O
HARMONIA
Concord
August
So there it was. Somehow feelings for Michael had crept up on Hope out of nowhere before slamming into her with the force of a speeding train. And having realised this, she was now powerless to stop their relentless progression. The more she tried to get the emotions in check, the more they spiralled out of control. Most of her time was spent daydreaming about the various scenarios in which she and Michael may get together, and she had sustained several more minor injuries at work because of this. Almost every night she dreamt that she told Michael how she felt. Each time he laughed and told her not to be so ridiculous. They were friends, dream Michael would remind her. As good as siblings. It would be like going out with a Weasley or a Potter.
Except it wouldn't be like that. Michael had never been family in the same way as the Potters and Weasleys. And even if he had, what did it matter? The as-good-as-family ties had not stopped Teddy and Victoire from embarking on a relationship. But the uncomfortable dreams persisted, as did the more enjoyable but no less inconvenient daydreams, and Hope became more confused with every passing day.
In the end, after three weeks of turmoil, unable to tell the real, waking Michael the truth, but afraid that if she didn't talk to someone, it would come bursting out of her when she was least expecting it, Hope accosted Dom in the kitchen one evening to ask for advice. Her days of being too proud to request help were long in the past now.
"I like Michael," she blurted out, so suddenly that Dom jumped and a large blob of tomato sauce fell to the floor. "As more than a friend. I don't understand what happened. One minute I didn't. Now I do. And I can't stop thinking about him and I don't know what to do next."
She waited, arms folded and mouth set defiantly, for her friend to poke fun at her. Dom held her gaze for several moments and gave her saucepan a final stir.
"Want some pasta?"
"Um. Sure."
Dom put a steaming bowl down in front of Hope, turned off the stove with a flick of her wand, and sat down at the table opposite her.
"So how long have you known you liked him?"
"Since the funeral." Hope scowled down into her bowl. "And it's very inconvenient. Not to mention ridiculous. It's not like anything's going to happen between us, so I want to go back to how I felt three weeks ago."
Dom sprinkled some extra cheese thoughtfully over her own plate. "But why shouldn't anything happen between you?" she asked.
"We're going away," Hope reminded her. "In opposite directions. Michael leaves in two weeks. I go to Spain at the end of August. And even if we weren't," she added, as Dom made to reply to this. "It doesn't matter, does it? Michael sees me as a friend. Nothing more."
"How do you know that?"
"Because in my dreams I always tell him how I feel and that's what he says." This time, Dom did collapse into giggles, and while Hope could not entirely blame her, she glared all the same.
"Sorry," Dom said, calming down. "I'm sorry, Hope. I'm not laughing at you, I know it's no fun when you like someone and there isn't a simple solution. The travelling issue is definitely an obstacle to would need to consider. But I'm not sure you're right about him only seeing you as a friend."
"Well I am," Hope said. "He has a ton of friends and I'm just one of them. So I need to get used to it."
"How many of those friends did he ask to come to his grandparents' funeral?" Dom persisted. "Or visit after his grandmother passed away?"
Hope pushed a large coil of pasta round her bowl without responding. A long forgotten echo was coming back to her in the form of Cadmus, hard faced and grey-eyed, spitting and snarling at her. Telling her that she was worthless. Telling her no one else would ever have her or want her.
It was an unpleasant memory, certainly, but in her heart Hope knew she didn't believe that anymore. At some point over the past weeks and months the poisonous words had lost their hold over her. She had accepted that she was both loved and loveable, and that her worth was not defined by the twisted opinions of a deeply disturbed teenage boy.
Maybe it wasn't such an insane idea, to think that Michael might see her as more than a friend. As someone... special.
O
By her following shift, after yet another dream in which she confessed her innermost sentiments to Michael only to be met with incredulous laughter, Hope had made a resolute decision to keep quiet. Perhaps Dom was right, but in reality there was no practical way to embark on a relationship now, and the consequences of telling Michael only to find out the feelings were unrequited didn't bear thinking about. She considered this resolution vindicated on arriving at The Leaky Cauldron to find Michael and Beth chatting together at the bar. Beth was howling with mirth and Michael was waiting patiently for her to stop. Hope knew that resigned look of placid tolerance only too well.
See. He sees you as a friend. The same way he sees Beth.
"What's so funny?" she asked, and Beth turned a jubilant face towards her.
"Swash just asked Michael out. And he broke her heart and turned her down."
"What?" Hope gaped at him. "Annabella Swash? But I thought-"
She broke off, realising her impending words were incredibly rude.
"Thought she didn't like me?" Michael said cheerfully, with his habitual lack of offense. "Thought I wasn't her type? Well, you'd be right on both accounts, Hope. We're not friends and never have been. We put up with each other for the sake of the friendship group and that arrangement was fine with me. She doesn't like me, she is definitely not attracted to me, so I'm not sure what her game is."
"Come on Michael. It's obvious," Beth insisted, still sniggering. "It makes so much sense. That's probably why she was mean to Es at school."
"That was long before Esme and I got together," Michael retorted.
Beth shrugged. "Then she must have had subconscious yearnings for you all these years, and they've only recently come to light."
"Subconscious yearnings?" Michael repeated in some disgust, while Hope digested this. Did her own sentiment come under the definition of 'subconscious yearnings'? She sincerely hoped not.
Beth, oblivious to Hope's inner conflict, was gleefully making suggestions on where Michael could take Annabella Swash on their date, and Hope tried not to listen. She didn't want to imagine Michael dating another girl, even one he didn't like.
Was that a hint of jealousy, by any chance?
She couldn't be jealous. She wouldn't be jealous. It was pointless. Nothing was going to happen between herself and Michael, so it made no difference if he went out with someone else, even someone annoying and loud like Annabella Swash.
"You should take advantage." Beth, not to be deterred, was still pressing buttons. "You're leaving soon. Why shouldn't you get laid before you go?"
"Oh get out of here." Michael threw a damp cloth in her face. "I just ate." He was still laughing, but a further unpleasant feeling writhed in Hope's stomach at the thought.
That was definitely jealousy.
"I'm serious," Beth persisted. "It must have been a while for you. Bella's not short of experience, I'll tell you that."
"Beth, I mean it. You can shut up or get out." There was an atypical edge to his voice now which Beth must have detected, because she subsided. "Sorry,' she said. "I'll shut up. But I have to go anyway. I'll see you next Saturday if not before."
