PART FIVE: THE RATTLESNAKE

Pope's P.O.V

xXx

"I am telling you, the kid is up to something!"

Andrew Cody, better known as Pope, snarled as he paced the open kitchen. Baz was at the little island counter, kicked back, sipping at a bottle of Coors light, after having dropped off little Lena at her babysitters for the next few days while the boys talked game. This early in the morning, Deran was likely at the beach, hitting the morning waves, and Craig was, well, Craig was likely hungover, snoring in bed, trying to get over what, and whoever, he had hit last night. From the little hum coming from the hallway, J was probably in the shower, getting ready to head off to school, and Smurf, no doubt, was prowling somewhere. Baz dismissed Pope's barely concealed anger with a flippant wave of his hand.

"The kid is being just that, a kid. He missed a few family meetings, sure, but nothing big. Let him live a little."

Pope's pacing picked up speed. J had done more than miss a few meetings. Over the last month, J had been on his cell most of the time, tapping away messages, taking calls as he excused himself to the privacy of his room. Then, about a week ago, nearly two, he'd started going out, almost every night, not back until late, if he bothered enough to come back at all, and Pope knew there was something going on. He knew it. Pope turned on Baz, slapping a hand down on the counter with a clap, as he pointed down the hallway J was obviously down.

"And you don't think this is strange? A month ago, J couldn't be eager enough to play getaway driver or lookout. Now he's hardly ever here, and when he is, he's on the phone. People don't just switch this fast. He's-"

Of course, Pope knew what Baz thought of him. He knew what Smurf did too. Craig and Deran were practically cellophane, they were so transparent. He knew it all too well. Paranoid, they called him. Unstable, they thought. Crazy, they hinted. But, fucking hell, it was him and his mind that had kept them all out of the fire multiple times. He could sniff a rat out from a mile off, he could see when something was up days before the others, and Jesus, why wasn't anyone else feeling what he was feeling? Before he could finish his rant, Baz slammed his bottle down on the table top, cutting him off.

"What is this really about Pope? Huh? Jealous the kid has a better social life than you?"

And it was just like Baz to make him feel trivial. As if Pope couldn't possibly know anything Baz already didn't. Almighty, all-seeing, all omniscient fucking Baz. His adopted brother had a god-complex the size of California. Bracing his hands on the counter, squaring his shoulders, Pope rolled his neck, holding back another snarl. When he felt like he had partially gotten himself under control, at least to the point where he didn't want to smash something or send his fist swinging, Pope finally managed to address the core of his problem.

"The contact letter J sent out a while ago, you know the one, from the adoption agency to his sister? He should have heard something back by now. Even a denial. But he keeps saying the lines been dead. Why would he lie, Baz? Tell me that."

Pope just wasn't buying what J was trying to sell. Even if J's sister was out of the country, worst case scenario, for some adopted kids ended up moving, the whole process would have taken three weeks, tops. Pope would know, he had researched the damned thing for three days straight. It was coming to the end of the fifth week now, nearly sixth, and still, according to J, there was nothing.

If J had heard back, and the girl had given a request for no contact, J would have been informed weeks ago. Two, to be exact. So, J trying to peddle the radio silence line was utter bullshit. That left one option. J had heard back, it was a green-light, and for some fucking reason, he was keeping it hidden. Why? For exactly how long? Before Pope could work himself up any further, Baz was shrugging nonchalantly as if Pope had only informed him tonight's game had been cancelled.

"Maybe J's not lying. Maybe this other kid wants nothing to do with us, the adoption agency is working on a nice little condolence letter to help with the rejection, and maybe that's a good thing."

Pope rolled his jaw until the bone nearly cracked, his fingers digging into marble as his arms tensed underneath his neatly pressed button-up shirt. He looked at Baz then. Really looked at him. Baz with his carefree stance. Baz with his own daughter waiting for him. Baz, who had not taken the fall and had been sent to fucking prison for a mistake he made. Baz who had everything and couldn't give two shits if, god forbid, anyone else wanted anything similar.

