January 6th, 1978

I meet Dorcas the day her family returns from holiday. Sitting on the edge of her creamy white bedspread dotted with tiny, green sprigs, I watch as she tends to her plants. Dorcas has an internship with Professor Sprout, tending to the greenhouses Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings, learning everything Sprout can teach her, preparing for a career in herbology.

"Tell Cara the nettles aren't ready yet," she says to me. "I don't know where she read that a nettle soup would improve the glossiness of her hair, but I bet Phyllida Spore would have a lot to say about such a rumor."

I hum in agreement, pretending to have any idea what she's on about. Dorcas rarely has much to say unless she's talking about plants, and I never want to make her feel awkward about it. "She probably read it in Witch Weekly while skiving off class."

Dorcas's father knocks on her open bedroom door, reminding us we need to leave to see my sister soon. He doesn't actually mention my sister, and I wonder if Dorcas told him exactly what this lunch is about. He hangs in the doorway an extra second, and says, "The plants look nice," barely eying them before turning around.

Mr. Meadowes is a muggle mechanic who Dorcas says loves grease more than people, she and her mother being the exceptions. He knows little about gardening, meanwhile the care of magical plants, but Dorcas smiles all the same. I think he wants to feel a part of her and her mother's world, and I adore and envy it all at once, my warm blood rushing.

We floo to her uncle's shop in Diagon Alley. It's closed for the day, with small cauldrons and paints lining the walls. It's a rentable room for children's birthdays; the children decorate their first cauldrons for hours. Emmeline's little brother had his last birthday here, where Cara and Dorcas stood in the corner with Emmeline while I painted my own cauldron with the children.

We make our way through Diagon Alley, almost into the Leaky Cauldron when we hear screams of, "Meadowes! Meadowes! OI! Where were you on the eve!"

"New Years' Eve, c'mon Prongs."

"Get off my back, Moony!"

I tap Dorcas on the shoulder, and we turn around, inviting the inevitable. I'm surprised to actually see Remus being shrugged off of James's back in the middle of the cobblestone street. They walk toward us, Merlin, all four of them. They're fun boys, and Remus helped Emmeline when she fell behind in potions last year. But they're also loud, rambunctious, and, at times, annoying. And we're late.

Dorcas says, "Hello, lads," checks her watch, and turns around, walking toward the pub once more. I look at each of the boys before turning around and following her.

"Lots to do there?" I hear Peter question from behind.

"No," I call. A few steps ahead, Dorcas holds open the door to the pub. "Just late for a meeting."

Dorcas mouths, A meeting?

I pass her and go through the doorway, shrugging my shoulders.

"We could walk you!" James yells. I turn to see him pulling on the arm of Dorcas's jacket as she tries to catch up to me. She told me that James, the surprise Head Boy for this year, has taken to sitting with her during the meetings his girlfriend seems to lead alone. Dorcas, too kind for her own good, lets him.

"Why?" She asks, using the deadpan voice she reserves for everyone but her friends, family, and Professor Sprout.

"Because we've nothing to do," Remus tells us.

"And what will you do after we arrive?" I question, stopping to let Dorcas catch up.

"That's a problem for our future selves," Peter says like it's an intelligent response.

The three others make noises of agreement.

Dorcas, with a look of regret and defeat, gestures for them to follow. My heart jumps into my throat at the thought of these boys anywhere near Azalea and Fern.

We walk, Dorcas and me in silence, them in an uproar of conversation. James basically writes a sonnet for Lily Evans, and Sirius changes the lines to practical smut. James yells profanities in return, and Remus tells them to change the subject. So they do. Muggles look at us like wild teenagers from the world I was born to, unaware of the magic in our bones. Peter rattles on about Boxing Day, and the others listen and ask questions about Peter's extended family. It's nice to listen to them act like normal people. A lack of interaction over the years has given me an incomplete view of them as individuals.

When we arrive at the cafe, I stop short, Sirius running into my back as he fails to notice. I rub the back of my head as I turn again, and catch Sirius watching my bum. I pretend not to notice.

