The day after Virginia's funeral and burial, an owl arrived from Hogwarts. My owl. Soren fluttered onto my outstretched arm, a makeshift perch, a letter clutched in his beak. I removed it carefully, breaking open the seal and recognizing Lily's handwriting instantly.

Dear Amber,

Professor McGonagall won't tell me why you left, only that it was a family emergency. Are you alright? Remus is worried too. Is your sister okay? Please write back soon and let me know what is going on. I won't tell Remus if you don't want me to.

Love,

Lily

Tears welled in my eyes at the mention of my sister. No, she's not fine, I wanted to retort, she's dead, in fact.

But it wasn't Lily's fault that Virginia had died. No, if anything was to blame, it was that wretched, evil illness that had died nameless with her.

Wiping my tears, I rose to my feet. Soren lifted off into the air, swooping into the barn. I had been sitting next to Virginia's grave for hours, trying to accept the fact that she lay down there beneath the soft, freshly-turned earth. I stared at the mound of brown loam, trying to come to terms with it. But it was just so impossible, so despicable that my sister should be shoved under a pile of dirt like a potato or a dead animal.

I walked upstairs briskly, passing my parent's room. Dad was at work. He worked far too frequently before. Now, I had a feeling I'd see him only sparingly, perhaps a few times a month or less. He was a workaholic and now, he'd be distracted himself from reality in any way that he could.

Mum was still laying in bed, a hump under the covers. It was well past noon. I carefully shut the door, sealing her out of my life and Naomi's, who was with our grandparents for the next week. Dad said he wanted to give Mum time to compose herself. I had told him not to hold his breath.

At my desk, I quickly scrawled out a message to Lily.

Dear Lily,

I still don't really believe it myself. But

I put the quill down, still. My heartbeat pulsed in my throat; I could feel fresh tears welling. I didn't want to write it down. If I did, it would make it more real.

…but she is gone. She passed away. Her funeral was yesterday. I am okay.

I bit my lip, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.

I am okay. I don't know what to do. I just wish I could turn back time. Please keep in contact with me this summer.

Love, Amber

I hurried sealed the letter inside of an envelope. I scrawled her name across the front, along with the school's address, and brought it into the barn. Soren was resting on a wooden beam, his eyes closed. I left the letter beside him, knowing he'd be smart enough to know what to do with it when he woke up.

The April sun beat down on the grass outside. The spring rains had drenched the grounds, making the green burst with vibrancy and life. My eyes traveled to the sprawling willow tree, so tame and docile compared to the Murder Tree at Hogwarts, and its hump of dark earth. Her body was under there. Virginia's body.

The willow. The Murder Tree.

"Some folks call it the Murder Tree because they say it's cursed. They say if you best a Whomping Willow, it'll lay a curse on you. Someone in your life will die before the next full moon."

I had gotten past that tree the night before the full moon. Virginia had died that same night.

I fell to my knees, staring at nothing. The blood roared in my ears. My vision shimmered black at the edges.

I had killed my sister.

No. No, it was just a stupid legend. She died because of her illness, not because of something that you did.

But I remembered how healthy she had been just before I returned to school after my extended winter break. She had been glowing with health. She hadn't even seen the town healer in a month.

But it wasn't right. It didn't add up. Feeling sick, I remembered what Dad said in the drive home.

"She… went here. She was fine one day and then the next morning…"

A choked half-sob, half-scream wrenched itself free from my throat. I clapped my hand over my mouth, horrified.

I had done this. This was my fault.

Virginia was dead. Because of me. Because I had gotten past that stupid, horrible, dumb tree.

The guilt and realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Dizzy with the rush of horror and disgust, I couldn't move. Already on my knees, my hands dropped to the dusty ground of the barn floor. I screamed so hard my throat went raw. It burned like fire, how the Vow had when it sealed itself into me for life.

My fault! My fault, my fault, my fault! My sister was dead because of my foolishness! And she had warned me to be careful.

And had I listened?

You never listen. I thought miserably as I stumbled to my feet, shaking hard. You never listen to what others tell you. And then you come crying to them later, admitting you were wrong.