"You would say that, wouldn't you."

Baz flung his arms out.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pope bounced away from the counter, storming to his brothers side, bearing down upon him, muscles in his dimpled cheek twitching as they fought not to spew the million and one words he wanted to fling at Baz's face.

"You can't stand me having anything, can you? You never could and you never will."

The shrill scrape of the bar stool being pushed back as Baz stood abruptly matched the buzzing in Pope's ears as the other man pressed in tight, nearly nose to nose.

"Not if it's this! God, Pope, do you realize how fucking twisted this all is? Do you have any idea how wrong it is? It was bad enough that you and Jul-… That you both… That… But this? This! This is beyond insanity! With any luck, the kid will be dead and we can all forget anything like this was-"

Pope was swinging before he truly comprehended what Baz was saying. The hit landed soundly on Baz's jaw as his head swung back, stumbling into the kitchen counter behind them to try and keep his balance, less he fell to the floor. Silence fell down around them as Baz leant heavily on the kitchen counter, hand coming up to rub at his jaw, a clacking sound breaking the stagnant air as his jaw clicked back into place. Pope doubted his jaw was broken, but it would bruise and be sore for the next couple of weeks with the way it had popped back into joint. Baz had had worse. They all had. Still, Pope couldn't focus on the look of surprise on Baz's face, even a little bit apologetic if you squinted the right way, nor the slight sting to his knuckles.

Why was it wrong? Because it was him? Pope? It hadn't felt wrong. Julia had always been the only one to ever fully understand him. Like him. Laugh with him. Love him. From womb until her departure, they had shared everything. Secrets. Beds. Jobs. Why was that so fucking wrong? And how was it fair? He had given everything, his time, his mind, his life, to his family. Money, jail time, blood, sweat, tears, he had wept it all for them. Was asking for one damned thing in return too much? Eleanora was his d-…

Pope had as much right to contact with J's sister as J did. Smurf too. Baz, Craig and Deran. They were her family too. Eleanora belonged here. With them. With him. And if the fucking kid was hiding her, lying to them, about something so important, what else was he hiding? What else was he lying about?

"Don't ever fucking say that to me again."

Pope's voice was like an island made of stone, remote, removed, unyielding. That glimmer of remorse was still flickering in Baz's gaze, but Baz wouldn't speak on it. Baz never did, and to be honest, Pope didn't want it either. What he had done… Catherine… Perhaps Baz was right… But no. No. Pope was far, far, far from being a saint. He stole without a single ounce of regret. He fought with a rush only an addict could understand. And he had killed, murdered, for this family. Catherine… Lena would grow up without a mother because of him, because he had followed what Smurf had told him to do like a good little son, and Baz knew nothing.

In fact, the poor bastard was still looking for his wife, thinking she had left him for greener pastures. Still, Pope was a selfish creature, all Cody's were, and this time he wouldn't move from his ground. No matter what Baz said. No matter what Smurf ordered. Julia's daughter belonged here, home, with them.

"Fuck it. I'm out. Give me a ring when you have your head screwed on right."

Without anything else to add, Baz pushed away from the kitchen, away from Pope, and made his way out of the house. The slam of the front door ringing out his departure. Pope sagged into a chair and ran a tired hand down his face. From around the fridge, near the front hallway, a small silhouette stepped out. Pope groaned. How long had Smurf been watching and listening?

"Sweety?"

For all of it, by the softness of her voice. She always did like lurking. Pope's hands clenched. Unclenched. Clenched. Unclenched. They kept going until the muscles in his fingers, palms and forearms began to cramp. Pain was good. Pain kept him in the present. Pain made him focus. Staring over to Smurf, Pope cocked his head.

"The kid is up to something. I know it. Baz knows it. You know it."

