Disclaimer: Stuff you recognise isn't mine.
This is one of the few times I will stray away from canon. Obviously, it's a little AU to the epilogue (Ginny isn't there, etc) but I'm doing something else: Oliver Wood is based on MOVIE Wood. Not book Wood. Personality wise he's more like book Wood, but looks-wise I always imagined Oliver as Sean Biggerstaff (actor who plays Oliver in the movies). So yeah.
Also, JK has said that Luna and Rolf get married much later than the other couples, but I didn't find that out until way after I'd written that, so count it out, OK? They all married and had kids around the same time/decade. That's all!
Chapter 2: Come and Go
"Now she's back in the atmosphere
The drops of Jupiter in her hair
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there's a time to change
Since she's returned from her stay on the moon
She listens like Spring and she talks like June."
- Drops of Jupiter by Train
Nicholas Wood lounged on his seat, mindlessly thumbing through the latest copy of Which Broomstick? and taking sips of milk from the cartoon. This, he thought as he lifted his feet to rest on the coffee table, is the life.
Or, it would have been the life. The life was rudely interrupted by an intruder who went by the name of Alexander Wood. The older boy strolled into the room with his broom in his hand and stopped short when he saw his little brother.
"Is that – are you drinking straight from the carton?" Alexander asked with a look of appall on his face. Nicholas put the carton down.
"Don't act like you never do it, I've caught you at least three times," Nicholas said. With an eye roll, he turned back to his magazine.
"Still," the older boy shrugged. Nicholas looked nothing like his brother. He had been told on numerous occasions that he looked exactly like his father had at 16. Alexander, on the other hand, had darker, longer hair and a thinner face. His eyes were a cool grey, rather than Nicholas' dark brown. He was, however, a Wood through and through: proven by the Quidditch Captain title that he had received during his school years – one that Nicholas recently discovered he too had achieved, much to his father's pleasure.
"Are you going out?" Nicholas asked, eyeing the broomstick in Alex's hand.
"Yeah. Catching some friends. Oh, mate – you've got some fan mail."
"Oh, awesome," Nicholas said, holding his hand out expectantly. Alexander stared at it. "Where is it?"
"I don't have it on me, it's in my room."
Realization dawned on his face just as Alexander grabbed an apple and headed to the door. "Did you go through my mail?"
"I might have!" Alexander called back. "Can't prove it! By the way," he paused at the door, turning around to stare at his brother. "That Alexis sounds fit. I hope you're hitting that."
And on that crude note, he turned and left the house. Nicholas hardly hesitated after the door shut, and sprinted to his brother's room. The door was open ajar. Inside the small bedroom was a tip. Clothes lay scattered everywhere, discarded objects were all over the floor. Alexander had a hobby of collecting junk he didn't need and putting it in places that would harm anyone who tried to enter. You needed a map just to get to the bed – where, Nicholas noticed, a collection of letters lay. Nicholas, whose room was in a similar state, carefully made his way across the room, unperturbed by the mess, and sat down on the bed (moving a pair of boxers out of the way to sit). He gathered up the letters and went through them, one by one.
Nicholas' fan mail was not, contrary to popular belief (due to a rumour Alexander spread about him), actual fan mail. It was just letters from his friends, which came in rather large numbers, which was why the family had started calling it "fan mail."
The first was indeed a letter from Alexis, his girlfriend of last year, who he had conveniently managed to not see all summer. He had assumed, as the train pulled into the station, that it would mean the end of their casual romance, seeing as she lived in a remote farm in the country and he lived nearLondon. But alas, she did not share this view. It wasn't like he didn't like her, because he did, she was fine. It was more that she was a little bit possessive… and obsessive… and borderline psychotic…
The doorbell rang as Nicholas skimmed Alexis' letter. He heard his father call "I got it!" and quiet conversation downstairs, but he didn't really listen. As he reached the end of the letter (finished with a few too many xoxo's) the conversation died away.
The second was from the Scamander twins, telling him about their summer in the forests ofNigeria. They got the venom from some animal, whose name he couldn't read, and they can't wait to be back… Lorcan fell in love, again… Lysander can't wait to be home, he's getting bored (who wouldn't be? How many beasts are there really to find?)… signed with a heartfelt "See you when we see you."