Except I couldn't come to Virginia. I couldn't apologize to her, because she was dead. Because of me.

Desperate to do something, anything, I snatched a small shovel from the wall and the wheelbarrow. I pushed it over the bumpy terrain out into the field of wildflowers, far from the farmhouse. I faintly remembered the coyote and the danger I was out here, alone, but I didn't care. I welcomed the chance that something bigger and hungrier than me would find me and end my selfish, stupid life.

I found a clump of wild white and pink roses growing at the edge of the field. I dug them up carefully, so that the roots weren't damaged. I dumped them into the belly of the wheelbarrow and added bluebells, peonies, poppies, daisies, Indian's paintbrush, and buttercups. Beautiful, simple wildflowers. The kinds that Virginia would have wanted in her room and in her dream home one day.

I wheeled them back to the house. My hands stung and my throat burned, but I hardly noticed. The mound of dirt covered my dead sister sat like an ugly brown log. I grabbed the rosebushes – thorns and all – and planted them right over the top. I had grown up on this farm, caring for animals, growing vegetables, tending flower gardens. I lost myself in the past of simpler and younger times, letting my muscle memory take over while I focused on my goal: making Virginia's final resting place a spot worthy of her.

The flowers broke up the monotony of the brown. They flecked and spotted her grave with life and beauty. The mad racing of my heart slowed, the war drum in my ears ebbed away into nothing. I lined the edges of her grave with smooth gray stones, numbing myself to the fact that she wouldn't be needing any of this if I had just ignored that stupid willow in the first place. If I hadn't overcome it.

A gentle breeze drifted through the grounds, brushing the long tendrils of the willow leaves against my shoulder. I flinched back. Why. Why had they chosen this tree to bury her under? A willow, of all things?

"She loved willows." I whispered aloud, realizing this had been a choice in consideration of her feelings. She loved willow trees and unicorns. She loved the color blue, too.

I carefully planted another patch of bluebells among the other flowers. She needed it. Something blue. She'd never have another chance in her life to need something blue. She would never marry. Or have children.

Because of me.

"I'm sorry." I murmured as I ran my hand along the rough edges of willow bark. "I'm sorry, Virginia."

And for the first time since I had learned of my sister's death, I wondered if God would have taken me instead if I had only offered to take her place.

April burst into May, bringing more sunlight and more flowers. May warmed into June, thunder and lightning an everyday occurrence as the humid summer air fed the cold winds blowing off of the Grampian mountains.

Mum didn't come out of her room. She didn't come out of the house.

I saw Dad once a week, as I had predicted. He stayed at work so often that it wasn't uncommon for him to stay overnight at a hotel in London, forsaking the farmhouse altogether. Naomi stayed with our grandparents for the remainder of the summer. With Mum out of commission, the household and farm chores fell to me. In the morning, I rose to collect the eggs and muck the stalls. I cooked myself breakfast. I went into town with money Dad left for me and bought groceries from the market. I exercised the animals and cleaned the house. I even used magic to help me, not giving a single crap if the Ministry of Magic threw me out of school for using my wand to dust the shelves or chase crickets from the kitchen.

Lily wrote often. Most days I found myself looking forward to opening her latest letter from home. Remus even sent a note, twice a month, never mentioning my sister. Lily, as promised, hadn't told anyone.

The few times that I did have to myself were spent reading through my textbooks. In July, an owl arrived from Hogwarts. Mum, who hadn't emerged from her cocoon of grief in months, didn't open it. Dad didn't have time. I broke the seal myself and soaked up every word from the school I longed to return to.

Dear Miss Harkstone,

Congratulations on your re-admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For nearly 1000 years, Hogwarts has proudly welcomed back students to continue their education, and we are excited for you to be part of this great tradition. As a member of the Class of 1978, you will join a dynamic student community in a place of endless opportunities. Hogwarts offers an unparalleled setting for the next chapter of your life.

