– CHAPTER FOURTEEN –

They arrived on the outskirts of Skjeggedal, in a parking lot that was completely deserted. Heavy snow covered the nearby tourist information centre. The rows of white parking lines on the icy bitumen suggested that this place would be filled with busloads of tourists in the warmer months. It was eerily quiet and surreally dim like an old grey sheet had been draped over the sky. The mountains surrounding them on all sides were sleeping ogres, blanketed in snow.

Albus walked over to a sign in the parking lot and wiped it clear. It revealed a map to their destination, what looked like an arduous twelve-hour zigzagging hike highlighted helpfully with rest points. The sign clearly stated that winter hikes must be held with a guide.

"I know there's no Muggles around but we ought to get somewhere sheltered," Albus decided.

The others didn't argue. They felt strangely exposed in the empty parking lot, boxed in by the intimidating mountains surrounding them. It was freezing, colder than the city they had just come from. Now that they were finally here, it felt as if they had run out of road.

They followed Albus' lead towards the trail. They crunched their way through the snow. Their boots dug so deep down into the pure powder that they were sinking as far as their shins. The higher they climbed, the more punishing the wind became. Huge gales screamed at them and pulled at their clothes, making it clear that they were not welcome. It was growing dark. Albus gestured some way off to the left through a canopy of frosted trees that they had to push their way through. They came to a halt in front of an evergreen fir tree that was some distance from the marked path, far enough that they wouldn't risk running into anyone should anyone be mad enough to hike through. Albus took a moment to study the tree. Rose, Scorpius and Romnuk stood in silence watching him.

Albus extracted his wand and began to burrow through the snow around the base of the tree. This went on for twenty minutes. He worked methodically until he had carved a doughnut-like hole around the base of the tree. It reminded Rose strangely of the holes they would dig in the sand at the beach during the summer days spent with their cousins near Shell Cottage. Once he was satisfied with his work, Albus began to drag over evergreen boughs that had fallen off the trees nearby, shaking the snow off them as he went. The others didn't ask why he was doing this—they just followed his lead.

Once they were done, it was starting to get properly dark. They had to light their wands. It would only have been just after three in the afternoon but night was falling. Winter in Norway whisked away the daylight. Albus dropped into the snow pit around the tree and the rest followed him, dragging the boughs over the frozen earth below as well as over the top of their pit. It felt like an icy tomb. Rose conjured a glass jar and quickly set a blue flame in it, both for light and for warmth. They were incredibly cramped inside the tree pit but it had broken the wind and given them some shelter.

Scorpius was staring at Albus was unabashed astonishment. It was one of the rare occasions where his expression was not completely impassive. Albus laughed a little nervously.

"James and I used to do these sorts of dumb survival larks during the winter holidays when we were kids to see who could last the longest out in the snow. We got really competitive about it," Albus explained.

Rose shuffled closer to Albus and Scorpius, her eyes glaring at Romnuk around the trunk of the tree. He was sitting with his knees under his chin, his body language and smaller size almost making him appear child-like. It was disturbing being in such close quarters with him. His eyes were still dazed but slightly more aware than they had been over the last few days. When someone spoke, they flickered towards that person's direction almost reflexively. It felt like being in the presence of an awakened coma patient, not knowing how much they were really taking in behind their blank façade.

"We need him to guide us to the entrance of the Goblin Kingdom," Albus said, gesturing at Romnuk. "We have to lay off the Confundus charms so he can be coherent."

"I'm not laying off the Imperius Curse though," Rose said quickly.

"He's in on our plan though. We assured him that he'll be gaining from taking us to the King. Shouldn't we stop relying on all this Dark Magic?" Albus asked, almost pleadingly.

Rose and Scorpius shared a look. Albus had no idea what they had done in order to get this far. He didn't know that Scorpius has used unicorn blood and Bellucci's tooth—ripped from the skull of her corpse—to endow the false Philosopher Stone with an indissoluble curse. He didn't know that Rose had been topping up the Imperius Curse on Romnuk when the others were asleep, to make sure that he would stay docile and devoted, enjoying the complete control she wielded over him.

The dread of having to now hike to the Goblin Kingdom was beginning to settle on their bones. Even during the right seasons with the right equipment, the hike was beyond anything they could manage. They had no idea how to access the Kingdom without their goblin guide. They need Romnuk somewhat conscious.

"We keep the Imperius," Rose insisted. "We'll just make it a little more subtle."

They settled down deeper into the pit. Scorpius took hold of Rose's boot, almost unbalancing her, and began to extend the edges of the rubber soles so that they looked like crude snowshoes. Once he was finished with her, he worked on the others in their group. The little blue flame and the boughs above them made their shelter cosy. Over the last few days, they had lost all sense of time. They had no idea whether the New Year had arrived yet or not. They had no idea what day of the week it was. The wind above them howled furiously. The packed snow of their shelter had a surprising amount of insulation. Albus stared at the two Slytherins sadly and then sighed.

"Get a nap in if you can. I'll wake you and we'll take turns keeping watch."

They all looked back towards Romnuk. His face still blank but those beady eyes flickering back to Albus as he had spoken. They shivered. He was the one they were keeping watch on.

They were in the process of discussing the pros and cons of a brunch menu in a far off hypothetical future. Alice and Isabella were in charge of making decisions with the direction of the business. Where they couldn't decide, Zabini was called on as a tiebreaker.

