Wild Children

by Flox Polimon

A canon abiding tale of love, life, and friendship. When you track and interlace the stories of Lily, the Marauders, Severus, Petunia, members of the original Order, and the more shadowy characters of Hogwarts; an image of what the late 1970s in The Wizarding World might have looked like can be conjured. And when you do so, you end up telling the story of the wildest of children.

Prologue

Two weeks of the summer of 76 left, and our stories start to take shape...

The muggle world had never come so close to magic in a long time. Or what muggles thought of as magic, anyway. Crystals and gems, tarot cards and higher powers, shawls with psychedelic patterns, astrological sightings that spoke of shifting fates. This was, of course, not real magic, but the innocent mysticism sweeping the nation was enough to make Petunia Evans want to gauge her eyes out with a nail file. And she vocalised as much when she came across the daily horoscope in Petticoat Magazine.

"Eugh," she said, "what kind of freak believes any of this rubbish, honestly."

And though she wrinkled her nose in disgust, Petunia eyed up the love column for Taurus in the weekly horoscope.

Due to the planet's alignment with the first and third houses, today will mark the start of a week-long realisation for Taurus. This week's prediction: not all that glitters is gold. That which you seek will never come, and something close will manifest itself for selfish, cosmical means. Blood is thicker than water, Taurus. The planets are connecting the dots, and this week the universe is presenting Taurus with choice. Kin, if not spiritually honoured, may open the path to deceit. When clarity is reached, and only then, may kin return and be opportune. As expected - a load of rubbish.

Within the safe confines of her floral papered walls, a haven of normalcy could be found in the summer months at 20 Spinner's End, when the Evans residency would become invaded by an atmosphere nothing short of sickening. The odd smells, the frog eggs making themselves cosy anywhere mildly humid, the unfamiliar music, the bloody owls. Not to mention the food that Mrs Evans had suddenly become keen on preparing following her birthday present from Lily. Cauldron Cooking, as far as Petunia was concerned, was up there with the death of the family cat in terms of tragedies that had struck their home. If she had to bear the sight of her mother pouring over the stove attempting to make a monkshood and foxglove casserole one more time, she saw it as her civil duty to reduce the book to ashes in the fireplace.

Thank God for her room - her perfectly ironed pink sheets, and her glossy posters of the Bay City Rollers, and her little bottles of nail polish next to her brand new cream coloured hair dryer, and her neatly arranged cosmetics she displayed on top of her chest of drawers. She was working-class, but it was all about mindset, Petunia told herself. If she did not aspire to the finer things in life, she would never be able to afford them! A well-polished exterior was the first step in escaping her decidedly un-glamourous homelife. And while she usually carefully considered her appearance (her clothes could never be unwrinkled enough), away from the watchful eyes of the town, Petunia thought there was no harm in letting herself go a bit more during the summer. Well, for Petunia's standards anyway.

And it was early August. A sweltering morning, unhelped by the thick and industrial air of the town, which clogged the heat. The eldest Evans daughter was asked to wash the family car, a brown Morris Malina, in exchange for some pocket money that would be sure to contribute to her longing for mild luxury. If she saved enough, she might be able to wander to the highstreet and not just windowshop for once - some new shoes from Clarks sounded heavenly.

The car top sizzled with every stroke of the sponge, and it was all the more reason for Petunia to temporarily abandon her smart skirts and blouses of mint green frills in favour of a navy one piece swimming costume. Sure, it was a swimming costume, but the water leaking from the hose could refresh her so much more this way. It was practical. And besides, no one was present to catch her slipping on her put-together ways.

"Hello love," said a voice, and Petunia's heart dropped. "Is Mr Evans home?"

She had her back to him, but the young woman knew exactly who that voice belonged to. It was Mr Turpin, the pink faced neighbour from down the street who always wore an orange blazer and a flashy wristwatch. He had been promoted significantly a few years back - the whole town knew (it was big news which Mr Turpin had gladly shared with anyone with ears), and now he fancied himself someone who liked posh things, like horse-racing and golf. Petunia could feel her pulse fluttering in her throat. Not just because she was being perceived in what was less than fancy attire (for shame!), but because Mr Turpin was father to Winston Turpin no less, the smarmy young man who worked in the same office building as her and of whom she was quite stupidly smitten with.

"Yes - hello, Mr Turpin - he's inside," she said with a bright smile, willing him to forget about her bare face (pale, freckled, and downright unpresentable - she screamed internally) and cheap lycra clothing.

"Right, give this parcel to him, will you? No one was home when they delivered it, 'seems," he said, and Petunia noticed his watery eyes scan over her exposed legs. He must think I'm a bloody tart, she thought. "My, you've certainly grown into a woman, haven't you?"

Ah, not all hope is lost. "Thank you," Petunia said, proudly. This could be something positive that he would feed back to Winston - she was indeed a woman, and not just some foolish young thing, thank you very much!

Mr Turpin smirked and looked up and down her bony frame. She blew out a wispy strand of strawberry blonde hair out of her face, hoping this would neaten up her image. "Where were you hiding legs like that, then?" he asked.

"Oh, er - what?"

"Legs like this," and he reached forward to stroke the side of her thigh.

Petunia could feel her face burning from the inside out, and she chalked it up to the bloody weather. She coughed politely, took a hold of her sponge and tried her hardest to make it seem like the sudden urge to clean a different side of the car had struck her organically.

"Well I'm not a child anymore," she said once she decided that there was enough distance between her and Turpin's wandering hands. "I work at Crowley Industrials in reception, and I'm nearly nineteen!" She knew that last part was a bit of a stretch seeing as it was at least nine months until her birthday, but she liked proving just how mature she was. Especially when she needed to recover from her rather girlish reaction to Mr Turpin simply treating her like a woman of her age. What a silly overreaction on her part, she thought, she'd seen women get touched like this loads of times at work.

"Yeah, my son works there in -"

"The finance department - I know - it's on the third floor," Petunia said, not able to help herself.

Mr Turpin advanced towards her again. "Nearly nineteen, ey? I bet you have lots of boyfriends, don't you? With those eyes of yours," and he stared into her pale eyes, framed with bleached eyelashes. She desperately wanted to look down or up or anywhere other than at him - why did this conversation feel so embarrassing - but Petunia refused to come across like a squirmy teenager again. What would Winston think if Mr Turpin described her in those terms? So, she held his gaze and tried to sound as womanly as possible.

"I'm waiting for the right man," she said, thinking of Winston and his smart trousers and expensive looking ties. But, strangely, this caused Mr Turpin to give her a very odd sort of smile - the kind that looks like it is much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. His eyes then looked like they were settling on her lower regions hungrily, but Petunia shook that ludicrous thought away, for when she checked again he was still staring at her face.

"That's right, love - save it, don't just give it to anyone," Mr Turpin whispered, and his watery eyes seemed to glisten as if secretly winking. Just as Petunia had worked out what he was implying and was about to turn an appropriate shade of beetroot red, the milkman showed up.

"Mornin'," he said cheerfully, as he noticed the pair.

Mr Turpin took a step back from Petunia much too hastily, she noted, like a scared cat. "Mornin', Jack," he shouted back, offering the oblivious man a smile and then turning to Petunia, "and make sure to give that parcel to Martin, pet. Tell him I say hi," he added fairly loudly. And with that, Mr Turpin dashed off.

What helped Petunia not feel inexplicably humiliated for the rest of the day was the assurance that Mr Turpin seemed quite pleased with the fact that she was a decent girl and not some crazy tart, despite her wearing a swimming costume out on the street. In fact, Mr Turpin had looked very impressed indeed. If Winston caught wind of this, he might ask her to bring him some tea up to his cubicle at work. Oh, wouldn't that be dreamy! Her thoughts of Winston were interrupted, however, by a loud conversation rudely making its way to her location in the living room.

"Don't be fucking daft, darling," Mr Evans was saying.

"Oh come off it, Martin - Lily is totally unsupervised! She's a loose cannon - we don't even know what on Earth they teach her at that school!"

"What are you talking about?" Lily whined, eyes closed. "I've told you loads of times - Charms, Potions…."

"But what the hell is that good for, Lily? Making soup in a magical pot, really!"

"Well, what's learning about the wars and literature good for, mum? It's school! It depends on the job you want - how useful it is…"

"Your world is so far away from ours, Lily - I worry," Daisy Evans cried, and she reached for her packet of cigarettes. "I don't want to be a stranger to it, I'd like to trust it, so I need to know more, don't you think? I feel more in the dark everyday. And what the hell does your future look like? You must understand it's hard for your father and I to keep up."

Mr Evans did not seem as fazed, however, and his expression verged on totally uninterested.

"As long as she doesn't get herself into trouble, I don't much care about that world, Daisy," he said.

"I do!" Mrs Evans huffed.

Petunia fought the urge to roll her eyes from her place on the sofa. She agreed with her father, and would go one step further - she loathed that world. That familiar feeling triggered whenever the Wizarding World was brought up started to pool inside of her once again, and she felt a bit sick. It was a terrible sensation - an intense mixture of fear and something else. Something heavier, and more painful. It was easier to rationalise as simple disgust, though, rather than unpacking these waves that crashed over her - this was something Petunia had realised at the ripe age of nine. But of course Daisy Evans, ill with the bubonic plague that was her Cauldron Cooking obsession, wanted nothing more than for everyone to keep banging on about the subject.

"Give it a rest, mum," Petunia sniped, "you're not from that world."

"I am aware, Tuney - that was what I was saying, if you cared to listen," Mrs Evans bit back and returned her attention to her youngest. "I do not want you to see your home life and your…other life as completely separate, Lily. I want you to feel as though they are one life."

Lily looked up at her mum and smiled weakly. Unbeknown to the middle age woman lighting a fag opposite her, those words had struck a chord. If only she could mix the two worlds more, she thought sadly. If only the Wizarding World was more forgiving of muggles. She had learned only a few months ago that even Sev- erus was going to make it impossible for her to embrace that side of herself with total abandon. She was not ashamed of her muggleborn roots, but she was afraid of letting them mingle with magic too much. What if her parents caught wind of just how many people thought lowly of her genealogy? Of them? Lily could not afford to put them in danger recklessly if she could avoid it - and she had seen enough hostility at school to last her a lifetime. Especially with what happened to Mary… She pushed the thought away - it was a wound too fresh to reopen.

Perhaps Lily had made her mum feel far too isolated from magic somewhere along the way, and magical recipe books just were not going to cut it any longer. "If you want to know more about it then don't…make fun of it," she said. "It's obviously a potion, not soup."

"Oh, please!" Petunia snapped.

Mrs Evans looked at her youngest over her lit cigarette, letting it burn away. Lily's face glowed like a moon under her thick mane of bright, red hair. Her legs were tucked into her chin, perched on the sofa - and Daisy softened, relishing how much of a teenager her little Lily looked like in that moment. Petunia had been private during her adolescence too, she granted.

"I think it would be a good idea for you to let us in a bit more. Why don't you invite some of your friends round?" she said with tenderness. "I would love to see what other witches are like!"

In the same split second it took for Petunia's heart to stop, Lily jumped up from the sofa in a flash. "Can I really, mum? Can they stay here? Please, please, pleeease!"

Mr Evans finally unglued his eyes from the newspaper and quirked an eyebrow. He seemed to now be paying attention. "Hold on - a bunch of teenagers giggling about - God help me! This house is already like a ruddy dollhouse, Daisy, with women everywhere - why the hell would I agree to this? Not to mention this place is about the size of an actual dollhouse…"

"Oh, pleeeease!" Lily said, jumping onto her father's lap, who yelped. She was beaming. "Dad, please - it would make me so happy!"

"Oh, they can just stay for one night - can't they Martin? Or two?"

"And what the bloody hell would they be doing in Cokeworth for a day? These lot are used to flying about and making flowers come out of their ears and what have you. What will they do - go for a stroll down the mines? Visit the factories?"

"Dad - the muggle world is fascinating for my friends. They're not used to seeing television sets or traffic signs - they would love it!" Lily insisted, although she wisely didn't mention that her friends would no doubt be mainly interested in assessing the muggle boys in the area.

