"Trisha? Trisha! Patricia Lauren-Eileen Lacey, get down here this m-"
"She's not here, Annie," said Jim from the kitchen table, not looking up from his newspaper.
"What do you mean she's not here?" asked Anne, entering the kitchen and leaning on the table.
"Out," said Jim simply.
"Out?"
"Out."
"With Abernethy, isn't she?" asked Anne hotly.
"I expect so," said Jim, his voice an unwavering calm as he casually turned to the editorials section.
"Well, when did she leave?" inquired Anne, flopping down into the chair across from Jim.
"About an hour ago."
"You mean she just went out there alone? At night?" exclaimed Anne, "That's not safe!"
"I'm sure she's got her wand with her, Annie."
"Jim, you know what kind of unsavory characters are hanging about this time of night!" cried Anne, looking distressed, "If anything happened to her, dad would never forgive me!"
"Annie."
"She could be attacked, Jim! She could get lost!"
"Annie!"
"If Ty hurts her, if he lets her get hurt, I swear to god I'll-"
"Anne!"
"What?" said Anne, halting her monologue.
"Annie, I know you're worried about her," sighed Jim, "but you've got to remember that she's of age. She's eighteen, she's got just about as much magic as any Hogwarts graduate, and she's not stupid. I agree that there are some nasty situations out there that she could easily walk into, but you can't try to shield her from that by shutting her up in here. I know you think of her as the baby of the family, but she's an adult, Annie."
"If she's in here, then at least she won't be with Ty Abernethy!" replied Anne huffily.
"I know, I know," said Jim, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "I don't like him any more than you do. But it's her choice. If she wants to-"
"I don't see why he had to pick her! She's seven years younger than him! He's a slimy little bastard, he's just picking out the weak ones like some foul beast!"
"Is that what you're worried about?" asked Jim, "You think he's just taking advantage of her? You think Pat's not up to acting of her own accord?"
"Of course!" cried Anne, "Jim, before she left Hogwarts she was a mess! Spent a month in the hospital wing after a complete mental and physical breakdown! Even said so herself, Jim! And I hardly think she's made an overnight recovery! She's smart, but she's vulnerable!"
Jim sighed. "I know. But – and I know this won't be easy for you to hear – all you can do right now is let it happen."
"What, you just expect me to stand by while he uses her? Just let it go and be there to pick up the pieces when it's through?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying. I do expect that you'll be a good sister and be there for her should things turn out badly. But you can't ward over her. I know she's your baby sister, but remember that you're not her mother. You're both adults and should treat each other as such. Whatever choices she makes, good or bad, are for her to decide."
Anne shook her head, then, dabbing gently at her eyes, she muttered, "I know you're right Jim. But I can't help it: I just don't want to see her get hurt."
"Try to get some sleep, Annie," said Jim, polishing his glasses on his shirt sleeve before putting them back on, "Have a talk tomorrow, see if you can't sort things out then."
"Right," said Anne, her eyes following Jim as he got up and slowly walked toward the staircase, "S-see you in a bit then." Anne sat motionless at the kitchen table long after Jim's footsteps had died away on the steps. Once or twice she started and looked toward the windows, before realizing it was only an owl or the gentle creaking of the shop sign as it swayed back and forth on the night breeze. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she felt certain something was coming…
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"Are you nearly finished your charms homework? You said you'd help me with Care of Magical creatures, and I was kind of hoping it'd be some time before midnight!" said Lindsey exasperatedly from her spot on the common room couch.
"Half a second..." murmured Bitsy, as she gazed absently out of the opposite window.
"Call me crazy," said Lindsey, "But I'm pretty sure your parchment's on the table not in the grounds. And I'm thinking that maybe looking at it would help you get your assignment done faster."
"Sorry Linds'," sighed Bitsy, shaking her head and blinking, "Zoned out for a bit there. Kind of wondering how Pat was doing again."
"I think if something bad had happened, you'd have heard about it by now."
"You'd think if something good had happened, I'd have heard about it too!"
"Well," said Lindsey, "looking back I'd have to say that sending her a howler was probably not the best way to incite regular contact..."
"She could have at least responded," said Bitsy glumly.
"Did you completely miss what I just said?"
Bitsy rolled her eyes and started writing her charms paper.
"You're just upset because she has a boyfriend."
Bitsy ignored her, and continued to write. Practical uses of aguamenti include...
"Come on, admit it," badgered Lindsey, "She's spending time with someone else and you're jealous!"
...in which water will be conjured out of the caster's wand, creating...
"I heard he's really good-looking too..."
"What? Who'd you hear that from?" asked Bitsy, looking up abruptly.
"Ha, got your attention!"
"Ironic that you'd be wanting to draw my attention away from the assignment you were so eager to have me finish a minute ago..." muttered Bitsy sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
"In answer to your question," said Lindsey, ignoring Bitsy's comment, "Lori-Ann - my sister, you dork - was doing some anti-theft training in Diagon Alley and saw them together. I think her exact words were 'toned, tanned, and tempting'."
"Great..." said Bitsy, going back to her work.