The small blonde woman crossed her arms over her chest, one jean clad leg, ending in a little dolly shoe, slipping over the other as she leant to the side, propping herself up against the cabinet of the big fridge by her shoulder. Cody women were always so small. Smurf was miniscule. Julia had been tiny. Idly, he wondered if J's sister would be as little and petite as her mother and grandmother. He thought so.

Cody women were also terrifyingly fierce when angered. Smurf was always of the cold sort of anger, the calculating kind of a snake, where Julia had been full of fists and kicks and bites. Well, she had been before her descent into heroin addiction, and the most passion she would show was the spasms of her thin body as she seized from a hit gone wrong. Again, he wondered if J's sister took after either of them, or perhaps, both. So many questions. So many unknowns. Smurf snapped him out of reminiscing.

"I know."

Now it was Pope's turn to fling his arms out.

"Then why haven't you done anything? Speak to J! Let me speak to him!"

Smurf smirked.

"I have done something. I just chose to wait for the right time. What have I told you? Patience is a virtue, Pope."

Kicking off from the fridge, Smurf strolled towards him, hand delving into her jeans back pocket.

"The right time turned out to be while he is in the shower. Poor boy left his phone out."

Pulling her hand free, Smurf produced a cell, waving it out in front of her, between her and Pope. In the distance, he could barely hear the shower still running. The case on it was a tatty thing, a stock photo of the ocean pressed onto the back of the cheap plastic. That was J's phone alright. With a jut of her arm, Smurf offered him the phone.

"Problem is, it's locked."

Pope wearily grabbed it, weighing it in his hand. In the end, he scoffed. As if any lock could keep him out. Smurf knew that too, and pointlessly, he thought that was why she was here in the first place. Smurf wanted answers as much as he did, she simply lacked the skills to grab them, but the plan to get them. Hitting the home button, the face lit up with the common four number lock pin.

J's birth year made the phone vibrate and flash as the passcode was incorrect. Firing off Julia's birth year, Pope faced the same problem again. Swearing, he tapped his finger off the side of the phone. He had one more try before the phone completely locked itself for the next half hour. Then it came to him. 0631. The screen went black before popping into the colourful home screen. 06 31… July 31st. Eleanora's birthday. One of the few items J had was her original birth certificate, and, well, Pope had seen that when he had gone into J's room after hearing of the news and took a photo. The kid needed to learn better places to hide his shit.

Smurf sidled up to his side, eyes wide as she looked down at the phone, as Pope went into the phone log. Scrolling through, he saw the majority of the calls came from the same number. Bingo. This was who J was talking to so much, meeting up with too likely. Next to the number was a simple name. Nora. Pope would bet his left fucking nut that was short for Eleanora. Exiting the phone log, Pope tapped into the contacts. J had barely any, his family, Nicky, and there, Nora. Clicking on the caller profile, Pope watched as the caller ID popped up, along with the photo J had attached to the ID.

J stood by the railing of Oceanside's pier, arm outstretch as he took the photo, smiling widely with the setting sun and ocean behind his back. Next to him, with his other arm draped around her shoulders, was a young girl with a dimpled dazzling grin. Sixteen, seventeen at a push. Her hair was a beast of its own, piled high on her head in a ponytail explosion of fiery curls. She looked delicate, mischievous almost, a little fairy buzzing bright, covered in golden freckles with her round glasses sitting wonky on her face. On her forehead was a mean looking scar, splitting one arching brow in two, like she had been struck by lightning. He could only see the top half of her, but her white T-shirt had cut sleeves, edges frayed, Whitesnake's band logo proudly emblazoned across her chest.

She didn't look like Julia, though she was as small as her. Neither did she look like Smurf, though she had her cheekbones. She had Deran's eyes, green, but the intensity had been maxed out, upped to a hundred. There was nothing of Craig in her, apart from the lop-sidedness of her dimpled smile. She had J's jawline, but that was about it. Yet, fucking hell, did she, despite their palpable differences, look like Pope. From beside him, he heard Smurf chuckle.

