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— Chapter 6 —
Burdens Brought By Frost

DAPHNE WAS NOT AS GOOD AT SIDE-ALONG APPARITION AS THORNE. The moment we landed, I staggered forward, bumped against a tree, fell backwards, turned over, swore, and vomited.

Daphne sniggered. "That's embarrassing for you."

"It's not my fault you're bad at this," I grumbled.

"Oh, gee. Was the journey not smooth enough for you? Hold on tight next time, 'kay?"

"I'll just rub your head for good luck, shall I?"

"Do that, and I bite your fingers off."

"Yeah, yeah," I said as I pushed myself up. "Sure you will. Let's get this over with."

Daphne led me through a grove of trees to the start of a narrow earthy path. As we traveled down it, the trees gave way and rolling fields of corn took their place. The path sloped up, and when we reached the apex of its ascent, it plateaued, becoming level for a time, until finally dropping into a lush valley kissed by sunlight.

An enormous hedge bisected this valley. It stood ten feet high and swirled with vine-like tendrils that moved in, around, and on top of each other like the tentacles of an enormous green octopus. Row upon row of pumpkins lay behind it, sloping up the far side of the valley wall. They were massive, organized in no particular fashion, and each one glowed so richly in the afternoon light, they looked a color closer to gold than orange. A river stood in the distance near the mouth of the valley, and past this river were still more pumpkins, but these were larger than those protected by the hedge — they must have been larger than Thorne's house!

As we neared the end of the earthy path, a large sign became visible that read "POMONA'S PATCH: PICK PERFECT PUMPKINS" and below this sign was a large silver bell that looked too enticing not to ring.

"Do we ring it?" I asked Daphne.

Her response was predictably caustic. "No, it's just there for show." But, all the same, she stepped forward and rang the little bell.

A great shiver ran through the maze. All the vine-like tendrils stopped swirling and turned toward us. A wave erupted through the greenery. Leaf upon leaf, vine upon vine, the hedge crawled outward, revealing a narrow pathway just large enough to walk through.

"Try to be useful for once in your life," said Daphne, "and let me do the talking."

I made a face at her. "Gladly," I said.

When we reached the other side of the hedge, a shabby wooden booth came into view. Behind it sat a woman who was short and stout, with wiry grey hair, and a magnificent patched hat. She was in the middle of a conversation with a man who seemed too big to be allowed. He had furious red hair, a bushy red beard inlaid with yellow flowers, great red cheeks that were rosy and full, and a booming Scottish voice that reached us clearly even though we were still a good few feet away.

"This is important Pomona," he said.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," said Pomona. "Times are tight, and I won't have you scaring away my customers."

Thomas's face darkened like the cloud of an incoming storm. "Corban Yaxley isn't the type of customer you — "

"No!" said Pomona. "No, I don't want to hear it. Your article upset a great number of people, Thomas. We can't be associated with the kind of riffraff you want to bring."

"I just need a picture of — "

"I forbid it!" Pomona puffed herself up to the intimidating height of four-feet-eleven-inches. "You are undermining people's confidence in pumpkins everywhere! I'm sorry my friend, but you have to go."

Thomas said a word that was very rude, turned on his heel, and stomped toward the entrance.

"Does it hurt knowing you're still the shortest person here?" I asked as we approached the booth.

Daphne opened her mouth, but Pomona forestalled her response by saying, "Morning. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"…yes," said Daphne who sounded thoroughly put out. "We'd like — "

"Ahhh." Pomona tapped her temple knowingly. "Young love. I know the type. Here for your first pumpkin, are you?"

Daphne bristled, annoyed, and I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. It was why I stepped forward, cut her response off mid-stream, and said, "We're a little nervous. Just married you see, but so in love. Right, ducky?"

Daphne's eyes promised cold murder, but she said, "…yes."

Pomona made a sound of delight. "It's a big step, no doubt about it, but with Pomona, you're in safe hands. Young love is always celebrated in the patch because pumpkins are about love."

"See?" I said as Pomona bustled from the booth to give us a tour. "There was nothing to worry about, ducky. The nice lady will help us find everything we need. Pomona, you are a lifesaver!"

"What are you doing?" hissed Daphne as Pomona prattled on about pumpkins.

I smiled a satisfied smile. "I'm trying to not be — how did you put it? — oh, that's right, useless." I knew I was provoking her, but honestly, I didn't care. I so rarely had any opportunity to get Daphne back for everything she said to me.

"You'll be wanting a family sized pumpkin, then?" asked Pomona.

"Oh, yes," I said in my most grown-up voice. "Definitely family sized. Four of them, if you please."