Isabella was pushing brunch and Zabini (perhaps to both their surprise) agreed.

"No one wants a butterbeer at ten in the morning," he implored.

Alice wasn't budging. She didn't think it made sense to think up these ideas when they didn't even have a chef lined up. Their menu currently consisted of pumpkin soup and cheese sandwiches, scrawled sadly across a chalkboard. The Ministry was talking about getting supply chains going again but who knew how long that might take?

"Think back on our Hogsmeade weekends. The only place to have tea was Madam Puddifoot's."

"Which, incidentally, is the only place people are glad was burned down," Zabini added. He was trying to lighten the mood. The girls had been so tense around each other of late.

"Think of the cost associated with a brunch, lunch and dinner menu," Alice replied curtly. "We shouldn't move too quickly."

Isabella opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut again. As if the effort to do this was colossal, she started to hum as a distraction.

Alice looked up at her and blinked once. She turned back towards the receipts in front of her.

Zabini looked between them both as if they were insane.

He ruffled the pile of flyers in his hands. They were advertising a New Year's Eve party. Not that it was quite a party—the flyer didn't say party. The word was macabre under the circumstances.

There was nowhere else that could stay open until midnight and people had enjoyed their Christmas festivities. The Order had given them the green-light to continue operating. They were using the event as The Three Broomstick's official relaunch.

"I might go stick these up," he said.

"I'll go," Alice replied coolly. "I think I need air."

Zabini handed her the flyers and watched her leave. She was wearing a pair of tailored black slacks and a black linen button-up, a pair of polished back oxfords laced onto her feet, but she grabbed a coat on the way out. They wore all-black when they worked behind the bar. It was beginning to get dim, the days still short in the wintery months. They lost sight of her in the snow outside. She disappeared like a dark shadow melting into the hazy evening. They still weren't due to open the doors for a few more hours.

Alice may be all practicalities but Isabella admittedly had good ideas. Zabini was surprised that they hadn't seen eye to eye on this.

"Ever thought you'd be working in hospitality?" he asked.

"I thought I'd marry a rich wizard and never work at all," Isabella replied.

She said it briskly, with a layer of irony, yet it was the truth. Even in her maddest nightmares, she had not imagined herself working in a bar.

"So, what's with you and Lim?" Zabini asked.

Isabella pretended to look confused. To give herself a task, she walked around the bar and opened the till which had already been counted from the night before. When she insisted on a half-hearted dismissal Zabini pushed further.

"Er, I've been walking on dragon eggshells since Christmas. You two are being weird."

"Weird how?" Isabella replied. "We've been perfectly polite to each other."

"Exactly," Zabini said, snapping his fingers. "That's weird. Did you have some big row?"

"Honestly it was nothing."

He shrugged and they both turned back to re-setting the bar. Isabella pursed her lips and began recounting the gold. She had lost track. Once she was finished, she spoke again without looking up from the till.

"We had sex, I think."

She was still looking down at the till, pretending to now be recounting the gold for a second time, and so couldn't see Zabini's expression. He did not respond at first but had gone absolutely still. She could feel him staring at her.

"You think?" he clarified.

"I've never had sex before," she said slowly, looking up. "I don't know if what we did counts."

Zabini squinted at her incredulously. "Did you give each other an orgasm?"

The question was highly embarrassing for some reason. Isabella nodded mutely, her face turning bright red.

"Then it bloody counts."

They faced each other. Now that the news was out of her, Isabella was relieved. It was the same feeling of taking off a pair of tight high-waisted trousers and finally being able to breathe out. She was not one who could hold things in for long and there had been no one else to confide in. She felt the need to count the till again, just so she could pretend that something in her life (which seemed to have spiralled away from her like a spinning top) was in order.

"I cannot believe you two actually shagged and didn't think to ask if I wanted to watch."

Isabella slammed the till shut. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"I'm bloody joking! Tell me what happened."

Isabella could feel herself flushing again but she needed to talk it out. It was the only way she could find clarity.

"We kissed on Christmas eve after she ran upstairs upset," she said.

"Nice."

Isabella glared at him. She wouldn't be able to get through it if he spent the entire conversation making lewd comments. Zabini raised both hands, palms facing her, as if in surrender.

"It felt…" she hesitated, revisiting that moment in the dimly lit bedroom. "Oh Merlin, give me a shot of whiskey, would you?"

Zabini snorted but joined her behind the bar, grabbing one of the bottles and filling two shots. They both took them down, his with a little salute.

"Go on," Zabini said. But Isabella took the bottle and poured another shot, slinging it back just as quickly. She pulled a face. Whiskey reminded her of her father's stuffy office. She was the sort of girl to sip a cocktail, not knock back liquor.

"It felt safe. I don't know, she's always been a stabilising presence, Alice has. This time I was the reassuring one. It just felt good."

She had the distinct impression he was enjoying this. There was a bit of uncontained glee in his eyes. Isabella was grateful for the double shot heating up her chest.

"You snogged, it felt safe—which by the way is the worst way I've ever heard someone describe a snog. Then what?"

"Nothing. I came back downstairs and helped you clear up. Alice was upset so I left her up there. We didn't talk about it Christmas Day, mostly because you were around."

"Boring."

"Then, Christmas night… I was in bed trying to get to sleep. I had been going over the previous night's snog all day and hadn't been able to figure out what it meant."

