Part 19 - Acquisitions

For Valentine's Day, Fred stole me a train (well, he'd say that he borrowed me a train, but whatever). It was perfect date. One of the best I've ever been on. Everything about it was absolutely perfect.

The next week and a half was boring. I made a few trips back to Hogwarts, sometimes hanging out with the twins and sometimes talking to Professor McGonogall about reenrolling for the next year, which I had grudgingly agreed to do. We decided that I would take the OWLs with my own class at the end of the current school year; provided I earned excellent scores, I would be bumped a grade level for the following year. I'd be with the twins and graduate in one year instead of two and be done with the whole ordeal of school. I was also going to have a private room adjacent to but not connected to the Tower; I was going to have permission to leave as often as I needed to attend therapy sessions, make work appointments, visit family, and just generally get out of there when the idiot-flavored filling of the castle was wreaking too much havoc on my fragile psyche.

I had a photoshoot with Ozzy, a more artistic one just for his portfolio that I did as a favor to him, and afterwards, to say thanks, he took me out to a very fancy lunch and a very silly movie. He was turning into a really great friend. He was sweet and funny and tons of fun.

I had similar lunchdates with Remus and Tonks during that week and a half, one each on their own and then one with both together. They'd also turned into quite the good friends. They'd always been fairly cordial, but, since I'd disappeared, they'd gotten much closer. I could've sworn there was a spark there...

Anyways, a week and a half passed in such a manner, and then it was time for the second task.

I arrived at Hogsmeade in the morning and met the twins at the Three Broomsticks for breakfast. They'd been up all night inventing, so neither was the best company until I managed to get some caffeine into them.

"Stupid task," George yawned, resting his head on the table, "Could be asleep right now."

"Could've been asleep last night, idiot," I laughed around a mouthful of bacon and eggs, "What prompted the marathon?"

Fred's elbow slipped, nearly sending his forehead straight into the tabletop, but the redhead caught himself just in time, snorting awake.

Chuckling, George declared, "Wouldn't think it to look at him, but the twin was struck by genius. We got kinda excited and lost track of time."

I smiled, ribbing both of them as I asked, "Well? Gonna tell me about the genius or leave me in suspense?"

"No point," Fred murmured sadly, "Didn't get anything really substantial done. It's a good idea, but it's only in beginning stages. We're going to need to do a lot more work to see if it's even plausible."

"You can still tell me about it," I complained, patting his knee, "Besides, I'm sure you're just being dramatic. You always get all frustrated when you can't figure things out right away."

Fred pouted, even when Rosmerta showed up with coffee refills and graced him with a brilliant smile and a fond pat on the head.

George was far more appreciative of the treatment, grinning and winking tiredly. "We're trying to come up with a charm," he explained, slurping more much-needed caffeine, "Sort of a packaged daydream. You use it wherever and get transported mentally. The in-class goofing off potential is huge. Aside from a vacant stare, teachers shouldn't be able to tell that students using them aren't really there."

"Sounds awesome," I beamed.

"Ya," Fred grumbled, "But we don't even know if it's possible or if we'll be able to make it small and portable enough to be profitable. So far, we haven't been able to balance any equations."

"You'll get it," I told them both, resolute, "You always do."

xxXxx

That afternoon, we sat in the bleachers near the lake and watched the champions go under. After a minute or so of staring at the surface of the water, I ventured aloud, "So... we're just going to sit here until they come up?"

"I suppose," George ventured, already looking immensely bored. And nothing good comes of George being bored.

"Awesome," Fred commented, snuggling up to my side and resting his head on my shoulder, "I'm napping then. Wake me when something interesting happens."

"Good thinking," George responded, getting comfortable on my other side and settling in for a nap as well.

"Big oafs," I teased quietly, smiling at the both of them. My best friends in the whole world.

xxXxx

Snug and warm between the twins, I ended up falling asleep, too. Really, whoever planned the task to be underwater wasn't thinking. There was no way for the rest of us to watch, and the whole production was rather uneventuful and uninteresting. I mean, no one in the wizarding world had ever heard of a Jumbotron?