"Ah!" swooned Pomona. "A large family then. Wonderful, wonderful. I must know, how did you two dears meet? The Reformation Act, perhaps?"

I didn't know what the Reformation Act was, so I decided to play it safe. "Just plain old love, I'm afraid. What can I say? I'm a traditionalist. Why don't you tell the story, ducky?"

"I really couldn't," said Daphne through a clenched jaw.

"Oh, but I insist," cried Pomona, "you must! Bit of a busybody, I am. Not much excitement selling pumpkins, so I have to live vicariously."

I grabbed Daphne's hand. "Go on, ducky," I said.

Daphne's nails dug into my flesh hard enough to draw blood. "Okay," she said sweetly. Then, in a louder voice, she continued by saying, "When I was adopted, I was a magic-less little runt who was a burden on everyone I came into contact with."

That comment wiped the smile right off my face.

"Oh…" said Pomona. "How… how nice."

"I don't think — " I began to say, but Daphne cut me off.

"No, really, ducky, it's just getting to the good part. You see, my parents died when I was one because I was too useless to save them. So, I spent all my time begging and begging everyone to love me because I was too weak and magic-less to do anything for myself. When I met Harry, I thought: gosh, maybe I can finally replace the parents I was too weak to save."

I saw red.

"Goodness," said Pomona. "Well, I say — "

"My parents died when I was little too," I said.

"Oh dear!" squeaked Pomona.

"Yeah, it's really tragic." My eyes bore into Daphne's. "Of course, my life's been pretty great otherwise, but hey, why focus on the positives? It's easier to be cold and cruel so no one will ever hurt me. It's not like anyone wants to be around me anyway. I'm not brave or strong or kind because beneath all my bravado, I'm nothing but a scared little — "

Wham! Daphne slapped me clean across the face with such force I saw stars. I rubbed my jaw, stunned. Where did she get off — I wheeled around, trying to find her, but she was gone.

"Well now." Pomona puffed herself up, bristling with indignation, "I don't know what sort of woman you take me for, but pumpkin carriages" — she let out a choked sob — "are about love! Today, the two of you have made a mockery of love, and I would like you to leave. Now."

Oh shit. We didn't have the seeds.

"Listen — " I began.

"Leave."

"But — "

"Now!"

It was unsurprising that Daphne left me stranded, but it still annoyed the living daylights out of me, and as the squirming hedge sealed shut behind me, I wondered how I was going to get home. Would Daphne tell Thorne she'd left me here? Seemed unlikely. Waiting around was a big risk to take.

The sun kissed valley splayed out before me, drenched in the haze orange-purple dusk. A river sparkled in the distance — now there was an idea. If I followed the river, I'd eventually find a town. I used to do it all the time when I was homeless. Yeah… that seemed like a plan.

"You should not have provoked her," said Fleur as I started the long walk toward the river.

"She made it personal," I grumbled.

"You responded."

"She left me here!"

Fleur made a sound of disapproval. "You pulled her pigtails."

A righteous bubble of anger swelled up within me. "Pulled her pig — why are you taking her side?"

"Because you have an exceedingly beautiful girl in your head and she does not." Fleur sounded far too satisfied with herself. "Now, tell me how beautiful I am. Use many adjectives."

As I drew near the bank of the river, I stepped in the path of a great, sprawling shadow. I looked up, up, up. The pumpkins on the opposite bank were titanic. They were thirty feet high, twenty feet across, and were planted in a crumbling rock-like compound of shiny black stones. They glowed yellow in the center, orange in the middle, and deep red along the edges. I couldn't imagine what someone would grow in something so big.

A flash of light caught my eye. I turned.

Thomas was standing a little ways down, taking pictures of the pumpkins. When I approached, he looked up. "There were two of you last I saw," he said.

"Yeah. Err. She left without me."

"Good riddance," grunted Thomas. "Nothing but trouble that one is."

"You know her?" I asked.

"I do." Thomas extended a massive hand toward me. Small strands of red hair sprouted below each of his knuckles. "Thomas Abbott. Pleasure."

I nodded and shook his hand. "You were at the auction."

"Aye. I reported on it. Was quite a show."

"For the Daily Prophet?"

"Bah!" roared Thomas in a voice so loud I jumped. "Not the Prophet. I have more integrity than that. No, boy, the Liberator."

"Oh. Thorne reads that."

Thomas's voice was smug. "Everyone who cares for truth reads the Liberator. We don't pander in the partisan politics of Dark and Light."

"And you're… reporting on something here?"