She paused, unable to go on. Zabini gestured to the bottle again but she shook her head. She was already feeling a little fluttery and didn't want to get drunk before they opened the bar.

"She came into my room to talk about it. We sat down together on my bed and the next thing I knew we were snogging again. Then, well…" she made a vague gesture with her hands to finish the sentence. She would not give him the satisfaction of going into details. Surprisingly, Zabini didn't pry.

"Do you fancy her?"

"I was just feeling overwhelmed and we've both been spending so much time together and there was this weird tension on Christmas Eve so I went with it."

"Well, are you a lesbian, then?"

Isabella clutched her head. "I don't know."

"Did you speak at all?"

"Afterwards," Isabella acknowledged. Her expression soured. "We didn't say much at first. Alice was lying beside me and after a bit of quiet she said, 'I feel like the pieces have clicked into place. I've tried fancying boys and it never quite worked,' or something like that. She even mentioned Tim Buckingham. She started on this big confession of sorts, saying that she had always known deep down and that it explained what she had felt over the years. I didn't want to be with Alice that way and I felt the opposite of clarity, you know?"

"I truly do not know, but go on."

"I told her that I don't fancy her and that this had just been the grief—or—whatever. Then it got awkward. She got sort of defensive. She said that she had never fancied me. She had fancied Rose."

Zabini's eyebrows shot up. That response vindicated her. She had been stewing over that comment for days since. There had been something so hurtful about it—especially after she and Alice had shared a moment so intimate. It opened up old wounds, one that Zabini had once inflicted himself. Everyone seemed to have always preferred Rose over her. Zabini, Scorpius and now even Alice.

Realising the gravity of this final testament, Zabini did not joke. Instead he took a moment to think.

"Firstly," he finally said, "for Salazar's sake, please don't imply to her that what you did doesn't count because she's a girl."

"Noted," Isabella said.

"Go speak to her. Clear the air."

"I can't," Isabella said, pulling at her hair. "Alice seemed so sure."

"About?"

"About liking girls!" Isabella replied, throwing her hands up. She could feel the panic bubbling. It was as if she were floundering. Isabella had never had to question anything about her life up until this very moment.

She had never had a proper boyfriend. She had never really been in love. At only seventeen, this in itself was not uncommon. She was very young with plenty of time ahead to figure out who she was and what she wanted.

A journey of self-discovery was terrifying. Her entire life, her entire identity, had been planned out by her parents since the day she was born. It never occurred to her that she could question or deviate from their plans. She really did believe she would marry a rich wizard and never work a day in her life. She was not prepared for an alternative path—for having to forge said path on her own. The world was filled with overwhelmingly endless opportunities. The silverspoon had been in her mouth for so long that she didn't know what her preferred palette was.

Panic clawed itself up her chest. Things were already so fragile. She didn't need another internal crisis.

Zabini raised his eyebrows again.

"Well, Belle, if you're just wanting to experiment – you know, to figure things out…"

Isabella's brow furrowed. The nickname surprised her. It had seemed like an eternity since he had used it sincerely.

"For your clarity," he added.

"For my clarity," she repeated.

The village was now plastered with their New Year flyers. It was the only bit of colour in the otherwise bleak streetscape. Alice continued to give them out to whoever passed. She trudged through the snow, her black boots slick from the slush and leaving heavy footprints behind her. She knew they would get reasonably good businesses tonight and should have been pleased that the Ministry had given them the green-light to operate.

Alice kept picking at the skin around her thumb. Every time she grew aware of it and tried to stop she would switch to her other hand. Sleeping with Isabella had been stupid. The other witch was right—a big part of it was the grief. Everyone who really mattered to her was gone. She craved intimacy and Isabella had been there. Isabella had always been there.

Yet the feeling of their bodies against each other, the softness of her form, of her mouth, of her hair…

She didn't fancy Isabella either. Isabella was so far from her type that it wasn't funny. She was prissy, a princess. Alice had always been drawn to the type of person who could have a laugh at themselves, someone a little rough around the edges. She didn't need Isabella telling her that it was just going to be a one-time thing as if Alice was a lovesick puppy who needed to be put down gently.

There was no denying that the moment had meant something. It had been a release of grief. It was a moment of clarity. That's how she had put it. She felt real inside her body, as if it belonged to her again, a reminder that it could deliver pleasure as much as it could store pain.

Isabella seemed to have enjoyed herself at the time, too. Alice had wanted to make sure of that. She hadn't wanted to be selfish the way boys so often were. Especially as it was her first time. Living in the same dorm had made her privy to such facts. Isabella had been a bit of a prude in school and certainly hadn't slept with anyone. Although, neither had Alice.

Afterwards, she had confided in her hoping that perhaps Isabella had shared that moment of clarity—the first piece of clarity Alice had felt since Hogsemade had burned to the ground and her parents had died and Rose had gone missing with those two boys. Instead, Isabella's response was cold and callous. It had unearthed a deep sense of discomfort between them, one that had hung around for days.

Two men were walking toward her through the snow. She squinted as she tried to make out their faces. It was only when they were a few feet apart could she see who was under the tightly drawn hoods.

"Got New Year's plans?" she asked, holding out a flyer to Lorcan and James.

They always seemed fused at the hip. Alice almost laughed to herself, thinking that they would have made a perfect couple themselves.

