The Lost Children

by nymphxdora

On 20 August, Teddy Lupin thought his fifth year at Hogwarts would be decidedly average. On 21 August, the first muggleborn child disappeared and everything changed.

16. Chapter 16: Saturdays

Chapter Sixteen: Saturdays

Recap: Tabitha suspects an Azkaban inmate named Mandira Tiwari, who murdered twenty muggles in the aftermath of the second war, is linked to the kidnappings after finding correspondence between her and Auror Monroe which is (a) illegal because Azkaban inmates aren't allowed to write letters and (b) Monroe is Tabitha's key suspect because he has had access to both Hogwarts and the Ministry (important for identifying which students are muggleborns). Ella learns that she is related to Mandira Tiwari (who is her mother's cousin) AND that her mother has a sister who Ella's never heard about for reasons unknown. Daisy loses all her friends…again.

---

PART I: First Saturday

I: Denied

"That biased, obsolete dingbat! How dare she deny my application?"

"Now, now," said Auror Gawain Robards drolly, as Tabitha James stormed into his office, eyes flaming and very red in the face, "that's no way to talk about your boss."

"Natalia Shafiq is not my boss," replied the witch, obstinately. "You are."

"And she's my boss, so technically, James –"

"This is not the time for technicalities!"

"Actually, it is." Robards' icy voice stood in stark contrast to Tabitha's inflamed passions. He dropped his quill on the desk in front of him and, clasping his hands together, looked up at the witch in front of him. "Shafiq has denied your application. She's higher than me in the hierarchy. There's not much I can do to change things."

"You could –"

"I could put in a good word, ask her to reconsider, but it's not going to be of much use because, quite frankly, she's right."

This dumbfounded the other. Folding her arms and pressing her lips into a thin line, she stalked over to the chair in front of Robards' desk and sat down, meeting his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

The Head Auror shrugged noncommittally. "She's right. You don't have enough evidence." Tabitha opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off: "Face it, James. You have one, illegally obtained letter –"

"Which is evidence that Mandira Tiwari has been breaking the law – and it was legally obtained, as you well know."

"Shafiq, however, does not and I doubt you want to fill her in on all the details of your…unconventional methods." At this, Tabitha's lips became very thin and he chose not to dwell on the subject. "Nevertheless, the letter does not refer to the kidnappings. In fact, it does not refer to anything remotely suspicious." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm sorry, James, but until you have more evidence…"

"I have evidence –" she began to protest stubbornly.

"Not enough!" exclaimed Robards, exasperated. "Why can't you get it through your head that until you have something damning, you will not be allowed to visit a high security prisoner!"

"And why can't you understand that visiting Tiwari might be how I find something damning? I've searched that apartment a million times, I can't find any more correspondence, or anything, really, and he doesn't trust me enough to talk about it – not yet at least. At this stage, Tiwari's my only lead."

The Head Auror folded his arms. "What do you want me to do, Tabitha? Storm up to Shafiq and demand that she gives you visitation rights?"

"Yeah, pretty much!"

"We'd lose our jobs!"

"And three children might lose their lives unless we act!" Tabitha snapped back through gritted teeth.

Silence. The two aurors stared at each other. Tabitha's dark eyes were firm, stubborn and demanding; Robards knew that she wasn't going to cave. No matter what he said, she'd gotten it in her head that she had to talk to Tiwari, and once Tabitha got something in her head, that was that. She would be reckless, she would take risks, but she'd do it. Granted, said risks often paid off, but they were also stupid, and generally dangerous. Robards loathed admitting it, but if Tabitha was going to get herself in trouble, he'd rather know what she was going to do beforehand – not to stop her, because he knew he wouldn't be able to, but to make sure she didn't pull everyone else down with her.

After all, he thought, almost sadly, the future of the aurors would soon be in her hands.

"Shafiq's not going to change her mind," he began. He could see anger flash through Tabitha's eyes and she began to protest impulsively, but he held up a hand to silence her. "You realise I can't officially sanction this."

Tabitha's eyes widened. "You don't mean…"

He met her gaze and said, slowly, as if speaking to a child: "We never had this conversation. I never said you could do it. I didn't know you were going to do it. You acted alone and of your own accord. Do you understand me?"

Silence.

"But…" the witch hesitated, surprising Robards, who had never known Tabitha to hesitate. "If I do find something…if she says something…won't it be inadmissible?"

"At this point, no one will care. Not if you find those kids."

She nodded, and turned to leave. He looked down, returning to his paperwork, when she spoke once again: "Sir?"

"Yes, James?"

There was a pause, then, softly: "Thank you."

He didn't look up; his expression did not change. "There are three lives that are depending on you. Don't let them down."

The gravity of his words was not lost on her. She felt the weight that had been on her shoulders since August, since Robards had called her into his office and assigned her to the Melissa Cooper disappearance, intensify. Swallowing, she moved towards the door, only to be interrupted again – this time, by a rather harrowed-looking fellow auror who rapped on the glass door.

Robards looked up, startled. "What?" he barked.

The auror opened the door and leaned through the crack, pushing his glasses up his nose with one hand. "Sorry to disturb you sir, James –" he nodded at Tabitha, who returned the gesture, "-but it couldn't wait."

"I repeat," said Robards, in a bored tone, "– what?"

Tabitha James was not one to believe in luck. She laughed at aurors who said that they had solved their cases thanks to a "lucky turn of fortune", or had failed because they were "down on their luck". It implied that they themselves were blameless, that their successes or failures were not brought about by their own clever or senseless actions. Luck was a simply an excuse, evoked to avoid accountability and the consequences that came with it.

But, looking back, even she had to admit that, in a case with few leads and even fewer pieces of evidence, the events that were about to transpire were extremely lucky.

"There's been a break-in at the Dursley's, sir," said Harry Potter. "They've requested that we investigate."

.oOo.

II: The Search

"Why are we here again?" moaned Alfie Hayes, slumping down the nearest wooden chair. It was early on a Saturday morning – Teddy and Alfie had been the first to wake in their dormitory and had reluctantly dressed and dragged their feet down the corridor, up the stairs, and to the library, where they had met Ella.

"Because," said the Ravenclaw, who both looked and acted as if she'd been up for hours, "you're a good friend."

"Oh. Yes. Right."

"We're always here for you," said Teddy, stifling a yawn, "even if it does mean waking up far earlier than should be legal on a weekend."

Ella rolled her eyes. "You're acting like I asked you to get up at three AM. It's seven. Get a grip."

"But Ella, it's a weekend. And it's cold."

"Close the window, then."

"El-la," he whined, dragging out the syllables in her name.

"The quicker you two stop complaining about the weather, the time, and how late you were up last night practicing Quidditch –"

"I didn't say anything!" protested Alfie, mock hurt spreading across his face.

"You were about to! Regardless, the sooner you two zip it, the faster we can get this done, and get down to breakfast."

"I am hungry," admitted Alfie, sheepishly.

Ella rolled her eyes. "Men. Predictable. Teddy, can you close the window? It is actually a little chilly."

"Told you," said Teddy, as he got up and walked around the large oak table. They were in a small room at the back of the library, popular amongst those studying for O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T's. Although Ella could often be found in rooms much like this one pouring over her revision materials, Teddy had never made use of the study rooms, preferring instead to stay in the main library, or in the Common Room. There was something eerie and unsettling about the silence and solitude; at least in the main library, people were always whispering, despite the librarian's protests.

It had snowed the night before, carpeting the Hogwarts grounds in a layer of thick, pearly white. Teddy shut the window, teeth chattering, and returned to his seat. He hoped it warmed up a little before the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. He didn't mind the snow, but after a while, it did get to be a nuisance.

"So," he said, "where do we start?"

"Right." Ella rubbed her hands together and reached for a large tome she had placed in the centre of the table. "It's not that difficult, actually – or at least it shouldn't be." She pulled the book towards them and patted it gingerly. "This is the latest British Wizarding directory. It's basically an address book."

"I didn't know wizards had a directory," said Alfie.

Ella shrugged. "Nobody uses it, because you don't need an address to send mail by owl, but it's…well, I suppose it's useful if you need to reach someone in a hurry and you don't even have the faintest idea where they live. Owls are good, but that doesn't mean they can't use the help."

"So we're going to –"

"Look my mother's sister up in the directory, yes."

"I don't get it," said Alfie. "Why are we here? That's easy enough."

"Yes, well…" Ella dropped her gaze and fiddled with her bracelet. "I…suppose I just didn't want to do it alone."

"Which is fair enough," said Teddy pointedly, giving Alfie a look.

"I just… I don't know why my mother's never told me about her sister…my aunt. She was so forthcoming about Mandira when I asked – I mean, okay, forthcoming might not be the best word, but she told me what happened. And then when I asked about her sister…." She shuddered and Teddy impulsively reached out and rubbed her hand soothingly. She gave him a small smile before continuing: "She completely changed. She didn't want to talk about it, and I don't know why. I don't even know if I should be doing this. It feels like a betrayal."

"Hey," said Teddy, reassuringly. "Whatever you decide, whatever you want to do. We're here. We'll stand by you."

"I just…don't know if this is the right thing to do."

Teddy opened his mouth to tell her that it was her decision, but Alfie spoke first, so softly that Teddy couldn't be quite sure whether or not he was imagining it: "Find the address. We're here now, we're with you. Find it. Then it's your decision whether or not you want to reach out to her."

There was a moment of silence. Ella looked up and met Alfie's gaze and the two of them stared at each other, completely silent, completely still. Teddy withdrew slightly, noticing that they seemed to be having a wordless conversation that only they were able to decipher. It made him feel strange – almost left out – but he pushed his emotions aside, ignoring the swirling feeling in his stomach. This wasn't about him. This was about Ella and what she needed.

At last, Ella broke eye contact and returned to the book, running her hands over the leatherbound spine. "Right," she said, shakily. "Let's do this."

With a single swift motion, she opened the book. The cover thudded against the table. Ella's fingers moved across the pages carefully, her brows furrowed with concentration as she turned, and turned and turned. Neither Teddy nor Alfie made a noise; all they could hear was the flutter of parchment, the sound of Ella's shallow, careful breathing and the chirps of robins outside the library window.

"Tiwari," whispered Ella at last, her index finger coming to a stop midway down the page. Teddy scrambled up at this, as did Alfie, peering over her shoulder in an attempt to make out the black ink etched into the tawny parchment. There she was – Tiwari, Radhika – and underneath, an address was printed in round, perfect letters.

He had to read it twice to ensure he wasn't making a mistake, wasn't accidentally attributing someone else's address to her. Alfie was similarly taken aback.

"You mean she's been this close all along?" he breathed. "Ella, you could've seen her on the street!"

Teddy couldn't make out Ella's expression, but she was sitting very still, her finger still next to Radhika Tiwari's name.

