Part 23 - A Long Strange Trip

"You have to help me," Cedric proclaimed as he threw himself into the seat opposite mine at one of the library's most secluded tables. He yelped shrilly and jumped up almost immediately, apparently having forgotten the days-old tattoo on his arse.

Not looking up from my book, I chuckled, "Well, I suppose I probably owe you a little assistance, but I draw the line at applying any creams or ointments to your backside."

He huffed, sitting down again, this time being careful to keep his weight off his right arse cheek, only wincing a little. "Just call off the twins," the Hufflepuff pleaded, gray eyes sad and hopeful, "They've been following me all week trying to get a look at my tattoo."

I giggled.

"It's weird!" Cedric insisted, glancing around nervously, like he was waiting for a twin to jump out and assault his arse at any second. "They keep... turning up!" he ranted, "Between classes! When I'm in the loo or getting out of the bath! I thought I'd at least be safe in the prefect's bathroom, but no! How do they manage to get in everywhere?!"

I giggled again, greatly amused as I answered, "They have a knack. And I'm sure they'll leave you alone if you just show them."

Cedric blushed, looking a bit scandalized.

"Don't tell me you're shy," I snickered.

"No," he insisted, eyes darting, "It's just... private."

"Does that mean you haven't shown Cho yet?" I teased.

His blush grew darker, possibly the worst one I'd ever seen on the boy. "I talked her into a date tonight," he murmured, smiling dopily, "Being the weekend and all. But I had to promise to let her into the library after hours so that she could make up the study time."

"That's what you get for loving a Ravenclaw," I told him smugly, smirking and winking over the top of my book.

Cedric groaned and let his head flop limply down to the table. "I hate my life," he complained.

"Poor boy," I replied, "You know what would make you feel better?"

"If you say firewhiskey, I swear I'm going to puke."

I laughed, "No. Don't be silly. I've seen how you hold your liquor."

Cedric picked his head up to scowl at me.

"Behold," I answered, showing him my book, lowering my voice, "The complete steps of the Animagus Transfiguration."

His eyes grew wide as he scanned the old, narrow lettering. "You got permission to do it?" he asked, clearly impressed.

Smirking, I answered, "Of course not. The Ministry would never approve me."

Cedric stared for a few moments, seeming to be waiting for elaboration.

"There was a question about Animagi on the Transfiguration OWL," I stated happily, "Got me thinking. I talked to my dad and got him to tell me about when he and his friends learned it, how they got around the restrictions since the Ministry keeps pretty tight control on the text they'd need. He said that he liberated the book from his parents' library. And that, as far as he knew, it was still behind a false panel in the back of his old desk. Which I, coincidentally, liberated from my evil aunt just a few short months ago. Viola."

Grinning, seeming almost giddy with the intellectual goody I'd just handed him, Cedric commented, "Bloody brilliant!" After a brief moment, he paused, looked up at me. "You talk to your dad?" he whispered.

Oops. "Occasionally," I replied, fixing the boy with a very stern look, "He's in hiding so we can't exactly meet for tea, but we have ways to communicate without getting caught. Besides, he's innocent, remember?"

"I know," Cedric said, hands up defensively, "Just... well, whatever. This is still amazing! What animal to do you think you are?"

"A dog, of course," I answered smugly, "Fred and George are having a field day with the jokes, but I think that's just because I said that I reckoned they'd be baboons."

Cedric snorted, commenting, "So the twins are in on this as well?"

I grinned and chuckled, "Our newest secret project. We're going to work on it over the summer. And you're welcome to join, if you're interested."

He smiled slowly. "I know I should say no," he murmured, "But Transfiguration is my favorite subject."

"Mine, too," I chirped, "So what do you think you'll be?"

Cedric shrugged, admitting, "Well, my Patronus is a dove, so probably a dove."

I said, "Nice. George is hoping to be something that flies. You're going to make him wicked jealous."

"What do you think they'll be really?" Cedric asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"I've been reading into the theory side of the transformation," I explained brightly, "How your form is decided is really quite fascinating. Most scholars believe that Patroni don't actually represent a person's innermost soul but rather just the protective magic inside them. The Animagus form, on the other hand, is determined more by a combination of personality and personal desire. George might act like a big monkey, but if what he really wants deep down is to be free and to soar through the clouds, if that's what his soul craves, then that's what he'll probably be getting. It's true that a wizard's Patronus and Animagus forms will usually be the same, but not necessarily, and sometimes only because the Patronus will actually change to match the Animagus form. Patroni are known to change, usually in response to extreme emotional trauma because the protective magical force they draw their strength from is dynamic and will adapt to greater demands by seizing on a totem that's fiercer or more personally comforting or both. An Animagus form, however, will never change, like people can't really change who they are deep down. It's who you are and what you want rather than what you need to see when you're facing down a Dementor. The fact that a Patronus will change to match just means that most people feel a lot of confidence and joy in that form, enough to rely on it, on themselves when the need arises."

"Interesting," Cedric commented lightly.

I blushed a little, chuckled, "Sorry for babbling. I'm pretty excited. It's an enthralling bit of magic, and I've always been a sucker for theory."

"No worries," the boy answered, flashing a charming grin, "You're nice to listen to. Very, very smart stuff. And it's good that you really seem to understand all this. I've heard the process can be rather dangerous."

"People end up with animal brains," I laughed, "They forget who they are and what they were doing. That's why we'll have to take turns at first, so if someone screws up, the others can catch them and turn them back."

Snickering, Cedric responded, "Sounds like we have an interesting summer ahead... I can't bloody wait."

xxXxx

The second week of OWLs went well. I was still kicking arse, still getting whispered about and stared at but nothing I couldn't handle. The head examiner, Madam Marchbanks, stopped me that Friday coming out of the very last testing period.

"Congratulations," the tiny woman said, smiling kindly as her winkles stretched like cracked varnish on an old painting, "My records indicate that you've sat for every OWL this year. I haven't had a student complete such a feat in quite some time."

