Chapter Seventeen: Matters of the Heart

Recap: Ella meets her Aunt Radhika for the first time. Radhika tells her that Mandira Tiwari – in Azkaban for killing twenty muggles, and Tabitha's prime suspect for the kidnappings – was close friends with a girl named Cecilia Selwyn (aka. Cecilia Carrow – Riley's mum). Riley gets a letter from someone called the Follower that spouts a lot of blood purity stuff.

Meanwhile, things are busy at auror headquarters. There's a break-in at the Dursleys, and Tabitha and Harry find a wand fragment that they send for analysis. It'll take six weeks to be identified. In the meantime, Tabitha illegally visits Mandira Tiwari in prison – though Mandira confesses to illegally corresponding with Angus Munroe, she insists she's innocent of both her original crime and the kidnappings. Tabitha isn't convinced.

Content warning: minor swearing in Scene 12

I: Trust

(n.) Firm belief in the reliability, truth, or ability of someone or something

"It could just be a joke," Alfie said, wringing his hands uncomfortably. "Some kid with too much time on his hands thought he'd write to Riley for a laugh."

Silence.

Teddy felt like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. It tracked across his spine: cold, wet, slippery, causing tremors wherever it made contact with naked skin. He glanced at the window, but it was closed tightly, barring the bracing winter air from entering the musty study room, where Ella had dragged them the minute Alfie declared that the 'something' he needed to say might have to do with the kidnappings.

"I don't know that it is a joke," said Ella softly. Teddy noticed that she was very still. "I don't think…given everything that's happened, I don't think it's appropriate to assume that it is. Especially if the letter referenced the kidnappings."

Feeling was beginning to return to the tips of Teddy's fingers. It was a wonder he even felt this way at all – given the events of the last seven months, he should be used to this sort of news. Purist propaganda, disappearances, the dark mark appearing – it was becoming a new norm. It made him something bubble in his stomach, a strange potion of regret and anger. None of this should be happening. His parents…

No. This wasn't the time or the place. He swallowed hard and clenched his stomach muscles. Still, Alfie's words repeated over and over in his head:

The kidnappings are just the beginning.

"They're brazen," he said suddenly, more to himself than to Alfie and Ella. "Whoever this person is – if they really are responsible for the kidnappings – they're feeling brave. Confident."

"What do you mean?" asked Alfie, his eyebrows knitting together.

"They've not been caught yet. If this – what did you say they called themselves?"

"The Follower."

"Right. If the Follower's playing by the rule book, he or she'd stay quiet. Go off the grid. The less they do, the lower their chances of being found and sent to Azkaban for the rest of their life."

"Yeah, but sending a letter like this is the opposite of staying quiet."

"I think that's Teddy's point," said Ella. Her tone was not accusatory or deprecating, but soft, as if she was drawing a child's attention to something obvious.

"I don't get it. Are you saying they want to be caught?"

Teddy ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip as he debated the question. "I don't know. But I do get the impression that they don't want to be forgotten. They want to make a statement."

He let this hang in the air for a moment before posing a question to Alfie: "Have any other Purebloods gotten the letter?"

"I don't know. Victoire didn't."

"She wouldn't anyway, her entire family was in the Order of the Phoenix." Ella chewed on her lip, her brows deeply furrowed. "I wonder if it matters."

"What do you mean?"

"Even if other Purebloods have gotten it, it could be a way of disguising the fact that this…Follower, whoever they are, is singling out Riley."

What?

"I don't know," said Alfie dubiously, glancing at Teddy. "I'm sorry, Ella, but that sounds a little paranoid to me."

"I think we should investigate her."

"Who? Riley?" He looked at Teddy again, this time as if to say 'Is she mad?'

"Yes!"

"Ella," Teddy began. She narrowed her eyes at him and he took a deep breath, trying to think of how best to phrase his thoughts: "don't you think that's a little…unfounded?"

"No," she said, confidently. "You said it yourself, Teddy, sending this letter is a brazen move. Even if the Follower doesn't want to be forgotten, or whatever, a risk like this has to be justified – it can't just be something to give him or her an ego boost."

"It could be," Alfie mumbled.

Ella ignored him; instead, she raised her voice and addressed them as if she was addressing a jury, trying to convince them of a defendant's guilt. "Imagine you're the Follower. You've gotten away with everything you've done so far, but it's not enough. You're fading into the background, and you're itching for more. So you send a letter. Not just to get people to wake up and take notice – no, you're going to make this count."

She was good at this, Teddy thought. He could feel the beat of his heart against his ribcage, gathering speed.

"You send a letter to someone you think will be susceptible. Someone on the inside at Hogwarts that you think will listen to you. Someone whose family supports you –"

"Hang on now," said Alfie, louder and more forcefully. Ella stopped, and tilted her head towards him.

"What?"

"You're implying that Riley's parents support the Follower."

"I never said her parents."

"You implied it."

"I could mean her aunt and uncle."

"Oh, stop it, Ella." The tone of his voice made Teddy look at him with surprise; his forehead was puckered, and his face muscles were pulled together into a scowl. Teddy had never before seen Alfie like this – frustrated, yes, but never irritated. "You don't mean her aunt and her uncle, you mean her parents – more specifically, her mother. You've been suspicious ever since you spoke to your aunt. And don't try to deny it." He held up a finger threateningly, and Ella faltered, the words in her throat dissolving before they made contact with air.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "You've got me. I think this whole thing is incredibly suspicious, and I think we should be looking into Riley's mum. There." She threw her hands up and leaned back in her chair. "I've said it." A strange glint sparkled in her eyes, as if she was daring the boys to call her out, to challenge her.

Teddy felt his hands shake, imperceptibly. He didn't like this. He didn't like his friends behaving in this way – Alfie angry, Ella stubborn and defensive. And worst of all, he didn't know who to side with. He loved both of them with all his heart; his friends meant just as much to him as his family. Alfie and Ella had both been there for him from his very first day at Hogwarts. They had stood by him when he'd been bullied by Terence, when the school had found out about his parents, when he'd nearly failed third year Arithimancy.

He wanted to intervene and stop them fighting, but he didn't know how. Instead, he watched, his shoulders stiff.

"There's no reason to suspect Riley's mum," snapped Alfie. "Just because you don't like Riley – "

"This isn't about her!"

"Like Merlin it isn't!"

"It isn't about her! It's about me!" exclaimed Ella. Her face was flushed, red undertones creeping out from under her pale brown skin. "These kidnappings affect me, Alfie. My family was targeted in the London attacks. My family is under suspicion. So excuse me if I want to know what in Circe's name is going on!"

She had a point.

"Riley's not responsible," protested Alfie, but there was a lot less vehemence in his voice than there had been.

"Alfie." Ella reached up and ran a hand forcefully through her black locks, pulling at her scalp as if to relieve a sharp pain. Her voice was a lot calmer now. "You can't deny it's awfully suspicious that her mother used to be friends with the prime suspect in this case."

"We don't know that Mandira Tiwari's the prime suspect."

Irritation filtered through her voice again: "Why else would Tabitha have circled her name?"

"But –"

"Guys," Teddy said sharply. Alfie and Ella looked at him with surprise in their eyes, and he realised they'd forgotten he was there. It would've been funny, if not for the circumstances. "Calm down."

"What do you think?" Ella addressed the question directly to him.

Teddy hesitated. He was aware of Ella's dark eyes on him, simultaneously trying to figure out his thoughts before he voiced them and willing him to side with her. But at the same time, he could feel Alfie next to him, confident that he and Teddy were on the same page.

"I think we should take a deep breath," he began. Ella's eyes narrowed, and Alfie cocked his head. Damn it. "And…"

"And?"

He inhaled sharply. "Let's not jump to conclusions." Alfie relaxed; Ella opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "Let me finish. Alfie, you have a point: there isn't a lot we know, but we do know that whatever's going on isn't Riley's fault. I don't think…actually, no, I know she doesn't know anything. She's good, but she's not that good. If she was hiding something, we'd have realised by now. But Ella also has a point – this letter is suspicious, as is Riley's mum's friendship with Mandira Tiwari. If Tabitha thinks Mandira's behind the kidnappings, then Mandira must have some kind of associate on the outside who's actually kidnapping the kids and leaving messages – unless she's found a way of slipping in and out of Azkaban, which I think is pretty unlikely."

This time, it was Alfie who began to protest, but Teddy spoke over him: "That doesn't mean we suddenly start investigating Riley's mum full-force. We can't do that anyway – have you seen the amount of homework we've got?" Ella raised her eyebrows in agreement. He began to feel a little more confident – he was hitting the right notes, making them listen. "But we can ask questions. You're going to see Radhika again next time you go to Hogsmeade?"

Ella nodded.

"So ask about Cecilia." He turned to Alfie: "It doesn't mean anything. We're just gathering information. Can you both live with that?"

Alfie and Ella glanced at one another and sighed simultaneously. The tension no longer hung heavily in the air, but it wasn't entirely gone either. He could still feel it among them – he could see it in the way they regarded each other, each understanding, but not truly accepting each other's positions.

"We need to stick together," he said.

"We know – " Ella began, but he cut her off with a vehement shake of his head.

"No, I don't think we do. Everything that's happened has been unexpected. None of us, a year ago, would've thought we'd be here, talking about Pureblood propaganda and three kidnapped children. I don't want to be depressing, but…"

He swallowed. The thought had been there in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit, but never before had he acknowledged it. But now – it poured into his consciousness like concrete, settling in every crevice and hardening until it was nearly impossible not to say out loud.

"Teddy?" prompted Ella.

"Things are going to get worse." His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, but his tone remained grave. "I just…I have a feeling. So we need to stick together. Alright?"

Silence. Ella chewed on her fingernail – a nervous habit she'd never been able to drop – and Alfie looked as if he'd been told he could never eat chocolate again in his life. Teddy's chest felt heavy: perhaps he'd been a little too morbid.

The weight was lifted, however, when Ella sighed and said to Alfie: "I get why you don't want to look into this."

"It feels like a betrayal," he replied glumly. "But I understand why you need to ask."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you." And then, turning to Teddy: "What would we do without you?"

He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Tear each other apart?"

"I'd win the fight," said Alfie, his tone lighter now, almost playful.

Ella reached across the table, her arm flapping wildly as she tried – but failed – to smack Alfie. "In your dreams."

Teddy laughed. The atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed, but he still felt a tiny stab of dread, confined to the back of his mind, but slowly gaining traction.

A storm was coming. He could see the clouds crowning over the horizon, still tiny slivers of dark grey against the clear blue sky, but undeniably there.

He exhaled, his breath shaky.

"Hey," Alfie said, knocking Teddy's elbow gently with his own. "It's going to be okay. We've got each other."

"I know," he replied, letting his eyes drift shut. "I know."

.oOo.

II: Insecurity

(n.) Uncertainty or anxiety about oneself; lack of confidence

By Monday morning, Teddy had calmed down significantly. The dread was still there, but it had retreated. No longer did it puncutate his waking hours – at least, not unless he deliberately sought it out. Alfie and Ella weren't fighting anymore, and neither of them had mentioned Cecilia Carrow, not even when Ella had been writing to her aunt to set up another meeting.

It was amazing how things could go so wrong, and yet still be so normal.

Case in point: Daisy bloody Shipkins.

The redhead in question was already in the potions room with her books spread in front of her well before anybody else had even thought of entering. Morna Clemmons sat beside her, inspecting her pale pink nail paint for chips and scratches.

"She does know she isn't fooling anyone, doesn't she?" said Ella, eyeing Daisy warily as she, Alfie, and Teddy took their normal seats in the middle of the expansive dungeon. "She didn't care this much about potions when Slughorn taught it. And that stupid party – I bet you ten galleons she was the one who put the idea in Smith's head."

