Chapter 15: Friday

"Ergh, all of this ice cream is going to give me a stomach ache."

Dagmar looked over at her mum. The two of them sat up against the headboard of her mum's bed, the torches low as they shared a bowl of what the house elves made for them by special request.

Dagmar frowned. "You've hardly had any. Eat more."

Her mum's tongue poked out, as if there was too much food in her system to keep it in place.

"Keep going," Dagmar told her. "You lost so much weight in Azkaban that I can see the ribs in your chest. That's not good, Mum. If you can't stomach full meals yet at dinner, you're going to have to humour me on calorie-dense foods like this."

"I had plenty." Her mum held a hand up when Dagmar tried again to hand her the bowl. "You go ahead. You're a little slimmer than I remember you being at the end of last summer too."

"That was on purpose. Sort of," Dagmar added before taking another small bite. "I think I lost some weight after Draco and I moved to Bergen. We hiked a lot. Between his schedule at the reserve and mine at the hospital, food was sort of an afterthought sometimes. But we always made sure we ate well."

Her mum softened as Dagmar talked, then rested her head on Dagmar's shoulder. "It sounds like such a lovely life."

"It is." Dagmar's chest ached for it. "I can't wait to go home."

"I hope I'll get to see it," her mum replied. Dagmar had already opened the door on her coming to visit, but that depended on whether or not she would be allowed. Even if her mum avoided Azkaban, there was no telling yet what compromise the British Ministry might demand. "Even Bella said she liked it there."

Dagmar scoffed lightly. "We basically waited on her, hand and foot. I'm sure she could've lived off crisps and sweets."

"Probably. I'll tell you, the food in Azkaban leaves much to be desired. After how long Bella spent in there, I hardly blame her for wanting things that would've been considered beyond treats in there. I still think about the chocolate bar Harry gave me." Dagmar's mum's gaze softened. "It wasn't even anything special. It had hazelnuts, but that was it."

"You only want treats after Azkaban?" Dagmar held the ice cream out to her mum again, cheeks pinched against the grin that tried to emerge. "Here, then."

Her mum scoffed with a light scowl before taking the bowl. "Fine."

It was strawberry, her mum's favourite. Dagmar hid her spoon down between the edge of her thigh and the bed so that her mum wouldn't get the idea she waited for it to be handed back.

Her mum slowed down anyway with a glance at the clock. Midnight approached. A sigh preceded her mum's return to poking at the melted treat.

"I can't believe it's already been a year," she said for about the tenth time since that morning. "A year since I last talked to him. A year since we shared a bed."

Dagmar's throat ached at the sentiment. "I wish I had one more chance to talk to him. At least the last time I saw him was good. It was some sort of goodbye. Maybe not for the purpose we intended, but. . ."

Her mum trembled slightly, bottom lip held tight between her teeth. "Given how it happened, you were clearly the last thing he thought of."

"Ja," Dagmar whispered. "I guess we can just be happy we ever had the chance to know him in the first place."

Her mum sniffled with her nod. Her head found easy purchase on Dagmar's shoulder again when Dagmar put an arm around her.

"Thank you for meeting him," Dagmar said. "For marrying him. For letting him be my dad."

Her mum nudged Dagmar. "You had as much to do with that as I did."

"Tell me about it," Dagmar requested. "I always assumed you and Dad met at Kapsferd. I don't know how it actually happened."

Revisiting their years in Tromsø perked Dagmar's mum up. Dagmar knew now she'd lived there, but she hadn't been able to separate it from Bergen in her young memories. The Lyngen Alps and the bookshop were things Dagmar hadn't questioned belonged somewhere other than Bergen. Her dad had worked for the tourism office at the Norwegian Ministry, so she figured the hikes she got taken on were due to that. The bookshop, she supposed her mum had a job that she eventually quit once they'd moved out of that flat in the city to the house up on the hill.

Her mum started to grow tired. It showed first in how her back slid down the headboard, and then she started yawning. When she rubbed her eyes, there were footsteps on the foyer stairs out of Dagmar's line of sight.

