The Other Gypsy

James walked in through the front door, quietly shutting it behind him. His parents were talking in the kitchen and he stood out of sight, listening to their discussion.

"Maybe she went back to Australia?" Ginny asked.

"She didn't go back to Australia," Harry replied. There was a frustration in his response.

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"We've been over this. She was spotted at the muggle customs in Paris," Harry said. "Confunded the muggle inspector then disappeared. Why would she go all the way to Paris just to try getting to Australia?"

"It's the only thing that makes any sense," Ginny said.

"Okay, let's pretend for a moment we don't know she was in France. You already contacted everyone she might have sought out in Duwick, no one's seen her."

There was a moment of silence before Ginny found her counterpoint. "But what if she went to the compound? If she thinks there's something back there?"

"If she took a portkey, we would already know and I can't imagine she'd have enough money for a plane ticket."

"She might have disillusioned herself and snuck on," James suggested, stepping over into the doorway between the living room and kitchen.

His parents both turned towards him. They looked like two stunned statues until Ginny let out a breath, shaking her head, and gathered papers from the kitchen table messily into her arms. "I can't, Harry. I just can't." Then she walked out of the kitchen and, without even looking at James as she passed, went all the way to the back of the house where her and Harry's room was. The door slammed behind her.

James had prepared himself for her anger. He'd expected a lot of short, loud reprimands and big hand gestures. Yelling he could have handled. Not his mum disappearing, her last words heavy with the threat of tears. He stepped into the kitchen, sat on the nearest chair, and looked down at his clasped hands on the table. After a couple minutes of working himself up, he looked at his dad.

Harry had been cleaning his glasses with the edge of his shirt. He put them back on and now had his arms folded in front of his chest. "Well, thanks for joining us."

"I've been out there trying to find Imogen."

"Any leads?" Harry asked.

"I think whatever she's after has to do with her parents," James said.

Harry leaned forward, nodding. "We wondered if it might be something like that."

"She changed her hair," James added. "And something about her face. George and I saw her in Diagon Alley. Didn't realize it was her until it was too late."

"So Imogen didn't feel inclined to throw herself into your open arms then?" Harry asked and James knew they'd arrived at it. The bitter sarcasm behind the words hung in the air between them.

"Look, I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean to call her a slag? Or to throw in her face how little you apparently cared about your relationship?" He paused while this sunk in. "Your mum got out her pensieve and Lily let us see exactly what you said to Imogen."

"I didn't—Dad, that's not how I—"

"Just stop, James," Harry said. "After all the discussions, after everything I could have sworn it would have sunk in."

"It did," James said weakly. It had started with lectures from Charlie in Australia about taking things slow, not rushing in. Then Harry had picked up when it was decided that Imogen would live with them, talking about protection, waiting, not pressuring, and loads of other embarrassing things James didn't necessarily wish to discuss. It seemed every month, they would have a refresher course. But no one had ever said what you do when your girlfriend is caught red handed—or so he thought—with someone else. "Dad, I was wrong, alright? But all that matters now is we find her. Before something bad happens."

Harry softened at this a bit, though his look was still stern. "I agree," he said. "And I think you could be some help, but you know it's not going to go well if you're the one out there trying to convince her to come back."

"But if I—"

"We need your help here."

"Dad—"

"Consider this your first order as an Auror in training," he cut James off. "You know that there's a good chance I'll still be head of the department when you're finished. You want a taste of the academy? I am your direct supervisor and you follow my orders. You help from here."

James nodded. He understood what this meant—his dad thought that Imogen would never forgive him. James didn't want him to be right, though. And when he had the chance, when Imogen was back, he would prove him wrong. Prove himself wrong too.

Ginny paced back and forth in her room, muttering to herself. The pattern started with trying to sift through the papers on her bed, followed with an inability to concentrate, dropping the hopeful evidence, and giving into the thoughts that wouldn't go away now that James was just in the other room.

"What he was thinking." She picked up a roster of those that had been at the compound when it was freed. "I can't believe the nerve!" The next was a letter to Imogen from Dakota that arrived a few days before. "Raised him better!"