Lorcan took the now damp flyer and peered down at it.

"Official launch? Sounds fancy," he grinned.

"I haven't seen either of you in the Three Broomsticks since we opened it back up," Alice commented.

James met her eyes now and smiled. It didn't reach his hazel eyes.

"We'll stop by," James said firmly.

"I hope so. You two always knew how to make it a good party."

"Just make sure you keep us away from breakables," Lorcan replied, beaming.

He was clearly pleased that James had consented to go. If enthusiasm was infectious then both James and Alice were immune for neither shared in Lorcan's excitement. If anything, they both seemed resigned. Alice drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It congealed in the air like a cloud.

"I'll see you later tonight then."

They both nodded and were on their way. She wondered if they would show up. She wondered if anyone would. Who on earth would want to attend a New Year's party for Merlin's sake?

Alice continued down the street, a little slower now. She allowed the cold to nip at her face, enjoying the sharp tingle of her nerves. She didn't draw the hood of her jacket.

The mass grave of everyone who had been burned to death in Hogsmeade was on the outskirts of town, near the Shrieking Shack. Without having planned to, she realised she had been walking in that direction for at least ten minutes. She was almost there. It felt stupid to visit it when only a single monument had been resurrected over the gravesite but she wanted to feel close to her parents on that night. They would be down there somewhere, sleeping in that mass orgy of the deceased and mangled.

The freshly dug earth had been covered with a layer of snow that gave the entire field a pristine look. A stone statue of a phoenix stood several metres away with a list of the decease's names on a plinth beneath it. The phoenix was an obvious choice. Rebirth from the ashes. It just reminded her of the flames.

She had to make amends with Isabella before midnight. She didn't want to ring in the New Year feeling like this. She didn't want the one thing offering stability in her life—the bar, their partnership—to be ruined by something as stupid as a one-night stand. She took another deeper breath and continued to trudge through the snow, retracing the steps she had left behind her.

They were trialling Zabini's new cocktail menu and people were frothing over them. By ten, the bar was already packed. Young and old had gathered. No one reprimanded them for the noise or the alcohol. No one told them that it was in poor taste or demanded to see a liquor licence. The party was well received. People were eager to spend the little they had on booze to forget. They were eager for a New Year and the fleeting false promise of renewal that came with it.

The three were busy behind the bar. Alice had come back from her walk about ten minutes before the opening, finding both Isabella and Zabini finalising what they referred to as the vibe. Gold streamers stretched across the rafters. They had suspended three broomsticks with gold-painted bristles from the ceiling with magic. Isabella was testing charms that would shoot gold sparks from the brooms' bristles for the midnight countdown. Zabini was testing music on the gramophone that he had distorted with a series of spells, coining a genre that he labelled 'lo fi jazz'. Alice was a music snob but even she had to admit it wasn't that bad.

She felt guilty for having left earlier in such a huff but Alice really did need to clear her head.

She had asked to speak to Isabella on her own when she had first got back. Isabella had climbed off the chair she was using as a stepladder and they had dipped into the kitchen to chat away from Zabini who, strangely, didn't even try to eavesdrop. Alice had started on what was meant to be an apology but instead veered into a justification. She was determined not to apologise.

"Could we talk about this later?" Isabella said, her voice very high pitched. "I, erm, can hear people coming in?"

Since then, they had worked side-by-side with the same stiff, scripted rapport that they had been performing all week. Oddly, even Zabini seemed stranger than usual. He wasn't making crude remarks or sexual innuendos, which was his favourite thing to do when mixing drinks with the girls. In fact, he was almost being polite to the two witches. Alice desperately hoped that Isabella hadn't told him anything, although she was puzzled as to why Zabini wouldn't joke about their sexual encounter if he had known.

It was easy to keep it from her mind. The queue at the bar never dwindled. Time passed quickly when the place was busy. Even the ache in her feet faded. They each had a persona behind the bar. Alice was churlish and cool, guessing what people wanted before they were through with ordering. Isabella was perky and chatty, managing an entire conversation as she mixed a cocktail. Zabini was suave and suggestive, not needing to say very much to get the best tips.

Alice was distracted as she checked the till had enough for small change when she heard someone rap their knuckles on the bar to get her attention.

She snapped her head towards the customer, in half a mind to suggest that they learn some manners when her jaw dropped open at the sight of who it was.

"One vodka, please."

He pulled off a furry cap that had covered his ears and tucked it into the deep left pocket of his robe, revealing his slightly misshapen head. It was Viktor Krum. The Viktor Krum.

Alice, having always been obsessed with Quidditch, felt a little weak in her knees.

"Of-of course," she stuttered, turning around to grab the bottle off the shelf. As she did, she caught both Isabella and Zabini's gazes. They were staring at her with wide eyes and mouths open, mirroring back the same expression she had been forced to stifle a moment earlier. She turned back to the sporting legend now leaning against the bar.

"On the house," she said, as she poured him a glass.

"Blagodarya!" he said, lifting the glass and turning away. Alice noticed that his gait was a little duck-footed. She stared at him in a daze.

"Merlin's saggy left bollock, was that really Viktor Krum?" Zabini muttered.

"Oh, we have to get him to sign something," Isabella gushed breathlessly. "Maybe—I have an idea. I'll be right back."

