—CHAPTER TWELVE—

Midwinter marked the longest night of the year. The sky yawned wide, stretching at its seams so that ribbons of green-pink light peeked through. It put the stars to shame. Night had never been so radiant. Seals thrust across the hard pebbles and frozen sand, their bodies undulating in the eerie green glow while they shifted into something else entirely.

There was something simply magical about it, magical in a way that distanced itself from spell work and cauldrons. Scorpius, Albus and Rose stood mesmerised by the mouth of their cave as the scene unfolded.

The seals' dark oily coats rippled until more human forms emerged. It was as if their skins were opening, tearing from the torso so that something human could emerge. Flippers gave way to feet. Slick grey skin glimmered in the night. Their barks quickly turned to calls and songs in a language they did not understand.

"Should we approach them?" Albus finally asked.

"Not yet," Rose decided. The selkies, now in human form, were scattering out into the darkness and separating. It was hard to see them at such a distance. "I think it's a bad idea to interrupt whatever they're doing."

The northern lights were receding in their strength. The three took a seat and watched unseen as the selkies called to one another, voices rising in otherworldly shanties through the dark. After some time, they gathered once more on the beach. It was difficult to make out what was happening in the returning darkness but they could hear a clattering sound.

"I think they're preparing a bonfire," Albus said.

Sure enough, it wasn't long until the lack of luminosity was solved. They had indeed been collecting wood for a large fire. The selkies gathered around the flames continuing their ballads in harmonious strands. Over an hour passed before their singing subsided. Only then did Rose stand up again. The boys quickly stood up behind her.

Tentatively, they existed the bubble of their enchantments around the cave and began their walk—wands lit—towards the bonfire. They had not made it very far before the selkies noticed them. While it would have been natural for the selkies to respond in aggression or defence, they simply turned their heads to watch in silence as the three humans approached. It was unnerving. Being received with shrieks and near attacks would have been less frightening.

Up close, the selkies were disturbingly striking creatures. They wore their sealskins slackly. The head of the seal sat like a hood, the skins falling down their backs like strange capes. Beneath the skins, they were completely naked; thick-bodied and round-faced. Muscles rippled through their calves and thighs, torsos and backs. Both the men and women were undeniably alluring. From a distance, they looked like athletes.

Yet, there was something about them that wasn't quite human. It was hard to pick it at first until they were only metres apart. Their eyes were seal eyes. Round and black.

Rose could feel the hair on her arms and nape of her neck prickle. She felt eerily calm. Their leader walked towards the group, his eyes fixed on Rose. He was the largest in the group, his curls falling long past his shoulders so they blended into the pelt hanging over his shoulders. There was something both disturbing and compelling about him. Rose couldn't break the intensity of his gaze.

He said something in Gaelic. Rose frowned.

"English," she said.

"You are not wizards from these parts," he replied. His English was perfect.

She shook her head. She still felt eerily calm, no nerves. The two men behind her stirred nervously. She should feel them shifting but she did not break the chief selkies black gaze.

"We're sorry to disturb you but we've come far."

"Who has sent you here? Only the wizard in the village know we come to this beach and they do not dare disturb us."

This should have been ominous she knew but she was still not afraid.

"Merlin sent us. He said you were friends to him," Rose replied.

Again the boys stirred behind her.

He stared at them all a moment longer before gesturing for Rose to follow him. When the wizards behind her immediately fell into step with her he raised one hand to stop them. His fingers were webbed like a flipper.

"Just her," he said.

They walked away from the fire, towards the beach. Now that they were no longer staring at each other, Rose could feel her heart racing like a Hippogriff. It was difficult to explain, as there was something bestial about the chief, yet he was oddly captivating. Rose found herself prickling all over in a way she hadn't quite felt before. It was a kind of attraction different from the way she felt about Scorpius or any of the other boys she had ever kissed. To be touched by this creature would be enthralling and terrifying. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to be engulfed by the pelt around his shoulders and feel the weight of its magic.

Rose had once read that male selkies had the power to seduce humans. Back then, she had scoffed at the thought. In the mind of her younger self, maybe eleven or twelve, she had imagined a fish-like man with a tubby body and slippery tail trying to kiss a witch. It has been ludicrous, especially at that age. Now she understood the alarming magnetism. The selkie did not seem to even be trying to have this effect. In fact, he was almost ignoring her entirely. As they came upon the lapping waves, he promptly walked into the water. Rose hesitated, now completely questioning his motives, but seeing that he had not turned or slowed down, she followed him into the water.

They did not stop until they were thigh deep. The water was ice cold and Rose could feel her feet promptly turning to blocks of ice. However, the effect was strangely stabilising. Whatever morbid attraction she had felt towards the chief was quickly ebbing, replaced instead by the screaming sobriety of the water.

"Best that we speak in my true terrain and not on yours," he explained.

"Right," Rose chattered.

"Why have you approached us, daughter of Merlin?"

"It's—it's to beg you for help," she shivered. "My people—wizardkind has been de-destroyed by the goblins and we must-must get to their Kingdom in order to-to put thing rights."

He seemed to have realised she was trembling and turned to appraise her as if he had never once seen someone tremble in his life. He took part of his seal fur and draped it over her shoulders. Immediately, the numbness in her legs receded. The water almost felt comfortable. When she looked down, she saw that her fingers were elongating and webbing to transform into a hybrid somewhere between a hand and a flipper.

"T-thank you," she said, returning to a normal temperature. His kindness surprised her. The merpeople were not like this at all.

"You wish to go to the Goblin Kingdom," he repeated. Rose nodded. He did not speak for a moment. Instead, he searched her face with his black probing eyes. "Explain."

So, she did her best to explain as quickly as she could. It was a lot to pack in and he only seemed vaguely aware of the last few years of conflict, the culminating political coup, the hostile takeover of the goblins and the final futile destruction of the rogue terrorists left.

"Their leader who is among your number?"

"He is our hostage, yes. We need him to get into the Goblin Kingdom."