Michael was holding leaving drinks in The Leaky Cauldron the following weekend. Leaving drinks, Hope reminded herself. Because he was leaving. In a fortnight. To travel the world for an entire year. And she was going to study in Spain.
Neither of them spoke for several moments once Beth had breezed out of the door. Hope was forcibly trying to remove the image of Bella and Michael rolling around on a bed from her brain. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.
"It was your dad's birthday," she exclaimed, looking in the calendar for something to do then realizing the date. "I should have got him a present!"
"Don't be silly," Michael said, but Hope made a mental note to ask Harry or her parents what gift might be appropriate, at least so she knew for next year. "He's quite hard to buy for, too, unless it's a plant. I've got him a one every year since I was twelve and that keeps him happy."
"What did you get this year?"
"Some weird Maltese sapling thing, it's hideous!" he replied. "And I don't think it counts as a sapling when it's grown into a mini tree. It's still in my room, actually, because he's been up at Hogwarts for staff meetings all week. I'll show you after work."
O
"That is... disgusting," Hope confirmed, staring at the plant that stood floor to ceiling in the corner of Michael's bedroom. Mucus-like droplets of a yellow substance crawled up and down the stems and the leaves had a greasy, oily sheen to them. "He'll love it though."
"He'd better," Michael said. "It's not staying here. It likes to spit sap out at random moments. I've been woken up at least three times this week by a glob of slime hitting me in the forehead."
"How delightful." Hope glanced at his bedside table. "Is that why Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is sitting under a protective bubble charm?"
"Yup."
"I can't believe you haven't finished it yet. It's only a couple of hundred pages."
Michael did not reply. Realising that the reason for the delay was likely his recent family tragedy and annoyed at herself for lacking sensitivity, Hope wandered over to the far wall instead, to observe the big picture of the Gryffindors that hung in its thick wooden frame. The entire group waved back at her. Michael had one arm round Beth and the other round Esme. Bella was preening, twirling a strand of hair round her fingers. Alice Johns was mid sneeze, and Lewis and Karl were sniggering over a private joke. Hope couldn't help but smile when looking at the picture, despite the painful memories it inspired.
"You all get on, don't you?" she sighed. "Like Teddy and Vic's group."
"We're not all best of friends." He shrugged. "As you can tell from me and Swash. And a few have dropped off the grid since school. But yes, amicable enough, I suppose."
Amicable. What she had never managed to be. Might she have managed it, under different circumstances?
"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor," she said.
"I know. You told me."
She spun round in surprise to find Michael standing behind her. She had not heard him cross the room.
"Did I? When?"
"The solstice night."
"Oh, for God's sake. Did I tell you everything about my life that night?"
"No." He let out a soft laugh. "We mainly spoke about Cadmus. But we got back to school and before you went upstairs you said the Sorting Hat tried to put you in Gryffindor, and that," Michael swallowed, "you wished you hadn't insisted on Ravenclaw. That maybe you would have been happier in another house."
His gaze was intense. So much so she had to look away.
"It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw at first," he added.
"Of course it did," Hope snorted. "You were the smartest person in our year."
"It changed its mind quickly. I couldn't imagine not being in Dad's house, back then."
He was even closer now.
"Do you regret it?" she whispered.
"No." He did not stop to contemplate. "Not at all. You said it just now - the Gryffindors are my friends for life. Some more than others but they're an amazing group of people. It would have been nice to spend more time with you, and Dom and Rosie. But sharing a dormitory with Peters and Garswitch? No thanks."
Hope murmured her agreement.
"What about you?" he went on. "Do you still wish you'd been put in Gryffindor?"
She could barely focus on the question. She was painfully aware of his presence next to hers. The ache was back in the tips of her fingers. All she could think about was the deep longing to have him put his arms around her and hold her, like he had done before.
It was still inconvenient. It didn't seem ridiculous. Not anymore.
"I - I don't know." Her throat was so dry that her voice sounded alien. "I did for ages. But it would have changed my whole life, wouldn't it? I finally like where I am now. If I'd been a Gryffindor I might have been happier back then. Maybe I would have had more friends, people to study with, actually passed my exams. But then everything else would have changed too. I might not be going to Spain. I might never have worked here at all."
She looked up into his face. The freckles dotted across his nose were pronounced due to the recent sunny weather. His eyelashes were long and curled upwards. She had never noticed that before.
"I've loved working here. This year. With you."
"Me too."
Their hands were touching, fingers interlocking. There was an electrifying moment of fear as Hope realised there was no going back now. But perhaps the point of no return had long passed anyway.
All she was aware of as his lips met hers was warmth. In her hands. In her chest. In the pit of her stomach. The warmth that radiated from Michael as his own arms came round her waist and he held her tighter. No previous kiss had felt like this, Hope knew. And perhaps no future kiss ever would. It was the pinnacle of years of friendship, months of increased closeness, weeks and days of secret longing. And now that the barrier had been breached without effort or difficulty, it seemed ludicrous to Hope that she could have contemplated burying her feelings; stayed silent while her heart ached for the relationship to become more.
It was impossible to say who pulled away first, but eventually the kiss ended, reality and common sense catching up with blissful oblivion.
"We can't," Hope said, even as she curled her fingers into the back of his T-shirt and pressed her forehead against his chest, unwilling to let go. "We can't, Michael. This is such a bad idea. You're my friend. You've always been my friend. You're one of my best friends. And we're both leaving. This month. That can't change. We've got plans and we have to stick to them. We want to stick to them."
He hadn't loosened his grip on her either.
"I know," he said, voice muffled against her hair. "I do know that. I've tried not to feel like this - I really have - but the more I tried, the more I… felt."
Hope didn't bother asking how long ago such feelings had materialised. She had a suspicion they had crept up on him, exactly as they had done for her. She let go of him, stepping away, and he sank down onto the chair by his desk.
"So what now?" she said. "We like each other. We can't avoid each other. And I don't want - I can't have a - a two week fling that's going to end the second we leave. That would be horrible. That's not me."
"No," he agreed. "It's not me either. I think we can safely say that a two week fling is off the table."
Hope breathed an internal sigh of relief and perched on his desk, swinging her legs while they both mulled over the issue, knowing already, deep down, what the final outcome would be.
"There are two realistic options," Michael said, after a laboured pause. "Either we get together and do what we can to make a relationship work while we're away. Or... we stay as we are. The way we always have been. We go our separate ways, without making any promises to each other, and we see what happens further down the line."