"Hogsmeade," she said softly. "Hogsmeade."

.oOo.

III: Meet the Dursleys

(first)

"Go," commanded Robards. "Tiwari can wait. You might get something useful out of this."

She took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no point in fighting – she hated that visiting Mandira had taken a sudden backseat, but she supposed it was justified.

"Well? Why are you still in my office?"

Impulsively: "I want Potter to come with me."

"You what?" Robards started, surprise etched on his face.

"Well, I can't exactly take Munroe, can I?" she hissed in response. "Potter knows the parents – they called him, they trust him. He'll be useful."

The Head Auror's lips drew into a thin line as he surveyed her carefully. She stared him down unflinchingly. "Fine," he said at last, through gritted teeth. "Take him. But tell him if he doesn't have his report on the Birmingham raid on my desk by tomorrow, he'll…"

She never heard what he said. She was out of his office instantly.

(second)

The sun was crowning over the horizon as Tabitha James and Harry Potter Apparated into a silent side street a few blocks away from the Dursleys' flat in Knightsbridge. Its' rays bounced off the gleaming white facades of the converted Victorian houses that lined the streets, illuminating them in shades of red, gold and orange. As they approached the Dursley's, signs of life became more apparent: muggle men and women dressed in suits and talking hurriedly into mobile telephones climbed into black, tinted cars; children in plaid dragged their feet to school; tiny, fluffy dogs were trotting along next to their owners on their morning walks. A cross-section of upper-class city life.

"So," she said casually, turning her head to face Harry, "how did your cousin come to live here?"

"Ah," laughed Harry. "He married rich."

"No kidding." She glanced at the cars lining the street: her knowledge of muggle vehicles wasn't extensive, but she knew enough to know that just one of these cost far more than she made in a year.

"My uncle didn't approve at first."

Tabitha snorted. "He didn't approve of his son marrying rich? How humble of him."

"No, no," Harry shook his head. "He approved of the money – of course he did. But before he knew about the money, he didn't approve of Leila – Dudley's wife."

"Why?" the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. The answer was evident almost instantly: she remembered meeting Leila following Arlington's disappearance, and she remembered everything Harry had told her about his aunt and uncle, their snooty smugness, their prejudicial ways. It wasn't too much of stretch to imagine why they had objected to Leila. She knew people like that – she met them on the streets, in muggle pubs, even inside the Ministry. One look at Tabitha, and their entire demeanour changed, like she was somehow beneath them.

Harry broke eye contact and stared ahead, as if considering his next words carefully. "They didn't like the colour of her skin," he said at last, reaching up to tighten his scarf.

"Of course," Tabitha murmured. And then, again, before she could censor herself: "They wouldn't like me very much."

The moment the words left her lips, she wondered why she had said them. It was a alien moment of vulnerability, for she didn't open up, not normally. And yet somehow, she felt at ease around Harry. She didn't like labelling things, but she supposed if she had to, she would consider him a friend. They had been in the same auror intake, and though he had palled around with Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom while she had mostly preferred her own company, he had been friendly and kind. They'd worked together on missions and gone out for drinks after. She had been to his house and had dinner with his family. All things that friends did.

"Hey," Harry said, stopping suddenly and meeting her gaze again, his face completely straight, "the Dursley's don't like anyone. Dudley's not like that, not anymore. Leila's not like that – she hates her in-laws, in fact we get along well because of it. So don't, not even for a second –"

"I know," said Tabitha brusquely, cutting him off. She reached up to massage her temples, and took a deep breath in, letting the crisp winter air wash over her. "I know. Let's just go. We have a job to do."

(third)

Leila Dursley was beautiful – there was no question about it. She possessed the kind of beauty that you might only see once, at a bus stop or a train station, but that would leave a fleeting, haunting impression that lasted a lifetime. Her dark hair was straightened, like Tabitha's, but unlike Tabitha, she had cut it just below her shoulders. She had large, doe-like eyes that accentuated the softness of her face and deep brown skin. But what truly made her extraordinary was the way she carried herself: with a combination of grace and confidence. It was a wonder, thought Tabitha, as she sat on the cream sofa in the Dursley's living room, that she had fallen for the not-particularly-attractive Dudley.

"We're sorry to trouble you like this," she said, handing Tabitha and Harry each a china cup filled with tea, before sitting down opposite them and next to her husband. "I promise you, it wasn't just an excuse to see Harry again." There was a twinkle in her eye that Tabitha admired – it wasn't easy to have a sense of humour when your only child was missing.

"I'm flattered," replied Harry, smiling at Leila.

"You don't visit nearly often enough. Dudley and I were saying only yesterday that it would be lovely to have you and Ginny over sometime for dinner, weren't we, Dud?"

Dudley nodded in assent. Tabitha couldn't help but notice that a feeling of wariness existed between the two cousins. Harry and Leila were relaxed with one another, easygoing, almost, but Harry and Dudley…she knew that Harry hadn't had an easy childhood by any means and that Dudley had contributed to that. He'd never said anything against his cousin, but she wondered if he'd ever forgiven him – if he ever could.

There was silence; they each took a sip of their tea, and Dudley bit into a biscuit. "Has there been any progress?" he asked, after swallowing. "On Arlington?"

Harry looked at Tabitha. "Some," she said cautiously. "We're…following some pretty interesting leads." If Mandira Tiwari could be called interesting – her conversation with Robards echoed in her head and she remembered that despite everything, she did not have strong evidence connecting Mandira to the kidnappings.

Dudley's head drooped. "You can't tell us anything more?"

She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach. "I'm sorry." It came out as barely more than a whisper.

"We're trying our hardest," said Harry, more cheerfully. "These leads Tabitha's talking about – they're really very promising. We're confident that we'll locate Arlington soon."

She did her best to maintain a straight face, while silently cursing Harry. She knew that he was trying to make the Dursleys feel better but to be so upbeat about something he knew nothing about? It was giving them false hope. She watched Leila take her husband's hand reassuringly, watched them give each other small smiles, and felt her own heart sink below her rib cage into the pits of her stomach.

Don't get attached.

"This break-in," she said abruptly, withdrawing a quill and piece of parchment from her handbag, "when did you discover it?"

Leila glanced at Dudley before responding. "This morning, around 7AM. I went into Arlington's room to draw the curtains. The window had been shattered."

"And has anything been taken?"

Leila hesitated. "Nothing valuable."

"But?"

"His files," said Dudley. "Some of his files were missing."

His files? What ten-year-old had files? "What was in these files?"

Dudley shrugged. "Stories. Arlington loves to write – about everything. Animals, school…even magic."

Tabitha glanced at Harry. "He didn't know about –"

"He thought Harry was completely normal," Dudley cut in. "He thought he worked for the government. Unless – " He regarded Harry suspiciously.

"I didn't tell him, if that's what you're asking," said Harry, calmly.

"Are you sure? Because it's –"

"Dudley," Leila warned.

"It's fine," said Harry. "I didn't tell him, Dudley. He's your son. You make the decisions."

There was an awkward silence. "Well, he probably knows now," said Leila at last. "That's going to be a fun conversation to have when he's home."

When. Not if. When.

Her confidence filled Tabitha with dread, and a sudden feeling of urgency. She stood up, placing her tea on the side table next to her. "Would you mind if we take a look around?"

"Of course," Leila began to get up, but Tabitha cut her off with an apologetic yet firm smile.

"Just Harry and I."

(fourth)

"Why would they take his files?" muttered Tabitha as they turned down the corridor that led to Arlington's room. "What could possibly be there?"

Harry shrugged. "I've never seen them. He's read his stories to me before, and they're good, but there's nothing in them. Even the ones about magic – it was all muggle stuff, myths. Nothing that indicated he knew about us, about what it was really like."

They reached the door and Tabitha turned to Harry. "Right. You follow standard break-in investigative procedure. Breakage patterns, what they went through, so on and so forth."

"And you?"

She bit her lip. "I'm just going to have a look around."

It was easy to miss – so easy, in fact, that she almost did. If she hadn't been looking down at that precise moment, she would not have seen the way the light reflected off it, highlighting the textural and spectral discrepancy between it and its' surroundings. She knelt down to investigate further.

A sliver of wood was embedded in the carpet. It was dark brown and shiny, unlike the white, slightly distressed wood that lined the windows and made up the furniture. In fact, it looked nothing like anything else in the room. She reached out and traced the bottom of the wood with her finger, her skin bumping against the curves and the ridges. Carving.

"Potter," she called. "Come see this."

Harry walked over from the windowsill, and came towards her. Kneeling beside her, he examined the fragment visually, not daring to pick it up.

"What do you think it is?" Tabitha asked.

He glanced around. "I'd say…can I touch it?"

She nodded and he reached out and felt the bottom, just as she had. He looked at her with surprise. "A wand fragment?"

Confirmation. Her anticipation tightened. "That'd be my guess, yeah. We'd have to get it back to the Ministry to know for sure, but –"

"But how does a wand break like that?" he interrupted. "There's no evidence of a fight, no evidence that someone attempted to curse the intruder. There was no one here to curse the intruder. For this –" he gestured at the fragment "- to have happened, the wand would've had to be –"

"Damaged previously," she interrupted, realisation dawning. "It would have had to be damaged previously, not used much after the damage occurred and broken now, following the strain of use." Words flew back to her – she remembered the files she had perused incessantly, looking for something, anything. Her eyes widened in shock and she turned to Harry, her face lit up with the excitement of making a link. "Tiwari's wand was damaged following the explosion."

"What? Mandira Tiwari?"

Tabitha nodded. "She's a suspect."

"She's in Azkaban!"

"Never mind," the auror shook her head dismissively, not wanting to explain everything now, not when she had finally, possibly found a connection. "We need to get back to the Ministry. Now."

(fifth)

"It's a wand fragment," said the expert, a tall, balding man who had introduced himself as 'Blackwell', no first name given. Harry and Tabitha watched him as he took the splinter of wood and examined it closely, wordlessly testing it using all manner of spells that they did not recognise.

They were in a small office on Level 3 of the Ministry, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Robards had referred them to a working group of wand experts: a handful of wizards and witches trained in wand-making and wand-research, and well-versed in identifying wands, detecting whether they had been tampered with, and determining how they had broken.

"Can you tell us more?" asked Tabitha, trying her best not to sound overly demanding.

"It's from just above the base of the wand – you can see the embossing ever so slightly. It's fine work. Probably Ollivander's." A throaty chuckle. "Every country likes to boast that their wandmaker is the finest in the world, but I think we English really can stake a claim to that title. You won't find a wand better than one made by Ollivander, no –"

Tabitha cleared her throat impatiently. "Can you tell how it broke? Or definitively determine who it belonged to?"