"Feeling the love, boys," Nicholas mumbled to nobody as he set the letter aside and picked up another one.
"Who are they from?" a small voice piped up from the doorway. Nicholas jumped, almost crushing the letters in his surprise. A little girl stood there, watching her brother, her light brown hair pulled back into a tight braid down her back. She smiled at her brother, and clambered over the junk, onto the bed.
"My friends," he answered as he helped her onto his lap.
"Your magical friends?" she asked.
"Yes, Cee," he smiled kindly. She nodded. "Did Mum do your hair like that?" he asked in an effort to distract her. She pulled the braid from behind her back.
"Mhm. Let's go to my room." Grabbing her brother's hand, the ten-year-old steered him out of the room and into her own. He let himself be taken into the small, pink bedroom at the end of the hall. The room was every little girl's dream – there was a dollhouse in one corner, and an overload of stuffed animals in another. Paintings from when Cecelia was little covered the walls. A small, frilly bed sat against the wall, covered again in stuffed animals. A desk in the corner was littered with schoolbooks. Instantly, she climbed on her bed and started to jump.
"Don't jump, Cecelia," Nicholas said quietly, "You'll break the springs." Though this was hardly a problem.
"Why not? Dad does it all the time," she shrugged, but she stopped jumping, and just stood on her bed, barely taller than Nicholas, who was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "I hear it sometimes."
"Dad's Dad," he explained simply, taking a step into the room.
"He does it with other people, too," she said. She took a final jump, landing on her bottom on the edge of the bed. "Girls."
Nicholas frowned. "You mean Mum?"
She shook her head and beckoned him over. When he came, he leaned down so she could whisper it in his ear. But as soon as she inhaled to whisper, she broke into a fit of inexplicable giggles. Nicholas pulled back. "Who does he do it with?" he pressed, but when she wouldn't stop giggling, he started to attack her with tickles. "Who?" he repeated as she shrieked with laughter, trying to roll out of his grip. When she cried for mercy, he lowered his hands and sat himself next to her.
"I didn't see her," Cecelia said quietly when they had calmed down. "But she was there all night." Nicholas said nothing. He rubbed his eyes. He'd be out of here soon anyway. He ought not to bother with these stupid things. They weren't his problem. "I wish I could come with you," said Cecelia after another long pause. He reached out and squeezed her small, warm hand.
"Next year," he said. "You can come with me. You're just not old enough." He didn't say it, but they both knew what hung over them like a suffocating smoke. What made his promise so empty. "You know what I've been thinking?"
"What?"
"In two years, when I graduate, we should go on a holiday."
Cecelia's eyes lit up. "Where to?"
"Wherever you want," he shrugged.
"Can we go toSwitzerland? We learnt about it at school."
"Yeah," he answered quietly, "of course we can. I've always wanted to go toSwitzerland. And we can go toRomania; I'll show you some real live dragons."
"AndAfrica?"
"Yeah, of course. It'll just be us. Dad and Mum don't have to come."
"And Alex?"
"Do you want him to?"
"Alex is mean to me," she said in a small voice.
"Then he's not coming."
Cecelia started to laugh again, softly at first. And Nicholas started to tickle her again, and soon they were laughing so loudly nobody could hear the squeaking of the bed in the room on the other side of the hall.
Suddenly the desk next to the bed gave a loud shudder, and moved a few inches. A few pencils dropped to the floor. Nicholas stopped to stare at it in awe. Nobody spoke. Nicholas waited, hoping it would go again. His stomach bubbled with hope.
"I kicked it," Cecelia said quietly after a moment. Nicholas dragged his eyes from the desk to look at her. She was staring at the floor. She didn't speak as she grabbed her doll and walked out, leaving Nicholas alone, staring after her.