"I'll be right back," Dagmar told her mum.

She rounded the corner in the hallway just in time to see Draco's heel and cloak disappear into his bedroom. Giddiness flushed Dagmar as she tiptoed along after him. He hadn't bothered closing the door, only setting it against the frame. When Dagmar pushed it open, he looked back over his shoulder from where he'd started doffing his armour.

"Hey you," Dagmar greeted him. She pulled him into a hug, kissing his jaw when he returned her squeeze. "How was work?"

"Good, but I'm glad to have a couple days off." Draco eased back so that he could catch her lips. He ran his fingers over her hair, moving some of the strands that escaped her plait away from her face. "How about you? All right?"

"Ja," Dagmar said on an exhale. She sat down on the edge of the bed while Draco kept on undressing. "Emotional, obviously, but it's not all negative. There are a lot of good things to look back on. Mum's been telling me stories from when I was too young to remember clearly."

"Sounds lovely, actually."

"It was."

Draco needed a shower to get the smell of dragon off him, but Dagmar held him off from it for a little while as they touched base. Given that tomorrow—well, today now—was the one-year anniversary of her dad dying, Dagmar opted to spend the night with her mum instead. Draco wouldn't be sleeping for a while yet anyway, and he certainly didn't seem tired when Dagmar kissed him one more time before returning down the hall.

Dagmar's mum had curled up on her side of the bed, and didn't rouse when Dagmar crept back in. Dagmar slipped in under the blanket as carefully as she could. Her mum remained a rock, even when Dagmar rested her cheek against her upper back.

They woke up in largely the same position, although Dagmar had rolled over for a portion of the night. One of the house elves brought them breakfast before Dagmar needed to slip out again for the shower. She'd brought clothes over from Draco's room yesterday so that she didn't have to chance accidentally waking him up.

Dagmar took a seat on the edge of the bed while she brushed her hair. "You're sure you don't want to come, Mum?"

The angles of her mum's gaunt face sharpened further yet. "I really don't think I could, jenta mi. I'm not ready—not for the house, not for them."

"Well, I'll see you later then, I guess."

Dagmar tried not to sound disappointed. To take the edge off it for her mum's sake, she walked around to the other side of the bed and kissed her on each cheek. By the time Dagmar made it to the bedroom door, her mum had already averted her gaze. The prospect of going to Ramstad Manor today to meet with Håkon and Agneta had been a tempting one for her when first presented, but anxiety took over too quickly.

It was a little early yet, but Dagmar hopped into the fireplace anyway. She wanted to get settled and maybe get coffee going in the kitchens if the house elves hadn't already done so. Dagmar's eyebrows rose when the great room came into view through the floo. She hadn't expected Madam Bones today.

Dagmar stepped out. "Hello."

"Good morning," Madam Bones replied with a glance at the clock. At a quarter-hour before noon, they were cutting it close for that particular greeting. "All right?"

"Just fine." Dagmar flattened her jumper where it had ruffled.

"Your aunt and uncle are already here," she said. "They were over toward the kitchen, I believe."

Dagmar headed that way, her step quickening a bit when she heard familiar voices chatting in Norwegian. Håkon and Agneta were watching one of the house elves just finish up on making coffee. The rich smell of it reached Dagmar at the same moment Uncle Håkon looked over at her.

He looked tired due to red-rimmed eyes, and seeing Dagmar only worsened that. Håkon reached out for Agneta's arm, squeezing. With an utterance of her name, compelling Agneta to look too in Dagmar's direction, Håkon broke free of their conversation and beelined for Dagmar.

The tightness of his hug was too much on too many different fronts for Dagmar to keep a handle on her emotions. Her throat ached in the worst way to be squeezed like this by her dad's brother. The two of them did it much the same way. For just a second, Dagmar let herself believe this actually was her dad. Dagmar's face likely would've crumpled anyway, given the wracks and unsteady breath by her ear, but feeling so close yet so far away from her dad might just shatter her heart. Håkon holding the back of her head as they embraced didn't help either.

