Part 24 - A Noble and Most Ancient House

After Cedric's funeral, after his girlfriend refused to talk to me and ran off crying, I gathered all my courage and approached his mother. "I was a friend of your son's," I murmured, blinking away tears and vaguely regretting having turned down Fred's company for the undertaking, "I... I'm so sorry. It isn't right. He was one of the best people I've ever known."

Her glassy eyes smiling politely even while the rest of her drawn, delicate features couldn't manage the gracious expression, the woman responded, "Thank you, dear. I know he will be missed greatly by all his friends."

"That's not it," I sobbed, scolding myself for succumbing to emotion when I had so very much to say, "He... Cedric saved my life. Twice. And I hardly have any friends, but he was one of them, a-and... just... know that he's alright, ok? He's not... not in pain. It was peaceful, I promise. And... he wasn't thrilled, but it didn't hurt and..." I choked on a hysterical laugh. "Death has a way of putting things into perspective."

Cedric's mother stared at me, blank and open-mouthed, like she either couldn't process or just couldn't believe what I'd said. For a second, she looked like she might slap me. But, instead, she burst into tears.

xxXxx

"My grandfather died when I was six," Norah Diggory told me softly, staring at her son's fresh grave. We'd been talking for what seemed like hours, the rest of the mourners long gone or at least keeping a respectful distance.

I squeezed her hand, trying to give comfort while I could, while the momentary calm in my own emotional hurricane was giving me a moment of serenity and strength and clear thought.

Mrs. Diggory smudged at her cloudy gray eyes. "I was there," she said, "When he died. I'd been sitting with him all day. He was sick, you see. We both knew that he was slipping away. A-And I asked him, just before, if he was afraid to die. If it hurt." A broken laugh bubbled up from between her thin lips, seeming to startle the woman. She said, "He told me that death is a part of life, that tragedy provides the perspective needed to make joy feel that much more joyful... he smiled and patted my head and said that darkness always turns to light in the end, pretty as a sunrise. And then he was gone."

She sobbed briefly into her free hand, closing her eyes. "My baby is gone," she whispered, disbelieving.

There was nothing to say, so I said nothing.

Norah Diggory gradually composed herself, looked at me and declared, "He wrote home about you. He wrote us every week, and I remember when he first wrote about you."

I remembered my first meeting with Cedric, how he stopped Oliver Wood from raping me. "Your son was a hero," I murmured, "In the purest sense of the word."

Smiling weakly, Mrs. Diggory replied, "He didn't think about himself like that at all. He believed anyone would've done the same, and he didn't understand why you were so... surprised that he cared. He went on for pages about it. He was always... naïve, I suppose... I think that's why he liked the story about my grandfather, why he made me tell it to him so many times when he was small. Amos said he just wanted to hear about the man he'd been named after. I knew it was really because he believed that it was true, about darkness always turning to light..."

She trailed off, gaze growing distant.

"I've been in some truly dark places," I said, cursing the quiver in my quiet voice, "But the light has always found me, whether or not I wanted to, whether or not I thought I had the strength to go on... people will tell you that... that a loss like this will hurt less as times passes. It really doesn't, but you do learn to live in spite of it. Some days are better than others. Some days getting out of bed is just too painful. But it is worth it... to go on, I mean. It's worth it to live, even if it's a whole life spent waiting and hoping for the light to find you again..."

We sat together in silence, staring at Cedric's crisp new headstone.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Diggory told me, giving my hand a fond pat, "Thank you for... well, just thank you. I'd like to be alone now."

I nodded, stood, said, "Please, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything at all. Ever."

She nodded back, a weary movement. She seemed to have aged a hundred years just over the course of our conversation. "Of course," she murmured, "And don't you hesitate to do the same. Come by and see us whenever you like... I think Amos would be very fond of you, when he's feeling a bit more like himself."

We exchanged one more heavy glance. And then I turned and walked away, hugging myself and crying and looking for Fred. I wanted nothing more than to hide myself in his broad chest, in the warmth and strength of his arms around me.

xxXxx

I was told, after waking from my three-day-long hallucination, that the Moody imposter was actually Barty Crouch Jr., Crouch Sr.'s son who was supposed to have died in Azkaban and who Dumbledore suspected was the person that put the Trapdoor Curse on me after I cracked my head open falling down the stairs. In keeping with his practice of doing terrible things to poor little Stella Black, Crouch Jr. stunned me the morning of the third task and threw me in the trunk with the real Moody. My absence was noticed but did not cause much worry; everyone figured I was stalking Rita Skeeter, laying in wait to enact the revenge I'd been planning. (I can't say that the scenario was very far off the mark for what I would've done had Crouch Jr. not interfered.)

The truth was not discovered until that night, until after the task, when Crouch Jr. went after Harry, when Moody and I were found locked in an enchanted trunk in the DADA office.

Moody was fine, slightly malnourished and extremely stir-crazy and missing an awful lot of hair but otherwise unharmed (unless you count the severely bruised ego). He looked after me as best he could while we were trapped together, his sight restored after months in the dark by the light from my charmed charm bracelet. (Afterward, he always had a bit of a soft spot for both me and Fred (and George, vicariously) for providing the useful trinket.)

But, at the time, I was completely out of it, the chemicals I'd been exposed to during the store room explosion having locked me inside my own mind, compromised my breathing to a frightening extent. At first, no one could tell exactly what was wrong with me, but Snape pieced the situation together from having seen his private ingredient stock in shambles when he went to fetch the Veritaserum needed to interrogate Crouch Jr.

They didn't know if I'd wake up; even the great potions master couldn't be certain of the exact effects of the accidental and highly unstable combination of ingredients; he assumed from the scorched state of my throat and lungs that I'd inhaled an awful lot of the potion, and the massive exposure had probably only made everything worse. An expert from St. Mungo's was able to determine that my brain was still functioning but couldn't tell much else. I was given various antidotes, none of which seemed to do any good.

But then I did wake up, all on my own. And I was pretty much fine. My airways had long since been restored, and I didn't seem to have any lasting brain damage. I was able to recount the events leading up to the attack as well as those of my hallucinations.

Dad said that it was a miracle I was alive, that I was damn lucky and should never again even think about confronting anyone who I had any suspicions about, let alone doing such a thing by myself. He chastised me for probably a solid hour before switching his efforts toward complaining about having had to tolerate three days of my hovering hoodlum of a boyfriend (his words). He went on and on about how "that boy" was just plain rude, how he was a pervert and a degenerate and how I could do so much better for myself.