We were impressed by your academic achievements and believe strongly in your potential for continued success. You are a remarkable individual, and we are confident that you will make a lasting contribution to Hogwarts and to the world.

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry welcomes you, and I personally look forward to greeting you on campus. Please find enclosed a list of supplies needed for your second year at Hogwarts. Term begins 1 September 1971. If you have any questions or concerns, please send an owl at your earliest convenience.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress
Head of Gryffindor House

Well. It was some good news. It was better than a rejection letter.

I laughed once without humor. I had been so afraid of being expelled from this school. So afraid of failing. Now, I was one of the top students academically. I had found out from Lily that Gryffindor had won the House Cup, but very narrowly. My absence in classes had given her the edge to earn more points, and Ravenclaw had lost by a hair to them.
I was readmitted to Hogwarts. I was going back.

If Virginia had been alive, she would have been receiving her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She would have been going with me on the Hogwarts Express in London. I would have watched her sit on the stool in front of the entire school and have that ratty old Sorting Hat placed on her hair. She would have most likely gone to Hufflepuff.
She would have been in school with me. She would have known Remus. The two sick children. They might have even become more than friends, years down the line.
I dropped the letter into the fireplace, which I had swept clean just this morning. "Incendio," I said softly, and watched it burn.

That night, Dad came home. His eyes were shot and he stank of something sour and intoxicating. I watched him stumble out of the fireplace and kick aside the burned crisp that was left of my letter.

"Lena?" Dad slurred. "LENA!"
I stared at Dad, wide-eyed. I had never seen him like this. Not in all eleven years of my life.

"LENA!" Dad shouted, making me jump. My feet were frozen to the floor. What was wrong with him? Was he under some kind of spell?

There was a creaking overhead. Then the sound of moving footsteps. A haggard figure plodded down the stairs.

I let out a soft gasp. I hadn't seen my mother often, only in brief glimpses when she left her room to eat or shower. But she clearly spent most of her time sleeping or crying. Her once-shiny brown hair was lank and stringy and was even shot through with a few strands of silver. Her heart-shaped face was lined with wrinkles and creases where her grief had gone stretching her skin. She had aged fifteen years in just a few months.

"Walter." Mum said in surprise. Her voice didn't sound the same. It was raw, gravelly, older. Tired. World-weary. It was the kind of voice I heard when Grandma talked.

Fear jolted through my system. The light of the full moon streamed in, bright and clean. I wondered how Remus was faring. If his plight was anything like what I was experiencing.

Dad swayed on his feet. "What the hell are you doing, Lena? You're in your pajamas and it's almost ten at night. You've been in bed all day, huh?"

Mum stared at Dad. "You've been drinking."

Drinking. Dad was drinking. Drinking what?

Dad laughed. The sound raised the hair on the back of my neck. "Have to. Have to be able to forget what a sorry excuse of a wife I married. Couldn't even take care of our kids. Let one of them die. Completely ignored the other two."

Mum's eyes widened in shock, as if he'd hit her. Her pale skin paled to dangerous white. "How dare you."

Dad swung around, pointing a sloppy finger at me. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked deranged. I took a step back, holding my wand. Don't make me have to use magic against you. My eyes filled with nervous tears.

"See!" Dad roared. "Look at Amber! Look at her!" Dad stumbled toward me, grabbing my left arm hard. I squealed in pain.

"See how thin she is? Been cooking for herself, I bet. No thanks to you. You sick, stupid cow. I should have listened to my mum. She told me you were nothing but a freeloader. A good for nothing wench. I should have married Daisy Emalia." His fingers tightened around my arm. "At least she would have taken care of my kids!"

I tried to tug my arm free. "You're hurting me!"

"Let go of her, Walter." Mum mumbled.

"Mum!" I cried as Dad shook me roughly.

Dad got in my face, his breath so bad that it made my eyes water. I had always seen my father as a strong, protective presence in my life, someone I had come running to as a child when a nightmare scared me or a teacher yelled at me too forcefully in school. Now, he looked like a monster.