Isabella vaulted over the top of the bar and dashed for one of the three broomsticks suspended in the air above, Summoning it with her wand. She rushed over to Krum, presumably to get his autograph on it. Those who had been lined up along the bar had followed, rushing behind her to get a signature as if they had been given permission to do so.

"I guess this means we've made it, right?" Zabini asked, shaking his head. "He's proper famous, you know?"

"I know," Alice echoed.

Isabella rushed back to the bar, wielding the broom with the signature carved into the handle and crowing, "Can you believe?"

It was the closest any of them had been to normal in days. The tensions had evaporated. The giddiness was better than the alcohol they were serving.

Their brush with stardom had given them a reprieve from the crowds, who were busy harassing the retired Quidditch star. The room was abuzz. Isabella glanced at Alice, her hair in a high ponytail and the long layers around her face tucked away. The new style revealed a lot more of her round face in a way that her fringe and long tresses had previously curtained. It was an earnest, nervous face.

"I'm so sorry about the weirdness," she blurted out.

"I'm sorry too," Alice said, meaning it even though until then her pride had kept her at bay.

"Friends?"

"Business partners."

"And friends," Isabella reaffirmed.

Alice waved her away, feeling silly for getting emotional. She knew the weirdness—as Isabella had put it—wouldn't vanish in an instant but she would find a way to wade through it. She had a deep-seated sense of clarity that had never existed in her school years. It was the same feeling as when she tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team. She knew who she was and that idea did not rely on the approval of anyone else, especially not Isabella Nott.

She perked up as Lorcan Scamander and James Sirius Potter made their way to the bar, still dressed as they had been when she had run into them earlier in the night. Lorcan looked electric with his blond hair standing on end and his wide blue eyes staring in disbelief at the crew behind the bar. Beside him, James was almost subdued by comparison.

"Am I hallucinating or is that Viktor bloody Krum?" Lorcan demanded, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Our bar is just that cool," Isabella chirped.

"Merlin, give me whatever he's having."

"A vodka?"

"That's really boring but yeah, two vodkas actually so I can go take one over to him."

Zabini grabbed the bottle. "Are you planning on hitting on him?"

Lorcan pulled a face in his direction. Clearly, Zabini's charms did not work on him and a tip would not be forthcoming.

"Anything for you, James?" Alice asked, trying to sound a little less brusque than usual.

James had been busying himself surveying the chalkboard menu that listed Zabini's three specials. He kept twisting his lips to one side as he tried to make up his mind.

"The Veritaserum has been the most popular," Zabini said to James, sliding Lorcan his two glasses without needing to look his way. "A shot of gin, a dash of fresh lime juice and elderflower serum. "

James agreed and fished out his gold.

"I'll make it," Isabella offered.

They all watched her mix the delicate drink, adding the ingredients as if brewing a potion. She poured the clear liquid into a crystal lowball tumbler (raided from the kitchens of her former home) and added a sprig of decorative elderflower before handing over the drink.

James met her eyes only briefly during the exchange. How many times he used to sneak down to Hogsmeade and visit this bar back when he was still at school. Now Isabella was behind it. He gave a crooked smile that hadn't quite concealed the beat and raised the drink she had made.

"Veritaserum," he said, half toast and half question.

"C'mon, let's go talk with Krum," Lorcan murmured, balancing both drinks.

Alice noticed Isabella's eyes lingering on James as they pushed through the crowd. Shortly, not long after introductions, James left Lorcan with the sporting star and began to push his way towards the door. Isabella bit her lip as she watched. Alice didn't comment. It was getting closer to midnight and people were doubling back to the bar to fill up their glasses.

Ten minutes had passed and James had still not reappeared in the crowd. Isabella wiped the condensation off the bar with her rag and then turned to Alice agitatedly.

"Do you mind if I take a quick ten-minute break?"

"Go," Alice said as if surprised she was being asked permission.

She felt good watching Isabella go. She had known Isabella for over six years. She knew her bad habits and pet peeves. She knew the pattern of her heavy-sleep breathing.

She now knew the velvet creases of her body.

Within this gradual intimacy, drip-fed over so many years, Alice had seen Isabella turn from someone vapid, superficial and unthinking into a woman who truly seemed to care—about herself and everybody else.

"She seems different," Zabini acknowledged, also frowning as he watched her ponytail swing through the crowd.

Alice shrugged, looking at him with the same descrying eye.

"Don't we all?"

The night air was crisp compared to the muggy heat of the bar. The door shut tight behind Isabella, sealing in the sound. She had expected that she would need to go looking for James but he was right there, sitting on the curb with a thin layer of snow around his feet. She had been worried that he wasn't okay, that he left the bar on the run. So often, James had been on the run. That's how she remembered him. This time, it appeared that he had just needed somewhere to pause.

He looked up at her and smiled weakly. She teetered in her black boots, in half a mind to acknowledge him with a quick greeting and dip back inside. She was already goose-pimpled and freezing. Her working attire consisted of a pair of dark denim jeans and a high-neck sheer lace shirt with a bralette beneath. She should've grabbed a coat.

"You alright?" she said, still standing.

"Yeah. It's just been a while."