Mr Evans sighed deeply and looked at Lily. "I would be at the pub all day, Daisy, fairwarning - I have enough pubescent girls in my life - with their dramas…"

And as if on cue, Petunia finished defrosting from the open-mouthed-shock position she had been stuck in, and decided to unleash the beast.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?" she screeched. "ALL OF YOU NEED TO BE SECTIONED!"

"Christ alive, Tuney," Martin breathed.

"WHY DON'T WE INVITE TROLLS AND DRAGONS TO WRECK THE HOUSE AS WELL? WHY NOT, SEEING AS NO ONE CARES ABOUT - ABOUT ANYTHING BEING REMOTELY NORMAL ANYMORE!"

"Tuney - what on Earth is wrong with you!" Mrs Evans shouted back, crossly. "You should be happy for your sister - that her friends will be -"

"Oh, yes," Petunia hissed, "it's always 'be happy for your sister, Petunia' - but what about ME? This would make me unhappy!"

"You are ridiculous," Mr Evans said, sounding somehow both astounded yet nonchalant.

Petunia let out a high-pitched screech. "SHE," she pointed at Lily (who was observing the scene like it was the dramatic climax of a film), "is not all innocent and perfect. I don't have to be happy for her - mum. She's always getting what she wants. And I cannot allow this house to be ruined by all this freak nonsense! I'm so exhausted!"

"Well, first of all - I haven't even said I agree to this," Mr Evans started.

"Ruined by unnatural, little cheap tricks that are a load of shit anyway, but we all pretend it's magi-"

"Tuney," Mr Evans cut-in evenly, then took a drag, "don't swear."

And that was the final straw for Petunia to descend into deeper chaos. Defeated and flabbergasted by the notion of her father picking a fight over her use of language as opposed to taking issue with Lily's entire anomalous existence, she proceeded to scream her way out of the living room. She drowned the remaining howls into her pillow. Favouritism is a bitch, she thought through her screams.

"She's a nutter," Mr Evans concluded.

"She will be fine," Mrs Evans said, although her eyes darted nervously up the narrow landing where her eldest had disappeared. "Come on, Martin - let the girl invite her friends."

Lily's eyes were as big as saucers as she waited for the verdict from her father. At last, he sighed and opened his mouth.

"Go on then," he said.

"Thank you - oh, I love you!" Lily screamed, throwing her arms around her father, knocking the wind (and cigarette) out of him.

Daisy Evans looked excited beyond her years, and kissed her husband square on the forehead - who rolled his eyes. "This is so exciting, Lily! Should I cook for them?" she asked, suddenly looking worried and making a dash for her copy of Cauldron Cooking. "What was that stewed pumpkin thing I saw in here earlier?"

"No - mum - just make something normal, if you want. They'll like a change anyway!" Lily said.

Her mum took a drag of her own cigarette, in deep thought. "I have never met anyone else magical - well, apart from that bloke with the long beard - and, you know, the neighbour," she added, with a weird expression. "I am so curious to see what they're like. You need to write them!"

"I can call Mary - she's muggle-born," Lily said, already pulling the cable of the telephone towards her. Lily had her own owl, a spotted brown Burrowing owl with disapproving eyes, which she had stupidly called Peach as an eleven year old. But Peach was out hunting - night time as it was - and would not be back until the next day. When Petunia saw Peach the next day, taking off outside her window bearing some letters in her beak, she nearly breathed fire. It was official - Lily's silly girl gang of mutants were going to invade her personal space. Joy.

Mary McDonald was the first one to arrive. By car, Petunia noted, which gave her a false sense of relief that would leave her ill-equipped to deal with the two girls that toppled out of the fireplace an hour later. Petunia was sprawled out on the living room floor painting her toenails ruby red when she nearly went into cardiac arrest at the unseemly sight. After screeching her lungs out, she decided that she had just about glared at the two teenagers enough, and proceeded to bolt to her room - safe from any further abominations.

Phoebe Cast dusted some ashes off her shoulders as she stepped out of the fireplace.

"What in Merlin's name is her problem?" she demanded.

"Consider yourself lucky - I had to bear twice the number of screams! One for me, one for you," Cassandra Phorone muttered, a look of bewilderment slapped on her face. She had been unfortunate enough to arrive a minute earlier than Phoebe.

At that moment, Lily burst in from the hallway, followed by Mary, and looking positively mortified. "I am so sorry - had I known Tuney was out on the loose, I would've warned her about magical chimneys," Lily said, apologetic.

"Warned us about her, more like!"

Despite the colourful welcome on behalf of Petunia, the girls all hugged and giggled.

"Well, what do you think?" Lily asked, letting the girls gawk at her living room.

For muggle-born Mary, the house was much the same as her own - albeit a lot narrower and more functional compared to her own coastal Cornish home, but decidedly unsurprising. Phoebe and Cassandra, however, both born to wizarding families, could not seem to pry their eyes away from the non-moving photographs on the mantelpiece.

"It is unlike what I thought your house would be, Lily," Cassandra said. "It's so…muggle."

"Funny that!"

"Is this a TV?" Phoebe asked, proudly showing off her Muggle Studies knowledge whilst pointing at a radio. Mary snorted.

Truthfully, Lily was very happy to be spending some time with her Gryffindor dorm mates to break up her monotonous summer. They were so light-hearted and energetic - unashamedly feminine and careless. These girls did not share her every interest, and they certainly all had friends of their own, but sharing a room for five years can make teens bond like icing to a cauldron cake. In their world, fun came first and everything else could wait. It made for a refreshing change from replaying the moments of her now terminated friendship with Severus for over a month.

As Lily grew older, the fondness steadily grew within her for her bubbly Gryffindor mates - they had always been close, but nowadays it seemed like they'd been slapped in the face with common ground. Severus had always disapproved of Lily being friends with the girls in her house. Perhaps it could all be chalked up to his recent descent into darkness, or perhaps he feared the reality of Lily slipping into behaviour he could not recognise within himself. That of a teenage witch, for instance. Severus had failed to notice, however, that Lily was - shock horror - just as much of a teenage witch as the rest of her dorm. Tough luck.

As early dusk spread, everything outside drowned in violet light. Within Lily's room, the dim pink of the evening sky shone through the green curtains. Photographs lined the walls of the small room, a pasty off-white colour barely distinguishable beneath the layers of dried plants and flowers - which Lily pressed into small pouches to use for her potion-making. Music blared out of a radio - Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon - and the girls buzzed with never-ending conversation, singing along intermittently.

On the floral carpet, Phoebe was having her blonde feathery fringe expertly tucked into rollers by Mary as she told the group of the latest salacious tale. Electra Norman's romantic exploits with Hufflepuff Keeper, Billy Windfront, had been successfully feeding the Hogwarts rumour mill for a while now, and the girls were no strangers to this saga. And as Lily dusted blue eyeshadow on Cassandra's eyelids, cross-legged on her bed, she gasped at the scandalous bit of gossip.

"Fully naked," Phoebe confirmed, "so not just the top half! Can you imagine? Flitwick found them. Flitwick!"

"At least it wasn't McGonagall," Mary said, smiling in disbelief. "I'm sure her screams would've been heard all the way in the dungeons!"

"How come no one knew of this sooner?" Lily wondered.

"Only the Hufflepuffs knew. It's a good thing my sister is one, it's finally come in handy!" Phoebe said.

"They've broken up, though," Cassandra quipped, with her eyes still shut under Lily's ministrations. "Billy and Electra - she ended it. That's what we heard last term."

Lily rubbed a smudged swipe of eyeshadow from her friend's cheek. "So Billy wasn't a keeper, then?" she asked, the pun earning a laugh from Mary.

"I honestly think it was too much embarrassment for the relationship to bear - they were caught mid-shag by Flitwick, after all - perfectly understandable," Cassandra explained. The girls laughed.

"No, it wasn't mid-shag, Sandra - I told you, Penny said they were hiding when he found them. Naked, but hiding."

"That is all the worse!" Mary tried to say to Phoebe, but she had bobby pins in her mouth, "Hiding just adds a pathetic quality to it, don't you think?"

"Oh, I would rather be caught hiding than mid-shag! Think about it, his willy would have been…you know, inside her," Phoebe stage-whispered.

All the girls made disgusted noises before bursting into hysterical giggles.

"Thank you for the mental image of Billy Windfront's willy," Lily said with a shiver.

"Would you rather a mental image of Potter's willy, Lily?" Mary said, and Cassandra roared in laughter as Lily gasped.

"You are vile!" Lily screamed, narrowing her eyes despite biting back her own laugh.

"Come on, Lily," Phoebe purred. "He's gotten so good-looking!"

"I thought I made my opinion on that front perfectly clear," Lily said as she opened the mascara tube with a pop, "to the whole school, in fact."

"You were an ice queen!" Mary exclaimed, and Cassandra giggled again. Ice queen was the nickname they had all started calling Lily after rejecting James Potter's advances so publicly by the lake a few months ago. That was also the incident that had sparked newfound match-making inspiration for Phoebe - a potential Gryffindor couple had been right under her nose this entire time!

Lily laughed. "I was not an ice queen! Was I really that harsh?"

"I don't think you broke his heart, Lily, if that's what you mean - he is utterly unchanged."

"Good. I feel guilty - although he was practically torturing Severus, to be fair."

"Snape," Cassandra corrected.

"Yeah - Snape," Lily repeated, annoyed at herself.

"Good riddance, Lily - he was turning out to be a total creep! Hanging around that ghastly Evan Rosier has certainly been rubbing off on him," Phoebe sniffed, and Mary paled at the name. The sharp witch, now with rollers in her hair, decided to change the subject. "And I only ask about the Potter thing because it hurts me that you would pass on such an opportunity. I think he is arguably the most popular boy in school since he won us the Quidditch cup!"

"You sound like a Slytherin social climber!"

"Bit harsh, Sandra."

"I like him," Lily explained, "we get along fine. But he's far too much of a clown, and I mean it. I like my men sensitive."

"Me too!" Mary chirped.

"No, I like mine athletic and strong," Cassandra said, looking at the final product of Lily's makeover in the mirror. "When you say you want someone sensitive, you end up with a tragic mess like Snape."

"That's true," Lily agreed, "although we weren't…anything."

"Well, obviously, you're not demented!"

Lily buried her laugh in her hands. Making light of what was in actual fact a rather painful subject for her felt surprisingly good, like the sort of pain that is peeling a plaster slowly.

"Sounds like Potter is the man for you, Sandra."

Cassandra flushed instantly.

"Athletic - check - strong - well, he definitely fancies himself some kind of hero - so check," Lily continued to muse. Phoebe made a noise of agreement - there was match potential here, too.

Sandra and Lily were both sitting on the latter's bed, their legs a tangled mess on the crochet blanket, bare and cooked in half-disappeared suncream. And whilst Cassandra's body was stretched away from Lily in an effort to reach the mirror, her side pushing against Mary's back in the process (also on the bed, securing the last roller on Phoebe's head), Lily still searched for her friend's embarrassed eyes with glee, knowing all too well how this topic of conversation would be making Cassandra squirm. "Thinks I was off the wall for being friends with Severus for as long as I was - check - although I suppose that's true for everyone in this room."

"And do you agree?" Phoebe asked sharply.

Lily went quiet for a moment, and then spoke thoughtfully. "I didn't realise what kind of person he was when we were friends, otherwise I don't - I would never have…been his friend," she finished, finding it difficult to verbalise her thoughts on the matter. "I'spose you can say I was demented for not having realised sooner, though."

Phoebe whipped around to face Lily, and looked at her dead in the eye with something that looked a lot like pride. "I'm very happy for you, Lily. I'm happy you're free."

Lily made a face. Free? "What on Earth does that mean?"

Phoebe sighed. "I don't want to ruin the mood or anything, but times are hard out there in the real world, even if we're none the wiser about what goes on outside Hogwarts. There is talk - a lot of it. Many families are turning away from anything muggleborn and becoming obsessed with blood purity. Out of fear, I imagine. And we've only seen a fraction of it at school."

Mary swallowed thickly and set her little box of bobby pins to the side, and Lily noticed her hands shake as she did so.