"You listen to me, you little rat." Dad spat. "You might be the head honcho at Hogwarts, with all your little friends and your big books." He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching mine. "You shamed my family by being Hufflepuff. You shamed all of us."

I sobbed, terrified. Wake up, wake up! This had to be a nightmare. This couldn't be real.

"Let go of her, Walter!" Mum screeched, suddenly at his side, trying to rip me away. Dad tossed her aside with one arm roughly, sending her crashing into the couch. A new rush of heat washed over me, terror combined with the strong instinct to protect myself. I waved my right arm, pointing it right at my father. "Protego!"

The shield charm, cast at point blank and fueled by my high emotions, blasted my father back into the front door. He hit it so hard that pictures fell from the walls and crashed into the ground. The windows shook with his impact. I held the wand up, shaking hard, his fingers leaving imprints in my skin.

Mum was crying, half-flung onto the couch. Dad tried to rise to his feet, but collapsed back down. I held my wand tightly, directed right at him. "Stay down." I whispered. "Stay down!"

Dad mumbled something, but a moment later snored. He was out cold.

I stared at my mother, who was gazing at my father as if seeing him for the first time. She turned to look at me, and I realized that I didn't recognize the stranger in front of me. My parents were no longer the people who raised me. We were a family, torn apart by grief. When Virginia died, the Devil had walked in through the front door and made himself comfortable.

Dad was a drunk. Mum was a basket case. Naomi was safely hidden away from it all. And here I was, stuck in the middle, forced to deal with my parents like they were children straight from the bowels of Hell.

"Get up." I whispered to Mum. "Now."

Mum slowly rose. She had lost so much weight that her night gown hung on her frame loosely, like a tent. She looked scared. She looked exactly how I felt.

"Amber… I… I'm so sorry you had to see that."

She was wringing her wrists. She looked like a homeless Muggle I had seen in London a few years ago, skin and bones, her clothes ratty and thin, failing to hide her tattoos and scars. Mum had said she was a user, a junkie. She was addicted to drugs.

Mum was the spitting image now. Except she didn't have tattoos. And unlike the druggie, she was addicted to grief.

"If you two don't grow up," I said slowly, shaking hard, unsure of where my words came from, "then I'm leaving. I'll live with Naomi with Grandpa and Grandma. We will never come home. Ever."

Mum let out a long, soft sigh. "Oh, Amber. You don't have to sound so grown up. You aren't the adult. I am."

"Then start acting like it." I snapped coldly. "This isn't how Virginia would have wanted things to be."

Mum wordlessly threw an old afghan on Dad's snoring figure. He was still slumped against the door. Then she walked into the kitchen and started washing the dishes I hadn't gotten to that night.

I watched her for a few minutes, and then went upstairs, leaving my parents behind. The shaking was so intense that I had to lean against the wall for support. My head was pounding, my stomach was churning. Saliva filled my mouth, and I made it to the toilet just as the vomit exploded from deep inside. When it was over, I rinsed my mouth out in the sink and brushed my teeth. I stared at my reflection, almost not recognizing myself.

A sallow, grim-faced girl looked back at me. She looked tired. Scared. Older. Her face was pale and drawn from being sick, her eyes red and her lips gray.

It wasn't me. It was just grief.

"Oh, Virginia," I whispered. "Why did you have to die?"

Because I had crossed that Whomping Willow. Because she was sick.

In that moment, I swore to never tell my parents. Their sanity was already pushed to the limits by the monster of grief. The less they had to deal with, the better.

I touched the opal pendant around my neck. It was all I had left of my sister.

Would she have ever lived to see our parents deteriorate like this?

I went to my bedroom hearing movement downstairs. Mum, maybe Dad too, were both awake. It was almost easy to pretend that Mum was just up making Virginia a pot of tea, Dad coming home late from work, Virginia sitting in her bed waiting for Mum to care for her, Naomi fast asleep with her thumb tucked into her mouth.

But this was now. Our family, cut clean in two. Was this really how Virginia would have wanted things? Up-ended, chaotic, insane? Hell's bells were ringing loudly in the house.