"Party?" asked Alfie, pulling books out of his satchel and haphazardly plonking them down on his desk. "What part – oh, I've forgotten my notebook."

"You can borrow my spare one," offered Teddy, reaching into his bag.

"Thanks, but I'll just write in my Transfiguration book instead. What party?"

"You tell him, Teddy," sniffed Ella. "You got the invitation."

"You're not seriously upset about not getting one?"

"No, of course not. I just think it's a bit ridiculous."

"Hello," called Alfie. "Could someone – I don't really care who – tell me about this part –"

"Silence, please!"

Daisy let out a little sigh that was just audible above the quietening din of students. Professor Smith strode towards the front of the room purposefully, his shoulders back and his gait brisk. Teddy watched him. Smith was tall – girls liked tall, he supposed – and his figure was lean, but toned. But then again, the same could be said of Macmillan, and though Macmillan was considered 'fit', he didn't generate nearly the same amount of fanfare as Smith did.

There was something about the way Smith carried himself. He had a sense of self-assuredness and confidence that, if seen on another, could be construed as arrogance, but was alluring on him. He held his chiselled jaw slightly above its' natural position, he never slouched, and he never once paused to check himself in the reflective surface of his cauldron, as Slughorn often used to.

Teddy could understand why Daisy was so enamoured by him. Smith was the sort of person it was easy to be taken in by.

The first half of the lesson was spent taking copious notes on the Invigoration Draught. It was only once Smith was certain that they had a good theoretical understanding that they were left to their own means.

"The ingredients and method are on page 345 of your textbooks," he said in his deep, slow voice. "If you've forgotten your textbook – as many of you have –" his eyes lingered for a moment on Becca Dillion, who coloured and concentrated very hard on her parchment, "then you will find all the instructions you need on the board."

"So, about this party –" said Alfie as he diced rats tails

Teddy had forgotten all about it, and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a gathering Smith's holding on Sunday. Daisy gave me an invitation."

"It's not a revival of the Slug Club," said Ella, pointedly. "I wasn't invited."

Alfie screwed up his nose. "Weird. What do you think he wants?"

Teddy shrugged. "Beats me."

"Weird."

"I'll say," interjected Ella. "The invitations seem to be completely random. I mean, fancy Daisy getting one, and not me."

Alfie gave her a sly look. "Ella Anderson, are you jealous of Daisy Shipkins?"

"What?" exclaimed Ella, a little too loudly.

"You seem jealous to me," teased Teddy.

Becca swivelled in her chair. "What's this, Anderson? Jealous of Shipkins because Smith gives her all the attention?"

"Haven't we had enough teacher/student rumours to last us the rest of the year?" snapped Ella. Becca raised her eyebrows and turned back to her work, muttering 'grouch' under her breath.

"You are jealous," whispered Alfie playfully.

"Am not!"

"Are too! Look, you're blushing!"

"I don't blush!"

"Yes, you do! Look, Teddy, isn't she going pink?" Pause – Teddy nodded, grinning. Alfie turned back to Ella triumphantly: "See? Told you!"

"I hate you both," she muttered angrily, her nose twitching. She reached for her knife and began to chop gingerroot with far more force than necessary. The thud of her blade against her wooden chopping board resounded across the room, forcefully punctuating her sentences. "Daisy only got invited to this stupid gathering because she fancies Smith, and –" she glanced up momentarily to determine the Professor's position and only continued when she ascertained he was well out of earshot: "and he's obviously idiotic enough to fall for it."

"I've never heard you call a professor idiotic before," commented Alfie, amused.

Ella glared at him. "All I'm saying is that if the criteria for getting invited to this party is fluttering your eyebrows at Smith and playing the part of the poor, innocent, damsel in distress, then I'd really rather not go."

"Er – sorry to interrupt." Matilda Goshawk leaned over the desk adjacent to Teddy's own, the corners of her mouth turned up in an apologetic smile. Teddy had forgotten she was there. "I got an invitation to the party. And I don't fancy Smith."

"Oh." A flush crept up Ella's face and she ducked her head slightly. "I mean – I wasn't – I was joking." Alfie suppressed a giggle; Teddy elbowed him.

"I know," said Matilda, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I mean – I just – you know –"

"Do you want me to ask Professor Smith why you didn't get an invitation?" Matilda's voice was filled with a genuine selfless concern that Teddy found rather endearing. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were invited, and Daisy had simply hidden the invitation."

"Oh!" The flush became more pronounced. "No, I couldn't – it wouldn't be appropriate."

"You could come as my plus one."

"I couldn't," Ella shook her head.

"I mean, you definitely could, I wouldn't mind –"

"No, thank you." Her voice was firm, but polite. "You're very kind, though, Matilda."

"Well, the offer stands," replied the other, straightening up and pushing a lock of mousy brown hair behind her ear. "Sorry, Teddy – I've been in your way."

"Not at all. So you're going? On Sunday?"

Matilda bit the inside of her cheek. "I haven't decided yet."

He tilted his head knowingly.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that." She dropped her gaze.

After a heavy pause, she said: "Alright, fine. I'm not going because I don't think Daisy would want me there."

"It's not her party."

"Yeah, but she probably thinks it is."

"Who cares what she thinks?" demanded Alfie.

Matilda muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "I do." She turned back to her potion and busied herself measuring outpowdered griffin claws, but Teddy wasn't having any of it. He opened his mouth to remind Matilda of the confidence that he knew was lurking around somewhere under her timid exterior (where exactly, he wasn't sure), when he became aware of a presence behind him.

Professor Smith cleared his throat loudly. Matilda started and dropped her griffin claws into her cauldron. It hissed angrily, spluttering and puffing up murky scarlet smoke.

"Perhaps, Miss Goshawk, you should focus more on making your potion than on making friends," said Smith sternly.

Matilda's cheeks coloured. Her shoulders tightened and she nodded, trembling. "Sorry, Professor."

He inclined his head generously, before raising his voice: "That goes for all of you. I expect less chat and more work – I do not need to remind you that your O.W.L.s are coming up, and I expect all my students to get at least an E. If you haven't started preparing yet, I advise you do so."

"I haven't started preparing," whispered Alfie, alarmed.

"The Invigorating Draught often comes up on the practical exam," continued Smith, sweeping around the room, "and I see very few potions that live up to my standards. The Draught is supposed to be pink – not red, Miss Downing, nor purple, Mister Torricelli. Pink." He had moved to near the front of the room, and was standing next to Daisy Shipkins. Teddy couldn't see her face, but from the way she was holding herself – spine straight, as if pinned to a rod, and head tilted ever-so-slightly backwards – he knew exactly what was coming next.

Ella rolled her eyes and whispered: "Three, two, one."

Smith peered down into her cauldron, surveying the thick liquid inside with considerable interest. He nodded slowly, his lips slightly pursed, as if he had seen something in a shop that he particularly liked. "Not bad, Miss Shipkins. Keep this up, and you'll have an O-grade potion by the end of the lesson."

Daisy's simpering voice cut through the air: "Oh, thank you, Professor."

"And blast off."

(x)

"I just wanted to say thank you so much for the 'O', Professor," preened Daisy. The lesson had ended, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws streaming out of the dungeon on their way to their next class, but Daisy had loitered around, waiting until she was alone with Professor Smith. "It was so unexpected – I've never made an Invigorating Draught before, you know."

Professor Smith looked up from his desk, regarding her with a touch of amusement. "I reward good work when I see it, Daisy."

"Yes, but –" she tried to think of something to say, "an O just means so much to me. Coming from you, especially."

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin curve. She wasn't entirely sure whether it was a smile or a frown. Strange. He was usually a lot more forthcoming.

She tried again, her voice high-pitched and breathless with excitement and desperation: "And I just wanted to say how excited I am for Sunday."

"As am I."

"But I'll see you before then, of course?"

"Yes, Miss Shipkins. We have a tutorial scheduled on Wednesday, is that correct?"

Her heart fluttered in her chest like a baby bird taking its' first flight. He remembered. "Yes, Professor." She paused for dramatic effect. "I so look forward to our sessions. This dungeon is where I feel safest in Hogwarts." And you're my guardian angel.

Cheesy, perhaps; an exaggeration, definitely; but fundamentally – at least, in Daisy Shipkins' mind – true.

And it worked. The curve of Smith's lips became more defined, though he kept them pressed together. "I'm glad, Miss Shipkins."

A pause – not uncomfortable, but glorious, wonderful, perfect. Daisy stayed very still. Perhaps if she didn't move, neither would the clocks. Perhaps she would be able to stay here, forever: safe from the sharp jaws of the other girls in her year, safe from their eye-rolls and whispers.

Safe from the crippling shame that cut through her whenever she saw Bella Watson.

No. She wouldn't think about that.

"You should get to your next class, Miss Shipkins," said Smith, and the moment came crashing down around her. "I would hate for you to be late."

"Of course." The smile remained firmly planted on her lips. "I'll see you, Professor."

"That you will."

She turned and flounced out of the dungeon, letting the heavy door slam behind her. Smith turned his attention back to the essays on his desk, his lips curling lopsidedly as he scanned clumsily-written lines on the uses of a shrinking solution.

"That," he repeated softly to himself, "you will."

.oOo.

III: Caution

(n.) Care taken to avoid danger or mistakes

It had become a routine.

Get up, make coffee, drink coffee in bed. Eat green apple that Munroe – Angus – had started specially buying from the grocery store around the corner because he knew she hated red ones. Shower, get changed. Nearly half of her work wardrobe had migrated here: her crisp, well-ironed button-downs hung in Munroe's (Angus, Angus) closet, next to his own. Her skirts and trousers were folded neatly and placed away in drawers that were once deemed spare, but now belonged to her. Two pairs of heels and one pair of flats were lined up by her side of the bed.

Circe, she had a side of the bed.

When had this stopped being an affair and started being a relationship?

This was the question that Tabitha James asked herself as she sat on the foot of the bed. She swung her leg backwards and forwards, letting her heel hit gently against the wooden frame. A mug of warm, black coffee was cupped in her hands. She let the warmth seep into her and, closing her eyes, inhaled its' rich, distinctly bitter scent.

She was being ridiculous.

The only reason she was here, in an apartment that was not her own, was to get information and keep an eye on Munroe. Theoretically, it was all very professional: sex was just another interrogation tactic, her way of making him trust her so deeply and intimately that he would not think of holding anything back.

Potter knew what she was doing, of course. Well, at least, she thought he did. He'd intimated that she was sleeping with Munroe, and knew that he was her prime suspect. Unless he was thicker than she thought, he'd have put two and two together. He hadn't said anything; Tabitha took that to mean he trusted her not to get carried away, caught up in (silly, unnecessary) emotions.

So why was she sitting here thinking about relationships?

There was no denying that Angus Munroe was attractive, what with his sunflower-coloured hair, periwinkle blue eyes, and chiselled jaw. And to make matters worse, he was a perfect gentleman: he always opened the door for her, poured her glasses of red wine, and had never once raised his voice, even when they were arguing. The Scottish accent didn't hurt either.

But this wasn't a relationship. It couldn't be.

It didn't matter how attracted to him she was. She could shove those feelings into a box and store them away, no questions asked. No matter how much time she spent lounging around Munroe's apartment, it did not change the fundamentals: he was a suspect. And if Tabitha James maintained her emotional distance from her cases, she most certainly maintained her emotional distance from her suspects.

"Alright?" asked Munroe, entering the bedroom. He was wearing a soft flannel robe over his nightclothes – a matching set of pajamas, naturally – and had a mug of coffee in his left hand. Tabitha stopped swinging her legs, shaking the heavy, swirling mist of thoughts that surrounded her away. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Something's wrong," he said when he straightened up.

Tabitha cursed inwardly. "Nothing. Just…thinking."

"About the case?"

"Yes." Not a lie.

"I know you're stressed," he said, perching next to her. "Some cases are like this. No leads."