Fred claimed that Dad had tried to bite him, pouting and sneaking a kiss during a rare moment of solitude during the two more days I spent in the Hospital Wing after waking. He said, as gently as possible for my benefit, that my dad was a jerk, that my dad hated him unjustly, abused him constantly, and wouldn't even let him hold my hand.

The story from Uncle Remus was that Fred and Dad had both been kind of obnoxious, but only because they were scared and angry and bored and had antagonized each other without end or mercy. My godfather did admit that Dad started most of the scuffles in one way or another, but Fred stubbornly talked back when he probably should've just kept his mouth shut (probably would've in any other situation). Insults were thrown, as was blame, which was usually followed shortly after by fists. And, yes, Dad did try to bite Fred (while in human form, oddly enough), but only after Fred called him a coward for how he acted the year before, how he watched from the shadows while I fell apart when one damn word from him would've been enough to keep me together. Fred told him to grow a pair, to step up and to stop making excuses for why he couldn't be with me when I so clearly need my father to be a real father. (I had no idea my boyfriend was harboring such resentment and resolved to talk to both him and Dad about it once I was feeling more up to dealing with their macho lunacy.)

The pig-headed pair only finally called a tentative truce when Madam Pomfrey revoked the privilege of having a soundproofed privacy curtain around my bed, forcing Dad to stay as a dog or risk being seen. My father and boyfriend continued to glare and snarl at one another, but neither wanted to be kicked out, so both decided to behave.

After Cedric's funeral, after my long talk with the fallen champion's mother, I walked with Fred out of the cemetery, clinging to him and crying and trying to make sense of the world. I knew that Remus would be waiting for us nearby, waiting to send Fred back to school and to take me back to the Burrow. But I didn't want to let my boyfriend go. Because Cedric had been right: I was tempted to drink it all away. And I didn't know that I could trust myself not to without Fred there to remind me of what I stood to lose by giving in to my sorrow.

"Stel," Fred murmured, stopping us suddenly, turning me to face him. His blue eyes were red rimmed and sad, worried. He cradled my cheeks in both his broad hands, just staring down at me for a few long moments before crushing me against his chest.

I screamed and sobbed, the sounds muffled by his already tear-soaked robes. I twisted my fists violently into the fabric, anchoring myself against the sudden threat of being swept away in a flood of grief and rage and fucking injustice. Sheer helplessness against the evil that had taken my friend.

Fred just held me close, whispered over and over again that everything would be ok.

xxXxx

George came and got us some time later, cautiously reporting that Remus said it was time to leave.

I was exhausted, cried out and pretty much limp in Fred's embrace. He practically carried me over to my godfather, kissed me tenderly and promised quietly to see me that night. He handed me over to get a hug from George, who then handed me over to Remus. Both twins apparated with a crack; they'd gotten their licenses the weekend before the task and had been waiting to surprise me at a time that offered the most potential for comedy and fun. Given the tragedy, they had decided to forgo the plan, which I still think was a shame.

Uncle Remus held me close, petted my hair. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured, "I know Cedric was a very good friend to you."

Nodding, I croaked, "I miss him so much already. A-And I promised I would look after Cho, but she wouldn't talk to me. She barely even looked at me. I don't know what I did wrong."

"Give her time," my godfather replied, "His death is fresh right now for everyone. Emotions are at their highest, and we'll have to cope in our own ways before any of us can move forward."

I hummed in absentminded agreement, closing my eyes. My godfather was always so smart about those sorts of things.

Remus kissed my forehead, told me, "Dr. Fairchild wrote that you can stop by any time to speak with him. Would you like to do that now, or would you like to go home?"

"Home," I answered immediately, too wrecked to even think of dealing with my kindly old shrink.

With a sensation like slow, sucking death, Remus apparated us the short distance to the Burrow.

xxXxx

There were only a few more days of term left, and I spent those days moping by myself in the twins' bedroom. I was left alone, mostly, if you don't count Mrs. Weasley's bi-hourly attempts to soothe my hurt with food, Remus's gentle daily reminders that he was there for me no matter what, Tonks's periodic and largely unintentional offerings of clumsy physical comedy, and Bill's sporadic flying tackle hugs. At the time, I didn't particularly welcome the attentions, but I tolerated them, and I suppose they were good for me; they were a distraction, keeping me from getting too lost in my grief.

Fred came every night, the trip a lot simpler now that he could apparate. I didn't cry as much when he was with me, which was nice. Sometimes we talked until the sun came up; other times, we laid together in tranquil silence. Both options were soothing, the calmest and most normal I'd felt since waking up in the Hospital Wing.

The morning of the day that the Hogwarts Express was set to bring everyone home, I came down to breakfast expecting to be told I'd have to vacate the twins' room and take up residence with Ginny. Which would've been ok. I like Ginny. And it would've been better than being banished to Percy's old room. But I really just wanted to be with Fred and George. They always made me feel better, and I was dreading being kept apart from them merely for the sake of propriety. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop myself from begging to be allowed to stay.

However, I entered the Burrow's kitchen that morning and was vaguely surprised to see that Remus and Tonks were seated at the large table. Their presence itself wasn't altogether unusual; both had been frequenting the Weasley household quite often since I'd begun living there, more since Cedric's death. They just typically didn't show up for breakfast, and certainly not for the same breakfast. In fact, I mused absently, the event was entirely unprecedented...

"Hey," I grunted quietly, giving Remus and Tonks and Bill and Mrs. W sleepy hugs before taking my own seat.

"Good morning, love," Uncle Remus (the most awake and alert of the group) murmured, smiling graciously when Mrs. W immediately plopped an excessively hearty breakfast in front of me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to need to you to come with Dora, Bill, and me today," my godfather reported as he dealt politely with his own meal, "We'll be leaving straight after we eat."

Confused but unconcerned, I shrugged, did my best to choke down yet another plate of food I didn't want. Conversation was limited to remarks of a "please pass the" variety. It took me a stupidly long time to realize that Dora was Tonks and that she and Remus were sharing secretive glances across the table.

Afterward, as we were leaving, I finally thought to ask, "Will we be back in time to meet the train?"

"I don't think so," Remus answered, glancing back to share a brief glance with Bill, who had his arm slung protectively around my shoulders as we walked toward the edge of the Burrow's wards.

I was disappointed but didn't say anything, instead focusing on the way Tonks and Remus walked side by side, their shoulders almost touching, their hands occasionally brushing, so slight it could've been accidental except for that it clearly wasn't...

"Something's going on with them, right?" Bill whispered, apparently unaware that my godfather had slightly superhuman hearing, "They showed up together this morning, and they were staring at each other, and I keep thinking something's going on. Is it just me?"