I eased myself and my guilt into my bed. I stared at the ceiling for a long time, pretending that this night had never happened. Dad was still at work. Mum was doing late-night cleaning. My sisters were asleep in their beds.

When I opened my eyes again, it was still dark. My peripheral vision caught sight of something moving below in the yard. Adrenaline coursed through my veins like lightning. Moving slowly, I carefully turned over so that I could stare down the window into the yard below.

The full moon spilled its milky light onto the ground. At first, I thought it was a werewolf, hunched below the willow tree. I wondered if it was Remus. Or Greyback. Fear prickled cold and damp at the base of my neck. I squinted, trying to make out the shape. A cloud passed in front of the moon, darkening the yard, but floated away a moment later.

I almost threw up again.

Mum was on her hands and knees in her nightgown. She was crouched over Virginia's grave, uprooting and flinging away the flowers I had planted for Virginia. The roses. The peonies and poppies. The bluebells, her favorites.

She ripped them all out until only flat, patted-down earth was left. Then Mum picked herself up, pointed her wand at the freshly-uprooted flowers, and set each on fire.

She left them still burning as she walked back to the house.

I shut my eyes, the familiar pounding ache in my head. My family was tearing itself apart over bad blood.

The next morning Mum was awake. She was in the kitchen, a plate of pancakes set out on the table. I was dressed for the day, the sun hardly above the horizon line. I froze in the kitchen when I saw her back at the stove, a deer crossing paths with a hunter. I could hear the quiet scrape of a spatula against the skillet. I only saw Mum in the garden I planted for Virginia, tearing out every flower, destroying every effort I had made for a memorial to her.

But her hair was brushed. It was braided. She wore a simple white dress.

I pinched my arm. I was, somehow, awake.

Mum turned slightly. When she offered a small smile, I nearly fell over in shock.

"Good morning, Amber. Please, help yourself to pancakes."

I stared at her, mouth hanging open. Now, she was frying bacon.

Mum frowned slightly. "Is something wrong?"

This woman had spent the last four months hibernating in her grief. She had tried unsuccessfully to pry my drunken father off of me just twelve hours ago. My mother had destroyed my flower garden for my sister.

And now, she had made me breakfast.

When I didn't move, Mum looked stern. "You need to eat. Sit."

I obeyed her cautiously. I sipped the water, trying to recall my Potions class when Professor Slughorn had taught us about rudimentary poisons.

"Your sister will be home this evening." Mum reported casually, her voice strong and normal again. "Your father is at St. Mungo's."

I went cold. "Did I… hurt him?"

Mum clucked her tongue. "You did him and me a favor. He'll be just fine by tonight. But I've also told him he is not welcome here until he agrees to stay dry. For good."

I nodded, half-hearing her. Mum had cooked breakfast. And now, she had just complimented me.

I was dead. There was no way this was really happening.

I wanted to ask Mum what was wrong. Or right. What had changed her dramatically in such a short amount of time. What would happen when she decided to punish me for last night.

Well, maybe that was what the flower garden had been about. A punishment for attacking Dad. For yelling at her.

But they deserved it. A tiny voice in me protested. They needed it!

I carefully sipped a glass of pumpkin juice. Mum laid out a plate of bacon drying on a paper towel. "Be careful. It's hot."

I watched her clean the dishes. "Aren't you going to eat?" I asked hesitantly.

Mum made a noise of agreement and sat down. She piled two cakes onto her plate and doused them in syrup. She took a bite, then another.

"It's safe?" I hedged.

Mum nodded. "As safe as flobberworms."

I grimaced. "Right."

I ate in silence, sliding glances at her every few seconds. She was busy reading the Daily Prophet. "Oh."

My heart jumped into my throat. "Oh, what?"

Mum pointed to a moving picture of a middle-aged man. "One of my favorite writers… he's gone missing. Vincent Backe. He went to Egypt for an assignment and never came back."
"That's… unfortunate." The name rang a faint bell. "Didn't he write about Voldemort?"

Mum dropped her paper, staring at me like I was a ghost. "Excuse me?"