I know, she wanted to snap, I've been in the department longer than you have. Instead, she feigned a thankful, reassured smile, and let her eyes grow wide. "I just…feel so – "

"I know, love." Love. "But you're the best auror I know. If anyone can solve this, it'll be you."

He said it so confidently, so steadfastly, that for a moment, she was almost convinced.

Almost. But not quite.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking a long sip of her coffee. Her gaze settled on his hands, now resting on his lap: he held his own mug in his left, but in his right was a yellowed envelope, the seal broken. The muscles in her arms tightened.

"Who's that from?" she asked casually.

"What? Oh." He laughed nervously, and she felt her skin prickle.

Mandira. It had to be Mandira.

"My sister."

Surprised: "You have a sister?" All a performance, of course – she had been through his known associates several times with a fine-toothed comb.

He nodded. "She lives in Paris. Moved there from Edinburgh last spring."

True, but unnecessary. She hadn't asked.

He was lying.

Still, she kept up the charade. It was effortless, now: the ease with which she slipped into a lie would terrify a more upstanding person. "I'd like to meet her, someday." Give him hope that this was long-term.

"I'd like that, too."

It took all her restraint not to glance at the letter. Bringing the mug to her lips, she drained it of coffee and sighed, letting the caffeine run down her throat and into her bloodstream.

"Would you like more?"

This was what she liked about Munroe. Not his face, his body, his manners – but how easy he was. He played into her hands without her even having to try.

Her smile reached her eyes. "Please."

He left the envelope lying on the bed.

She reached forward with slender, nimble fingers and turned it over, sliding her thumb underneath the flap and lifting it open soundlessly. Pinching the folded parchment inside, she deftly removed it. The clink of a mug against the marbletop counter sounded from the kitchen – she estimated she had about a minute, maybe less. Unfolding the parchment, she scanned it as quickly as possible, looking for something, anything.

The letter was signed, 'Ava', not Mandira, and spoke of little more than Paris eateries and 'mum's hip'. There was nothing remotely suspicious, and it was far too prosaic to include a coded message.

Damn it.

Sighing silently, she folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope, returning it to its' original position on the duvet cover a split second before Munroe re-entered holding Tabitha's now-full and gently steaming mug. He smiled at her, his lips parting to reveal his even-set teeth. Her heart fluttered slightly; she made a point of looking away, focusing instead on the coffee she realised she didn't even want.

She could feel what she liked in her own time. It was worthless: as soon as she had her evidence, she'd move to arrest Munroe, and he'd know that, for the most part, she had toyed with him.

In one swift motion, everything would come crashing down.

Emotional distance, she thought later, shrugging on her black woollen coat and wrapping her red scarf around her neck. It really is the only way.

.oOo.

IV: Discomfort

(n.) Worry or embarrassment

"You have to come!"

"I don't want to come."

"Riley," reprimanded Victoire, folding her arms knowingly, "you've been invited to a party."

"A gathering. Held by a professor."

"Whatever. The point is, it'll do you good to get out of…this." She glanced at the Slytherin fourth-year girls dormitory, her nose wrinkling slightly. "Honestly, is it always so…"

"So what?"

"Green? Musty?"

"We're under the Great Lake."

Too late, she remembered that Victoire was terrified of the Giant Squid. The blonde blanched, and looked as if she might be sick at any moment.

"I…did not need to know that."

"Sorry."

"You should still come."

Goodness, she was tenacious.

"Vic –"

"No, Riley, I'm serious. You've been down ever since you got that stupid letter –"

"Maybe I'd be better if you let me toss the damn thing into the fire."

"It's important. It could be evidence."

Riley snorted. "Yeah, right. As if I'm going to send it to Tabitha James. She'd probably find a way to turn it around on me."

"I'm not saying you should send it to Tabitha James – I didn't even mention Tabitha James. As far as I'm concerned, Tabitha James is the enemy." This was amusing – Victoire Weasley thinking badly of an auror. "I just think you should keep it. Just in case. And stop changing the subject, you."

Damn.

"You're coming to the party," said Victoire stubbornly. "Even if I have to drag you there by the scruff of your robes – you're coming."

She groaned. "Fine."

(x)

The party – or gathering, as Professor Smith had chosen to call it – was held in a large hall on the fourth floor. It had been elegantly decorated for the occasion: fairy lights were strung from the ceiling, and tealights dotted all available surfaces, giving the space a mystic, orange glow, not unlike the one cast by the setting sun over the Great Lake during autumn. The tables were draped with golden cloth, and were heavily laden with all sorts of foods and drinks: from Honeyduke's finest to whole fish that made Riley gag. Though she was an avid meat eater, she did not like being reminded of the fact that her food had once been alive.

By the time she and Victoire arrived, a number of other guests were already present: she could see Iris Fawley talking to a seventh-year boy over by the crackling fireplace. Matilda Goshawk was in a corner on her own, nibbling on what looked like a chocolate frog; her twin, Michael, was across the room gesticulating grandly as he spoke to someone she vaguely recognised (or thought she should recognise – he was wearing a suit, and looked important, and the Carrows knew everyone important in the wizarding world). There were, in fact, a number of very important looking people standing around, drinks in hand. Not as many as there were at Slughorn's party, but a fair few.

And there, of course, was Daisy Shipkins, swanning around the room like a hostess. It was all Riley could do not to laugh: she was clearly overdressed for the occasion. While everyone else was smartly dressed, Daisy had gone a step overboard in a pale pink dress that – miraculously – didn't clash with her hair, and fuschia lipstick that did.

"If I ever try to leave the Slytherin dungeon looking like that, please stop me," she commented.

Victoire brought a hand to her mouth to cover her snigger. "We're horrible. It isn't nice to laugh at other people."

Riley shrugged. "'Other people' aren't Daisy Shipkins."

"A fair point."

They drifted towards a table – Riley selected a vegetable tart, while Victoire reached for a sugar quill.

"Those things are awful for your teeth," said Riley.

Crunch. "Okay, mum."

"Your funeral."

"Did you agree to come just to lecture about my food choices?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. Did you convince me to come just so you could ignore my well-meaning advice?"

Crunch. "Of course not. I convinced you because your pockets are larger than mine, which means you can smuggle more food out of here than I can."

Riley let out a disbelieving laugh. "You've got to be joking."

"No, I'm deadly serious. Do you know how much money I spend in Honeydukes?"

"I don't think I want to!"

"Miss Carrow, Miss Weasley," came a deep, rich voice from behind them. Riley and Victoire both sobered quickly, clearing their throats and swallowing to dissolve the laughter caught in their windpipes. Professor Smith stood before them, a gracious smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you very much for inviting us," said Victoire demurely. Only Riley was able to feel her vibrating with suppressed giggles, and quickly stepped in before she exploded:

"You've done the hall up very nicely, Professor."

"Thank you. I can't claim full credit – Miss Shipkins was instrumental."

Of course she was.

"Some very interesting people here," commented Smith, smoothly changing the subject. "Nothing on the clientele at Professor Slughorn's parties, I'm sure, but I do hope they will do – I think networking is so important, don't you?"

The girls concurred, more out of politeness than any strong opinion of their own.

"Now, Miss Weasley, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to borrow Miss Carrow for a moment."

Riley, though usually good at concealing her thoughts, felt her eyebrows shoot up with surprise. Victoire gave her a puzzled look, and she returned it.

"Sure, Professor. Riles, I'll be around – I'm going to look for Teddy, okay?"

"Sure."

Victoire glanced over her shoulder as she walked away; Riley gave her a reassuring smile.

Whatever Professor Smith wanted, it was likely perfectly reasonable. He probably just wanted to talk to her about her latest Potions assignment – yes, that was probably it. She'd done it in a rush the day before the deadline.

Smith waited until Victoire was well out of earshot before speaking.

"As Head of Slytherin House, I make it my business to check up on my students. Ensure they're doing well."

Riley quirked an eyebrow. "I'm fine."

He tilted his head. "Are you sure? I've not spoken to you since the…incident on Hallowe'en last term."

Riley grimaced at the memory – thinking about being hung from the ceiling produced a queasy, dizzy feeling that was most uncomfortable.

"Has anything of the sort happened since then?"

She shook her head.

"Anything else you wish to tell me about?"

For a brief, inexplicable moment, she thought about mentioning the letter. It had weighed heavily on her mind since she had received it, and though she'd spoken about it and how it had made her feel to Victoire, she wondered if opening up to someone else – an adult, someone more responsible than she – might help flush it from her thoughts. And Smith – he looked so earnest, so willing to be a listening ear. Hadn't she promised herself that she'd be more open?

But just as quickly as she'd let the thought enter her mind, she quashed it. Being open with Victoire was one thing, but talking to Smith was another. There was something off about him – his eyes a little too wide, his head tilted slightly more than it needed to be. She tugged the corners of her lips upwards into a smile and said, finality colouring her tone: "No, Professor. Thank you."

"Very well," said Smith. "If there's anything at all, do let me know."

"I will."

He hesitated; there was something he meant to say but he wasn't saying it. Riley waited awkwardly, shifting her weight from leg to leg.

At last, softly: "Things are about to change for you, Riley.."

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, her piercing green eyes filled with accusation, confusion, and the tiniest tinge of fear. She scanned his face: there was a steadfast, yet searching look in his eyes and his lips were pressed together – not thin, merely controlled. A shiver ran down her back – long, cold fingers of ice reaching out and skimming the top of her flesh.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Professor," she said, carefully, staunchly, "but I'd rather not hear it, either way."

Something disappeared in his eyes and only once it had gone, did she realise was there at all – she could not remember it well enough to identify it. His face relaxed, the muscles reconfiguring themselves, until he was the Professor Smith she knew once again.

"You misunderstand me, Miss Carrow. I was merely expressing that you are growing up – coming to the end of your fourth year. Your O.W.L.'s."

"There's still time for that."

An incline of the head. "As you wish."

She had stopped shuffling. "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Very well. Thank you again for inviting me."

She turned to leave, ducking her head as if to avoid his gaze.

He couldn't possibly mean what she thought he did. It couldn't be. She was projecting her own worries onto his words – meaningless words, really, the sort that held little value without context. She must have misunderstood him.

Nevertheless, she needed to talk to Victoire.

.oOo.

V: Peace

(n.) Freedom from disturbance; tranquillity; mental or emotional calm

There was no polite way of putting it: Smith's gathering was downright boring.

Teddy hovered around the food table, his hands tucked into his pockets. Slug Club gatherings had been far more fun – Ella was always there by virtue of her potion-making skills and Alfie always wrangled an invite off one of them as a plus-one. The crowd at Smith's party was decidedly dull: none of the fifth years invited were particularly good friends with Teddy, and he didn't really know any of the upper or underclassmen he saw milling around.

Even the adults were dull. Teddy was unusual among teenagers in that he enjoyed adult company – years of tea at his uncle Harry's before his baby cousins had been born had taught him to interact with those older than him. Slughorn had always invited several former aurors, and he'd loved to sit and listen to them regale him with stories of his mother at work, catching criminals, playing pranks on her colleagues and losing paperwork. He knew so little about his parents that he would take any little bit of colour that anyone could provide and use it to create a more lifelike image of them: laughing, vibrant, alive.

But there was no one here who could help him with that.

He noticed Victoire and lifted his hand in a wave. She grinned – at least, he thought she did – and began to approach him. There was something different about her. She had elected not to wear dress robes, likely due to Smith's insistence that they dressed casually. Instead, she'd slung a regular black pair over jeans and a white T-shirt – an outfit that some might consider excessively casual, but that she somehow managed to pull off perfectly. He noticed, with a start, that it was her hair that had caught his attention. Her long blonde curls were – inexplicably – woven into a beautiful French braid.

He grinned and said, pointing to her hair: "What possessed you to do that?"