Luck is conceptual. Luck is for those who believe in it. Luck is for those who need faith. Who don't believe in coincidences. Rose, luckily, is one of those girls who believes everything happens for a reason. That luck is for those who really need it. It was lucky that when Hugo was five, he cracked his skull and had to be taken to the hospital. It was lucky that her parents were so distracted by this they didn't notice her 10/20 on the spelling test. It was lucky Roxy let her borrow her homework. But it wasn't lucky that she inherited her mother's brains, like her father always said. No, it was lucky she had perfected a certain art before her parents could catch on.
But she needed to tell him. If anybody had a right to know, it was Scorpius. Scorpius was a luck guy – maybe that was why they fought more than most of their friends. He didn't believe in coincidences. His motto was "shit happens." Like when she asked why she had walked in on Al having a passionate tongue battle with Elizabeth Coldon and he had answered, "Just 'cause he's horny, probably." He didn't question anything. Or search for answers.
And she knew he wouldn't be mad if she told him. And she had to tell him. As they sat on the couch in her attic, her legs resting on his and their lips locked, she decided she had to tell him. She pulled back. He looked like a sad puppy as he flicked away a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes.
"Hey!" he cried dramatically. "I was enjoying that."
"I need to talk to you," she said boldly. She was going to do it. He had a right to know.
"Shoot."
"I… I think you should talk to Al."
Or not.
"What?" Scorpius frowned. "What about?"
"I think…. You know, I think he's feeling lonely. It must be hard to have your two best friends get together –"
"Not like he didn't see it coming –"
"And I think you should talk to him. He might want to talk to you, too."
"What are you even on about?" He sighed and sat back. "If he wanted to talk, he has girls lining down the block for him –"
"But he wants to talk to you!"
Scorpius sighed and ran a hand over his face. "We talk all the time. We're fine. Stop meddling."
"Meddling?" cried Rose, pulling her feet off him and sitting up straight. "I'm meddling?"
"Yes, you're meddling! Leave it!" He mimicked her action.
"So by caring for my cousin and wanting to not ruin a friendship –"
"Is that what you think you're doing? Me and Al –"
"Al and I-"
"- are still the same as we were a year ago. Nothing's changed, except you're just getting paranoid."
"He doesn't talk to me half like he used to, and I know you guys have some serious communication problems –" She was on her feet now, glowering down at him.
"For fuck's sake, Rose –" He too jumped to his feet. Now he had the higher ground, being at least a head taller than her.
"- and you can't expect me to overlook those issues. He needs a friend, Scorpius! You're supposed to be his friend!" She looked desperate now, desperate for him to see.
"I am his friend, Rose. I'm his best friend. And as his best friend, I know when he wants to talk –"
"No, I know what this is! You're just scared -"
"Scared?"
"Yes, scared! Scared of showing any real emotion! Probably because you'll implode or something –"
"I can't show fucking emotion?" he shouted back. He grabbed his bag by the door and swung it over his back. "Fuck this. I don't need this."
"Hey! No, Scorp –" Rose cried, chasing after him as he started to descend the stairs. She managed to grab his arm, but he shook her off.
"How's this for emotion?" He held up his middle finger angrily as he ran down the stairs, two at a time. He didn't say anything to Hugo, who was sitting on the couch, apparently trying to teach wizard's chess to the cat.
"Did you guys fight?" Hugo asked without looking up.
"None of your business," mumbled Scorpius. He tried to get to the door, but Hugo stood up, blocking his way.
"It is my business," he said bravely. He puffed out his chest and tried to look mean. Scorpius had to resist the urge to laugh.
"Just move, kid. I have placed to be." Hugo gave in easily. With a soft shove, he gave way, letting Scorpius through to the door with a look of contempt.
"If I hear anything about you being mean to her again, I'll –" Hugo started, but Scorpius slammed the door in his face.
Upstairs, Rose stifled a sob. How could a lie, a cover up, end in this? She should have just said it. Now she's ruined everything. All because she was too scared to admit the truth.
She climbed down the stairs and into her room. The door shut itself behind her – a charm she had put on it a few years ago when it became apparent that Hugo liked to sneak into her room. Her bedroom, she noted, was still as neat as it was when Scorpius has coaxed her into going up into the attic with him. Her trunk lay open in the corner, her clothes folded neatly in them, her books on top. She remembered the first time she'd done it. It was first year, and she stole Alice Michaels' notes for her exam. She denied it outright, sendingAliceinto a tearful spiral of stress. Had she known, even then, what it would lead to? To her, at the time, it had just been first year exams. It had been the look on her parents' faces; the smug look on Scorpius'. It wasn't serious. She let it get out of hand.