I beamed, answering, "Not since Percy Weasley, and then Bill before him, the overachieving bastards. I'm trying to tie their perfect scores. You know, rile them up a bit. Keep them humble and on their toes. I think they both need the ego check."

Chuckling, the woman murmured, "Your professors warned me that you'd be funny."

"That was nice of them," I chirped sweetly, "People sometimes find my humor rather startling. It's like they expect me to breathe fire or spew pea soup or something equally unpleasant. But I'm actually quite charming, not to mention adorable."

Again, she chuckled, shaking her little head. She was tiny, substantially shorter than me, wizened and probably older than Dumbledore. "Regardless," she laughed, "I just thought that I would congratulate you on your accomplishment and wish you luck in your coming year. I look forward to seeing your performance on the NEWTs."

Beaming, I shook her smooth, tiny hand and answered, "Thank you, Ma'am. I look forward to see you again as well."

We parted ways. I wandered outside. The twins had Friday afternoons free, so we'd arranged to meet up near the lake. The boys were actually in the lake when I found them, both shirtless, their trousers rolled up past their freckly knees as they waded through the cool, murky water.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, shedding my boots on the bank and splashing out to join them.

Fred scooped me up off my feet bridal style and twirled me through the air and kissed me fiercely in greeting, crushing me possessively against his beautiful freckled chest.

"Oh, get a room," George grumbled, skipping flat stones across the rippling surface.

"That's a good idea," I teased, hanging my head backward to shoot my friend an upside down grin, "Do you reckon your dorm is empty right now?"

"Nah," Fred chuckled, blowing a light raspberry against the hollow of my throat, "Lee likes to get in a late afternoon wank. It's kind of awkward to walk in on, so we all try to make ourselves scarce."

I snorted, slapped him a bit, commented, "In the future, feel free not to share such details. Now, I repeat, what are you doing?"

"Waiting for you, of course," George answered, flashing an impish smile, "My twin wants to throw you in."

"What? NO! FRE- AHHHHH!!"

I came up spluttering, to the sound of the twins' raucous laughter. I was waist-deep in the lake, and, after spitting tepid water out of my mouth, fighting my limp, drippy blonde hair out of my eyes, I glared and hissed, "You're awful. Both of you."

"Don't be mad, love," Fred cooed sweetly, "A swim is traditional after exams! It's good luck!"

"My arse!" I grumbled, "You just wanted my shirt soaked through. Pervert." Not waiting for an answer, I flopped into the surprisingly pleasant water and floated on my back, pointedly ignored the continuing laughter on the bank.

Within seconds, both twins had jumped in to join me, coming out to float on either of my sides. We stayed like that for awhile, quiet and comfortable.

"So," George finally announced, "One more year. Where has the time gone?"

Fred made a low noise of agreement, splashing me a bit and adding, "Seems like just yesterday we were being humiliated by a scrawny first-year on the train."

"And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon..." I sang softly, giggling when I sensed the twins' confusion. "Never mind," I said.

An easy silence settled, drawing us together in the peaceful moment that I found myself wishing would never end.

When it inevitably did, I hexed the twins' eyebrows purple and ran like hell, laughing all the way back to the castle.

xxXxx

Instead of coming to personally collect me that evening (like he'd been doing ever since getting over the effects of the moon halfway through the first week), Remus let me stay longer at Hogwarts for one final dinner. I thought maybe he was actually trusting me again, but, I found out later, it was actually because Harry wrote and begged him, swearing that he just wanted to pick my brain for some more spells he could use during the task.

Which was true. That was his main motivation. The twins and Cedric, however, had an entirely different purpose in mind when they talked the poor hapless boy into their nefarious plan.

"Consider it an intervention," George laughed, his arm around my shoulders as he and his brother practically dragged me toward the Great Hall, "You're not going to be able to keep avoiding public meals next year, you know? The elves in the kitchen are nice and all, but they have no sense of humor. It's like sarcasm is a whole other language to them. Your talents are being wasted."

"Besides," Fred contributed from my other side, his arm low around my waist, "What's the point of having a smoking hot girlfriend if I can't show her off to the entire student body and make them all melt with jealousy?"

Sending a quirky grin over his shoulder, Cedric contributed, "I just enjoy your engaging company."

We walked into the Great Hall, and, like was usual for whenever I had shown my face in crowds during the past two weeks, conversation grew momentarily hushed. All eyes on me. It's an... itchy feeling, knowing that everyone's watching you, talking about you, most likely badmouthing you. For me, it was made even worse by the fact that probably sixty percent of those present had happily taken part in viciously wearing my admittedly high self esteem down to a half-insane nub.

But I wasn't like that anymore; I'd gotten better. And I'd resolved to never let anyone or anything make me feel that bad about myself ever again.

"You alright, love?" Fred whispered gently, giving me a light squeeze.

I hadn't realized how much I'd tensed up.

"Fine," I replied, staring down a gaggle of gaping Hufflepuffs, "Just debating whether or not throwing a few hexes would be worth the unavoidable lecture."

George chuckled, "That's our girl."

We chose to sit at the far end of the Gryffindor table, Cedric and I both causing a fuss with our presences, even more so when Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny joined us after just a few short minutes. Lee Jordan came over, as did Cho Chang. Joshua Lerner and Matthew Summerby, two Hufflepuff friends of Cedric's, let their curiosity get the better of them and wandered over about halfway through the meal. They seemed intimidated by and maybe even a bit frightened of me, but they made the effort. And they were at least pleasant and polite, which was more than I typically got from people; I suspect that Cedric, bless his little heart, may have had words with them beforehand.

It was nice. I chatted with the girls about silly girly things, whispered with Cho a bit over our hunky boyfriends. I told jokes that had had even Lerner and Summerby laughing out loud. Lee--who'd always been cordial but never quite personable in my company--was very impressed with the twins' lurid eyebrows, so I taught him the hex I used (with Harry as our Official Guinea Pig Bitch).