"Aye," said Thomas. "There's a shortage of pumpkins, you see."

It didn't look that way from where I was standing, but that didn't seem polite to say, so I just nodded.

Flash! Thomas took another picture. "It always seems unlikely we'll run out during harvest time, but come winter, there's never enough to go around. The earth won't yield what we need to survive, so the Yaxleys are trying to grow year round." His voice darkened. "It's unnatural. You can see it in the color, the grading, the mud. Magic should not take the place of nature." He straightened and slung the camera around his neck. "You'd best be hurrying along little Potter. The perversion of magic is a sad thing. Best avoid those who do it."

"Err — thanks," I said.

Thomas's bushy red eyebrow met in the middle. "Do you have a way back to Thorne?"

"Uhm." I wasn't sure if I wanted help from this strange, loud man. "I was just going to walk to a mate I have down the way."

"Walk?" Thomas laughed a big booming laugh. "There's nothing in that direction but trees and turkey and more trees. Are you sure you don't need help? Night is falling and it won't do to roam these lands alone, especially for you, especially if you're unprotected, especially" — his voice dropped to a whisper — "when you're so near the Yaxleys."

"No, it's fine, really," I said. "Thank you, though, I appreciate — "

"Harry!"

I turned. Thorne was walking toward us, still a ways off, but getting closer every minute.

"That your friend, then?" asked Thomas in a bemused voice.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Err — sorry."

"You're a cautious lad," said Thomas, not unkindly. "I respect that. Suppose I can hardly blame you for being cautious."

Thorne's voice was warm when she reached us. "Thomas, it's good to see you!"

Thomas's response was cold and clipped. "Thorne. The Greengrass girl left him here all alone."

"Well," said Thorne, "What's done is done. Let's move on, shall we?"

"That girl is trouble," growled Thomas.

"Yes, yes," said Thorne, sounding slightly annoyed now, "you've made your feelings about Daphne perfectly clear. Come, Harry." She turned on her heel without another word, and started back to the apparition point.

I looked between Thorne's retreating back and Thomas — there was something strange between them; old history, perhaps. "It was nice meeting you," I said. "I hope your article goes well."

Thomas Abbott inclined his head, and without another word, I scampered up the path to join Thorne. We walked in silence. Uncharacteristic silence. Thorne's face was drawn, and looked paler than usual. It took me a moment to realize it was because she was upset — upset with me.

A hot flash of annoyance tore through me. Why was it that Daphne could attack me with impunity however she wanted, whenever she wanted, and the one time I responded in kind, everyone treated me like a bad guy? Well, fine, I thought petulantly. If Thorne isn't going to bring it up, I'm not going to either. She can stew for all I care.

But, of course, Thorne did bring it up. She was just waiting for the right time, and when we apparated from the pumpkin patch to her kitchen, I found out why. Daphne was waiting for us, sitting sullenly in one of the chairs around the table.

"Sit," she said, and I sat. It was silent for a moment.

"You know it's somewhat astonishing how badly the two of you mucked this up." Thorne made a frustrated sound. "Not only did you embarrass yourselves and me, but you also didn't get the pumpkin seeds I asked for. Now we're going to have to buy all our food, and that's an expensive luxury."

Her voice turned cold. "Daphne, leave us."

I heard Daphne's chair scoot back, but I didn't look up. For a long time after she left, it was silent. Thorne sat down, but she didn't say anything. I didn't know what she was waiting for, but I wasn't going to break the silence. If she wanted to be unreasonable, she could do it at her own pace.

Thorne fiddled with her ring. The wizened half of her face, the female half, looked older than I'd ever seen it. She sighed. "I must admit, I expected better from you, Harry."

My temper flared. "But she — "

"And?" Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Does that excuse your behavior?"

"Thorne. She takes every opportunity to — "

"So?"

"So," I ground out, "why are you acting like I'm the only person who's done something wrong here?"

"I'm not," said Thorne.

My voice rose. "Why isn't she here, then? You're not telling her you expected better."

Thorne nodded. "That's true."

"She left me there today, Thorne!" My voice rose, almost to a shout. "And yesterday, she almost killed me. That spell would have — "

"Do you really have so little faith in my ability to protect you?" asked Thorne.

"That's not the point," I snarled. "You didn't say anything to her — nothing! Did you not care? Is she really that much more important than — "

Thorne gave me a sour look. "You know that's not true."