He took her hand again, and Hope slid off the desk and sat down sideways on his lap, winding her arms round his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to stay here in his arms and let time pass her by while she ignored all reason and common sense. She tried to imagine Michael meeting another girl on his travels, one he would laugh and joke with every day like he currently did with her, a girl who may, slowly but surely, replace the spot she had come to hold in his heart. It was a horrible, gut wrenching picture.
But then Hope thought about Spain, and all it stood for. This was her year to be independent. Her acceptance at the Carlos Institution represented a fresh start, a time to make decisions purely for herself and benefit from a second chance. Foreign romance hadn't crossed her mind on imagining the coming year, but the experience would undoubtedly be changed if she had to maintain a long distance relationship at the same time. It had been hard enough to keep in touch with Dom and Roxanne in Australia. As for Michael, he had many plans himself, had been talking animatedly for weeks about remote destinations and exciting trips. It wasn't fair to take that freedom from him either.
She leant her forehead against his, screwing up her face against the weight of this decision, with its risks of heartbreak and sorrow. The worry that in the coming months one of them would move on, while the other was left behind, hurt and regretful. The even deeper fear that the friendship they had shared since children would be damaged beyond repair.
Then her mother's voice came clear and strong in her head, and reminded her that imagining all possible outcomes to each decision did not help her move forward. That every turn, for good or for bad, would have its place in her life in the end.
If you know you are making the best choice you can, in the present, then all you can do is trust in it. All you can do is believe that decision will lead you to a place you want to be.
There were two options.
There was only one right choice.
She raised her head.
"We leave things the way they are," she said. "The way they always have been. We have to. It's the right thing to do."
He gave her another kiss, so soft it might not have happened, so full of intent Hope knew she would never forget it. His face was set as he drew back.
"Yes." It seemed to be costing him a lot to say the words. "I agree."
O
For all their resolve, which they stuck to in the following days, Hope knew there could be no going back. Even without physical romance, crossing the invisible line between friends and more had changed everything, and now each minute spent together felt exciting and special, while moments spent apart seemed like wasted time. And they were both aware that the heightened emotional intimacy could only make the separation more painful when it came. Yet as his departure date rolled ever closer and Hope lingered with him for longer and longer into the evenings, talking, laughing, listening to the wireless, sharing everything from snacks to secrets, she deemed it a price worth paying.
"Aren't your parents going to wonder why I'm suddenly spending all my spare time up in your bedroom?" she enquired one stormy evening, when they had grabbed themselves some butterbeers and all the food they could carry from the kitchen and slunk upstairs, both secretly glad of the poor weather and the excuse to stay inside.
"Ah, they probably already suspect something," Michael said, unconcerned. "Especially Mum. She's got a sense. When I first told her I was going out with Esme, she just went 'yes, I guessed you might at some point.'" He shook his head. "Mum's weird. She's so relaxed about that stuff. Tell her you've got someone she's never met coming in to help at the bar, on the other hand, and she'll throw a fit."
Having worked with Hannah closely for a year now, Hope had no trouble believing this, and she knew Michael would not have changed her for the world.
"What about when you and Esme broke up?" she enquired. "How did she react?"
Michael chewed his lip for a second. "I think she was a bit sad," he admitted. "But she didn't press me for details. I told her it was amicable - which is true - and we left it at that."
"Why-"
Hope stopped herself. She had always wondered, but perhaps that wasn't an appropriate question, and Michael had never volunteered the information of his own accord.
"Why did we break up?" he provided.
"You don't have to say," Hope said at once, looking away. "It's none of my business. For all I know you told me, that solstice night I don't remember."
"No." He sat down on the edge of the sofa next to her, handing her a butterbeer and uncapping one for himself. "I didn't go into specifics that night." He heaved a sigh, tilting his head back to look up at the white ceiling. "It was... no one's fault exactly, but more mine than hers. We were always close. She was my first friend of all the Gryffindors and we saw each other all the time. Then when we were in sixth year I found out she liked me and it made so much sense to get together. Her family are great, and my parents adore her and as a couple we fitted perfectly within our group of friends. And I - I loved her," he said fiercely. "I really loved her. I still do. It's impossible not to love Esme."
Hope waited, turning back to face him now to show that she was listening, and that she cared.
"But she knew," he went on. "She knew the difference between loving someone and actually being in love. I didn't, back then. I assumed that if I loved her that was enough. But as time went on it became more obvious to her that I wasn't in love. Not the way she was. Not the way she wanted me to be. And at the end of the year - that night in Hogsmeade - she sat me down and told me that. And she asked me if I could see a future. Could I see our relationship working once we'd left school, even if we weren't automatically together every day? Even if it wasn't always convenient. Even if we were in separate places, with different ambitions. And I," he glanced down at the bottle in his hands without really seeing it. "I couldn't honestly say yes. So the answer had to be no."
"I'm sorry," Hope said sincerely. "I suppose there was only one way forward after that."
"Exactly. And as break ups go, I reckon I was lucky." He finally took a gulp of his drink and Hope accepted this comment as valid, thinking back to the acrimonious end to her relationship with Cadmus. "It was still difficult, for a long time, especially for Esme. Because she wanted my answer to be yes. I hurt her, simply by telling the truth."
"But honesty is better in the long run," Hope said. "Much better to be honest then, than to lead her on for months or years. She probably trusted you more as a friend because you told her the truth."
"You said as much that night," he murmured. "I think you did, anyway. It was hard to tell with you staggering all over the place like a concussed house elf." Hope flicked a drop of butterbeer at him in retaliation and he reverted to his more serious tone. "You were right. It wasn't easy to switch back to being friends but it wasn't impossible either. We made it work, and eventually it felt normal, and she's with someone else now. I've met him. He's great."
"I'm glad." Hope was pleased to hear this, but she had already lapsed into her own thoughts. She could remember wondering time and time again if she was in love with Cadmus. The doubts had been strong, despite the constant spoken I love yous and looking back, it now felt obvious that she had not been in love at all. She wondered if Michael had experienced similar doubts, or whether Esme's blunt question had come as a shock.
"Do you know now?" she asked. "The difference, I mean?"
There was a pause. Hope realised how she may have come across and opened her mouth to amend herself, to assure him that it had not been loaded question, mere curiosity. Michael replied before she had the chance to get the words out.
"Yes," he said. "I think I do."