If she were honest, it was more than knowing the most intimate parts of James and Imogen's relationship that bothered Ginny. Certainly she wished she could unhear her son's use of the Room of Requirement, but she also wasn't näive. They were teenagers, they'd been dating for much longer than most their age, and they certainly had enough alone time at school to get on with messing around. If someone had asked her before this whether or not she thought that was going on, she would have said yes. That Imogen hadn't given in to James (thereby not risking Ginny becoming a grandmother at the age of forty) was more than Ginny could have hoped for.

But the way James had used Imogen's refusal against her had Ginny entirely on edge. Her sweet boy, her gentle boy… he couldn't have changed so much could he? Not her James, who at the age of five had filled a glass of water with all the black pepper in the house, bringing it to Ginny to drink when she was sick. "It's Pepperup Potion, Mum!" he insisted. Not her son, who would stop everything and everyone when his little sister was crying from a scrapped knee until it was tended to. The same boy who, just over two years ago, reprimanded Charlie because his healing of a cursed wound on Ginny's arm had brought pain. She had watched him with Imogen, proud of how gentle and kind and generous he was.

When she saw the memory for herself, the words replaying, Ginny's heart broke with Imogen's. He was grown up. And he wasn't as sweet as she'd always thought. That he could turn around and break that impression she'd had of him shook Ginny to the core.

It was nearly an hour before Harry quietly opened the door, stepping in and closing it behind him. "Well?" Ginny asked. "What did he have to say for himself?"

"Calm down, Ginny," Harry said.

"Don't tell me to calm down," she snapped, starting her pacing route again.

Harry stepped forward grabbing her by the arms. "Ginny, Ginny, I know you're upset."

"You haven't seen upset," Ginny replied. "I have half a mind to jinx his mouth shut for the things he said!"

"Ginny," Harry said again. "He gets it, okay? Apparently he was with George at Gringotts. And he went to visit Lorcan."

Ginny stayed quiet as Harry explained his conversation with James. For one, there was more information on Imogen's current description (James certainly had noticed more than George) and Harry listed off the things Lorcan had said. Ginny's ears pulsed as Harry detailed the dreams Imogen had of her mother and the questions she'd raised about her relationship to her parents. She'd never talked about these things with Ginny.

"So it is my fault," Ginny said after he'd finished.

Harry's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. "How did we get there?"

Ginny shook her head, walking over to the papers. It was whatever she could think of that might help them understand why Imogen left. Most of it was collected from Imogen's room. Half of the papers were old essays that Ginny kept in the pile, even though she knew they were useless to what they were trying to do. Many more were owls. Some from Lorcan and other friends over the last couple summers. Still more owls from Dakota, Eben, Leighton, and those they'd known in Australia. Most of them, though, were in a simple black box with blue ribbon filled with all her letters from Harry and Ginny.

"Did you notice that I always sign my letters with my name?"

"Gin, you're losing me here."

She picked one up, touching her own signature at the bottom. "Look, Harry, you started signing your letters Dad and I kept on with Ginny."

"I only did that once she started calling me that," Harry said, pulling the paper from Ginny's hands gently and using a single finger to turn her head towards him. "You're determined to blame yourself with this and you shouldn't."

"I gave up, Harry," she said. "Don't you see? I was so sure that we could make her part of our lives that I forgot she had a life before us."

Harry put a hand on each side of her face. "Stop," he said.

She looked into his kind, green eyes, pressing her lips together. She lifted her hands to his wrists, holding to him like an anchor. "She has a mother, and we stopped looking for her."

Harry let out a sigh. "So what do you want to do?"

"If we find out who her parents are, I think we'll find Imogen."

Lorcan spent three whole days in his Grandfather Scamander's library. He wasn't sure exactly how to best look up "green light" and had tried every avenue possible: guides, curses, charms, creatures, and so on. He'd even asked his grandfather, though he said that it was far too vague a description to narrow down the possibilities.

Each evening he would grab his tin can and talk into it. Lily had been waiting each time. "Wait a minute while I get somewhere more private," she said the third night. Lorcan waited. It wasn't like he had any more to report than the night before, but Lily always had some suggestion or another. Besides, it was just good to hear that Imogen was still well.

He heard rustling from Lily's end for several minutes. "Alright, in the garden," Lily said quietly. "What do you have?"

"Nothing," Lorcan said with a sigh. "I checked every reference book I could find and there isn't anything like what you described. Has it shown up again?"