"I'll need more time," said Blackwell. "It's a small fragment. I'd say it likely broke due to strain following previous damage, but I'll need to run further analyses to confirm it. As for who it belonged to – well, that's going to take a while."

"Can't you just identify the wand properties and cross-reference them with the register?" asked Harry.

Blackwell chuckled again – it was an irritating sound, mused Tabitha, full of both mirth and derisiveness. She hated experts. They always thought that they were better than everyone else.

"You Aurors. You always think everything's so easy. Things take time. If I had the full wand, Mr. Potter, yes, I could cross-reference it with the register, but this –" he gestured to the fragment, "this is barely three centimetres."

He was exaggerating, Tabitha thought. It was at least five.

"I'll need to run tests to determine the original length of the wand, and the core. Both involve highly complicated magic – charms, potions, the works. Wandlore is not as simple as you people seem to think it is."

You people. Spoken with the true disdain of someone who thought himself above the law.

"So how long?" asked Tabitha. "A week? Ten days?"

"Oh no," he shook his head. "Six."

"Six what? Six days?"

"Six weeks."

"What?" Her eyes nearly jumped out of her head. Harry put a hand on her arm to calm her but she jerked away. She didn't need restraining.

Blackwell eyed her suspiciously. "It would be three months, actually," he said coolly, "but Head Auror Robards is having me expedite this."

"And you can't expedite it any further?" Harry asked gently, before Tabitha could exclaim that six weeks didn't feel very expedited. "Sir?"

"If you want it faster, I'll need more of the wand."

Harry sighed. "This is all we have."

The expert shrugged. "Then six weeks it is. It takes at least five weeks for one of the potions to brew, and another week for some of the tests to be conducted accurately after the wand has been immersed in the potion. It can actually take up to seven weeks at the minimum – " he eyed Tabitha who glared back " – but I'll do my best."

"You'd better," Tabitha muttered softly between gritted teeth.

Blackwell raised his (greasy, uncombed, overgrown) eyebrows. "What was that?"

"Nothing," said Harry, sharply, before continuing, in a softer voice: "Thank you, sir. We appreciate it."

He nodded in response. "I'll keep you updated."

(sixth)

"Six weeks," Tabitha said grumpily, as they left Blackwell's office, and headed for the lift. "Six weeks for confirmation that it's her wand."

"You really think its Tiwari?" asked Harry in a hushed tone.

Tabitha reached up to massage her temples, attempting to ward off an oncoming headache. "She's the best lead we've got."

Harry paused as they reached the lift and turned to Tabitha. "I'm going to ask Robards to transfer me onto this case."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've finished with the Birmingham raids," he continued, keeping a wary eye out to ensure that no one was around, "and honestly? This is the most important case we're currently dealing with."

She shook her head. "You won't be allowed. You're too caught up in it. Personally."

He shrugged. "I'll try my luck. A fresh pair of eyes won't hurt – you and Munroe must be sick of all this." Tabitha smiled wanely – although Harry knew Mandira Tiwari was a person of interest, he definitely did not know why, nor that Angus Munroe was under suspicion.

"He won't agree. Not if you ask."

"True. But if you ask, he will. He always does." Pause. "What do you say?"

She had to admit, new eyes could be useful. Potter was a reasonable auror: smart, sharp, resourceful. It would certainly help to have a partner who she could trust. Munroe knew so little about the direction the case was going in for obvious reasons that she felt almost as if she was working alone. She wanted someone to bounce ideas of, someone who could fill in the gaps in her theories. Maybe Potter was that person.

The lift arrived and they boarded it, standing next to one another in complete silence as the doors closed. It was only once they opened again and they stepped out that Tabitha responded.

"I'll ask him. I can't guarantee he'll say yes, but I'll ask him."

She hoped she was making the right decision.

.oOo.

IV: Detention

Victoire Weasley did not regret attacking Terence Gates in the corridor before Christmas, but she sure did wish she had been smarter about it.

Why, she asked herself, as she attempted to remove a rather persistent, greasy smudge from the golden surface of a Special Award for Services to the School, did she have to curse him? She could've punched him. She could've stuck her wand up his nose. Anything non-magical would've got the point across just as well, and wouldn't have landed her detention for using magic in the corridors. And then she wouldn't be spending her Saturday evening in the trophy room with Terence Gates.

The blonde prat seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, too. Looking up from his trophy – which she glumly realised was spotless and shining – he smirked at her: "Regretting your decision?"

"To put you in your place?" the witch retorted without looking up – she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "Definitely not. You deserved it."

He shrugged. "I was only being honest."

"Like Circe you were," Victoire muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

She whirled on him, gripping the trophy so tightly that the colour drained out of her knuckles. "You weren't being honest. You were being a git. All the things you said – about me, about Alfie, about Riley, about Teddy's parents, none of them were true. You were simply being an utter prig."

There was a moment of silence, and she searched his face for some, any sign of emotion, something that would suggest she'd gotten through to him. She wanted to scream when instead of admitting fault, he smirked again – that irritating, frustrating, stupid smirk – and returned to his work.

"What?" she said, incredulously. "That's it?"

"What do you want me to say, Weasley? That I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, well, that would be a start."

"Not going to happen."

For Merlin's sake. "You know, I don't understand you."

"Join the queue."

"No," reiterated the blonde, adjusting her position so she was sitting on her knees and looking straight at Terence, who continued to polish his trophy diligently, "no, I don't understand you at all. You've been saying the same things to Teddy over and over since you both started at Hogwarts, and why? For what reason? He's never done anything to you – anything unprovoked, that is. Why can't you just get over yourself and…and stop? Are you that much of a…a….prat?"

Terence slowed, dragging the rag over the golden trophy surface with less and less force until it seemed like he wasn't trying at all. Victoire watched him, waiting. "Well?" she prompted.

She expected a witty remark, a smirk, an arrogant retort. And yet when he turned to her, she was taken aback by the expression that lined his face – his mouth was set into a line and his eyes lacked their usual glimmer. "Weasley," he began, "do you actually know me?"

Victoire blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you know me?" he repeated. "Do you know anything about me? Have you even bothered to ask? Or have you always assumed that I'm an self-obsessed, arrogant idiot?"

"Well, you've never given me reason to believe otherwise," she said defensively, annoyed at his attempt to transfer the blame onto her. It wasn't her fault. Not really, it least.

He shook his head. "You think you're so morally righteous – you and all your friends. You've never even considered why…"

"Why you act the way you do?" Victoire folded her arms. "Okay. Fine. Why do you?"

The wizard didn't meet her gaze. "It's complicated."

"Oh, it's complicated?" she scoffed. "I should've known."

"Weasley –"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Don't you 'Weasley' me. This isn't about me, Gates. You're making up excuses." He shifted uncomfortably, but she kept going. "You know what? I don't care what your so-called reason – if you even have one – is. There is no reason for talking to my friends the way you did."

"Fine." He threw up his hands. "You're not willing to listen."

"I'm not willing to listen? You're not exactly saying much."

"I'm saying plenty!" he snapped back. "You're just too stuck in your ways to hear it. You'll never believe me because Lupin's convinced I'm awful, and you'll never, ever go against him."

Victoire's mouth dropped slightly, but she shut her jaw quickly in an attempt to mask her surprise. She wasn't quite fast enough. Terence scoffed and shook his head, his eyes rolling derisively. "I knew it," he muttered.

"Knew what?"

He couldn't know. She barely knew, and she refused to admit it. How could he possibly know why she lay awake at night, her mind too active to be consumed by sleep? He couldn't know how her stomach stirred whenever she saw a flash of turquoise, when she saw that same, familiar smile that had been there, beside her, for nearly her whole life. He simply couldn't know. He must be talking about something else.

"Forget it."

"Knew what?" she demanded.

"If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're more thick than I thought. It's obvious, Weasley."

She swallowed and turned away. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're just…mad that I got onto the Quidditch team instead of you and that you lost that stupid bet. You should have known that I wouldn't go out with you, even if you won. You're mad, that's all, and you're…you're making things up."

At this, Terence laughed – a jeering, mocking sound that bounced off the polished, golden surfaces and resounded around the trophy room. "Wake up, Weasley. None of this is my imagination. Wake up, and see what's right in front of you."

.oOo.

V: Assignment

"You're on the case."

Harry Potter looked up from his desk in shock to see Tabitha James standing next to him. She had just exited Robards' office, where she had been stationed for the better part of the hour, as the sun set over the peaks and troughs of the London skyline.

He didn't have a chance to reply. Angus Munroe, whose desk was adjacent to his own, wheeled his chair backwards and stared at Tabitha, confused. "Our case?"

"Yup."

"The kidnappings?"

Tabitha rolled her eyes. "What other case do we have, Angus?"

"Robards agreed?" said Harry, surprised.

She nodded grimly. "Took some persuasion."

"Do I want to know what you said?"

"Not particularly." Her gaze flitted to the face of her watch. "It's getting late. Come back to mine, I'll catch you up on the case over a drink."

"I'll come," said Munroe, automatically.

Tabitha's eyes flicked to him and Harry noticed something odd in her gaze – he couldn't be sure whether it was affection or distrust. A second later, it was gone; he wondered whether he had been imagining it.

"That's alright," said Tabitha. "You should finish up the paperwork – Robards wants it by tomorrow. I can catch Potter up on my own. I'll see you later."

Their eye contact held for a moment more than was necessary. Harry wasn't the best reader of body language, but he could tell that he was missing something, that they seemed to be communicating silently, seamlessly. Funny. He thought Tabitha and Munroe didn't get along, and yet there was something in the way they regarded one another – something that was almost intimate.

"Let's go, Potter," said the witch. Harry scrambled to gather his things, shoving parchment and quill into his satchel, trying not to upend bottles of ink in his haste.

It was only once they had left the Ministry and were safely encased within Tabitha's apartment that she spoke to him, her eyes burning with the passion and urgency he had come to expect from her in matters relating to work: "What I am about to tell you is completely confidential. You may only discuss it with Robards, or myself."

"What about Munroe?" he asked, confused.

She shook her head, her lips twisting into an expression that was half smile, half grimace. "Definitely not Munroe."

II: Second Saturday

VI: The Rescue

(six days earlier)

Dear Ms Tiwari,

Hi. I don't know how to start this letter – you probably have no idea who I am, or why I'm writing to you, so to spare you from reading pointless exposition, I'll get straight to it: I'm Ella Anderson. Your niece.

Your sister, Rhea Anderson (nee Tiwari) is my mother. I only recently found out you existed, and – well, this might sound quite sudden – but I was wondering if I might be able to come and meet you? I've never met anyone from mum's family before, and it would be quite nice to meet my aunt! I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we have a Hogsmeade outing scheduled for next week. If it suits you, I would love to meet.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Ella

PS: If you could perhaps not tell my mother about this letter, that would be great. Thank you.