But anyways, I woke to a commotion by the lake and, forgetting that the twins were asleep on top of me, immediately tried to stand to see what was happening. The only thing I managed to do was knock all of us off the bench and wake both boys in the process.

"Whu?" Fred grunted, blinking sleepily.

"Something's happening," I announced, shoving my way out of the twin pile to peer over the people who had risen to their feet in front of us. Near the dock, I could see a crowd of professors hauling one of the champions out of the water. I couldn't tell which champion, but whichever one it was didn't look to be in very good shape; the few skinny limbs I could make out were limp and bloody.

And I got the sudden thought that maybe it was Harry. My stomach clenched painfully; I started to shake.

By that time, the twins had managed to hoist themselves up as well and noticed fairly quickly that I was upset. Fred grabbed my hand, pressing a lingering kiss to my knuckles as he soothed, "Relax. He'll be fine."

"But what if he isn't?" I whispered.

"Kid's like a cockroach," George declared, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

He did not elaborate any further, and that alone made me laugh, kind of tearfully. I smudged at my eyes, trying to keep them dry and clear so that I could see what was going on near the dock.

After an awful wait, a tall healer stepped out of the way, and I was able to see the fallen champion's long blonde hair and know that it wasn't my baby godbrother. I was able to breathe normally again as most of the tension left my body.

Going back to sleep was no longer an option. The twins--being the gentlemen that they are--stayed awake, too, and kept me from getting too worked up and scared as the minutes ticked by with no sign of Harry. Cedric and Krum came up. Still no Harry. I could feel myself starting to cry. More minutes. Fred closing me in a tight hug, whispering soothing nonsense into my ear. George holding my hand tight, cracking stupid jokes and making me laugh even though I really didn't want to. Fred and George are the only reason that I didn't have another panic attack right then and there.

When Harry broke the surface of the water, I seriously started to sob. You know that expression that a weight has been lifted off your shoulders? Well, seeing Harry alive felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders and off my chest, my lungs finally able to open and get a full blast of oxygen, my heart uncramping and finally able to resume a steady, normal beat.

I wanted so badly to rush down there and see him, hold him, congratulate him on not fucking dying. But I couldn't. I couldn't just forget all the terrible things he'd done to me, no matter how much I loved the little bastard.

"Can we go?" I murmured, finally calming down, smudging at my eyes and resting my head on Fred' s shoulder.

"Course, love," he replied, pressing a kiss to my temple.

While most of the rest of the student body poured down toward the lake to gawk at the champions, the twins and I left the bleachers and headed back to the castle.

xxXxx

The whole thing with Harry got me feeling a bit down for awhile. It wasn't quite the borderline suicidal depression of the year before, but it wasn't fun either. I stayed in bed a lot, feeling tired and hopeless and alone. But I made sure to talk to Dr. Fairchild about it, just trying to keep it from turning into anything worse.

"The important thing about this situation is that you recognize the change in your emotional state," the kind old man told me, smiling softly beneath his graying push-broom moustache, "What we're here to do is give you the tools to deal with such changes in healthy ways. I'm very proud of you for wanting to talk about this, Stella. It's a very productive method for working through your feelings."

I smirked, sipping at a mug of hot lemongrass tea. "Does that mean I'm cured, doc?" I teased. It was sort of a running joke with us.

Dr. Fairchild chuckled in reply, folding his wrinkled hands over his crossed legs as he remarked, "It's certainly a step in the right direction... what kind of interactions have you had with Harry since coming back?"

Laughing, I answered, "Mostly he tries to apologize and I insult him. It's kind of our thing now."