"These families are bad seeds anyway - Slytherins the lot of them, not to be prejudiced. So it's who you'd expect, and no one we would associate with. Well, not anymore," at this, she looked pointedly at Lily, who opened her mouth to object to the grotesque generalisation that she was friends with the entire despicable gang of Slytherins. "All of them are dark families, too, that were associated with Grindelwald in their day. And that Slytherin lot, Lily, the people Snape hangs around with - Rosier, Mulciber, Avery - they wouldn't hesitate to hurt you like they hurt Mary," it was at this point that Mary's face had adopted the pallid colour of wax. "So the less you are watched by them, or controlled by them, or close to them - the better it will be."

It was quiet in the room. Distantly, the last notes of Rhiannon played.

"Like I said, I will always be happy for the freedom of my friends. You need to watch your back, Lily, don't fall into the trap again."

"Come off it - do you think Snape was keeping me hostage, Phoebe? Or keeping tabs on me? Or controlling me?" Lily practically snickered.

She certainly didn't agree. Her fellow Gryffindors did not know Severus, they could not understand why he was so susceptible to the power his dodgy friends granted him, and how this made him feel given the life of utter powerlessness he'd led as a child. They could never understand the slippery slope of his views. The awful thing is that it didn't really matter anymore. He was rotten nonetheless, she supposed, and beyond her empathy.

Phoebe smiled at the choice of name used by her friend. "I don't know - but it's not the time to be trustworthy and take unnecessary risks is all I'm saying. Those days are long gone, and I swear being naive will be the death of you, Lily."

"You must be fun at parties!" Cassandra said, cutting the tension of Phoebe's enigmatic advice.

"Thank you - should I tell you all about the Great Goblin Depression of 1788 to liven things up?"

Cassandra threw a pillow at her and Mary managed to actually muster a laugh. Lily squeezed her hand knowingly. "The rollers are looking great, Mary - I think Tuney has hair spray you can borrow. "

"Oh, good," she said, her voice thinner and more unsteady than usual, "will you do my hair next?"

"If I live to tell the tale," Lily said, making her brave way to the enemy territory that was her sister's room.

"We believe in you, ice queen!"

"And for the record," Phoebe bellowed, "if we are talking about sensitive men, I'm not entirely sure Snape makes the cut!"

"Yeah - what - six years in love with you, Lily, and not a single flower from him? Bloody waste of time!"

It was Cassandra's turn to receive a pillow to the face. Say You Love Me started to play and a few light jokes later (most at the expense of Cassandra, accused of fancying James Potter - but someone had to bear the brunt), colour had returned to Mary's delicate, velvety face. They took photos of each other with Lily's muggle camera, making sure to pose like disco queens with their bold eyeshadow and extravagantly styled hair. Phoebe's hair was stuck in place as if petrified by magic thanks to Mary's abuse of hairspray (which was photographically immortalised, of course), and the girls rolled in stitches over finding each other's feet in unwelcome places when they slipped into bed like sardines.

What did it really matter, whatever could be raging on outside of their pubescent bubble? For now, all that existed was this: Lily's messy room, littered with discarded clothes and the electricity of unused magic, purring with soft music that they forgot to stop, which drowned Mary's snores. In the morning, all they would continue to care about would be the muggle mascara Cassandra forgot to wash and would find streaking down her face, and the hushed secrets that Phoebe had whispered to Lily in the dark whilst the others sleeped.

---

It was a small office, Alice mused, for being the only one assigned to the Aurors in the whole of the Ministry. No more than ten desks and no more than five people occupied it presently, working through stacks of parchment furiously. It was quiet, too.

She supposed she had gotten too used to the rough and readiness of Auror training, and what waited for her after completion had been underwhelming to say the least. Her male counterparts did not seem to be having the same issue, she thought with annoyance, and she looked at the stars on the wall that told of the location of all the Aurors. Gideon was having his fair share of action in North Chippandsawn, it looked like. That lucky git.

Alice Forescue was only able to return to her work for a short moment before Alastor Moody burst through the door, sporting his newly acquired eye-patch and looking as irate as usual.

"Fortescue," he barked, and Alice rose to her feet immediately. "New staff - get training."

He left swiftly, revealing two young women that had been standing behind him the entire time. Alice eyed them with interest.

Witches, Alice mused. Finally.

"Dorcas Meadowes," said the one in yellow robes, extending her hand to Alice. Her long hair was braided against her scalp, and she flashed Alice, the much shorter witch (for Dorcas was rather tall and lanky), a confident smile.

"Alice Fortescue. Welcome to the Auror Office."

The other witch thanked her. She had glossy, dark hair and a short, curvy frame. Her eyes were adorned with spidery eyelashes. "Marlene McKinnon, nice to meet you."

"This place is buzzing," Dorcas said flatly, taking in the dead silence. A fly droned past.

"Yes, I wish for a moment's peace everyday!" Alice replied.

Marlene laughed. "Always a good thing, right? Wouldn't wish for us to have more crimes to investigate."

"Oh, but there are plenty," Alice said, and getsured for them to take a seat by her desk, "however I'm afraid none of the missions have been deemed as quite right for, er, someone like me to take."

Dorcas looked affronted. "Surely not because you're a witch?"

Alice snorted into her cup of tea. "What else, if not?"

"Maybe you're just an awful Auror!" Marlene said, making the joke clear by wiggling her eyebrows.

"That absolute dickhead," Dorcas remarked, instead, although she laughed at Marlene's jest. She looked at the door where Moody had left. "Should've known it was too quiet, everybody's out having all the fun!"

"Quite right," Alice noted, her eyes glistening. She liked these girls. "What year did you graduate? I don't remember you two from Hogwarts."

"Almost two years ago - we've been training for one, of course. We were in Hufflepuff, mind you, Miss Head Girl, so that's probably why," Marlene explained.

Alice smiled in earnest now. She was two years their senior, then.

"Ah yes, my golden years. You lucky ducks saw me in my prime."

"Bloody good Head Girl, too - took no prisoners with the Slytherins, or anyone naughty for that matter," Dorcas said.

"Well it's all gone down hill, m'afraid - I'm no queen of the castle here."

Dorcas whistled, saddened by the fact. She could remember being fifteen, observing the Gryffindor witch hotly lecture Ackley Nott in the corridors, a young but abysmal cretin, reducing him to embarrassed tears with her words alone. Alice had always seemed so respected and valued by the teachers at Hogwarts - it was a slap in the face to find her bored out of her mind in a barren room in the Ministry.

"They're all sexist prigs, then," Marlene said, "There was a time when witches ruled supreme! Now we've been reduced to - what's this - sorting out paperwork?"

"That's Disappearance files, so it's not all totally useless," Alice remarked.

"Blimey, are they really?"

Alice nodded at Dorcas. "Yes, I'm in charge of updating them. I'm not too shabby with a wand though, and I think I would be put to better use in a more practical sense. But alas, my behind is glued to this chair, apparently."

"You must be an expert on these cases after all that reading," Dorcas noted.

"Oh, no one knows more about them than I do, I can guarantee it," Alice confirmed.

"And you're not out on the field?" Marlene asked, looking hopeless.

The blonde witch sighed as a reply. "I reckon Moody is asking me to show you two the ropes so you'll join my efforts. We'll have a ball of a time," she added, pointing at her stack of files with a sarcastic wink.

"There's no way we are letting the men get away with this," Dorcas exclaimed. "There's a dark wizard on the horizon! Or is this place also burying its head in the sand?"

"You two have come hungry, I see!" Alice chuckled. She remembered the days of dewy eyes and big dreams so clearly. Fresh out of training and seeing the utter lack of work for her, she decided to enlist in further duel and wand training to buy herself time and experience. She was now quick, alert, responsive, fearless - the perfect young Auror the Wizarding World most definitely needed at its disposal. That phase had completely finished some months back, however, and she found herself in the same predicament as last time. Alice felt so disillusioned, she almost could not find it within herself to fight back this time round.

"I can't sit here and watch this all happen!" Dorcas repeated, aghast.

"Dory," Marlene said, "maybe we should wait until our second week until we start a revolt, yeah?"

Alice watched the two young women silently for a moment. Sod it.

"Tell you what," Alice started, and her two new colleagues stared at her with curiosity, "why don't I go through the cases with you, show you around the office, and then we can think of how to finally get our foot in the door? Well, out of the door," she said, sitting down at her desk.

"How so?"

Dorcas looked excited, and Marlene leaned forward in her chair. This made Alice smile. There seemed to be hope after all.

"I think you're quite right, Dorcas, we can't let the men get away with this. I can wipe all their eyebrows with one flick of my wand, and they've been underestimating me for far too long. Let's see what we can do for these disappearance cases, shall we?"

Dorcas and Marlene pushed their chairs forward eagerly, and nodded as they made a grab for some parchment and quills.

"Aye aye, Miss Head Girl," Dorcas sang.

Ah yes, witches in the Auror Department had been long overdue indeed.

---

"What do you think you're doing?" Miss Evans sniped at her eldest daughter, who was leaving out the front door with an alarming amount of red-lipstick over her mouth.

"Er…going to wash the car."

"For about the third time this week? Christ, Tuney! Is the car that much of a shambles?"

Petunia had the decency to look down, but pushed the handle of the door down regardless. She had been making a habit of 'washing the car' every morning at the same time every day so she could 'casually' run into Mr Turpin. It was a successful scheme, enough to result in the pink-faced neighbour seeing her thrice so far and engaging in animated conversation with her.

Petunia had counted her blessings when, by some divine intervention, Mr Turpin had invited her to pop into his house the following day, suggesting she speak to his son about positions within the company they both worked at. This was truly steady progress! Winston would be hers in no time - touch wood.

She still felt silly having made such an effort, though. No swimming costume in sight this time, instead her hair had been neatly flattened (it could've been fixed in place if she had found her ruddy hairspray) and adorned with a red headband to match the makeup on her lips. Whilst she was proud of the posh-looking coral skirt she had finally landed on - oh, this old thing? I just chucked it on! - Petunia thought it wise not to mention the truth of this morning's excursions to her mother.

"Mum, I'll have you know that getting rid of the filth of that car is a week's job!"

"And I'm guessing mascara was simply crucial to complete it, was it?"

"Muuuum," Petunia whined, and decided to dish out a half-truth, "the neighbours walk past me everytime, and I will not look like a bloody tramp to them any longer! You should be happy I'm making this family look a bit more dignified and distracting from all the owl droppings!"

This was enough to satisfy Mrs Evans' curiosity, and she let go of the subject with a tremendous sigh.

"Well, may I suggest you do me a favour before you knock yourself out on that car cleaning?"

Petunia failed to mention she was in a hurry, and resorted to grinding her teeth.

"What is it?"

"Go take your sister and her friends to the pub in town," Daisy said. "Your sister's never been - and it could be, you know, quite fun for you two to get along and do something together. It's a lovely day for it, as well…"

Petunia closed her open mouth - she could not bear her mother blabbering away uselessly for a second longer. "I seriously hope you are winding me up, because that is laughable," she said brutally. "There is no way in hell I'm doing that. See you later," and she went to leave.

Daisy laughed humourlessly. Her patience for her daughter's rudeness had finally peaked. "Petunia, don't you dare open that door."

The young woman froze.

"That is no longer a suggestion. You will go to that pub. I'lll tell your sister to get ready. I've had just about enough of your bloody foul attitude, Petunia. You are forgetting yourself."

Leaving her daughter with a look of utter perplexity behind, Miss Evans marched her way up the stairs. She was very mild-tempered on a bad day, albeit a tad emotional at times, and so this outburst was not to be taken lightly. Petunia would have to face her worst nightmare and be forced in the company of not one freak, but five at once. She practically shivered at the thought.

Later, she told herself, she would have her reward and be able to see Winston and his twinkling smile at Mr Turpin's house. She just had to make it through.

This little thought ended up becoming a mantra that she repeated in her head obsessively to keep herself sane. It started to sound a bit like a cultish prayer when she abused it to tune out the absolute freak waffle she was hearing against her will on the way to the pub. It was necessary, though, in her opinion, to prevent mental decay.

One of the girls had big, blonde hair and a massive fringe that came down in a swoop. Her chin was pointy and her eyebrows were thin, Petunia noticed, and they marked everything she said with precise movement. "I won't tell you if I'm under pressure!" she was saying, her voice breaking free from a sea of giggles and squeals.