"Alright, boys, final stop," I say, nervously looking between them and the cafe.

"What secrets have you got there, Ruiz?"

It's Sirius who asks it, but it's all of us who regret it. Dorcas puts a hand on my shoulder and narrows her eyes at the intrusive boy. I know very little about these blokes, but I do know they say too much all the time.

"An ironic question, right? If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets anymore."

"Clever girl. Much too clever for me, right?"

"Padfoot, please don't flirt with my quidditch rival's girlfriend."

And Sirius's eyes seem to open wider as if he's forgotten our interaction last night and is just realizing who I am. He, at least, tries to hide this social faux pas and says, "You can flirt with a girl without trying to steal her from her quidditch leading boyfriend."

"As if you could," I reply quickly but without the bite I desire.

I turn to look into the cafe once more, noticing the back of a dark-haired girl sitting at the counter. Her curls are tighter than my waves but looser than Dorcas's coils. Her hair is loose and frizzy like mine and not at all like Dorcas's, which is always styled with products. I assume it's Azalea as I see a baby carrier sat on the stool beside her, a hand reaching in and being held by smaller ones.

"Time to go in," I say but do not move.

"Or you could come to drink with us," James offers. "There's probably a shop somewhere willing to sell us overpriced bottles."

"Thank you for the offer of getting drunk with practical strangers, but —"

"Friendly acquaintances," James interrupts.

My smile is unfinished before I continue. "But this is important, I think."

"You think?" Remus asks.

"Too personal for friendly acquaintances," I say, looking at the baby carrier once more. "Estranged familial dysfunction and bitter, unresolved trauma. The kind of stuff you only tell your best friends under the covers after twilight, when you're a bit too delirious to remember your brick and mortar walls."

Silence falls between the four boys for the first time since they yelled our way in Diagon Alley. Maybe for the first time since they met each other in whatever pub made the mistake of serving them. They are awestruck by my words, I think, the way my friends used to be when they were learning me. Eventually, these four boys will come to realize they're not learning me at all. Nobody does without my permission.

I think of Connor.

"That sounds so fucking sad," James says after a moment.

I am reminded of how legless they all must be and hope they forget all about today.

Sirius chuckles beside him, and says, "Where was that wonderful tact when I was revealing my familial dysfunction?"

"Sorry," James slurs in return.

"Time to go in," Dorcas murmurs, echoing my words from moments ago. She gestures into the cafe, where I watch as Azalea spots me. Dorcas continues, "Unless you want to introduce these boys to —"

"See you at school," I say quickly, turning around.

"If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, mine are broad," Sirius quips.

"No, they aren't." James slaps him on the back of the head.

.

Once seated at a table with Azalea and Fern, I only order a coffee. Dorcas follows suit. Azalea, on the other hand, orders a plate of pastries and her own hot chocolate. We sit in uncomfortable silence as we wait. In my periphery, I watch Dorcas look between us, noting our similarities up close. We have the same light brown skin, but her face is full of freckles. Our eyes are the same muddy brown, like Dorcas's, but ours are wide and watery. Dorcas once told me I always look on the verge of tears.

"You look like her, you know," I say it because it's true, but maybe, I also say it to hurt her.

"Like whom?"

"Mami."

Silence falls once more. I look out the window to see those four boys still standing at the corner, gesturing passionately at one another. I wonder if they can't agree on the next place to go for more alcohol. I notice Remus notice me, and he offers a gentle smile. I pretend not to see.

"I'm sorry," Azalea eventually says, "I invited you here, I should be the one to talk."

"Then talk," I reply, crossing my arms and leaning back. My legs won't stop shaking against Dorcas's beneath the table.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," Azalea breathes.

"Your letter said all that," I say.. "Mami died and you had a baby and now you're feeling guilty for my traumatizing childhood because whenever you look at your infant daughter you remember all your mistakes."

"Aster —"

"What is this, Azalea?" I seethe. "Does Mami's death remind you of your own mortality? Do you not want to die knowing I still hate you?"