Hmming thoughtfully, the good doctor made a few notes on his clipboard and stated, "I'd really like to see you sit down with Harry and talk to him plainly about what you're feeling. It's all fine and good for you to open up to me about such things, but, at least some of the time, the people you actually need to tell are your loved ones. Aside from yourself, they're the ones who are going to be affected, and they're the ones who are going to be able to do the most to the change the external factors that can influence your moods."

Sometimes, I hated it when he made so much sense. "Ya, I guess," I murmured, twirling my ring around my finger and watching the colors swirl. It was a kind of ugly combination of white, gray, and brown--sad, lonely, and confused. The colors remained for several days after my session was through.

xxXxx

That nasty article about Hermione came out. While most people got busy writing hate mail to Hermione, I... may have overreacted with respect to the author herself. But I can hardly be blamed for that; I've never possessed much self-control.

"Excuse me," I told the rather unpleasant-looking secretary in the mudslinger's front office, "My name is Leda Chiot. I have an appointment with Rita Skeeter."

"Yes, hello," the secretary beamed, "Ms. Skeeter will be ready shortly. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

I smiled sweetly, "Tea would be lovely, thanks. I'll just take a seat." I sat delicately in an ugly office chair in the hideous waiting area and flipped through back issues of the slimy rag that bleach blonde harpy wrote for. The whole ten minutes was a struggle to keep my outer appearance from betraying just how pissed off--and, ok, sort of insane--I was feeling. Messing with Harry was one thing; I still wasn't having very fond emotions toward the lad. But accusing Hermione of such nonsense was just bad journalism. The same kind of bad journalism that had given my family so much grief already. And I was not going to tolerate anymore of it, especially directed at people I cared about. People who absolutely didn't deserve it.

"Ms. Skeeter will see you now," the secretary announced, waving me towards a back office where, I suspected, Rita had been sitting alone with her thumb up her arse for the last ten minutes just to make me have to wait to see her. Ugh.

Rita Skeeter is a horrible woman on many different levels. She's a terrible person, of course, and an even worse journalist. She's also quite unfortunate in the looks department, sporting a heavy, square jaw, crunchy blonde ringlets, odd jeweled spectactles, and several mangy gold teeth. I didn't even want to shake her meaty hand, but I did.

"Miss Chiot," the bitch simpered, gesturing for me to sit opposite her garishly decorated desk, "It is a pleasure. I have been hearing so much about you lately, and so have my readers. They are dying to know more."

"I'm glad," I replied, making sure the office door was securely shut and slyly sliding my wand out of my pocket, "I really didn't expect such a great reaction to my ads, but it's been an awesome kickstart for my career." I cast a few charms to secure the room, sealing it up tight and making it soundproof.

Skeeter prattled on about whatever. I concentrated on my plan of making the room impenetrable. After I accomplished that, the next step was to hit Rita and her stupid green quill with quick but powerful Confundus charms. With the woman so befudled she was practically drooling (and her quill spitting off some nonsense about crop circles and orange rodents), it was fairly easy for me to go about applying a super-strength hair-removal potion--courtesy of the twins--to her smelly blonde locks.

The potion needed about twenty minutes to be fully effective in ensuring that Rita's hair would all fall out within the day and very likely never grow back. So, with some time to kill, I decided to rifle through the woman's junk. She had notes on a lot of stories, some of which had already been published and some of which were still being written, all of which I artfully rearranged. I was slightly perturbed to find that she had preliminary notes not only on Leda Chiot, but also on Stella Black. The bitch was preparing two separate articles, one on each of my assumed names.

Luckily, she hadn't linked my fake persona with my real one (probably only because the pictures she had for Stella looked nothing like the ones for Leda; the Stella pictures looked substantially more sickly and insane), but I didn't want to take the chance that she might eventually make the connection. I saw to removing all traces of the Stella research from her possession.

It was at this time that I came across a very interesting document: a copy of a copy of a will that made me excrutiatingly rich.