"Stop drawing it out for the sake of suspense and just tell us already!"

"If not Lily will tell us - won't you, Lily?"

"How badly do you want to know?" Lily asked wickedly, and the blonde girl gasped dramatically in betrayal.

"Terribly. I will do anything," the other girl said. Petunia had come to identify her as the one with the normal parents. Her outside appearance certainly looked normal enough, and so the association was easy to draw. The girl's hair was drawn up in an inoffensive mousey-brown ponytail which laid her big, childish eyes bare. For now, Petunia approved. Sort of.

"Anything?" Lily insisted over the sounds of protest from the blonde one. "Alright. Then catch me first!" and then Petunia's sister ran off ahead.

"Hey!" the normal-pony-tail-one shouted, but laughed all the way she chased Lily down, which weakened her efforts and slowed her down in hysterics.

The blonde friend cheered Lily on and turned to the last friend, who Petunia had labelled as the one who had cat-like blue eyes and a long, broad nose.

"Mary falls for it everytime!"

"You will tell us, though, Phoebe. Right? You have to!"

"Oh, I will - I always do, don't I?"

"Hey! You two!" cat-eye-broad-nose yelled, entirely too loud a scream for Petunia's liking. "She's going to finally tell us!"

Lily and the normal girl (Petunia needed to find a different name that would honour this girl's freakness - she was unfairly getting away with it) made their way back, snorting breathlessly.

"Merlin's hat, Sandra. You didn't waste time in alerting them, did you? Could've let them run a bit more."

"So who's this mystery man you fancy so much that you can't tell us about, Phoebe?"

"But that she had no problem telling me about when you lot were asleep!" Lily added cheerfully, and someone shoved her in retaliation.

"I said don't pressure me - I won't tell you!"

"Gowon, say it, you know you want to!"

"Oh…alright then," the blonde one said, without a hint of resistance.

"Save your stupid little girl secrets for later," Petunia finally spoke up, irked beyond belief. "We're here."

They had arrived at the town centre of the industrial town of Cokeworth. Tall, narrow buildings of red brick, intermingled with brutalist architecture here and there, lined the high-street. These structures were blackening and imposing against the busy bustling of people dipping in and out of shops - but two of the girls in particular seemed, instead, terribly fascinated by the sight of the builders at the construction site across the street. The blonde fringe one actually audibly gasped when she saw one worker put protective goggles over his bald head.

Before Petunia could scream bloody murder at how incredibly hellish and embarrassing this predicament was for her, she moved towards the burgundy door that stood in front of the group. It was the door to The Punchbowl pub.

"I will not stay for any more than one drink," she continued snappily, failing to notice that cat-eye-broad-nose was mouthing the words 'what a shame' very obviously behind her back. And she was only staying for the drink because, frankly, she felt that alcohol would do her good in taking the edge off not only this situation, but also the prospect of seeing Winston later. "Besides, this place is revolting."

Lily was positive that meant it was brilliant.

To Petunia's absolute horror, alcohol was also to be a culture shock for the witches, and she had to bear the sight of the blonde one asking what Southern Comfort was to the barman, which was an improvement from the painful explanation the gruff man had offered for Schweppes bitter lemon.

"Well, it's a miracle we got these," Lily said, looking down at the beers she had ordered for everyone, "seeing as we definitely proved we were underage at the bar."

"They never mentioned any of these drinks in Muggle Studies - they need to brush up their curriculum!"

"Thank Merlin you said they were foreign, Lily, that was the only way of coming out on top!" the normal one said.

"Not sure it was that believable, what with Cassandra's bloody royalty-posh accent."

"Blame my bloodline!"

"Bleugh!" one of the girls gagged, looking distraught. "This tastes nothing like Butterbeer!"

"I wish they had Daisyroot Draght here - that would be divine," another whimpered.

"Or Beetle Berry Whisky!"

"No, that one is positively foul."

"Or Bungbarrel Spiced Mead - that's the one my dad likes. I've never tried it, but he says it's good…"

"I would say Simison Steaming Stout, but I'm not eighty-five!"

"As long as I never see Paulopabita's Fishy Green Ale again, I'm happy - and this is not half-bad, y'know."

Petunia simply sipped her sherry, feeling frightened of everyone at the table and their talk of bungbarrels and fishy ale.

"Now you have to tell us who it is that you fancy silly, Phoebe! You keep distracting us, you minx!"

"Yeah, Sandra's told us about her love for James Potter, so it's only right you share."

"Shut up, Mary!"

"It's not a big deal, okay? I only told Lily because it slipped out at night, I don't want you to think I'm overly precious about it and that I care -"

"Gosh, why in Morgana's name would we think that?"

"Just spit it out if you're not overly precious."

"Davey Gudgeon, all right? It's Davey Gudgeon!"

In that moment, Petunia decided she was going to down her drink and leave the teenagers in the pub to their own devices, for the reaction that the reveal evoked was so obnoxious, so loud, so giggly, and so vexing that she physically felt nauseous.

"NO!"

"I knew it! I knew it - I did! Didn't I say that one time -"

"NO!"

"He's in Ravenclaw, isn't he?"

"I remember saying it and you all looked at me like I was crazy! But I know these things!"

"He has a girlfriend, Sandra!"

"Well I'm hardly going to pounce on him when he's got a girlfriend, am I?"

"I didn't expect this - well, I mean I did. I never expected you to come clean -"

"NO!"

"Merlin - Davy Gudgeon! Why on Earth, Phoebe?"

"NO!"

"Phoebe told me last night that ever since Ravenclaw won the game in March and he took his jumper off to celebrate, she's seen him in a different light!"

The girls howled with laughter.

"Lily, you are no longer going to be the maid of honour at our wedding!"

"What was it about his chest that you liked, Phoebe? Don't spare us the details."

"This is actually house treason, if you think about it. You got turned on by Ravenclaw winning!"

"That is in poor taste, really-"

"Run off and tell Potter about it, then!"

"He would kill you if he found this out - Ravenclaw nearly cost us the cup that day. I'd rather we didn't put you in that position, Phoebe."

"Lily, I reckon it's time to dust off the old potion's kit and get brewing a love draught-"

"It's her only chance!" Lily agreed.

"How's it going then, Lilykins, with finding your sensitive man, hm?"

"So sensitive and shy he hasn't shown face yet, thank you for asking."

"Don't try and steer the conversation away, Phoebe!"

"Let's all pick someone sweet and mellow for our Lily, we've been neglecting her - how rude of us…"

"Mulciber is sweet and mellow!"

"Oi!"

"Gross!"

"Dear Remus Lupin, you might have heard our dear friend is searching for love -"

"Signed, Phoebe Gudgeon!"

"Is that all you do?" Petunia suddenly spat, breaking her silence and effectively shutting everyone up. "Talk about boys? Loudly and in public, so you can make the whole town aware that you are all on your way to becoming loose women. Where is your class? If you don't stop prattling on about boy-freaks -"

"Wizards," Lily corrected her.

"- you will come across as whores to everyone in this pub, and I won't be associated with it! Put this vile energy into something of use, like finding clothes that don't look like dreadful drapes," Petunia spat. She drained her glass and got up, grabbing her bag as if it was going to be stolen. "I'm off - this has been a revolting waste of my time, as expected, and mum will be hearing all about how the only thing you get up to at that freakshow of a school, Lily, is getting off with boys -"

"That's not what I said!"

"-and, if anything, I hope you don't die of shock after having spent time in the company of someone perfectly ordinary, and not with - with…bloody - circus acts!"

Petunia made a show of sticking her nose in the air and glaring at the barman like he too attended Hogwarts and was on the way to becoming a loose woman. She straightened her skirt once she was outside and checked the state of her lipstick in her hand-held mirror. The sherry was certainly taking effect - the warm liquid had loosened her thoughts quite nicely and it felt great!

It was now time to be a show everyone what a dignified woman of class and style was really like - she swung her bag over her arm, rolled up her skirt ever so slightly, and started to skip her way to Mr Turpin's house back in Spinner's End, ready to make Winston fall madly and hopelessly in love with her.

---

It had been exactly three days and six hours since Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon had entered the Auror's Office and changed Alice's working life forever. It's not like they had started an actual revolution - not a loud, demanding one, anyway. What they had done was quiet, genuine and personal. It was their mere existence, their mere natural outrage at being overlooked that had started cooking up a storm within Alice - and Moody was starting to take notice.

"What's all this?" he growled at the big mural that now sat behind Alice's desk, magically sustaining moving photographs connected by floating beams of light.

"It's our pin-board, Moody," Alice replied, too busy shifting the position of a light beam with her wand to look at him. "It tracks the links we make in the case, so we can have a more visual idea of all the information."

"A what now?" he demanded, eyeing the contraption suspiciously.

"A pin-board. Muggle crime-people have them, but they use pins to hold up their photos, which is why it's called that - is that right, Dorcas?" Alice asked, and the novice Auror nodded. At Moody's blank look, Alice specified, "Pins are these small, pointy objects that can pierce through parchment, so when you -"

"Fortescue, I know what a bloody pin is!" he roared. "What I don't know is why in the hell you are doing this blasted pin business!"

"Well it's awfully quiet in the office, Moody," Alice said with a dangerous gleam in her eye, "and all our paperwork is done for the day. For the next five days, in fact. Go check that stack over there, if you like. We've even had time to make doodles of all of our suspects in the case - and look, they can talk."

She pointed at a rather poor sketch of someone labelled Fenrir Greyback, who trotted about the mural with a disproportionately large head on his shoulders.

"Stop parading me around," the sketch moaned.

Moody looked at the tower of paperwork with an irked expression.

"We actually have so much time on our hands, Moody, that we've solved three disappearance cases which were all - surprise surprise - down to Greyback over here."

"Does not sound like something I would do," doodle Greyback snapped.

"Except - how bothersome is this - we cannot tell Frank about it, who is undercover Merlin knows where, investigating the entirely wrong lead! That is so inconvenient, isn't it? Good thing it isn't people's lives on the line or anything… But it's above my station, anyway, so I shouldn't bother…"

"Fortescue," Moody snarled, "I know where this is going. You should consider yourself lucky I'm letting you work the big cases and not handing you over the smaller crimes. People with your profile rarely -"

"People with my profile?" Alice snapped, and Moody actually looked taken aback at the fierceness in her voice. Marlene and Dorcas grinned at each other. "I know I'm out of line, but you trained me, Moody. You know what I can do. I'm not just Auror trained, I'm combat trained - and I floored Fabian in every duel in those lessons. This is not about ego. It's about skill. I'm an asset, Moody, you'd do well in not losing me. I have better things to do with my time than to draw the murderer I should be catching. I have a top Herbology NEWT I could be putting to use, too, and I'm sick of being wasted!"

The room went quiet. Admittedly, it was only the four Aurors in there - Kingsley Shacklebolt was out being shadowed by an eager Gideon Prewett, no doubt. As was Frank Longbottom, working on the disappearance cases along with seasoned Aurors Rowan Hammerton and Pimpernel Wyvern, who were leading the investigation in separate locations. Fabian was getting experience in interviewing witnesses around the country, and Tobias Birkenshaw would still be in Poland with Oberon Goodfellow completing their own assignments. That left the ladies in the office, as well as an increasingly uneasy Moody, who had been practically threatened to be on leave for a few weeks in order to recover from his recent eye loss.

"I'll show you what I can do," she announced. And before Moody could bark out a rude retort, he found his wand had been fired back by a wordless expelliarmus and that it was three metres away from him. As he registered this and whipped around to look at his young Auror wildly, he felt a wand at his throat. Alice locked eyes with him.

"Constant vigilance, Moody," she whispered. In one fluid motion, she flicked her wand and made a sad-looking plant on an abandoned desk next to them begin to grow uncontrollably. Within a few seconds, the vines were dragging along the floor approaching Moody's feet, and one stem had snarled itself around his ankle.

Alice stopped the plant there - she didn't want to overstep her bounds more than strictly necessary to make her point known. "Accio," she ordered, and Moody's wand flew to her hand. She handed it to him, and his face was unreadable. "Told you I'm good at Herbology."