I thought I could see Remus's ears getting pink.

Chuckling, I commented, "I'm sure they'll let us know when they're ready."

At the edge of the wards, my godfather stopped and handed me a small, folded slip of parchment. "Don't say it out loud," he instructed firmly, "Just memorize what's written, and then I'll burn it, and we can go."

"It's a Fidelius Charm?" I inquired, getting a bit excited when Remus nodded. There were very few secrets in my life that would warrant the use of such a charm; the first secret that came to mind was my dad and his whereabouts. I almost tore the parchment in half in my haste to get at the information it contained. And, since the need for secrecy is many years in the past, I can share that information now:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

xxXxx

After being apparated onto a seemingly deserted muggle street in London and being astounded by number twelve's spectacular appearance from thin air, I was elated to see my dad lounging lazily on the worn front steps of the old towering building. Dad guilty put out a cigarette he'd been sucking on and stood just in time for me to do my traditional squealing and hurling myself into his arms bit.

"Missed you, too, baby girl," he chuckled warmly, pressing a kiss to my temple, "Been holding up?"

"Well enough," I replied. I squeezed him desperately, trying not to get choked up as I questioned, "You're going to stay now, right?"

I felt him smile and nod, heard his deep voice rumble, "I've got a gorgeous, brilliant daughter to look after."

"Come on, you two," Bill interrupted brightly as he and the rest of my entourage caught up, "Let's take it inside."

xxXxx

Dad had warned me that Grimmauld was an awful house, that it was a dangerous house filled with nothing but dark magic and bad memories. Though I'd believed him, I let my excitement kind of override my common sense. Actually stepping inside for the first time was like... wandering into a dungeon--dark, musty, cold, eerie. The only thing missing was the ominous tortured screams coming from somewhere at the end of the long corridor. But, somehow, the quiet was almost worse.

I got chills, shuddering and shrinking in closer to Dad, feeling his arm tighten around my shoulders. He murmured a soft spell, and a few gas lamps and a cobweb-covered chandelier sputtered pitifully to life. The weak yellow light cast long, spindly shadows on the peeling black wallpaper and thin black carpet.

I'd been told to be quiet, as a larger-than-life portrait of Grandmother Black occupied the far wall and its inhabitant had gone absolutely raving mad. (Dad made sure to point out that that wasn't too far a leap from the original.) On one side of the portrait, a grand staircase led upward. On the other side, a nondescript wooden door concealed a set of narrow stone steps that led downward. We followed those into the cavernous basement kitchen. A thick, almost viscous layer of decades of dust and grime covered every surface of the huge room, the countertops and gigantic table and cracked tiles floors.

I would not be eating in there until a thorough cleaning could be performed.

Our little group assembled around the end of the table, Dad at the head and me right beside him and Bill beside me. Remus and Tonks made themselves comfortable across, sitting just a little too close to be strictly friendly and still pretending that they thought no one had noticed.

"We're relocating everyone here," Remus explained in his best professor voice, "You, the Weasleys, Hermione. Harry, eventually. It's safer."

"I agree," I agreed. I looked around expectantly, waiting for the next order of business. We hadn't sat down to pow-wow just for that little tidbit, but I couldn't read anything from the stoic faces that surrounded me.

Tonks took some initiative and cleared her throat, sounding suspiciously grownup as she announced, "Your father and godfather are worried about having you live in such close quarters with Fred all summer. We thought we'd all... have a chat. Lay down some rules."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, I glanced around the circle and saw that they were actually for real. I cracked up, the laughter as loud and as startling as a firework, echoing back off the cold stone walls. "I don't know if any of you people actually noticed," I chuckled, "But I stopped taking orders off any of you about two years ago, and there is very little hope of my starting up again."

"You're only sixteen," Dad murmured, frowning, "We only want to protect you... it's a little early to be getting so serious with a boy. I know you fancy yourself in love-"

"Fred and I are in love," I interrupted. It wasn't how I wanted the summer with my dad to start off, but I found myself staring him down and peevishly snapping, "Nobody is talking me out of that."

Sighing heavily, clearly trying as hard as I was to keep a hold of his temper, Dad answered, "Sweetheart, I remember what it was like to be your age. I remember falling in love with your mum, how right it felt. How bloody strongly I felt it. But I also remember being a teenage boy with raging hormones who would say or do anything at all to... well, you know..."

Both amused and indignant that he couldn't even say the real subject of the conversation out loud, I challenged, "What? Fuck? Ya, Daddy. Teenage boys are horny. I figured that one out for myself."

He frowned again, squirming uncomfortably as a rather boyish blush climbed up his sinewy neck.

Remus chose that moment to intervene, sternly declaring, "Stella, stop trying to shock your father. There's no need to be defensive or combative. We're just concerned that your... fragile emotion state will have you seeking comfort in inappropriate ways. We don't want you getting into a situation you aren't ready to handle."

"Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt," I flippantly announced, mentally grimacing as I remembered my encounters with Oliver Wood. Actually, it was rather insightful that they'd realized I might turn to sex for comfort. Except for the fact that they'd realized far too late to protect my so-called virtue.

Seeing that Dad's face was turning a furious red, I added, "And Fred had nothing to do with it. Not that it's anyone's business, and I believe I've said this before, but he and I aren't having sex. I'm still reviewing my options as far as birth control goes."

I received looks ranging from blank to stunned to irate. With an annoyed eye roll, I questioned, "Is that all?"

"No!" Dad bellowed, all blustery and bothered, "You just... you can't... you didn't.... You are not allowed to have sex!"

Suddenly, I was just exhausted. That had been happening more and more since Cedric died, and all I wanted to do in such situations was curl up and cry until I could fall asleep. "Your objection has been noted," I told my dad.

He flinched back a little, seemingly stunned by the lack of emotion in my gaze.

I turned back to the rest of the intervention and asked, "Can someone show me to my room, please? I'm kind of tired."

Nobody said anything for a few moments. I thought I might've even heard a cricket off in the distance.

And then Tonks cleared her throat. "I'll take you up," she said, offering a weak smile as she rose to her feet (tripping a little when she moved away from the table), "Come on."

xxXxx

Trying and failing to initiate some girl talk, Tonks led me upstairs, past a row of creepy mounted house-elf heads and onto the first-floor landing. My room was at the end of the hallway and looked out over the lush, almost jungle-like backyard; my room was the most habitable one in the entire house at that point, a faint smell of muggle cleaning products hanging in the otherwise fresh air. A huge four-poster canopy bed, decked out in black linens and hangings, was pushed against the right wall; a tall dresser stood near the small closet. The wide window had a little seat attached, a sort of alcove with a black cushion nestled inside behind the gauzy gray curtains.