The original will, Rita's notes listed, was in the possession of a lawyer named Fletcher Ronan. This will belonged to my grandmother, Walburga Black, and it basically said that anything she owned in life, my dad and I owned in the event of her death. It didn't look like this had been done intentionally, of course; it was just a stupid oversight on her part. Her will left everything to be split between her sons and grandchildren. My dad may have been blasted off the family tree, but he hadn't been disinherited (like we'd all kind of assumed). My Uncle Regulus died before he could have kids, so it was just me and dad who got everything.

"Holy fuck," I declared, leafing through a preliminary list of our somewhat substantial holdings and wondering why in the hell I never knew about any of them.

Getting to the last page of the notes answered that question: apparently, one Narcissa Malfoy had been paying off the lawyer. She'd been trying to find a loophole (like the kind she'd used to steal our house and all our possessions after dad had been arrested) but had been thus far unable. In the meantime, she seemed to be of the opinion that if she couldn't have the money and land, then no one would. For a small fee, Fletcher Ronan had kept the will and its contents hidden and the property listed therein in trust. Untouchable, for the time being, by anyone but me or Dad. Dad couldn't very well make a claim on his half, being a fugitive and all, so I was pretty much in charge of all of it.

"Maybe you're not such a useless bitch afterall," I told Rita, giving her a condescending pat on the arm. I would've patted her on the head, but the bubbling fuschia potion looked less than touchable.

xxXxx

After artfully covering my tracks at Skeeter's office--making sure she had a glowing story about Leda Chiot and no memory of what actually happened during our time together, not to mention a complete lack of interest in ever trying to further investigate or publish the Stella Black saga--I headed straight for my own lawyer's office. Mr. Besnick was a sweet old guy who had defended me in both of my criminal proceedings and was more than willing to take up my cause yet again.

Armed with Rita's evidence, we set out to confront Fletcher Ronan in his Knockturn Alley office. Long story very short, I left that office a whole lot richer; however, I also left with Narcissa Malfoy screaming at me, hurling insults and occasional hexes and pieces of furniture and threats of legal retribution. Ya, she sort of figured out who I was when Fletcher "Fuckhead" Ronan gave her the heads up that Stella Black had come to claim what was hers. Actually, the look on the woman's face when she walked in and saw "Leda Chiot" was sort of worth having to run out of there to a hail of spellfire and various debris.

"Thanks, Mr. B," I laughed, shaking hands with the man back in the safety of his building's lobby, "You're a total hero. Expect a big bag of galleons with your name on it."

Grinning proudly, the old man declared, "I'm always happy to help, dear. I'll go over all the holdings for you and have a comprehensive list by next week."

"Awesome," I replied, chewing nervously on my bottom lip, "I was actually really interested in the property. I remember someone mentioning to me that the Blacks used to live in some kind of super-secret hidden mansion. You can't find it unless you already know where it is. If you come across anything like that, put it at the top of the list for me, ok?"

"Of course," he replied, checking his watch, "I need to get to my next appointment right now, but I'll let you know when I'm done."

"Thanks!" I called, kind of ridiculously giddy, giving in to the urge to give the man a big hug and then bouncing out into the chilly evening.

xxXxx

I kept my recent acquisitions on the down-low at first, not wanting Uncle Remus to freak out prematurely. But, within a few days, Mr. Besnick got back to me and confirmed that one of the properties was a location in London that, as far as he could tell, did not have an address or any other sort of indications as to where it was situated. Based on the amount of research Narcissa had had Fletcher doing on finding the house, we both assumed that it was probably the fabled Black homestead, which had sealed itself off after my grandmother's demise to await the arrival of its new rightful owner.

At that point, I had to call Dad.

"I don't want you screwing around with that house," he warned me sternly, holding the enchanted mirror kind of close to his grubby face, "Or with my bitch cousin. They're both dangerous, baby."

"Daddy," I whined, rolling my eyes, relaxing on Fred's bed at the Burrow, "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. And Narcissa's kind of an idiot."