(five days earlier)

Darling Ella,

How lovely to hear from you at last! I had given up hope on ever meeting Rhea's daughter, although I have followed your progress from afar. I would love to have you over for tea – how does this Saturday at three sound?

See you then,

Radhika masi

PS: You have my word - this will be our little secret

(the present)

"Am I doing the right thing?"

A murmur, more to herself than anyone else. Teddy and Alfie watched her as she stared at the street sign, debating her options. The watch on her wrist read two fifty-five; the leather of the strap cut into her skin, leaving faint red marks near the edges. She could turn down the street, find house number fifty-four, and knock on the door, or she could turn back towards comfort.

It was completely up to her. She could seek knowledge, or she could revel in ignorance.

She knew what she had to do.

Turning to Teddy and Alfie, she spoke, her voice not sounding like her own: "I'm going to go."

They nodded, and she found herself wondering whether they were surprised, or whether they had known she would go all along. Knowledge versus ignorance. A debate that seemed to be at the core of who she was.

"We'll be waiting at the Three Broomsticks," said Teddy, softly. "All evening, if we have to."

"Good luck," said Alfie, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

She smiled at them gratefully. "Time to get some answers."

It was amazing how much she looked like her.

Maybe not physically. Physically, Ella's eyes were more chocolate than coffee, her skin was lighter and her nose was thinner. Physically, Radhika's hair was shorter and straighter, and she didn't wear glasses. But there was something in the way they both carried themselves: a sense of confidence that came from being certain and comfortable in themselves, an air of curiosity and a latent fierceness. These were not women you messed with.

Ella shifted uncomfortably on Radhika's caramel-coloured sofa, absentmindedly reading the titles of the books laid out on the table in front of her. The living room was large – though not as large as Ella's own – and elegantly furnished in neutrals, wood, and glass. It was, for the most part, immaculate: there was no layer of dust coating the covers and spines of books; the ceramic and crystal ornaments that were dotted across surfaces were placed strategically, to accentuate rather than clutter the space; and the air smelled of lemons and crisp linen. Nevertheless, the place was not soulless – it wasn't simply taken from the pages of a home magazine and transposed into reality. Signs of life were clearly evident: a half-read newspaper on the side table, still open to the 'International News' section; a half-full coffee mug; empty parcel wrappings stuffed into a wastebin. She hadn't seen much of Radhika's home, but she liked it.

She liked Radhika, too. The woman – her aunt – had greeted her warmly at the door, enveloping Ella into a tight hug. It hadn't felt like a homecoming like she thought it would. Ella hadn't seen her face and immediately felt a sense of kinship wash over her, nor had she felt instantly connected to her. She'd thought meeting someone she knew she was related to would feel different somehow, but it hadn't, not really. She might share blood with Radhika, but that didn't change the fact that for fifteen years, they hadn't been a part of each other's lives, for reasons that Ella still wasn't clear on. It would take time to adjust.

The older woman entered the room, carrying a tray that held a pot of tea, two mugs and a plate of chocolate-covered biscuits. "I got them from Honeydukes," she said, laying the tray in front of Ella. "I hope you like chocolate."

"I do," Ella smiled warmly.

"Good. Milk and sugar?"

"Sugar please. No milk."

"That's how I take it too." There was silence, except for the delicate clink of metal against china, as Radhika made the tea and handed it to Ella.

"I must admit," said Radhika, settling back on an armchair after making her own cup of tea, "I'm rather curious – how did you find me?"

Ella had been expecting this, and reeled off a prepared answer. "I found a family tree hidden away in our library. You were on it – obviously – and I was confused, because I didn't even know Mum had a sister." A pause, heavy and languorous. "I…um…asked her about you, and she wasn't exactly… forthcoming. I figured…"

"You'd contact me yourself," Radhika murmured, her eyes dropping to the untouched, swirling contents of her teacup. There was a moment of silence, and Ella bit into a biscuit to fill it, letting the rich chocolate melt on her tongue.

"Why didn't –" she broke off, unsure of how best to phrase her next words. "I mean, why don't you – why doesn't my mother…." With each failed sentence, her cheeks coloured.

"It's alright," said Radhika soothingly, her eyes soft. "I would ask the same thing. You want to know why your mother kept me a secret."

Ella nodded, the tip of her tongue tracing the bottom edge of her upper lip.

"Well," began the elder, shifting a lock of hair behind her year and placing her teacup on the table in front of her, "I suppose you could describe the situation as 'complicated'. I'm sure you're aware of your mother's…condition."

An odd euphemism, but she nodded regardless, and Radhika continued.

"We come from a very conservative family – Pureblood, somewhat stuck in the old ways. Finding out your mother was a Squib was a shock to the system for all of us, and that was cemented when I got my Hogwarts letter and she didn't. We both went off to different schools – her to a muggle boarding school, me to Hogwarts, and things just…changed. I felt like I couldn't talk about magic around her, like I couldn't bring friends home because then they'd find out about my strange little sister." She smiled ruefully, glancing at her hands. "I'm not proud of it now, but I was a headstrong girl as a teenager. I didn't realise how important family was – how important your mother was to me. Instead, she was a source of anger. Discontent. We would fight continuously, and it got to a point where we stopped speaking to one another: we lived in the same house, but led completely separate lives. And our mother – she never accepted Rhea, not completely. She always took my side, and that hurt Rhea." She paused for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice did not have the dreamy undertones of recollection; instead, she addressed Ella directly: "If any of this is making you uncomfortable – I know she's your mother – I can stop."

"No," said Ella quickly. "No, please continue."

Radhika sighed, and for a moment, Ella wondered if she'd wanted her to tell her to stop – to save her from recalling an unpleasant past. But she needed to know. She couldn't explain why, but there was a nervousness rooted in her stomach, and her palms were oddly sweaty. Radhika seemed to notice this. "You're sure?"

Defiantly: "Yes."

"Very well. When I was eighteen, and your mother was seventeen, we had a terrible fight that resulted in her leaving the house. It was the verge of the Second Wizarding War. I had just graduated from Hogwarts and things weren't looking good. There was a lot of fear, and uncertainty. And I…I said some things that she's never forgiven me for." Her shoulders fell and she hung her head. "I'd…rather not repeat them if that's alright."

"That's fine," Ella murmured, despite her curiosity. A relationship broken by words. She wondered what Ashton would have to say to make her want to leave and never turn back.

Nothing sprung to mind.

Radhika looked up at Ella. "I love your mother very much. I always will. And if I could go back and change things…I would. I've tried over the years to reach out to her, to make things right, but she's continuously rebuffed me. Fair enough, I suppose. If our roles were reversed, I don't think I'd want anything to do with me either. But I do want you to know that I've changed. I'm not the person I once was – I like to think I'm much better now. And…I'd like to get to know you."

Her words hung in the air like a question. Ella glanced at Radhika and then quickly back at her teacup, taking a long sip to stall. She could walk out of the house now and never turn back. Or she could continue to sit here, to talk to her mother's estranged sister, to learn more about herself and her family, and all the things her mother had never told her.

Was finding out about the family she didn't know a betrayal of the family she had? Or was it simply legitimate curiosity, information she had a fundamental and undeniable right to?

She swallowed and said, slowly: "I'd like to get to know you, too."

The muscles in Radhika's face relaxed as she broke into a smile. "Excellent! Well – why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Er," Ella took another sip of tea, "Well, I…I go to Hogwarts…obviously. I'm a Ravenclaw –"

"As was I!" Radhika broke in. "I used to think the Sorting hat made a mistake though – I could never figure out the riddles."

Ella grinned. "Everyone has trouble with those sometimes. I was locked out for four hours once after an exam. It was awful."

"The number of times that happened to me!"

For a few moments, the air was light with camaraderie as both witches laughed at their shared experiences. Inevitably, though, the atmosphere sobered and Ella found herself fiddling with the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist, trying to think of something to say.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, feeling that the silence had gone on for too long, "I'm not very good at this."

"It's new territory for both of us."

"You…er, mentioned you'd been checking up on me?" She remembered Radhika's letter suddenly.

"Yes," replied the other, blushing slightly. "I check up on you. You and your brother. It may sound strange, but I do care for you both deeply. Plus, it's a good side project. I tend to get a little too involved in my work sometimes."

Strange wasn't the right word for it, Ella thought, ducking her head somewhat awkwardly. It was natural, but unusual at the same time; she didn't like to think that for fifteen years, someone unknown to her had been keeping an eye on her. But then again, was Radhika really that unknown?

She didn't like thinking about it – not here anyway.

"What is it you do?" asked Ella.

"I'm a lawyer."

"Oh! So you work for the Ministry? That's a long commute."

Radhika laughed. "No, not all lawyers do – a common misconception. I used to, though."

"Why did you leave?"

Radhika was silent, and Ella sipped her tea awkwardly, reprimanding herself. She shouldn't have asked; it might be an awkward subject, she didn't really know Radhika – not yet at least. "Sorry – " she began, but the older woman cut her off with a smile.

"Don't apologise, pari."

The use of the intimate nickname almost made her drop her teacup. Radhika seemed to notice. "It was what my parents called your mother too," she said.

Ella nodded weakly, feeling silly. "Right. Of course."

Radhika smiled warmly. "Where were we? Ah, yes. I left the Ministry because I became a lawyer to do good. When I was there, I felt like I was always on the wrong side."

"So you became a defense lawyer?"

"Essentially."

"But –" Ella paused, attempting to formulate her thoughts into a coherent sentence rather than a jumble of words, "surely as a defense lawyer, you represent people you know are guilty? Just as prosecutors argue against people they know are innocent?"

"You raise a good point – a problem I grappled with for years. There was only one solution I could think of and live with. I only represent clients I know are innocent."

This struck Ella as both incredibly moral and impractical. "But how can you possibly know for sure?"

"It's hard," admitted Radhika. "I've been taken in a few times – people can be shockingly conniving. But I investigate, and generally, my investigations lead me to the truth."

A thought, unbidden, suddenly occurred to Ella: her aunt was someone concerned with justice, innocence, and guilt; someone who's career would be underway at the close of the Second War; and someone who might have been involved in either prosecuting or defending suspected death eaters. Surely she would have investigated Mandira Tiwari – just to be certain that her own cousin really was guilty of the crime she was accused of.

She took a moment to frame the question in her mind, playing around with the words. She wanted to sound casual, relaxed even – like it didn't bother her, like it wasn't something that important.

Still, they came out wrong. "Were you – did you ever –" Stopping, she took a deep breath; Radhika tilted her head questioningly. "Were you ever involved in trying Mandira Tiwari?"