The selkie was silent. The sound of the waves gently lapping against their legs and crashing against the sand soothed the uneasiness in Rose's mind. Whatever he decided, the three of them were completely at his mercy.

"Do you know why we celebrate the winter solstice?" he asked.

Rose was surprised by this question. She had been expecting a simple yes or no. She shook her head.

"This long night of long darkness brings with it the promise of the sun's return. The days will grow longer, the nights shorter," he said. "We journey into the darkness with a promise of the light that will come."

This was poetic, no doubt. Still, Rose did not appreciate why he was sharing this with her. The response of silence that followed seemed to indicate that further explanation was required.

"You are troubled," the chief stated. "I imagine that it is the result of the one in your company that does not belong to your kind."

"He's killed a lot of people," Rose said quietly. "If it were up to me, I would prefer that he received justice for what he's done. Preferably at my hands."

"Not justice. Revenge," the chief corrected. "You would murder as he has murdered."

She was irked by this judgement of her character. Maybe better people could forgive. She was not one of those people. Revenge did not sound like something she should be ashamed of. When this was all over, when the Goblin Kingdom had fallen, she wanted to still be the one to plunge the Sword of Gryffindor through his heart.

While she had not said a word, the chief seemed to have read her mind.

"Revenge is the child of pain and to wish for it is entirely human," he said. "Yet, revenge is its own executioner. Should you take that path, you will need to dig two graves."

"I don't see any other path to take," Rose said, quite harshly. "If I die in order to put things right, I can live with that."

For the first time, the chief laughed. It was exactly a seal's bark, almost frightfully so. His amusement twinkled his black round eyes.

"Revenge keeps open old wounds," he explained kindly. "From all you told me, the first goblin sought vengeance on the wizards for a sword. You do not need more blood. You need to find a way to break this curse."

She was silent for a moment. These words were an antidote that tasted like poison. She would have preferred any other advice. If it weren't for the fact they desperately needed the selkies' help, she would have told him how wrong he was.

"Curse is a strong word," she decided.

He shrugged his large shoulders, the seal pelt shivering across Rose's shoulders as he did.

"It is truly a curse. Both love and hate are their own ancient form of magic. Those children that inherit war will lead new wars. Former enemies will come together against new foes, failing to see it is the same old battle."

Rose felt her blood run cold. This time it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. Those words sounded frighteningly familiar as if they were from a dream she had forgotten until now.

"What?" she said sharply.

"We can help you once the solstice celebration has passed," he agreed. "As long as you swear an oath that you will break the cycle of revenge, this curse."

Rose could still feel the gooseflesh rippling down her arms. She stared into his black eyes and nodded once.

Most girls would have called André Zabini fit, but that discredits the kind of appeal he inspired. He was a shadow disappearing with the sunset. He was smoke in your hands. He was gone before you even got a hold of him. If you got to know Zabini's body, you were no more than a tourist there. No one took up residence. André Zabini was a boy without a family, without a past and without any inhibitions. So, he was an ideal fit for a bartender.

Isabella kept this in mind as she assessed his resume with a cool scepticism. She and Alice had made him submit a resume, much to his ire. If Zabini wanted in on The Three Broomsticks, then he would be an employee, not a partner.

The resume was a ridiculous requirement, plainly requested to humiliate him and put him in his place.

But Isabella wanted to make him squirm a little. After years of giving him an easy ride, she was determined to make this as difficult as possible.

"What makes you qualified above our other candidates?"

There were no other candidates. But he was not sure whether to call her bluff. People were desperate to find work following the crisis and it wouldn't surprise him if other desperate Hogwarts drop-outs had approached the girls to fill the slot of bartender.

André may not have had experience being desperate before but he did know how to unjustifiably cocky.

He tilted his head back so he could look at Isabella from down his nose.

"You've been to plenty of parties where I've been the one mixing the drinks and you've never once complained. In fact, no girls do."

"That's because you probably spike them," she retorted snidely.

Glad he had pushed the right button, Zabini smirked and shrugged. "My powers of seduction don't lay at the bottom of a bottle, Belle. But I'm sure you know that it's not just my cocktails that people are interested in."

Neither blinked.

"If your main asset is that women will want to buy drinks off you, what about the blokes?" Isabella asked.

Zabini leaned back now, cocky once more. "I'm sure a little girl on girl action between you two behind the bar would take care of the target market."

"Well, thanks for coming in for the interview," Alice said primly, bringing her hands together. "We'll be in touch."

Zabini scraped back his chair and left. The newly restored bell chimed over the door as it closed behind him.

Isabella and Alice turned to each other. It was hard not to feel giddy. The whole place was theirs. They could do with it what they wanted. They had already decided to take the bedrooms upstairs for personal use. In the afterglow of the tragedy, it felt as if they were children whose parents had left them alone for the weekend. But there were no parents coming back and no home to return to. It was essential to their survival that they keep this heavy thought out of mind, like standing on the periphery of a shadow and pretending it is not there while you enjoy the sun. As the sun dips towards the horizon, the shadow creeps towards you and you must creep along to avoid its cool steely penumbra for as long as possible.

The shadow encroached on Isabella's mind as she looked at the near blank resume Zabini had handed her. He, like them, had nowhere to go or turn to.

"Well, he has former experience bartending at the Leaky Cauldron," Alice reasoned. "Plus, he's right. Women will come to the bar just to buy drinks off him. He'd be good for business."

"But he's so erratic to manage," Isabella complained. "And he'll probably end up sleeping with the customers and we'll have a sexual harassment charge against us."

Alice frowned, flapping the resume in her hand. She still looked exhausted following her parents' funeral but purchasing the bar had forced her to focus on something beyond the narrow lens of grief. They were so utterly out of their depth. They had stayed up late the night before discussing a business plan and trying to work out how much money they had between them. Alice's parents had been small business owners, so she had some clue. Isabella's father had owned a conglomerate but she hadn't ever paid enough attention. She was kicking herself now.