"Don't underestimate her," he growled, "She's a lot meaner and crazier than she looks."

"Well, at least she's got nothing on me in the crazy department," I chirped, "And I've got the psych file to prove it. Anyways, stop changing the subject. Don't you think that house would be perfect? I mean, it's close and hidden. I could see you all the time!"

He grumbled for a bit, reclining against Buckbeak's massive side in what looked like a dingy cave. "It's a pit," he insisted, "Filled with nothing but dark magic and bad memories."

"Well," I sing-songed, beaming, knowing that I was wearing him down, "I can help you clean out both. Come on, at least tell me where it is so I can go take a look. Or, better yet, take me there yourself and we can look around together!"

"I'll think about it," he sighed heavily, scratching at his matted black hair. He offered a weak smile before going on, "What else is new, love? Harry was telling me your little boyfriend stole you a train for Valentine's Day. That true?"

Beaming and blushing, I laughed, "Ya, he did. It was so sweet. We had dinner in the compartment where we first met, and we danced and talked. A perfect evening."

Dad hummed thoughtfully, declaring, "I'll have to keep my eye on Casanova. He sounds a bit too slick for my liking."

Rolling my eyes yet again, I answered, "Fred is pretty much the best boyfriend ever. I bet you'll really like him when you meet him properly."

"I'll be the judge of that," he insisted, both childish and menacing.

It made me laugh. "You'll see," I told him.

After a few moments, Dad dropped the threatening pout to observe, "Your birthday's coming up."

"Yup," I grinned, "Sixteen."

"Excellent," Dad said, smiling, "Big plans?"

I shrugged, stating, "Not yet, but it's the twins' birthday, too, so we usually do something all together. Besides, pretty much anything is going to beat last year. I had to spend my birthday in the looney bin."

Dad frowned, murmuring, "Well, I guess we're just going to have to make this year extra special to make up for that, eh?"

"Whatever you say, old man," I giggled, yawning hugely.

"Go to bed, baby," Daddy instructed sweetly, "I love you, and I'll talk to you later."

"Love you, too," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the surface of the mirror, "Night." I replaced the compact in its box and finished tucking myself into bed as well. I was asleep not long after.

xxXxx

In the morning, I had breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before they went about their days, then relaxed on the couch and brainstormed birthday ideas, studied a little for my upcoming OWLs. Around lunch time, I got bored and flooed to Hogsmeade and went in search of the twins, who were holed up on the sixth floor in one of their favorite unused classrooms.

They were kind of grumpy; they'd been stiffed on a bet during the summer by some idiot named Ludo Bagman. All their attempts to collect on the bet had been unsuccessful, and they were sore about it but still trying to get the man to pay up. Plus, they'd been inventing pretty much nonstop for several days, working on that charm that had not yet revealed itself in any useable form.

I tried to cheer them up with news of my newfound wealth. I even offered to invest in their business. But they said no.

"Why the hell not?" I complained, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring.

They didn't pay much attention to me, bent over a disheveled pile of papers and vials. Fred grumbled, "We're not taking your money, Stel."

"You wouldn't be taking it," I argued, "I'd be investing, buying a piece of your genius arses while they're still cheap and up for grabs."

"Thanks for the offer," George sighed, giving his hair a frustrated tug, not even jumping on the rich arse-grabbing innuendo, "But if you really want to help, all we need right now is for these equations to balance. We've been staring at the damn things for like three days and can't figure out what's wrong."

With a huff, I leaned against George's back, hugging him around the neck and looking over his shoulder at the pages of scribbled formulas and notes. I spotted the problem quite quickly, pointing as I declared, "These catalysts are out of order for the reactions you want."

Both boys took a closer look, snorting derisively at themselves. "Should've seen that," Fred grumbled, all cranky and pouty as his hand darted out to make the correction.

"Ya, you should've," I replied, twirling George's hair, "That's first-year stuff. You guys definitely need a break before your brains liquefy and leak out your ears."