Radhika laughed, and Ella was struck how much it sounded like her own: a sharp infectious titter that rose and fell like a tiny boat bobbing on rolling waves. "I was wondering when you'd bring her up. Did Rhea tell you about her?"

"Not until I found out about her on my own and asked."

"Figures. None of us are particularly…proud of her. The answer to your question is no. I wasn't directly involved. But I did do my research." She fell silent. Ella felt as if something had been left unsaid.

"And?" she prompted, hesitantly.

"She was definitely guilty."

She said it with such aplomb that Ella was taken aback. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she chose not to question it further. "Did you know her well?" she asked instead.

Radhika shrugged. "Relatively. We were close growing up, and she was a few years below me at Hogwarts. Different houses, though. She was a Slytherin, and I…well, it was a different time. Houses mattered a lot more back then. I didn't get along with her crowd either. Her best friend, Cecilia Selwyn, was a piece of work." Cecilia Selwyn – the name sounded familiar to Ella, but she couldn't place it exactly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who put Mandira up to it."

"Was she a death eater?"

Radhika's lips twisted to the side, giving her a look of concentration and confusion. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was – she was always spouting pureblood nonsense in school – but I don't think it was ever proven." She shrugged. "I wouldn't want to indict someone on speculation alone."

Ella nodded. "Fair enough."

"The evidence against Mandira, though," Radhika sighed. "That was more than just speculation."

She stared into the contents of her mug, and, bringing it to her lips, sipped it delicately. Her face contorted into a grimace.

"Tastes like chlorine."

Getting up and moving into the kitchen, she threw its' contents down the sink.

(later)

"It wasn't that bad," said Ella, sliding into the booth at the Three Broomsticks where Alfie and Teddy were waiting expectantly. "She was nice – we got on. She was a Ravenclaw too, and we like similar books."

"Did she tell you about why she doesn't speak to your mum?" asked Alfie.

Ella related an abridged version of the tale. "She didn't go into much detail," she mused. "I guess it was painful for her to think about."

"Understandable," said Teddy. "Do you think you'll see her again?"

"She asked me to come back the next time we have a Hogsmeade visit. I think…" she trailed off; she had been thinking about it all the way from Radhika's house into town, and had reached a decision, but saying it out loud was a commitment of sorts. "I think I will. She's family. I didn't feel like it at first, but at the end…I don't know, when I said goodbye, I couldn't help but think that I didn't want it to be goodbye, at least not permanently. There's so much I can still learn from her." She noticed Teddy and Alfie exchange a glance. "What?"

"Nothing," said Teddy, a little too quickly. She narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed. "We just want you to be happy, Ella."

"We think you should tell your mum," Alfie interjected.

Ella toyed with her bracelet. "Yeah, I was thinking about that too. But whatever happened between her and Radhika sounds…bad. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Neither of the boys looked convinced, but she was too tired to argue her point further. Instead, she changed the subject: "She mentioned Mandira Tiwari."

"Really?" Teddy's interest was piqued.

"Well, I brought her up. She didn't say much – just that the evidence against her was solid, and that she wasn't surprised, based on what she was like as a kid. Apparently she hung around with a bad crowd in Hogwarts."

"Anyone we'd know of?"

Ella shook her head. "The only person she named was someone called Cecilia Selwyn. She wasn't a death eater though."

"The name sounds familiar."

"Yeah, I thought that, too." She rolled the name around on her tongue, trying to place it: "Cecilia Selwyn. Cecilia Selwyn…"

She did not notice Victoire Weasley, who was passing their booth with her arms full of Butterbeer mugs, start and stop suddenly.

"Cecilia Selwyn?" the blonde said, catching all three fifth-years off guard. "What about her?"

Ella glanced at Teddy and Alfie, panicked. "I…er…read the name in a book, and was trying to remember where I'd heard it before."

"That's weird."

"Do you know her?" prompted Teddy.

"Yeah," said Victoire, eyebrows slightly raised. "She's Riley's mum."

.oOo.

VII: Board

They didn't have a chance to talk about it until they were back at Hogwarts. The whole walk up to the castle, there had been a silence amongst them: Ella lost deep in thought, Alfie watching his surroundings blankly, Teddy glancing at his friends worriedly, wondering what everything meant. He wanted to talk, but he knew that they couldn't, not in the open where anyone could overhear them.

It was only once they were safely encased in a library study room, the door closed, that he said what they were all thinking: "Riley's mum?"

"Weird, isn't it?" muttered Ella, shaking her head. She was leaning against the window, her arms folded. "Riley's always been so adamant that her aunt and uncle were the only bad seeds."

"What exactly did Radhika say?"

"That Riley's mum – Cecilia – was best friends with Mandira. That they both used to vocally support blood purity." She shook her head. "I mean, I know that it was a different time, and pureblood families were sort of expected to support that view – "

"But that still doesn't make it okay!" said Teddy with a little more anger than intended.

"I know that." Ella looked affronted. "I'm not saying it does. I'm just saying it's weird."

"More importantly," said Teddy with a sigh, pulling out a chair and sitting down, "what does it mean for us, now?"

"What do you mean?" asked Alfie, who had been oddly silent

"Let's not forget how Ella found out about all her relatives in the first place. Mandira Tiwari is a suspect in the kidnappings, only she's in Azkaban, so it would probably be pretty hard for her to pull off the kidnappings by herself." He paused, not wanting to say the next part out loud.

Alfie's eyes widened. "You're not saying –"

"That's exactly what he's saying," sighed Ella.

"No," said Teddy quickly, not wanting to assume the worst of people. "I'm just – well, it's suspicious, that's all."

"I don't think Riley's mum would be behind this, Teddy," said Alfie dubiously.

"Alfie's right," said Ella, shaking her head. "Remember – the kidnappings were probably carried out by someone with access to both the Ministry and Hogwarts. Cecilia might be able to get into the Ministry, but Hogwarts?" She twisted her lips to the side. "I don't think so."

Teddy felt a swirl of guilt; he didn't like jumping to conclusions, and yet that's exactly what he'd done. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise. It's weird. It's just all so weird."

The three friends stood in silence, each lost in their own train of thought, unsure what any of it meant. It was Ella who spoke up at last: "I don't understand this."

"You and me both," mumbled Alfie.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Every time I've asked someone about Mandira – my mum, my aunt – they've all talked about the murders she committed, but neither of them has said anything that makes me think she's behind the kidnapping. So why does Tabitha James?"

"She probably has something we don't," reasoned Teddy.

"I don't know," said Alfie, surprising the others. "She – er – seemed like the sort who was quite quick to form judgements of people."

"Yeah, I got that vibe, too," mused Ella.

"What are you saying?" Teddy folded his arms. "That she's going after Mandira on a wild goose chase?"

"I don't know." She reached up to massage her temples, exasperatedly. "God, I just…I don't know. None of this makes sense, and it's all…why me? Why my mum's cousin? Why Riley's mum? It's just a set of weird coincidences."

"It's not our job to solve this," Alfie reminded her. "We're not the aurors."

"I know, it's just…it feels personal. Oddly so." She let out a long, tired sigh and Teddy's heart went out to her. This was hard on Ella, no matter how much she tried to hide it, and he hated that there was nothing he could do to make it easier for her. She was carrying a heavy emotional load, and he wanted to take it from her, share it out somehow. But the best he could do was be a friendly face, a listening ear.

"I've got to go to Quidditch practice," said Alfie, apologetically. "Macey will have my head if I'm not there on time. But we'll talk about this again soon – okay?"

Ella nodded, and bid him goodbye. "I suppose we should leave too," she said, as the door shut behind him. "Dinner will be on in a moment." She made for the door too, but Teddy stopped her.

"There's something you're not saying."

She looked at him with surprise. "What do you mean?"

There was something there – hidden behind her gaze, something she was trying to mask. "I mean, you're not telling me something. What is it?"

She sighed and broke eye contact, glancing first at the floor, running her tongue over the rim of her upper lip. He kept looking at her, trying to compel her to trust in him. Five years of friendship, he thought. Ever since he'd sat in her compartment in the Hogwarts Express and she'd looked up from the book she was reading. Talk to me, Ella.

"I feel like I'm being played," she said at last, her voice soft and hesitant.

"By your aunt?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then by who?"

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "By someone out there. Someone with a really messed up sense of humour. I just don't know who."

.oOo.

VIII: Honour-Bound

"Azkaban duty, James? Thought you were beyond that."

Tabitha James forced a laugh. The rookie auror smirking at her didn't think twice. Mistake number one. "I'm never beyond helping out a friend."

"Funny, I didn't think you and Castrade were that close."

You don't say. The first time she had spoken to Tilly Castrade had been a few days ago in the break room, when she'd slipped a tiny vial of Sickening Solution into the girl's coffee. The next day, Tilly had called in sick. Tabitha had graciously volunteered to take over her Azkaban night shift. The poor girl needed rest.

She did not confess any of this, however, to the rookie auror – a slight, brown-haired man named Sam Milton, who couldn't be more than twenty-five. Instead, she simply grinned. "It's important to help out your fellow aurors. Team solidarity and all that."

Robards hadn't blinked when she'd volunteered. Potter had been more curious, but had let it go when she refused to offer an explanation. She figured he had an inkling of what she was up to – he was sharp after all. Tabitha had briefly considered confiding in him, but decided against it. She had to do this on her own.

"Right. Not that you have a kidnapping – or three – to solve or anything."

Prat. She rolled her eyes. "I needed a change of scene. Quit it."

Milton obliged. "You ever worked high security before?"

She had, several times, back when she was his age and the prison was full of relics from the Wizarding Wars. The population had remained fairly consistent since: a couple of new additions here and there, and a few losses, thanks to mental and physical disease. Though she hadn't set foot in the ward for more than ten years, it still felt oddly familiar, like returning to an old home or school. It was a good thing.

But to gain Milton's trust, she couldn't be an insufferable know-it-all. Feigning blankness, she looked at him hopefully. "Nope. I'll need your help."

"Of course." His chest puffed up. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. Men. Predictable.

The entire operation was shockingly easy to pull off.

Getting into high security was, theoretically, the difficult part. The aurors had protected the ward with every conceivable method known to wizardkind. Although break-in attempts had, at first, been common, they had lessened across the years – no one had ever made it in.

But once you were in, it was oddly simple. Of course, the aurors guarding it were well-trained, and there were traps and security measures in place that an outsider would find difficult, if not impossible to crack without years and years of training and expert, insider knowledge. But with Tabitha's level of security clearance? It was a piece of cake.