There was silence again. Dorcas and Marlene's eyes were alarmingly close to escaping their sockets. Not even the fly that usually whizzed about the office dared move its wings. It felt like years until Moody said anything, and when he did, Marlene was sure that Alice was dead meat.

The gruff Auror cast a spell. It was a shapeless silver patronus. He spoke into it.

"Return. Developments at the Ministry. You may go back to your work shortly if you hurry up," he shouted. The ball of light then lifted up in the air and left the room through the window like lightning, off to find the recipient of the message.

The next few minutes until a response was received also passed in unbearable silence, and Dorcas quietly wished for death at the sheer awkwardness of Marlene coughing. The response came in the form of a silver horse, steady galloping through the room. "Message received," Frank's voice said. Not long after, a hawk and then a boar of the same colour repeated the same words in Rowan Hammerton and Pimpernel Wyvern's much older voices.

Frank was the first to arrive. He wore an elegant set of deep violet robes - Alice did not know which location he was currently performing his undercover assignment at that required such a dress code, but she was definitely sure of the way the sight of him was making her face glow red.

"Moody," he greeted, "everything all right?"

"Take a seat, Longbottom!" Moody cut in.

Frank looked worried as he took a seat, fearing what could be so important to force Moody to pluck him out of a mission so suddenly. He noticed the two new faces in the office, but decided against asking what they had to do with any of it.

"Bloody Hammerton and Wyvern are taking their time to make their damned way over here, so I'll make a start without them," he paused to growl in annoyance. "Longbottom, Fortescue here will be joining you in your disappearance case mission on the front-lines, got that? She will be with you as your mission partner - not doing the blasted paper-work. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes - of course," Frank spluttered out, confused as to why Moody's tone seemed to imply it was his fault Alice had been assigned to paperwork.

"As for these two over there," Moody said, pointing at Marlene and Dorcas with his wand, "they are fresh out of training, they are."

"Oh, hello," Frank said, easily bolting out of his seat to shake the witches' hands. "I'm Frank Longbottom - welcome."

They exchanged pleasantries and Dorcas pointed between him and Alice. "Head Boy and Head Girl didn't stray far apart, I see," she said brightly.

"I suppose not," Frank smiled.

"McKinnon and Meadowes will be shadowing Hammerton and Wyvern in the meantime - those old dogs - it'll be good for them be around bleeding youth - and it will be good for you lot to gain some practical experience and oh - here they finally are-"

With a pop sound, the two wizards apparated into the room, extremely close to Moody. Wyvern dusted off his bowler hat, and Hammerton looked green.

"Was apparating always this violent an ordeal, Alastor?" Hammerton asked, sounding as queasy as he looked.

After telling them to get away from his face, Moody filled them in on their new proteges.

"Well I hope you're ready for one of your protege responsibilities to be to read anything that is in small print out loud to me," Hammerton told Marlene, "because trying to read those tiny scriptures, Alastor, was bloody worse than any capturing of a warlock I've ever had to assist! Why are the letters so small?"

"You are reading carvings on a goddamn secret cave, Hammerton, it's not a poster for Sleakeezy!"

"You won't have any such nonsense with me as your mentor," Wyvern said to Dorcas evenly. "My work is serious," he added, and a frog peeked out from under his bowler hat.

"Go - all of you! This isn't a ruddy social! You are wasting everybody's time! Witches, pack your things and let your mission partners take you to their assigned locations. And constant vigilance, always - if your eyesight hasn't completely disappeared, Hammerton! Longbottom - stay here, Fortescue has to brief us on her new findings in the case."

The rest of the company apparated away at the same time, leaving the office very empty very quickly. Moody suddenly cried out in pain, breaking the silence.

"Everything alright?" Frank yelped, making his way to his superior.

"This eye - that bastard- killing him wasn't enough!" he spat out between gasps and clenched teeth. "I need to go take my pain potion - fucking hell. Start the briefing, Fortescue - agh - on Merlin's life I would kill that bastard again…"

"So," Alice started once Moody dragged himself out of the room whilst swearing like a sailor. "How's the mission going?"

"It's alright, no imminent danger I don't think," Frank replied, "but I don't seem to be getting anywhere. I have no new information, really."

"That's just it - I think we might have been looking into the wrong suspect. I realised as I made this," she said, showing him her creation of light beams and photographs. Doodle Greyback rolled his eyes.

"Is that a magical version of a pin board?" Frank remarked, sounding impressed. Alice blushed furiously and completely forgot what words even sounded like.

"Uh - heh - mmm," she mustered. After a while she gave up and just nodded.

"How come Moody is placing you out on the field? Not that you don't deserve it - I say it's about time he does," Frank said, and he looked at her with warm, kind eyes. Words most certainly stood no chance of resurfacing now, Alice realised.

She shrugged again and looked down.

"Well, I'm very glad he has. And it will be nice to work as a team again."

"Yes," she managed to pronounce, but it was very quiet.

Silence hung over them briefly.

"I feel bad for Moody, with this whole eye business," Alice decided to say to break the silence. Frank brightened up seeing that she was talking in full sentences again. "I can imagine hearing Hammerton joking about not being able to see properly was probably quite upsetting for him," she continued earnestly.

Frank blinked and then burst into laughter.

"What's funny?" she asked, but a smile tugged at her lips at seeing him enjoy something she had said so much.

---

"Well I'm royally fucked, aren't I?"

"But it's not true, Lily."

"What if she believes her? I dread to think what my dad will do if Tuney tells him all I do is snog boys - although I suspect my mum will try and have the pregnancy chat with me again," Lily realised in horror.

"We'll back you up!" Mary squeaked. "We know far more about your Hogwarts life than Petunia does, so we're very credible."

"She's off her trolley! What a mad woman," Phoebe breathed in disbelief.

"One sandwich short of a picnic," Mary agreed.

"What was that holier-than-thou attitude, honestly?" Cassandra asked no one in particular. "If your sister was a witch, Lily, I wouldn't sleep easy at night."

Lily laughed but still looked pale enough to pass as a Hogwarts ghost. "She'd fit right in with the Slytherins," she muttered.

"But even they'd be scared," Mary added.

"I almost don't want to dethrone Avery as scariest prick in the castle. He'd be gutted if he lost!"

"She's no saint herself," Cassandra insisted, evidently still caught up on Petunia's accusatory comments, "you're telling me she has never fancied anyone?"

"Yeah, where's her humanity!" Mary yelled, outraged.

"I reckon you should tell your parents that she's the one that's boy crazy - and then it would be a contest of hearsay!"

"You don't fight Tune's fire with fire, though, you just don't," Lily sighed, "it only proves whatever point she thinks she's making about magic. And besides, my relationship with her is grim as it is."

"We'll catch her out on her hypocrisy then!" Phoebe squealed, and gave herself a self-congratulatory applause.

"You go ahead and do that, Phoebe, while I get absolutely minced by my parents. It's been nice knowing you," the witch said sadly, as she sloshed the beer around in her glass.

"Oh, Lily - don't worry! No one will believe her."

"And if a pregnancy chat is the worst outcome, then you'll be fine - I know my dad would get the belt out," Mary said.

"A constellation belt?"

Mary sighed at Phoebe. "No, but you do see stars when used properly."

"Oh, let's forget about your sister - I'm glad she's gone!" Cassandra cheered.

"Yes, let's chat up some muggle boys!" Phoebe added. "Imagine Allegra Cresciente's face when she hears us talk about getting with muggles."

"She'd blow her top off," Cassandra sighed wistfully, "from both blinding jealousy and total disgust!"

Lily made a face. "Maybe we do talk an obscene amount about boys," she whispered.

"Nonsense, we're sixteen - I will not be made to feel ashamed by some floozy I barely know."

"Hey - that's still my sister."

"Who called you a whore," Phoebe pointed out. Lily stayed quiet for longer than normal and Phoebe immediately and instinctively sprung to action. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lily said softly, "I just - I don't know…"

"What?"

"I just feel like everyone in my life is turning out to be so full of - bad…ness. I always hold out hope that they're not bad people but I keep being proved wrong," Lily finally admitted.

"Is this about Petunia?" Mary asked from across the table.

"Yes, in a way. It's also about, y'know, Snape. And just bloody everyone, it seems. Everywhere I look there is someone who I thought was alright, and if not decent at most, that turns out to be some kind of monster."

"Are you sad?"

"Sad? I don't know," Lily smiled at her friend. "I'm disappointed, I think. And yes - a bit sad."

"Lily, maybe you'll meet a monster who turns out to be alright and then that will fix everything!" Cassandra said confidently.

"What does that even mean?"

"Don't be sad, Lily," Mary soothed, ignoring Cassandra's strange words, "you shouldn't think too much of it. You don't deserve to be sad over bad people."

"But I care about these people, that's my problem. I care about them, and I want them to be good. I don't want to stop caring, but they make it so difficult," Lily spluttered, and was horrified to note that her throat burned with unshed tears.

Phoebe looked at her friend like she'd grown another head, but with sympathy nonetheless. "I could never care about someone I have to convince myself I like," she stated.

"Liking someone and caring about them are different things, though, right?"

"No, not really," Phoebe maintained, "you only care because a part of you still likes them."

"Well, that makes sense, Lily," Cassandra said, "that you still like your sister, even if she is a total cow to you…"

"But if she is such a cow that you find it increasingly hard to like her," Phoebe continued, "then don't fight it! Stop caring. Allow it to happen - it wouldn't be your fault, anyway."

"Do you still like Snape, then?" Mary spoke meekly, looking very thoughtful.

Mary's big dark eyes were filled with nerves and Lily's own eyes started to feel very nearly ready to cry. Mary had every right to ask - she had been teased and bullied to no end about her parentage by Severus' friends throughout her school years, more so than Lily had ever been. Mary McDonald had received no prior notice about anything remotely related to magic - it had all been one tremendous, unbelievable surprise - and so had been easily startled upon her arrival at Hogwarts. This made her the perfect target for blood-based torments, and the Slytherins made it a game to see who could frighten the ashy-haired witch the most.

Things had taken a turn for the worse a few months ago; after a year of intimidation and creepy comments, Mulciber cornered Mary outside the library one night and tried to take a peek at her underwear, insulting her blood all the while. He had not been successful, however, as Peeves (most definitely naive to the ongoings of the scene before him) chose the most opportune moment to launch a water balloon at Mulciber's head and start singing his original song Thought I could smell a Trout, A Ballad to Professor Sprout with gusto, buying Mary some time to run away. It had been a very close call.

The fact Mary had been put through that, through any of it, at the hands of people Severus approved of and hell, called mates, was enough to demote him from Sev to Snape. Lily hadn't spoken to him since. Not until, of course, she jumped to his defence by the lake and got reminded of exactly why she had gone off him in the first place. Mudblood. He'd sworn to never use the word. And there it was. Solid, like an object materialised in front of a crowd of people. An arrow, pointing straight at her. He had then been further demoted to Snivellus that day, although she forgot to use the name most days.

And that was the issue. She had tried, in a way, to be blind to the truth of who Snape was. Promises to not use the word should never have been made if the threat of the word being used was there to begin with. Why swim against the changing currents? He had always liked her despite being a mudblood, as an exception to the rule. Lily knew it, and he knew it. Snape cared about blood. He was revolting. In a second, Lily knew the answer to Mary's question.

"No - how can I possibly like him?" she told her. She turned to Phoebe Cast. "You're right, Phoebe. I do not care about Snivellus - I'm exhausted from trying to resist it," she added truthfully. "I thought it made me a better person."

Mary smiled with her eyes. "You are a good person, Lily," she told her, and a little moustache of foam from her pint appeared above her lip. She licked it off. "And I bet it kills him."

"I hope it does," Phoebe proclaimed. A distant noise made her turn to look at The Punchbowl door, which opened to let in a cluster of rowdy muggle boys.

---

The door swung open and the face that greeted Petunia was middle-aged, smirking, and a bit pink.

"Ah, yes - come in," Mr Turpin said, beckoning her to step into his house. The outside could not fool anyone that it was not still Spinner's End - but the inside certainly could. The wallpaper had been ripped out in exchange for smooth wood panels, and the decor was so modern and new that Petunia did not know what to gawk at first. All the edges of the furniture were curved and sleek against the brightly coloured carpet - and Petunia happened to know just how expensive that shade of parakeet-green was, for she had seen it plastered across home decor catalogues all year.