O
Hannah refused to allow Hope or Michael to work on the night of his leaving celebration, and it was a bizarre experience for Hope to find herself on the other side of the bar for a change. A couple of times, she tried to offer her services again, but Hannah was insistent, and in the end she went to sit with James and Lily, who were bickering lightly at a table in the corner. She was keeping her distance from Michael as best she could, knowing tonight was his chance to enjoy time with the friends he wouldn't see for many months to come, but every so often their eyes would meet, and they would share a secret smile.
"What are you two arguing about now?" she enquired, sliding into the chair next to James.
"Not arguing," Lily assured her. "James has a date tomorrow and he won't tell me who it's with."
"That is because, dear sister, it is absolutely none of your business," James said, tossing a peanut into the air and catching it deftly with a snap of his teeth.
"You would normally tell me though," Lily said. "Usually, you don't shut up about the number of girls falling at your feet. Which makes me think that either this is someone you think we won't approve of, or it's someone who means more to you than the others, so you don't want to tell anyone until you know if she likes you back. Or both," she added.
She appeared proud of this assessment, but James rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, very astute of you, Lils. Do let me know when you've figured out the finer details of my inner psyche, won't you?"
After several more minutes of cajoling, Lily gave up and went off to speak to Dom with a huff of irritation.
"Is Lily right?" Hope asked, taking a handful of nuts herself. "And if so, which is it?" James narrowed his eyes at her, tapping his fingernails against his glass, then, to her surprise, he nodded.
"The second one," he muttered.
"Interesting." Hope's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Go on, tell me who it is. Please? I'll be gone soon anyway."
He stretched his arms above his head, grinning broadly but refused to divulge that information, even to her, and Hope registered that she wasn't in the best position to probe others on their relationship status.
"Alright, I get it," she said. "But at least tell me if I know her. Them." She amended herself with haste. It was unlikely that James had changed his sexual orientation in the past month, but as he often said himself, it was wrong to assume.
"You've met," he said cryptically, and refused to say another word about his mystery date.
"What about you?" he enquired. "Any last ditch dates on the horizon before you leave?"
"Nope, not a single one!"
She kept her tone light and breezy, deliberately looking in the opposite direction to Michael, who was now speaking with Teddy at the bar. When James excused himself to go to the bathroom, however, Hope took the opportunity to go and join their conversation and Teddy put an arm around her shoulders as she reached him. Hope returned the hug fiercely. Michael certainly wasn't the only person she was going to miss next year.
"It's brilliant news," Michael was saying to Teddy. "How long until it's officially rolled out to hospitals?"
"Less than month, I would say," Teddy said. He shared a meaningful look with Hope. "And then I'll be able to dedicate more time to extending the range of it. Working on older bites."
"How are you going to that?"
At first Hope thought Michael was asking out of politeness, but he seemed genuinely interested in Teddy's complex explanation about cells and blots and gene graphs, and the ways in which he was planning to take the research forward with two major experiments in the coming year. Try as she might to concentrate, Hope zoned out as usual.
"Did you actually understand what he was talking about?" she asked Michael afterwards.
"Oh yeah," Michael said. "I'm a genius, remember? A shouldabeen Ravenclaw."
She waited.
"Bits of it," he admitted. "Miniscule bits."
"Fair enough. Still more than I did."
"Oi! Longbottom! Stop flirting and come and get another drink."
Karl Jang and Lewis Warrington were shouting over at Michael.
'If she was interested, you'd know by now, mate," Lewis called cheerfully. "You see her every day."
"They don't know," Michael assured Hope once Lewis's back was turned, looking anxious. "I haven't told anyone. They're just-"
"Messing around." Hope provided with a smile. "I know." It was easier now, to distinguish between good natured humour and poorly veiled unkindness.
Michael went off to join the boys and Hope approached Neville and Luna's table instead, where they were having an intense discussion about crumple horned Snorkacks. Luna and Rolf's hunt remained fruitless for now, and many said their quarry did not exist at all. And yet Luna had discovered several weird and wonderful creatures in the last two decades. Hope didn't blame her for persevering, and admired her refusal to let the opinion of others deter her.
"...and that's why he's stayed out a bit longer," Luna said, eyebrows furrowed in earnest. "Fresh footprints are a huge discovery."
"It sounds promising," Neville told her. "I'm looking forward to catching up with Rolf about it too."
It was impossible to tell whether Neville truly believed in Luna's expedition or not. His tone was genuine, his expression serious, his questions sincere. And, later on in the conversation, when he turned to Hope and asked to hear more about her upcoming course and the activities she would be pursuing at the Carlos Institute, she felt privileged to be afforded with the same deep interest, as if he truly cared about her wellbeing and her future. Maybe he did.
He might be your father-in-law one day, after all.
Occasionally the voice in her head liked to materialize, but it was a friend now, there to provide ironic observations and occasional counsel. Not the bitter enemy she had known for many years.
As for whether the Longbottoms would be 'official family' one day, as Lily had hoped for… Hope could only wait and see. For now, she had a lot to do on her own.
O
Having established the boundaries of their relationship and their undeniable, reciprocated feelings, Hope no longer cared about Bella Swash's sudden and unexpected interest in Michael, and this was just as well, for Swash had abandoned all subtlety and proceeded to asking Michael out multiple times a day, despite his continued refusals.
"Come on," Bella implored him, the day after his leaving drinks. Other than a paler than normal complexion, Michael was holding up reasonably well for someone who had been plied with pints of mead all night, but Hope doubted the hangover was aiding his tolerance to Swash's presence. "One drink. It doesn't even have to be alcoholic. Why not?"
"Because I'm leaving in a week and I have more important people to spend my time with," he said flatly. "No offense."
"None taken." She rolled her eyes. "But I'm honestly not as bad as you make out. Are you still angry because I was a bitch to Es at school? She's over it, we're friends now. I'm seeing her for lunch next week."
"Which makes it even weirder that you're asking me out," Michael observed. "Esme being my ex girlfriend and all."
Bella snorted and tossed back her thick hair.
"I don't want a relationship with you, Longbottom, don't flatter yourself. One date. That all."
Michael put the bottle in his hand down on the counter with a sharp clunk and gave Annabella a suspicious glare.
"Right, what's this about?" he demanded. "Are you writing an article on dating experiments or something?"
She shook her head, but she was looking shifty, and Michael's mouth fell open.
"You actually are, aren't you?"
"I'm not! I swear."
"Well something's going on. Because you don't like me that way. I'm not sure you even like me as a person."