They were technically squatting in the pub. Without a Ministry for Magic, there was no one to issue a grant of probate. It was the same issue for everything Alice's parents' had left her. There was no way yet to retrieve the money. Teddy Lupin had said he was trying to take care of it and in the meantime, she might as well go ahead and live in the pub.

The plan would be to buy it. Isabella and Alice would pool all their funds. They might need to take out a loan—but from what bank? There were hardly any goblins left in Gringotts. The world was still in shambles, which meant that this was the time to strike. Opportunism was often there, at the back of the funeral, lending somebody else a clean handkerchief. If they were lucky, they'd get the place at a steal.

"Christmas is in a few days," Alice said. "People will need somewhere to gather. Why don't we open the pub—just drinks, no food service—and trial Zabini on the bar? There's still enough booze hidden down in the cellar."

Isabella considered it. She wondered if it would be slightly illegal—no, it would be very illegal. They didn't own the bar or the booze. But people weren't going to yell at an orphan and they could sell it to the Order as a chance to mark the end of the Goblin's occupation. If the Order said okay, surely there would be no legal issues down the track.

"We're out of our depths," Isabella muttered.

"You're telling me."

They needed Zabini.

Zabini really needed the job.

Since the battle had passed, he had been set adrift. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. An entire world needed to be rebuilt and he had absolutely no skills to offer. In any case, all he had ever dreamed of doing was working in a bar.

It wasn't because he needed money or a place to live (although he did need those things desperately). He simply needed purpose. For so long, school and the safety of Slytherin House had filled his days and staved off the truly dangerous element to his life—boredom.

As he departed the shelled-out Three Broomsticks, he found himself examining the newly restored main street of Hogsmeade. Shopfronts with unblemished glass and street signs dusted with snow gave the street an empty look, like a pair of glazed eyes, or like an abandoned theatre set. It was all repaired but unoccupied. The homeless slept inside old shop fronts, the stock that had once filled the stores now ash between the cobblestones, and their sad destitution on display through the glass.

The school sat up alone past its winged-boar gates. The restoration works would take much longer. Rose had thoroughly flooded the dungeons and basements. But even if it had been put back together as it was, it would be just as blank as Hogsmeade. There would be no Christmas feast and there would certainly not be an end of year graduation ceremony. Not that Zabini had wanted it.

He pulled his coat around him more tightly. If the girls turned him down, he could try the Hog's Head or the Leaky Cauldron once they were back on their feet. Yet he knew other people with more connections and qualifications would be clambering for those jobs. So many people were now down on their luck. It was not hard to imagine that admired publicists, adroit accountants, Aurologists and Unspeakables would end up desperate for work and taking the most basic jobs they could find. Who would want a Hogwarts drop out with basic wandwork?

It bothered him how unsettled he was. Zabini had always relied on himself; without family by circumstance and without friends by choice. He had always used people to survive but suddenly it didn't seem like a very viable plan anymore. Who the hell knew where Rose and Malfoy were, whether they were even alive? Gone were the rapport of classmates and roommates. He was in the world utterly alone, which is what he thought he had always wanted.

He didn't want the job at the Three Broomsticks just for the paycheck and the sense of purpose. He wanted a support network. He wanted people to give a shit if he weren't around.

It was uncomfortable to admit it but he missed Rose and Scorpius. He was worried about them. He had always assumed he was the most fucked up of the bunch, somehow irredeemably off the rails. Yet, after that night in the Forbidden Forest when Malfoy had seriously considered killing a unicorn…

Worse still, he wanted Alice and Isabella to pick him for the role. He craved it with a kind of desperation. As these thoughts came over him, without his volition, sis heart raced. He felt sick to his stomach. It almost made him spew into the snow. He had to stumble into one of the unlit lampposts for support. Had someone cursed him? His hands were slick with sweat.

"Oi, Zabini. You alright?"

He didn't even know who was talking to him. He tried to refocus. His heart was still hammering.

"You alright?"

He stared stupidly at Lorcan Scamander and James Potter. They half-squatted so they were level with his eye line. Why were they talking to him?

Oh, he had spent Christmas with them—last Christmas with them. Almost a year ago exactly, as Rose's guest. They had been in elaborate snowball fights together. They had shared a meal in Rose's home.

"I think—I think someone's jinxed me."

They looked at each other then looked around the street. Snow was falling so gently that it melted the moment it touched their skin. It was deserted and dead quiet.

"Can you cast an anti-jinx?"

"Mate, there's no one around."

"Just—cast the bloody thing! I can't breathe!"

James and Lorcan looked at each other once more. Lorcan took out his wand and waved it over Zabini in a completely random motion.

Zabini dragged down a few breaths. He nodded and straightened a little, still slick with sweat. Once he could feel his heart rate steadying he looked discretely up and down the street. No one else was around. He was privately grateful for this.

James clapped Zabini hard on the shoulder. "Better?"

Zabini nodded.

"What do you reckon? Nargles?" Lorcan asked.

James sighed solemnly. "Bloody Nargles."

They were either humouring him or making fun of him. He shrugged away from them and began walking back towards the train station. He had been sleeping there over the last few nights.

"Hold on, mate," James called out. "Are you alright?"

He kept walking. Having grown up most of his life denying that he needed people, Zabini could not distinguish between care and pity. For the first time in so long—he couldn't remember the last time—he felt tears smarting his eyes.

The substances used to dilute grief are often like a poison that first gives the effect of pain relief before quickening the inevitable demise of the drinker. Harry knew this. He had been here before, down this deep niffler hole, and it took twice as long to get out as it did to fall in.

Yet, he had fallen. It had been coming for a while. With Albus gone and the world in ashes, he couldn't see a way out of it. Harry was no stranger to grief but there was only so much he could bear.

"Hey, love," Ginny said gently, kissing the top of his messy hair. "How're we today?"