"I want us to be a family again," Azalea says earnestly. A small tear escapes her eyes, and she forcefully wipes it away. She breathes deeply, regaining control. I think of the times I've done exactly this, refusing to let anyone else see me in distress. I think of Papi. Azalea continues, "I want to be your sister, and I want to do better this time."

I huff. My hand falls under the table and grabs onto Dorcas's. She squeezes it tightly.

"I don't know," I eventually mumble. "I have a family. I have parents who love me and friends like Dorcas at school. I have people who always want to have me. Familia, Azalea. I have all the things you were supposed to give me and didn't. Shirley and Arnold took me in and gave me a home when Mami and Papi refused."

I think of the siblings I lost, and immediately replace them with the Kents in my head, three siblings to match my own, but the thought of Connor's lips sucking at the pulse point on my neck sends both a shiver down my spine and bile up my throat.

The bell rings as the cafe door opens. The boys sit at the counter, loudly order coffees and chip butties. I can feel my heartbeat speed up at the thought of any of them coming over here. Dorcas's head turns their way, and then, she looks at me, worried.

"I can ask them to leave," she says.

"No, no," I concede. I would rather die than draw any more attention to this situation.

"Do you know them?" Azalea reaches down to tickle Fern's nose.

"Not really," I respond quickly.

The boy who took our order arrives with it and places everything delicately onto the table. I lift up my hot coffee and take a sip, breathing through the burning sensation as it travels down my throat and disappears before reaching my stomach.

"What can I do to make up for my mistakes?" Azalea asks. "What can I do for you?"

"I don't know."

"I'll do anything."

"No sé!" I snap. I feel a tinge of something in my belly, and remember the way my parents would revert to their native Spanish whenever angry, anxious, or irritated. I remember being the child spoken to in Spanish the most and regret the old habit forming once more as I look at my sister across from me.

"Lo siento," Azalea surrenders.

"I'm losing my Spanish," I admit, eyes looking toward the table. "A school in Scotland full of Europeans isn't exactly a hub for speaking the language."

"No one speaks it much in London, either," Azalea tells me. "Outside of us."

Us, I dwell. Papi, Azalea, Theo, Ramon, and, formerly, Mami. Maybe they even keep in touch with Tía Ramona at the home. I hope they do past telling her of Mami's death and using her to get to me.

So I ask.

"How often are all of you in touch with Tía Ramona?"

"Mostly just the holidays," Azalea answers while looking at the table, "but Theo is actually in touch with her a lot. He travels to see her about once a month and sometimes takes Ramon if Mum will let him."

She looks up, her eyes wide, and corrects, "If Mum would let him."

I think about the fight Tía Ramona put up to force my parents to keep me. I think about the fight she put up with the courts to take me in herself, but that was short lived as she was already in the home. My chest feels heavy and hot as I look at Fern asleep in her carrier, and after the final sip of my coffee, I stand.

"I think it's time to go," I tell Dorcas. She follows my lead and grabs her coat off the back of her chair.

Azalea looks up at us helplessly, and I feel no obligation or pity.

"It was good to see you," she tries.

"Yeah," I return, wrapping my scarf tight around me.

Dorcas throws her an awkward wave and walks with me, passing by the four boys telling drunken stories on their stools. I do not think they notice us.

Once outside, Dorcas gives me a few places we could stop in before heading home, but I am lost in my mind as we stand on the sidewalk. There is too much heartache in my chest to even begin to think about which store we should pop in for plants or art supplies.

"Aster!" Azaleas calls from the open cafe door, hurrying through its threshold with Fern safely in her carrier. The baby's loud cries fill the busy London sidewalk as she speed-walks toward us.

Out of breath, curls flying about in the wind, she lets out a low, "I'm sorry." She looks to the ground before continuing. "Tía Romona didn't want to see me much after Mami and Papi sent you away. She blamed me, too, because I was old enough to know better. But she loves the boys, and I promise to make sure they both see her at least twice a month from now on."