And this was just the beginning.
The Leaky Cauldron was quiet that afternoon. There were only a few people, which was strange, because the Leaky Cauldron was usually rather busy, but the usual buzz of conversation resumed. Hannah topped up the firewhiskey for Gordon, one of her favourite regulars. Neville discussed recent news with Demetria, another regular. Hannah listened casually as she manually cleaned a benchtop, more for something to do than anything else. With a flick of her wand, she could have done the same job, but she was eyeing Neville and Demetria with curiosity as she discussed the paper in front of her, one that neither Hannah nor Neville had read yet.
"They say we're as safe as we'll ever be," Demetria was saying, "what with Harry Potter running the department?"
"No," agreed Neville, exchanging a look with Hannah over Demetria's head. "Nobody better than him."
"Well, you should hear what they're saying. Not allowed to publish it, no-sir-ry," she rambled. "They all spotted a Dark Mark in Godric's Hollow – in his own village! An old friend of mine, she was first on the scene, awful story. Woman burned to death! No doubt work of Death Eaters, no doubt about it, but you wouldn't hear a peep of it! He's trying to keep it all hushed up, doesn't want to cause panic, always said he was smart, didn't I? Yes, it was awful…"
Both Hannah and Neville had been listening attentively, transfixed in horror. It took the ring of the bell above the entrance to bring them back to reality. However, it was only a young family, passing through on their way to Diagon Alley. Hannah acknowledged them with a wave. Demetria had stopped talking and was now taking sips of her Butterbeer.
"I might owl Harry," Neville told Hannah quietly before dashing upstairs.
"Of course," Demetria continued, unaware that her audience had halved, "Nobody could have predicted it. I say we don't judge until we know the full story! No witnesses could speak, see, they only came too late. But…"
She was interrupted again by the ring of the bell, and this time Hannah looked up in time to see a familiar brunette make her way into the bar. She looked frazzled and nervous as she made her way to the counter, sitting on a stool furthest away, looking around gingerly. Hannah couldn't remember where she'd seen her. She excused herself from Demetria, who hardly noticed her walk away, and smiled at the new addition.
"Anything for you, love?" she asked. As the woman looked up to meet her eyes, Hannah's smile dropped. She knew this woman. "Oh."
The woman smiled at her, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Hello, Hannah."
"What are you doing back here?" Hannah said coldly. The woman looked afronted.
"I was hoping for a drink," she said casually. Hannah didn't move.
"It's awfully bold of you to come back here," Hannah said. "Any particular reason? Or you just thought you'd pop in?" Her voice was mocking.
"Is Neville around?" asked the other woman brightly.
"He's in the back, he won't be here for a while," she lied, and hoped he would not reappear. "You changed your hair."
"Oh!" The woman's hands jumped to her hair. "Yeah, I did. The red was very… attention grabbing."
"Yes, I can imagine," Hannah mumbled. "Wouldn't want to draw any attention to yourself." There seemed to be nothing left to say. Hannah grabbed a cloth and started to wipe down the benchtop again. After a few moments, the woman spoke again.
"Listen, Hannah," she sighed, "I need a room."
"We're booked out," Hannah snapped instantly.
"The Leaky Cauldron's never booked out."
"Well, we are today. Very busy."
"Hannah, I have nowhere to stay," the woman almost begged, though she tried to keep the plea out of her voice.
Hannah stared at a spot on the benchtop, though she made no attempt to clean it. "How long do you need?" she finally said.
"A week, I suppose. How much room do you have?"
"Most… fine. You can stay. It's 50 Galleons a night."
"Oh, Hannah, thank you, this means so much, you've really –"
"Yeah, alright. But there are rules."
The woman swallowed. "Right, of course.