"Go ahead and sit down, pet - can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh," Petunia paused to think what drink would be the most attractive thing for her to be caught sipping on when Winston arrived, "I'm fine for now, I think."

"Too polite, darling, say what you really want," Mr Turpin said.

Petunia sat down on the large, spongy sofa that awaited her in the sitting room and marvelled at how perfectly fluffed the cushions were. Mr Turpin sat next to her and spread his arms along the back of it. He leaned in closer to her, and took a deep breath. It does smell very nice here, Petunia agreed.

"Go on, I'll go get you something you'll like," he said, getting to his feet (rather clumsily, in Petunia's opinion - he nearly fell into her).

Mr Turpin made his way to the other end of the room, to a small bar equipped with spirit bottles and a cocktail shaker. Whilst he was effectively distracted making loud noises with what sounded like shaved ice, Petunia seized her opportunity to frantically check her appearance in her pocket mirror, but could not find it anywhere. She settled on making sure her headband hadn't slipped out of position, and carefully topping up her lipstick. Just as she was done winding down the bar of red lipstick, Mr Turpin began his return to the sofa.

"There's a cocktail for you, darling," he said, handing her a tumbler glass of fizzing liquid, garnished with an orange slice. "I think it will be right up your street."

"Oh?" Petunia asked, not really enjoying the insinuation that a respectable girl like her was some sort of drunkard. "How so?"

"Well, you stink of alcohol, lovely."

Frozen. The blood in Petunia's veins was frozen. That fucking sherry.

"Only taking the piss, darling," Mr Turpin laughed easily, holding out his own drink. "I just thought a classy lady such as yourself would appreciate a good Tom Collins. And a good joke."

Petunia wheezed and tried to ease into the joke, but she suspected her laugh might actually be coming off more on the manic side. And when her neighbour clinked his glass against hers, she made a point of taking a miniscule sip from her drink. Damn, she cursed internally, that was a rather strong cocktail.

"It's divine," she lied.

"Did you make your lips red?" he asked suddenly, and he was once again quite close.

Petunia blushed like a tomato. She couldn't catch a break with this man. "No," she lied again, for some reason.

"They look lovely," he insisted. Mr Turpin's eyes were fixed on her thin mouth when he continued to speak. "Did you paint them red for me?"

She swallowed thickly and considered her response. "Well, I always wear lipstick. To work, as well," Petunia added, remembering that she was also there to try and impress the Turpins into thinking she cared about moving up the company Winston worked at. "Not always red lipstick, though."

"Yes, yes - not always red. You don't like to put out, do you?"

Petunia did not really understand what he meant by that, but putting out sounded flashy and indecent, so she agreed by nodding.

"You're more subtle than that, aren't you? Keep your cards to your chest. What colour lipstick do you wear to work, then?" he pressed on.

"Er…it's an apricot colour."

"Apricot?"

"Yes - it's, um, Max Factor."

"Mhmm," Mr Turpin assented. He then reached out and fully grabbed Petunia's bare knee, and used it to lunge closer, ending up at an intimate distance to her face. "Sounds really delicious, Petunia."

Petunia felt the urge to push him away, violently, but she perished the thought - she could be such a child, sometimes. "This cocktail is really good," she squeaked, "I have never known someone to be so good at mixology, Mr Turpin!"

"How delicious is it? My cocktail?" he breathed into her face.

"Er," Petunia thought that his breath was decidedly not delicious and that, actually, it rather stank, " - quite good."

"I like it that you put out just for me, Petunia. That you wore your red lipstick today," he said in a low tone, blowing hot hair at her nose.

"Thank you," she replied back, holding her breath. "Is Winston home - to talk about Crowley's?" she asked a bit nasally.

"Ah yes, my son - he'll be back home soon, don't you worry."

If only Petunia had been more attentive, maybe she would have caught sight of the very odd shine that glossed over Mr Turpin's eyes at that moment. Instead, she was looking down, betraying her excitement as she patted her hair flat. "Oh - that's good."

"Is that why you got all cleaned up?" Mr Turpin remarked, looking smug. "To impress my son."

Petunia's mouth went dry. She blinked quickly and threw her hair over her bony shoulder, attempting to move in a casual manner, although she couldn't quite picture what that might look like. "Imp... impress him?"

"I happen to know my son very well, and I know exactly what makes his head turn," Mr Turpin stated matter-of-factly. Despite her utter petrification, Petunia could not help but let her curiosity win. She looked up at the man, her face the picture of a girl who wanted more information. "I'm on your side here, pet, I want to help you. Do you want me to tell you what you can do to get Winston's attention?"

A pause. And then, a nod.

"Alright, sweetheart. Roll up that skirt of yours."

There was something in his tone that made her do it. Perhaps it was the motivator of impressing Winston that pushed her. Perhaps she did it because Mr Turpin was quite persuasive. Maybe it just wasn't that bizarre of an instruction to follow. Perhaps, though, she did not know what the alternative to not doing it was? Bottom line: Petunia rolled up her skirt. High.

"Higher. Higher - oh, bit higher than that, love. There we go!"

"Is that alright?"

"That should do it," Mr Turpin answered, his eyes gleaming.

Petunia smiled, encouraged by the thought that she now stood a good chance at nabbing Winston. "By the way, where's Mrs Turpin?"

"She's out, too - she'll be back with Winston soon," he said all too quickly, and his eyes glistened once more.

---

"Fortescue," Moody howled loudly, despite Alice being sat across from him, "congratulations on your mission. You were better than half of the bleeding wizards I've seen in this Department in an entire decade."

Alice looked down sheepishly, but remembered to own her achievements with pride. She shook herself and looked at her superior steadily. "Thank you, Moody."

"Greyback, that blasted creature, escaped us - bolted like the beast he is. It was to be expected, it was never our mission to capture him this time round and we weren't prepared. But we got all the evidence stacked against him now, which will be making him sweat. Next time, he will be sorry he was ever born, the mutt. There's a cell in Azkaban ready for him to enjoy the next full moon in," the senior Auror said, his voice dripping with aggression.

"Steady on, Moody," Frank commented, "not sure we'll have him by next month."

"Figure of speech, Longbottom. And we bloody well won't with that attitude!"

"I think we stand a chance now that Alice is here. Never seen quick-thinking like it before - it was phenomenal," Frank said, nodding encouragingly at his mission partner.

Her work had, indeed, been phenomenal. A mission to collect and stack evidence against Fenrir Greyback had been estimated to last a month. Frank and Alice had completed it within less than a week, working diligently and smoothly with one another in an undercover mission as villagers in the town the werewolf was training his pack. With time to spare and emboldened by their exquisite performance so far, the two Aurors took the risk of performing a raid. They captured two werewolves, but Greyback had managed to slip away.

"Well, it was a team effort," she counter-argued, and she meant it.

"Yeah - it was," Moody said, looking deep in thought. He adjusted his eye patch and took a swig of his vial of pain-relieving potion. "I know good teamwork when I see it. And I know bad teamwork when I see it, too," he added darkly.

Somewhere in the office, Wyvern huffed. "I won't take that personally, Alastor."

"I hope you ruddy well do, Wyvern, I was not subtle for good reason," the Auror growled. "But anyway, you two," Moody continued, "you did not work well as a team - you excelled, you hear me? It was damn near perfect coordination on all fronts," Moody explained, spitting the words with angry passion, as if he was in actual fact telling them off. "You are to be permanent mission partners for the foreseeable future, understood? Or until I go off the bloody deep end and make the mistake of separating you."

"Or unless it was all a fluke."

"I would keep that trap shut if I were you, Wyvern!"

"What about Meadowes and I, Mad-eye? No praise for us, it seems."

"Mad-eye?" Moony repeated, scathingly.

"Were we not an efficient team?" Wyvern asked, entirely ignoring Moody's appalled look at the new nickname.

"Don't you wind me up, you halfwit - you were bloody abominable! You gave Meadowes all the wrong information, and you were meant to be her damn mentor. The only reason why I don't suspect you of working against this department, Wyvern, is because I think such a thing would require you to actually be bloody cunning and less of a donkey, and that would be fucking impossible, wouldn't it!"

Dorcas smiled at the outburst. She had grown to find Wyvern to be utterly useless over the course of the week as his protege, and so the young Auror had to resist the urge to plant a fat smooch on Moody's head for setting Wyvern straight. Dorcas was highly suspicious that being a witch and not being taken seriously for it had much to do with her mentor's indifference towards her - when Gideon Prewett had visited the cave, Wyvern's attention to him had been a slap in the face.

She only wished Marlene was here to witness Moody snapping at the older Auror - she would find his ranting hilarious, especially when a frog climbed up Moody's front as he seethed (so much for constant vigilance). Marlene would no doubt laugh in a way that would show her impossibly endearing dimples. Her hair would probably swish as it always did when she shook with silent laughter, and her eyes would crinkle in that brilliant way they always did when…Dorcas stopped herself there. Get a grip, girl.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Mad-eye, you're on healer's orders to rest," Wyvern retorted, making his way out of the office.

"Old bastard," Moody spat, breathing fire. "Meadowes, I will not waste any more of your time. You shall be Kingsley's protege from now on. He's young within the department, but he'll be a good teacher. I will have McKinnon join you. Merlin knows Hammerton will have probably killed every bloody one of her wits by now."

Dorcas nodded solemnly, although inside she was beside herself to be working with Marlene again. Marlene would be too, she was sure. The young witch tapped her foot on the leg of her chair restlessly, willing Marlene to arrive for her weekly report before her heart burst with impatient excitement.

Moody returned to Frank and Alice. "As for you two, Longbottom has been my protege for some time, and now you will join him, Fortescue. It will be…for the best," he finished, avoiding a direct compliment.

Alice had to pinch herself under the desk various times to believe the words that had come out of his mouth. Her - Alice Fortescue - a witch - Alastor Moody's protege?

"Thank you, sir," she responded, her tone firmer and more self-assured than she had ever heard it in her life, "I won't let you down."

When Moody was out of sight, distantly screaming at Wyvern in the corridor, Marlene and Hammerton flooed in through the office fireplace in quick succession. "I'm glad we managed to avoid apparition, McKinnon," the grey-haired wizard wheezed, "I'm far too fragile these days for any of that nonsense."

"Me too," Marlene agreed, helping her mentor step out of the pile of ashes he'd left in his wake, "and I think we should lay off portkeys for a while, too."

"Yes - ghastly business, portkeys. Sorry about the sick."

"Hello, everyone," Marlene greeted the room as Hammerton dramatically sat on a chair with a tremendous sigh. "Is Moody in? We have the report for him ready."

"He's outside," Frank said, "although I think it would be best to wait for him here."

"Fine by me!" Hammerton quipped cheerily, looking ready to nap.

Marlene sat next to Dorcas. "How are you, stranger? How's the mission been treating you?"

"Awfully," Dorcas replied, although she wore a cheek-splitting grin on her face at seeing her friend, "it's been a disaster."

"How so?"

"I was always being sent to the wrong location, or tasked with the wrong thing," she explained in a hushed tone, eyeing Hammerton. "It's truly a mystery that I wasn't cursed within an inch of my life on the job."

"Crikey," Marlene said, giggling softly. "Well mine has been pretty boring," she admitted, whispering the last word. "But at least Hammerton is a laugh. Although he is too old for the job, bless him - he's said so himself."

"Yeah - I think his next assignment should be to go to bed by eight with a cup of earl grey," Dorcas snickered, and Marlene swatted her arm playfully.

"He would love that," she conceded. "You're terrible, though, Dory."

Dorcas grinned, watching the way Marlene wiggled with amusement with total admiration. She shook herself, never dropping her smile. "Only in front of you," she pointed out.

Marlene laughed at that, before checking that Alice and Frank were still involved in their own conversation. "Yes, you like to keep up your good girl image, but I know how much of a twat you really are. You're a bad girl, Dory," Marlene whispered in mock disapproval.

"You don't know the half of it," Dorcas said, but it sounded far more earnest than she had intended, and her eyes filled with panic.