When it was time to go meet Uncle Remus in Hogsmeade, Fred insisted on walking down with me, biding a long, loud, theatrical goodbye to his equally absurd twin. I hugged Cedric and Cho, gave Harry a fond punch on the arm and made Ginny promise to write even though we'd be seeing each other again in less than a week when I came to watch the third task.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Fred teased, tucking me tight against his side as we enjoyed the leisurely late-twilight stroll. The weather was still fair, warm and calm, the sun just barely gone. We had the time so we'd decided to walk the long way to Hogsmeade, to enjoy that much more of each other's company.

I let my head fall to rest on his strong shoulder, humming, "No, I suppose not... things are going to be a lot better this year, I think."

Laughing, Fred agreed, "Definitely."

As we neared the front gate, I heard a small voice hesitantly call, "H-Hello? Is anybody there? Can you help me, please?"

Fred and I jogged together toward the source of the noise, quickly finding a small, sandy-haired Slytherin boy hanging from one of the two winged boar statues on either side of the gate. He was held up by the waistband of his pristinely white y-fronts, which were stretched almost up past the top of his head. It was the most painful-looking wedgie I'd ever seen.

Indeed, the boy seemed like he might've been crying, dark eyes red-rimmed and glassy, round bottom lip and tense limbs shaking. He had a red-purple bruise on his cheek and blood crusted under his swollen nose and on his disheveled collar and green tie. I guess that he must've been beat up before being strung up.

"Oh wow," I chimed, immediately bringing out my wand, "Don't worry, we'll have you down in a second."

"No! Wait!" he yelped, too late to stop me from flicking my wand in an attempt to levitate him off the boar's hooked tail. All it did was cause his pants to stretch even further, the boy himself to whine and kick futilely as he dangled far above the ground. "I already tried that," he whimpered, scrambling for a nonexistent foothold against the tall stone pillar, "It's charmed."

"Crap," I muttered, "Sorry! Just, uh, hang on. Pun not intended. Sorry. We'll get you down." I kicked off my shoes and climbed the gate, Fred waiting below in case he had to catch me. I reached the boy, putting my arm around his tiny waist and pulling up a bit to relieve some of the weight. Though it wasn't much weight, I'm sure it must've seemed like a lot when it was constricting his poor nethers.

The charm wasn't at all complicated to remove. A joke, actually, clearly the work of only a first- or possibly second-year student. One quick, general counter and I was lifting our unfortunate Slytherin's pants off the boar's tail, carefully handing the lad down to Fred. I gave the menfolk a few moments of privacy to get the briefs out of the boy's crack before jumping down myself.

"Are you alright?" I asked the boy, tilting his face a bit so that I could get a better look at the angry bruise encompassing almost his entire left cheek, "Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

He flinched, blushed, grumbled, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered, magicking away the blood and dirt on his face and clothing, repairing a ripped pocket on the front of his shirt. Gently probing at his nose and determining that it was not broken before waving off another spell to lessen the swelling, I questioned, "How long were you hanging up there?"

His blush grew more severe, shame-filled. "Since before dinner," he admitted, meek and unable to meet my gaze.

Tutting softly, I offered a small smile and said, "That just won't do. Growing boys need to eat. How about you walk with us into Hogsmeade, and I'll buy you a nice sandwich at the Three Broomsticks?"

Startled, the boy stuttered, "I-I. Well. I-I'm only a first year. W-We're not supposed to."

The gate began to creak open, and Professors Sprout and Hagrid stepped out from behind the wall. Professor Sprout had a basket of fresh green seedlings, and her chubby little hand was in the crook of Hagrid's massive elbow; Hagrid was carrying a huge wooden crate on his opposite shoulder. Both professors had fond, gentle smiles for me.

I began to wonder how long they'd been standing there listening.

"Normally," Professor Sprout said with a small, kind grin, "I would not allow students to be outside the grounds."

Fred and the Slytherin boy shifted nervously.

"However," she went on, flyaway grays erupting from beneath her patched hat to frame her round face, "If Mr. Weasley promises to have Mr. Raeburn back in his dorm before curfew, and if the outing can be kept discrete, then I believe an exception is in order."

"Thank you, Professor," I beamed, "Fred will have him back. Right?"

A bit stunned, Fred quickly agreed, "Oh, ya. Ya, of course. I'll be the best chaperone ever."

Chuckling gruffly, Hagrid commented, "I 'ave a feelin this is trustin the wolves to guard the sheep, but yeh kids go 'ave fun. No mischief, mind. Gotta be settin a good example fer the younger years."

"We always do," I laughed, taking Fred by one hand and Mr. Raeburn by the other, "See you later, Professors. Have a good night." And with that, the three of us wandered off through the gate.

xxXxx

The Slytherin boy's name was Quentin Raeburn, and all I managed to get him to tell me about the people who'd beaten him up was that they were from his own house, that they picked on him because he was small and because, although he himself was a pureblood, his mother had recently given him a muggle-born stepfather and a half-blooded baby brother.

Quentin was a nice kid, quiet but smart and seemingly in awe of the warm, bustling interior of the Three Broomsticks. I had to keep reminding him to eat instead of people-watch. As far he knew, the boy told me excitedly, he was the only first year who'd ever been to Hogsmeade. He couldn't wait to tell his best friend, a first-year Ravenclaw named Stewart Ackerley.

Remus arrived right on time, at little perturbed by Fred and Quentin's presence. I said my farewells to both, earning some random whistles and catcalls when I kissed Fred goodbye. I made my boyfriend swear once more to get Quentin back safely to his dorm, made Quentin swear to let me or Fred know if he had anymore problems with being picked on. I then let my godfather escort me back to the Burrow and scold me a bit for encouraging delinquent behavior from first years. Once I explained what had happened, he calmed down considerably and even looked a bit proud.

The weekend was nothing special. I wrote back and forth almost constantly with Fred, giving my owl Mercury a nice workout. Fred had no trouble taking Quentin back to his dorm, and he and George had been providing the boy with a bit of bodyguard service ever since, not to mention testing some new products on Quentin's tormentors. (Figuring out exactly who they were hadn't been difficult; I've found over the years that bullies tend to lack subtlety along with creativity and intelligence and normal human empathy; it's all just part of the package.)