"I trust you know what's on Friday?" The woman nodded, and a pink flush spread to her cheeks. "Yeah, you stay inside. The parents like to come back here for drinks after they see their kids off. So you'll make yourself scarce. Is that agreed?"
The woman seemed to want to say something, but held her tongue. She nodded guiltily. "I will." Hannah started to walk away, hailed by a man asking for another Butterbeer, when she was called back. "Oh, Hannah! I just… one more thing. I was only wondering if you needed any extra hands? I could do with the money, and the way things are going, you'll need help, wont' you?"
Hannah was saved from answering by the bell of the door. She looked up in time to see a young man enter, pulling off his traveling cloak and shutting the door behind him. He was tall and lanky, with dark hair that fell around his face and a friendly smile. He made his way over to the bar, grabbing a stool a few away from the woman and waving at Hannah. "Hey, Hannah Banana! Howsit?"
"Quinton, how are you, dear? The usual?" She handed him a Butterbeer, which he drank happily.
"Doing great, sweets, doing great. I was over in Diagon Alley, this morning actually, and you'll never guess what I saw – Harry Potter! In the flesh!"
"Oh," Hannah smiled. "How lovely! He seems to be popping up everywhere, doesn't he?"
"Yeah, I was gonna stop and maybe say hi, but he was with his kids, didn't want to interrupt. Buying books, I 'spect. Not to mention the crowd he drew just by standing there. Couldn't wait to get out of there, though, it seemed. Really edgy. But it was really him!" He cried again, as though Hannah had not understood.
Hannah wasn't paying all that much attention, however. Her eyes were on the brunette in the corner, who was watching Quinton with rapt attention. "Diagon Alley, you say?" the woman asked quietly. Quinton turned to answer her, clearly grateful that his news had not gone unnoticed, when Hannah snapped, "oh, you mind yours!"
"Hannah-Banana, you didn't introduce your friend!" Quinton scolded playfully. He held out his hand to the woman, who shook it shyly. "Quinton Destiere."
"Quinton, this is Ginny," said Hannah coolly before the woman had a chance to lie. "Ginny Weasley."
Ginny almost shot her a look of contempt before remembering herself. "Pleasure," she smiled falsely.
"Oh, blimey! Look at this!" he turned to Hannah, not letting go of Ginny's hand. "You didn't tell me you knew Ginny Weasley, Hannah! Ah, what an honour! You should've said something! You're Ginny Weasley!" But almost as soon as he said the last few words, he remembered. He dropped her hand like she had pinched him. "Blimey," he breathed, and there was no excitement in his voice. "You're Ginny Weasley." He tried to collect himself. "Where are you staying, Ginny Weasley?"
"Here, I think," she said. She met Hannah's eyes, and Hannah nodded quickly.
"Ah… how long've you been here, Ginny Weasley?"
"It's just Ginny. And only a few hours. Hannah… I don't think you answered me, I was wondering –"
"Show me some credentials," Hannah interrupted sharply, "and I'll consider it."
"Oh, thanks so much, I don't know what I'd do without you, you're a lifesaver!"
"Yeah, yeah." Hannah brushed her off before rushing to serve another customer. It took Ginny a moment's awkward silence to realize she was still being scrutinized by Quinton. However, before she could speak, someone came through the door behind the bar, looking slightly dazed. He was burly and tired-looking, with a kind, round face. He looked around the bar, and as his eyes fell on Ginny, he inhaled sharply.
"Hi, Neville," she smiled tenderly.
"Ginny," he exhaled, making his way over to her. "Hey. How are you?"
"Good. Alive," she joked, but she didn't laugh, and neither did he. "I took your advice."
"You did?"
"Yeah, I got… you know. I got some help."
"Wow, that's great, Ginny. Really great. So you're back?"
"For the time being," she shrugged, wringing her fingers. Neither knew what to say. "I was thinking, I might get a job here. Hannah will need some help, you know, keeping shop when you go back to Hogwarts, so I might…" she let her voice trail off. Neville shifted his feet anxiously.
"Yeah, great, really great. Listen, I have to…" he didn't finish his sentence, but she nodded understandingly and waved him off.
"I should be off," Quinton said. Ginny had forgotten he was there. "Nice meeting you. See you here tomorrow, same time?"