"Your dad spent the last three days cleaning this room for you," Tonks reported with a fond laugh, "The house has some major doxie problems, and he didn't want you ending up getting bitten and shrunk. He was very concerned that you might be eaten by a cat, even though I don't think there is one in the house."

I felt really horrible about what I'd said to him downstairs.

"Keep the door shut so nothing can get in," Tonks instructed, fiddling with a spot of peeling silver-striped wallpaper, "And don't wander. We'll all probably just be down in the kitchen if you want to join later. Otherwise I'll wake you for lunch... alright?"

"Do you think I should wait to have sex with Fred?" I blurted out.

Tonks seemed startled by the question, opening and closing her mouth a few times as her hair made a gentle slide from bright pink to a sort of murky green (her thinking color, she told me once). "I think that sex and love are very different things," she began carefully, "And you can have one without the other, but it tends to create problems."

With a cheerless laugh, I flopped down on the bed and responded, "So love without sex is a problem?"

"You know what I mean," she murmured. We sat together in the silence for a few long moments. "There's no reason to rush into anything," she finally commented, "As far as romantic locations, this house doesn't even register. And you're pretty much stuck here all summer."

I chuckled and sighed, snuggling down into the blankets. "Thanks," I said, "Your rational reasoning is refreshing."

I heard her laugh softly and then leave, shutting the door behind herself with a quiet click. I wept hopelessly until sleep took hold.

xxXxx

Several tense days passed. I mostly just slept, feeling depressed and discouraged, disappointed that my summer with my dad was starting out so horribly. I thought I was letting him down by not being... better. And I hated myself for thinking that way, hated him and everyone else for making me because I knew that loving Fred wasn't wrong.

Everyone took turns trying to talk me out of the funk, but I was pretty upset at all of them. The only subject I was interested in discussing was the one that no one seemed willing to brief me on: when the twins would arrive. I missed them like crazy and was writing all the time, but I had been warned that any mention of where I was or what was going on needed to be omitted for security reasons. I suspected the adults had some way of checking that I was doing so because the one time I tried to slip in a comment, the letter arrived with that half mysteriously ripped off.

Just before the twins finally did come to Grimmauld, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled out of sleep by a strange dream of Cedric playing with a little boy who had his cool gray eyes and tousled prince-charming hair. I sat up in bed, breathless and disoriented, and nearly bumped heads with Dad.

He was seated beside me, hovering, nervous and uncomfortable, unsure as he reached out to take me in his arms but stopped and pulled back at the last second.

It was like... like a rejection. And I burst into tears, flinging myself against him and sobbing, "I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

"Shhh," he answered, holding me close, rubbing my shaking back, "It's alright, love. It's alright. It was my fault. You're ok. Just breathe for me, love. That's it. You're ok."

When my episode had died down to the weak, gasping hiccups stage, I whimpered, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he sighed. He squeezed me tight and very slowly explained, "I just... I missed so much. Sometimes I still expect to open the door and find you two-years-old again. I'm nowhere near ready to deal with my little girl being an adult or anything close to it."

I giggled humorlessly, teasing, "They say ignorance is bliss."

Dad snorted, "You've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to just ignore you gallivanting around with that boy."

"I do not gallavant," I insisted softly, "And Fred's not just some boy. He's my best friend. He's brilliant and funny and sweet... and if he wasn't dating me, you'd probably like him a lot."

"Your mum always said you'd fall in love with a prankster," Dad commented wistfully, sighing, "Karma and all."

"Give him a chance," I bugged. And, even though I was sure Fred wouldn't appreciate it, I added, "If you give him a chance, I promise not to have sex with him while we're here."

Dad was quiet for a few moments, weighing his options. He obviously wasn't thrilled with the idea of being nicer to Fred, but, on the other hand, it would get him the celibacy of his only daughter, and what father doesn't want that? "Clothing stays on at all times," he ordered, "And hands stay above it... and none of this sleeping in each other's beds nonsense."

I agreed with an eye roll, thinking that the sacrifice would be worth it if I could just get my father and boyfriend to get along. I wanted so badly for them to like each other.

"Alright," Dad said, kind of huffing as he finally pulled back far enough for me to see his crooked smirk, "But that hoodlum better behave himself. He really was quite rude to me, you know."

"So I've heard," I sighed.

xxXxx

The following morning, since I was feeling less like the whole world was conspiring against me, I allowed Dad to coax me out of my room for a proper tour of Grimmauld. He still wasn't pleased to be back in his childhood home, which he swore he'd never set foot in again, but, as we walked and talked, as Dad told fond stories about Uncle Regulus when he was young and showed me the hippogriff stable he'd made of their mother's bedroom, I could tell that he was adjusting.

We ended the tour in the expansive two-story library, where I excitedly began looking through all the old books it housed. Dad grew bored quickly and wandered away to sort out some lunch.

With him gone, I was free to climb the rather rickety old ladder that he'd warned me to stay off. Top shelf books tend to be the most interesting, after all, and I suppose I'm just naturally attracted to places and things that have been deemed off limits.

Unfortunately, as I was climbing back down with an armful of dusty old literature, my foot went right through one of the rotted steps. With a strangled cry, I began to fall, flailing as books went every which way and my body hurtled toward the ground.

I didn't hit, instead hearing an abrupt crack and slamming roughly into a pair of outstretched arms. I opened my eyes (not remembering having closed them) and saw Fred grinning down at me.

"Well, look at that," he laughed, broad grin stretching his handsome freckled face, "Caught me a falling star."

"My hero," I beamed, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging desperately. "I missed you so much!" I mumbled.

"Missed you, too," he sighed. For a few moments, we just held onto each other.

And then a familiar chuckle interrupted our tender moment. "Alright, lovebirds," George crowed, "Break it up! We have serious business to conduct!" With another crack the other twin was at my side, grinning gleefully.

Giggling as Fred set me back down on my feet, I bounced over to his brother and gave him a hug of his own. "I missed you, too, Georgie," I told him brightly, "Now what's with this serious business?"

"It's the summer before our last year at Hogwarts!" the boy excitedly announced, "We're going to have to start now if we want to line up the best pranks! It's time to outdo ourselves, and we need to prepare!"

"Well," I said with a particularly naughty grin, "I did have this one idea for the welcoming feast..."

xxXxx

We were left to own our devices for a solid hour while Mrs. Weasley scolded all the adults for allowing me to live in such a filthy home. As soon as she was finished with the tirade, she proclaimed that everyone would now be helping her clean the whole place from top to bottom.