"Colorful," George chuckled, winding one of his arms around my hips and yanking me down onto his lap, "What did you have in mind for this so-called break?" He shot me a smary, suggestive smirk.

I stretched my feet out into Fred's lap, laughing, "I dunno. Dinner. A nap. A nice broomride, perhaps. Anything to get you two away from inventing for awhile..." I sniffed George's shirt, wrinkling my nose and giving his chest a light shove. "Have you even been bathing? Merlin. Talk about obsessed! Some things really should not be sacrified in the name of discovery!"

They both had the grace to blush, at least, Fred lightly caressing my ankle as he murmured, "Just got caught up."

"You do have that tendency," I laughed, getting to my feet and pulling the twins up to theirs, "But it's my job look after you two oafs. Now, come on. Pack your junk and let's get to our break."

xxXxx

The break wasn't too exciting; we got food from the kitchens and relaxed on the twins' beds to eat it, talking and laughing. With their stomachs full, the boys didn't take long to give in to their obvious exhaustion and fall into deep sleeps. I tucked them in tight, left a note stuck to each of their foreheads reminding them to shower when they woke, and got on my way.

It wasn't too late by then, maybe eight o'clock, but (being that it was a cold Friday night toward the middle of March) the halls were fairly deserted, as was the library when I walked past there. Since I still had a lot of studying and catching up to do before my OWLs, I decided to hang out and take advantage of the quiet and the readily available textbooks. Being back there by myself was kind of weird, but I got over it. And I got a lot done, so that was good.

But I also lost track of time and stayed a lot longer than I'd originally intended. When I finally noticed the time, it was past midnight and I really needed to get back to the Burrow before Mrs. Weasley threw a fit.

So, ya, I was rushing. It was dark, and I wasn't watching where I was going, jogging and juggling a few scrolls of notes and books I'd decided to liberate. Actually, I was being sort of an idiot and trying to put them in order as I ran, squinting at my messy handwriting and the faded book covers, completely not paying attention.

I didn't notice the staircase directly in front of me until my foot met air as the first step dropped off. By then, it was too late.

xxXxx

The fall is only a vague impression I have of out-of-control movement and pain. I have no recollection whatsoever of hitting the bottom of the staircase, but that's where I woke, with a confused groan and a splitting headache and the cold contours of the stone pressed into my cheek.

I tried to move, but my whole body felt like one big bruise, my spine like it had been put through a blender. My right wrist was throbbing and swollen, broken, I later discovered, which totally explained the sharp spike of pain when I put weight on it in a failed attempt to get up. A rather large chunk of the right side of my skull felt absent. My eyes weren't really focusing correctly, but I was fairly sure that the large, dark, gooey puddle I couldn't manage to pick my face up out of was either blood or what was left of my brain leaking out my ear. Ha. Irony.

I was there for awhile, helplessly swimming in and out of consciousness until a rough, cool hand on my forehead made me flinch and moan. Sounding like it was very far away, a gravely voice delivered several loud, sharp orders about opening my damn eyes. With a great deal of effort, I cracked one open and made out a fuzzy, sort of mangled looking face very close to mine. But that was about all the sensation I could take, and I shut my eye again.

It was at that point that the mystery person must've decided it would be best to transport me to the care of medical professionals. I found myself levitating off the ground with a lurch, and that was it. That was all I could take of consciousness for the time being.

xxXxx

It was just a stupid accident, just me being a klutz and falling down the stairs and cracking my damn head open. However, given my history of being attacked and being slightly self-destructive (not to mention the fact that there was a purposeful jump from an eleventh floor landing in my past; unfortunately, the charm that had saved me that time didn't go into effect unless the fall was more than a story), people weren't immediately sure that something more sinsister or troublesome wasn't at play. Add onto that my recent financial acquisitions and run in with my crazy aunt, and there was yet more evidence to suggest that my accident wasn't an accident.