He was beginning to resent her. How could she be so fine with the situation? It was different from when Teddy or James or Victoire had been in danger. At least then, there was a plan of action that he could contribute to in order to rescue them. Albus had just left them. Albus, Rose and Scorpius had left with the others to do Merlin knows what and they were letting them.

For all he knew, they were already dead. Romnuk may have killed them in his final act of retreat. Or a thousand other calamities may have befallen them.

The unknown was killing him. How was it not killing Ginny?

"The same," he said. She had performed a bit of an intervention the day before. She had taken all the alcohol off him and she had confiscated his wand, knowing that he would just transfigure water to wine should he get to that point. He had spent the morning in Hogwarts, in his office, sorting through Hermione's paperwork like a muggle.

He felt rotten. Truly rotten, like something decomposing.

"Lily and Hugo came to me with quite a brilliant idea."

He looked up at her and frowned. It was hard to look at her without squinting as if he were looking into the sun.

"You know how the cost of the rebuild will be enormous and most people are out of work—well, Lily suggested a charity Quidditch match. A big charity Quidditch match."

"We don't even have the Ministry up and running, how can we be factoring in fundraising?"

"Don't worry about the Ministry. Hermione has already managed to transition to a new administration and we should have basic services up in a week. "

This was news to him. He felt another flare of resentment. Rose was off missing as well. How was Hermione managing to restart the entire country? How wasn't she in absolute pieces?

"Darling, this will be good," Ginny insisted. "It'll give people work to do, it will bring tourism, it will provide some momentum."

"Yeah, sure. Why are you running this by me?"

"It needs to be an all-star team, you know? I can get most of the Holyhead Harpies to agree. We can pull players from Puddlemere United, too. Oliver has connections with the current team. I'll commentate with him and that should draw a crowd. But we need an international team to play, someone who won't want prize money and will foot the costs."

Harry shrugged. He was irked. It was as if she was trying to offload this project onto him to keep him busy. Saying it was Lily and Hugo's idea made it impossible to criticise without seeming heartless.

"Hermione thinks you should contact Viktor."

"Hold on. Why me?"

"You have a good relationship with him."

"Er, I think Hermione was the one with the good relationship with Viktor Krum."

"You know that if you asked him, he'd get the whole Bulgarian team on board."

He shook his head and turned away. He didn't want to look at her.

"Harry! Do you know what a drawcard it was when Viktor came out of retirement for Argentina? He was the oldest player in the competition. And he won."

"Fine, Ginny! For Godrick's sake, I'll ask!"

The look she responded with was scalding. She placed both hands on her hips and leaned away, breathing heavily. There was no searing philippic that followed. She just stared at him for a moment, eyes burning, clearly quieting her thoughts. Harry felt shame lap at his bitterness. He wished she would argue with him or call him horrible names that he felt were deserved. He almost wanted the fight.

She didn't fight with him though. She was unreasonably calm. "It's okay to feel the way you do, Harry," she said. "It's not okay to act the way you've been acting."

"I'll call Viktor," he said.

Isabella had finished unpacking, although there hadn't been very much to unpack. Most of her belongings had been destroyed in the common room flood. The clothes on her back were a hodgepodge selection from a charity bin. They smelled strange. Simultaneously smoky and mouldy. All that had been salvaged was the heating pan she used to keep her sheets warm in winter.

There was creaking along the hallway outside and she half hoped it was Alice before she saw another head pop around her door. She rolled her eyes dismissively and turned away.

"Hoping I was Lim?" he cocked an eyebrow.

She pulled a face. Zabini leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the attic bedroom Isabella was now taking up as her residence. He was having trouble hiding his amusement. It was comically small for her, she knew. In fact, her closet at her estate had been larger. She was lucky to have a place to put her head but she didn't feel lucky. It was all beginning to hit her. The sun was finally setting and she was being forced to deal with the shadow.

She didn't have a home anymore. She didn't have parents. Alice's parents were actually dead in a grave, charred remains preparing to decompose. But her parents were alive somewhere, living off liquidated assets in France and pretending as if they didn't have a daughter.

She had half hoped they would return after the war was over, as foolish as this hope had been. Without any prospect of resurrecting her father's company in Britain, her parents had no intention of making contact with her. When she chose to stay, they had disavowed her existence. Moving into this sad attic of a bedroom was forcing Isabella to relinquish her last slither of hope.

"This is cosy," Zabini said.

"Your room is smaller," she bit back. "And if you don't survive probation, you'll have to move into the Shrieking Shack."

Zabini shrugged and moved further into the room. She wished he wouldn't. A surge of tears was coming and she would much prefer to cry alone.

He touched the bedframe. All she kept thinking was that these rooms had been used by the bartender James had been in love with for sex work. It made her want to set the building alight again.

"You're not having regrets, are you?" he asked silkily.

"Only about hiring you," she replied, matching his demeanour. "As for poaching this place, not a chance."

"So why do you look so sour?"

"I don't."

"Please, Belle. You wear your emotions like a tabloid headline. I can tell you're unhappy."

He wasn't being entirely insincere. And she knew that if she opened her mouth to issue another barbed insult only a sob would come out. She closed her eyes to try and compose herself, with little success.

"I miss my home," she said, voice quaking. "I miss my silk robes and my queen-sized bed and my house-elves. I miss being rich."

"Should have guessed that was it."

And then, with a surprising surge of fury, she yelled, "And I loathe my parents! I mean, how could they just leave me? For all they know I'm dead!"

This was the core of it all really. It was not just that her material belongings had been taken from her; it was the pretence that she was loved and wanted.

"I keep wishing they had died in that fire and Alice's parents were still here. Wouldn't that make more sense?"

Her venom did not surprise Zabini. As quickly as it had arrived, it was leeching away. Isabella slumped back onto the bed and covered her face with a pillow. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She felt the weight of his body join her on the bed.

"Hey, welcome to the shitty parents club," he said. "You shouldn't feel bad for wishing they were dead."