Ron came to fetch us, cautiously approaching the table we three troublemakers were clustered around. "Um," he ventured, "Mum wants everyone in the kitchen."

We looked up at him, stared for a few moments, and then all busted out laughing.

Face and ears flushing an embarrassed, irritated pink, Ron stomped away muttering, "I hate it when they do that... bloody ominous..."

xxXxx

It was a slow summer, overall good but... frustrating, I guess. And not just because Fred and I had to content ourselves with sporadic, secretive, fully clothed makeout sessions. (What? I have needs!)

My eyes and throat seemed to be perpetually scratchy from all the dust in the air, which made me always look and sound like I'd just been crying even when I hadn't. Everyone took great pains to ask me how I was doing at least three times a day, which, while touching, got annoying fast.

I wrote a lot with Harry, but, like with the twins, I'd been told not to give any pertinent information about what was happening or where we were. It was hard; Harry practically begged for weeks before seeming to give up; his letters got brief and sarcastic.

On the other hand, the house had a widespread doxy infestation. Since Dad and I were allergic, we were excused from a lot of the cleaning until we could be sure that the little buggeres were cleared out. This gave me ample time to explore the library and the backyard, mostly with Dad as my constant companion, but, sometimes, when he was needed for Order business, all on my own.

Toward the middle of the second week since the Weasleys had arrived, I was wandering alone through a sunny copse of trees just out of sight of the back door, perusing the Animagus book and trying to concentrate on tapping into my "innate animal energy." I wasn't having very much luck at all though. Truthfully, I was kind of pissed off. Dad and Fred had gotten into a small spat at breakfast, as they tended to do every morning. The one that day had been about whether or not Falmouth or Ballycastle had better beaters, and it got very out of control very quickly.

And it's not like I minded that they couldn't ever seem to agree on anything. Both had been making an effort toward one another, and we'd all even shared some good evenings scheming and swapping prank stories by the fire, Dad, Fred, Georgie, and I trying to one-up one another until no one could go on for laughing so hard. But Dad and Fred just weren't getting past not liking each other, ruining every otherwise pleasant moment with sniping and snide comments. And I was so sick of hearing them argue and yell and pick stupid, petty fights over anything and everything. Over utter nonsense that was hardly worth the breath and certainly shouldn't have been worth upsetting me.

As if that weren't enough, I'd gotten a letter from Ozzy that morning; it was an apology for not being able to make Cedric's funeral and a packet of pictures taken the night we all went out to Coven together. Cedric looked so happy in all the shots, posed ones and candids, looping his arm around my shoulder or George's or both. My favorite was of him and George: George had grabbed him in the middle of putting on his shirt and was making the boy waltz. They kept stepping on each other's feet, laughing as they bickered playfully over who would lead.

Needless to say, I'd spent a lot of the morning crying, but... I don't know. The sadness was starting to fade. A little. It still hurt, knowing I'd never see my friend again. But I wouldn't trade the time we'd spent together. Not for anything. As the month-long mourning period Cedric had insisted on was drawing to a close, I was actually starting to make peace with his death.

With all this swimming around in my mind, the innate animal energy had no room to surface. I gave up with a huff and let myself collapse onto a crumbling stone bench beside a wide, shallow hole that I thought had probably once been a pond. I sat for a moment but couldn't sit still and was on my feet again in an instant, pacing. Restless.

I just felt... smothered. And, with Cedric at the front of my thoughts, so were the promises I'd made to him. Harry was a mess, blaming himself, most likely, and my efforts to help him weren't doing much good. I was supposed to take care of Cho, but I had yet to get her to even answer a letter. I wanted to march over and make her talk to me, but I had no idea where she lived. And that would've probably been cruel. Like Remus said, she needed time to grieve in her own way.

But patience had never been my strong suit, and I was going kind of nuts in the meantime.

Without realizing it, I wandered pretty far, well out of the area that had been deemed safe. Not wanting to be scolded, I started back, only I must've gotten turned around because nothing was looking familiar. No bench, no dry pond, no house in the distance.

There were Greek replica statues strangled in blackish green vines and a cracked cobblestone path that wound through thick, spiny trees whose roots had pushed up and made the trail treacherous. Another few minutes, and I was thoroughly lost, the sun disappearing as the dense canopy closed overhead.

I told myself not to panic. It wasn't a big deal. I was in my own backyard, for Merlin's sake. A protected location. Even if I couldn't find a way back, someone would come find me. Eventually.

And, in the meantime, I was getting to explore. Albeit in a rather creepy place, but I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. I figured I'd be fine as long as I stayed on the path. It had to lead somewhere, after all, and the most logical place for it to lead would be back to the house.

Then suddenly everything opened up again, the sunshine almost blinding and the cobblestones almost lost beneath a field of high yellow grass. I didn't notice at first, but as I continued on through those grasses, they started putting off some kind of sweet-smelling pollen. Soon it was thick in the air, grainy in my mouth and in my eyes, itchy all over my skin. I kept feeling like I had to sneeze but never did.

I rushed through that spot pretty quickly, still following the path into the trees again as it looped back around on itself. Within ten fifteen minutes, I was within sight of the house once more. Relieved and not wanting to push my luck, I went inside to find Mrs. Weasley puttering around putting together lunch. She greeted me warmly and bade me to sit, chattering about this and that. It was hard to keep track of.

My head was starting to feel funny. Kind of like it was too big, like it was a balloon filling with hot air. And even though it was difficult to concentrate on what Mrs. Weasley was saying, I was utterly mesmerized by the sound of her voice, by watching her lips move and the sounds float out into the room, swirling and bright. Rosy pink with a hint of orange. Her fluttering hands made me think of butterflies, delicate and strong. Fluttering freckled butterflies...

She says she called my name three times before she could get my attention, giving my shoulder a little shake.

I pulled abruptly out of the strangely vivid daydream to find her face just a few inches from my own. Little upturned nose and tired blue eyes, crow's feet and smile lines and other assorted furrows a person could get lost in...

Mrs. Weasley frowned, brushing a cool hand across my forehead as she questioned, "Are you feeling alright, dear? Do you want to lie down?"

"I'm..." I tried to answer but only managed to trail off as the M turned into a long hum that hung in the air, vivid violet vibrato. I stopped only when I couldn't stop laughing, had to shut my eyes because the laughter exploded in front of them like solar flares. Too bright to stare directly into.

Mrs. Weasley was concerned, but, then again, having me laugh uncontrollably for seemingly no reason wasn't altogether unheard of.