Mrs. Weasley gave me some more knitting lessons (socks!), and I taught Mr. Weasley how to play Monopoly on an old set he'd managed to procure for himself (though a lot of that time was spent just explaining the game tokens themselves; a thimble, indeed). Bill arrived from Egypt on Monday, excited about going to see the task. He demanded an evening at Coven with Tonks, Ozzy, and me, which was a lot of fun but far tamer than my previous excursion (and did not end in tattoos or vomit of any sort).

I had an appointment with my shrink, which also went pretty well. We'd scaled back to only seeing each other about once a week and were already talking about going to once every two weeks since I was making so much progress. It was good to hear that I wasn't quite as crazy anymore (though I had little hope for ever again being able to call myself truly sane).

The morning of the task came. Rita Skeeter's awful article about Harry came out, calling him "disturbed and dangerous." I seethed all through breakfast, plotting my revenge. Bill kept cracking wary jokes about wanting to be warned of any schemes in advance so that he could get himself out of the line of fire.

I travelled to Hogwarts with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, where we were all going to surprise Harry and visit with him during the family time before the task. I was eager to see my godbrother and Cedric as well, who had written me several times making sure that I'd be there because he wanted to introduce Cho and me to his parents.

On the way to meet the champions, however, I excused myself on a trip to the loo and took a quick detour to the dungeons and Snape's private store room instead. I was looking for something hideous I could dose Rita Skeeter with, some bubotuber pus or possibly some Veritaserum, if there was any in stock; it would've been pretty amusing to force that shrill bitch to tell the truth for once in her miserable life, but I wasn't sure that punishment alone would be harsh enough for the slandering hag.

I easily broke into the store room; I'd been doing it since my first year and was very familiar with the cell-like enclosure, its dim, spooky lighting and immaculately organized rows of tightly clustered, free-standing shelves. I browsed a bit through the stacks, considering my options.

About three rows in, I turned away from a canister of high-grade dragon liver and jumped nearly out of my skin when I came face-to-face with Professor Moody. "Hufflepuff's hemorrhoids!" I gasped, chuckling weakly as I tried to get my heart rate back to normal, "You scared the daylights out of me!"

The man kind of freaked me out in general. Never mind that he'd probably saved my life when he found me after I cracked my skull open falling down the stairs. He was still just... off. Everybody thought he was a great professor and a great man, which might've been true, but he didn't even try to hide the fact that he didn't particularly care for me. His creepy fake eyeball and scarred face only made him that much more imposing and unnerving. And, I don't know, something about him felt... wrong. Like wearing shoes on the opposite feet. Irritating and uncomfortable.

The former auror said nothing, fixed me with a calculating scowl as his sinister false eyeball rolled about in its mangled socket. He leaned heavily on the cane in his left hand; in his right hand, he had several glass ingredient containers.

I smirked. "I didn't see anything if you didn't," I offered hopefully, "Far as Snape's concerned, we can both be just thieves in the night."

"Fine," he growled in reply, all-seeing gaze hostile and unsettling, shifty, "Get out of here."

For some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. "Ya, in a minute," I stalled, trying to keep my distance as I backed further into the store room, "I haven't found what I'm looking for." I probably should've taken the opportunity to make a run for it, but something wasn't right, and I didn't want to get within arm's length of the threatening auror blocking the path to the exit. My plan was to go around the other side of the shelves and bolt.

Moody looked like he might growl again, so I cut him off before he could, my eyes flicking down to the ingredients he held. "Powdered bicorn horn and shredded boomslang skin?" I observed teasingly, only because I default to humor in prickly situations, "Brewing up some polyjuice, eh, Professor?"

He said nothing but his expression grew even more dark and disturbing. The man slipped the ingredients into his coat pocket, his gnarled hand emerging wrapped around his wand.

As soon as I saw the handle, I dove between the nearest stacks without thinking, barely dodging a stunner that flew past my ear and hit the farthest shelf, exploding the ingredients there in a monstrous chemical reaction that let loose a horrid gurgly shriek (like whistling fireworks that had been thrown into mud). I crawled frantically away as the broken ingredients mixed and hissed and the closed room rapidly filled with a noxious, pale gray fog, as the clearly insane professor's clunking limp clunked along in my wake.

Coughing as quietly as I could manage, pulling my t-shirt up over my mouth and nose, I scrambled along on all fours. My knees and palms got scraped to hell. My eyes teared up, my throat got scratchy, my head light. But I had to concentrate on staying conscious, on keeping shelves between Moody and myself. I didn't understand anything about the situation except the fact that I was in danger. I took my wand in hand and held on for all I was worth.

I stopped suddenly, realizing that I could no longer hear the old man's cane or false leg scuffing against the floor. I backed myself into one of the walls, eyes wide and wild but unable to discern anything through the thick cloud. My skin was starting to get tight and achy. My head kept getting lighter and lighter until it felt like it was floating a few inches off my neck. My neck hurt. The forward-most part of my brain throbbed, flushed with a strange warmth like too much blood was gathering just behind my frontal bone.

I thought I saw a dark, hulking shape in the fog, becoming more distinct as it moved toward me. I tried to lift my arm, tried to shout a spell, but neither my limbs nor my voice were cooperating any longer. And everything around me was growing fuzzy and... swirly.

It was hard to remember what was going on, why there was panic welling up in my chest. Why I was having such a hard time breathing.

The dark shape in the fog emerged as Professor Moody, wearing an expression of pure malice and a Bubble-Head Charm. He looked pretty much unaffected by the strange cloud.

I wondered, briefly, why I hadn't thought to do such a charm on myself. Oh well, I mused, too late.

And then the professor was standing over me, raised his wand and brought it down with a flash of red. And I could no longer think about anything at all.

xxXxx

I woke to someone poking me repeatedly in the forehead, a little-girl voice whining, "Stella! Mummy says you have to get up!"