She wrenched the pillow away, confounded that she was confiding all of this to Zabini. She felt fourteen again. It made her miss Scorpius desperately. Sure, he was cold and unsympathetic most of the time, but at least she could trust him.

Isabella tried to backtrack in order to deny his advice.

"Alice's mum and dad were killed. She has a proper reason to mourn but she's been the one acting all matter of fact. Meanwhile, I want to throw a tantrum about the thread-count of the sheets."

Zabini reached across to Isabella and squeezed her shoulder. His amber eyes were sincere.

"Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for the way you choose to grieve," he said.

They stared at one another, his hand heavy on her shoulder. He let it drop to the bedspread. The tenderness was surprising, as was his advice. He almost seemed embarrassed by the display and turned away from her quickly.

The lassoing loops of their childhood seemed to draw tight around this moment. Their friendship from eleven years old; Isabella's infatuation with him; her secret pleasure and pride that while all the girls began to flutter in his presence, he would choose her to sit with—even if it was just to copy her homework. Then, the sad turning of sixteen where they were forced to reckon with their own toxicity. Zabini had always been a narcissist and Isabella had happily indulged him up until then.

Now, they were adults and their childhood had been razed before their eyes. They were both emerging with a consciousness of themselves for their first time in their lives. It felt like they were sitting with complete strangers but they knew every notch and groove of their history.

"And how does André Zabini choose to grieve?" Isabella asked softly.

"When you have nothing to lose, you have nothing to grieve," he said simply.

But she didn't believe his cavalier act for a moment.

Zabini was an opportunist, of course. They all were. It was why they had ended up in Slytherin. Making money from misery seemed to be the only thing worth doing following the end of the war. But surely he had grieved the demise of their school, of their friends, of the village. Surely he had mourned too, even in the most simple of ways, for the loss of innocence.

He turned back to her, eyes alight with devious mischief. Gone was the softness. In its place was his usual scheming look, once she recognised well.

"If you wanted to mourn properly, I think I have just the right way to do it."

The three Apparated outside of the grandiose estate. Marble columns rose on either side of the wrought iron door that remained locked. Isabella tapped it in four different places with her wand, and in response, the internal lock mechanisms clicked open. She led them through to the foyer.

It had been a while since she had been home. The building stood cold and empty. As Alice and Zabini joined her, the door swung shut behind them with a trembling echo.

She noticed immediately that things were missing. The intricate Persian rug (rumoured to once be enchanted to fly) had been rolled up and taken. The candelabra on the mantle had been taken. The rest of the house would surely be the same. As they began to progress, she noticed anything that had been of value was gone.

"This place is incredible," Alice murmured and even her low voice carried through the bare rooms.

"You don't think they took all the silverware?" Zabini asked, apathetic to the affluence around him.

Isabella shrugged. They probably did. Anything they could trade for gold once they were across the border. Now that she was here, she was listless. She didn't think she had the strength to climb the stairs.

"We'll search downstairs," Zabini said. He snapped out the sack they had brought with them, much in the way a waiter would do to a tablecloth. He handed the second bag to Alice before moving towards the kitchen.

"You know, Zabini, Isabella and I are technically your bosses. So we give the orders."

"Kinky."

But Alice noticed that Isabella had turned as still as stone. She was staring at the hallway beside the foyer. With hesitation, Alice took a step towards her.

"You okay, Nott?"

She twitched her head in a daze, half responding to her name. Alice followed her gaze down the hallway. Empty nails studded most of the wall where art would have hung. A few cheap brass frames remained behind, one displaying a generic landscape painting, another of a hippogriff in a paddock, and the third was a family portrait consisting of a woman with a puggish nose, a thin weedy man with slick hair and a toddler of about two sitting on the woman's lap in a frilly plaid dress. They all smiled smugly out of the frame, the little girl bouncing occasionally on her mother's knee.

"They took the good art," Isabella finally said.

"Don't let it get to you," Alice said firmly. "It seems like you've dodged a Stunner on this. What sort of people…"

"Yeah."

She took out her wand, and with one vicious movement, she slashed the portrait from the right corner down to the left. She did this three more times, the final time shrieking with the effort until the canvas had peeled back to display the backing underneath it.

She stood there panting. The violence pleased her. Isabella who was prided on being pretty and passive raised to be docile and dumb. She couldn't imagine what her parents would have thought had they witnessed it.

Alice squeezed her shoulders. "Feel better?" she asked.

"Marginally." The little squeeze on her shoulders almost made Isabella cry. She couldn't bare Alice's concern. She shook her off. "It's only the bedrooms upstairs, it won't take me long."

Alice nodded, taking a few steps back without turning. She was still appraising Isabella and beneath the concern, there was a look of something else.

Isabella took the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding now with adrenalin as if she had finished a broom race.

She entered the master bedroom. The lush king-sized bed was still puffed up like a marshmallow. The silk sheets, the glittering chandelier. Jewellery gone but some of her mother's dress robes left behind.

Isabella stripped the bed of the sheets and balled the fabric up, stuffing it all into one of the pillowcases. She dragged dresses off the hangers. She wanted it all.

Her bedroom was unchanged. They hadn't taken anything from it. She wondered if they had felt guilt at the thought of battering off her belongings. She stripped the sheets, she tore the curtains down, she took the lamps and the porcelain unicorn she kept on her shelf. Her ornate gramophone sat on her dresser—not the portable one she took to school, but the proper gramophone that she had received for her sixteen birthday. It cost an arm and a leg. Her record collection was there too. She took it all.

Once she had packed a trunk full, she laid back on her bed. Her mattress was so firm. Perhaps they could take the mattress too.

There was a gentle knock on the door. She twisted her head towards the door. Her new workmates stood with two sacks at their feet.

"Ready?" Zabini asked.

"Why don't you try to unscrew the chandelier in my parents' room?" Isabella replied.

It was a grand opening of sorts. Not officially. They didn't even have a proper bar licence. The building wasn't yet in their name. But it would be enough to legitimise their endeavour and potentially win over customers.