"Uh… sure. Nice meeting you." He gave her a fleeting wave and pulled his cloak on and heading out of the store. The bell rang to indicate his departure, and in his seat lay five shining sickles.
"T-shirts."
"Check."
"Jeans."
"Check."
"Defense, Not Defiance by Ublove Wixtop."
"Check."
Lily nodded as she put the book into her trunk and folded another pair of jeans to squeeze it in there too. Hugo lay on her bed, one arm behind his head and another holding the list. "You're set." He pulled himself off the bed, making Meredith, who had been lying on him, jump as he kneeled beside Lily in front of her trunk. She had just latched it up, falling back with an exhausted sigh.
"Great. And now, we go to yours."
"I've already done mine."
"You have?"
"What, you think I'm going to leave it to the day before, like you?" He rolled his eyes. She giggled.
"Gee, sorry."
Lily slumped cross-legged in front of her trunk, her mind buzzing with anything she may have forgotten. Tomorrow, she'd be gone. Away from her father's scrutiny, from Hugo's badgering questions about what made her come back so soon.
Hugo lay back. "Heard from your friends lately?" he asked casually. She shrugged.
"A few. But they're all overseas, so I'm mostly here alone."
"No shit," Hugo laughed. "Hey, guess what."
"What?"
"Al has a girl downstairs."
Lily's jaw dropped. "No way."
"Yes way. I saw them as I came up." Lily jumped up and sprinted out of the room into the hall. She leaned over the banister of the stairs, but she couldn't see them. Dejected, she headed back into her room.
Al did indeed have a girl downstairs. She had arrived twenty minutes before, and she was a vision in floral. As Al opened the door for her, she smiled radiantly and pulled him into a hug.
"I came over as soon as I heard," she said sympathetically. Al nodded awkwardly and stepped back to let her in, where she sat herself down on the couch. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for coming, it means a lot."
"Yeah,Elizabethsaid you might need some support. She didn't want to end it that way."
"Ah, well. I dunno, I guess it doesn't matter that much to me, really. We were pretty rocky." Al stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his feet.
"Mm, I heard." He sat next to her, feeling almost holy just by being in her presence. Which was stupid, considering she was in his house and his year. "Listen," she patted his knee, and Al felt a tingling sensation run through his whole body, "don't take it hard, OK?Elizabethis a huge bitch. Everyone thinks so."
"I thought you were her friend."
She shrugged. "I am. But that doesn't make her any less of a bitch."
"Has she talked to you much?" he asked. They were no longer an item – though he wasn't all that disappointed – but he was still interested in her. If not in the romantic sense.
"Yeah, I mean, we talked like, yesterday. She's doing OK. Said that you took it well." Al shrugged modestly. He had taken it pretty well. As soon as the words had leftElizabeth's mouth, he had just said, "fine" and walked away. "Well, you probably don't want to talk much about it. Have you packed?"
"Oh, uh, yeah, I packed this morning. I'm all ready."
"Oh, great! So am I! Oh, I was supposed to ask you – tomorrow, on the train, sit in our compartment, won't you?"
Al felt his chest go light. He breathed hard. "Oh, uh, thanks, but I have Rose and Scorp – "
"They can come!" she said quickly.
"I suppose so, then."
"Great! It's a deal! This has been really good, Al, I'm glad I came. And you're OK?"
"Perfect," he smiled. He led her to the door. "See you soon, Sarah."
She stared at him for a moment, a soft look in her eye. "See you soon, Al," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Then she leaned in close and gently kissed him on the cheek. With a final wave, she was gone, and Al stood in the doorway, still touching the place where her lips had met his skin.
October 3, 2015.
The cool sea breeze was the first thing Ginny felt when she arrived. The sand under her shoes was another, and she realized exactly where she was. The sound of the sea echoed in her ears as she trudged up the beach to the small cottage, and found herself incredibly grateful that Hermione had taught her the undetectable extension charm. In her purse was everything she needed, everything she had taken. It would carry her at least until she could get herself to Gringotts and get some money out, which she hoped she could do at least before Harry locked the vault.