"Can't you at least be happy for her?" said Lindsey, looking a little disappointed that her words hadn't produced the desired effect.
"Sure, I'll be happy for her," said Bitsy, putting on a very sarcastic smile, "Look, happy! So very, very happy!"
"Right."
"Sorry. Maybe I'll be happy for her when she starts going out with people who aren't total slime-balls."
"Oh come off it," said Lindsey, "You haven't even met him. How can you pass judgment on someone you haven't even so much as seen?"
"Um, duh!" said Bitsy, mockingly knocking her fist against her head, "He's a Slytherin, isn't he?"
"Not this again..." sighed Lindsey, "I'm sure if he were, you know, 'stereotypical Slytherin,' Pat wouldn't have even given him the time of day. She's not that desperate, you twit!"
"Slytherins are tricky little bastards,' said Bitsy, thoroughly unconvinced, "Probably put some kind of mind-control hex on her or slipped her a potion or-"
"Ooh, yea or maybe he's using the imperius curse!" said Lindsey, rolling her eyes, "Seriously, do you even listen to yourself when you talk, Bits'?"
"Oh whatever..." said Bitsy, scribbling down the last line of her assignment and tossing it into her 'finished' pile, "Now do you want help with the manticore report or not?"
"Sure," said Lindsey, "but I think I left my textbook upstairs. One sec...accio textbook!"
As Lindsey artfully guided her textbook down the stairs and into her lap, Bitsy's mind drifted back to Pat. She knew she should be happy for her - but something about it didn't seem right. She shook her head, trying to quash her doubts so she could concentrate on more important things; though the anatomy of a manticore wasn't really what she had in mind.
----------------
It was late at night, and Cabal Hall was very quiet. A passerby on the outside would have dismissed it as being abandoned, had it not been for the dim light shining from the study window. A tall, thin man in a dark velvet dressing gown sat in a high-backed armchair before a crackling fire. His left hand, its knuckles white and swollen with arthritis, was clenched around a crystal brandy glass. Every now and then he would suspend his look of graveness by taking a sip of drink. The serious look and deadly calm silence of the man was enough to make a small child cower.
"Father?" echoed a man's voice from behind the study door.
"Enter," said the man, not turning, his eyes still fixed on the flicking fire.
The door opened a crack, and a young man of about twenty stepped cautiously inside. The firelight illuminated a delicately handsome face, short, wavy, nut-brown hair, and tall stature; the only thing marring his appearance were a pair of slightly prominent ears, and a lingering look of haughty pride that made him seem quite unapproachable.
"What is it you want at so late an hour, Quinn?" inquired his father, still staring ahead.
"A letter from Anne, sir," said Quinn, slowly walking toward the armchair, a folded piece of parchment in his hand. He reached his father and handed him the letter without further elaboration.
"You have been reading it, Quinn."
"No, sir, the seal is still intact," said Quinn nervously, "as you can see for yours-"
"Silence." The words were not shouted, but Quinn ceased talking at once, shrinking back slightly. "Do not lie to me, son, it does not become you."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"This letter is addressed to me, is it not?"
Quinn murmured an inaudible response.
"It is addressed to me, is it not!" said his father, in a much louder and angrier voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. As you are not illiterate, I trust that you can recognize when something is not yours and therefore none of your business."
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir."
"You're damn right you are. Fall back. I wish to examine this letter in privacy - though as you've already had the indecency to read it yourself...Nevertheless, fall back."
Quinn obediently stepped back, his eyes diverted to the floor. He did not wish to incite his father's rage by attempting to take another look.
"Ah, my poor daughter. Such a worrier she is," said Reginald Lacey in a slightly softened voice, "It seems she fears our young Patricia has fallen into bad hands."
Quinn dared not reply for fear of irritating his father.
"Anne should have realized by now that I have no cares for the fate of her sister. If that simpleton has decided to besmirch my good name then she is no daughter of mine."
There was a hush as Mr. Lacey continued to read; the only sounds were the pop of an ember, and Quinn's nervous breathing.
"Abernethy...Abernethy...Where do I know that name from...?"
"Belarius Abernethy," said Quinn hesitantly, feeling that it might be pertinent to speak, "He was a founder of the British League of Pureblood Wizards. Married a Dutch witch, I believe."
"Ah, so this would be his darling son. Pity, just when Patricia decides to be sensible about the company she keeps...I daresay the way she's ruined herself now, Abernethy could do much better..."
"With all due respect sir, Tybalt Abernethy dropped out of Hogwarts when he was fifteen; he's no more than a grocery clerk."
"I stand behind my opinion," said Mr. Lacey icily, his lip curling slightly.
Quinn lowered his head and was silent again; though he too thought little of his youngest sister, it was a blow to his pride to think that such an abject failure could be too good for a Lacey.
"Anne has wasted her time," said Reginald Lacey, slowly folding the letter into thirds, "Patricia is her burden now. Kindly inform her of such, Quinn."
"Yes, sir."
"Now be gone. I wish to be alone," said Mr. Lacey coldly, as the letter floated lazily into the fire and was incinerated.