"I'm impressed J's managed to keep this under wraps as long as he has."

Pope managed to pull himself away from the photo, turning to gaze at Smurf, lost for words, and in spite of the indulgent chuckle, she looked deadly serious.

"But that ends now. Give her a ring. Tell her J wants her to come over to the house, make up some excuse of him being in school, so you'll pick her up, and J will meet her here after he's finished. I'll take J to school while you go and get her."

Pope felt a little adrift then. Lost. A little animal balloon some sticky-fingered toddler had let go of, drifting up, and up, and up into the vast sky.

"Do you really think it's her?"

Smurf took a step away from him, putting her hands on her hips as her chin tilted up.

"I know a Cody when I see one, and that girl has our name written all over her. Do you not think so?"

Pope glanced back down at the photo, silently agreeing. The girl looked too much like them, like Julia, like him, and that floating feeling was back in full force. Up, and up, and up he went, until he thought he was having difficulty breathing. He had suspected, of course he had, but he… There… Actually seeing it, actually knowing, actually seeing the proof with his own two eyes, was completely different. It made it real. The girl was real. Eleanora was real. It had all been real.

"Won't J notice his phone is missing?"

Smurf didn't even hesitate in her reply. She had likely planned all this from the very second she had stepped out from behind the fridge.

"Not if you ring her before he gets out of the shower and I can put it back. And make sure you turn it off afterwards, so he doesn't think to ring her. By then, it will be done with."

Smurf was stepping closer again, soft hand raising to his cheek, cradling it like she used to when he was just a boy. Pope came hurtling back down to earth with a horrid thud and churn of the gut.

"I want to meet my granddaughter. Family is family. Don't you want to meet your niece, sweety?"

Pope pulled his face away from her hand, eyes falling to the hardwood flooring.

"You know I do."

Pope whispered.

"Then go and bring her home. Where she belongs."

Smurf's reply left no room for argument, no budge, and, honestly, Pope couldn't bring himself to argue. He didn't want to. So what if all this was wrong? It wouldn't be the first time Pope was working in the darker shades of grey. He was a Cody. They were Cody's. This girl was a Cody. She belonged with them. That opinion had not changed, and Pope didn't think it ever would. Double tapping her ID, he brought the cell up to his ear as it started ringing. Smurf smiled at him. Pope found himself grinning back.


PART SIX: THE RAVEN

Nora's P.O.V

xXx

There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.

Nora's eyes snapped open; the exhalation of a shuddering breath trapped between her clenched teeth. She didn't shout, she didn't flinch, there was no tumble or flail of limbs, no sign of a nightmare, just a jarring sort of drop into awareness. Sweat, hot and tacky, was clamming to her forehead, sticking her hair down her back and face. Her heart was frantically beating in her chest, pounding against lung and rib bone. Her fingers felt numb, slightly tingly, as they wrapped and grappled with the sheet underneath her. Her tongue felt thick, heavy, a useless mass of muscle swelling until her voice was lost. Slowly, she breathed.

Six. Voldemort's voice still echoed in her ear, high and keen, but he was Dead. She knew that. He was gone and he couldn't touch her anymore. He couldn't taunt her. Haunt her. Trap her. Possess her. She had won, and she was here.

Five. She could still see the sickly flash of putrid green, but her dead body wasn't falling to the dewy grass this time. She was alive. She had won. She was here and Tom wasn't. She had won, and she was here.

Four. She could still smell the blood, the dust, that unexplainable spark of fire in the air that always followed magic, but she was no longer in Hogwarts, surrounded by bodies, castle half demolished around her. The battle of Hogwarts was over. Finished. She wasn't there anymore. She had won, and she was here.