The Gryffindor turned scarlet and ducked her head, muttering something inaudible under her breath. An unexpected reaction.

He figured she'd just misunderstood, so clarified: "The French braid. You used to hate it when your mum did your hair like that – I figured I'd never see you do it of your own volition."

Surprisingly, her face became even more flushed – she looked as if she'd just spent an hour in a desert. Her lips moved again, but the words that came out were a confusing jumble.

"Sorry?"

"Riley said it looked good on me," she said, audible at last, "and I thought…well…I just thought it'd be nice to try something differently." She paused, and then added, quickly: "Of course, if you don't like it, I can – "

"No, no, it's fine," said Teddy slowly. He surveyed the Gryffindor carefully, his nose wrinkling and his lips twisting to the side. Her blush had faded somewhat, but her cheeks were still pink. She was distinctly avoiding his gaze, focusing instead on a plate of Fondant Fancies, which he knew she didn't even like. He folded his arms suspiciously: "What's going on?"

"Huh?" Her eyes were wide and blank.

"You're acting weird."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Is everything alright?"

"Fine."

"Where's Riley?"

"Talking to Smith."

Teddy cracked a smile. "Poor girl," he said, jokingly.

Victoire didn't smile back; instead, she looked like a Hippogriff caught in headlights. For someone who was usually so confident and feisty, she was acting in a highly unusual manner.

"Are you sure you're –"

"Fine," said Victoire quickly, ducking her head again and picking up a strawberry cake from the platter. "I should go. Riley's probably done by now. You know."

She scuttled off before he could respond, her thick French plait disappearing into the throng of people. He watched her go, puzzlement tracking across his face. How could he even begin to interpret their conversation? In the fourteen – nearly fifteen – years he'd known her, he'd never seen Victoire Weasley act so…strangely.

He thought back, trying to think of something that might explain her behaviour, but nothing sprung to mind. She'd been perfectly normal at breakfast, berating Riley for not wanting to come to the party, and he hadn't seen her since then. In fact, come to think of it, he'd barely seen her at all over the last couple of weeks: she'd been so caught up with Quidditch practice that they'd only really had a chance to chat when in a group at mealtimes. He wondered if there was something she wanted to say to him in private – but what? And how hard would it be to ask for a word alone before class, or after dinner?

He absentmindedly reached for a chocolate frog and nibbled on its' leg. There wasn't much point in hanging around – he didn't want to talk to anyone, and no one seemed to want to talk to him (seriously, what was with Victoire?) He would have a much more productive night in the Common Room with his Charms assignment, or playing Exploding Snap with Alfie.

His mind made up, he turned to head for the door when he heard a soft voice from behind him.

"Leaving so soon?"

Matilda Goshawk had snuck up behind him, a sparkle in her pale green eyes. She brushed a wisp of mousy hair behind her ear and smiled at him, her lips parting slightly to reveal just the tips of her teeth.

"It is a fairly boring party. I don't blame you if you do want to leave."

Teddy rolled his eyes humorously. "It's so dull."

"I was expecting something more than just people standing around." She surveyed the crowd. "They all look so deep in conversation."

"Merlin knows what they're talking about."

Matilda arched an eyebrow cheekily. "Illicit activities."

"Matilda!" He laughed properly for the first time that evening.

"They're going to steal every single award for Special Services to the School, melt them down, and sell the gold bars on."

"They wouldn't get very much for them. The trophies are only gold-plated."

"How disappointing."

"My sentiments exactly." The smile was still on his face, his muscles relaxed and easy. "What've you been up to?"

Matilda let out a groan. "Nothing. I've been so bored – Michael's around here somewhere, but you know him, he's networking and we…well, we don't talk much anyway. And I don't really know anyone else. When I started thinking I should have a chat with Daisy, I thought I might as well leave – I need to work on that Transfiguration project Ellacott set us – and that's when I ran into you!"

"Fair. How's Transfiguration going?" Professor Ellacott had assigned partners, and Matilda had been put with Ella.

"Surprisingly good. Ella's a great partner – I was a bit scared at first because she's so smart, but she's really lovely." Her cheeks coloured slightly. "I mean, I probably shouldn't've expected anything else – she's friends with you and Alfie, so she has to be nice."

"She's great," Teddy agreed warmly. "Crazy organised though, yeah?"

"Don't get me started! She's broken down the project into little tasks and has a whole timeline on when we should have each element done. It's a bit scary, but great, really, I'm always forgetting to do things, so she keeps me on track."

"She does that for Alfie and me too, even when we're not working with her. In first year, she made us revision timetables."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. She'd scheduled out our whole day, including breaks, down to the half hour."

"Did you stick to it?"

He grinned wryly. "Of course not. We gave up after a day."

Matilda's laugh was high and lingering, like the sound of windchimes. "Still, it was nice of her."

"It was," Teddy agreed.

There was a moment of silence between them. Matilda brought her hands together and chewed on her upper lip, as if lost in thought, her brooding expression in stark contrast to the carefree one she had held just a moment ago. When she spoke, her tone was nothing Teddy hadn't heard before – quiet, hopeful, despondent: "I wish I had friends as great as you guys. You three are so close – you do everything together, and I bet you tell each other everything too. I'd like that."

"Matilda –" sighed Teddy.

"Oh, I know," she laughed, trying to sound as casual as possible, "there's nothing wrong with me, I've got great friends, everyone's different – I've heard it all before. It just…y'know, sometimes you wonder…"

She trailed off and glanced at the floor, wringing her hands. Teddy got the distinct impression that she was trying to summon up the courage to say or do something.

"Mat?" he prompted.

"You know how you keep telling me to be more confident?" she began slowly, not meeting his gaze. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to say. To you. And I figure…well, there's no time like the present."

He hid his confusion behind what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Yeah?"

She swallowed audibly, the lump in her throat bobbing up and down.

"Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me? On a… on a date?"

His jaw dropped slightly and he quickly shut it again, hoping she hadn't noticed his surprise. Teddy prided himself on being a fairly good judge of character, buthe had not seen this coming. Granted, he didn't have much experience with girls' but there had been no obviousindications – no giggling to her friends, no fluttering of the eyelashes, no coy glances – that she thought of him as anything more than a friend. He could feel his heart beating faster than normal, and his palms beginning to moisten and he licked his lips, trying his best to calm himself down and think straight.

He was taking too long.

Matilda's cheeks coloured and he could practically see the regret swirling in her mind. If he said no, he knew it would be a blow to her. Whatever little confidence she had would probably be shot.

She was looking at him searchingly. The hope in her eyes was painful – she'd asked him because she'd trusted him, and he couldn't bear to break that trust.

"Sure," he said at last, ensuring every possible trace of hesitation was well-hidden. "Yeah, that 'd be nice."

Her eyes lit up like lightbulbs, a childlike smile stretching across her face. "Great," she said, the excitement palpable in her voice. "The next trip, yeah?"

"Yeah." He returned her smile. It was just one date, and it'd…it'd be just like hanging out together, only there'd be no one else around. And he liked Matilda, he really did. Not necessarily in that way, but she was a nice girl, and a good friend. It was better to go out with her than to hurt her feelings and risk her not wanting to speak with him.

This way, at least, no one got hurt.

He did not see Victoire Weasley, who had returned, stiffen, her fingers pressing into and cracking the icing of the Fondant Fancy in her hand. He did not see the scarlet blush – the result of embarrassment, anger, or both – creep up her face, and he did not see her turn, and stalk away, hunched over with her shoulders pressed together and her hands in her pockets, like she wanted nothing more than to melt, invisible, into the crowd.

.oOo.

VI: Love

(n.) An intense feeling of romantic attachment based on an attraction felt by one person for another.

"And I was going to apologise for acting so stupidly!" exclaimed Victoire, pacing up and down.

"Gryff, you're going to catch your death –"

"I don't care!" exclaimed the blonde angrily. Her face was becoming more and more flushed by the moment, but she was fairly sure that the crisp air had nothing to do with it. She did not feel cold at all – there was fire coursing through her veins and beads of sweat were forming on her face, forearms and fingertips.

"Well, I do," reprimanded Riley, firmly. She pushed herself off the concrete wall that bordered the Hogwarts' courtyard and strode forward. Victoire stubbornly placed her hands on her hips and looked away like an insolent child as the Slytherin buttoned her coat for her. She'd found Riley not long after overhearing Teddy and had, without an explanation, grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the warmth and outside, into the icy, deserted expanse of the quadrangle, where there was little chance they'd be overheard.

"There," said Riley, doing up the top button. "Put on your scarf."

"Don't want to."

"You'll miss your first Quidditch match if you don't."

Victoire glared at Riley, but wrapped the soft red-and-gold garment around her neck regardless.

"Now, continue."

"I was going to apologise! Because fine, I did act like an idiot. I didn't intend to, but Riles, he mentioned the braid, and I just knew I looked stupid –"

"Did he say you looked stupid? Because I will punch him."

"No! No, of course he didn't, he said it looked nice, but I knew he didn't like it –"

"It sounds like he did."

"Will you let me talk? And then I couldn't look at him because every time I did, I thought 'oh Circe, he hates me,' and I was giving him stupid, monosyllabic answers and sounding like an incoherent, mumbling idiot – kind of like that kid who can't talk to Professor Macmillan without looking like he's going to break out in hives, what's his name?"

"Beats me."

"Madrigan, that's it. I sounded like Madrigan. Anyway, so I left, and then when I saw you were still talking to Smith, I came back because I realised what an idiot I was being and then I saw him and her –"

"Who's her?"

"Matilda Goshawk!"

"Who?"

"Michael's twin sister! The one in Teddy's year, in his house – you know, the one who's all the things I'm not. And she asked him out and he said yes." Her breathing was heavy, forming clouds of condensation against the velvet night sky.

"Wait," said Riley, after a pause: "Matilda's the mousy one, right?"

"Yeah, she's the mousy one." Victoire's expression turned murderous. "She's prettier than me, isn't she?"

The Slytherin scoffed, tossing her long brown ponytail behind her. "No offense to her, I'm sure she's lovely, but she's not got anything on you. You're way fitter."

"You're not just saying that?"

"When do I 'just say' things without meaning them?"

Victoire considered this for a moment before accepting it. "Okay, fine, but what if she's nicer? Do you think she's nicer than me?"

"I don't know her!" exclaimed Riley, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "Why are you so bothered by this?"

"Why am I – Riley, my best friend – sorry, my other best friend just agreed to go on a date with a girl!"

"Did you think he was gay?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you so bothered that he's going out with Matilda?"

"Because…" Victoire tried to think of the correct words, but nothing came to mind. She knew exactly how she was feeling: betrayed, hurt, so angry she could barely think straight, but ask her to describe why…

There was no rational reason why she should be so irritated by this. No reason why Teddy shouldn't go out with Matilda. He was in fifth year after all, people had started dating years ago, it was only natural that he'd eventually go on a date with someone, if he hadn't already (oh Circe, had he? She knew there was something about that Giovanna Downing she didn't like). So why was she getting so worked up?

Riley had seemed to realise she wasn't going to get an answer, for she sighed and rubbed her hands together. "If you're bothered, why don't you just tell him you like him?"

Wait, what?

She stared at the Slytherin, her blue eyes like saucers and her lips opening and closing like a fish. "I…what…no. I…I don't like him."

Riley raised her eyebrows slightly. Victoire felt like she'd been hit by a Hippogriff – no, not a Hippogriff, a Hippogriff wasn't nearly large enough. A running giant, maybe, or one of those large square muggle contraptions that had huge wheels and carried containers. The world slowed around her, and a low buzzing in her ears intensified. She reached out and grabbed the nearest pillar to stop herself from falling.

"Oh my Merlin, I do."

Riley scoffed, but it was soft – almost gentle, really: "Took you long enough."

"I…crud, Riley." She gaped up at her. "What do I do?"