"Herregud, I can't believe you're really here," Håkon whispered in a rough voice. "You're really all right."

Dagmar managed to nod. The tips of her fingers felt compressed from the tightness of her grip on him.

"Dagmar," Agneta said as she approached them. Håkon released Dagmar enough for her to switch embraces. There were more sniffles from all three of them before Agneta relinquished her grip. "It's so good to see you."

"You too." Dagmar ran her forefingers beneath the rims of her eyes. "It's been. . ."

"Ja," Agneta practically whispered. "The Aurors told us the situation as part of preparing to visit."

Dagmar nodded, glad she didn't have to repeat the whole story. "It's really not all that bad, so long as he stays put. I'll give you warning if he wakes up."

"Right." Agneta slipped an arm around Dagmar's as a couple of the house elves brought the three of them steaming cups. "Amelia wanted a word with us. Any idea what about? Of course, we were honoured and all to meet the Minister for Magic, but. . ."

"I'm not sure." Dagmar blew some of the steam away from her coffee. "She just pointed me toward you when I came in."

They returned to the great room, where Madam Bones had a chuckle with Gawain. They grew serious with Dagmar, Håkon, and Agneta's return, Gawain melting back into his job post. Madam Bones' shoulders squared up, but Dagmar's first instinct to brace herself didn't seem necessary. Her smile remained placid and her eyes keen.

"I won't take anymore of your time than is necessary," she told them. "Something came down the pipes just in time this morning, and I wanted to personally inform you."

Dagmar took another sip as Madam Bones set her bag on the coffee table. Håkon and Agneta had gone quiet, their brows furrowed even after the Norwegian Auror that accompanied them from Bergen translated what Madam Bones had said.

Madam Bones brought a thick piece of gold-coloured parchment out. "Kingsley—the Head Auror," Madam Bones added for Håkon and Agneta's sake, "—and I have been working on this. In part of putting together his advocacy cases for Hildegard, Lucius, Narcissa, Wesley, and Dagmar," Madam Bones glanced at her, "I felt confident enough as the Head of Magical Enforcement to issue a correction of records. The British Ministry for Magic acknowledges that Erik's tenure as a Death Eater and his receiving of a Dark Mark were done under terms of duress. He didn't intend to serve Voldemort. He was merely trying to protect his child. This parchment here is the official acknowledgement for exoneration of the charges laid posthumously against Erik."

Dagmar's eyes blurred. She heard it all again from the translator. Håkon and Agneta's breaths similarly came in sharp inhales until Agneta managed a "Thank you."

"There will be an announcement saying as much later this afternoon," Madam Bones continued. "We can't really go into specifics because of information that remains confidential. Namely, why Erik knew he needed to ensure Voldemort wasn't hit with a Killing Curse—"

"You can say," Dagmar said, sniffling lightly to clear her congested sinuses. "I don't care. You might as well, really. Everyone seems to have already heard I'm being possessed by Voldemort."

"I fear that once we acknowledge that, people will begin to speculate why or how it is that Voldemort possessed your body. Right now it seems more like a fluke, as if Voldemort chose someone at random to inhabit. If Erik knew it would happen, then it begs the question as to whether that connection existed prior to Voldemort and Harry crossing paths in Bergen—"

"They don't know about that yet," Dagmar said quickly to Madam Bones, glancing at Håkon and Agneta.

Madam Bones put a hand up to the translator before he could get to that part. Håkon and Agneta blinked, jarred by the cut-off. They looked at Madam Bones, then Dagmar.

"I'd rather tell them myself." Dagmar meant it, even if her heart pounded.

"Your mother would also need to be involved in that conversation, anyway. Don't translate that," Madam Bones told the Auror before he could open his mouth. "And Luca, perhaps. All of this information being released could come back around to him."

"Right." Dagmar fiddled with her cup, shifting to hold it in both hands. "I'll talk to Mum. I still haven't talked to Luca."