While I was passed out in the infirmary getting my head put back together Humpty-Dumpty style, Dumbledore dragged all the professors out of bed and had them do a sweep of the castle, just in cast Wormtail or some othe lackey of He-Who-Sucks-Dick (or even Narcissa Malfoy) was lurking around. When no one was found, Dumbledore sent for Remus and woke the twins, alerting them to the situation and making sure that I hadn't fallen back into a severe depression and tried to hurt myself.

They assured the headmaster that'd I'd been in pretty good spirits lately (for the most part) and that it wasn't likely my injuries were intentional. After that, there was really nothing to do but wait for me to wake up, which I did late the following afternoon, groaning in pain as the lights in the room assaulted my poor sensitive eyes.

"Stella," I immediately heard. The only thing I could tell about the voice was that it was much too loud. "Come on, love. Wake up. Open your eyes."

"Bright," I croaked, and was rewarded shortly thereafter by the lights in the room being extinguished. I breathed a sigh of relief, perfectly content to fall back into blissful unconsciousness.

"No way, Stel," that voice insisted, lightly brushing my hair back from my forehead. The tender gesture led me to conclude that the voice belonged to Fred; he tended to do that when I wasn't feeling well. "Open your eyes. Let me see your eyes."

Very grudgingly, I obliged and, sure enough, saw Fred's face floating above mine. George was next to him, Uncle Remus on the opposite side of the bed. All three seemed hesitantly relieved.

Slowly remembering what happened, I groaned yet again and complained, "Head hurts. Want drugs."

Uncle Remus chuckled, giving my uninjured left hand a light squeeze as he sighed, "You gave us quite a scare, love. What happened?"

It was embarrassing. My weak body struggled to conjure up enough blood for a blush. "Tripped," I whispered, still just wanting to sleep, "Fell. Stupid."

There seemed to be another collective sigh of relief, Fred once again petting back my hair as he cooed, "It was an accident. We're just glad you're ok."

My eyelids were growing more difficult to keep open with every second. And then I was out again.

xxXxx

After my accident was announced to have been... well, an accident, the boost in castle security was scaled back to normal. This gave Harry the opportunity and the brilliant idea to bring my dad--who, coincidentally, had been in the area--to see me.

I woke up for the second time to find Dad curled up beside me in dog form, resting his head on my stomach and watching me with big sad eyes. I smiled blearily, reaching out to scratch his ear. "Hey," I murmured, "What're you doing here?"

"He wanted to surprise you," I heard and turned my head to find Harry in what had previously been Uncle Remus's seat. Frowning in confusion, I took in some more of my surroundings, finding Uncle Remus entirely absent and Fred and George snoring in nearby cots.

I looked back to Harry, and my expression must have demanded some sort of explanation because the young man declared, "Dumbledore came by and made Remus go get something to eat. The twins sacked out a few hours ago." With a slight smile, he added, "Snuffles heard through the grapevine that you were hurt, and he couldn't stay away. He was waiting to surprise you on your birthday."

Glancing back to Dad, I saw that he had sat up a bit, that his big tongue was hanging out of his mouth as he panted happily.

I scratched his neck, weakly, and laughed, "That's weeks away. This is much better."

"Shame it only took you falling on your head, eh?" Harry chuckled nervously, ruffling his shaggy hair. He and Dad kind of had the same degree of shaggy going on. It was cute.

"Shrink says I'm supposed to talk to you," I coughed, gingerly pushing myself into a sitting position, wincing at the strain on my previously broken wrist and my still tender head, "Like, a serious talk. Not making you cluck or dance or anything."

"Oh," Harry declared, startled, "Well, ok. Ya... right now?"

I shrugged, "Might as well. I don't think I have too much to say. I'm just supposed to let you know how I'm feeling about our relationship."

He nodded very soberly.

"You're a jerk," I told him, paying more attention to lavishing Dad with head pats and neck scratches, "And I know you're sorry, and that helps, but I can't forgive you for what you did to me."