"This is the first time you've been back here since…" she trailed off, thinking of that unmentionable event. The day of the killing spree. Meredith Maxwell's death. The hostages. Of course, she had almost forgotten, but James has been mad for that barmaid who was murdered. Since then, the place had seen even more death. She ran her eyes over the main Hogsmeade strip that had stood there for centuries. So many goblin rebellions had taken place right there, precursors to their own horrible chapter of the village's history. She imagined the blood running down the gutters and wondered how only a year ago she had walked the streets cheerfully, planning to shop and have fun with her friends.

James fidgeted a little with his thumbs. It was an old habit that she remembered with a sharp affection.

"I never understood why it was easier for some people. I mean, Albus was there in that pub with me that day. Why was he okay but I wasn't? He's out there risking his life to end this. My version of being brave is walking into a pub."

"Don't say that," Isabella chastised. She squatted down awkwardly, taking a seat with him on the curb. "That's still bravery. You were traumatised."

James looked at her briefly before his eyes flittered away. That gangly, impetuous boy had slowed down enough to grow into a surprisingly measured man. James didn't jump to say anything or deflect the conversation. Instead, he sat there thinking about her words. Isabella wondered if she had ever seen him think before. He usually spoke without pause—something she was still guilty of.

"I used to think my issues were the PTSD but that wasn't the whole story," James said after he had done his thinking. "I had other issues before that. All that gambling and crazy risk-taking. I used to think I was wired wrong and I'd wish there was some potion I could drink to just fix me like that," he snapped his fingers for emphasis. "There isn't a quick fix for this. The only thing for it is to look inside yourself and confront the stuff you don't want to deal with."

"So that's why you came tonight?" Isabella concluded.

"Something like that," he muttered. He ran his hands through his reddish-brown hair. James seemed to realise that he was doing a poor job of explaining himself and switched the conversation.

"Anyway, what's new with you?"

"Me?"

"Looks like you've got shit figured out," he gestured to the pub behind them.

"Not even close," she breathed.

She kept thinking of her strange shag with Zabini. It had been one of the most surreal experiences of her life, somehow even more out-of-body than her experience with Alice. It was Zabini. She had pined for him since the onset of puberty. She had thrown her dignity away time and time again just to snatch a second of his attention. Almost every girl she had ever met was equally obsessed with him.

He was well practised. She could tell because he did everything with measured authority, the way some people know which moves to make to win a game of Wizarding Chess without needing to strategise against their opponent. He knew what would work but it still hadn't quite worked. It wasn't bad or painful or unpleasant. He kept asking her if it felt good, did she want it rougher, did she want it gentler, did she want him to keep going? She didn't even know how to answer those questions. She didn't know what she wanted.

It just felt hollow. She felt completely detached from herself as if she was floating above watching him pound into her from the eaves outside her window.

It had been the same feeling with Alice, this strange sense of disembodiment. It had been wrapped in surprise with Alice though and that imploding question of what is happening had clouded the absurdity of it. It was as if this body did not belong to her at all. She wanted to unzip it and step out of it the way you do with a pair of knee-high boots.

James was studying her intently. She felt herself blush, wondering how much of this was visible on her face. Could he read her mind? Could he smell it on her, this stench of sex? She had slept with two people in less than a week, two people that she worked and lived with. It was the dumbest thing she had ever done. Her parents would have been mortified. That was the only element that really satisfied her.

"I slept with Alice and Zabini," she exhaled the statement in a single breath, like letting air out of a balloon.

Clearly, he had not been able to read her mind because this stunned James. He actually shook his head as if to clear water from his ears. When Isabella didn't offer a correction he was forced to clarify.

"Together?"

She had to laugh. "First Lim. Then I slept with Zabini to figure out if I was a lesbian or not."

James opened his mouth then closed it again. Out loud, it sounded ridiculous. She was dreading the moment it would all catch up to her. She had always thought her first time would be with a boyfriend, with someone who adored her and wanted to get down on one knee for her. She had imagined it would be special. Not some throwaway experience—she had thrown it away twice, she realised. Both firsts.

He had never been a big fan of Zabini. She wondered whether he would reprimand her. She was waiting for him to call her a slag. Someone ought to, she thought.

Instead, he said, "Well, which did you prefer?"

Isabella bit her lip. "Neither really. It felt no different than if I had just helped myself, you know? If I'm being honest, I prefer getting myself off."

She had expected something from him here. Teasing, crude jokes, perhaps even disgust. Isabella never talked about these things. When they had been physical, James hadn't ever tried to sleep with her, even when the chance presented itself. They came close, once. He had said that he had wanted to wait for someone he loved. Maybe he'd think she was easy, the way Isabella has always privately viewed Estelle or Imogen, desperate and dirty. The way her mother talked about those sorts of girls. These thoughts made her face burn.

James hadn't shown any indication that he was about to chastise. He was thinking carefully about his response.

"Maybe casual sex isn't your style," he offered in an attempt to be helpful. "Maybe you need a bit more of a romantic connection to enjoy it."

It stunned her that he had replied in this way. Then again, perhaps it shouldn't have. James had always been surprisingly sensitive at heart. She remembered this about him.

"Don't worry about whether you like boys or girls. When you fall in love with someone, you'll just know and it'll feel right," he said, with great certainty. She envied him it.

"Were you in love with the barmaid?" she asked before she could help herself.

"Carletta," he said quickly, correcting her. She hadn't remembered her name. James then paused again to think. She had never seen him think so much in a single sitting. "Look, I wasn't even seventeen. It's what I thought love was—being obsessed with someone you couldn't have. She knew it wasn't real love. She always pitied me a bit. She never took advantage of it though."