Riley shrugged. "I've never been in your shoes, Gryff."

"He's my best – sorry, other best friend."

"I know that."

"He's – Circe." This explained everything: the painstaking awkwardness, the odd burn of jealousy whenever she saw him with another girl, the swirling feeling in her stomach that she'd put down to the winter flu.

"You could –" Riley began.

"I can't."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"I can't tell him! That would be a disaster! Awful. He obviously doesn't feel the same way –"

"You don't know that –" Riley pointed out.

"He just said yes to going on a date with another girl. He wouldn't have done that if he was madly in love with me."

"Fair. But he might like you – he might not know it yet, though. Guys are slow."

Victoire shook her head wildly, like a dog shaking water out of its' fur. "I still can't tell him."

"Okay." She shrugged. "Your choice. But you can't like an idiot around him either."

"Huh?"

"Flailing, turning red, sounding like Madrigan – it won't work in your favour."

"Yeah, but I can't just talk to him – he's going out with another girl."

"So be mad at him."

"I am mad at him."

"Show him that, then. You're not the kind of girl who'll flutter your eyelashes at him, Vic. Just be yourself. Like you always are. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. Maybe his date with Matilda will go awfully, and he'll come running to you. But don't act desperate."

Victoire bit her lip and glanced at the paved concrete beneath her. "Guys are hard."

"They are," agreed Riley. "But girls are stronger. Yeah?"

The blonde nodded slowly, releasing a deep breath. "I guess."

"Good." The Slytherin settled back against a pillar and folded her arms. "Do you want to talk about it some more?"

"Maybe later. I think…" She paused and closed her eyes briefly, focusing on the crazy mess of chemicals that she'd not been able to identify before swirling around in her head. Love. Was that really what this was? She'd read about it, heard about it, seen it in the way her parents looked at each other, in their smiles, glances and brief touches. She'd always thought that she would recognise it immediately. And yet she'd never in a million years imagined it would feel like this: confusing, masked, nearly impossible to pin down.

"I think I need some time to process this."

"That's fair," said Riley, hesitating. "Do you…want to hear something else?"

She wasn't sure she did – she wanted to curl up under her covers, draw her knees to her chest and lie in the dark, pretending to be asleep but really letting her thoughts take her on a tour through the depths of her mind. She wanted to explore her emotions, figure them out, attempt the Herculean task of trying to understand them. But Riley had been there for her, and now, it was her turn to listen.

"Sure."

"It's not quite as exciting," warned the brunette wryly. "But when I was talking to Professor Smith – he said some things."

This piqued Victoire's interest. She listened closely as Riley related the story, her eyebrows knitted together.

"Weird."

"Yeah," said Riley, sighing and pushing her hands further into her pockets. "He…I don't know. He didn't sound or look like himself. And when he said things are going to change –" She broke off, hesitantly, and looked into the distance, concentrating on some far-off star. "I don't know. It just reminded me of –"

"The letter," Victoire finished for her.

"Yeah."

The blonde caught the skin of her lip between her teeth. "You don't…you don't think –" She struggled to say it out loud, though she knew that Riley was thinking it too. "You don't think he's the Follower, do you? From the letter?"

She wanted Riley to laugh scornfully, to shake her head and tell her she was being ridiculous. Instead, she screwed up her nose slightly, as if considering, and said, simply: "I don't know. I mean, he's a Hogwarts professor, and I'm fairly sure they weed out Pureblood supremacists at the application stage. But again – it's not the first time he's said something strange to me."

"What?" She blinked. "You've not said –"

"It was at Hallowe'en. He walked me back to the Slytherin Dungeon after I was – you know, assaulted. And he said…I don't remember the exact wording, but the general gist of it was that Teller and his friend attacked me because they were jealous that I was a pureblood. Because I had a 'place' in wizarding society."

"That's ridiculous!"

"I know. I figured he was just trying to rationalise it in a different way, make sure I didn't go after them trying to get revenge or something, but it was weird."

"I'll say." She paused. "He just… doesn't seem like the type though."

"I know," said Riley, thoughtfully. "He doesn't. It's all very odd, don't you think?"

Victoire ran her tongue over the tips of her bottom teeth, and sighed, watching as the breath escaped her and dissipated into the wide, open air.

"I guess it's just been one of those nights."

.oOo.

VII: Uncertainty

(n.) the state of being uncertain – not completely confident or sure of something

"So, since when do you like Matilda Goshawk?" asked Ella, folding her arms teasingly, and settling back against the wrinkled trunk of the old oak tree. The temperature had – surprisingly – taken a turn for the better, and Ella, Alfie and Teddy were celebrating the warmth by completing their homework outside, by the Great Lake instead of huddled inside the library, or the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"Yeah," reiterated Alfie, grinning wildly. "We let you off on your own for one evening, and you come back with a date."

Teddy reached up to run a hand through his turquoise hair. "I don't know that I do like her," he said, awkwardly. "I mean – I do like her, of course I do, she's lovely, but as a friend. Not as a girlfriend. I don't really like anyone in that way."

Ella cocked her head. "Have you told Matilda that?"

"Not exactly," he admitted sheepishly. "It sounds worse than it is – I'm not leading her on."

"You wouldn't," said Alfie confidently.

"No, I wouldn't. But she was so hopeful, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I figured – what's the harm in agreeing to one date? We're friends anyway, so we'll probably have a nice time, and if at the end, she doesn't realise that we're probably better suited to being just friends, then I'll say something."

"Unless she changes your mind." Alfie waggled his eyebrows.

Teddy gave him a push. "Git."

Ella looked a little more hesitant. "Well, if you're sure –"

"Ella. I'm not going to hurt her."

"Yeah, come on, Ella. This is Teddy we're talking about. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I know, I know." She held up her hands placatingly. "I know Teddy wouldn't hurt Matilda intentionally. It's just…well…romance is a tricky thing."

"Since when are you an expert?"

"Shush, Alfie. I'm not. I'm just saying that sometimes, you can have the best of intentions and end up hurting someone anyway."

There was a gravity to her voice that suggested she was speaking from personal experience. Alfie and Teddy exchanged a look; Ella hadn't been entirely forthcoming about the reasons for her break-up with Leonardo Torricelli, and they hadn't wanted to ask.

"Are you okay?" Teddy asked slowly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, alright? I'm over it. I'm just saying – be careful, okay?"

"Yeah," he said, running his fingertips over the short blades of grass contemplatively. "Okay."

.oOo.

VIII: Loneliness

(n.) sadness because one has no company

It was only on the morning of the Hogsmeade trip that Alfie Hayes realised, with a start, that he would be spending it all alone.

He perched on the end of his bed, watching Teddy do up the fiddly buttons on the shirt he was wearing – a striped, short-sleeve button-down that Alfie had never seen before. Instead of jeans, the metamorphmagus was kitted out in chinos. The outfit made him look older, like the university students that populated the streets of Oxford.

"You look good."

"Do you really think so?" said Teddy nervously, tugging at his collar. "I feel like a bit of an idiot, dressing up like this."

Alfie waved a hand dismissively. "You're hardly that dressed up."

"It's just to show respect," he replied, matter-of-factly. "My grandmother says that when you go out with a girl, you should dress nicely to show that you value her, and her company."

Alfie shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "Have you –" he broke off, thinking better of himself. There was no point in humiliating himself.

"Have I what?"

"It's nothing."

"Alfie." Teddy cocked his head, and shot him a questioning grin. "Come on."

He let out a short, sharp breath, and glanced at the floor. "Have you been out with a girl before?"

Teddy looked as if he hadn't been expecting this. "No. You'd know if I had."

"Yeah."

"Hey." He turned from the mirror and sat down on Alfie's bed, next to him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just being stupid."

"No, you're not."

"It's just – you and Ella have been on dates –"

"I've not been on one yet."

"Yeah, well you're about to go. And I've not."

"Alfie, there's plenty of time."

"I just…" he sighed. "I know. It's stupid."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is. I…I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Teddy hesitated, his eyes wide and concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Alfie nodded.

"Well, in that case – I promised Matilda I'd walk down with her, so I should probably go find her – but only if you're alright."

"I'm fine," the brown-haired Hufflepuff replied, forcing a smile from his lips up to his eyes, and hoping it was convincing. "Go. Have a great time."

(x)

Alfie walked down to Hogsmeade with Ella, who was also dressed a little more formally than usual, in black dress trousers instead of jeans, and a cream T-shirt that looked like it was made out of some kind of shiny material – silk, maybe satin. She kept wringing her gloved hands and glancing at her watch, as if she was late, when in fact, she still had over an hour to get to her aunt's.

"Do you want to grab a Butterbeer before you go?" he asked tentatively.

"Huh?" She looked up at him startled, and Alfie felt a slight pang of hurt – it was like she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh. No, thanks, Alfie. It's a little too early in the morning."

"Coffee, then." He knew she preferred coffee to tea.

"No, thanks. I think…I don't want to be late to see her, you know. I'd rather be early. I don't know her very well as yet, she might think I'm being disrespectful if I show up late."

A stab of disappointment hit him suddenly, like a blade through his stomach. Alfie pressed his lips together and focused his eyes inwards, trying his best to control the wave of dizziness rising in his head. He didn't know why he was feeling like this – it wasn't as if he was possessive, or that he had a problem being without Teddy and Ella. But all the same, he did not want to spend a whole day on his own.

"Could I – " He hesitated, stopping himself. She'd say no. Of course she would.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Alfie."

"Could I come with you?"

"Where?" Her brows knitted together, confusion written across her face. "You don't mean to see my aunt?"

It was a stupid idea, he knew it was a stupid idea. He glanced away from Ella and let his eyes settle on the side of the path, where the snow was beginning to melt and the short, weary blades of grass were beginning to poke through the white blanket once again.

"Alfie –" Her voice had softened, and he thought he detected a note of pity in it. Why did he have to open his stupid mouth? "It's…it's not that I don't want to introduce you to her, of course I do – you're my best friend. But it's just a bit early. I've only met her once."

"Of course," said Alfie, trying not to choke over the words. "Yeah, of course. I shouldn't have asked. Sorry."

"I'll be done soon, and then we can get that Butterbeer."

He didn't want her to hurry because of him. "Take your time. I'll see you later, yeah?"

Ella's eyes remained on him, her gaze like a weight dragging on his shoulders. "Maybe you can go find Riley and Victoire in the meantime."

"Yeah." He had no intention of doing so – Riley and Victoire were their own unit, and he didn't fancy feeling like the odd one out – but he didn't want Ella to feel guilty about leaving him on his own. Secretly, he was a little upset that she hadn't volunteered to visit her aunt some other time, but he also knew that this was important to Ella, and he hated himself for wanting to stand in her way.

They had reached the street that Ella had to turn down to reach her aunt's house, but before she left, she turned to Alfie, her dark eyes searching and sympathetic. "You'll be okay?"

"Of course."

She smiled at him before she left, and he stood and watched her go until she was no more than a speck in the distance. Then he turned away, and shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet along the street without purpose or direction.

A gust of wind blew through the air, ruffling the back of his brown hair and lifting the tails of his scarf in front of him. He pushed his fingers further into his pockets and pulled his arms close to his body to conserve heat.

Funny to think how just a few days ago, the sun had been prominent in the sky, the rays soaking through his pale skin; and he, Teddy, and Ella had been laughing by the Great Lake.

Now he was all alone.

.oOo.

IX: Adronitis

(n.) Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone

"Stupid, bloody, prat," Tabitha James swore to herself as she stormed down the stucco-lined streets of Pimlico, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck to protect herself against the intensifying gale.

She'd just been to see the wand expert, Blackwell – her new least-favourite weekly. When Tabitha had tried to ask Potter to go instead, he'd laughed at her (the gall). He said Tabitha was far more adept at instilling the fear of God into people, and while she agreed, she could have sworn that she wasn't instilling much fear into Blackwell at all – instead, he was working even more slowly, and he refused to tell her anything, citing uncertainty and an unwillingness to draw premature conclusions.