Groaning, I rolled over in an unfamiliar bed, opened my eyes to a... vaguely familiar room. I sat up. Looked around. Was sure of it: I was in my old bedroom, in our old house, where we lived before Dad got arrested. Great Uncle Alphie's place. The large room had been repainted, from pink-and-white stripes to an explosive crimson red. Quidditch and band posters hung crookedly from all the walls, and the pile of dolls and stuffed animals on the big squashy window seat had been substantially scaled back, replaced mainly with discarded clothing and shoes and, strangely enough, quidditch gear. My old child's bed was no longer present, replaced with the beautiful four-poster canopy in which I found myself, my long legs tangled in soft black sheets.

I glanced down, saw a little blonde girl standing patiently beside the bed, rocking back and forth on her tiny bare feet, swishing her frilly pink skirt around her skinny legs. She couldn't have been older than five or six, and her eyes were bluer than mine, bright and open and framed by impossibly long lashes.

"Who're you?" I asked, kind of lost. I remembered... something... fear and panic, a foul fog. But there was no trace of such a thing. There was just... this room. My room. A happy, well-adjusted room.

The little girl wrinkled her adorable little nose at me, giggling, "You're silly, Stella. Now, come on! Harry and Uncle James just flooed in, and they're going to eat all the bacon before we even get any!"

"What?" I gaped. My head hurt. So did my chest. Like I'd recently almost drowned. "What are you talking about? What am I doing here?"

Frowning with concern, the little girl climbed up onto my bed, kneeled at my side and reached out to carefully feel my forehead. "Are you sick again?" she demanded, hugging me suddenly, snuggling into my lap. "Should I get Mummy?" the sweet sprite questioned.

My arms wrapped around her miniscule body, petted her shaggy, golden-blonde hair. "No," I whispered, disturbed by the situation but... also kind of soothed by it. Curious. "I-I'm fine," I insisted, "I'll just, uh, get dressed now. Ok?"

"Ok," she chirped, planting a light smooch on my cheek before hopping off me, off the bed. Humming cheerfully under her breath, the girl skipped out of the room.

Alone, I just... took in my surroundings, tried to piece together what was happening. Feeling like I was on auto-pilot, I got up and wandered over to where my closet used to be, found that it was still there but had been turned into a walk-in with a cluttered vanity and a huge mirror that took up nearly an entire wall.

I stared at myself in the mirror, saw that I was me in every way but also very different. I was still tall and lean and tan, but my body had more tone, subtle cuts of muscle in my arms and legs and flat stomach. My hair was longer than it had ever been, a riot of blonde waves spilling messily to mid back. It was... so strange. To see me and yet someone else entirely.

The clothing options in the closet were vast and diverse and impressive. I had a hard time imagining anyone needing that many outfits. I settled on a pair of loose, well-worn jeans and a plain white tank top.

I wandered through my room and then out of it, through a house that felt like one long case of déjà vu. I touched the pictures hanging in the hallway, noticing new ones had been added; they showed me and my mum and my dad over years we had never spent with each other, picnics and Christmases and quidditch matches that we never shared. Many of the photos included two other girls, one of whom I had met in my bedroom (a bright, smiling baby, toddler, child); the other girl was a little older, had straight black hair and, in all the pictures of her as a gangly pre-teen, she scowled a lot and glared at me while I posed coyly inside the frames.

The railing and the staircase showed signs of obvious wear, the dark wood lighter and smoother where countless hands and feet had gone up and down it. In the living room, I found that we had a different couch but the same coffee table, the same fluffy sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. Mum and Dad and I used to curl up on that rug sometimes, roast marshmallows and cuddle and laugh.

I walked past the brilliant blue wall where Mum used to mark my height. Except the marks for me didn't stop at two-years-old. They stretched upward, notches and neat writing until "Stella, age 16" sat even with the top of my head. And there were two other sets of marks, one that stopped just below my shoulders at "Ariel, age 13" and one that stopped around my hips at "Meadow, age 5."

A nearby commotion drew my attention, and my feet carried me along until I found myself standing in the doorway of our sunny yellow kitchen, staring at... at something that just couldn't be.

My mum was there, older but so much... lighter, happier than I'd seen her last. As if grief had never aged her. She wore a white sundress and a neat blue apron. Her blonde hair showed no signs of gray and was piled haphazardly atop her head, strands falling straight and perfect around her shapely mouth and warm brown eyes. She held a platter of scrambled eggs, dancing around the crowded table as she served out more portions, paused briefly to press a kiss to Dad's forehead.

Dad was... he was healthier, like he'd never gone to Azkaban and been tortured for twelve years. He was still fit and muscular, boyish and classically handsome, his long hair and short goatee sleek black and impeccably groomed, his blue-gray eyes bright as he joked with the man beside him. Uncle James. Who looked the same as I remembered him but almost two decades older, proudly wearing smile lines like battle scars around his wide grin and bright hazel eyes.

Beside Uncle James sat Harry, thick hair its usual mess but lightning-bolt scar conspicuously absent. He was taller, more muscular, obviously better cared for. He tried and failed to duck out from under his dad's hand when the man gave the boy's chaotic locks a fond tousle. Harry pushed his fashionable rimless glasses up his nose and whined about being treated like a baby; he was fifteen-years-old, for Merlin's sake!

The girl from my room was there, the sweet little blonde thing laughing and chattering, standing on the chair next to Dad's to reach across the table for a napkin, getting her hand slapped playfully away as Dad transferred her to his lap, scolded about proper manners and tickled her until she was squirming and her ecstatic giggles filled the wide open room.

The other girl was there was well, the scowling, black-haired girl from the pictures in the hallway. She was almost painfully thin, small and awkward and guarded. Her long hair obscured her pale face as she sulked into her breakfast, picking at the meager portion and occasionally sending jealous glances toward Dad and the tiny blonde. She wore black, baggy materials that hung from her bony frame like window drapes.

Harry noticed me first, grinning brighter than I would've thought possible for him (like he wasn't constantly being crushed under the weight of saviorhood). "Morning, Stel!" he cried out, friendly and loud, stuffing his face without pause.

"M-Morning," I stammered, only half-aware of being frozen and wide-eyed as everyone glanced my way, as the laughter stopped and their expressions grew a bit worried.