"Do I? Hey, let's have Harry wave a rubber fucking chicken around so we can all have a good laugh. Hey, let's have Daphne wail on Harry because he'll eventually have to fight someone worse. God knows defeating the Dark Lord is all you care about, so why not just — "

Thorne slammed her hand down on the table. Her eyes flashed, burning with fire, and a palpable aura of power surrounded her. I shrunk back into my seat as her face twisted and crawled, the male half of her face overtaking the female, until it seemed she was no longer a woman, but a man.

Thorne swelled, and a thrum of power burst forth from her over-long too-thin arms. I felt it, her anger, like a physical presence that filled the whole house with fire. The lights flickered. A window, the one above the sink, splintered and cracked. And then, just as quickly as it came, the anger vanished. Thorne swayed, looking old and tired as her face returned to its original orientation. She closed her eyes, leaned her elbows on the table, and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," she said in a voice of disconcerting calm, "because it was either thoughtless or cruel, and I'd rather not know which one it was." She paused. "I understand you feel hard done by and that you've had to deal with a lot lately. It's the only reason I've indulged your little tantrum up to this point. But now, that's over." Her voice hardened. "It's time to be an adult."

I crossed my arms, sullenly staring at the table. "Fine."

Thorne opened her eyes. "I'd like you to answer a question. Why did you decide to provoke Daphne today?"

"Dunno," I said.

"Yes. You. Do."

"What do you want me to say?" I snapped. "I egged her on cause I thought it was funny. I did it because she tried to kill me. It's my fault and I won't do it again."

"Any of those answers would be fine," said Thorne, "if they were true. You see, I have a theory about what happened." She leaned toward me, hazel eyes twinkling. "I think you feel frustrated about your magical progress. I think you're jealous of Daphne. I think… you decided to provoke her, not out of anger or retribution, but so that you could control something."

I drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah, alright, fine, but — "

"There are times," said Thorne, cutting across me, "when we have to choose between what is right, and what is easy. Today, you chose what was easy."

Frustration bubbled past my lips. "You're still defending her? Why — "

"Enough," hissed Thorne, and I fell silent. "I'm not talking about Daphne. You're the one who keeps bringing her up. What I said, if you remember, was: I expected more from you. And I do because —

"Because of the prophecy," I sneered. "Because I'm a god. Because — "

"Because you're capable of it," said Thorne in a voice that fell like thunder. "Surely you've noticed that people are drawn to you, Harry. Ron, Blaise, Cedric, Cho, me, Fleur, and yes, even Daphne. It's not because you're a child of prophecy, but because most of the time — when you're not being an angsty little cretin — you're empathetic and kind."

"So I'm just supposed to love Daphne, am I?" I asked.

Thorne sighed. "No, Harry. You're supposed to realize that what Daphne said about you was patently untrue, and what you said about her was. What's worse is that you both knew it. Your struggles with magic don't make me think less of you. It doesn't make anyone think less of you. It is our choices, Harry, that matter far more than our ability."

I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to do then."

"Look," said Thorne. "Daphne isn't easy — I know that. I'm not asking you to be friends with her. I'm not asking you to let her rip you apart. You can either help her or hurt her, the choice is yours. All I ask is that when you make that choice, you own its consequences because they will define you." Her voice lowered, and became a reverent murmur. "Magic is our most fundamental form of expression."

"Magic is our most fundamental form of expression," I echoed.

A moment passed. Thorne fiddled with her ring. "You know, when I was young, I was…" — she shook her head — "so angry. We have similar pasts, me and Daphne. I see so much of myself in her, and I see so much of my brother in you. He would say things, stupid things, things only a boy would say, and I'd… I'd get so mad. Instantly mad. You do that to me, too.

"God, I hated him, maybe I still do, I don't know. I…" — Thorne's lips twitched in a smile — "and yet, the joke of the whole thing is that if I had to choose if I wanted you to be like him or me, I'd choose him. Harry, I…" — she hesitated, considering her next words carefully — "so much of your life has been rotten. More than most. You have every right to strike back at the people who hurt you. What I'm asking of you isn't easy, but it is right."

She rose, looking old and tired. "If it's any consolation, I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you capable of shouldering the burden." After that, she turned and left, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

THE NEXT MORNING, I WENT TO SEE DAPHNE. I knocked on her door three times, and when it opened, I saw Daphne was still in her pajamas. Dark bruises lay beneath her eyes and pink burns dusted her face in a layer of fine freckles.

"What."

"Uh, listen," I said. "I'm… sorry about yesterday. I went too far. It was my bad."

Daphne stared at me for a long moment, and then slammed the door in my face.

This event marked a new phase in our relationship. I called it "insult-the-shit-out-of-harry" and boy, was the name accurate. Over the next week, Daphne was relentless, never missing an opportunity to get a good dig in, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't get to me. Were it not for Thorne (who I didn't want to disappoint), I would have clapped back at her — hard.