Of course, she thought, as she began to break the protective wards around Mandira's cell – carefully and methodically, the same way they would if they were bringing Mandira out for a trial or a medical emergency – it wasn't exactly safe. To get to this point, she'd had to confund Milton – a little too hard. If any of the prisoners had escape plans, this was potentially the best time: one guard inside a cell, the other opening and closing his palm, fascinated by the patterns the lines on it formed. When she'd left Milton, he'd been trying to convince her that there was a picture of a dog engraved in his skin. Later, she would modify his memory. He wouldn't remember the Confundus charm – he wouldn't remember anything out of the ordinary at all. The night would simply fade into the background of his mind: normal, cookie-cutter, unremarkable.

She removed the last ward and inhaled deeply.

What she was doing was illegal. If she was caught, she would lose her job and be blacklisted from the force for life. She could end up behind bars herself, years of her life gone in a flash because of one reckless move. If she was caught, it would be the end of her dreams of becoming Head Auror.

But she also knew that this was her best lead. If she didn't follow it, she didn't deserve to be Head Auror.

She straightened up, holding the muscles in the small of her back taut and rolling her shoulders back to give her a look of firm determination.

Nerves of steel, Robards used to say. She had overheard him once, back when she was still in training. That one's got nerves of steel.

"You can do this," she whispered to herself.

She entered the cell.

The woman sat on the side of the bed. She didn't look like she did in the photos. In the photos, she was young, smiling. Tabitha knew she wasn't old, but there were lines etched deeply into her face. Her hair was limp and straggly; one good brush and it would break. There was no laugh, no sparkle in her eyes, and that, perhaps, was what Tabitha found the most disconcerting. She did not look like a woman who was the mastermind behind a criminal operation. She looked like a woman who had given up.

"Hello, Mandira."

A flicker of recognition flashed in Tiwari's eyes.

They had never met before. Tabitha hadn't even put in her application to the aurors until after Mandira's imprisonment. "You know who I am," the auror said, surprised. "How do you know who I am?"

Silence. Mandira's eyes travelled from Tabitha's head to her toes, surveying her, drinking in every detail. It unsettled her.

"You shouldn't be here," said Mandira, at last. Her voice did not match her face. It wasn't hollow and croaky, like the voices of some prisoners: wasted away thanks to years of disuse and neglect. Instead, it was light, and cut through the air with sharpness and certainty. She sounded almost normal.

Tabitha's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Mandira repeated, her voice slow and foreboding, "you shouldn't be here."

She's distracting you, said a voice in Tabitha's head. She's trying to throw you off. You don't have the time for this. "How do you know who I am?" she repeated, more firmly this time.

The other eyed her. For the first time, Tabitha saw expression light her eyes – a steely determination she wasn't sure she liked. Tabitha returned Mandira's gaze with a fierce stare of her own, not daring to move an inch, ignoring the urge to shuffle her feet and shift her weight. She was not going to reveal anything, and neither, it seemed was Tiwari. The two women stared at each other for the better part of a minute, bearing each other down, daring one another to flinch, to break away, to say something. With each passing second, Tabitha could feel a tiny bit of her own determination chip away. She struggled to keep a handle of herself. What is wrong with me?

It was Mandira who finally gave in. Dropping her gaze to the panels of imitation wood beneath them, she let out a deep sigh that originated from the back of her throat and echoed in the small space. "I could lie, but I'm not going to. I want you to trust me."

Tabitha scoffed. "Trust you?"

"Yes." Again, Tabitha noted the confidence, the strength in her voice that should not belong to someone who had been locked up for fifteen years. "You think I'm crazy."

"I don't understand why I should trust a convicted murderer."

"'Convicted'." A strange grin spread across Mandira's face, the edges of her mouth curved upwards, her upper lip curling inwards, revealing her perfectly even, square upper teeth. "That's a strange word, don't you think."

"No." Tabitha knew what she was trying to do – she was trying to establish a sort of camaraderie between them. She wasn't going to fall for it.

The other witch seemed to realise this, for she sighed again – more softly, this time. She jerked her chin towards the left corner of the cell and spoke as Tabitha approached it, tentatively. "You're Tabitha James. You're an auror – young, but good at your job." Tabitha knelt down and ran her fingers across the floor. She hit a small, almost imperceptible bump. Slowly, she wedged her nail beneath the bump and gingerly lifted the floorboard up. "You're investigating the kidnappings."

"How did you –" she trailed off, as she extracted a cardboard box from beneath the floor. She could feel Mandira's eyes burning into her back as she lifted the lid, not truly knowing what to expect.

She gasped when she saw what it contained.

Daily Prophets, organised in date order. There had to be at least fifty of them, all from within the last year. She flicked through them quickly, attempting to ascertain the dates and their contents: there didn't seem to be any pattern, but Mandira had copies of all the major editions – the papers released the day after each kidnapping, the London attacks, each threat.

"You're investigating the kidnappings," Mandira repeated, softly. There was a pause, and then: "You think I did it."

Tabitha looked up from the box. The convict sat perfectly still on her bed, her pale, sallow hands folded on her lap. She wore no rings or bracelets – they would have been taken from her when she was imprisoned. Nothing to fiddle with. Nothing to indicate nervousness, or stress. In fact, Tabitha noted, she seemed shockingly calm.

Tabitha prided herself on reading people, but there was something off about Mandira Tiwari, something she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps she simply wasn't used to people who had lived in practical isolation for fifteen years – but she had a nagging feeling in her gut that it was more than just that. She had been expecting a cookie-cutter prisoner – someone villainous, angry and defiant. But Mandira Tiwari was smart. Her imprisonment hadn't dulled her intelligence – she was intuitive, and sharp. She picked up things that even aurors who had passed their three years of training with flying colours would miss.

She was not someone to be underestimated.

"What do you know about the kidnappings?" the auror asked, placing the box on the floor and folding her arms.

"Nothing, apart from what I've read in the newspapers."

Clever.

Even more clever – the way she changed the subject: "Why do you think I did it?"

Tabitha shrugged. "Why do you think I think you did it?" The question sounded ridiculous, but there was no better way of phrasing it.

The other witch laughed, high and floaty, like a child who didn't have a care in the world. Not what you would expect from a woman like Tiwari, who had murdered twenty muggles in cold blood. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Oh, really?"

"Aurors like you don't just pay prisoners like me personal visits. Unless your job is more lonely than I thought."

"Ha."

"You," said Mandira thoughtfully, cocking her head to one side, "you're visiting me at night. You weren't announced by another Ministry official – usually when an auror comes asking questions, they're always accompanied by someone more senior than them. The head auror, even the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in some cases. I've never seen one come alone."

"My bosses trust me."

"Maybe so, but protocol is protocol. I've never known the Ministry to break protocol."

"You've been gone for fifteen years."

A wayward smile. "It takes a lot longer than that to change bureaucracy. You're not here legally. Your visitation permit was declined. They probably didn't think you had enough evidence, because there's no way you could." She leaned forward, so her nose was almost level with Tabitha's and she was staring right into her eyes. They were no longer blank and soulless, like they had been when Tabitha had entered; they were swirling, and sharp. The auror could practically see the cogs in Mandira's brain springing to life, whirring as she either reeled off a previously concocted story, previously rehearsed words, or generated new ones. She wished she'd stood up; at least then she'd have a height advantage. "I don't have anything to do with the kidnappings."

Tabitha changed the subject abruptly. She needed something that was out of the public eye, something Mandira wouldn't expect. "Who has your wand?"

This did surprise the other – at least she thought she saw a flicker of surprise pass through the witch's eyes. "My wand?"

"Yes." It took an effort not to sound smug.

"My wand is in Ministry possession." Genuine puzzlement coloured Mandira's face. "I…I've not seen it since they took it away from me when I was arrested."

"No one else could have it?"

"I…" the witch faltered. "It's possible. Like you said, I've not been out in fifteen years. But the last I saw it, it was in Ministry possession."

Tabitha was experienced enough in witness interrogation to know when a line of questioning wasn't getting anywhere. "How did you get the Daily Prophet? Prisoners aren't entitled to news."

Shrug. "It's natural enough to want to know what's going on outside of these four walls."

Again with the distraction. "I didn't ask why you wanted the newspaper. I asked how."

Silence. Mandira's hand found its way to her upper lip and she began to pick at the skin in the middle, all while keeping her gaze firmly on Tabitha. The auror glanced down and, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation, stood up and leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. The concrete was like ice against her back.

Moments passed; Mandira did not flinch. Tabitha wondered whether her imprisonment had driven her insane, but she did not act like an insane person. She was completely and utterly lucid – too lucid, almost.

"You know."

Unable to hide her shock: "What?"

"You know." It was not a question, nor was it a throwaway comment. It was calculated, thought through. You know.

Tabitha James prided herself on being unreadable. She loved seeing witnesses and suspects scramble over themselves as they tried to figure out whether they were saying the right thing or incriminating themselves further. She loved watching her fellow aurors try in vain to determine whether she approved of them or disliked them. And yet this woman, this murderer, who she'd never met before could simply look at her and could understand her thought process with such fine precision.

It was unheard of. It made her stomach heave and her head feel numb.

She had two options: she could admit what she knew and lose her advantage. Mandira would tell Munroe that Tabitha suspected him, giving him enough time to get rid of any evidence, to move the children. But if she didn't admit anything, she and Mandira would go around in circles until one of them tired. And Tabitha simply did not have the time. Her Confundus Charm could wear off at any minute, and she needed answers.

This needed to have been worth it.

She sighed, and reluctantly said: "Angus."

If Mandira was surprised, she didn't show it. Instead, she stayed silent, as Tabitha had expected. If she admitted it, she would incriminate Munroe.

"Listen," said Tabitha, attempting to mask her impatience, "I know you and Mun – Angus are friends, and I know he's been communicating with you. I have the letters. I don't know how you've been getting them in and out, but there's no point in denying that you're in contact. Look." She reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out the letter she had found in Munroe's apartment, which she gave to Mandira. Taking it with shaking hands, the witch scanned it, her lips drawing into a thin, pink line. "That's your handwriting – your signature. There's no point in denying it."

"Alright," said Mandira, folding the parchment delicately. "But it isn't what you think."

"What do I think?"

"You think that I've been masterminding the kidnappings. I'm guessing you think Angus is the one who's been carrying them out – logical, I suppose, given that the string of events that have occurred required information from both the Ministry and Hogwarts. Information that Angus would've had access to."

That wasn't information that had been shared with the public. "How do you know that?"

Mandira shrugged. "Lots of time to think in here."

Regardless, it was suspicious – to immediately leap to a conclusion that had taken Tabitha months? Unlikely, no matter how smart Mandira was.

"You've not got anything tying me directly to the kidnappings, do you?"

Tabitha almost laughed. As if she was going to answer that. "If you're not behind them, why are you writing to Angus? I can't think of another reason why you would break the law."

Mandira laughed - this time, it was short and scornful. "What are they going to do? Extend my sentence? I'm in here for life anyway."