Madam Bones gave a firm nod. "That's all I have to say, anyway. Your father's name is cleared. If you're interested in hearing my public address, it's scheduled for four o'clock."

"Thank you."

Madam Bones waited until that part of the conversation had been relayed to Håkon and Agneta before she shook their hands in turn. Håkon held onto the exoneration record, reading it over as Madam Bones headed for the fireplace. He exhaled heavily when she left.

"This was very kind of her," he said. "I wonder if the same will be said about Erik in Norway. It would be nice to see some sort of vindication on his name, even if there's no undoing the knowledge he ever became a Death Eater in the first place."

"Ja," Agneta quietly agreed, then looked at Dagmar. "What did you want to tell us? I caught that."

"Erm. . ." Dagmar glanced over at the keeping room. "Come sit, I guess."

Dagmar was more nervous for her mum than herself, telling Håkon and Agneta how this all happened. She still felt like a relative of the Ramstads, but she'd experienced for herself just how much loathing could be directed toward her mum for all this. Dagmar didn't blame her at all for not being able to face her brother- and sister-in-law yet. It might just not ever happen.

"There was a connection between Voldemort and I," Dagmar started. "You remember Draco and I told you my mum's a lich?"

The two of them nodded on the love seat opposite her.

"She wasn't. She's a doppelgänger."

Dagmar paused to see if any recognition of that term dawned in their expressions, and was pleased to see it did. Dagmar explained then the deal her mum made with Voldemort, how it all involved Dagmar with his soul fragment and then fell apart afterward followed. Dagmar told them about Magnus and what he did.

"My mum met Dad because she entered the wizarding world to find her son. Dad was helping her to do that. When Voldemort returned, he basically held me over their heads to ensure they kept looking. My mum intended to shatter Voldemort's soul when she could finally pull him out of me. He needed to give informed consent for her to do that, and he wouldn't until they found Luca."

Håkon was the first to recover from his thoughts. "That's the boy that's been in the papers."

Dagmar nodded. "But you need to keep all that to yourselves. He's not been having an easy go with it. He found out about it all not five minutes before being cornered by Voldemort. Now he has to deal with everything that happened at Hogwarts being because of him on top of that."

"We will," Agneta said. "That's just. . .herregud. Erik was in way over his head."

"Mum and Dad had been married for ten years before Voldemort returned. It was quite a nasty shock that he did. Neither of them expected it." Dagmar chewed briefly on her bottom lip, defensiveness preemptively rising in her chest. "I know what you must be thinking about my mum. Believe me, whatever that is, she feels it about herself ten times over. I don't blame her for what Dad did, or that he got involved. My mum thought Voldemort was gone. Not dead, but stuck between a ghost and a person. She even tried to make Dad leave, but he wouldn't. It was his decision to take the Mark, to serve Voldemort, and to jump in the way of a Killing Curse. But Mum blames herself anyway, because she asked for his help to get on her feet in Tromsø. She was just supposed to be his lodger."

Agneta hummed while sipping her coffee. "That's how they met, then?"

"My mum didn't know how anything worked," Dagmar replied. "She had no money. She only had me. Dad helped her find a job and put a roof over our heads. She told me things kind of happened for them because of me. I was only two still, and I guess I was a little traumatized. The man that kidnapped my brother tried to take me as well. I just latched right onto Dad after that."

Håkon's expression softened, but his shoulders remained stiff. "And you trust her on this? You told us before that she isn't much for telling the truth."

"She couldn't tell me," Dagmar said. "She didn't want me or the British Ministry to know that I had a piece of Voldemort's soul in me. Magnus tried to take me. Mum wouldn't risk what might happen if the Ministry knew, especially after Voldemort returned. The only way to get his soul out of me—the only way to really kill him—was with murder. Otherwise, Voldemort needed to consent. It was better for Mum and Dad to get Voldemort to that point. It would've been easier, even if they had no idea at the time where Luca was. Do you see?"

Håkon rubbed his mouth, thinking, but Agneta had a shrewd expression that made Dagmar feel defensive all over again.