The days blended together in a haze of rubber chickens, feathers, and fraying self-control. Before I knew it, six days had passed, and it was Tuesday once again. That afternoon, I was in the living room, practicing occlumency with Fleur, when Thorne waltzed in and said, "Today, you're going to practice with me. I want to see how you're coming along."

It was… interesting.

"Legilimens."

The sensation was familiar. Tug, tug, tug, went the rope in my mind.

Oh, I thought, hello Thorne.

I was expecting to fail, but I didn't. After a month of practicing against Fleur, keeping Thorne out of my mind was... surprisingly manageable. Curiously, though, as she was attacking me, I noticed something new, something I'd never seen before: another rope, a new rope, Thorne'srope.

It felt like a big red button that said, "DO NOT TOUCH!"

So, what did I do? I touched it. I pulled on the rope. How could I not? I was curious. The world twisted, turned, folded, and bent around me. Suddenly, I was in Thorne's mind, but the rope was gone. Instead, there was a truth-seeker. Spin, spin, spin, it went.

Well, I thought, isn't that interesting. Thorne's mind is different from mine.

How did I get in? What was the game? What did I have to do to the truth-seeker? There was a logic to it, a puzzle that prevented me from entering. With a jolt, I realized it was Thorne's logic, and until I figured out what drove her, I wouldn't be able to enter her mind.

Tug, tug, tug, went the rope around my waist.

I stared at it, annoyed. Not now, I told it. I'm busy. But the rope had other ideas. Twist, turn, fold, bend, went the world, andI was back in my mind, staring at Thorne, whose eyes were wide with surprise.

"That," she said, "was interesting. You're pretty good at this, kiddo."

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Everyone's mind had a game — a logic puzzle — and if I solved it, I could bridge the gap between the outside world and their innermost thoughts. While I couldn't perform the spell to enter someone's mind myself, if they attacked me first, I could reverse that connection.

Fleur was rather affronted when I asked if I could see her logic game. "I am too complicated for a single game," she said in a proud, regal voice.

"Okay. Show me."

"Hmph!"

"Is that a no?" I asked.

"When you can enter my mind, you'll see it for yourself."

"So… never."

Fleur preened.

AND OWL CAME FOR ME THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON — my first piece of wizarding mail ever. It was very exciting.

Hey kid,
I never apologized for kicking you off my balcony last week. Here's a mirror so you can yell at me about it. It's small enough to fit in your pocket, so make sure you don't lose it. Hold it up to your face, speak my name, and I will appear. Cho-On-Demand.
-C.C

"Interesting," said Thorne when I showed it to her. "You must have made a big impression. She's not the friendly sort."

"Should I... use it?" I asked. "I don't want to bother her."

"Oh, you should definitely use it. Nothing that girl does is accidental." Thorne gave me a meaningful look. "She's exceptionally skilled at charms."

"Okay?"

"Harry, she's useful."

"So?"

Thorne shook her head. "You're hopeless."

When I called that night, Cho was in bed.

"Morning."

"Uh..." I looked outside at the dark night sky. "It's ten o'clock."

"I wake up at ten and work at night." Cho stretched, blinking sleepily. "It's quieter that way. Say, why do you look so gloomy?"

Explaining it seemed exhausting, so I just shrugged and said, "It doesn't matter. What are you working on today?"

Cho smiled and told me all about her golden-rooster-basilisk-scaring-doohickey. She had a slow, purposeful way of speaking and the more she spoke, the more relaxed she became. I learned a lot about the spell Duro — a charm that hardened the outer surface of a physical object. There was something familiar in Cho's voice, something I recognized, a sense of... wonder, maybe? Yes, that was it. It was the same wonder I felt whenever I read about magic.

At a certain point, I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, it was morning, and the mirror was resting on my forehead. Cho was still there, still working, still talking, but at that point, it was more to herself than me.

"Morning," I said.

"Evening," she replied.

THINGS WERE GOING WELL. I mean, Daphne was awful and I still couldn't perform magic, but apart from that, I really couldn't complain. Life was settling into a routine, a routine that was sharply disrupted when Thorne handed me a letter during dinner on Thursday.

It was a handsome piece of parchment with a rooster embossed on the back. The rooster's beak lay open and a star hovered inside which bore the inscription: Le Coq Persiste.

"I'm leaving on Monday," said Thorne. "Got the letter two days ago."

I was still trying to figure out what "Le Coq Persiste" meant.