Not that people had money. They had asked people to pay what they could upon entry to cover the alcohol—of course, the alcohol had not cost Alice or Isabella, as it had been stolen. But they had put a lot of work into the place and they deserved to be paid. It was unrecognisable. A chandelier hung above the bar and mirrors wrapped the wall behind the shelves to give the illusion that there was double the amount of bottles on display. The two art deco crystal lamps from Isabella's bedroom now sat on either end of the bar. No one had money but at least they could pretend that they did.

While Alice had expected it to be about practicality, the fit-out had actually felt fun. Even Zabini showed a flair for interior design, suggesting they drape the curtains that had once covered the French doors of Isabella's home over the booths in the back of the tavern to give a gauzy illusion of privacy. It was chic and cool.

They hadn't gone overboard on the Christmas decorations either—just a wreath over the fireplace. It didn't feel right to be festive, although Alice had succumbed to the nettling of the other two and agreed to set up the gramophone with a jazzy record of Christmas music that Isabella had salvaged from her collection at home.

It was a proper Christmas Eve party. They spread posters down the street. They ventured up to Hogwarts to share the news with those sleeping in the Great Hall. They even sent an official invitation to the Order—on Isabella's stationery cards, left behind in her desk drawer at home. It felt very grand and official for an unofficial Christmas Eve opening.

And perhaps, the best bit of it was that people just showed up. No one really had anywhere else to be for Christmas following the calamity. People of all ages and all backgrounds walked through the Three Broomsticks and sidled up to the bar for a drink. They didn't serve food—they didn't really have any food—but the drinks poured and people (maybe out of pity) found the coins to pay. Soon the tavern was full. Alice, Isabella and Zabini were busy at work.

"Hey you three," Neville Longbottom greeted them. Their former professor and headmaster had never looked so ordinary. He was in a Christmas sweater and jeans, a pair of leather boots still wet from the snow. "Nice work with the bar. Could you send a round of butterbeers over to our table—er, just make sure you keep the heavy liquor away from us though."

Alice looked over his shoulder to see the usual suspects in his company. Rose's parents, Albus' parents, Lovegood and Scamander.

"Not drinking the heavy stuff tonight?" she checked.

"Just butterbeers, even if any of them order otherwise," he insisted, somewhat sternly. He placed some gold on the counter and smiled before heading to the table.

"Weird," Zabini muttered.

Alice didn't care. They were paying them at least, with whatever gold they had. And anyway, it wasn't as if what they were doing was legal. They didn't even have an alcohol licence, let alone ownership of the bar.

It was going well. In fact, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, people were talking and laughing. People were smiling. Glasses were chinking. The mood wasn't quite celebratory but a positive feeling was percolating. Even their attempts to decorate didn't seem so dire anymore.

"Merlin, I'm almost out of mulled wine," Zabini muttered.

It was the right choice to hire him. He had his own separate line of women waiting to be served, preferring him over the scant few who were ordering with Alice and Isabella.

"I think there's another bottle in the cellar," Isabella said. She said it over her shoulder, pouring a drink for Lily Potter before adding, "hold on, you're underage, aren't you? Oh…well, I suppose it's Christmas. But hold on—don't let anyone see—"

"Nah, I grabbed that one earlier. We must be almost out," Zabini replied.

"I'm going to go have a word to Hermione Granger," Isabella decided, levitating the round of butterbeers with her wand. She used her free hand to tuck her overgrown fringe behind her ears.

"Er, doesn't Harry Potter, like, hate your parents for setting him up as a terrorist a while back?" Zabini inquired.

"Mm, probably, but hating my parents is something we will have in common."

Alice couldn't help but snort at that.

"Anything in my teeth?" Isabella bared them to her in something similar to a smile.

Alice shook her head. "What are you going to say?"

"Well, Granger is basically the Minister for Magic now, right? If anyone can grant us approval for owning the pub, it ought to be her."

They admired her as she confidently waltzed over to the table of renowned wizards and witches, their bottles floating in the air in front of her. Whatever faults Isabella had, she was entrepreneurial in spirit.

"So, no more mulled wine?" Zabini persisted.

"I've got the last bottle," Alice answered, scanning the bottles along the shelf. She had placed them there, neatly touching their doubles in the mirror behind them. It had been satisfying arranging them according to the symmetry of the bottles.

She grabbed the mulled wine and turned to find Teddy at the bar, leaning forward on his elbows. He had turned his hair a festive dark green to match the pine needles of a Christmas tree.

"Hey," Alice said to acknowledge him.

"Hey. You seem to be in high spirits," Teddy mused, giving Alice a bit of a wink.

She faltered, gripping the bottle of mulled wine a little tighter in her hand.

Just for a moment, for a second, she had forgotten that her parents were dead. Teddy had reminded her. Teddy, who had been the one to go through their estate with her. She had forgotten to look sad or austere or tired. She had forgotten to mourn. Just for a moment. Teddy's words seared her. She felt sickly, like a vulture picking over bones. The side-long glances of the adults that seemed to be assessing whether she really had any grief inside of her at all. Were they looking at her like she was a monster or was it just in her head?

Teddy's warmth faded as he gauged her paling face.

"It was a pun," he said, pointing at the bottle.

"It's not a spirit. It's mulled wine," Alice replied, completely numb. "Did you want a glass?"

"I—er, Alice. Are you alright?" Teddy asked, lowering his voice.

She placed the bottle down in front of him and pushed out of the bar, knocking Zabini hard in the process and sending a glass shattering to the floor—"Oi! Watch it, Lim!"—and charged by the people standing around the tables to head straight up the stairs to her room.

She took hold of a pillow and buried her face into it, screaming as loudly as she could. When she finally came up for air, feeling somewhat empty of sound and fury, her throat tightened from the strain on her vocal cords. She coughed a few times before burying her face into her pillow, this time to sob.