"Oh, Merlin - I'm shaking in fear!" Marlene mocked.

"I'm so bad, in fact," Dorcas said, grateful that the accidental seriousness of her comment had gone unnoticed, "that I reckon I'm going to say something to those two lovebirds over there so they get all flustered about liking each other," she whispered, nodding towards Frank and Alice. The two Aurors were half a metre apart, as if the other had dragon pox, but speaking animatedly and never dropping each other's gaze.

"You wouldn't!" Marlene gasped, "They would never stop blushing! They would turn permanently pink, like Wanda Strange in fourth year Charms."

"But it's so painful to watch - they never make any advances. I thought Gryffindors were brave, no?"

Hammerton started to snore from his place on the chair. "Like we're any better - we never come clean about anyone that we like," Marlene teased.

"That's true," Dorcas muttered. She held Marlene's stare. "I never have."

Marlene blinked. "Then we're in no position to meddle - you meddler!"

"Just a little meddling, Marly, nothing drastic. Like this. Alice!" Dorcas called, getting the witch's attention. "Do you remember my brother? Marvin Meadowes?"

Alice looked surprised at the question, but screwed her face in thought. "He was a Hufflepuff, wasn't he? In my year, I believe."

"Yeah - that's the one. Have you ever spoken to him?"

"Oh, er, I'm not sure, actually. Being in a different hou-"

"See, I told him about how we work in the same department," Dorcas interrupted, catching Marlene's amused glance briefly, "and he told me to tell you that he thinks you are ridiculously fit."

Marlene looked surprised, but it was nothing compared to the look of pure shock Alice had plastered across her face. On the other hand, Frank looked like he'd been hexed up the arse.

"Oh," Alice said simply. She looked startled as she tucked a piece of honey-coloured hair back into her messy gathering of hair.

"Would you be interested?" Dorcas asked pointedly.

"Interested in what?" Alice spluttered.

"In him. In potentially seeing him. I could set it up! Don't you think they would make a great couple, Marly?"

"Oh definitely," Marlene chirped, nodding frantically.

"Well I don't - I don't even know what he looks like, Dorcas -"

"I'll jog your memory," Dorcas offered, "very tall, dark skin, brown eyes, always had a mustard satchel bag with him - you know the ones everyone used to have?"

"Very attractive," Marlene chimed, helping Dorcas out. "Like, very. Has a strong jaw. Bit of a beard."

"And he loves Herbology," Dorcas added with a knowing smirk.

Alice seemed intrigued at this. "Really?" she asked, brightly. Dorcas did not fail to notice how suddenly Frank looked struck with pain.

"Bloody loves it," Dorcas confirmed wickedly. "Do you remember him, Frank?"

The young wizard swallowed thickly and tried to pull an impassive face, failing miserably. "Yes, I remember him," he coughed. "Seemed like a nice lad."

"Well, then - I reckon I'll tell him to drop by the office," Dorcas said. "Unless of course you're not single. Are you single, Alice?"

"Er - yes."

"I can't believe someone hasn't snapped you up yet!" Marlene exclaimed.

"Honestly," Dorcas agreed, emphatically sighing, "it's lucky no one has - gives people like Marvin a chance to slide in there."

Frank looked as if he was chewing the inside of his own mouth. At that moment, Moody burst into the office.

"Hammerton, you lazy git!" he boomed, waking the old Auror from his slumber. "Where's my report?"

"Oh Alastor, calm down will you. You're meant to be on healing rest for your eye," Hammerton said groggily.

"What is it with everyone sticking their ruddy nose in my healing business - I'll do what I bloody like," he barked, snatching the parchment off Hammerton's hands. "Fortescue, where is the filing drawer for the Sycorax Cave?"

"You absolute meddler," Marlene murmured to Dorcas once everyone was sufficiently preoccupied, "Marvin will kill you - and so will his bloody girlfriend!"

"I won't tell him. He won't ever find out, because I just know Longbottom will act before Marvin even has a chance to show up."

"Hope so - it would be awkward to have to explain to Laverne that her boyfriend called their old Head Girl ridiculously fit, especially with her temper."

"Especially if she finds out how much you tried to sell it, more like," Dorcas said, "she would have your head."

"Well I think lying about him liking Herbology was especially cruel on your part. Longbottom looked completely fucking broken," she noted with amusement.

"Oh admit it, you loved it," Dorcas jibed, "you were adding your own contributions!"

"What can I say," Marlene said with a smirk, "I guess I'm also a meddler."

"A couple of meddlers, we are."

"Indeed," Marlene affirmed. She then smiled - that perfect, pearly white, symmetrical smile of hers that made Dorcas nearly choke on thin air. Was she aware of how beautiful she was?

"I like your hair today," the words tumbled out of Dorcas' mouth without permission.

"Today? As opposed to usually, when you're repulsed by it?" Marlene teased.

"No, no - I like the purple ribbon. It's nice."

"All right," Marlene said, her cheeks going imperceptibly pink, "good save."

---

The four teenage witches tumbled their way out of The Punchbowl, giddy with far more pints inside of them than they had bought. The group of local boys had seemed rather keen on supplying them, and who were they to decline such a gallant offer, as Cassandra had so elegantly put it. After Phoebe had kissed the wrong boy (the one she hadn't been talking to for the past forty minutes, but rather the one who had been sat next to him the whole time - and had the same bloody hair), the girls decided it was time to slip away before Eric and Mike escalated the little altercation they were starting to have into a full-blown brawl. Cassandra had to pry Mary away from a long-haired boy called Paul, which was no easy feat considering how totally glued to his side she was.

"I'm gutted we had to say goodbye," Mary whined as she broke into hiccups, "I won't ever see him again!"

"He won't be the love of your life, Mary, he's from Cokeworth!" Lily reasoned.

"He might have been!"

"They all smelled of smoke - muggle boys smell of smoke - I can't wait to tell Allegra Cresciente," Cassandra said gleefully.

"But now all of us smell like that, too," Lily giggled, dizzy with beer.

"Phoebe will smell like cigs the most," Mary explained, slurring her words, "because she necked double the guys!"

They all started to laugh. "Don't!" Phoebe moaned, "Poor Eric!"

"Don't you mean Mike?"

"No -poor Davey Gudgeon!"

The four Gryffindors laughed and squealed all the way back to Spinner's End, calling Phoebe the new ice queen all the while, and improvising a eulogy for Davey Gudgeon, whose memory had been 'heartlessly killed' by the blonde witch. Lily had been thoroughly chased by Phoebe for that one.

"That house over there - that one belongs to Snivelly," Lily said, sounding incredibly tipsy.

"Let's - let's go wreck it!" Mary proclaimed.

"You're crazy!"

"I'll do it, I swear it," Mary insisted, and she pushed her sleeves up with determination.

"Mary," Phoebe laughed, "you got a bloody A in Defence!"

"Not with magic, I'll get done in for that," she squeaked, "I'll do it with my bare hands!"

They all cracked up, including Mary, who shook with hysterics whilst repeating that she was not joking.

"I've never seen these many cars in one place!" Cassandra hollered, looking around the neighbourhood. "That one over there is beautiful - I don't think I've seen anything like it in the Wizarding World before!"

Lily followed her friend's gaze and found it came to rest on the Turpin's brand new, top of the league sports car outside their drive. It was a glossy blue and it shined like a mirror under the scorching sunlight.

"That one is the most expensive one in the whole of Cokeworth, I reckon."

"Really? Oh, can we go see it, Lily?"

"I'll do you one better," Lily said, clumsily pulling out her camera from her bag, "let's take photos like they do in muggle magazines!"

They all squealed excitedly, stumbling as they ran towards the twinkling vehicle. Cassandra called shotwand on sprawling across the hood of the car, but Phoebe tried her best to push her off it. After snapping a few photos of her in saucy poses, Lily announced it was Mary's turn, and she knelt by the front wheels, blowing kisses down the lens. Just as Lily took her place by the car, she happen to catch sight of something twinkling on the ground of Turpin's drive.

"What?" she whispered quizzically once she got to the object on the floor. "This is Petunia's mirror!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she breathed, picking up the small circular mirror. "Look, it has her initials on the back. She labels everything - and this is her writing!"

"How strange," Mary remarked. "Maybe she's visiting your neighbours?"

"No - no - that would be so bizarre. We don't really know the Turpins," Lily said thoughtfully. "This is quite out of character for her."

"There's probably an explanation," Phoebe said matter-of-fact.

Lily approached the Turpin front door and eyed it curiously. "I suppose there's always an explanation for everything…"

"That's what I'm saying."

"But it doesn't mean it's always, you know, reasonable" Lily finished, and she pushed the door handle down experimentally. To everyone's surprise, the door creaked open.

"Oh, Lily, don't - we'll get into trouble!" Mary yelped.

"Let's go in - I can always lie and say my mum was asking for Mrs Turpin, or something."

"How is that convincing justification for breaking into someone's house?" Cassandra retorted, although she had joined Lily in poking her head inside the house.

"I don't know," Lily said under her breath. "Shhh - there's voices!"

From somewhere deeper inside the house, a muffled voice could be heard yapping on. A second, higher-pitched voice joined him. All the girls gasped.

"That's Petunia's voice!" Lily whispered. Everyone had now joined Lily at the door. "What is she doing?"

"I have no idea, but let's not stay to find out," Mary interjected.

"Where did your bravado from earlier go, when you wanted to attack Snivellus' house?" Phoebe pointed out.

"I say we go in," Lily suggested.

"You've lost the plot!" Mary croaked, and Cassandra looked fairly uneasy, too.

"Trust me," Lily said with conviction, "she's up to something secretive. It will be worth figuring out!"

"There's no way, Lily - I'm serious!"

But Lily's eyes were wide with curiosity and Mary knew it was too late. The redhead crept inside, followed by Phoebe and a begrudging Cassandra. "I think I must be more drunk than I thought, because I'm actually quite excited," Phoebe piped.

"Blimey, you're worse than Sirius Black," Mary muttered, putting Lily's camera in her bag and quickly sneaking in behind the group.

The girls crawled their way along the hallway on all fours, stopping before they reached what was the door to either the kitchen or the living room. Either way, the house was bloody fancy and bloody muggle, and they could not tell what was what. What was clear, however, was that Petunia was on the other side of that door, because her voice was as clear as day.

"I'm very professional," she was saying stuffily, "I started out as an assistant to Mr Stewart but got promoted to working in reception and only answering to Mrs Wickes within the month."

"Very good girl, aren't you?" a deeper voice drawled.

"Yes," Petunia agreed, her tone evidently filled with pride.

"But are you always a good girl, Petunia?"

Lily furrowed her brow in confusion. What on Earth was Mr Turpin doing having some sort of meeting about Petunia's work? What link did he have to her receptionist job? Maybe this was an interview and Petunia was going to work for him now?

"Yes," Petunia said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. She scoffed. "I know my family can be a bit abnormal at times, but I assure you I am perfectly normal."

All the girls rolled their eyes collectively.

"That's not what I meant," Mr Turpin was heard saying.

"Oh?" Petunia said.

Oh? Lily thought.

"Are you really that much of a good girl when you wear that red lipstick for me?" Mr Turpin questioned, and Lily's eyes widened like they were trying to escape their sockets. She looked around and saw that her friends all bore identical looks.

"I told you, I am a lady. So I wear lipstick."

It occurred to Lily right then that her sister sounded rather drunk. Oh Merlin.

"Mmm. Show me the lipstick then."

"Er… you can see it from there, can't you?" Petunia snapped.

"I think I need a closer look," Mr Turpin uttered, and the girls heard some movement from inside the room. Mary held a hand over her mouth.

"Well - can you see it now?" Petunia huffed.

"Yes - but I reckon I need to feel it."

Oh my God, Lily thought. Mr Turpin - that absolute pig.

"You've…already felt my leg enough," Petunia said, and her voice sounded a lot more nervous than it had up until this point.

Cassandra mouthed the word 'Merlin' and Phoebe looked at Lily as wildly as if a cornish pixie was fluttering around her insides. Lily looked at her worriedly in return, pressing her ear closer to the door to hear more of the exchange between Petunia and Turpin. She mouthed the words 'what do I do' to her friends, and Phoebe simply increased the manic look in her eye as a response.