"Sorry — what?"

"My visit to France, remember?" Thorne raised an eyebrow. "The blue-cloaks... the letter 'R'... the extremist movement... ring any bells? I need to meet with their Minister to make sure everything is okay."

"Oh, okay," I said. "How long are we going to be gone?"

Daphne's lip curled. "You're not going, idiot."

"Hush," said Thorne in a tone of voice that made Daphne hush. "Sorry, but… she's right. You're not coming this time. Travel out of Britain is restricted if you don't have a visa. I have to go to France to set one up for you."

"Oh."

I went back to eating.

"How long?"

"A week."

"Can I go with?" Daphne's voice was babyish, mocking. "Pwease? I have a visa."

"No," said Thorne patiently, "you can't. You need to hold down the fort."

"So wonder boy won't sob himself to death?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Daphne was trying to get a rise out of me, just like she always did. All I had to do was keep calm, sink into myself, and stay quiet.

"Daphne, we discussed this."

"I know, I know." Daphne pushed her chair back. "Lucky me. I get to spend a week with wonder boy and his useless rubber chicken. Will he finally be able to do a simple spell? Will he become a real wizard one of these days? Who knows!"

I let out a breath when I heard her door slam shut.

When Daphne's door slammed shut, I asked, "Do you really think it's a good idea to leave us alone?"

Thorne fiddled with her ring. "I'm hoping it will be fine."

"She's going to kick the shit out of me."

Thorne sighed. "You've been a good kid the past two weeks. I know you're only doing it for my sake, but…" — she patted my cheek and gave it a little push — "you've been a real lifesaver, honest, you have. You're a good kid, Harry. I wish I didn't have to go, but… it's essential. Not just for your sake, you understand. It's the livelihoods of… so many Light-Aligned families who live here. They're relying on me. I can't drop the ball."

"Isn't there somewhere else I can stay?" I asked. "Ron or Cedric or — "

"This is your home," said Thorne.

"It's not," I said. "Not with you gone. It's, with Daphne, it's going to be constant. She's not going to let up."

"It's not fair what I'm doing to you," said Thorne seriously. "Especially since you aren't the problem here. It's not" — she made a face — "something I take lightly. I have another property, so I could split you guys up if needed, but… I don't want to. As selfish as it is, I don't want Daphne to be alone next week because I fear what she'll do to herself. It's, ah, a bit of a milestone for her."

Thorne cared for Daphne, I knew that. Their relationship went deep and large parts of it lay beyond my understanding. It was hardly surprising that Thorne would put Daphne's wellbeing above mine. Two months versus eight years — no shit she would.

Thorne tapped my temple, bringing my gaze forward. "I tell you this," she said, "not to hurt you, but to demonstrate the trust I have in you. Believe it or not, I care for the two of you equally, but I worry about Daphne infinitely more.

"I mean" — Thorne's voice grew warm — "look at you. In under two months, you've managed to create a support system here, a life for yourself. Sure, no magic yet, but that will come in time. If you need something, people will help you. But Daphne… I just want you to understand the two of you are equal to me."

If I had to take someone's word based on faith alone, Thorne was at the top of my list. Maybe it was irrational, maybe I was letting myself be manipulated, but… no one in my entire life had been as kind to me as she had.

Perhaps that's what separated me and Daphne at the very core of our beings. I'd always choose trust over distrust, and she'd always choose cynicism over idealism. While I knew not which one of us was right, I knew I could live with the choice I made.

I reached out a hand, and touched one of the stitches on Thorne's nose. "I believe you," I said.

A moment passed between us. It was secret and familiar and ours.

"You're a good kid," said Thorne. Her eyes twinkled. "Tomorrow's Friday. Maybe we could do something fun, hm?"

I gave her a suspicious look. "Whenever you say that, it usually means: want to keep me company while I run boring errands?"

Thorne's eyes went guileless and wide. "Does this look like the face of a person who'd do that to you?"

"That depends," I said. "Are you?"

Thorne nodded. "Oh most definitely. Make no mistake."

I laughed. "Then, yes."

FLOREAN FORTESCUE'S ICE CREAM PARLOR STOOD IN THE CENTER of Diagon Alley, next to a second-hand book shop and opposite Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The shop's interior was a colorful explosion; a royal decree of blue ceramic tiles and upholstered ruby booths. The parlor walls were a stage, and ice cream cones were its dancers. A story played out, rendered in silhouette. An empty cone that found friends — one scoop, two scoops, three scoops of ice cream, and each of these scoops had a goofy smile and big googly eyes that bulged with hyperactive energy.