This self-assessment was a little bit heartbreaking. Her experiences of love had been exactly what he had described: an infatuation with someone who didn't want to be with her. If that feeling wasn't love, what was?

"She shouldn't have died," James said quietly.

They sat in silence for a long time. Isabella kept opening her mouth to say something before closing it again. Snow drifted down around them, sticking to the streets. The music was growing louder from inside the pub, the glass of the window beginning to shake with each lo-fi thud.

The day of the terror attack, Isabella had promised to meet James down at the Three Broomsticks for what was almost a date. He had been in the pub waiting for her to join him. She hadn't come down to the village because she was with Zabini. She had almost slept with Zabini. The only reason James had experienced the trauma of that attack and she had not was because she was pining after Zabini. Again, she felt that surge of hollowness wash through her empty bones. The sex still felt surreal.

She studied James as discreetly as she could. He had long, dark eyelashes that fluttered like the moths above their heads. Their shared silence felt more intimate than their conversation, more intimate than anything they had ever done in the Room of Requirement. She remembered how much she used to enjoy talking to him. His fingers were still twitching a little. She wanted to reach out and hold them in her hand to keep them still.

Instead, she gripped the gutter to help herself stand.

"I have to get back inside," she said, with a shiver. James didn't stand so she gave him a weak smile. "Thanks for the chat, though."

She pushed against the door but stopped as he replied.

"You've done a really good job with the place. I might come back soon. On a quieter night," he added.

James had gotten to his feet now, wirily and tall. The freckles around his nose sat as perfectly as the snow dusted over his brown hair. He nodded at the pub once more and smiled a crooked smile.

"Looking forward to it," she replied.

"I'll see you next year, then."

She had pushed the door open, the cacophony of sound spilling out into the night. She squinted at him in confusion and then laughed.

"See you next year," she agreed and went back inside.

Next year was only a few minutes away. The broomsticks began to emit their dazzling sparklers over the crowd as the countdown began.

A hand gripped Rose's shoulder and jerked her out of her half-sleep. Her body ached from the strange angle she had dozed off at and her mind was murky from a memory that had been dressed up as a dream. She had been sitting in a Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with Angus Finnigan, of all people. Angus kept pointing his wand at Rose and saying, "it's only Unforgiveable if you don't forgive me."

Scorpius was the one gripping her shoulder. He was staring at her in that silent way of his, his grey eyes intense yet oddly bereft of emotion. It reminded her of the snow they had trudged through. It was such a vast presence and yet so blank, giving nothing. He nodded in the other direction, where Albus was crouching beside Romnuk. The tree of the trunk made it difficult for them to see properly. She guessed she had only snatched a handful of sleep. It didn't feel like a lot of time had gone by.

"Nod if you know your name," Albus was saying, the way you might speak to a child with a concussion.

Romnuk nodded. His eyes were fixed on Albus. There was something frightening about his eyes, painfully lucid in his otherwise slack face. They had removed his memories of their weeks on the run, they had kept him heavily sedated under the Confundus Charm and forced him to follow their every direction with the Imperius Curse. Rose had no idea what coming out of that fog would be like but she didn't quite care. As long as he would get them to the Goblin Kingdom.

"Can you say your name?"

"Rom-nuk the Rough," he said thickly.

"We need you to take us to your brother, to the King."

"Grol-hok," Romnuk said slowly.

"Is that his name? Grolhok the Goblin King?"

Generally, once a goblin was named King his name was no longer spoken. It was considered a sign of great disrespect. The individual was absorbed into the history and duty of the crown so that the King was always the King, never tarnished by individuality. Whether Romnuk was too groggy to recall this or was simply disrespecting his brother, they could not tell.

Albus sighed heavily and glanced at the others. He looked exhausted, the bags heavy under his eyes.

"If you two needed to piss, I suggest you go now. The wind's died off and I want us to start moving," Albus said shortly.

They didn't argue with him. They wrestled with the boughs above them and emerged from their icy womb. The wind had died off, removing the chill. The stars above them were incredible. There was Orion the Great Hunter of the artic sky, spelt out by the stars. Rose felt nostalgic for her Astronomy classes. She lit her wand to get better visibility in the night.

"If you need to wee, I'll watch your back," Rose offered.

Scorpius pressed his lips together tightly but took the offer, moving off far enough for privacy without being out of eyeshot. His back was to Rose. If something were to happen to him he couldn't yell for help. In any case, none of them ever really left each other's line of vision. They lived in perpetual paranoia. Gone were the days where Scorpius prided himself on his propriety. She felt more like an animal than she ever thought possible.

Rose studied the dark landscape around them, drinking everything in through over-stimulated senses. Even with her wand lit, she couldn't see more than a few metres ahead. The trees loomed up in great shadowy columns around them. Branches rustled like paper pages turning. The distant hoot of a long-eared owl started her a little. The steady stream of Scorpius' piss hitting the snow not far away, a consistent sound against the night. It was weirdly quiet, so quiet her eardrums ached for sound. It almost felt as if the heavy blankets of snow and the twitching light of the stars were emitting some sort of undetectable vibration that she could sort of but not quite hear.

