in the Muggle world is simplicity itself, but what about when I'm at Hogwarts?

That's a worry for later, I decide, and flip to the police report.

With the Floo Network connecting our homes, summer is less a series of visits than a flurry of them. I get to know Violet's family, who live in a suitably spacious country home in Northern England, and which consists mostly of a blur of older brothers bearing Violet's usual mischievous grin. After a hurried conversation Mr. Asaju consents, albeit with a frown, to maintaining the falsehood that I am a halfblood; the brothers recognize me from Hogwarts and do not inquire. Violet's harried blonde stepmother, likewise, is generally either holed up in her study or too occupied chasing her son Remy around the place to offer more than a friendly hello.

Unaccustomed to small children, I find Remy himself a constant amusement. He is of the kleptomaniacal turn common to toddlers, and is usually to be found running about the yard with a wand stolen from one or the other of his half-siblings. I find his bouts of infantile magic fascinating, whether they involve graffitied fences or the accidental shrinking of the neighbor's cat. I remember nothing similar from my own early childhood. Perhaps it was a mercy to my mother that I never had access to a wand.

True to her word, Mum accompanies Violet and I to Diagon Alley to purchase our next year's school supplies and my new owl. To Violet's intense annoyance, the trip turns into a mother-daughter one when her stepmother manages to divest herself of both writing and toddler long enough to come along. Mrs. Asaju burbles happily about her Hogwarts days while Violet pulls faces behind her back. I'm not certain why. I find the chatter harmless, if a little dull. Not until Mum asks about her career does the conversation turn to deeper topics.

"Now that's a dangerous question," Mrs. Asaju says, with a touch of her former humor. "Etuna says I'm worse than old Binns when I get going about my writing. You know something of the wizarding war, I presume?"

"I do not," Mother says, eyes narrowing as they slide towards me. I shrug and mutter something about my disinterest in history.

"That's a shame, Andrea," says Mrs. Asaju earnestly, brushing back a wisp of blonde hair that has escaped its bun. "There's plenty to be learned from history, if you look in the right places. The problem is knowing where to look, where to go for primary sources. That's what ought to be taught in History of Magic, if you want my opinion. Lack of critical thinking is what escalated the war in the first place…but I'm beginning to drone already."

"Drone away, Mum," says Violet, catching my hand as we turn a corner and The Leaky Cauldron comes into view. "Andrea and I will catch you later!"

I'm about to protest - I'd love to see Mum's expression when we enter Diagon Alley - but Violet gives a meaningful shake of her head and dives for the door of the tavern. I manage a few words to Mum about meeting on the steps of Gringotts before I'm yanked inside.

"Merlin, Violet," I mutter. "I just left my Muggle mother at the mercy of a history lecturer and all of Diagon Alley. What's wrong with you?"

"You don't know Bridget," Violet pants, giving a little wave to the ancient hunchbacked bartender as we step into the back alley. "Her lectures get…interactive. Your mum asks about the war, You-Know-Who comes up, and if you and I stick around, my stepmum will be asking us about the modern Slytherin attitude towards Muggleborns in no time. It's not worth the risk."

"But now I don't know what she's saying to my mum," I protest, whipping my wand out of my pocket. "Too much wizarding lore, and I never make it back on the Hogwarts Express. I've told you how Mum is about danger."

"There's nothing for it but to hope for the best." Violet watches with interest as the mildewed bricks shiver and rearrange beneath the taps from my wand. "You can't keep this stuff from your mum forever, can you?"

"I thought I could, but like I said, something's different. She's interested in magic now. I walked in on her reading my Herbology book the other day, did you know that?"

"Reading textbooks for fun? Is that supposed to surprise me after a year with you?"

"Hilarious," I say, squinting in the sudden sunlight. "And you don't know my mum. She doesn't interact with things that make her uncomfortable."

"Crowded today," Violet remarks, as we step into the alleyway. "Things like what?"

"People. Death. School principals. Magic."

"Go back to that second one for a minute."

I sigh.

"She told you she's a doctor, right? You know what that is?"

"A Healer, I think. Only they cut people up, for some reason."

"In this case, you're right. Mum is…was…a pathologist."

"What's that?"

"The kind of doctor who cuts up dead people."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Why would anyone do that?!" Violet demands.

"To see how they died, mostly."

"Isn't that usually pretty obvious?"

"You'd be surprised. But the point is, Mum doesn't do that anymore. Not since my dad…"

"Right," Violet says quickly. "I guess that makes sense. But I can't picture my stepmum suddenly giving up history, for any reason. Or my father his work at the Ministry."

"Maybe they're built different. But Mum's avoidant, always has been."

"So you didn't think she'd be into magic."

"Not with the trouble it's given us. She wouldn't even set foot in Diagon Alley last year. I barely asked."

"You made your way around here on your own?" Violet asks incredulously, scanning the bustling road.

"It wasn't difficult. I just sort of followed anyone my own age. Made it to Madame Malkin's, Ollivanders, and Flourish and Blotts that way."

"And your mum was okay with that?"

"That's something you should know about me by now, Vi. I don't often ask."

Violet snorts. "Still, she must have noticed when you showed up with a cauldron and a pile of schoolbooks. Where did you even get the money?"

"Muggles have a saying: It's better to ask forgiveness than permission. Mum wasn't thrilled when she found out I went on my own, but she didn't press the point. She was just sort of…folded into herself. Like usual. It's this new Mum I don't know what to do with."

"New-?"

"She's here," I say, gesturing toward the mouth of the alleyway. "Do you know how much that says? I half blame you for it."

Violet grins. "Have I lulled her into a false sense of security?"

"You and your lovely, normal, respectable parents. I'm sure we'll see something of a paradigm shift when she realizes the apothecaries are selling virulent toxins to twelve-year-olds."

"But you're still worried about the Muggleborn thing."

"I'd rather not push it, that's all. Hey, you dragged me away before I could hit up Gringotts. All I've got on me are Muggle banknotes. We'd better reconvene with the mums."

"Not until they're past that shop," Violet says, peering around a corner and pointing. "Three…two…one…phew."

"Um."

"Beauty potions. Bridget drags me in there every time we walk past. Thinks it's a mother-daughter thing, even though I've told her a thousand times that I prefer Quality Quidditch Supplies. But your mum's got her distracted today, thank Merlin."

"Not too distracted, I hope." We head in the direction of Gringotts. "Is there a period of wizarding history that isn't dark and bloody?"

"Is there a period of yours?"

"Touche. Also, I wouldn't know."

"The prodigals return," says Mum, as we draw near. "And I thought we'd have to tempt you with that." She points to Fortescue's, with its brilliant flashing sign advertising every flavor of ice cream under the sun, including several that should never have seen the light of day.

Still. The dark chocolate raspberry catches my eye.

"Holding you to it, Mum," I say, and she smiles.

"Bridget tells me I need to exchange some bills, first. Is this the bank?"

"Do you see another building around here coated in gold and marble? Goblins don't hold back."

"Uh huh…" Mum says skeptically, taking in the ominous little verse at the entrance. "I know I'm new here, Annie, but you really shouldn't make fun-"

She cuts off as we walk into the lobby and she spots her first goblin, weighing an emerald the size of my head.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, ma'am," says Violet, and grins.