Three. In the beat of her heart echoing in her hazy ears, she could still hear the screams, oh Merlin, the screams. Remus. Sirius. Tonks. Dobby. Fred. Cedric. Countless screams for innumerable unblinking faces. She could hear them all with every beat, but they could only deafen her when she was dreaming, not when she was awake. The ghosts of her past liked the shadows and they always left her cold in daylight. She had won, and she was here.

Two. Salty tears were cresting on her eyelashes, blurring her already poor vision, but they wouldn't fall. She had cried enough in her life, too much, and now, she didn't think she was capable of shedding any more. She had won, and she was here.

One. She could still taste death on her tongue, something sour and fatty, spoiled meat dipped in coarse sugar. She swallowed it away. She had beaten that too, after all. Death was not the end, she knew that. It was the beginning. She had won, and she was here.

Six breathes was all it ever took for Nora to wash away her nightmares, just six, to remind herself of who she was, how far she had come, to feel alive. At this point, she was used to the vile dreams of memories best left alone and forgotten. They came and they went, like a tide, and she, bobbing along, would ride them out. It was routine by now. Still, for the short time, but bloody hell did it feel like a life time, for the six breathes to come and pass, Nora was trapped somewhere terrible, caught in a land between reality and dream-scape, confusion and fear, and she always felt like she was dying all over again.

But here was different. So very fuckin' different. When she had first learned of Joshua, J as he liked to be called, from a bloody letter of all things, she had felt discombobulated. Disjointed and cut. First came the denial. It was wrong. A prank. Some political ploy from a former Deatheater to try and unseat her, trap her. Second came the anger, the absolute rage. How dare they? Petunia, Dumbledore, everybody who knew, who had said nothing, done nothing, not a thing, had left her to this life of sacrificial lamb and loss, all the while she had a fuckin' family out there, and she had hated them all with a burning intensity. She had nearly burnt down Grimmauld place that night in a whirlwind of fury.

Afterwards, she had tried to bargain. In a way, it, finding out she was adopted, felt like she had died again. Lost all of who she was. Eleanora Potter, the greatest lie. And what did Lily die for? What did all her friends die for? A Potter. Not this, some adopted kid kicked to the curb. If she wasn't a Potter, if she was not the daughter of Lily and James, that meant the prophecy wasn't true, not really, and it had all been self-fulfilling bullshit. She had gone to the pub, polished off her fair share of fire-whiskey, and had visited her parents, her adopted parents, graves. There, she had sobbed like she had never sobbed before, crashed on knee at their headstones, begging with a sort of desperation that left her hoarse for days. She had begged them, pleaded, to their cold headstones, to make it not true. Only the wind had greeted her frantic pleas, and she had spent the night there, broken, crying.

Depression hit her hard after that. She locked herself away. Ignored the floo calls, the owls, the door, and brooded. She wasn't a Potter. Everything had been a lie. Would Sirius still have loved her as he did if he had known? Would Remus have smiled at her as he had if he knew? So many questions had buzzed around her head, gathering like black thunder clouds, dragging her under. They, and many others, had given their lives in protecting the Potter kid, only, she wasn't a Potter, was she? She was something fake, a fabrication, a mockery, a lie, and in so, she felt like she had tricked them all.

Thankfully, acceptance came in a single realisation. Lily had loved her. That much was true. Her protection, Lily's sacrifice, would not have worked if Lily had not loved her like her own daughter. And so what if Nora didn't share their blood? For a little while, she had shared their home, their love, their food, and in a way, wasn't that what made a family? Sirius, Remus, Dobby, they had died for her, for a chance at a better world, not for a name.

And then she had a chance, a real chance, at having a family. One not taken before she could remember it, one not like the vile lie Petunia made hers to be, and dammit, it had been all Nora had ever wanted and it was right there, at her finger tips, if she just reached out and grabbed it. And she did. She rang J. She packed up her few belongings, told her dear friends she was going on a gap year, vacationing the world, before she went into her Auror training with Ron, and she had flown away on the back of Sirius's motorbike.