The darkness weighed down on her, and she felt drowsy. Thoughts swarmed in her brain, and she thought again of everything she was leaving, of her children. Tears prickled her eyes, but she focused on her surroundings and pushed them back. She was nearly there.
There were no lights on in the house, but it looked as inviting as anything. Being out in the cold was getting to her. She approached the cottage and knocked loudly on the door.
"Bill!" she cried, stepping back and rubbing her arms against the cold that was becoming more biting as it grew later. Or earlier. "BILL!" She screamed this time.
Light showered her from upstairs and she waited. A moment later, the door flew open, revealing Bill in his pajamas, looking exhausted. His long hair had been cut so it rested just above his shoulders. She squinted at him against the light.
"Ginny?" he asked, frowning. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
But at the sight of him, Ginny started to cry. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed openly against this pajama shirt, while he patted her back awkwardly. She was so upset she hardly noticed Fleur coming down, looking just as tired and confused.
"I left them, Bill," she sobbed, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I left them, and I don't know what I've done."
"Do you like my dress?"
The question was posed by a disembodied voice coming in through the hall. Nicholas had been crouched low over trunk, trying desperately to fit in his last textbook when a body joined the voice, leaning the doorway. Her bright gold dress flounced about her knees, matching her eyes. "Oh, yeah, it's beautiful. Are you going to a party, Miss Cecelia?" he asked. She nodded, showing off her curled hair.
"Mum gave me the dress. Look!" She stepped back and twirled, and it flew around her. Laughing, she grabbed the doorframe again. "Gizelle is having a party tonight, since she's turning ten." She came over and sat beside Nicholas, staring at his trunk. "Is that all your stuff?"
"Everything I'll need," he said quietly.
"When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow, remember? You're taking me to the station." Tears suddenly filled her eyes.
"You're leaving me alone," she said in a tiny voice.
"Not alone," he disagreed. "Alex and Mum and Dad are all here."
"You are leaving me alone." And with that, and a sob, she ran out of the room, leaving Nicholas feeling worse than before.
He tried not to think about it. Instead, he thought of the train ride to Hogwarts. Getting out of here. If there was one thing he was going to miss, it was Cecelia. He wouldn't regret leaving the teasing of his brother, or the pep talks from his father, or the constant stream of girlfriends that flowed through the house like a pulse that his mother pretended not to notice as she drowned herself in alcoholic drinks and her children. He probably wouldn't even miss his bedroom, with its bare walls and junk everywhere. At Hogwarts, he had a four poster bed that was always warm. He had meals every night that he didn't need to make for anybody else. He had friends. He had girls. He was living the life, if you minus all the classes and homework.
"Nicholas!"
His father had appeared in the doorway. Oliver Wood was in top shape - probably from all his Quidditch playing – even in his later years. His hair was ruffled (Nicholas didn't want to think what from) and his eyes were sparkling, like he was ready for a talk. Nicholas sat back and prepared himself.
"Yeah, Dad?"
Oliver made his way over to the bed and sat down. "Listen, I know you've been made Quidditch captain, so I think we should talk."
"About?"
Oliver looked at him like an idiot. "Tactics! Ideas! How you plan to win!"
"Dad… it's Ravenclaw. I don't plan to win."
"Nicholas, think. It could have been Hufflepuff. Now come on. Who's your first game against?"
"How do I know? We don't find out 'till next year."
"Listen, write me up when you find out, OK? And tell me when you hold trials. Now, the thing about trailing is it's all about when you see them. So you need to be careful who you watch…"
Nicholas turned his father off, and finally, after much effort that his father hardly noticed, he managed to close his trunk. His father kept talking. He laid his broom over it, the new Nimbus 2020. It was his father's old one, and pretty good, if not slightly outdated. Finally, he put his cage on top, with his bird, Muffin, on top. Muffin was a large fluff ball of an owl, with slightly golden feathers. Nicholas had received him when he started Hogwarts, and as a treat, he had let Cecelia name him, though he regretted this instantly. It was a rather original name for a five year old, and so he never changed it, for fear of hurting her feelings. It was lucky he had gotten attached to the name Muffin.