I listen to her words carefully, considering her earnestness, but I'm distracted when some recognizable Slytherins turn a corner and walk toward us. One of them is Mulciber, infamous now for the terror he inspires. Last term, he spent every single Saturday in detention after what he did to Mary Macdonald not even a week into the new school year.

"I'd like that, Azalea," I say quickly, nudging Dorcas so she can see them too, "but I think it's time you take Fern home."

"Alright." Azalea pushes the blanket wrapped around Fern until it is just below her chin and looks me in the eyes. "I love you, Aster."

I consider her for a quick moment, glancing at the Slytherin blood purists getting closer.

"I love you, too," I respond. It's both a truth and a lie, creating warmth and fire in my belly I do not understand.

Thankfully, Azalea hurries off, shushing Fern as she goes, taking no notice of the terrifying boys as she passes. I wonder if, to people who don't know about blood purity and the darkest part of our magical world, they just look like any of the spindly boys that litter the London streets, taking drags off of cigarettes and making eyes at pretty girls walking out of dress shops. I consider them for a moment, none particularly tall or muscly, but my knowledge of their talents with dark magic throws a shadow over everything else, and my head grows foggy.

They stop before us, three of them, all dressed in layers of black, shielding their pale bodies from the cold. Dorcas revealed to me on a particularly emotional night in fourth year that she has grown afraid to walk the corridors alone. More than a handful of our peers have taken to calling her slurs, yelled across rooms or whispered into her ear when they dare to get close, some having to do with her muggle father and others having to do with the color of her skin. Dorcas is the top of our class — some professors calling her the brightest witch of our age — and can probably take down an assailant in seconds, but it doesn't stop the nightmares or anxiety constantly bubbling in her chest.

"Meadowes, Ruiz," Mulciber greets with a vicious smirk. "Lovely to see two witches out in muggle London."

I recognize both of the boys with him to be the already graduated Lucius Malfoy and the-still-lurking-the-halls Severus Snape. I still recall the sight of him hanging upside down on the grounds in our fifth year with James's wand point at his feet. I also still recall the poison in the air when he shouted the word mudblood at his supposed best friend, Lily Evans.

"We're meeting some friends," Dorcas lies. I wonder why she would say such a thing, but then I notice one hand twitching near the wand in her jacket pocket and the other pointing inside the cafe. I follow the tip of her finger through the window, and see those four bright, Gryffindor boys, eyes glassy from intoxication, looking out the window and back at us. I watch the edges of Sirius's mouth move as he sneers.

"A lot of Gryffindors out today," Mulciber comments. "Blood traitors and mudbloods alike." He turns to say mudbloods while looking into my eyes. His are cold and blue.

I feel the blood rush through my body, fiery and alive, indignant and offended. But it's Dorcas who grasps her wand, a look of pure hatred painted across her beautiful face.

"Let's get out of here," Severus says slowly. "We'll see them at school."

Mulciber smiles once more, and I imagine his yellowing teeth smeared with blood.

"Until next time," he says with a quirk of his brow.

I have nothing to say in return, but even if I did, they do not wait to find out, turning around to walk back the way they came. Not a moment later, the cafe door is banging open as Sirius charges onto the sidewalk, his friends behind him.

"What the fuck are they doing here?" Sirius grits.

"Looking for prey, probably," Dorcas responds, eyes still looking at the corner the Slytherins disappeared around.

"What did they say?" James asks in a lighter tone.

"You're all blood traitors, I'm a mudblood, and he'll see us at school," I list off like I'm reading Shirley the grocery list.

"You're not," Sirius says as if he knows a thing.

"I mean, I literally am." I snort. "It's just not a very kind word to use."

Dorcas reaches out to take my hand.

"We should go," I tell her. "We can go to the dress shop and buy something pretty. Your mum can yell at you, and Shirley can pretend not to be annoyed with me."

She smiles wide and waves goodbye to the three boys in front of us. They do not wave in return, but we walk away anyway.