Tabitha wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his obnoxious, superior attitude but managed to restrain herself – just about.

The clouds shrouding the sky seemed to darken as she turned down Gloucester Street, full and nearly bursting. A few fat rain drops pelted her skin, and she swore under her breath, knitting her eyebrows together. Why couldn't Munroe live down a deserted street where Apparation was a legitimate travel choice, rather than a flagrant violation of the Statute of Secrecy? Idiot.

She quickened her pace, keeping her hands near her body and her feet light as she walked down the long, winding street, hoping to reach warmth before the drizzle turned into a downpour. It didn't seem likely, but London weather was capricious, and ten seconds could be the difference between staying dry or catching one of those godforsaken colds that didn't go away until spring arrived and hayfever took over.

She was fifty metres from Munroe's door when she saw her.

Cecilia Carrow was the kind of beautiful that Victorian novelists prized: pale, delicate, entirely feminine. Her curls were soft and dark brown, and they framed a rosy-cheeked face as smooth and soft as a pad of cotton. She looked effortlessly put together – like a porcelain doll in twenty-first century clothing – but Tabitha knew that nothing about her was effortless. From the way she dressed, to the way she held herself, everything was the result of years of breeding and wealth. She stood on the stairs outside Munroe's flat, her head held high and her arms folded, speaking to the blonde Auror with a look of conviction on her face.

Tabitha instinctively moved behind a pillar. She felt almost like a clumsy burglar – sneaking around, but startlingly incongruous with her surroundings. All Cecilia had to do was step out and she'd see her – they'd pass on the street, they'd smile awkwardly at one another while simultaneously avoiding eye contact. Tabitha didn't have a plan. She liked being prepared.

What was Cecilia doing here?

Tabitha had never seen her before, but the ease of her manner told her that this wasn't a reunion – this was a regular occurrence. Cecilia and Munroe met – and often –yet Tabitha had always managed to miss her, and Munroe had never mentioned her. Moments, memories began to enter her mind: tiny unexplained things, like when she'd rung Munroe's doorbell and he hadn't answered, or when he'd left work early for a 'Healer's appointment'.

He always told her when he was going down to the pub with his mates for a pint. He told her about letters from his sister, and visits to his mum up in Edinburgh, but he'd never once mentioned Cecilia Carrow.

Why not?

Granted, he'd never mentioned Mandira Tiwari either, but he had a legitimate reason to hide his correspondence with her – it was illegal. But Cecilia Carrow – there was nothing bad there, at least not to an innocent bystander, as Munroe might presume Tabitha to be. Sure, she wasn't fond of Riley Carrow, but surely Munroe would've used his link to Cecilia to try and defend Riley back when Tabitha had interviewed her – she's my best friend's daughter, she's fine – Cecilia's never said a word about blood purity, no way would she or her daughter know anything about this.

But he hadn't.

Cecilia reached forward and enveloped Munroe in a hug – Tabitha felt a stab of an emotion that felt suspiciously like envy go through her, but she quickly quashed it. This was no time for emotional attachment. Then, turning elegantly, like a ballet dancer, Cecilia walked down the street in the opposite direction. Tabitha exhaled slowly, and waited until she was well out of sight.

The rain was falling harder now, hitting the asphalt emphatically. She barely felt the drops rolling off her skin; a fire was beginning to burn angrily within her, sending waves of warmth through her veins.

She buzzed the doorbell and a moment later, Munroe opened the door. His blonde hair was neatly combed back – standing in stark contrast to her own dark, wet locks – and he wore a startled expression.

He'd thought it was Cecilia, back for something she'd forgotten.

He'd wanted her to be Cecilia.

Damn it.

"Tabs –" he began, but she shook her head urgently and, grabbing his hand, pulled him up the stairs and towards his apartment.

Screw relationships, she thought as she slammed the door, grabbed his collar and pulled him towards her, her lips crashing against his.

Angus Munroe was nothing more to her than a suspect.

.oOo.

X: Kinship

(n.) Blood relationship; a sharing of characteristics or origins

Tea, again.

Ella did not like tea all that much, but Radhika masi had offered, and she did not yet feel comfortable enough to turn her down. Masi. The word felt foreign on her tongue: she'd heard it being used, her aunt signed her letters off with the title, but never before had Ella had the opportunity to use it, and she thought she never would.

The Ravenclaw had expected to feel more at home on her second visit, but a guilty mist still swirled in her mind.

Would visits to Radhika always be like this – warm tea and sugary biscuits laced with guilt on the sofa? Would they ever reach the easy nonchalance of visiting family, where each of them did their own thing, but remained comfortably in each other's company. She, Ella, would read, and Radhika would work on her latest case, and occasionally they'd stop to share insights, and laugh together.

That guilt again – it was horribly uncomfortable, like too-tight jeans, cutting into her stomach, loosening and then tightening again when she least expected it to. She was imagining a future with her aunt that her mother hadn't wanted for her.

But perhaps her mother had acted hastily in cutting Radhika so completely out of Ella and Ashton's lives. If it really was a matter of words exchanged years ago – and Ella had no reason to believe it wasn't – then perhaps it was time to let bygones be bygones, and by coming to Radhika's, she could help both her aunt and her mother realise that – realise that beyond anything else, they were family and families were meant to be together. Ella felt almost as if she should have had the chance to decide whether or not to have Radhika in her life.

Though all these thoughts, and more, swirled in her mind as she sipped her tea, there was a newfound ease to the conversation. Radhika asked about school and her friends, and Ella – surprisingly – held very little back, telling her all about Teddy and Alfie, about the girls she shared a dormitory with and about her recent break-up with Leonardo.

It was nice to have someone detached to talk to, someone who could offer an outside viewpoint. And Radhika often did – Ella never felt like the conversation was one-sided. She was always interjecting with her own, parallel stories, or advice about what to do, or even just murmurs of approval.

"You'll stay for lunch, won't you, Ella?" asked Radhika.

"Oh!" Ella almost choked on a piece of shortbread. "Oh, no, I couldn't impose. Thank you."

"Nonsense. You're staying." The elder woman's voice was firm, but kind, and there was a smile laced with conviction on her face. It was infectious; Ella felt the corners of her own mouth tug upwards.

"I'd love to."

"Excellent." Radhika got to her feet, straightening her long grey skirt. "You can tell me all about this girl you say you don't like – what was her name – Daisy. I hope you like salmon."

(x)

It was only much later, when the plates had been cleared away, and dessert – gulab jamuns that Ella simply couldn't have turned down, even if she'd wanted to – had been served and demolished, that a lull formed in the conversation. They were back in the elegant, magazine-like living room: Ella's eyes darted from surface to surface, as she tried to formulate the question she had been meaning to ask. It had been in the back of her mind for the whole visit, and yet she simply hadn't had a chance to voice it.

Finally: "Last time we met, you told me about Mandira. About how you investigated, and the evidence against her was solid."

Radhika's face hardly changed, but Ella was perceptive: she picked up on the lift in the older woman's eyebrows, on the crinkles that formed as her eyes narrowed. It was clear she was reluctant to speak further.

"I'm sorry," said Ella, "we don't have to –"

"It's alright," Radhika demurred, leaning back on the sofa, her mug clasped in her hands. "I suppose – well, it must've been a shock for you, finding out so suddenly about her. And you can't exactly talk to your mother about it."

There was something off in her tone that had Ella instinctively spring to her mother's defense. "What do you mean?"

"Relax, pari." Her voice was placating, not patronising. "I just mean that your mother wouldn't want to talk about Mandira."

"And you do?"

"No. But I see the need for you to know about her."

There was a pause. "What was the evidence?" asked Ella. "I've read up on her – I must've read every book in the Hogwarts library that mentions her, not that there are many. But there's only so much you can learn from reading, and not one of those books mentioned why everyone was so confident it was her.

"Not one?"

"Well, there was one that said Mandira's wand cast the curse."

"That is true," demurred Radhika. "Ministry wand analysis found that Mandira's wand was responsible."

"Yeah, but I don't get it." Ella shook her head. "Wand analysis isn't definitive – it tells you whose wand cast the curse, not who cast the curse. It could've been someone else – someone using Mandira's wand."

Radhika's eyebrow lifted again. "Clever. But there was more."

Ella could feel her breathing quicken, and she struggled to maintain control. She didn't want to seem too eager. "What do you mean?"

"There was a witness."

The air caught in her throat.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting. It wasn't as if she, a fifth-year Hogwarts student, could've stumbled upon a Ministry error – oh, yes, Ella, you've just blown a massive hole in the case, congratulations. She didn't even want to – she knew nothing at all about Mandira Tiwari. The woman was as much of a stranger to her as any random muggle she might run into on the tube.

And yet, she inexplicably had hoped – without knowing why, without truly even realising it – that Mandira Tiwari was innocent of the murders. For surely that would mean she was innocent of the kidnappings. And then, perhaps, it would turn out that all of this had been nothing but a terrible dream.

She barely understood the jumble of thoughts and emotions mixed up in her head, but Radhika seemed to. Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Ella raised her head.

Radhika didn't offer an explanation; instead, she continued the tale, slowly, but steadfastly, with all the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about and believed wholeheartedly in its veracity: "When the Ministry arrived on the scene after Mandira's attack, she was gone. But they found a muggle man, curled up in a corner, shaking, afraid for his life. I don't know how he survived, but he did, and he witnessed the whole thing. He identified Mandira."

"He couldn't have been mistaken? He was a muggle –"

"Muggle or wizard, he could identify a murderer," Radhika said sharply.

Ella recoiled. "Sorry. I didn't mean –"

Her aunt met her eyes, and softened. "No. Of course you didn't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"That's alright," mumbled Ella, but she did not settle back against the sofa.

"I have – rather, I had contacts in the Ministry at the time. Aurors, lawyers – the sort who were well-placed to know what was going on. Not only did the witness identify Mandira after the fact, his memory of the event was extracted and examined via pensieve. It's slightly modified – the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad acted too early, some argue, but it was essential he didn't realise that he'd seen Mandira perform magic. Word spreads fast. He simply saw her blow up, and thanks to their deft work, incorrectly assumed she'd set off a bomb, even though they did not plant a memory of the bomb. Amazing, isn't it? The human mind can create a narrative based on a few, salient details."

A witness. Pensieve evidence. It was all coming at her fast and hard, and she struggled to digest it, to form a timeline in her mind.

"Did she act alone?"

Radhika shrugged. "We think so. Many death eaters had never heard her name before – "

No, she wouldn't accept that. Boldly, she asked: "Do you think that friend of Mandira's you mentioned last time –" she feigned forgetfulness, screwing up her nose in mock concentration. "What was her name? Cecilia something."

Her aunt's eyebrows lifted, the whites of her eyes becoming more prominent against her contrasting skin. Ella noticed, for the first time, that she wore contact lenses. "What makes you think that?"

A shrug. "I don't know – it's just that you said you wouldn't have been surprised if Cecilia was a death eater. And it's not easy to blow up a street of muggles on your own."

A mist drifted across Radhika's eyes; her irises seemed to fade, the dark brown becoming overlaid with strange grey clouds. Ella supposed it was simply a trick of the light.

"I wouldn't want to speculate," said Radhika at last.

Ella gave her a knowing look. "Masi. Come on."

Perhaps it was finally being called something she'd not been called for sixteen years. Perhaps it was the newness of it all – the desperate want to connect with the niece she'd only just met. Perhaps it was a simple desire to talk with family about something that was so difficult to talk about.

It could have been for any of these reasons, or perhaps for a million others, but either way, Radhika Tiwari sighed and said: "There was a time when I was visiting Mandira at the same time as Cecilia. I overheard them in Mandira's room, reading the newspaper, and Cecilia said…"

She trailed off, her gaze distant, as if consumed by the memory.