Nora had met J nearly two weeks ago, and she didn't regret a thing. The sun was bright and hot, the beach was fuckin' beautiful, the bars were alright and lax on their fake ID's, and Nora had a brother. Nora… Had… A… Brother. She never thought she would have a chance at that. And while the story of her mother was pretty tragic, the little J had told her, Nora was just happy to get what she had. She was happy to be on the beach drinking shitty warm Budweiser with J. She was happy to meander up and down the Pier, chatting away, though she did most of the talking. She was happy, and Nora, as sad as it sounded, hadn't been anything remotely close to happy in a very long time. If ever.

Oh, J was a Slytherin alright. Nora had sussed out that much. He was hiding shit, Nora hadn't survived this long without being a little bit observant, but then again, so was she. He was sharp, a little too serious, intelligent, and he had a rather pessimistic penchant. Yet, he was kind, he never asked for more than she was willing to give, or question something she wasn't willing, yet, to answer, and in turn, she offered him the same kindness. It wasn't perfect, don't get her wrong. Sometimes it was awkward. Real fuckin' awkward. Sometimes, Nora didn't know what to say or do, or she did or said the completely wrong thing, as Gryffindors were prone to do. Sometimes, with his snarky nihilistic attitude, he rubbed her the wrong way. And she rubbed him the wrong way too, she knew that. She was loud. She was brash. She was Nora.

Yet, they were growing pains. They were still getting to know one another, size the other one up, testing boundaries, and hit and misses were bound to crop up. No one was perfect. It had only been five weeks since that first phone call, and they had a life time to catch up on. But, somehow, they balanced each other out. Nora cracked J out of his shell, J calmed her down a bit, J made her laugh, and Nora made it easy for J. Where Nora was hot tempered, J was patient. When J was too quiet, Nora spoke up for him.

When Nora had accidentally, and she couldn't stress that word enough, started a bar fight down at the cove, a little hidey hole of a bar, it was J who had talked them all down from bottling each other. When J had been caught with his fake ID at another bar, trying to stutter out excuses so the barmaid didn't ring the cops on them, it was Nora's easy charm that had earned them both a place to drink, and a couple of free bottles of Jack Daniels, she might add. Okay. Maybe they both had the proclivity for getting into trouble in them, but hey, it made things fun.

And things had been fun. It had been carefree. A little wild, just how Nora liked it and, bloody hell, she felt like an actual sixteen-year-old girl, and not the adult she had been forced to prematurely grow up into. She wasn't going to let her nightmares ruin this.

Groaning, Nora swung her arm out, over to the bedside table, patting until finger tip brushed metal and glass. Sitting up, trying to push her damp hair as far out of her face as possible, she bumbled through sliding her glasses on. The room around her came into focus. Getting up from the bed, she winced as she had to peel the sheets away from her clammy skin. Unfortunately, she didn't know whether it was the nightmares or the bloody intense heat of California, but she needed to figure out how that fuckin' air con worked, or she was going to sweat herself into a coma.

Making a note to change the sheets after her shower, dressed in only a thin tank and her underwear, Nora toddled into the small beach hut kitchen. Filling a pot of coffee and setting it to boil, she made her way into the bathroom down the hall. By the time she had washed, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, got dressed into something clean and at least half presentable, too tired from a restless night to do much else, and tidied the bedroom with a few quick spells, the coffee was only just finished. Nora was efficiently swift, if anything. Kicking back on a little bar stool by the kitchen counter, Nora poured herself a healthy mug, lit a cig, and was promptly, and quite rudely if she might add, interrupted from enjoying her morning by the blaring ring of her mobile phone. With a grumble, not bothering to look at the caller ID, she answered.

"I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet, so you better pray this is good or else."