She missed her parents. More than anything, she just wanted to see them again. It felt that she had taken them for granted all these years; just assuming they would be there every summer when she would return home from Hogwarts. It was as if they had been wiped off the face of the earth and they now only existed in her memory. If she didn't remember them, they wouldn't exist at all.

The grief had parted like a curtain, revealing behind it deep despair that transcended this personal encounter with death. What was the point of dying? More appropriately, what was the point of living? After all the trauma and murder, what would be changed? It felt like civilised society exploded in on itself, an ogre throwing a tantrum, and destroyed everything that had been neatly constructed to hold meaning. All those rituals and rules that instilled order had vanished into a gaping mass grave of mortal potential.

Looking into that pit was daunting. One loose step and Alice would fall in, rubble bounding in under her feet.

There was a gentle knock on her new bedroom door. She sat up and wiped her eyes. The only source of light in the room came from the streetlamps outside, dimmed by the shutters so that a very grainy gold glow fizzled the otherwise purple dim of the room. It was all shadows. Still, as Isabella poked her head in, Alice knew it was her. While the darkness somewhat hid her tears, she was embarrassed to be caught crying.

Isabella teetered on the edge of the room as if scared if she walked in that the floor would fall out under her. She had been the one to choose the rooms. Alice's room had been used by the murdered barmaid James had been in love with. Alice felt guilty that she couldn't remember her name. But it hadn't felt like a sacrifice—this room was bigger with windows that looked onto the street. She preferred it but Isabella dreaded even stepping foot in it.

She stepped foot in it. She took a few quick strides to the bed and sat down beside Alice.

"What's triggered this?" Isabella asked, trying to sound kind.

Alice shrugged and turned away, wiping her eyes again.

"It's okay to miss them."

"I know it's okay to miss them," Alice snapped back. "It's not okay to stop missing them."

Isabella was confused. "But you haven't stopped missing them."

"For a moment—I mean, just for a little while downstairs I had forgotten that they were dead."

"That's okay too," Isabella reassured her.

"It's not okay! If I forget them who will remember them?" Alice said, tears squeezing out of her eyes again. "My parents weren't anyone special! None of my friends had even met them properly. They didn't speak English well. And they practiced magic differently to everyone here. I used to be embarrassed by them. Now they're gone forever. I've never felt so alone in my whole life."

She began to wail at this final line, her mouth stretched open with the sobs. The sound was strangely misplaced in the darkness of the room as if it was coming from somewhere else. She buried her face in her arms. Isabella wrapped her arms around her tightly.

"Stop beating yourself up," Isabella pleaded. Alice continued to sob, unresponsive to her. "Your parents weren't nobody. They were your family. And they fought for us when the Kobold Könige attacked, which makes them heroes. Plus, everyone is embarrassed by their parents! Everyone! It doesn't make you a bad person that you were embarrassed. You loved them, didn't you?"

This did not seem to be consoling Alice at all. She continued to sob. Isabella had never seen her like this before. They had known each other since they were eleven years old. Alice had been weird and tough and gamine then. She had this tomboyish streak that had quickly aligned her with Rose Weasley. Isabella didn't quite fit with the vapidity of Estelle and Sonia, and she didn't quite fit with Rose and Alice either, so she had made do being the go-between. And she had made do with being friends with the boys. Scorpius and Zabini were her crowd.

She had not really seen Alice as a person in all those years. She had not considered how difficult it must have been to come from a migrant family, where all she had were her two parents in a shop running a business with only their ambition behind them, no wealth or connections to pad their endeavours. To be sorted into Slytherin, too. She was a Slytherin. It made sense, but it was also cruel for Alice to find her way in the world with a snake on her crest. It made sense that she had never even tried to be friends with Isabella or Sonia or Estelle. What did wealth and bloodlines mean to a girl like Alice? Of course she had chosen Rose in the beginning.

"Your parents would be proud of your resilience. You built a bar out of thin air. You don't think they'd want you to celebrate that a little?"

Alice hiccupped herself into silence. She rubbed at her face with the palms of her hands. Isabella carefully brushed Alice's hair behind her ears, unsticking it from her tearstained cheeks.

"Don't let anyone make you feel guilty over the way you choose to grieve," she said, still running her fingers through Alice's hair.

Alice turned to Isabella and looked at her blankly with puffy eyes. It was too dim to really read her expression. The other witch conscientiously pulled out her wand and conjured up a handkerchief. She handed it to Alice who carefully wiped her eyes and blew her nose. They sat there in silence for a moment while Alice regained her composure.

"You should head back down," Alice finally decided. "Zabini shouldn't man the bar alone. He'll get all the credit for tonight."

Isabella shook her head firmly. "Why do you think I came up to check on you?"

"We're business partners," Alice said.

"We're friends," Isabella corrected. "We're all each other's got."

They stared at each other for a moment in the dark, the room heavy with heartache. These two were never supposed to be business partners and friends. Or perhaps they were always supposed to be exactly that and neither had simply expected it.

They stared at each other a moment longer. In the quiet dark, their breathing seemed to sync. Without knowing, they had practiced this for most of their lives, living in the same dormitory. How many times they must have lay metres apart, curtains drawn around their four-post beds, staring at the same ceiling as they tried to tuck the day's thoughts aside to sleep. Lost in their own worlds back then, they would have never noticed that their breath would have synced as it was doing now.

They leaned in, hesitantly, inch by inch as if one was offering and the other was responding until they finally met in the middle with a kiss.

On the dawn of Christmas morning, Albus woke feeling stiff. They had slept out on the beach, once again, with the selkies. The bonfire had kept warm for most of the night but his eyes were burning from the smoke and he didn't think the ashy smell would ever wash out of his skin and hair. Rose had sworn that they would receive help from the selkies, but not until three days of celebration has passed. They were instructed to participate in the three ceremonial days and obliged. Even Romnuk—under the thick fog of a constant Confundus Charm—had slept on the beach with them.

A selkie, a goblin and a wizard wake up next to each other. It almost felt like a bad joke.