"You know," said Thorne as we sat at a booth in the very back of the shop, "you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of ice cream they get." Her ice cream was lime green, and writhed with a wig of squirming chocolate snakes.

"There's nothing wrong with vanilla," I said primly.

Thorne's eyes twinkled. "Try mine."

I shook my head — those snakes looked shifty.

"Come on," said Thorne, "where's your passion, your joie de vivre?"

"Don't we have somewhere to go today?" I asked.

"Later we do," she replied, "but now we're having fun."

"But you see," I said, "if we finish early, we can head back and get some magic practice in before the end of the day."

Thorne ate one of the wiggling chocolate snakes with a squeak of delight. "Did you know I'm an ice cream expert?"

"Sorry — what?"

"An ice cream expert." Thorne's voice was smug. "I know every flavor of ice cream in this parlor; I've had all forty-two. I don't even need to look at the menu. I should list them for you, shouldn't I?"

"Oh please do," I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Thorne tipped her cone toward me. "See, I was going to let you get away without tasting this."

"…and now?"

"Now you have no choice. Do you know why?"

"Because I'm a rabble-rouser?"

"Because you're a rabble-rouser." Thorne took my cone and replaced it with her own. "People like you are the reason wizarding culture is dead. Now then. A lick, if you please."

I wrinkled my face up, brought the cone to my mouth, and gave it a little lick. I gasped. The ice cream was sugary and light. There were hints of lime and cinnamon, and an aftertaste of white chocolate that lingered on my tongue like a soft, teasing kiss.

"Well?" asked Thorne.

"Alright, fine, it's amazing," I said, "but you're still bat shit."

Thorne's laugh filled the parlor.

THE COBBLESTONES OF DIAGON ALLEY GLOWED ORANGE IN THE AFTERNOON SUN. The street was crowded, but its inhabitants gave us a wide berth. That was normal, though — most wizards avoided Thorne if they could help it.

Slender and graceful, she stood head and shoulders above everyone in the alley, and what made her height more jarring was how her overly-long-too-thin arms stretched all the way to her knees. A long, thin shadow slithered away from her, and as we neared the entrance of Knockturn Alley, I found myself watching the cobblestones below her feet so I could continue keeping pace beside it.

"So…" I asked eventually, "where are we going anyway?"

"We, Harry, are going to get some seeds from a rather oily fellow named Corban Yaxley."

"The guy with the massive pumpkins?"

"Don't know if that's polite to say in public, but yes, his pumpkins are pretty massive."

The cobblestones turned darker and the shops became fouler as we entered Knockturn Alley. Wizards leaned in alleyways and in smoky store stoops, having hushed conversation that seemed sinister and secret. I stepped closer to Thorne, and she put an arm on my shoulder.

"Why are we getting them from him?" I asked.

"Because there's a pumpkin shortage and Corban Yaxley has seeds for sale."

That didn't make a lot of sense to me.

"But at Pomona's Patch there were so many."

Thorne nodded. "Most of them were pre-bought. It's common for wizards to hire a magiherbologist to grow seeds for them. It's quite time intensive. That's what Pomona's Patch actually is. Pomona sells the seeds and then she grows the pumpkins, but she doesn't pre-seed because she's selling on a per-household basis and doesn't want to waste any yield."

"The Yaxley's pumpkins were much bigger than her's."

"They are," agreed Thorne. "They're treated with a potion and grown in — I don't know the full details of it — but it's not organic. It lets the seeds grow faster than mundane agriculture allowed. You can imagine Light-Aligned wizards aren't too chuffed about it."

"Because magic should work in union with nature and not replace it?"

"Look at you," said Thorne, and pinched my cheek. "Being all smart. I'm so proud I think I might cry."

We stopped in front of a store coated in a thin layer of cracked black paint. Above the door was an inscription that read:

MOSTE POTENTE POTIONS
Unconventional Solutions For Unconstrained Potioneers

Inside, the store was pitch-black. Hundreds of animals floated in glass jars, suspended in gooey liquids that glowed ethereally in varying shades of yellow, orange, and green. The floor and ceiling were a grid of mirrors, and these mirrors made the rows of glass jars multiply, both upward and downward, until it felt like we were swimming in an endless ocean, and the gleaming jars were neon jellyfish that bobbed alongside us in the current.

The door shut behind with a sharp snap, and a wave of cold air swept into the room. An odor, metallic and cloying, descended. I shivered, and stepped closer to Thorne, not wanting to bump into anything… or anyone.

"This place is creepy," I mumbled.