By the time I got a hold of myself, Dad and Uncle Remus were there, kneeling on either side of me and also looking concerned. Their gentle words were spilling forth from their mouths in silky sky blue tendrils that sank instead of floating, twined ticklishly around my bare ankles and filled me with love.

"DADDY!" I cried, launching myself at him unexpectedly and managing to knock us both to the floor. Giggling once again, I snuggled into his chest and spun his velvety hair through my uncoordinated fingers. I hummed happily, something tuneless and off-key, and didn't cooperate at all with the efforts to pick my limp body up off the ground.

Back in the chair once again, I was treated to a cursory physical examination, checking that I hadn't hit my head or anything of the like. That was when Uncle Remus noticed the fine gold sheen of pollen clinging to my hair and clothing and skin. As soon as he pointed it out, Dad paled and started swearing under his breath, a stream of black shards tumbling out to mix with the rest of the colors and sounds I couldn't tear my gaze away from.

"Um, Moony," I heard him say, anxiously chewing on the corner of his lip, "You remember, er, the train ride, fifth year?"

Uncle Remus frowned thoughtfully and then glared. "You said you burned it all," he snarled.

"Guess I missed some," Dad said with a guilty shrug.

"Moron," Remus sighed. He turned back to me, finally managed to get my attention and asked, "Stella, love, were you wandering around in the backyard today?"

I nodded, snickering as my balloon head bounced back and forth. "I got lost," I declared, petting his gray-blonde hair, "Don't be mad."

Offering a soft smile, my godfather soothed, "I'm not mad at all, darling girl. Did you walk through some yellow grass? It would've smelled kind of sweet."

"Yes!" I chirped, proud of myself for some odd reason, "There was lots and lots and lots of yellow grass!"

Remus turned to glare at my dad again, hissing, "Lots and lots and lots. Way to go, Padfoot."

"I'm sorry," he answered, voice cracking pitifully. Splintered and sickly, miserable green.

I threw myself at him again, this time not knocking him over but close to it. "Don't be sorry," I insisted, momentarily distracted by the sound and sight of my own crystalline voice, "It makes you turn bad colors."

Squeezing me tight, Dad cleared his throat before murmuring, "Alright, baby girl. Let's just... get you cleaned up."

"Kay," I sighed, allowing myself to be picked up and carried out of the kitchen.

xxXxx

The yellow grass was a creation of Dad's that he had named Euterpe's Delight (after the Greek muse of music). It was a hybrid plant, a cross between several magical and mundane species (including highly potent strains of cannabis and opium poppies and Corinthian laughing wood). He worked on it from the summer before his third year to the summer before his fifth, when he thought he'd finally perfected it for recreational use after having successfully grown a crop in his own backyard.

The train ride to which Uncle Remus referred was the first and only time Dad actually allowed his fellow Marauders to try out his top-secret "Herbology project." The results were... mixed. Initial symptoms of exposure to the pollen include lightheadedness (check), uncontrollable laughter (check), inappropriate giddiness (check), and auditory synesthesia (check plus; seriously, listening to music on that stuff was like watching a firework show inside a kaleidoscope).

Unfortunately, since Dad had done all of his testing while locked alone in his room, he didn't know that the pollen did a bit more than just induce a pleasant high and enhance the musical experience. About an hour after initial inhalation, users experience a phenomenon known as emotional transference, which basically means that they start sensing the emotions of the people around them. Needless to say, the Marauders' being trapped on the Hogwarts Express with several hundred hormonal teenagers was not the best way to discover this fact. And after the horrid episode, Dad's friends had made him swear to burn every last trace of his creation.

Well, obviously that didn't go quite as planned.

But my experience really wasn't bad at all. Knowing what would happen, Dad was able to warn me ahead of time, isolate me for the most part. He was going to sit with me, but he was too upset with himself, and I was getting upset because of it. Dad, Uncle Remus, and Mrs. Weasley had all inhaled smaller doses of pollen and got to enjoy their own little highs; Uncle Remus and Mrs. Weasley were so pissed off at Dad that they weren't able to be around me either. With Tonks and Bill and Mr. Weasley and any other suitable adult off at work, the task of keeping an eye on me fell to the twins.

"Only you, Stel," George laughed, shaking his head as he lounged at the end of my bed, "This kind of stuff only ever happens to you."

"I had also noticed that," I sighed, snuggled happily in the warm glow of Fred's love, hypnotized by the innumerable shades of red in his hair, the glinting threads of gold and bronze and copper mixed into the fiery crimson, "Guess I'm just lucky."

Snorting and fidgeting restlessly as I curled myself around his head, Fred murmured, "That's one word for it." He was amused by the situation but still worried, even though I'd warned him not to be. His worry was a niggling little itch on the soles of my feet, annoying but not too bad.

"So what's it like?" George inquired, ever the researcher, almost uncontrollably curious, "Would you recommend this grass stuff?"

I shrugged and began to braid Fred's hair, reporting, "It's mostly nice. I can, like, see sound. And I can feel what you guys are feeling. But I guess that wouldn't be so much fun if you weren't so sweet and happy all the time." Feeling their rather blatant interest, I added, "I doubt there's a commercial application. It's basically a whole lot of illegal substances bred together and magically amplified."

"But we wouldn't have to include that little tidbit in the patent application," George beamed, "And with some more R and D, we could probably eliminate or at least tone down the less desirable side effects... you think your dad would let us try? I mean, it's a great invention, and he put in a lot of effort. It's a shame he never worked it out."

"Uncle Remus is going to have it all burned again," I said, "He was pretty insistent. And Dad made me shower, but my clothes were covered with the pollen, too, and I stashed them under the sink for later experimentation. I guess the Marauders didn't have the best experience with it, but I think it has potential. It makes it really easy not to be sad."

I felt the twins' concern and realized that I may have spilled a bit too much information. I had talked to them a lot about what I was going through. And I knew that they weren't having the easiest time with Cedric's death either. But I didn't want to worry them. I had done quite enough of that already.

"I'm fine, guys," I sighed, wincing as I experienced the downside of sharing emotions: spiky little bursts at the base of my skull and around my heart. "Merlin," I groaned, "Just... just stop. Someone tell a joke!"

Getting more frantic as they realized they were hurting me, the twins floundered for a few seconds before George insistently announced, "What's the difference between a daredevil and a roomful of blondes?"

"Blonde jokes?" I giggled, "Seriously?" I thought he'd outgrown those around third year, when he and his brother treated me to nearly six months straight of them, in increasing dirtiness.

George grinned, merrily answering, "A daredevil has a cunning array of stunts."