"Of course I like you as a person. Everyone does," she added, somewhat irritably.
Michael ignored this.
"You're not attracted to me though. You like guys who are a foot taller than you, who work out every day and have impeccable dress sense. Which is fine, by the way - everyone's allowed a type - but I don't meet a fraction of that criteria. So why have you been hounding me for weeks?"
Hope came over too, seriously intrigued now.
"Fine." Bella relented as they both fixed her with questioning stares. "If you must know, Beth bet me at her party that I wouldn't get you to go on a date with me before you left for traveling. I was drunk and agreed to it and of course that's one part of the night she remembers. I could use the extra money and I really can't afford to lose fifty galleons right now."
She did have the grace to blush as Michael gaped back at her, but Hope, sniggering, knew the outrage was feigned.
"I'm offended," he said at last. "Deeply offended that you would play with my feelings for the sake of fifty galleons. But," he glanced at his watch. "I could spare you two hours. Tonight, seven o'clock? I'll take you out for dinner. One course, one drink and I'm coming back here by nine."
Bella blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Sure. Any excuse to get one over on Beth. If," he added quickly. "And only if, Hope doesn't mind covering the bar for the last part of our shift."
"Are you sure that's OK?" he added, looking nervous, once Bella had left promising to come back on the dot of seven, astonished by the turn of events. "It's just dinner and I'll be back by nine."
"We're not together," Hope reminded him. "And it's not a real date."
"I know, but I'd still rather spend the time with you. We have the rest of the night, though, and next week. Beth definitely doesn't need fifty galleons, her parents give her all the money she wants."
Hope, relieved to find herself amused rather than resentful, saw them off on their 'date', finished up the quiet shift on her own, before letting Hannah take over for the evening. Michael was back on the dot of nine as promised, and Hannah made no comment as they retreated to the main house. Maybe Michael was right about her knowing what was going on.
"Well?" Hope asked, as she curled up on what they had christened "Dot's sofa" and he hunted in his wardrobe for more comfortable clothes.
"You know what, it was kind of fun." He threw one of his hooded sweatshirts over to her, knowing that she would be asking for one within the hour. "It will be worth it to see Beth pay up, and Swash is alright, it turns out. In small doses. She's funny. She even asked me a few questions about myself and gave me some cool travelling advice. Suppose it goes to show you should always give people a second chance."
Hope pulled a sceptical face as she wriggled into the hoodie. "Does that mean I'm going to be friends with Elodie Carmichael one day?"
"Hmm. Unlikely. But stranger things have happened."
"True," she mused. "Can't see myself being friends with Cadmus."
"That's different," Michael assured her. "Staying friends with Es was hard enough after a healthy relationship." He paused. "You were right though. What you said before. Cadmus never had much chance. I can't ever forgive him for what he did to you, but he does deserve help. Everyone should be allowed help."
Cadmus, from what Hope had heard, was refusing all offers of help to come to terms with his parents' arrest, but that wasn't her problem to deal with. The ability to sympathise with him did not make him her responsibility.
"Speaking of-" Michael hesitated, then reached over to his bedside table for the book of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Opening it, he pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I assume Cadmus drew this."
Surprised, Hope held out her hand to take both parchment and book, but she already knew what it was. She had clean forgotten about the charcoal drawing of her that Cadmus had done two years ago.
"Yes." She glanced down into her own face, quite as stunned as she had been the first time by the exquisite detail. "He drew it when we were going out and I kept it. I forgot all about it, and also because - I guess - it's a good drawing."
"It's an amazing drawing," Michael agreed, sitting down next to her. "He's talented. No doubt about that."
Realisation dawned on Hope.
"You finished this book ages ago, didn't you? But you didn't give it back because of this. I knew you weren't that slow a reader."
He looked sheepish. "Yeah," he admitted. "Read it a couple of of times, actually. And you were right, I loved it. But I didn't want to give it back without saying anything and I didn't want to bring up Cadmus after last time. So..."
"I put it away," Hope muttered. She still couldn't take her eyes off her own face. "I hid it the day he gave it to me. Because I showed it to Lily and she said I looked sad. I didn't want anyone to see it after that."
Two years later, she could now see what she had been blind to that day. The deep misery in her eyes and the lines surrounding them. The fall of the pencil mouth. The worried tilt to the eyebrows.
"I do look sad, don't I?"
"Yes," Michael said honestly. "You do. It was my first thought when I saw it."
"I guess it was how I felt back then," Hope sighed. "I was unhappy all the time. Even when I didn't realise it."
He held out his hand and squeezed hers briefly.
"What about now?"
"I mean, I'm still sad sometimes."
"Everyone is."
"But most of the time." Hope put the drawing back in the book that had been its home for the last two years and closed it with a snap, face breaking into an involuntary smile as she realized the truth of it. "I'm happy. Really happy. Happier - I think - than I've ever been in my life."
O
The night before Michael's departure for South America, it was safe to say that happiness was not Hope's primary emotion. She didn't bother trying to force any cheer, merely sat on his bed with Dot on her shoulder and watched as he packed his rucksack with care, then unpacked it, repacked it, and double checked his important documents and possessions over and over again.
"I'm done," he said, for the fifth time. Hope had doubts about this, and sure enough, he was rooting in his drawers a moment later. "Wait, I forgot my lucky socks!"
"You have lucky socks?" Hope enquired as he pulled out a pair of bright red socks bearing yellow lightning bolts.
He turned to her in astonishment.
"Everyone has lucky socks." He brandished them before her. "You're a quidditch player - you must have lucky socks?"
"Um, no," Hope said, nonplussed. "I have comfy socks. And good quality quidditch ones. And a couple are my favourite socks, I guess. I wouldn't say any of them were lucky."
Michael was still shaking his head in utter disbelief. "I can't believe you don't have lucky socks."
He tucked his red socks into a side pocket on his bag. "There. Now I am good to go."
Hope drew her knees up to her chest, knowing what was coming now and that she was powerless to stop it. An enormous bubble of sadness, which had been swelling inside her all day, reached its breaking point and burst, unleashing the sobs, and Michael was there within seconds, pulling her towards him and holding her tightly as the tears seeped into the shoulder seam of his T-Shirt.
"I know," he said. "I know, Hope. Let it out. I'm feeling it too, trust me."