"Not that I've seen," Lily replied. "Imogen is still travelling with that group on random train cars. Oh, I wish I could tell James. He'd be so bloody jealous if he knew she was spending every night with three blokes."

Lorcan smiled. Lily was bent on making James suffer. She was indignant when Lorcan told her about James making him take the veritaserum, though Lorcan managed to gloss over his confession concerning her when he talked about it. He'd convinced her that telling James off now would blow their cover, so Lily didn't do anything, but from what Lorcan could tell she still hadn't given up on finding some way to make him pay. "Even he would have to see that they're just people she's travelling with though, right?" Lorcan asked.

"It could go either way," Lily admitted. "James can be a real stubborn prat sometimes." She paused. "Him and my dad talk all the time now. Sometimes a couple people from his staff come over too. They pour over maps every night."

"And your mum?"

"Her and Albus took a portkey for Australia today, actually," Lily said. "She thinks she can find information there."

There was silence for a couple minutes. Finally Lorcan asked, "does it bother you that they're not asking for your help?"

A tinkling laugh echoed in his tin. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Each time we've talked you always say something like that. How do you know exactly what I'm thinking? Even though you're so far away?" Lorcan shrugged—a gesture he kept making, forgetting that Lily couldn't hear this through the tin. Still, she sighed. "I'm only sort of bothered. Mum asked if I would be alright here. Said she could get a portkey for three. I'm just afraid I'm going to burst and break my promise to Imogen if I'm around them too much."

"You're a good friend to her," Lorcan said.

"I just hope I'm doing the right thing as her sister," Lily replied. The words settled between the two of them. "Did you read through the Puddlemere game today, by the way?"

"Dad buys the daily scopes so we see the whole thing! I was gutted!"

Lorcan lost track of how long they talked about Quidditch as it moved into talking about stories of dealing with their various professors. Then, as Lily was telling him about a pranking contest in Gryffindor tower that past April first she stopped abruptly. "—It's none of your business what I'm doing, James! Just sod off!" Another couple minutes of silence before her voice came back. "I better get back in," Lily said. "But, hey, I had a thought! What if you're looking in the wrong library?"

"What do you mean?" Lorcan asked, sitting up on his bed.

"I mean… check with your other grandpa if you get a chance," Lily said. "And if you can, come by floo tomorrow. James is going in with Dad and since the others are gone..."

"Yeah," Lorcan said. "I bet my mum wouldn't mind."

"See you then," Lily said. There was more rustling, then nothing. Lorcan couldn't believe he hadn't checked with Grandpa Lovegood! Right next door too! He'd been taking the floo everyday. Of course Grandpa Lovegood was a little, well, out there. More so than his mum, who Lorcan and Lysander had both learned to take with a grain of salt. Their first year of school, they both dealt with a lot of ridicule when they would mention creatures or superstitions their mother had imparted to them. Their dad talked to them that Christmas break about appreciating their mother for everything she was rather than wishing she were something else, and Lorcan had realized that went for Grandpa Lovegood as well.

Besides, for all the insane things he believed, there were grains of truth in others that the general population ignored. It was one reason Lorcan was interested in the Department of Mysteries. After all, how many creatures were known only to locals before his other Grandfather cataloged them? The world didn't have to be fully proved for truth to exist. And right now, they could use a little bit of truth.

James came back inside after being sent to check on Lily. She was such a brat, sometimes, but his parents wouldn't hear any of his suspicions that she knew something. They were convinced she was just some poor, innocent little girl who was terribly upset by Imogen's leaving. "She was out in the garden," he told his dad as he came into the kitchen, sitting back down across from him. "I swear I heard her talking to someone. Whispering."

"James—"

"No, Dad, listen," James said. "She's up to something! Can't you just… use the pensieve on her other memories of that night?"

"I've already told you no," Harry said. "And we better not hear of you bothering her about it either or I'll let your mother do whatever she'd like for your punishment. You should know you haven't seen half of what your mum's capable of either."

James believed it. She'd taught him more defensive spells, charms, and curses in the four months he'd spent in Australia with her than he'd learned in the previous four years at Hogwarts. His uncles had shared enough stories as well to make this threat a very real one. Still, James wasn't any less skeptical of Lily. It didn't help that nothing new had surfaced of Imogen's whereabouts since Paris. Still, he looked over the papers and maps that his dad was now bent over. "Do you think she could have made her own portkey?"