She thought of the strangeness of her dream. The memory that had been its source was beginning to emerge. It was their sixth year. They had covered the Unforgiveable Curses in class, although the only thing Rose could recall from that lesson was that the boys had forced her to partner with Angus Finnigan to check on how he was coping following his father's death. She had been annoyed about it at the time, distracted by whatever Professor Sharma has written on the chalkboard.

Scorpius zipped up his fly and washed his hands in the snow before joining her. He offered to take her place as toilet sentry but Rose shook her head. She was still trying to listen, staring up at the stars as if she could pick up on the frequency if she tried hard enough.

"There's something I ought to tell you," she said to Scorpius.

He was riveted. She was doing that thing he used to complain about where she built up too much suspense. Rose sighed and went on.

"The selkie chief said something to me out on the beach before we left Scotland."

Scorpius nodded for her to go on.

"I think he said the children who inherit war will lead new wars. Former enemies will come together against new foes, failing to see it is the same old battle."

If Scorpius could speak, she wasn't sure he would have. He stared at her intently, searching her face. She knew that he resisted the idea of fate but the words must have triggered something in him also. They had been eerily familiar when she had first heard them and she had been trying to work out why.

"It sounds like the Centaur prophecy, doesn't it?

The heirs of a war-torn generation will lead a new battle, where the children of former enemies will unite against a new adversary.

Those had been the words of the young Centaur who had met them by the Refuge Tree, so long ago. They had seemed so similar to the words of the selkie chief. It had to be about them. For whatever reason, Rose, Scorpius and Albus had joined together to put things right. They were the children of former enemies. The Goblin King had to be their new adversary. They had to end things. It had to end in blood.

The more Rose dwelled on it, the more sure she was that the selkie chief had no idea what he had been talking about in his sermon in the sea. Revenge was the only way to right the scales.

They hear Albus climb out of the pit, dragging Romnuk with him. It was the most lucid Romnuk had been in over a week.

"Romnuk's still feeling groggy after our Portkey from Scotland," Albus said, giving them a look that quite palpably said play along.

They would have to hope that their Memory Charms had adequately removed any trace of them stuffing him into a suitcase and forcing him to shift into a selkie. He wouldn't have been too pleased with any of the activities he had been forced to perform. Romnuk was itching his bald head, scratching his nails over the tattooed surface of his skull.

"A Portkey," he repeated dully.

"We had someone fix us one illegally in Scotland. We're just outside of Skjeggedal, in Norway," Rose said loudly.

Romnuk hacked up some phlegm and spat it into the snow. It looked as if he were waking up a little. The two Slytherins raised their wands but Albus gestured that they lower them.

"I think it best we spell out the plan to Romnuk now," he said, looking at the other two meaningfully. "It's time he gets the details."

"Yeah…" Romnuk agreed, nodding slowly.

They filled Romnuk in on the plan, but only on the insistence that Rose use the Imperius Curse to make sure that he would follow it.

They gave Romnuk an altered version of their real plan, only giving him enough information that he would be able to bring them into the Goblin Kingdom as the Trojan horse they were. They needed him to take the trio to the King and request to negotiate a deal. They would offer the false Philosopher's Stone as a gift to secure his alliance.

Romnuk would pretend to betray the trio and side with the King, so that they would be imprisoned with Morgana. Rose had already told Romnuk that she would take care of this loose end by killing the rightful heir of the throne. They would no longer need her as a metal smith if he has the Sword. Romnuk would then turn on his brother and commit regicide. He would sign a peace treaty with the humans. In exchange, he would receive the Sword of Gryffindor so that he could use it to claim the throne.

"My sister's hammer," he said stupidly after this had been explained.

"We have your sister's hammer," Rose snapped. She clutched her beaded bag a little more tightly. "I thought the whole point was you wanted the Sword to assume the throne—that you can't win the goblins over without it."

"My hammer," he repeated.

"No," Rose snapped. "No hammer. No Sword. Not until we get our Treaty."

"My hammer."

"Okay, that's enough," Albus barked. "Romnuk, we need you to take us to the Goblin Kingdom. We need to get moving. To Trolltunga."

Romnuk smirked at them, his face swallow in the three-way spotlight of their wands. He almost seemed a little drunk. Maybe all those curses had addled his brain. He shook his dome-like head.

"Under Trolltunga."

"Under Tolltunga? What does that mean?"

"The entrance to the Kingdom is under Trolltunga. We enter through the belly."

Rose was ready to get into an argument when a sound split the air. It was a distant but loud crack followed by several more pops. They quickly shifted into a tight circle, back to back, scanning the dark shadows around them. Their hearts pumped hard, racing with the adrenalin of the unknown. Scorpius nudged them both and pointed up. Several flairs could be seen far off in the distance. There was another round of cracks as fireworks exploded in the direction of the Muggle town they had left at the foot of their hike.

"Fireworks," Albus sighed.

"I guess that means it's New Year's," Rose said. They all stared up as the sparks faded against the night sky, followed after a pause by another feeble set of fireworks. Even Romnuk stared up in a daze, the colourful sparks illuminating his black beetle eyes.

"Well," Albus said, lowering his wand. "Let's go. Under Trolltunga."

A/N: Only 11 days between updates? One of the more pleasant aspects of social isolation is having a lot more time on my hands to write, and also using this silly story as a form of escapism.

I hope you don't kill me for the direction I'm taking my OCs in, there are a lot of old story lines I need to resolve but we're getting there.