"Are you feeling alright, my darling?" Mum asked, crossing the room in an instant and pressing a slim, cool hand to my forehead and cheek.

I was taller than her, I realized, by a half foot at least. I'd never realized that. "I'm great," I breathed, unable to look away from her warm brown eyes. My own eyes felt hot and swollen as I fought back tears of giddy, baffled delight. I seized my mother into a desperate hug, barely biting back a sob.

"Sirius!" she scolded, rubbing my shaking back, "Did you let my daughter get concussed again?! No more frigging quidditch for any of you! That wretched game needs to be outlawed!"

A chair scraped back from the table, and then Dad was beside us, running his fingers through my hair as he probed my skull for knots. "She didn't get hit," I heard him say, "Honest, Leda. After last time, I would've had her straight to Mungo's just to be safe. What's wrong, baby girl? Did something happen?" He snarled a bit, adding, "Is it that boy?"

"What boy?" I croaked, perfectly content to never let go, to never move out of my parents' loving embrace.

Dad chuckled, tugging playfully on my ear as he said, "Now I know you're taking the piss. Come eat some breakfast and quit making your mother think I've let you get another brain injury."

Reluctantly, I let myself be pulled away from my mum, let Dad guide me to sit beside him at the table. Mum fixed me a plate while everyone else stared, kind of concerned, kind of uncomfortable at being watched like exhibits in some kind of sick, strange museum. Conversation gradually started up again, not quite as loud.

"Ari, don't play with your food," Mum scolded lightly, standing behind the skinny teen girl and gathering her long black hair away from her frowning face, braiding swiftly. It was easier to see that the girl was pretty, had Dad's gaunt, aristocratic features, Mum's brown eyes.

The girl's frown deepened as she let her fork clatter to the still-full plate. "I'm not hungry anyways," she murmured, shoving herself back from the table, "I'll be in my room."

"You're coming with us today, aren't you?" Uncle James asked, practically twitching with excitement, "It just wouldn't be the same without my favorite little storm cloud."

The girl, Ari (Ariel?), huffed but grudgingly smiled. "Mum said I could get a kitten," she reported softly as she left.

Dad made a vaguely disgusted noise, hiding his face behind a copy of the Prophet when Mum shot him a warning glare.

"What's her problem?" I wondered aloud.

"Just the usual teenage angst," Dad teased, winking, "Be thankful you didn't catch it quite as badly as your poor sister did."

"Leave her alone, Sirius," Mum scolded, "It's a phase, one that I quite clearly remember you going through back at Hogwarts. You brooded and tripped over yourself almost constantly during third year, sprouting wood every time the wind blew crooked. Then you showed up to fourth year twice as tall, three times as cocky, and four times as horny."

Dad flashed a bright grin and answered, "And that's when you fell madly in love with me, correct?"

Arching a thin blonde eyebrow, Mum responded, "Oh, is that the story we're telling the children these days? Not the one about you being absurdly obsessed and jumping on the staff table and singing ballads to me at the top of your lungs until I was so embarrassed that I agreed to go out with you just to get you to shut up?" She fluttered her eyelashes prettily, smirking a smirk I'd often seen on my own face after particularly excellent jokes told mostly at the expense of others.

Harry, Uncle James, and I all laughed boisterously, even more so when Dad blushed, a seldom-seen pinkish tinge. He sulked a bit into his eggs, cuddling the little blonde girl in his lap and complaining, "Meadow, my love, they're being mean to me again."

"Don't be mean to Daddy!" she ordered cutely, shaking a tiny, disapproving finger at all of us.

"But it's fun," Harry argued, sending a sly glance in my direction, "Not to mention easy. Besides, there's no one else to be mean to ever since Ari got all hormonal and terrifying. I don't fancy another kick to the bollocks."

"Watch that mouth, Harry James Potter," my mum ordered from over by the stove, "Don't think I won't tell your mother on you."

"Yes, Auntie Leda," he chimed rather insincerely, rolling his eyes so that only I could see.

I giggled feverishly into my meal.

The situation was still... absurd. Impossible. But I allowed myself to relax into it anyways, eating scrambled eggs and bacon and fruit, laughing with everybody. Uncle James teased about my older boyfriend (referring to him only as "that boy") until Dad looked like his head might pop. Harry was bold and confident, funny and just a bit crude: frighteningly normal. He joked around with me, and it wasn't at all awkward or sad; it was like nothing bad had ever happened between us, like we were the close, loving cousins I'd always wanted us to be. Mum promised Meadow ice cream if she didn't wander off in the Alley.

When it was time to set out to the aforementioned Alley, Ari had not surfaced. Mum sent me upstairs to fetch her. Harry came along as well.

"It's been a whole month since you broke up with Wood," he commented with an impish, easy-going smile that looked fitting yet strange on the boy, "When're you going to put your dad out of his misery and actually tell him?"

"I was dating Wood?" I questioned disgustedly, astounded at my ability to make bad decisions no matter what the circumstances (even in some odd alternate timeline).

Harry glanced and me strangely. "Is your brain damage coming back?" he murmured, "That's really going to hurt our chances at the Cup."

"I'm fine," I said, "Just... um... I had a weird dream... so I was dating Wood?"

"Nearly two years," Harry answered, regarding me skeptically, "Ever since you grew those monstrous tits and he realized there was an actual female on the team."

Only vaguely perturbed by the uncharacteristic wording, I nodded and muttered, "That sounds about right." I paused a bit and then gaped, "Wait, I'm on the quidditch team?"

Harry stared at me, stopped me in the upstairs hallway with a hand on each of my shoulders. "Ok, whoa," he said, "Now you're really freaking me out. What's going on?"

"Uh..." I stammered, "I'm... on drugs?"

"Oh," Harry answered almost immediately, rolling his eyes, "Well, way to be subtle about it, Stel. And whatever happened to sharing with your favorite cousin, eh?"

"Sorry," I said.

He shrugged, chirping, "Whatever. So when's your first date with Fred?"

"Fred?" I asked hopefully, "Fred Weasley, right?"