How did I manage to stop myself crying all those years? Hope wondered vaguely, once the pressure in her chest had been eased considerably. It was unbelievable to think that almost a decade of her life had passed without her shedding a single tear, and she knew she was healthier now for the change.
"It is the right thing for us," she said, with a hiccough, drawing back and scrubbing her eyes. "I still agree it's the right thing."
For some reason the words materialised in her head to a tune and she hummed it absently. "Do the next right thing." Her eyebrows contracted as she attempted to locate the tune's source. "Is that a real song? Or have I just made it up."
"It was one of Grace's songs," he said. "From her princess film, remember?"
"Oh yeah."
Hope gave a loud sniff and swallowed, remembering.
"That was when I knew," she said. "That day Grace was in the pub after the funeral and you were talking about South America. I realised how much I was going to miss you and everything spiralled out of control from there. Don't ask me why it took me so long to figure it out, because I have no idea."
He cupped her face in one of his hands and brushed a stray tear away with his thumb, eyes moving a little, as though he were trying to memorise her face. And Hope leant towards him, knowing it was not the best idea, knowing too that going their separate ways without sharing another kiss could not be an option. His hands slipped up into her bright hair and hers rested on the back of his neck and for once Hope's head was devoid of thoughts, empty of her usual internal monologue, her racing doubts and fears. It was enough to be here, with Michael, in the present.
After a very long time, they broke apart, and Hope curled up next to him on the bed with her head on his chest, talking softly. Her eyelids grew heavy as the sun went down, and eventually they both drifted off to sleep.
O
Hope woke up to bright sunlight streaming in through the curtains. Dot's fur was tickling her nose. Michael was already awake and moving about the bedroom, checking his belongings yet again.
"I didn't want to wake you yet," he said, as she sat up, blinking against the light and rubbing her eyes. They stung a little, remnants of the salty tears from the night before. "You looked too peaceful."
Hope glanced down at her leggings and jumper. "Hmm, I'm making a habit of falling asleep in your bedroom fully clothed, aren't I?"
Then she felt her cheeks go red. Perhaps Michael would have preferred her not to be fully dressed.
Michael, however, appeared oblivious to this. He was surveying her hair.
"I like the brown," he said. "Is that your natural colour?"
"Brown?"
With absolutely no idea what he was referring to, Hope crossed his room to look into his mirror, then stared. The red curls had gone. Her hair, though messy and unbrushed, was nevertheless dark brown and shiny, falling past her shoulders in thick waves.
"Yes," she said at last. "That is my natural colour. But - but I never wear it like this. Ever."
"It was like that last time you stayed here," Michael said, sounding surprised. "When you fell asleep after Beth's party. I assumed it went back to normal if you weren't awake."
Hope thought back. She had reset her hair that day with a morph. Hadn't even looked in the mirror.
"No," she said. "My hair stays the same until I make a conscious effort to change it. It's … never done this before."
"Oh. Well, it suits you." He smiled. "Not that the red doesn't." He said it as though worried she may take this as unwanted direction on how to structure her appearance. "I assume you prefer it red?"
Hope was still gazing into the mirror, transfixed by the happy, bright-eyed girl looking back at her.
"I've made it red most of my life," she said. "Since I was six. I always wanted to be like the Weasleys. Sometimes, before then, I would have it long and blond like Fleur and Victoire, because I wanted to be elegant and graceful like they are - though fat chance of me being graceful, as you know. And once I went through a phase of wanting to be an Auror - I know that's ridiculous too when you look at my grades but it didn't seem stupid at the time - and then I'd either have it pink and short like Mum or I'd put it black and make my eyes green like Harry."
Michael hesitated. He seemed to be waiting for further comment.
"What about when you were being you?" he asked eventually, when none came. "Just yourself."
Hope had never considered this before, and the answer was obvious, now that she thought about it.
"I don't think I ever wanted to be 'just me'," she said quietly. "I've always wished I was more like other people. I always wanted to be clever and sensible like Teddy, or fierce like Roxanne, standing up for everyone. Or kind and tactful like Dom and Lily and - and you too, I guess -"
Michael was standing behind her, and she could see from the reflection that he was deeply troubled by this confession.
"But Hope - you know you are those qualities, don't you?" he said. "Maybe not in the same way. But there isn't one perfect way to be brave, or kind or - or loyal."
"I think I do know that," Hope said. "I think so. Now. I didn't back then."
For a moment she thought Michael was going to say more. His mouth opened and closed several times, but in the end he shook his head. "Never mind," he murmured, putting his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "I'll miss you, Hope. So much."
Hope didn't trust herself to speak without crying again, but she knew he understood the sentiment was returned.
"I'm saying goodbye to Mum and Dad here," he added. "But you can come see me off, if you like?"
He must know this was not an offer she was going to refuse, and all too soon Hope found herself in the bustling International Floo Terminal, fighting tears yet again as she watched Michael talk to the wizard on the information desk and get his ticket stamped.
"I'm this one." He came back over and nodded towards a large, ornate fireplace with a glowing number eight above it. "After those two witches have gone through."
"Cool."
The word came out in a pitiful squeak. No amount of logical decisions or sensible conversations could have prepared her for this moment, as Michael held out his arms and she collapsed into them, feeling as though she would never be able to hug him tight enough.
"You'll do so well in Spain," he told her. "I'll write to you when I can. And I'll let you know when I'm in Madrid next year. We can meet up - if you're not touring with the international quidditch team by then, obviously."
"I'll write too," Hope promised. "I'm not good at letter writing - just ask Dom and Roxanne - but I will."
One of the witches in the queue for fireplace eight had already disappeared through the flames. The moment of departure was fast approaching. Yet there was one thing she still hadn't said.
"Michael.. Thank you."
"Thank you?" he repeated. "What for?"
"I - I was in such a dark place a year ago. I honestly couldn't have imagined that a year later life would make sense again. And you helped with that. A lot."
His own eyes were damp now.
"I'm glad," he said. "I'm happy I helped. As long as you know that most of it was on you. Only you could get yourself into a better place." He kissed her one final time. "And you did."
The second witch had now departed. There was nothing left to say except goodbye. Hope held her head up high as Michael hoisted his bag onto his shoulders, wanting his last glimpse of her to be of her smiling, not bawling her eyes out. She could still see his lucky socks sitting in the side pocket as he stepped into the fireplace and waited. The large number eight above the fireplace glowed red even as the flames turned green. He had time to give her a quick wave, and he was gone.