"Mmm - do you mean like this, darling?" Mr Turpin said in a low tone.

There was no response.

"Do you like it when I touch your legs like this?"

It was quiet again, except for some disgusting guttural noises Mr Turpin was making. Lily leaned towards Mary, who still had a hand over her mouth, and whispered something in her ear. Mary looked terrified, but nodded at Lily all the same.

"I'm going in," Lily murmured, determined.

"Good luck," Cassandra whispered.

"Hide," Lily warned her friends, and Phoebe grabbed Cassandra's hand so they would both be flush against the wall.

"I bet you would prefer it if I touched you higher up, pet," Mr Turpin said.

"No -"

"Now that you've rolled your skirt up so high for me, love, I can touch anything I want…"

Lily did not waste another second. In a heartbeat, she was up on her feet and inside the living room.

Flash.

Mary had joined her, instructed to take a photo of whatever was in front of her upon her entrance. It so happened that the scene before her was truly a bad look for Mr Turpin. He had sprung back now, startled, but a second earlier Mary had captured through the lens of the camera Turpin's pink, flustered face looming over Petunia, sunk deep in the sofa, his hands greedily rubbing her upper legs as she pulled a horrified expression.

"Mr Turpin," Lily said icily. "Thought I'd find you here."

"I - I - how - how did -" Mr Turpin blubbered incoherently.

Lily's eyes burned with such fury that it could have been entirely possible that she was performing a wordless curse on the man. She took a step forward and spat on him. Mary screamed out a gasp.

"Here," Lily told Petunia, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from the insidious man and into the hallway with Mary by her side, "you dropped your mirror, Tuney."

"Thanks," Petunia said, and her voice sounded small and foreign to everyone's ears. Her face was totally blank and unreadable, save for the quiver on her lip.

Out in the hallway, Cassandra and Phoebe took Petunia's hands, and she must've been pretty shook up because she willingly let them do so.

"Rot in hell," Lily growled at the man.

And before leaving, Mary took one last photo of Mr Turpin looking completely pathetic.

---

Dear Dorcas,

How is everything with Shacklebolt? I am so excited to be joining you soon, once Hammerton and I finish up cave business today. It will all be wrapped up, thankfully - it has been the most tragically snooze-inducing activity I have had the displeasure of carrying out since leaving Hogwarts. Even Hammerton being attacked by a Blue Blooded Bell-bat was dull. He didn't even flinch, not even when the bat sunk its teeth in his ear. The tip of which is now blue, not that he has any clue.

I can only imagine your mission is a lot more animated, though I can't help but feel like I will be intruding somewhat. It's silly, I know. But I'm sure you and Kingsley Shacklebolt are bonding and having loads of fun. I heard he's rather handsome, too. Is he fit? Do you like him? Would you rather not have me there ruining the atmosphere? I would understand.

I will see you very soon!

Love,

Marlene.

---

Dear Phoebe,

I am so excited that it is only a few days until school starts again. I always end up feeling a bit nostalgic about the summer as it comes to an end though, and I will miss the lack of homework we've had this year.

I feel like time has flown by whilst simultaneously dragged on forever since I last saw you. How has your week been? Things over here are much the same. My mum will not stop baking that whipped basil cake you showed her when you were round. It's driving my dad up the wall because he says it tastes like soap, which it does. I think my mum is trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that she likes the bloody thing - who's going to tell her that in the Wizarding World we also have treacle tart?

I ran into Eric the other day in town (or maybe it was Mike) and he asked me where my blonde friend was. I told him that she actually has a boyfriend called Davey Gudgeon and that she was just fooling around with him. He then asked me if you were a hippie, and I said you were! Eric/Mike looked even more in love after that. I'll need to tell you what a hippie is if you don't know, but it's very close to a witch for muggle standards. He then wished you good luck with Davey Gudgeon, saying he was a lucky man. I nearly passed out trying not to laugh in his face! Kind of sweet, though?

Things with Tuney are back to their old ways, and I have to say I'm glad they are - her being sort of nice to me was a sign of just how traumatised she was about the whole ordeal with Turd-pin. And nice is a bit of an overstatement, anyway. She was more blank than anything else. What a bastard of a man - I would happily hex him within an inch of his life if he lays a finger on ehr again. Poor Tuney. Yesterday she called me a freak and screamed at Peach when she dropped off a letter - so safe to say she's feeling better. Selfishly, I feel like that experience didn't help my whole 'everyone is a monster' conundrum. But I'll get over it. If there's a silver lining to any of this, is that Tuney completely forgot to mention her lie about me being boy-obsessed to my parents. It's a bit of a weak silver lining, but I'll take it!

To answer your question, I have already visited Diagon Alley and gotten all my supplies. I saw you and Cassandra's sworn enemy, Allegra Cresciente, in Madame Malkin's, and I'm so sorry to say that I gave in and smiled at her. I know, it's poor form from me, but I didn't even register who it was properly. She smiled back, but it was so forced I thought her face would crack (you wished it actually had, I'm sure).

I am sending you a couple of the photos I took of you at mine inside this envelope. I've sent the others their share, but there's some I love too much not to keep, like the one of you with the hair-sprayed cone of hair on your head. We can charm them in our dorm so they move, because at the minute they are just muggle photos and it would be a shame to not have the one of Mary batting her eyelashes at the boy from the pub move about. It will look like her eyes are going to take flight!

All my love,

Lily.

---

Bloody stupid magic and bloody fucking astrology, Petunia thought angrily.

It had been over a week, and still she could not manage to shake off the feeling of absolute unsettlement that had continuously buzzed within her since she came to that sickening realisation.

It had been like falling into a great bucket of ice water when she realised. Realising had been like an enormous static shock. When she realised, she felt both as if stuck in a perpetual nightmare and awake for the first time.

She realised not long after the incident with Turpin.

Petunia had walked through the front door, surrounded by Lily and her friends - hell, practically carried by Lily and her friends. Mrs Evans heard the door swing open, and went to check up on the result of her little orchestrated outing. At the bizarre sight of Petunia holding hands with two of Lily's mates, Daisy's cigarette nearly dropped from her mouth.

"Hello, girls," she said brightly, "looks like you had fun at the pub!"

After a couple of panicked glances were exchanged, cat-eyes-broad-nose spoke up, a massive smile etched on her face, clearly meant to fool Daisy Evans into thinking everything was beyond fine.

"It was so fun! I didn't know muggle drinks were so different from ours!" she beamed.

"Yes, all the names were so interesting! What was that one that the barman was explaining to us, Lily?" the blonde one asked, trying to sound cheery.

"Smirnoff," Lily said merrily, though through gritted teeth, allowing Petunia to make her way up the stairs unnoticed.

"Smirnoff! That was it!"

"It sounds like something out of Durmstrang!"

As Petunia shut the door to her room, the last fragment of conversation that floated up to her ears was her mother asking what a Durmstrang was with far too much interest, followed by the girls' soft laughs.

She slid down the door, pressing her back against the uneven wood. Tears were already rolling down her cheeks, and she sniffed trying to contain a heavy sob. She felt like such a fool. Had Mr Turpin been playing her this entire time - had she really been so lovestruck with Winston to be totally naive to his father's intentions? How could she have been such an idiot, Petunia wanted to scream, and why had her obsession got the best of her? Winston was really not all he was cracked up to be - he had money, sure, but he had never shown her any kindness, or respect. It was at once humiliating and terrifying to have the reality of her position to the Turpins be confirmed: she was nothing but a silly, working-class plaything to people like them. Annoyingly, a part of her still burned with yearning to receive their approval. But the yearning felt more complicated now - like another emotional labyrinth she needed to sort out. Petunia was growing fed up of these complex emotions. And to make matters worse, she felt like she needed three showers to scrub away the feeling of dirt that the grubby man's hands had left on her legs.

Petunia made her way shakily to her bedside table, reaching for the tissues she knew to be there, bracing herself for what would no doubt prove to be an intense afternoon of crying. On the way, her eye caught sight of an open magazine resting on her bed. Petunia didn't know why - which would, retrospectively, make her feel all the more terrified - but something inside her made her stop in her tracks and pick up the flimsy pages. As she examined the astrology section which she had paused her reading at a few days ago, her heart skipped a beat.

The prediction.

Due to the planet's alignment with the first and third houses, today will mark the start of a week-long realisation for Taurus. This week's prediction: not all that glitters is gold. That which you seek will never come, and something close will manifest itself for selfish, cosmical means. Blood is thicker than water, Taurus. The planets are connecting the dots, and this week the universe is presenting Taurus with choice. Kin, if not spiritually honoured, may open the path to deceit. When clarity is reached, and only then, may kin return and be opportune.

Surely not. Surely. There was no way. Who the hell wrote this rubbish? She frantically checked for the author - some idiot called Sybill! A con dedicating her life to writing a bunch of lies in a teen's magazine. And yet…

Not all that glitters is gold.

That which you seek will never come. Winston?

Something close will manifest itself for selfish means? Mr Turpin? Could it be?

What the hell was kin? Kin? Blood is thicker than water. Family? Lily.

When clarity is reached, and only then, may kin return and be opportune. When it had dawned on Petunia that Turpin was bad news, Lily, kin, had appeared and it had certainly been opportune timing.

But what did spiritually honouring kin mean? What did it all mean? What choice? Planets? She thought Earth was the only planet that mattered!

Petunia's thoughts were too loud and she nearly screamed out-loud to tell them to shut up. She noted her breathing was quick and shallow and she settled on her bed, attempting to calm down.

What did any of this mean? Was it magic? And if so, what the hell did Lily have to do with it? If it had anything to do with magic, it had her sister's signature all over it. Lily had been the one to rescue her, after all. But Petunia's head started to pound again - she had no clue how any of this worked, magic and spells and predictions. Did predictions work independently, unlike a spell someone cast? It was terrifying to realise that, if this really was magic, it seemed to be always surrounding and watching her, able to predict things that had not even occurred yet. It was frightening and thrilling - and that last sensation was decidedly more scary than any other factor combined. What did this make her? Maybe she wasn't so removed from magic after all, if magic was capable of interacting with her in some sort of way. Or was this just how magic worked? Could it affect anyone? Had she gotten her stupid little hopes up again, thinking she was special? Was this a cruel trick Lily was playing on her?

Perhaps she was reading too much into the magazine! Maybe if she looked at it again in the morning with fresh eyes, she would notice how it did not apply to her situation as closely as it seemed.

The next morning, however, proved no such thing. The words remained unchanged on the page, mocking and somehow so much more specific-sounding than the day before. And the same thing happened the next morning. And the next, and the next, and the next one after that, and then the following one, until Petunia's head hurt so much she threw the magazine out of her bedroom window. Peach grabbed it at once and set out to make her new nest in the Evans' small apple tree out of it, and Petunia screamed bloody murder. Stupid, magic bird. I bet it knows it's magical paper or something.

When Petunia made her way to the kitchen that morning and saw one of Lily's new school books on the table, she spat the word 'freak' at her, livid at the mocking existence of anything remotely fucking magical. She shoved toast into her mouth, complaining loudly to her mother about cluttering the table with such utter rubbish, failing to take notice of the small, relieved smile that flashed across her sister's features.

The time to say goodbye to Lily arrived quicker than any other summer, and as usual, they all got up at the crack of dawn to send the young witch off. Daisy gave her youngest daughter a watery hug and a loud shower of affection that annoyed Petunia to no end. Martin Evans, on the other hand, kept his goodbye brief, but when he arrived back home from dropping Lily off at the train station on route to London, his pale face looked unusually melancholic. Mr Evans mentioned in the kitchen, casual as ever, that he had seen Mr Turpin outside and that he had wished the eldest Evans daughter hello ("Funny bloke!"), and suddenly it dawned on Petunia that the prediction had made her forget about Turpin's grim advances all week.

---

Dear Marlene,

Kingsley is a nice lad. Serious, though. Really professional. There's not much bonding happening. But nonetheless this assignment will be less boring than your cave exploring, by the sounds of it! Hammerton needs to get that ear sorted.

I hope you know that Kinglsey will be the one that is intruding now that we're working together.

See you tomorrow, Marly. I can hardly wait.

Dorcas