"Yes," said Tabitha smugly, "but he isn't. He could lose his job – particularly if he's been using his powers as an auror to stay in contact with you."

Silence. Mandira blinked once. Her fingers interlocked and she swallowed, the lump in her throat visibly bobbing up and down. Tabitha knew she was right.

"It's not what you think," said Mandira at last. Her voice had changed; she no longer held the advantage, and it was audible. There was a note of desperation, pleading – not unlike someone on trial, begging for their life. "I'm innocent. Not just of the kidnappings, but of murder."

"That was your defense at your trial, too. It didn't work."

"It's funny, how little the law cares about the truth sometimes. I didn't kill anyone. Someone framed me, and Angus is trying to help me prove it."

Tabitha arched an eyebrow. "You're innocent?"

"Yes."

"Someone framed you?"

"Yes." Strong emphasis, attempting to sound confident and steadfast.

She scoffed, shaking her head. If this is what they had come to, then it really was the end. She was going to get nothing further out of the conversation, but she could go out on a high.

Tabitha James looked Mandira Tiwari straight in the eyes. "That's what all guilty people say."

.oOo.

IX: The End

"We should talk."

Ella Anderson jumped. Somewhere behind her, the grandfather clock softly chimed midnight. She rarely stayed up so late, but sleep had evaded her. Rather than tossing and turning, and disturbing all of her roommates, she had crept downstairs into the deserted Common Room, and had been curled up on a brown leather armchair with a detective novel for the better part of an hour. She hadn't even noticed anyone else come in.

"Sorry," the speaker said sheepishly, rubbing his elbow. "I didn't mean to startle you. But I really think we should –"

"Talk. Yeah." If only it could wait till the morning – but, she supposed, it was better to just get it out of the way. She gestured to the armchair opposite her.

Leonardo Torricelli sat down awkwardly, perching on the edge of the chair, his back rigid, as if pinned to a stake. He interlaced his fingertips and placed his palms on his lap. His formality stood in stark contrast to Ella's relaxedness, and did nothing to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. Instead, Ella felt almost as if Leonardo had come in for an interview.

She broke the silence that had settled between them: "Well?"

When he looked up questioningly, she sighed. "I assume you have something you wanted to talk about?"

His left eyebrow darted upwards. "You don't talk to me anymore."

A guilty feeling settled in her stomach. She shrugged defensively, hugging her elbows closer to her torso.

"And you can't blame it on me," he continued, "because I've tried. I've tried to partner with you in class, but you've always brushed me off. I've tried to talk to you. I even tried to comfort you when you were crying for a reason that I still don't know about, but I bet Teddy and Alfie do –"

Teddy and Alfie? She didn't even make an effort to hide her irritation. "There's no reason to bring them into this."

"Well, I think there is. You spend all your time with them and no time with me."

"They're my best friends."

"And I'm your boyfriend. I've not done anything wrong. I apologised for Christmas. I'm sorry that I said what I did. But if you can't handle a simple disagreement –"

"I can handle it."

"Well, it sure doesn't seem like it," snapped Leonardo, taking Ella by the surprise, for she had never known him to raise his voice. "Ever since Christmas, you've not spoken to me properly. You don't even seem like yourself."

"Yeah, well, things have changed."

"How?" A note of pleading coloured his tone and she felt herself soften towards him. "How have things changed? Help me understand, Ella. I just want to understand."

His eyes were like saucers – beseeching, desperate almost. She broke eye contact for it was painful to look at him.

There was an easy way to solve this – she'd entrusted Leo with the secret about her mother, about her family being targeted during the London attacks. She could just as easily tell him about Radhika and Mandira, about how she was struggling to wrap her head around the fact that these complete strangers were bound to her through the scarlet liquid that ran through her veins. It would take a whisper, a quiet conversation in which she confessed everything: the fear, the guilt, the awful, burning anger in her gut that she refused to acknowledge, let alone assign a target to.

Her lips opened, the words forming in her mind. The clench of a muscle and a flick of her tongue were all that were needed to transform her thoughts into vocalisations that would fix this relationship.

Instead, her mouth closed around midnight air, crisp and sweet. She looked back at Leonardo, pushing her emotions into her eyes, letting her guard down, hoping she could read him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a cracked half-whisper. "I can't."

"You can't talk to me?"

She shook her head.

"For two people in a relationship, that's awfully strange."

"Well…" She swallowed hard to dislodge the rapidly-forming lump in her throat. "Maybe we shouldn't be in a relationship."

It was as if all the candles in the room had been blown out at once. A icy breeze wafted through an open window, swirling through the strands of her hair neglected by her bun. She watched Leo closely, silently begging him to say something, anything, but he seemed incapable of language. The guilt inside her intensified - a dull ache in the pit of her stomach that she didn't think would ever go away.

When he did speak, his words failed to make it better. "I thought you loved me."

She had too. What she had felt for Leo, she had never felt before: a heady passion that had intoxicated her and broken her focus. He gave her butterflies in her stomach, someone to dream about at night, someone to talk about when the conversation turned to relationships and the opposite sex. But he had never consumed her thoughts completely and wholly, she had never felt something deep-seated stir in her when she looked at him. She had never been completely open, completely forthcoming, completely and effortlessly herself around him.

She couldn't meet his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the curving, intersecting lines etched on her palms. "I was wrong," she said, softly, speaking more to the floor than to him. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong."

She kept repeating the same thing, over and over, even when he had left, and she was alone in the long, vacuous room, her first heartbreak over before it had even properly begun.

PART III: Third Saturday

X: Cat and Mouse

"You're up early."

The voice – soft, hesitant, yet familiar – startled Teddy Lupin – he had thought he was alone. Looking up from the Herbology textbook on his lap, he smiled. "Hey, Matilda."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

The brunette settled on the armchair opposite him. She was wearing a thin white T-shirt, a Hufflepuff scarf and jeans, her thin mousy hair tied into a ponytail. She glanced at his book and sighed. "I forgot about that."

"The Herbology assignment?" She nodded and he smiled sympathetically. "It's not too bad – it'll only take you half an hour, tops."

"Correction: it takes you half an hour. I suck at Herbology."

"Not true."

She made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "Very true."

"I'll help you if you like," he offered. He didn't enjoy hearing his friends being so self-critical, especially not Matilda.

"That would be lovely."

There was silence for a few moments – not awkward, but comfortable. Matilda adjusted a ring on her left index finger: it was beautiful – silver, with a shiny pink stone set in the centre. "I've not seen that before," he said, gesturing to it. "It's nice."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Giovanna got it for me. Last weekend, in Hogsmeade."

"That's nice of her."

"Yeah, she's nice. I heard you guys had a chat during Quidditch tryouts."

Teddy nodded in affirmation.

"I'm glad she could talk to you," said the brunette. "She – er – doesn't talk about her dad much, at least not to me. I don't think she spoke about it much to Morna or Daisy either."

"How have things been with you guys lately?"

She shrugged. "Fine. The dormitory's a bit icy – Morna and Daisy don't really talk to Gi and I, but that's okay, I'm sort of used to it. Gi's been a really good friend though. Obviously, you and Alfie are great – don't be offended –"

"I'm not."

"But it's nice to have a girl friend too." Someone to back me up in there when Daisy goes off on one of her rants. Not that she's been doing that much lately."

"What, ranting?"

"Yeah." Matilda nodded. "We just don't see very much of her anymore."

This got his interest. "Really? Is she spending more time with Laura or something?"

"No, Laura's got N.E.W.T.s and all those detentions that she's still working off. Daisy's been spending a lot of time with Professor Smith. She's really dedicated to doing well in Potions this year."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Teddy's lips. "Or she's really dedicated to Professor Smith."

Matilda grinned at this. "Both, I think. Gi says it's hypocritical, given that she went after Bella Watson for spending time with Professor Macmillan."

"I agree," Teddy replied grimly.

"Daisy is as Daisy does. I've long given up on trying to make sense of her." She sighed. "I just…"

"What?" he prompted, gently.

"I don't know." There was a mournful note in her voice – she fiddled with the ring again, twisting it back and forth. "I just wish she…wasn't like this."

Daisy Shipkins had never changed, but Teddy didn't say so. Instead, he let Matilda continue: "She hasn't matured, or grown, or anything. If anything, she's just gotten worse. You know, the reason we all became friends in first year was because she stood up for Morna. She used to stand up for me too." She must have noticed Teddy's scepticism because she smiled and said, "Not often, but she did. I remember."

He nodded. "I believe you."

"The point is more I want to be a good friend to her, but I don't know how."

"Matilda," said Teddy gently, closing his Herbology book and leaning forward, "friendships don't go one way."

"I know," she said, sighing. "My mum says the same thing. Only…this isn't Daisy from last term."

"What do you mean?"

"Daisy was mean last term. Horrible. For no good reason. But this term, something's changed."

This did not clarify things, but he nodded as if he understood.

"I can't put my finger on it, but she's different. It's like she needs a friend."

"She has Morna."

"She needs a more perceptive friend."

Teddy sighed. He knew Matilda's intentions were good, but this wasn't the first time they were having a conversation like this. She always felt bad for Daisy and went back to her, and it never worked out. Things were fine for a week, maybe a month, and then Daisy went back to being her old, horrible self.

"Give her space," he said, softly. "Let her come to you."

Matilda bit her lip. "Do you really think –"

"I do. If she needs help, she'll realise it soon enough and she'll come to you."

"Will she?"

"Yes," he said staunchly.

"I just…I don't think she realises that I can help her."

"Why not?"

"I'm so... I don't know. Timid. Quiet."

"Those aren't bad things," said Teddy emphatically. "And you're not timid. You've stood up to her before. Okay, maybe you're not as confident as Giovanna –" a rueful smile – "but you've got the potential to be."

She paused, gently pulling her upper lip down with her teeth. "It did feel good to stand up to Daisy."

"See?" he laughed.

"You really think I've got the potential to be confident?"

"Definitely." There wasn't even a hint of doubt in his voice, nor in his mind. "You're stronger than you think you are, Matilda. I only wish you knew that."

She nodded slowly. "You're a good friend, Teddy."

"I try to be," he said lightly.

"No, you are. I'm lucky to have you." She surveyed him for a moment longer than was necessary before taking a deep breath in. "So. Herbology. Did you mean it when you said you'll help me?"

"Of course," he said warmly.

"Really? I mean…" she took another breath, "when are you free?"

"Tomorrow morning? The library?"

She grinned. "Sounds good. I'll see you then."

.oOo.

XI: A Call to Arms

The letter was burning up in her hand.

Not literally, although she wished she could throw it into a fire and watch it go up in flames, the parchment slowly turning black and crumbling until it was no more than a pile of ashes. But it felt scorching, red hot; just as the skin on her palm felt like it was blistering.

She knew, of course, that none of it was real.