Her friends, the few she had, and the even fewer still alive, knew she was anything but a morning bird, even if she was often up at the crack of dawn. And J, well, J had learned that lesson when he had rung her, right before school, and she had greeted him very much like she had now, with a few swears thrown in for good measure. She had sheepishly apologized later, when she was full of nicotine and caffeine, but J had good naturedly laughed it off. However, it wasn't J's calm but pleasant voice that greeted her, neither was it Hermione's stern clearness, or Ron's boisterousness, but a completely new voice.

"Is this Nora?"

Frowning, Nora quickly pulled the phone away, checking the screen, and upon seeing J's ID photo and number staring back, her scowl deepened as she brought the phone back to her ear. Seven other people had her number. Hermione. Ron. Molly. Neville. McGonagall. Luna. Shacklebolt. Hermione and Ron so they could keep in touch in her gap year away, while the two vacationed themselves, they had all earned it after all. Neville and Luna to keep her up to date on the small goings on of Hogwarts. Molly in case of a Weasley or Teddy emergency. McGonagall and Shacklebolt in the event there were Deatheater trouble or Wizarding problems.

They all believed she was on a 'finding oneself' journey, she couldn't bring herself to tell them the truth, not just yet, she was still trying to fully process it herself, and she doubted anyone would try and track her down through J. Neither did she know of anyone J would know, who would have access to his phone, who would want to speak to her.

"Who the fuck is this?"

Silence came and stayed for a long while, hanging heavy in the air. The line crackled and Nora thought, from the other side, she could hear a deep intake of breath.

"Pope. My name is Pope."

The name didn't ring any bells, but the man, it was definitely a man speaking, said it as if it should.

"Right, well, what are you doing ringing from J's phone? Is he alright? Is he hurt? Where is he?"

Was J hurt? In the hospital? Was this Pope his friend? Once again, there was silence, as if this Pope was weighing up what to say.

"Nora is short for Eleanora, isn't it? Your mother used to love that name. She always wanted a baby girl, said she would name the baby it if she ever did."

Nora gritted her teeth.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time. Who. The. Fuck. Is. This."

It wasn't a question, a request, far from it. It was a demand. Nora hadn't made many friends here, apart from J, much less ones who knew her Merlin damned biological mother. Perhaps it was the lack of coffee, the early morning, the night filled with terrors conjured by a haunted mind, but something was trying to connect, she could feel it nagging in the back of her head, nipping. She, however, just wasn't getting it. And in the moment, thinking J could be possibly hurt, well, that was all she could focus on. Eventually, the strange man, this Pope, answered.

"Pope. I'm J's uncle."

Nora stalled, all gears grinding to a terrible halt, anger and confusion fleeing her on the back of a sharp intake of breath. J hadn't mentioned much of their uncles, bloody hell, she didn't even know their names. She knew they existed, along with this grandmother figure, but that was about it. She didn't even know how many there were. Nevertheless, Nora had been so swept up in having a brother, a real one, nothing like Dudley, that she had, maybe, side-lined that little fact for the time being to enjoy her time with J. Wearily, she spoke.

"As in… As in from his mother's side?"

Nora had picked up J's hint on their fathers. How could she not? Perhaps a little too impulsively, she had thought J's reluctance to speak of his uncles and grandmother had been because they came from his father's side. Technically, they would be her pseudo uncles too, but not really, and in the light of this, knowing what not-really-uncles were like, Vernon with his red, flabby face and tight hands, the back of his knuckles striking her cheek, she hadn't pushed much to find out more. Perhaps she was scared. She was willing to admit that. Aunts, uncles… She didn't have a good track record with them. The thought of having more, maybe like the one she already knew, terrified her. What a strange thing to be scared of. Uncles.

"Yes. Julia was my twin."

Then this… This Pope was her uncle too. And he didn't sound like Vernon. There was no disdain in his voice, that barely concealed loathing, that spittle of venom, hatred, pure and unfiltered. There was only this sort of hesitant hope, soft.

"I-… Uh… Yes, this is Eleanora."

Elegant. Real fuckin' elegant. First, threaten him, then demand an answer, and then, as if that wasn't bad enough for a first impression, stumble around her words like she was a bloody first-year again.