The boy hung his head, sighing, "I understand. I didn't expect you to."

"But you're still family," I continued, "And you still rank a helluva lot higher than than the Malfoy branch... I mean, I'm not going to forgive you, but I'm going to do my best not to hate you anymore, either."

The corners of his mouth twitched, wanting to curl up into a smile.

"So," I sighed tiredly, yawning and snuggling into Dad's warm furry body, "That's my shrink homework. If he should happen to ask, I did it. Took it serious and everything, right?"

"Completely," Harry remarked, giving his own very faux-serious nod.

I returned it and let my eyes drift shut yet again.

xxXxx

Madame Pomfrey kept me hostage for the rest of the day. She wanted to keep me for two more, but Mrs. Weasley showed up to insist on taking me home and making me stay in bed for a week. Neither option was thrilling, but I did need at least some of the rest. My head had taken some hardcore healing to put back together (skull fracture, you know) and still felt kind of weird, like it was filled with soggy cotton: heavy and sloshy.

We were waiting for Madame P and Mrs. W to finish deciding on the proper avenue for my care, Fred sitting beside me on the bed with his arm around my shoulders. He wound a short shock of blonde around his fingers as he quietly remarked, "I think you should stay here while you get better."

"I hate sleeping in the infirmary," I replied, "Smells like sick people in here." I snuggled my head under Fred's chin, enjoying the fact that I could do so again since Madame P had made Harry remove Dad; not that I didn't like having Dad around, but he'd growled rather menacingly every time Fred so much as looked at me.

Pouting, Fred complained, "Well, if you stay, then I can stay with you."

I laughed, teasing, "You do make an awfully good nursemaid."

He grinned, pressing his lips into my hair and murmuring, "Promise you a spongebath if you stay."

"Come on, guys," George complained from the foot of my cot, "We've talked about this. Unless Stella's getting naked, don't do the sappy couple thing while I'm in the room."

"Sorry, Georgie," I snickered, poking his twin in the stomach, "I'll try to keep Fred on a shorter leash."

"You can keep me on any length leash you want," Fred responded, waggling his ginger eyebrows and tickling my waist.

George let out a rather theatrical groan, flopping back into the cot and declaring, "This is child abuse."

"The only childish part about you is your sense of humor," I quipped, grinning.

He pouted, "Low blow."

Clunking steps at the entryway drew my attention just in time for burly man with grizzled dark gray hair to limp into the room. His face was covered all over with scars, one of which ran straight across a missing chunk of his nose. And one of his eyes was... weird. False and bulging, blue. Rolling independent of the other.

"So you did survive," the man murmured, voice all full of rocks and gravel, "Wasn't sure, what with the way you brained yourself."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to think of a response before finally settling on, "Well, hello to you, too."

He grinned. Or, at least I think he grinned. It was sort of hard to tell. "Where are my manners," the man chuckled, sarcastic, "Alastor Moody, your rescuer, though I wouldn't expect you remember much about it."

"Oh," I declared, "Oh, you found me and brought me in. No one really said who had. Thank you, sir. Thanks a lot. You probably saved my life."

Moody nodded gruffly.

I got the impression that he didn't really like me much and (other than my heritage) was at a loss as to the reason why.

"Just wanted to see if you'd survived," he growled, "Bye now." And then he just left.

I shared confused glances with the twins, finally observing, "That was weird."

"Ya," George agreed, "Moody's kind of a weird guy. Bloody good professor though. Really knows his stuff, and Dad's got nothing but nice things to say about him. He used to be an auror, you know. Took down some real nasties."

"I heard that around," I stated, perplexed. Something bothered me about the man, more than just the obvious of his abrasive personality and disfigured appearance and creepy fucking rolling eyeball and complete distate for me. But, thinking that I was being silly, I just tried to put it out of my head. My head had been through quite enough that week already.

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So that's that chapter. Let me know what you think :)