I thought about it for a moment and then snickered, jabbing him in the side with my big toe. "Arsehole," I laughed, relieved as the mood turned considerably lighter, "Why did the blonde wash her hair in the sink?"

"Because that's where you're supposed to wash vegetables," Fred brightly supplied, "What does a blonde think are the last two words of the national anthem?"

"PLAY BALL!" I cackled, breaking up with hysterical laughter. I couldn't help it. My mirth was being magnified by two. Breathing became a bit of an issue.

By the time I calmed down, Ron had wandered in to see what was going on. I could feel that he was bored, slightly wary. And I could also feel that he really missed his own pair of cohorts. Was worried about them.

"What're you up to?" the boy inquired, taking a seat beside George.

The twin in question snickered, "Swapping some jokes. Stella's quite fun when she's stoned."

"I'm quite fun all the time," I argued pointedly.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after Sirius and Remus?" Fred lazily inquired, humming with satisfaction as I went back to braiding his hair. Well, he didn't realize that I was actually braiding it, but he quite liked the sensation of his hair being played with (even though he would never admit such a thing to anyone but me and (reluctantly) his twin).

"They both kicked me out," Ron reported, kind of miserably. He was so sensitive, even though he tried to pretend that he wasn't (but I guess with big brothers like Fred and George, the poor boy kind of had to). "They said that I was being mopey," he declared, "But I wasn't. I think that pollen stuff's just addled their brains. No offense, Stel."

With a bright smile, I taunted, "None taken, Mopey McMoperson." Throwing my arms wide, I ordered, "Now get your freckly bum over here and give me a hug. I don't get nearly enough Ron-love these days."

He radiated confusion. Surprise. Reluctance. And he wasn't going to submit to any hugging.

So I jumped on him. Well, I guess it turned into more of a tackle, bringing us both to the floor in a tangle of gangly limbs. I laughed and trapped Ron into a hug, tickling him when he tried to squirm his way free.

With the twins snickering in the background, I could feel that Ron was getting self-conscious and uncomfortable, so I let him off the hook. "Good hug, Ronniekins," I sighed, sitting up and beaming at the boy, "Thanks."

"Um... you're welcome," he replied, still kind of confused but at least a bit more at ease now that he was marginally sure I wasn't just mocking him. I even got a shy smile out of the boy, a wave of fond affection that I couldn't help returning.

xxXxx

A few days later, when Hermione arrived and pretty much the first thing Ron did was make her cry by saying something stupid and insensitive, I had to rethink any kind of affection I'd been feeling for my boyfriend's youngest brother.

Glaring across the table that Hermione had just fled from, shoving back my own chair to chase after her, I snapped, "Real nice, Ronniekins. You know, you're never going to have a chance with her if you don't quit deepthroating your own bloody feet at all available opportunities."

Fred snorted, and George sniggered.

Ron bristled and blushed at the imagery, going back to shoveling food in his mouth and insisting, "I didn' do anyfing! She's barmy!"

I shot him a look of disgust and stomped away, trusting that the twins would try to talk some sense into the tactless teen.

I found Hermione huddled outside on the front steps, hugging her skinny knees and sniffling weakly, shivering a bit in the overcast afternoon. I sat down beside her, put my arm around her shoulders and didn't say anything for a few long minutes.

"George is still available," I pointed out, grinning kindly when the bushy-haired girl glanced at me in confusion, "In case you ever get sick of Ronnie's bumbling."

She remained disbelieving for a few more seconds before tearfully giggling, "Are you trying to set me up with George?"

Smirking, winking, I declared, "Well, he is quite a lot more charming and intelligent than Ron is. And, in addition to making you laugh at least twice as often, I'm sure he won't make you cry even half as much. Gotta like those odds."

Hermione sniffled a bit, sighing, "I just... I don't understand why Ron has to hurt me like that. We're supposed to be friends. And even if we're never anything more, I would hope that he would value me enough as a friend to put more effort into not making me feel so horrible."

"Ron's a speak-then-think kind of bloke," I pointed out, "But he's not malicious. I know he's not doing it on purpose." After pausing briefly, I added, "Not that that's an excuse or anything. Just... well, you know my solution to the problem. Once you go twin, you won't want their kin."

Again, my nonsensical comments got a laugh from the girl, a brightening of her general demeanor. I counted it as a victory.

The clearing of a throat drew our attention to the walkway in front of the house, where Professor McGonogall stood watching fondly.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, Miss Black," the old Scottish witch greeted as we stood, "I hope you're both well."

"Tip-top, Professor," I chirped, letting Hermione hide behind me a bit as she smudged at her bloodshot eyes, "And how are you on this lovely English day?"

The gray sky chose to contribute to my sarcasm by letting loose the downpour it had been threatening with the entire morning.

Cracking a reluctant smile (as she tended to when dealing with me), McGonogall pulled her cloak tighter and replied, "Just fine, Miss Black. On my way to an Order meeting, actually."

"Oh," I answered brightly, not even trying to hide my excitement, "Well, then I guess Hermione and I had better start rounding up the uninitiated so that we can keep them out of your hair. Come on in."

xxXxx

I had grown to look forward to Order meetings for pretty much just one reason: it gave me a chance to be alone with Fred. And the promise of a few uninterrupted hours in the company of my wonderful boyfriend had me downright cheerful.

Still, being left out did sting a bit. The twins were quite obsessed, actually; they were both of age and deemed their exclusion to be an insult of almost epic proportions. They had tried all sorts of methods for gaining entry, none of which worked.

However, that day would prove to be most productive in their quest.

I sacrificed a bit of my Fred-time to get George and Hermione talking. It wasn't particularly difficult; George really was more of an intellectual match for the girl. Plus, he was on his very best behavior (not that that's saying much) and (more importantly) out to keep a permanent smile on the bookworm's pretty face. My boyfriend and I left them together after about twenty minutes or so and had ourselves a rather lovely afternoon.

By the time we came back, George was already halfway through a prototype for what would be known as the Extendable Ear.

"Hermione won't let me recruit her as a permanent member to our cause," he complained, beaming and huddled together on the floor with her and Ginny, who was looking bemused and playing with a long piece of fleshy string. Winking, George added, "And I think that's a shame. Our gang could definitely use another gorgeous female genius added to the ranks."

Chuckling, blushing helplessly and for once oblivious to Ron's heated scowl, Hermione answered, "He's just being silly. The idea was all his own. I really didn't tell him anything he couldn't have found in a book on eavesdropping charms."

"But that's why you're amazing," George argued, "You allow me to skip the book step entirely." He suddenly pounced on the girl and just about squeezed the life out of her, theatrically crowing, "I think you underestimate just how much I dislike the library! Your assistance is priceless! For the love of all things holy, please don't deny me the limitless fount of your knowledge and brilliance!"