"Look, J's in school but he asked me to give you a ring. He wanted to know if you felt like coming over to the house today? He has an exam, so he can't miss the day out, but he'll be back by four. He thought it might be nice if you spent the day with the rest of the family."

Her brain was still five steps behind.

"Rest of the family?"

There was a chuckle, very much like her own, gruff, from the other end.

"Yes. Your grandmother and other uncles will be here. We all want to meet you."

So, J had told them about her? Well, it made sense, really. Still, Nora was used to being excluded, side-lined, boxed out. She had been, for a very long time, the enemy. Vernon and Petunia treated her much like vermin. In Hogwarts she had been someone, a Potter, to either gawk at in awe for something she had nothing to do with, or sneer and jeer at in the hallways. Then she had been on the run, hiding, trying to survive, undesirable number fuckin' one, with near enough a country waiting for her death. Even the Weasleys, as much as she loved them, had always sort of separated her from their own kids.

No one, not one, had ever really wanted her for her before. Vernon and Petunia had wanted the kid Lily had lost, and so, came to hate its replacement. Hogwarts wanted a hero, or a devil, to hail or slay. The wizarding world wanted a savior or a sacrifice. And the Weasley's, and many others if she was honest, wanted the Potter name in line with their own. Nora wasn't Lily's true-born child, she was just some poor sod the big-hearted woman had taken in. She wasn't a hero, or a demon, just a person trying to survive the next year. She wasn't a savior, she had fought Tom for very personal, very selfish reasons. Neither was she a sacrifice, she was more than that, she was a human being. And, fuckin' hell, she wasn't even a Potter so many wanted to be associated with.

"You want to meet me?"

So, no, she wasn't used to anyone wanting simple, plain, irrevocably human, Nora, just for having Nora, without an ulterior motive. Unfortunately, her incredulousness at such a notion, bordering on shock, crept into her voice. Pope's answer came immediately.

"Of course we do."

There was no reluctance, no ounce of insincerity, deceit, and it threw her. It threw her more than her nightmares. More than the idea of J being hurt. More than the fear of uncles with big fists and mean eyes.

"I-… Sure, that sounds great."

Apparently, it had thrown her enough to lose nearly all social and verbal skills too.

"Good, if you give me your address, I can come pick you up."

Nora glanced out the large patio doors onto the beach front, eyeing up Sirius's bike glittering in the rising sun.

"I have a bike, I can ride up-"

"We can pack it into the back of the truck. The road up to the house is winding and the turn off is hard to find. We can meet somewhere public, if that makes you feel-"

"No. I just didn't want to impose. My address is 704, The Strand, North Oceanside. Do you know where that is?"

There was silence again, and Nora thought he might be jotting it down.

"Yeah, I've got it. I'll be there in half hour. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon."

And then the line went dead, but Nora was still left reeling. Picking up her coffee mug, black liquid now cold, she preferred it when it burnt her tongue, she chugged the lot. It wasn't whiskey, but it was at least something. Sparking up a cig, she took a long, hard drag. It was far too early for this shit, Nora decided.


Thoughts? Feelings? Who's P.O.V do you wish to see next?

Thank you to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed last chapter! This ones for you! I hope I haven't murdered anyones characters yet, as Pope was very hard to pin down in writing. If you want to see anymore, don't forget to drop a review! They let me know if there's interest in a story, feed my inspiration, and generally, just make me smile :).

As a last reviewer asked, we are going to get to see some Wizarding world people, Nora isn't just going to disconnect and vanish. However, I do want to focus on Animal Kingdom, it's characters, and Nora's integration into the plot, family and crimes at play firstly. So, it's going to be a while before we see any Hermione, Ron's or Draco's.

If you have a certain scene you want to see, perhaps a line of dialogue, act, or song, drop it in a Review or P.M and I'll try and add it in.