Heat crept into my cheeks. "I mean… the Dark Lord?"

Mum held my gaze a moment longer. "Yes, he was. I went to Hogwarts with him. He was a seventh year when I was a freshman. He was in Hufflepuff."

"Oh." I tried to think of something to say, but didn't want to speak much to this stranger in my mother's body. "That's… sad."

"Indeed." Mum checked the grandfather clock in the corner. Virginia's spoon was no longer there.

"Eat up. We need to go to Diagon Alley to get your supplies for school."

I put my fork down, my breakfast half-eaten. "Mum, are you feeling alright?"

Mum waved me off. "Just fine, Amber. Really, don't question my motives. Please. It's hurtful."

But it was impossible not to. No one bounced back this quickly.

Mum clicked her fingers. "Eat, and we'll go."

"I'd rather go alone, if you don't mind." I said carefully. "I can take care of myself."

Mum rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Amber, you're only eleven."

"I'll be twelve in two weeks." I challenged.

Mum sighed. "Very well. You can go alone. But you must be back by three. Your sister will be here at four. Your grandparents are going to take us out to dinner, so try to look presentable."

I looked down at my torn, dirty jean shorts. My hand-me-down t-shirt from my thirteen year-old cousin Amanda. The callouses on my palms and the freckles dotting my skin from my long hours in the sun. Where had Mum been this entire time? Hadn't she realized I had been taking care of myself for the past four months?

I cleared my dishes and started to wash them out of habit. "Oh, don't worry about those, dear," Mum insisted, "I'll clean those."

I stared at her for a moment, bewildered, and decided not to fight her on this. On anything. Mum handed me a small sack of coins that jingled at the slightest touch.

"Professor McGonagall sent me this paper this morning." Mum said as she handed me a list of supplies. "Don't spend all of the money. I'm sure your grandparents will have birthday money for you on the twenty-first."

I backed away from my mother, completely dumbstruck. Who was this person? Who was this lady, this mother, in complete control and charge? And how on earth had she transformed again so radically from the deadbeat into the matriarch?

"Have fun." Mum said, and tucked back into her breakfast. She snapped the newspaper as she read. She had clearly dismissed me.

Still stunned, I left the house, throwing glances over my shoulder in confusion. I half-expected her to come charging after me, a cleaver clutched in her hand, screaming, but only the cluck of the chickens and the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes sounded.

I looked back once at the house. Mum wasn't coming out.

I walked over to the willow tree. Virginia's grave was bare, except for her headstone.

VIRGINIA GRACE HARKSTONE

BELOVED DAUGHTER

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS

TIMELESS AND AT PEACE

5 OCTOBER 1961 – 9 APRIL 1971

The dirt lay bare over her coffin, six feet below where I stood. It looked ugly again. Plain. Not at all like the lush garden of life that had attracted butterflies and mice.

I knew it would defy my mother. I knew it could set her off. But I had caused this. If I had just listened to Virginia in the first place, I wouldn't have bested that Whomping Willow. She would still be alive.

I owed her this much.

I scattered the teardrop shaped seeds, black and white striped like zebras. The seeds I had plucked from the field just a week ago. I waved my wand, muttering "Crescere."

The green shoots pushed up like the rising sun. These could not be stopped.

When they had grown to their full height, their tall, round heads wide as my face, I muttered a final incantation. "Manere."

The sunflowers would stay over her grave forever. Nothing could remove a Permanent Sticking Charm. Not even my mother's desperate hands.

The golden petals caught the light of the sun. Already, bees buzzed around them, birds pecking at the brown circle of rough seeds. Life had already returned to the plot of earth where my sister's bones lay.

I walked to the black lamppost. When I touched my hand to the Portkey, I knew it would take me to Diagon Alley. I knew that despite the pain of summer, the land was beginning to heal. My mother was piecing herself together. My father was getting help. My littlest sister was coming home. My middle sister would be honored.

And I would never tell my family the truth, my awful secret that I buried in the bed of dirt with her: That it was my fault, and mine alone, that she was no longer with us.