"No, the other redheaded beater who's been madly in love with you for years," Harry went on, smirking and ribbing me lightly, "I can't believe he finally got the balls to ask you out. Ron said he's been all sappy and stupid ever since. Do me a favor and don't crush him, ya? I don't think I could take the glares at the Burrow, not to mention the retaliation from both twins. I'm meant to be talking Fred up."

Nodding, I replied, "Ya. Of course. Fred's great."

Ari was listening to loud music in her dark, all black room (the one across from mine that used to be Dad's office). The girl scowled when I poked my head in to tell her that she was wanted downstairs. She refused to engage in conversation even while Harry and I bantered comfortably back and forth. Harry had quite the mouth on him.

Soon we were all in Diagon Alley, school shopping, I learned. Mum took Ari off to find her kitten. Ari scowled and nearly threw a fit when Meadow and I said we wanted to come, but Dad finally convinced us that we'd have more fun with the boys in Quality Quidditch Supplies.

And it was fun, all of us taking turns chasing Meadow through the crowded streets, throwing her playfully over shoulders or up into the air whenever we caught her. In the quidditch shop, Dad, Harry, and Uncle James clustered around the newest broom, drooling. They professed confusion and concern when I didn't immediately join in with the same reaction. Apparently, I'd been trained to be a quidditch nut.

"I... already saw that one," I explained dumbly, far more interested in the five-year-old hanging from my neck. She was so small and sweet and pretty. A vivid rainbow in tiny human form. She babbled about anything and everything, about how Uncle Remus promised in his last letter that he'd bring us lots of chocolate back from his trip to Switzerland.

We wandered some more, meeting up with Mum and Ari and Ari's new black kitten that the girl was naming Zeus. I stuck close to Mum's side, watching her in awe. I tried to talk to Ari, but Ari was sulking and wouldn't talk to anyone but Mum and Uncle James. So I listened instead, and that was alright. Ari was quiet, rather intelligent but immensely insecure. I saw a dress that I thought would look nice on her, but when I told her so, she thought I was teasing and stomped off in a huff. Mum scolded me, saying that I should try to be more understanding toward what my sister was going through, that she was in an awkward phase and feeling very sensitive about her body, that she needed our full support.

We spent hours together gathering school supplies, and afterward our group headed over to the ice cream parlor. Uncle James treated. Meadow batted her big sparkly eyes and flashed her dimples and charmed the old witch behind the counter out of extra sprinkles for herself. I hung back while everyone sat at a table outside, just watching, still mystified by the bittersweet sight of the family I was supposed have to have. I had no idea what was going on, but I was finding that I no longer cared. I didn't want it to ever end...

"Hey, Stel," another familiar voice greeted.

I turned and saw Cedric leaning against the wall beside me. He was wearing school robes, and his face was streaked with dirt, his hair messy and slightly damp with sweat. My friend graced me with a sad smile, nodding toward my almost-family and commenting, "They seem nice."

"They are," I murmured, "They... that's my family." Stubbornly, like just saying it could make it true, I insisted, "I have a mum and a dad and two little sisters named Ariel and Meadow. Harry and I get along, we always have. Aunt Lily owns an apothecary, and she's helping Uncle Remus fight for international werewolf rights. I play chaser on the House team, and Fred and I are going on our first date next weekend. He already wants to marry me." The back story was popping into my head. It felt true, real. I tried to believe wholeheartedly, selfishly that this perfect life was mine. All mine. Quidditch-induced brain damage and all.

"Stel," Cedric sighed, pushing himself up off the wall, closing the distance between us, "You can't stay here."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. My throat felt like it was on fire, my eyes filling with frustrated tears. "We're having ice cream!" I nearly shouted, "Meadow got extra sprinkles because she's so freaking cute!"

"None of it's real," Cedric told me softly, taking my hand. His skin was freezing, but his grip was strong. "Remember the store room?"

My surroundings were starting to grow hazy. I could barely see my family at the table in the distance, could barely hear their conversation and laughter. It was going away, all of it.

"Stop!" I sobbed, trying to run to them, to catch them before I lost them again.

Cedric held me back, with seemingly no effort. He pulled me closer to him until he could wrap his arms around me, until I was sobbing into his chest as the wonderful fantasy fell away around us.

xxXxx

It was quiet.

"I didn't think I'd be able to pull you out so easily," Cedric murmured, "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"I wanted it to be real," I croaked, exhausted in countless ways. My legs buckled, and the Hufflepuff guided me carefully to the ground. I felt... grass.

I opened my eyes and saw that we were outside, sitting in the middle of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch.

"It wasn't real," Cedric explained quietly, contentedly, his thick arm still around my shoulders, "It was the fog making you hallucinate the family you always wanted. Sort of an elaborate 'what if.' Be sure to tell the twins about what happened. It'll be the key to figuring out their daydream charm. And tease them a bit about not having thought of adding an airborne potion component to initiate and stabilize the effects. It's so obvious. And tell them the dosages have to be really small, no more than thirty minutes or people will get lost in their fantasies. I won't be around to save you if it happens again."

Calming down a bit, wiping at my eyes, I regarded Cedric for a few moments. He seemed a bit pale, and his chest was as cold as his hand had been back in the Alley. "Why are you here?" I finally questioned, "Are you a hallucination, too?"

"No," he said, giving a quirky, cheerless smile, "I'm dead."

"Oh," I replied. I frowned, hugging my legs tight against my chest and adding, "Am I dead?"

He chuckled, flicking messy fringe out of his brilliant gray eyes. "Nah," Cedric told me, "You're only unconscious. You'll wake up eventually. And my schedule is wide open, so I'll keep you company until then."

I nodded and picked a few blades of grass, fiddling idly. "How did you die?" I asked.

"Voldemort," Cedric declared, offering a brief shrug, "He snatched me and Harry at the end of the third task, ported us out of the maze. I got the killing curse." Cutting me off before I could cut him off, the handsome seeker soothed, "Harry's fine. We made sure he got away."