"Masi?" Ella prompted, her curiosity deepening.

"They were reading about The Battle of the Department of Mysteries. I don't know – you're too young to –"

"I know about it," she said quickly.

"Of course. Well, there was an article on it, and Cecilia said, with such awe: 'Wow. I wish I could've been there. I wish I could have helped – maybe then the Dark Lord wouldn't have lost.'"

Beads of cold sweat began to form in the crevices of Ella's palms. "What did Mandira say?"

"She laughed. Said something about Cecilia hardly being the best wand around, not likely to be the deciding soldier in battle. But I'll never forget the way Cecilia talked – she had a real fervour for the Dark side."

There was a heavy pause, each of their unsaid thoughts hanging between them – undeniably present, but just out of reach to the other.

"Wow," said Radhika slowly. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, I've not thought of it, and I would never accuse her. She probably changed. But if she was the same Cecilia back then – then maybe she was working with Mandira after all."

And maybe, thought Ella, she's still working with her now.

.oOo.

XI: Agreement

(n.) Harmony or accordance in opinion or feeling

So far, thought Teddy, his date with Matilda had been rather unlike what a date was supposed to be.

First, he offered to take her to Madam Puddifoots for tea and an early lunch, because that was what everyone who went on dates seemed to do. Archie Quintin, one of the boys in Teddy's dormitory took a different girl to Hogsmeade nearly every weekend, and swore by Madam Puddifoots. Apparently, it made girls feel special.

Teddy didn't see what was so special about going where everyone was, and doing the same thing everyone else was doing, but he figured he'd best ask Matilda, just in case she was expecting him to.

Thankfully, she screwed up her nose. "Madam Puddifoots? Do you really want to?"

"Honestly," he admitted, his cheeks colouring slightly, "not really. It's too…"

"Pink?"

"No – well, yes, that too. I was going to say pretentious."

"Agreed," said Matilda solemnly.

There was a moment of awkward silence; Teddy ran a hand through his hair nervously, trying to think of something else to do. She liked owls, didn't she? "Er – would you like to go to the Post Office? And then maybe go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer?"

He was afraid for a moment that she'd laugh at him – the Post Office wasn't exactly the most romantic location. He was fairly sure Archie Quintin would disapprove.

Thankfully, Matilda's eyes lit up. "That sounds wonderful."

Amongst the rambunctious, loud hoots of the Post Office owls, the awkwardness quickly disappeared. Matilda chattered constantly about owls and cats and all sorts of magical creatures, and mentioned that she might like to become a veterinarian after Hogwarts.

"And maybe once I've retired, I could come back to Hogwarts and teach Care of Magical Creatures."

"You'd be a good teacher," said Teddy, holding the door of the Three Broomsticks open for her. The pub was crowded, Hogwarts students swarming in and out of booths, and hanging around tables, laughing and chatting. He spotted Victoire with Riley in a corner, and smiled at her, but she was too far away for him to tell whether or not she'd seen him. He thought of going over to say hello, but figured it might be a bit awkward: Matilda and Victoire barely knew one another.

"Do you think?"

"Yeah." He turned his attention back to her and smiled warmly.

The afternoon passed quickly: they chatted and laughed easily as they weaved in and out of different stores along the High Street, and in Honeydukes, he bought her a slab of her favourite honeycomb chocolate. Still – he couldn't shake the feeling that everything had almost been too easy.

Teddy had never been on a date before, so he had nothing to compare it to, but being with Matilda had been just like hanging out with Alfie and Ella. There was nothing different about it – at least, nothing he could put his finger on.

He didn't quite know what to do – should he say something to Matilda, or put his arm around her? Should he kiss her on the cheek? These were all things he'd seen couples do on dates, but at no point during the day had it seemed like he should make a move. She'd given no hints – she'd not wiggled closer to him, or gazed longingly into his eyes, nor had she brushed his hand with her fingertips.

The brunette seemed to be able to read his mind, for she slowed and turned to him. "Listen, Teddy – I've had a really lovely time today."

He smiled back. "So have I."

"But –"

Oh no, he thought. She was lying. He'd done something wrong – hurt her feelings somehow. Should he have held her hand?

"I think we're better off staying friends. Not…dating, as such."

"Oh." He let out a short laugh.

She misinterpreted it: "It's not that I don't like you!"

"No, no, don't worry, Mat, I know. I completely agree. We're better as friends."

Matilda let out a sigh of relief. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"Well, good." She grinned up at him, and he returned her smile. "I should probably get back up to the castle."

"Sure."

"Are you coming?"

"Not just yet – I'm going to quickly see if Alfie's still around. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Okay." She hesitated for a second. "Teddy?"

"Yeah?"

Matilda stepped towards him, her boot crunching against the stones on the high street pavement, and, without warning, wrapped him in a warm, tight hug. Teddy, startled, went rigid, but soon relaxed and softly put an arm around Matilda, patting her gently on the back.

"Thank you," she said, as she released him. "I really did have a lovely time."

The brunette turned to leave; Teddy watched her go, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't known what to expect when Matilda had asked him out. He'd been worried he'd lead her on, pretend he felt something he didn't, just so he didn't hurt her.

But in the end, everything had worked out perfectly.

"So," came a gruff voice from behind him, "you're dating my sister, eh?"

Michael Goshawk approached Teddy, his arms folded and his stride commandeering.

Teddy raised an eyebrow, more out of surprise than anything else. He had been friends with Michael Goshawk since first year, in a casual sort of way – they occasionally worked together on projects, sometimes sat together at mealtimes, and had brief conversations when they ran into each other in the halls – but never once before had Michael mentioned Matilda.

It was often a struggle to remember that Michael and Matilda were related at all, let alone twins. Teddy couldn't remember seeing them together, apart from when they entered or exited Kings' Cross at the end of term, and even then, they barely said more than a few words to one another. Therefore, he had difficulty reconciling the notion of Michael as a protective brother with his previous behaviour.

Still, he answered. "No."

Michael narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't believe Teddy. "Weren't you on a date?"

"We were. But we decided we'd be better as just friends."

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed further until they were barely more than dark slits. "Really? Why?"

"It was her decision."

"You sure, Lupin?"

"Yes."

"Did she ask you out?"

"Yes, Michael."

"Why?"

Teddy shrugged and held his arms out. "Beats me. You'll have to ask her."

Michael scoffed. "You're not in a good mood."

There was nothing wrong with his mood at all, but Teddy did not fancy speaking to Michael for much longer – this line of conversation was beginning to feel a lot like an interrogation, and it wasn't as if Teddy had done anything wrong. He shrugged, hoping that the Slytherin would leave him alone.

It worked. "Suit yourself," said the dark-haired wizard. Unfolding his arms and placing his hands rigidly by his sides, he spun on his heel and stalked down the high street.

Teddy sighed and turned away, shaking his irritation out of his mind. If Alfie was still in Hogsmeade, he'd probably be at the Three Broomsticks, or in Quality Quidditch Supplies. The Quidditch store was just down a nearby alley: Teddy walked towards it, pulling a flyaway arm of his scarf nearer to his chest. He rounded the corner, and almost bumped straight into a small blonde wearing a red and gold jumper.

"Victoire!" he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. Although she didn't know Michael and Matilda very well, everyone knew that there was something odd about their relationship. She'd probably be interested to hear what Michael had said to him. "You'll never guess what just happened."

She stared decidedly at her feet and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Vic?"

"Leave me alone."

A tremor ran down his back, and confusion furrowed his brow. "Are you okay? Has something happened."

"No." She tried to push past him, but he moved to stop her.

"Seriously, Vic, what's wrong?"

"Let me go."

"Vic!"

"I said, let me go."

"Why won't you talk to me? Have I done something?"

Victoire Weasley raised her head and stared at Teddy, piercingly, fire coursing through her striking blue eyes. "Why do you need to talk to me?" she said, her voice cutting. "Why don't you go hang out with your girlfriend?"

With that, she pushed past him forcefully, and stormed away, leaving Teddy standing all alone on the street, feeling as if something important had flashed in front of his eyes, and he had failed to see it.

.oOo.

XII: Reason

(n.) The power to think, understand, and form judgements logically

Saturday was tapering out slowly: the sun had long since disappeared, and the crescent moon was taking prominence in the sky, casting an eerie white glow over the nearly-deserted Hogwarts grounds. Few people were outside, taking solace by the warmth of Common Room fires or under duvets after an exhausting day out, but Teddy Lupin was not one of them. He sat by the old oak tree, absentmindedly skimming stones over the surface of the Great Lake, watching as they bounced weightlessly across the rippling water.

Teddy considered himself a social person. He loved being with his friends, and did not find small talk exhausting – if anything, it was reinvigorating. But sometimes, the allure of solitude was simply too much for him to resist. So he escaped the crowded confines of the castle for the wide expanse of the outdoors, where he sat, not reading, not writing – just caught up in his own, private thoughts.

"Mind if I join you?"

Teddy glanced up, startled. The moonlight reflected off Ella Anderson's glasses, masking her eyes, but there was a nervous apprehension written across her lower face. He nodded, and she settled beside him on the slightly damp grass, pulling her black robes beneath her and letting out a slow, controlled breath.

"How was the date?"

Teddy grinned. "Fine. No awkwardness. But we decided we'd be best just as friends."

He tried to hide the relief from his voice, and thought he'd succeeded, but Ella gave him a knowing glance. "Oh, really?"

"Matilda was the one who suggested it," he said, defensively.

"Fair enough."

"Something weird did happen though."

"Do tell."

He sighed and told her about Victoire storming off, her face burning with anger. "I don't get it – was she mad I didn't tell her about Matilda? I just…I didn't think to."

Ella's eyebrows lifted.

"What?"

"Nothing," mused the brunette. "Weird."

He gave her a funny look, but dropped it: "How was your day?"

The other let out a tiny scoff, and looked away, her eyes settling on a distant star.

"You alright?" he asked concernedly. He'd not seen Ella since that morning.

"Yeah. I'm…" She hesitated.

"Ella?"

"Radhika masi told me some…stuff." He listened intently as she explained the evidence against Mandira.

"Wow," he said when she was finished. "That's…conclusive."

"I hoped she was innocent," said Ella, bluntly. "I really hoped that she was innocent. I've never met the woman, but I…"

"Hey," said Teddy softly, reaching forward to take her arm. "Are you alright?"

He half expected her to shake him off and pretend she was fine, but instead, her hand closed on top of his, and he noticed the sheen of her eyes. "I will be. I just…I don't know. I hate being associated with them. The death eaters. I've always thought of myself as a good person – "

"Hey. We've been over this. Having a death eater in the family –"

"Doesn't make me a bad person. I know. But that wasn't all she said."

"What do you mean?"

Another exhale. "Look, I'm talking to you because, Alfie'll…he won't…he'll jump to her defense."

"Whose defense?"

"Cecilia Carrow. And I just…I want to get it all straight in my head first, before I have to argue with him."

"Okay?" He didn't attempt to hide his confusion.

It all came out in a jumble of words: everything Radhika had told her, from what she'd overheard a young Cecilia say, to her speculations about Cecilia and Mandira working together back then, and what, in Ella's opinion, that could imply about the current situation. "If it's true, then maybe Cecilia's Mandira's operative on the outside – the person who's carrying everything out. If they've worked together before, there's no reason why they couldn't do so again, now."

Teddy chewed on his lip, his stomach churning. "I don't know, Ella. It was a long time ago. It might've just been a phase, something she said in the heat of the moment. It doesn't mean that she was working with Mandira."

"I know. I just – I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. Mandira's a suspect – that must be why Tabitha circled her name, but she obviously can't be kidnapping the children herself."

"No."

"So there must be someone else. And based on what Radhika masi's said, Cecilia seems like an obvious choice."