O
The tears returned with a vengeance the second she exited the Floo terminal. Roxanne was home when she returned to the flat, and full of exclamations of horror at the sight of Hope's blotchy face and swollen eyes, but Hope explained quickly. That they were good tears, not bad, the result of a beautiful relationship for which the timing had not been right but may yet be in the future, and that was bringing her solace while the pain of separation was raw and real.
"That is rough," Roxanne said soberly, when Hope told her about the choice she and Michael had made two weeks previously. "But it sounds like a sensible decision, and if it's meant to be it'll work out in the end. Also Hope, you're going to Spain. Do you know how many fit guys there are in Spain?"
Hope didn't care about guys, fit or otherwise, but she supposed Roxanne was trying to be helpful.
"I am OK," she insisted. Waves of calm were washing over her now that she had stopped crying. "I know it's the right choice for us. It's just Sod's law to find someone who actually likes me back two weeks before I leave. When he was there all along. After Adam not giving a damn either way, and Cadmus-"
She broke off. Roxanne had paused, alert. Unusually for her, she did not probe, but the time had finally come to tell her what Dom and Michael already knew. There were no further tears, merely a calm recount of a bitter, toxic and abusive relationship, and Roxanne listened much like Dom had done, full of sympathy and anger on her behalf, and hugged her fiercely when she had finished.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry he did that to you. I wish I could hunt him down and make him pay. But he has issues no one but himself can resolve. I know that from Morella."
"I know that too," Hope said. "And I know one day I'll probably run into him again, and that won't be fun. But I - I am OK now. It was horrible and it happened and it messed me up for a long time, but it's in the past. I'll never be able to forget it, but it's not... with me. Not anymore."
O
Hope's last fortnight before leaving for Madrid was ludicrously busy. Between cleaning up her room for Morella, who was moving in with Dom and Roxanne, helping Hannah with a final handful of shifts, cramming in some prereading for her course and updating all her quidditch gear, she barely had time to pack and say her goodbyes to her family, let alone do anything else, but it was all for the good. It meant there was no spare time to dwell on Michael, the distance between them, or the length of time until she saw him again.
There was one, small twinge of disappointment on the morning of her birthday, when she opened her pile of cards and realised there was nothing from him. She had hoped... But no, she gave herself a mental shake. Separate ways with no promises, that had been the deal. And they would see what happened further down the line.
"He's probably somewhere remote," Dom consoled her, noticing the forced quality to her smile as she opened the last card - a pretty, flowery one from Percy and Audrey - and put it on the shelf with the rest.
"Who is?" Hope enquired, and Dom raised her eyebrows at Roxanne.
"Can you go and get ready please?" Roxanne said, with some impatience, looking at her watch and then at Hope's messy hair. "This birthday is making up for the last three years and doubling as a goodbye celebration. You need to look fabulous."
"Two years. Don't exaggerate."
"Three years. Teddy and Victoire rudely hijacked your sixteenth, remember?"
"Alright, alright, I'm going to get dressed."
It took the best part of an hour before Roxanne was satisfied with her outfit, not helped by the fact that Hope didn't know exactly what the day had in store for her. She had grudgingly permitted Dom and Roxanne to organise the birthday events without consultation, and while she suspected a 'surprise' party was in store for her later in the day, she had no idea about the rest.
For all her misgivings, her best friends came through magnificently, first with a copious breakfast at a new pastry shop in Diagon Alley, followed by surprise tickets to a preseason Arrows versus Tornadoes quidditch match, then a late lunch in Hogsmeade and drinks in the sun up on the hill. Finally, they escorted her back to George and Angelina's, under the pretext of Roxanne dropping something off for her mother before the evening activities, and Hope did her best to keep a straight face as she followed them round to the back garden. A blast of sound hit her as soon as she came into view.
"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOPE!"
The entire family were there. Lucy and Molly were jumping up and down with excitement, Hope the red pygmy puff jiggling around on Lucy's shoulder. Lily, James and Scorpius were brandishing giant balloons and Albus had just let off a Weasley firework wand. Louis had taken charge of the music blaring out. Alison - Fred's now fiancee- was pouring out drinks, while Granny Molly was fussing that the view of Hope's birthday cake was blocked by the vigorous waving. Grandad Weasley was carrying a lumpy package that looked suspiciously like a blender. Even Charlie and Alex were there, Dot sitting on Alex's shoulder - Hope now understood why her pet had shown such willingness to be given away that morning. Most importantly of all, her parents and Teddy stood at the front of the group, beaming, and for all her efforts to look astonished by proceedings, Teddy was sniggering as he came forwards.
"You knew, didn't you?" he said.
"Well, the ten gallon tank of butterbeer in your kitchen was a giveaway for a start!" But Hope was deeply touched as she gazed round at her family and friends. Hours of planning had clearly been poured into the organisation of the party. "I honestly didn't expect this. It's... amazing."
"And deserved," he said sincerely. "Dom and Roxanne get most of the credit though."
Hope beamed over at them to show her gratitude, but it seemed she wouldn't yet have the chance to thank them properly. Her guests were already clustering round, wanting to speak to her, and although Hope knew this would mean hours of repeated conversation, she did not mind at all. Moreover, she owed it to the people who had stuck by her when all had seemed lost, been so understanding when she had lacked the heart and energy for their company, and who had now come together to celebrate her progression to the next chapter of her life.
"So?" Roxanne asked, when she and Dom finally caught up with her two hours later. "Did we come through?"
"You know you did." Hope grinned at both of them and held up her glass to clink it against theirs. "It's perfect."
"Perfect if Michael were here," Dom amended, but Hope shook her head. She couldn't deny that she missed him, but they had promised each other. Made a pact that her enjoyment of future experiences would not be lessened by his absence, nor his by hers.
"No," she insisted. "Perfect as it is."
Later, on her way to the bathroom, Hope stopped to look at a photo she'd never noticed before that hung on the wall in George and Angelina's hallway. The plaque underneath read Gryffindor Quidditch Team 1995-6. Harry sat at the front of the group, next to Ron and a dark haired girl Hope didn't recognise. Angelina and Alicia stood at the back in between the identical Weasley twins. Fred had reached over to make a gesture behind Angelina's head while George smirked at his brother's childish antics. Hope remembered what Ginny had told them about Fred and Angelina. She would never know the full story, and she did not feel guilty for missing Michael. The past year had taught her that she was allowed to feel what she felt, regardless of others' experiences. But the photo was a reminder nonetheless. That some partings were forever. Some separations eternal. Some relationship complications permanent. Sometimes there were no other options, right choice or otherwise. And in her case, she was sure that Michael would be back in her life again before long.