Thorne put a hand on top of my head, and as we walked further into the shop's dark embrace, she didn't let go, perhaps sensing I didn't want her to.

"Good afternoon," said a voice. "Incendio."

Hiss. A candle sputtered to life. Flame danced. Light cascaded across the walls. A man's face melted out of darkness. He had thinning grey hair, a well kept mustache, pencil thin eyebrows, and a pair of lips that seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer. It was Corban Yaxley.

"Isn't your store a little… uhm… a little dark?" asked Thorne.

"We deal in a great variety of substances here." Corban had an oily voice, slick with condescension and pride. "Potion ingredients are sensitive to a whole host of stimuli, light and temperature chief among them."

Thorne bristled. "Yes, thank you for explaining basic potion management to me. I am, as you know, exceeding stupid."

I choked on a laugh. Corban turned toward me. Lit from below as he was by the candle, deep shadows slanted across his face. So sharp were they that his eyes lay hidden, shrouded almost entirely in darkness.

"May I help you?" he asked me.

I pointed at Thorne — "You can help her." — but Corban didn't look away.

Thorne bristled again. "We'd like some seeds if you don't mind."

Corban nodded. "It would be a pleasure." He rapt sharply on the wood countertop below him. With a creek, a door in the back of the shop swung open, and hard, white light burst into the room. A boy stepped out who had wiry black hair and watery eyes. "Theodore," said Corban, "please fetch Mister Potter some seedlings."

The boy turned and walked back the way he came. The door closed and the light vanished.

Corban smiled and the shadows across his face became gargoyle-like. "To know my seeds will nourish the boy-who-lived… it is an honor."

That was the creepiest thing anyone had ever said to me.

"Uh… thanks?"

"Seeds selling well then?" asked Thorne.

Corban didn't look at her, and addressed his response to me. "Our customers are full and satisfied."

"Bad press, though."

"Lesser wizards fear what they do not understand. If Thomas Abbott and Lucius Malfoy wish to scrounge in the dark, who am I to stop them? Sapere Aude."

Light burst back into the room as Theo re-emerged, holding a brown paper bag no bigger than my palm which was sealed shut with wax.

"It will all be settled on the 25th," said Corban as Thorne stepped up and took the paper bag. "If the Wizengamot votes true, Yaxley Seeds will become the new standard in magiagriculturalism."

"Well, isn't that a cheery thought," said Thorne.

Corban held out a disembodied hand that hovered in the dark, suspended above a flickering flame. "That will be twenty-five galleons."

Thorne counted the large, gold coins, dropped them on the ground, and turned to leave.

"Please, do come again," said Corban as the door closed behind us, "I have no doubt you will."

"BIT PRICKLY, WEREN'T YOU?" I asked once we were back in Diagon Alley.

Thorne made an angry sound. "He's a pig. I hate it when people talk down to me."

"You talk down to me all the time," I said.

"Yeah," said Thorne with a laugh, "but you're shorter than me, and incredibly stupid, so what choice do I have?"

"One day I'll stand on a box, and you won't have a leg to stand on."

Thorne snorted. "If that day comes, I'll" — a girl bumped into her and fell on the ground — "oh, hello there, I'm sorry about… Hannah, is that you?"

The girl had red hair, freckles, and thick wire-rimmed glasses. Her skirt was ankle length, and a crisp white blouse lay tucked inside it. A black purse dangled from her inky fingertips that was embroidered with several yellow Pygmy Puffs. "Thorne!" she said and pushed herself up. "Oh gosh, what a lovely surprise." She stood with her ankles and knees pressed tightly together, very prim and proper.

"It's so good to see you," said Thorne. "It's been… the last time I saw you was… you've gotten bigger!"

"Three years, time passes, not for you though. Still the same as ever." Hannah smiled affectionately. "You don't come to Knockturn often, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," said Thorne. "I'm going away for a week and need to get a few things for Harry, here."

"Goodness," said Hannah, noticing me for the first time, "where are my manners? Hannah Abbot." She curtsied. "Pleased and charmed to make your acquaintance."

I didn't know whether to laugh or bow. "Err — hullo."

"What are you doing here?" asked Thorne.

"Daddy has written a new article about the Yaxleys and I'm taking it to print right now." Hannah's gaze fell. "He's on his way. I'm sorry, but — "

"I understand," said Thorne, a melancholy note in her voice. "It was... good to see you, Hannah. Take care."

"What was all that about I?" I asked as Hannah scampered away.

Thorne sighed. "Never keep secrets from the people you love, Harry. Quite often, they do more harm than good."

Ending Notes:

[1] Beta'd by Jarizok.