"Absolutely, Dad. I'll get right on it," he mumbled, without realizing or caring what he had agreed to. He clapped a hand on his father's shoulder, muttered an insincere thank you, and started to walk out the door, backwards. "Oh, by the way, Cecelia heard you yesterday. So bit quieter next time, yeah?" He clicked his fingers and spun around on his heel, almost skipping out of his room.
The dinner table at the Burrow was bustling. The sounds of cutlery against plates, laughter, and conversation filled the house. It had become almost a tradition on the night before the kids leave for Hogwarts that a family dinner was at the Burrow. Even though only a few would be leaving this time, tradition still stood, and everybody came.
"Now, if you're going to sneak out, make sure nobody's in the common room," Victoire was muttering to Lily in an undertone as she buttered her bread. They sat at the end of the table, away from the prying ears and eyes of the adults. "Did that once. Caught, in trouble like you wouldn't believe. Had to say I was sneaking off to the kitchens. Better than the truth." She giggled.
"And don't even fret over the prefect's thing," Fred said. "It's half the deal they make it out to be. I wasn't one, and look where I ended up!"
"An underachiever living in his father's shop and getting drunk at family dinners?" Louis cheeked, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Fred, who was sipping his firewhiskey.
Along the table, Molly was discussing the highs and lows of being a Head with Al, who was listening intently, while Rose tried her best not to look sour and engaged herself in a conversation with Lucy and Roxanne.
"Fourth year was one of my best," she said to Lucy, who was looking apprehensive as she munched on some chicken. "So you've nothing to fear."
"I spent most of fourth year in detention," said Roxanne. "I could hardly enjoy it."
And at the very end of the table, a very different issue was being discussed. Heads bowed, Harry was recounting the events of a grizzly crime scene he had evaluated just a few days ago, though they already knew most everything about it since they had been the first people he had told the next day. "It just doesn't make sense. The body was burnt beyond recognition, but the sister did the identifying. Muggle."
"But why in Godric's Hollow? It's not exactly a muggle hotspot."
Her question was drowned out by Grandma Weasley scolding Bill about his hair. "Really, Bill just a few inches, I could do it right now, you're much too old for this long-haired hippie rubbish, let me just get my wand – "
"Mum, leave it, please."
The other end of the table laughed. "He needs a haircut," agreed Victoire. "I offered, but he doesn't seem interested in getting one from me."
"Maybe he's trying to grow it out," shrugged Teddy, whose own hair was a nice shade of green, with pink eyes to match. "A long mane, like yours. He must be jealous."
"Oh, but naturally," laughed Lily. "Who wouldn't want hair like Vic?"
"I could think of a few," scowled Dom, whose hair matched Vic's in every way.
"Don't scowl, you'll get frown lines," said Fred, grabbing Dom's cheeks and squeezing them so she resembled a fish.
"Fred the Beautician," teased Rose, and once again the table was swelled with conversation, and Lily was laughing with everybody, laughing at Fred's jokes and Roxanne's impressions and Teddy's comments and Vic's vanity and then, quite suddenly, she wasn't, and her stomach was twisting and her mind was conjuring horrible images of screaming woman and burning bodies and disgusting smells and sights that, as time wore on, only become more familiar to her. And her body pulled her from the table and she ran to the bathroom and had only just managed to shut the door when, for the nth time in the last few days, she hurled. And the fire burned behind her eyes and the screams were in her ears as though the woman was next to her, and the sky cast an eerie green glow above her eyelids.
"You're at the Burrow," she reminded herself in a whisper. "You're at the Burrow, everything's OK. Everything's alright. You're going to Hogwarts tomorrow."
She repeated that mantra in her head as she flushed and washed out her mouth and rejoined the table, and started to laugh and joke again with the rest of her family, and nobody noticed her quick detour, or maybe they were kind enough not to mention it. But with the mantra in her head, the images didn't dare float back, and by the end of the night, she could have forgotten about that night. But she had long since given up hope that she would ever truly forget about it.
A/N: So yeah. Thank you for reviewing, I love you! And if you haven't, I still love you, but I would love you even more if you did. :)