O
The package arrived the day before her departure for Spain, a small, squishy, neatly wrapped parcel attached to a postcard, and Hope recognised the handwriting instantly.
Dear Hope,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY - I'm sorry if it's late but I hope it reaches you before you leave. I've been out of range of a post office for the past week. As you can tell from the card I'm in Ecuador, and I'm loving it. Everyone is so friendly and there are a million things to see and do. I have to keep reminding myself I still need to fund a whole year of travelling!
Good luck in Madrid. You will be amazing. I'm picking up bits of Spanish here and there so I can test it out on you when I next see you.
This has taken me a couple of attempts but I think it's what I was trying to say the morning I left:
You are honestly my favourite person in the world, and I hope you know I'm always here for you. Right now I also hope things work out between us in the future but I know we are going our separate ways for the right reasons. And whatever happens, I want you to be happy. But most of all, I hope that the next time you change your hair colour, or your eyes or your freckles… or whatever... it's because it makes you feel like you, not someone else. You don't need to be anyone but yourself, I promise.
Love,
Michael
P.S Hope you like the present. I got them on a market stall in Quito. Everybody should have a pair of lucky socks. I'll keep looking out for the real thing though, when I'm in China. X
Intrigued, blinking hard to stop the tears falling yet again, Hope pulled the brown paper off the small parcel, and let out a cry of delighted laughter. Electric blue, with orange toes and heels, the socks were covered in tiny red pandas.
oOo
September
Hope surveyed the room that was to be hers for the year, satisfied. Now that she has found time to unpack, with her pictures on the walls and books on the shelves, it already felt more like home.
There was a sharp rap on the door and a girl dressed in mint green robes with a short reddish-purple bob put her head round it to peer inside. Hope came forward and opened it wider to see she was accompanied by another - a wizard she recognised from her induction lecture that morning.
"You're Hope Lupin?" the girl said.
"Yes."
"Thought so." She spoke in confident tones. "I've met all the other girls on our floor. I'm Cat. This is Damiano."
Hope wasn't completely sure she warmed to either of them on first glance. The girl seemed friendly enough, with a wide, crooked grin and sparkling eyes, but there was an aura to her presence that screamed domineering, and determined to get her own way. Damiano had merely given her a quick nod in greeting without looking at her. His eyes were only half visible anyway, obscured as they were by a mop of dirty, black hair and he hovered awkwardly in the doorway. Cat, meanwhile, had crossed the threshold of her room uninvited and was already surveying Hope's newly instated décor.
"Is this your boyfriend?" She snatched up a frame in which Hope had put a recent photo of her and Michael. Hannah had taken it at his leaving celebration and it made Hope smile whenever she saw it.
"No." Her heart gave a painful lurch at the memory of Michael's hand in hers. "Just a friend."
"Figured. He looks more like the friend type."
Hope could see Dot bristling with indignation out of the corner of her eye, but she suspected Michael would have taken said comment as a compliment, and made no retort.
"Your hair is very different in this picture," Cat observed, tilting it towards the light then looking back at her. Hope's hair was currently long, straight and the same shade of brown that had materialised in Michael's room back in August, different indeed to the neat red curls she was sporting in the photo.
"Yes." Hope was reluctant to tell her, but her peers would find out sooner or later. "I'm - um - a metamorphmagus. So I change my hair sometimes."
Cat's jaw dropped.
"Woah! I've always wanted to meet a metamorphmagus. Can you show me?"
Absolutely fucking not.
"Maybe another time?" she ventured, taking care to keep her tone light and civil. "I don't really like doing it in front of other people. It's kind of personal, see."
"Ah." Cat did not appear offended as she replaced the photo on the desk. "Sure. Sorry, didn't think of it like that. I have no subtlety - as you've probably guessed. I'm alright when you get used to me, I swear!"
She glanced at Hope's brand new broomstick which was propped up against the wall above her quidditch boots and nearly folded flying cloak.
"You play quidditch?"
"No," Hope said, deadpan. "Gobstones."
For a moment we thought the joke had fallen flat. Then Cat snorted with mirth and even Damiano cracked a brief smile.
"Fair play," she said, still cackling. "It was a stupid question. Chaser? You look like one."
"That's right."
"Me too! Guess I'll see you on the pitch." Hope privately thought that Cat did not look anything like a chaser, squat as she was, with unusually short limbs, but was, for her part, too polite to say this.
Cat, who had turned away, froze in the doorway and clapped a hand to her forehead. "Almost forgot why I came here in the first place. A load of us are going out in town tonight. Want to join? We're meeting at La Libélula at nine."
"Sure," Hope said at once. "I'd love to."
"Great! See you then."
And she bustled off down the hall with silent Damiano in tow.
"It's no good looking at me like that," Hope told Dot as she shut her bedroom door again. The pygmy puff was still reproachful, pressed into the corner of her cage. "I am not making enemies this time around."
She crossed to the window and stared out into the bright blue sky. Her room, several floors up, and looking out to the south west, would provide her with wonderful views of the setting sun. She could make out several landmarks dotted around the city of Madrid, and down in the streets below, muggles were going about their business, oblivious to their invisible, magical observers. Further in the distance, she could also see the Aguilas quidditch pitch, on which she hoped to be flying within the next fortnight. And far, far out of view but somewhere in that direction, Michael was meeting new friends of his own, thinking of Hope occasionally - or so she liked to believe - but making the most of his own adventure, as he had promised he would.
Hope was under no illusions that the year ahead was going to be perfect. The coming months undoubtedly had challenges and obstacles in store for her, lows to ride out along with the highs as she navigated her new life. But this time, she was determined to ask for help along the way if she needed it. She was independent but not alone, and she understood this crucial difference now.
She breathed an enormous, liberating sigh of contentment as she turned away from the window. Where she would this time next year was anyone's guess, and right now, she didn't care. On impulse, she screwed up her face to make her hair shoulder length and curly. Looser and wilder than her usual curls, they sprang outwards from her face in a cloud. Then, after checking her reflection, she turned them golden blond, considering the yellow sheen befitting to her current state of optimism.
"Come on," she said to Dot, who stopped sulking and hopped onto her shoulder, turquoise fur standing out against the mass of bright curls. "Let's go and explore."
OOO