To Teddy, Cecilia seemed like the only choice, but only because they had limited information. No matter what he, Ella and Alfie told themselves, they weren't aurors. They didn't have the resources, nor the means to solve this case, no matter how intimately associated with or targeted by the perpetrators they felt. He wanted to help Ella, but he could feel her slipping out of his reach. It was like she was on the precipice of a deep crater, and all he could do was grasp onto her and pray she didn't let go.

"I'm sorry to ask you this, Ella, but do you trust your aunt?"

Ella hesitated; Teddy could see the miniscular twitch of her muscles.

"Yes," she said, at last. "I have no reason not to."

He accepted this without question. Ella was a good judge of character. If she believed Radhika, then so did he.

"Out of curiosity – what did Cecilia do when Mandira killed the muggles?"

Ella's brow furrowed. "Sorry?"

"Did she condemn her outright? Did she plead that her friend was innocent?" He noticed the odd look Ella was giving him and shrugged: "I'm just trying to wrap my head around it, same as you."

"I didn't ask." Her voice was barely above a whisper; he could see her berating herself.

"Hey, don't worry –"

"No." The Ravenclaw's teeth gritted together. Her muscles tensed, and Teddy could see anger at herself spreading through her mind like a pernicious fog. "I should've asked."

They sat together in silence, until the cold seeped through the thin covering of their skin and into their bones, swirling and rattling like a ghoul in a cupboard. Teddy stood up first – Ella did not move, but he reached for her hand and drew her up. Slowly, like she was a small, exhausted child, he led her back inside and deposited her, safely, outside Ravenclaw tower.

He waited around a corner until she solved the riddle. Then he turned, and left, silently hoping that he was doing the right thing.

.oOo.

XIII: Self-Preservation

(n.) The protection of oneself from harm, especially regarded as a basic instinct in human beings

Natalia Shafiq's office was impersonal. The walls and surfaces were panelled in oak or mahogany, the colours and textures rich. A few austere paintings hung here and there: simple, monochrome, padded in white and framed in black. The woman herself sat behind her desk, clad in dark formal robes, her hands resting in front of her. Her mass of tight, corkscrew curls was firmly secured in a bun, and she wore no makeup apart from neutral lipstick and a thin wing of eyeliner.

Tabitha James admired few people. Natalia Shafiq was one of them. She ran the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with great mastery, combining her expert knowledge of the field with her people skills. Many had expected her, as the first woman to take on the job, to fail, but she had proven them all wrong.

Tabitha had not spoken to Shafiq much – Shafiq did not interfere much with the day to day running of the auror department. So when Tilly Castrade, well-recovered from her bout of the stomach flu, approached Tabitha and told her that Natalia Shafiq wanted to see her, she was stunned.

When Tabitha entered, Shafiq's back was iron-rod straight. Robards stood beside her, slouching against a cabinet, his arms crossed. He was smartly dressed, but next to Shafiq, he looked slovenly.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Tabitha.

"Yes, thank you for coming." Natalia did not ask her to sit. "An hour ago, we received a secure communiqué from Azkaban –"

Oh shit. Tabitha's heart began to pound.

"Mandira Tiwari has escaped."

"You put in a request to visit her."

What did she know? Tabitha glanced at Robards but he gave nothing away. He couldn't have told her – he wouldn't have thrown her under the bus like that. Not when he had such lofty plans for her.

"James?"

"Yes, ma'am. As I said on my request form, we have reason to believe Mandira Tiwari has links to the kidnappings. She's been communicating with another key suspect."

She could feel the muscles in her back tense up as Shafiq's eyes narrowed, instinctively preparing for the question she thought was coming.

"And who is this 'key suspect'?"

Exhale.

She didn't know. Tabitha glanced up at Robards, who met her gaze with a serious stare. His eyes flicked back and forth so fast that another person might be unsure whether they'd seen it or imagined it, but she knew. He hadn't told. Natalia Shafiq had no idea that Tabitha had visited Mandira.

"James?"

Tabitha hesitated. "I'd rather not say."

"Really?" Shafiq raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, ma'am. We have yet to find conclusive evidence tying him to the kidnappings – it's all circumstantial at the moment. He has ties to the Ministry and Hogwarts and…I don't want to prematurely conclude anything."

"Your sentiments are admirable, but misguided. Who is it?"

Her heart was beating even faster now, thudding against her ribcage at an alarmingly high frequency. Six months ago, she wouldn't have had a problem selling Munroe out, but now…

She didn't want to lose her advantage. Once Natalia Shafiq knew, it would be out of her hands – she could blow Tabitha's cover, end Munroe's career. It would all be over within a split second, destroyed beyond recognition.

"Tabitha?"

Tabitha looked up at Robards again. He gave a tiny, imperceptible nod, and her heart sank. She refocused her gaze on Shafiq and said, her hesitation masked: "Auror Angus Munroe."

Shafiq's face remained still, but surprise was written all over her movements. She leaned back in her chair and whistled low beneath her breath.

"One of your own?"

It was addressed to Robards, who nodded. "We're investigating."

"He's on this investigation, am I correct?"

"Yes. We keep him out of the loop as much as possible – we can't take him off or we blow our cover, prove we're onto him."

"And he doesn't suspect?"

Robards looked to Tabitha, who shook her head. "I don't think so."

"And he doesn't know about Tiwari being a suspect?"

"No."

"Are you sure, James?" Her hazel eyes were stern and searching. Tabitha met her gaze with equal firm aplomb.

"Yes."

"Well, if he does, it wouldn't surprise me if he tipped Tiwari off. Or even helped her escape – he'd be familiar with the security protocols. Damn it." She raked her teeth over her lower lip – the first time she'd displayed signs of broken composure. "One of our own. Do we confront him?"

The question was directed to Robards, and the Head Auror opened his mouth to respond, but Tabitha interjected. "No. It would blow our cover."

"If it's already blown –"

"We don't know that," she said sharply. "I'm – maintaining close contact with Munroe. I don't think he knows."

"Then we assign a tail," replied Natalia Shafiq, her voice cutting. "I cannot just sit back and do nothing, James. If you're maintaining close contact, as you say – and yes, I know what you're talking about –" Tabitha's cheeks did not colour " – then assuage any suspicions he may have."

There was no point in arguing. "Yes, ma'am."

"Any other known associates? Other people Tiwari may have been in contact with?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"An old friend of both Munroe and Tiwari. Cecilia Carrow."

The air in the spacious, wood-panelled office seemed to chill. "Cecilia Carrow?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"That is a surprise," murmured Shafiq, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on top of her hands. "She's never expressed any sort of prejudice against muggleborns or muggles, even despite her…family ties."

"I think she's worth investigating anyway," said Tabitha, staunchly.

"Well – I suppose so. We'll assign a tail."

"Good." She glanced between Shafiq and Robards. "May I be excused?"

"Not quite yet," said Robards, pushing himself off the cabinet he'd been leaning on with his foot, and coming to stand beside Shafiq. "We're sending an investigative team down to Azkaban in thirty minutes to examine Tiwari's cell."

"Why the delay?"

"Once we send them, we can't stop the journalists getting hold of the story. We want a head start. Regardless, we'd like you to go down now. Check out the place before the team get there – see what you can find."

And get rid of any evidence that you were ever there.

His unsaid words burned into her skin like a brand, burying through the outer layers until they hit bone. It was a wonder that Shafiq seemed so impervious to the silent, ongoing conversation.

"Do you understand me?"

She raised her chin and met his eyes, strong and defiant. "Yes."

(x)

"Azkaban?"

"Yes, Potter," she didn't bother to hide the note of irritation as she grabbed her crossbody from her desk and slung it over her shoulder.

"What's going on?"

She shot him a look. "Walk me to the lift?"

He scrambled up from his chair. They walked in silence; Tabitha called for the elevator, and it arrived, empty. They entered, and, as soon as the doors shut, she began to speak in a low, urgent voice:

"Tiwari's escaped from Azkaban."

"What?"

"Shush."

"We're in a lift, Tabitha, it's not like anyone's going to overhear us. What does this mean?"

"I don't know."

"Was she lucid enough to break out?"

She gave him a startled look and he sighed. "So it's true."

"How do you know?"

"I'm not an idiot. I saw the denied request, and I figured you'd try something. So you did visit her."

There was no point pretending. "Yes. And she was lucid. Scarily so."

"Does Robards know?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She rolled her eyes. "Please don't lecture me about morals."

"I'm not going to. I'm just –" he paused and pushed his round glasses up his nose. "This has to mean something. Why now? And did she act alone?"

"Munroe and Cecilia Carrow have been assigned Ministry tails. Shafiq's orders."

Potter let out a low whistle. "Shafiq's expecting something to happen."

"As am I." The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. "Keep an eye out. If something's about to happen, we need to anticipate it. Stay one step ahead."

He nodded. "Tabitha –"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself, alright?"

A half-smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Of course."

(x)

Time does not pass in a jail cell. If it does, it leaves no visible traces.

Every corner of Mandira Tiwari's former confine closely approximated what it had looked like when Tabitha had last visited. There were certain small things that had changed: the sheets were more rumpled, and the book open on the bedside table was different, but otherwise, the most startling difference was only that Tiwari herself was not there.

Tabitha ran her gloved fingers against the concrete wall, feeling for cracks, damage – anything that would indicate anything. Nothing.

She didn't have much time. Deftly creeping forward, she knelt down and pressed against the floorboards. It didn't take her long to find the loose floorboard; wedging the tip of her nail under it, she pulled it up.

The box containing the Daily Prophets was still there. It looked as if Tiwari had gone through it a couple of times – the papers were no longer in the same order they had been in when Tabitha had visited. She paid it little heed – if she'd had more time, she'd have gone through them, seen whether there were any that were obviously missing. But she had more pressing concerns on her mind.

Next to the box was an unfamiliar envelope. Tabitha picked it up and extracted the parchment inside, unfolding it. Her breath caught in her throat.

Dear Angus,

Thank you for sending the newspaper. It's always good to keep in touch with current events – these four walls can get claustrophobic, and it is often difficult to remember that there is a mad, chaotic world outside. What better than the Daily Prophet to remind me of it?

Something interesting happened recently. I know – you are probably wondering what could possibly happen in here that could be deemed 'interesting'. Well, I had a visitor. An unauthorised one. Her name was Tabitha – I believe you know her. We spoke at length about –

The letter broke off suddenly in the middle of the page. Tabitha flipped it over, but the parchment was blank, apart from the faded, backward marks of the ink that had seeped through the page.

Mandira hadn't finished the letter. Perhaps she had never had a chance – perhaps she'd simply forgotten about it. Regardless, a significant amount of relief washed over Tabitha. Mandira had not managed to tell Angus about her visit. She was safe.

She thanked the stars for Robards' foresight. It wouldn't have taken long for a team of trained aurors to discover the loose floorboard, and the letter would have gotten her into a lot of trouble. She slipped it into her bag and replaced the floorboard, letting out a slow, careful breath.

When she reached her apartment nearly an hour later, she lit a candle and held the parchment up to the flickering, orange flame, and watched it spread and consume it, turning the pale brown page into crumbling, black ashes.

It did not occur to her to question why Mandira had left this particular letter behind.

Mistake number two

A/N: All definitions have been taken from the Oxford English Dictionary.

This may be the fastest I have ever updated since…2016? I'm in shock, you're probably in shock, let's try and make this a habit. As a result, though, this chapter's not as well-edited as I would like. Apologies!

The next chapter is one I've been REALLY looking forward to writing – spoiler alert: Tabitha heads back to Hogwarts – and for a good reason. Current ETA is the 16th of September!

Reviews are my bread and butter, so if you've got something to say, even if it's just 'definitions, Nymphie? Seriously?', leave a review! There's nothing more motivating than knowing that people are reading, so please do come say hi!