"Easy, Georgie," I laughed, walking over hand-in-hand with Fred, "You're about to strangle your golden goose."

He let Hermione go and offered a somewhat sheepish smile, trying to help her smooth down her frizzy hair as he stated, "Sorry about that. I get excited sometimes."

Hermione laughed in response, soothing, "It's alright. I've certainly experienced worse things than an overenthusiastic Weasley twin."

"One would hope," Fred chuckled, winking at the girl and making her blush even harder. "Now," the redhead said, snatching the fleshy string from his sister's hands, "Someone tell me about the fruits of Hermione's fount..."

xxXxx

And so passed the first half of a long summer. Despite the dust and the cleaning and the fighting and mail-tampering and the house-arrest, I have to say that I enjoyed myself. It was wonderful getting to know my dad, getting to spend whole days with him and my friends and the people who had welcomed me into their family.

The only thing missing was Harry.

On his fifteenth birthday, I sent him a large amount of chocolate and a stack of quidditch books (in which I'd hidden several notes he claims to have never gotten). I went and saw him, but he didn't see me. That was the only deal I could work, after weeks of badgering my cousin to help with the plan.

Harry had pretty much stopped answering letters, and, I'd learned from eavesdropping on Order meetings with the twins' new Extendable Ears, all our letters to him were being searched by both the Order and the Ministry. Intercepted, I believe was the word used. I was, understandably, quite angry. Harry had watched Cedric die, and Dumbledore's answer was to trap him all alone with his psychotic relatives for the entire summer, without even the slightest word of what was going on in his own bloody world, making all the people who actually loved him complicit in such abuse. It seemed pointless and cruel.

"Remember," Tonks reminded me, again, for perhaps the fiftieth time, "He can't know we're here. And don't try to run off. I'll stun you and drag you home and never allow you talk me into anything half so foolish ever again."

Huffing as we laid flat on the downslope of the roof of the house across from number four, Privet Drive, I snottily inquired, "Do you ever get tired of doing what Dumbledore says? I know he's supposed to be this great wizard and all, but, really, he comes across more as a scheming, half-crazy old man. It's like he keeps giving more and more ridiculous orders just to see how far he can push people before they tell him to fuck off. But, you know what? I've told him to fuck off a bunch of times, and I'm not afraid to do it again if he keeps handing out all these asinine orders. Somebody has to."

Tonks shook her head at me, quite clearly exasperated as she commented, "I trust him. And you should, too."

"I don't," I argued, "At least not entirely. This is insane, alright? What could it possibly hurt to have Harry come to us on his birthday? He'll be by in a week and a half anyways! And don't even get me started on the mail thing! It should be a bloody felony to tamper like that! I shudder to think of the damage done to poor Mercury's psyche! He hasn't had much of an appetite all summer! If I have to send my owl to therapy, I'm sending the bill to that old coot!"

As usual with my rants, I could've gone on for much longer (well, indefinitely) but was interrupted by Harry's emerging from the front door of a rather ordinary little house. He stood on the porch for a moment, glancing absently up and down the street, up into the sky. I thought he must be looking for an incoming owl and felt my heart seize up. He seemed thin. Much thinner than normal, anyways, and quite a few inches taller. Very pale. Very forsaken.

Despite the promises I'd been making to Tonks all morning, I immediately tried to jump out of my hiding spot and rush across the street and give my godbrother a proper birthday greeting.

The metamorph at my side was ready to hold me in place, hissing, "I said you could see him and that's it! You're going to get us both in a lot of trouble!"

"Since when have I cared about trouble?" I countered short-temperedly, glaring, "It's practically a hobby. No one's going to know if I talk to him."

"He's gone anyways," Tonks announced smugly.

And, indeed, when I glanced back across the street, just moments after looking away, Harry was no longer anywhere in sight. "Where'd he go?" I demanded, frustrated and disappointed, worried, scanning everywhere and finding no familiar head of messy black hair.

I felt Tonks's shrug against my shoulder as the young woman declared, "I don't know. Anyways, you've seen him. He's fine. We're leaving."

"He's not fine!" I crowed, "He looks bloody awful, and he just vanished!"

"He probably went back into the house," she argued.

"We would've heard the door," I pointed out.

Tonks rolled her eyes and commented, "Then he walked round the back. Whatever. The point is that we're not even supposed to be here and we need to leave right now." She fixed me with a very somber stare, insisting, "He's well watched over. No matter what doubts you have, Dumbledore wants Harry alive just as much as the rest of us do, and the old coot has put a lot of security in place. Now let's go."

I stared at the house for a few minutes longer, willing Harry to show himself so I could have one more look at him. Still nothing, just the wilting hydrangea bushes under the front window rustling in the breeze. "Fine," I sighed, resigned as I shifted on the cold roof tiles, "But can we make one more stop? I'm not meant to be out of the shrink's office for another hour at least, so we have the time."

Smiling graciously, seeming relieved, Tonks asked, "Where would you like to go?"

xxXxx

One of the several promises I'd made to Cedric after his death was that I'd look after Cho. Her unwillingness to speak to me in any medium made the task quite difficult, so I'd decided to take it into my own hands and pay her a visit on that auspicious July 31st. After finally having tracked down the address of the Chang residence, it just seemed like the logical next step.

She lived with her parents in a village in Gloucestershire, near the Welsh border. The area was quite rural by most standards, picturesque but isolated.

Tonks agreed to wait a bit down the lane while I approached the Chang's large manor home. The place reminded me of the sprawling Malfoy estate, lush and well-kept, equally impersonal though admittedly nowhere near as sinister.

I tapped the ornate brass knocker and was greeted by a very short, very prim older woman who spoke with a thick Chinese accent and was more than happy to show me upstairs to her daughter's bedroom.

Cho was just... sitting on the floor, staring at an unremarkable stretch of floral wallpaper. She wasn't really looking good, her normally flawless hair disheveled and obviously unwashed, her round face grey and greasy, clean only where the tears had tracked and dried. She didn't react at all when I came in, or when I sat down beside her, or when I made several different attempts at conversation.

So, instead, I stopped trying to make conversation and just started talking. I told the story, basically. Everything that happened the day Cedric died, everything I promised him. I wasn't sure Cho was listening until she started to cry silently, until the end when I had no more to say and she turned to me, slowly, and whimpered, "I think I'm pregnant."

xxxxxxxxxx

My mind has once again wandered into strange and unusual places. Just go with it. And review, pretty please :)