"I've been looking through reports on unapproved portkey transport, but nothing seems like it would be her," Harry replied.

"What if…" James trailed off, a half formed thought developing.

"What if what?" Harry looked up at him.

"What if her wandless magic doesn't get tracked the same way? Like… what if it wouldn't come up in the reports?" James asked.

Harry sat back nodding his head. "It's possible, but that makes it all the worse for us, to be honest," he said. James didn't like hearing that. "Hermione hasn't found any reliable sources on wandless human magic either. She's looked at goblins and house elves, who don't use wands, but she's not sure they relate enough to be comparable."

James breathed out. "This is impossible."

"Don't give up," Harry said.

James couldn't see how they were going to find her at this point. Her wand was here and she hadn't taken anything traceable. She may have also changed how she looked again. The only thing that gave him any hope was that she had stated she would be back in her note. She intended on coming back. So long as nothing went wrong in the meantime. That last thought always unsettled him.

Imogen sat upright from under the tattered blankets she'd collected at the last station. Her eyes darted around, then relaxed, realizing she must have been seeing things again. The vocan orbis hadn't appeared since she made it on the train and she oscillated between wondering if she'd imagined it to begin with or if she'd missed her window of opportunity.

She continued to travel with Ennis's group. That's what she called them anyway. It seemed their leader was heavily dependent on the language spoken by other groups they encountered. If they spoke Italian or Spanish, Paolo took the lead. French was Théo's territory, though he could fumble through German. Large hand gestures or silence took place with any other language. There was an entire network of teenagers riding the trains across Europe. Camps known to these groups were established nearby almost every train depot, though Ennis told Imogen that sometimes they were caught by local authorities and new camps would be established. Almost every place they stopped there would be groups of three or four people. Food was always shared and they tended to sleep knotted up to keep warm at night.

Hal alone seemed an anomaly in this world. He was older than most. Twenty, from what he said. Most of the travellers would stick to the trains until they could go find work without fear of their families taking them home again. Some in less dire circumstances gave up long before then, figuring their homes weren't so bad after all. Hal was here to stay, though, continually calling Imogen "Snow White" and giving her strange looks that made Imogen nervous.

She had proved her place quickly, though. Imogen was particularly good at getting food. Once or twice she discreetly pulled out money when on her own and bought a couple things, ditching packaging in a bin on her way back to camp. When that wasn't possible, she would summon eggs from barns, or, if she was lucky, she'd find patches of edible plants, using engorgement charms to make a decent meal from what she could forage. In just four days, the others declared they ate more regularly with her around than they ever had before.

Imogen sighed, laying back down and turning onto her side. She wouldn't be able to sleep again. One more day, she told herself. Then again, she'd told herself that last night, too. And the night before. Her mother hadn't appeared again and she was torn between going home and waiting for answers. She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning until she heard the others stirring in the morning.

There were several people standing around a makeshift fire pit, trying to start a fire to cook breakfast. The morning dew was particularly damp and Ennis was swearing. "Imogen can do it," she finally said. "Imogen, we need you to start a fire for us again."

This was another area they had realized Imogen's usefulness. Paolo stepped back, sitting beside a pretty Polish girl and groping at her thigh, leaning over to kiss her as Imogen took over fire duties. She leaned down, rearranging the firewood as a pretense for drying the planks in her hands. Imogen arranged them into a pyramid, taking some tinder and placing it at the base. Next, she grabbed a match from Ennis. She hadn't figured how exactly the muggles made them work. They used rocks or the side of the box, so Imogen would hold the tip to a rock, then run it quickly along the surface while sparks from her palm actually did the job. Leaning forward to block anyone else's view she touched the flames to the little dry twigs and encouraged the flames to develop faster than they would other with another spell.

When Imogen finished this morning's fire, she looked up to see Hal, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at her. It was more comfortable looking over to where Paolo and the girl were completely wrapped up in a blanket, snogging for the whole camp to see.

"There you go," Imogen said.

"Magic, I'm telling you," Ennis declared to another member of the group they'd met up with at this camp.