"That's all fine," she said quietly. "But—Dagmar—your mum's a doppelgänger."

"Ja," Dagmar confirmed with a furrowed brow when Agneta let that hang. "What about it?"

"You weren't meant to live anyway." Agneta toyed with her cup. "Your mum would've taken your body whenever she died. Wouldn't she? So why did she care so much what happened to you?"

"Right," Dagmar more whispered to herself. "No, Auntie. That's not how it works. My mum would've taken my body, ja, but it was always me. I'm her only child. I'm nearly as old as she is. My soul is, anyway."

Agneta's eyes slowly widened. She hid her stunned expression and blossomed cheeks behind her cup as she sipped it. "Oh."

"Ja, so. . ." Dagmar shrugged. "So long as Mum's telling the truth about this, I'm nearly seven-hundred years old. We were Ramstads. Mum was born in Roskilde in 1339. She named me after her mum. Aslaug—my middle name—was her sister. Luca was originally named Bjorn after her dad."

The two of them stared at her. Dagmar was so accustomed to this information that she didn't realize anymore how it sounded to a new listener. She shifted in her seat and hid her discomfort at their scrutiny behind a long drink of her coffee.

Before any of them could say anything further, the fireplace turned green with a whoosh. Dagmar glanced at it, since people coming and going with the floo wasn't exactly a strange occurrence at either of their manors. Dagmar looked again with a plunge of her stomach when her mum stepped out onto the hearth. She toyed with her hands in front of her stomach, almost as green as the flames that shifted back to orange behind her. She froze when she noticed Dagmar, Håkon, and Agneta in the keeping room.

Dagmar set her coffee down and headed over to her. Her mum was fighting back hard on tears as she looked around the great room. Her gaze kept gravitating to the upper floor's landing.

"Mum," Dagmar addressed her with a whisper when they stood toe to toe. "You came."

She nodded, hand tight over her mouth. Tears pooled by her forefinger, running down toward her thumb. Her breath shuddered when Dagmar pulled her into a hug. Her mum started to tremble, and then Agneta's voice came from behind Dagmar.

"Hallo, Hildegard," she said.

Her tone was cautious. Dagmar tried to hear Agneta's opinion of her mum within it, but came up dry. It was perfectly neutral, although Agneta looked nervous when Dagmar turned around. So did Håkon. All four of them held their figurative breath.

"Agneta," Dagmar's mum replied. "Håkon. Hei."

"It's been a while," Håkon said.

Dagmar's mum nodded, her tremble visible and eyes swimming anew. She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry. I never meant. . ."

She couldn't say it. Her tongue stuck and her lungs took over on trying to find enough air to keep her going.

Agneta's eyes reddened at the rim. "I never meant it either, Hildegard. I'm sorry. I wish I could tell Erik that, but you and Dagmar are the next best things. I never meant to hurt him."

"I know," Dagmar's mum managed. "He'd still be alive if he'd listened to you. So I don't know why you should have to apologize."

"Mum, don't," Dagmar said. She didn't want to think about how her dad could've survived if he was less of a man.

"Nei, I'm sorry," Agneta insisted. "I hurt your family. I hurt Erik. I hurt our family by driving him away. He was a good man. I envy you for getting the chance to find out how good, rather than hearing it second-handed.

"Look." Agneta headed for the bag she'd put the exoneration record away in. "Did Amelia talk to you? They cleared his name of acting in Voldemort's interest."

Dagmar's mum's chest sunk as the air was stolen from her. Sobs wracked her frail frame, enough that Dagmar needed to hold her. Dagmar guided her over to the nearest couch to sit. Agneta sat down on the side opposite Dagmar, the bag at her feet. She shared a quick glance with Håkon, who nodded back. "And I'm glad you came today, because we decided that you ought to have this. We wanted to give it to you personally."