Victoire looked at her oddly. "Riley?"

Was she the only one? She didn't think so – others must have gotten it too. Yet as she glanced around the Great Hall, panicked but perceptive, she did not see anyone else staring at a letter in shock. No one else had quick, shallow breathing.

Why would anyone single her out?

"Riley?" More urgent this time, coupled with confusion – terror, almost.

She didn't have to show Victoire. She could slink off to the Slytherin Common Room and toss the letter into the dark stone fireplace without a word; no one would question it. She could pretend it never happened, shove it to the back of her mind.

But she didn't want to.

Wordlessly, she passed the piece of parchment to Victoire and watched as the blonde's dark eyebrows furrowed and she bit the inside of her cheek in concentration.

Riley Carrow,

The time has come.

Renounce your friends, and welcome, with open arms, your family. By the virtue of the Pure Blood running through your veins, you are one of us. You want what we want, you deserve what we all deserve: freedom, power, and, most importantly, primacy.

It is almost time to take up arms. We trust you will join us when you receive the signal.

Sincerely,

The Follower

Victoire looked up at Riley, her eyes like blue china saucers. Riley bit her lip and broke eye contact.

"What does this mean?" the blonde asked, her voice low and trembling.

"I don't know."

"Who's the Follower?"

"I don't know."

"What signal?"

"I don't know." Her voice was exasperated – not because she was irritated with Victoire, but because she felt confused and scared. "I don't know what any of it means."

Victoire opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the arrival of Alfie Hayes, who pulled out the empty chair opposite Victoire and sat down, grinning widely by way of greeting. Both girls straightened up and smiled back, although Riley found it difficult to summon up the strength needed to mask her emotions.

"Where are Teddy and Ella?" asked Victoire.

"Library." Alfie reached over and selected an apple from the fruit bowl. He bit into it, his teeth piercing the shiny red exterior. "Charms project. I was hungry, they weren't."

"Surprising," said Victoire. Her tone was odd, as if she was deep in thought. "Just Teddy and Ella?"

"What?"

"Are they alone?" she clarified. "In the library?"

Alfie gave her an odd look. "Yeah."

"Oh."

"They're perfectly safe." His voice went up at the end, questioning, but Victoire ignored it. There were a few moments of awkward silence – Riley glanced at her wristwatch and wondered if it would be rude to leave.

"You're both awfully quiet," Alfie commented through bites of his apple.

No response.

"Seriously?" He put the fruit on his plate and surveyed them both. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Victoire, too quickly.

"I don't believe you."

"Nothing's wrong."

Riley looked up at Alfie: his head was tilted slightly to the side, giving him the appearance of a confused, yet sympathetic puppy. He wouldn't understand, she thought. He was a muggleborn – how could he understand her world?

And yet at the beginning of the year, she had found herself in a meadow, confessing her fears to him, telling him about Tabitha James well before she'd told Victoire.

There was something about Alfie that made her feel as if she could trust him. Things with Teddy and Ella were different – she always felt as if they were withdrawn, holding something back. But Alfie was open. She considered herself a fairly good judge of character, and she knew by looking at Alfie's face that he was kind, open and fair. He would listen to her. He wouldn't judge.

"It's okay," she said softly. Victoire's head whipped around so quickly that she was almost struck in the face by her own curls.

Riley took the parchment and slid it across the table to Alfie, whose eyes scanned it quickly, widening as he read each sentence.

When he was done, he looked at her much as Victoire had, shock and confusion tracked across his face. "What –"

"Does it mean? I don't know." She swallowed. "I don't know what any of it means."

"Why did you get it?"

"I don't know."

"It's not her fault –" Victoire began defensively.

"No, I'm not saying that – of course it's not. I'm just wondering whether Riley was the only one. The way it's worded…" he shook his head. "It's almost like someone's trying to start an army." He glanced at the letter again and then, slowly: "You know, you could ask Teddy and Ella – they might –"

"No," said Riley abruptly. "I'm sorry, I know they're your best friends, but…I'm not ready."

"Okay," Alfie nodded. Riley detected a note of hesitance in his voice, but chose to ignore it.

"I could find out whether anyone else got it," she said instead. "I'm not the only Pureblood at Hogwarts."

"I didn't get one," Victoire pointed out.

"That's because – no offense – your family isn't exactly…" she trailed off, wondering how to put it best.

"Because we're blood traitors?"

"Yeah." She paused. "Iris Fawley, though."

"You think –"

"The Fawley's are old blood. If I got one, chances are –"

"You'll ask?"

"I'll try."

"Hypothetically, though," interrupted Alfie, "if you were the only one, what do you think it could mean?"

"Yeah, but I'm probably not the only one –"

"I'm just saying."

Victoire's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

"Nothing! I – "

"This has something to do with her mum, doesn't it?"

Wait, what? "My mum?" The Slytherin was unable to hide her surprise. "You've never even met my mum."

"Teddy, Ella, and Alfie were talking about your mum in Hogsmeade."

"I repeat, my mum? What about her?"

"Nothing!" said Alfie, defensively. "Ella read her name in a book, was wondering where she'd heard the name before, that's all."

"What book?"

"I don't know, some book about Pureblood families. You know Ella, she reads."

Too much, thought Riley, grimly.

"Well, this doesn't have anything to do with my mum," she grumbled, folding her arms. "If I got it and no one else did, it's probably because I'm related to death eaters. My aunt and uncle. Who are dead. My parents were not involved with Voldemort. They didn't have anything to do with death eaters."

"We know," Victoire said soothingly.

"No, you know, I'm telling Alfie." She jerked her chin towards the Hufflepuff who looked rather frightened.

"I know, too," he said remorsefully, his shoulders drooping. She almost felt bad for him, and softened.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just – I'm sick of people assuming things about me because of my last name." She pointed at the letter: "Even people I don't know think I'm up for some sort of Pureblood crusade because I'm a Carrow. I'm not."

She glanced at her wristwatch again and sighed. "I've got to go. I'll let you both know what Iris Fawley said."

"I'll come," Victoire said quickly, getting to her feet. Riley looked at her, debating whether or not to rebuff her, to say she needed to be on her own for a while.

No. She wasn't that person anymore.

"Sure," she said. "Let's go."

.oOo.

XII: A Different Kind of Letter

"Teddy!" chirped Daisy Shipkins, skipping across the library and towards the table where Teddy Lupin and Ella Anderson were sitting, a poster-sized sheet of parchment spread out in front of them.

Ella groaned. "Doesn't she know this is a library?"

Daisy ignored her. "This is for you!" She held out an envelope.

Teddy glanced at it suspiciously. "Daisy, if this is another apology letter, I'm really not the person you should be apologising to."

"Oh, don't worry about that, silly." Her tone was nonchalant, but her cheeks coloured. "This is a very special delivery from Professor Smith."

"Professor Smith?"

"He teaches us Potions."

"Yes, I know that. I –" he broke off and sighed, taking the envelope from her. She waited expectantly; he dutifully opened it.

Dear Mr. Lupin,

Requesting your presence at a small gathering, next Sunday at 8PM, on the fourth floor. Refreshments will be provided.

Yours,

Professor Smith

"He's reviving the Slug Club," Daisy said excitedly.

"No, he's not," snapped Ella, a little too harshly. "I was in the Slug Club. And you weren't."

"Well, it's a new, better club," said the other, pursing her lips and straightening up. "Professor Smith clearly knows who the right sort of people are."

Ella snorted in response.

"Maybe if you ask your boyfriend nicely, he'll take you. But oh!" Daisy feigned shock, placing her hand on her perfectly round mouth. "He broke up with you, didn't he?"

At this, Ella's face flushed, and she turned back to the poster, scrawling furiously under the headline 'The Abuses of Agate': "Crushed agate, when slipped into a glass of water and consumed by a Gemini target, can cause laryngitis, headaches and terrible, awful luck." She looked up. "Hey, Daisy, you're a Gemini aren't you? And crushed agate isn't hard to get – Smith's got some in the student stores, doesn't he?"

Daisy paled, her complexion standing in stark contrast to her fiery red hair. Ella looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"You're horrible, Anderson," she spat, before turning to Teddy and saying, in a much nicer tone: "I'll see you at the party, Teddy."

"Bye," Teddy said, struggling not to laugh. He watched her leave, and when the door slammed behind her, dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

"What?" said Ella, bemused.

"'You're a Gemini, aren't you'?" he imitated. "Gold. Absolute gold. How do you come up with these things?"

She shrugged. "I'm a comedic genius."

"I'll say."

"So are you going to go?"

"Where?"

"To the party. Are you going to go?"

"Oh," he sobered and glanced at the invitation card still in his hand. "I dunno. Might be fun."

"I wonder how Smith's selecting people," Ella mused, tapping her quill absentmindedly against a textbook. "It can't be based on grades – mine are much higher than Daisy's."

"Yeah, I wonder," echoed Teddy, thoughtfully.

Neither of them had time, however, to think over the matter further. The library door opened with a whoosh of air, and Alfie Hayes entered, hurrying towards them.

"That was a quick breakfast," said Ella.

"Never mind that." Alfie pulled out the chair next to Teddy and sat down. His face was flushed and beads of sweat lined his forehead, almost like he'd been running. "There's something –" He broke off unexpectedly, hesitating.

"What? What's the matter?"

"I don't know if I should be saying anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I…" he sighed.

"Alfie, what's wrong?" asked Teddy.

He swallowed hard and looked at them. "You can't say anything to her."

"To who?"

"Riley."

"Okay," Teddy drew out the vowels, looking confusedly at Ella. "What's the matter?"

"There's something I need to tell you."

---

A/N: PHEW! This chapter made me alternate between obsessive bouts of writing and screaming at my computer because the words just wouldn't come out right! I hope you enjoyed meeting all the new characters, some of whom will feature more heavily than others in upcoming parts of the story. And all the Tabitha scenes – I never know whether you guys actually enjoy Tabitha's bits, or whether I just imagine that you do because I really enjoy writing her, so if you've got strong opinions about Tabitha (or don't really care), do let me know in the reviews.

Also quick note: masi is the Hindi word for aunt. In case anyone was confused!

The next chapter is provisionally entitled 'Matters of the Heart'. It takes place mostly within Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and involves some interesting developments in friendships/relationships. It'll also mostly be told through Teddy's eyes – the poor boy has been terribly neglected lately. As usual, you can keep up with my writing progress on my Tumblr (sincerelynymph)

Thank you all for all your lovely reviews! Reading your feedback actually makes my day, and I'm so grateful for it all! To anonymous reviewer Hpfan – glad you like Alfie/Ella, and Alfie/Riley! Both dynamics are fun to write and you'll be seeing a fair bit of one of them in the next chapter.

Reviews are 52 pages of chapter!