Again, I nodded. I didn't know what else to say. My surroundings still felt completely genuine, the breeze and the sunshine on my skin, a clean, summery smell hanging in the air (with just a hint of pineapple). Yet, at the same time, the situation was entirely surreal. I was hallucinating a chat with a dead man, after all.

"It's not fair," I pouted, glancing up at Cedric's handsome face. I could feel myself starting to cry again, angry and hurt.

Cedric just grinned, toyed with a bit of loose thread in the worn knee of my jeans as he laughed, "Life isn't fair. But you already knew that. You knew that long before you knew me, love. And I'm alright. Really. I mean, I'm not thrilled, but it didn't hurt. And death has a way of putting things into perspective."

I couldn't find the strength to laugh with him, crying weakly as I murmured, "I'm going to miss you so much, Ced. I... I don't get to have many friends. And that makes the ones I do get really special. Priceless, you know? I hate the idea of losing you."

"That's ok," he chuckled, "I'd be pretty offended if you didn't."

That did finally get a laugh out of me. I smacked him softly, relaxing into his embrace, hugging him back, crying a little more and then going silent. It didn't feel weird at all. Except for the fact that Cedric was so cold, it was very comfortable.

"Can you do me a couple favors?" Cedric asked, I'm not sure how much later. It could've been hours, as time seemed fluid and imprecise. Unimportant.

I nodded, sniffling, "Absolutely. Name 'em."

"First of all," he said, still smiling even though I didn't understand how he could, "Don't be too sad for too long. You have more joy inside you than any other person I've ever met. It's... stunning, really. Rare. And I don't want to be responsible for making you hide it away from the world."

"Ok," I agreed with a weak cough, a halfhearted chuckle, "So what kind of mourning period are we talking about here? What's the Diggory-approved timeline?"

"Two weeks, maybe," Cedric thoughtfully replied, "A month, tops, if you must... And don't start drinking again. I know you'll be tempted, but Fred hates it when you drink. He's so proud of you for stopping."

I swallowed down a hot, hopeless lump in my throat. "What's second of all?" I asked.

"Make Harry see that this wasn't his fault," the young man declared.

"Probably not going to happen," I joked flatly, "Little bother is an insufferable martyr."

Laughing, resting his head on top of mine, Cedric said, "Ya, well, try anyways. If anyone can get through to him, it's you."

Nodding, I prodded, "What else?"

"Don't tell my parents about my tattoo," he chuckled, "Ever."

I laughed again, inexplicably and inappropriately amused. "I was going to get it worked into your eulogy," I teased, "Possibly even your epitaph. 'Here lies Cedric Diggory. He had a drunken purple butterfly on his bum.' But I suppose if you insist... what else?"

I felt Cedric's mouth curl up in what I could tell was one of his stupidest, dopiest, most besotted smiles. He pressed a chaste kiss into my hair and whispered, "Look after Cho."

xxXxx

I woke slowly, dazed and sore, and was annoyed to find myself in a cot in the Hospital Wing.

(I had been spending way too much time in there lately and resolved to try harder to avoid the place from then on.)

The room was dark, but I was able to see Fred sleeping fitfully in the bed to my left, Dad transformed and snoozing on my legs. I struggled to sit up without disturbing either of them, peering about, trying to determine for sure if I was firmly back in reality. Because nothing really felt that much different.

In the midst of attempting to make this rather difficult distinction, I noticed that the Hospital Wing had one more resident: a glowingly pale yet very much awake Alastor Moody. He was propped up in the cot across and several down from mine, both his false leg and false eyeball distinctively absent. Without them and without the majority of his clothing and hair, the man seemed a lot less intimidating. He seemed small and old and tired, held together by nothing but scar tissue and stubbornness.

"You stunned me," I hissed, narrowing my gaze, "Arsehole."

His thin, mangled mouth quirked up into a bit of a dry grin. "You'll find that wasn't me at all, Black," he growled, voice unusually weary, "I've been the unfortunate victim of identity theft."

My brain, perhaps, was not yet back at full function. "Someone stole your credit cards?" I asked stupidly, confused. The odd exchange did absolutely nothing to convince me that I had broken free from the peculiar what-if I'd created inside my own head.

Moody stared across at me, apparently trying to judge if I was serious or just profoundly strange.

(I was, of course, both.)

"I was kidnapped," Moody explained, like the very idea was still rather painful and personally insulting, "Locked in my own damn trunk while some scum Death Eater walked around in my skin all year, plucking my arse practically bald to keep himself in polyjuice."

"Oooooh," I murmured, "That makes a lot more sense... actually, that makes everything make a lot more sense... I knew there was a reason why you creeped me out... well, not you. The arse-plucking imposter."

Moody snorted on the force of his unexpected, gravely laugh, seeming to startle even himself.

Before we had a chance to converse further, my godfather strode in from Madam Pomfrey's office, blowing absently on a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He nearly dropped it when he saw that I was up, catching the beverage in one hand and sloshing a bit on his robes and on the floor.

"Stella," he breathed, utterly relieved as he immediately moved to my bedside, "You're awake! We thought- they said you might not- how do you- are you alright?"

I laughed at his flustered stammering, soothing, "It was certainly a long strange trip, but I think I'm ok... unless I'm still hallucinating, in which case, where's the Swiss chocolate you promised us?"

Remus gave a worried, slightly hysterical guffaw, running his slender fingers through his tawny-gray hair. "I'll just go fetch the nurse then," he responded, scurrying back into the office, nearly slipping in the puddle of hot chocolate he'd neglected to clean from the floor.

I giggled at him. Then stopped, horrified, turning toward Moody once more and somberly, urgently questioning, "Is Cedric really dead?"

The old auror was not at all taken aback by the inquiry, not like anyone else would've been had I asked them straight out of the clear blue sky like that. He only nodded, the hole where his right eye should've been eerie and dark.

I cried into my father's warm fur until a golden new day spilled over the horizon.

xxxxxxxxxx

Aw, poor Cedric. I was just starting to like him... anyways, reviews are needed to appease Cedric's cheeky ghost so that it does not rise again to walk the earth and feast on the flesh of the living... or something... :D