Dagmar's throat clamped as Agneta brought a familiar blue urn out of her bag. Unlike her mum, who was completely grounded to the spot, Dagmar stood for a hasty retreat. She found herself rather mindlessly back in Håkon's arms, his tight embrace keeping her from floating away. Dagmar rested her face on his shoulder as the worst sort of grief sounded behind her. She hadn't really looked at her mum yet as a widow. That was all Dagmar saw when she chanced a glance. Her mum held the urn against her stomach in a tight but tender embrace. Dagmar had to look away again. She felt like an intruder.

Dagmar's mum finally exhausted herself. When Dagmar eased herself out of Håkon's arms, her mum nearly looked ready to fall asleep. Her eyes were as heavy as they were dry. Her gaze had gone long with her fatigue. She still ran an idle thumb over the urn.

"Thank you," she finally said. "I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me."

Agneta raised a tentative hand to rub Dagmar's mum's back. "It's your right to have him. You were his wife."

Håkon moved away from Dagmar to take a similarly cautious seat on the ottoman in front of Dagmar's mum. Dagmar herself returned to her place beside her.

"I hope I don't sound like there was an ulterior motive," Håkon said, "but we mean it as a gesture of good will as well. Our little brother chose you to spend his life with. From what Dagmar's told us and from looking through the photo albums she let us borrow, it's clear you made him happy. Just like Dagmar will always be family to us, so will you. Dagmar told us what you and Erik were trying to do with Voldemort—why he got involved."

Dagmar's mum looked at her. She was too exhausted for pure apprehension, but it was still slightly there.

"I told them everything," Dagmar said. "About us."

"You were really Ramstads?" Agneta asked. "All that time ago?"

Dagmar's mum pulled her bottom lip back between her teeth. Her hesitation made Dagmar nervous, and then a flicker of anger followed.

"Mum?" Dagmar prompted her.

When her mum spoke again, it was in Parseltongue. "I don't want to lie to them. I told you though, there are things I need to keep until Voldemort is gone."

"He's not around." Dagmar's heart picked up. "What do you mean? Is that what you've been hiding? Who are we, that it would matter that much?"

Her mum's lip took another chewing. "Harry thinks Voldemort already knows, so maybe it doesn't matter."

"Maybe it doesn't."

Realization was dawning slowly on Dagmar. Her mum had told Harry months ago that she once lived in a clan headed by Freja. Helka had been pretty quick to volunteer her help after Harry went to Leidfall, by the sounds of it.

"So who am I, then?" Dagmar asked. "What's my name?"

"It's still Dagmar—"

Dagmar waved an impatient hand. "You know what I mean, Mum. Who am I?"

"Frigg." A weird flicker of emotion passed over her mum's face to say that, almost as if she didn't recognize Dagmar when she did. "Your name used to be Frigg."

It was a very weird moment to remember that today was Friday: one of the seven days of the week, literally named after them. Dagmar's mind ground to a halt. Agneta and Håkon had fallen silent. Both looked uncertain about what necessitated a conversation inside of the one they'd already been having.

"Well, are you going to tell them?" Dagmar finally asked.

"Do you really think they'd believe me?"

Dagmar hesitated, because she didn't even know if she did. She couldn't remember anything before this life, except for the twinges of recognition that came from Helka and Idhunna. Were they in the same boat? Dagmar had just assumed that Helka named Idhunna after the Norse figure. Was that not the case, then?

Where did you learn that curse? Her mum had asked after Dagmar shot lightning at some French Muggles.

An Auror had said to her: To use that curse so efficiently without your wand, that can't have surely been the first time you've cast it?

And Voldemort had asked, Why was that the spell you chose? before he disappeared behind a blinding flash of white light, so injured it took over a year for him to be nursed anything near back to health.

"Herregud," Dagmar whispered under her breath in Norwegian.

"Dagmar?" Agneta hesitantly tried after a moment of silence.

"We're not Ramstads," Dagmar said in a flat tone. "I don't even think we're from here."

"From where?" Håkon asked.

Dagmar looked at her trembling mum before leaning back against the couch.

"You go ahead and field that one," she told her. "I think I've talked enough on your behalf."