As he had every morning, the first thing Albus did was check that the Sword of Gryffindor was still safely stowed in Rose's beaded handbag. Once he had made sure of this, he redoubled the Confundus Charm he had placed on Romnuk the evening before. It was best to play it safe and they didn't want any grand fits scaring off the selkies.

The chief spoke to Rose and Rose only. Albus had decided not to take offence to this. Whatever was happening, he had decided she was the leader and as this obscure master plan had been cooked up by Rose he was more than happy to let her take the lead.

He gently shook Scorpius awake. He looked exactly how Albus felt. Eyes bloodshot, hair tousled, dirty from sleeping under the smoke outdoors for three days.

"Today's the day," Albus said gently. "We're leaving."

Scorpius rose gratefully from his sleeping bag. He rubbed his eyes and gingerly touched his jaw. The injury had healed now but he was still without speech. Albus was still refusing to attempt to regrow his tongue.

They looked around and spotted Rose speaking intently with the chief. Rose wasn't glamorous by any means yet she wore the grime a little better than the boys. They had both noticed. Her crazy salt curls, the dirt caked under her nails or the soot on her face made her seem like a Celtic warrior. They just looked dirty.

She was nodding fiercely, brow furrowed. The other selkies slept, wrapped tightly in their skins. During the day, they busied themselves with catching fish to eat and finding firewood or other materials for the evening ceremonies. They had spent most of the night awake, helping the selkies build the bonfire, chanting shanties and performing rituals with shells and pebbles. It has been avidly interesting at first. How many humans had witnessed these sorts of ceremonies, let alone been allowed to participate? But after the first night, the humans tired quickly of what they couldn't understand. They went through the motions of the rituals robotically.

In any case, they were not in danger. The selkies had not once tried to hurt them. They were welcoming. Privately, Albus had discussed with Scorpius that he had not understood why the nearby villages did stay away.

Having finished their conversation, Rose made her way towards their group.

"Merry Christmas," she said, smiling quite warmly. It was a bizarre greeting under the circumstances. "The selkies usually stay here for another four days but their ceremonies are done. The chief will help us get to Norway. Bergen, to be exact."

"How are we getting there."

Rose bit her lip. "Well, the only way to get there is to swim."

"Sorry?"

"He's going to have a few of the selkies lend their skins to us."

This time, Albus didn't have the energy to repeat himself. He simply stared at Rose dumbfounded.

"It's why they had us do the rituals and sleep on the beach. To win the trust of the other selkies. To show them that we wouldn't steal their pelts."

"Why'd we steal their pelts, anyway?"

"What little do you know about selkie folklore, Al?" Rose persisted.

Albus thought about it. He didn't know much about the folklore at all, other than stories of female selkies being seduced by human men who would steal their skins so they could never return to the sea.

"Ah, right. So we don't leave them stranded on land."

"We'll wear the skins and transform into selkies. The chief will lead us to Bergen then return back here to deliver the pelts we used back to their selkies."

It sounded like absolutely madness. Scorpius and Albus exchanged a look.

Rose dropped her voice. "We'll have to use the Imperius Curse on Romnuk to make him do this."

They all turned to look at Romnuk. Neither Scorpius or Rose really seemed to show any emotion other than disdain, but Albus flinched. He was sitting up awake now, staring out towards the water, but he looked completely lifeless. They had meddled with his memory, kept him close to permanently Confunded and now there was the suggestion of using the Imperius Curse on him. They had reduced him to a ragdoll. There was dullness to his once beady, calculating eyes. The Slytherin in his company seemed completely unfeeling towards this rather horrible act of necessity but even the look of Romnuk was making Albus feel sick.

"I'm not doing the Imperius. Sorry. It's been hard enough keeping the Confundus Charm going."

"I'll do it then," Rose said briskly. "Either way, we're all putting on the sealskins and we're all swimming to Norway."

The two young men looked over to where the chief was chatting to several other selkies, deep in conversation, clearly advising them to part with their skins for several days—the one thing a selkie never did.

There wasn't much for the humans to pack up. They returned their sleeping bags to the beaded handbag, washed quickly in the seawater and took turns to walk into the far off brush to relieve themselves. They were sure that the selkies would be glad to see them go. Not only had they intruded for days, but they were also beginning to smell.

When they returned to the beach, the four selkies who would be giving up their skins were waiting along the shoreline. Three males, one female, to match their number. Their uncanny inhumanness and slick nude bodies still struck them as strange in the soft dawn light.

With great hesitance, they offered the sealskins.

"Do not attempt to keep them," the female said sharply. Her voice was harsh and her eyes bore into them intently. "If you do, we will go into the village and take a child to drown for every day you do not return them to us."

"Now, Aisling, no need to warn these humans. They will return the pelts. I am going with them and I will overpower them if they consider breaking their word," the chief reassured his kinfolk.

The humans swallowed hard. It was clear now why the wizards in the nearby villagers did not approach the selkies.

"Selkies swim much faster than seals," the chief told them. "We should reach our destination in a little less than a day."

They moved towards the water, shrugging the seal pelts over their shoulders as instructed. The goblin in their company did the same, zombie-like as he trundled alongside their group. As they entered the water, they felt the pelts begin to tingle along with the places where they met their bare skin. Carefully, to avoid losing them, they each dropped their wands into Rose's beaded bag and tied it tightly around her wrist.

Last Christmas, Scorpius had stripped off a Weasley jumper and jumped into a frozen lake beside Rose Weasley. A once in a lifetime memory, they had agreed. He was about to make another, somewhat similar but far more sinister memory.

The five stood in the water as they limbs turned to fins and the seal pelts began to merge with their skin. Human minds began to merge with animal instinct. Before the sun had cleared the clouds along the horizon, five slick seels slid into the water and disappeared from sight.

A/N: A lot has happened in my life in recent months. Find me on vanscribbles on instagram if you want to chat with me or keep up with me. Hopefully, you enjoy this chapter. It's been quite dark, so it was good fun returning back to the OCs who haven't had a lot of love.