The route they'd taken on the trains was erratic and varied. They'd been through France, Belgium, down to north of Italy, up to Austria, and now they were in Hungary. Ennis talked about staying here for a couple days. Imogen was anxious to get to Belarus, but wasn't even sure that's where she was supposed to go. Did the vocan orbis only appear if she wasn't going where she should? Was she on the right track?

Théo handed her a cup with coffee. It wasn't really coffee. It was more like bitter water that was heated with the dregs of coffee that had once been. The ghost of coffee, Imogen thought.

Imogen wasn't sure what a day without travel looked like for this group, but it soon became apparent. Théo pulled out a pack of muggle playing cards and several people gathered around. Paolo and the girl disappeared after breakfast and Imogen wasn't keen on running into them any time soon. Ennis pulled out a book with the cover missing and pages looking tattered. She said it was just a stupid romance that someone had chucked out, but Imogen noticed this was Ennis's second time reading it.

Hal watched the game going on. Imogen wondered if she needed to get away from the others for the vocan orbis to come back. Quietly, she walked away from the group, taking a basket to scavenge for some good plants while she was at it. She hummed the song her mother sang as she walked up the hill with spotty green grass. Noise died down the farther she was from the group and away from the tracks. At one point, she heard the sounds of kissing and moans and walked in the opposite direction. She'd probably gone a couple miles when she found a little pond in the middle of the forest.

Imogen sat on a rock, taking a deep breath. "Come on," she said, like she might be able to bring the light back by sheer will. "Come on, Mum." Ten minutes passed, then twenty and there was nothing. The sun was out in full force and it was warm. There weren't many chances to bathe out here and the camps around lakes were very public areas. She wondered at what point most people let that go and did what they wanted. Ennis didn't have any qualms about going nude and bare breasted in front of crowds as she dove into the water and cleaned herself.

Imogen took the chance now. She looked around and stripped down to her underclothes. She dipped her legs into the pond, leaning down and cupping water into her hands. She scrubbed dirt from her skin the best she could, dipping further into the shallow water and washing her arms, torso, and then pouring handfuls of water over her head, wetting her hair, which had become greasy the past few days. She closed her eyes humming.

"Wondered when you'd give in, Snow White."

Imogen's eyes shot open and she looked over to where Hal stood, an eyebrow raised. He had a smirk and Imogen wondered how long he'd been watching. Or how he knew she was here. "Don't!" she shouted, reaching for her shirt to cover more of herself.

"Fine," he said, turning around and holding up his hands. "Not looking."

Imogen stumbled up the bank, grabbing her clothes and getting dressed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," he said, still with his back towards her. She put on her last shoe. "Just thought I'd come have a chat."

Imogen huffed. "I'm dressed now," she said irritably. "I just wanted an hour alone, is that so wrong?"

Hal turned back around, clearly amused. "No, not at all."

"Why did you want to chat?" she demanded.

"I know what you are," Hal said.

Imogen swallowed. She didn't want to say anything in case he meant something else, but she had been sure he was watching as she started the fire this morning. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She hadn't learned to lie in the last few days, though.

Hal gave a single scoffing laugh. "Alright, Snow White."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Imogen snapped. He'd said her real name maybe twice since she'd joined them.

"The way you reacted when Paolo kissed you," Hal said. "You'd never been kissed before, had you?"

Imogen glared at him. She had. Plenty. But Imogen refused to tell him about James. Besides the fact that she supposedly hadn't left anyone behind, thinking of James and his last words still hurt. Every kiss they'd ever shared no longer seemed unblemished after his accusations.

"Then there's this virginal modesty routine. You're in a different world now, Snow White. If you're not going to walk around smelling like a pile of dung all the time, you should probably get over it."

"Just tell me what you came to say," she said.

He leaned forward. "I know what you are." He held one hand low and in front of himself. He stretched his fingers, flexing and contracting though he was still watching Imogen. Little green lights seemed to be pulled from the environment around them, coming together into the shape of the orb she had seen.

Imogen's eyes widened as she looked between Hal, and the light he held floating above his hand. "You're a wizard!" she exclaimed.

He was still smiling. "No, I'm a gypsy," he said. He dropped his hand and the orb disappeared. "And so are you."