A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVELIES! Hope you have a 2018 filled with love and kindness, not just to others but most importantly yourselves. This is the year we achieve our goals!

So, after a long time, here's a new chapter!

the length of it makes up for the erratic updates, I hope?

Anyways, HUGE THANK YOU to all of you who favourited and followed since the last chapter: .Paradise, RANDOM COOKIE NINJA, kayle6425, WoodE, Lyanna Potter, LovelySakura777, , MagicBrownie, heyheyheyabbi, and longitudinal fissure.

Also, thanks a lot to mchurch1992 fo reviewing, I'm glad that you're liking the story. Your feedback means the world!

Chapter 30: Breathe.

He sat, tall and proud, looking down the long crystal table. Its surface was polished to the point that he could easily see his companions' features reflected off it. The dining table at Lestrange Manor's main dining hall was big enough to host twenty people. Tonight, it only hosted two. Three, if he counted himself. There was nothing on the table, nothing but a small, wooden box, placed right in front of Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, was the only one comfortable enough to maintain eye-contact. She was almost smiling. Proud to be important enough that her Lord would ask a favour of her, surely. Lestrange, however, had his bleak eyes resting on Nagini, the snake's sly body circling Voldemort's shoulders, her head resting on his left hand. The man had never been comfortable with the highly venomous snake, something for which Voldemort abhorred him. That was the problem with his followers, he knew. They were all whimpering, cowardly creatures. It worked to his full advantage, of course, he would never have to deal with a coup.

"Pathetic," Nagini whispered in a slow hiss, matching his thoughts.

"My lord," Bellatrix began, eyes wide. "To what do we owe the outmost pleasure of having you in our home?"

Without the others, he added in his mind for her. He very seldom mandated them to rendezvous with him in private. And Bella, being the quick-witted woman she was, had realised surely this meant a matter of great import ought to be addressed.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Bella," Voldemort nodded.

Next to his wife, Rodolphus Lestrange tensed a miniscule fraction. He narrowed his eyes at the motion. He knew what the man's problem was. Lord Lestrange was a proud man. He had come into his home and asked a favour from his wife. His wife who was a better follower, a better Death Eater than anyone else in Voldemort's circle. His wife who was leagues better than Lestrange himself. The implications of that were enormous and Lestrange had noticed.

"And you, of course, Rodolphus." Voldemort added with a smile that clearly suggested otherwise.

It was a jest at the poor excuse of a Lord. But the man didn't see it.

"Anything, my lord." Lestrange bowed his head. "My wife and I leave all our assets to your disposition."

He had already known that.

"What transpires here shall not leave this room," Voldemort spoke without pause, barely heeding Lestrange's words. The man was deeply disappointed. Voldemort swiftly procured his wand from the inner pocket of his robes. "Swear it."

"We swear." The married couple answered immediately, already clasping hands for the Unbreakable Vow about to commence.

Once it was dealt with, Voldemort sat back on his chair, the young snake returning to her spot around him. He turned the ebony, intricately engraved box towards Bellatrix without opening it.

The woman stared down at it, astonished. Surely, this wasn't it. What could possibly fit in such a small box and be so important to her lord? Curiosity got the best of her. She leaned forward, slender hands surrounding the box with delicate touch, afraid to harm it in any way that would disrespect the Dark Lord. Her fingers undid the metal latch on the front and lifted the top. Her confusion only doubled when she saw what laid inside the beautiful, if slightly unpractical, box. It was a cup. A finely engraved golden cup, with two handles, one on each side, just as equally carved. She understood that perfectly well. Bellatrix herself was in possession of many family heirlooms such as this. Except that this couldn't possibly be a family heirloom, for there was a badger stamp in the front facet of the chalice-like cup. The ancient object seemed medieval in nature, even if it bore a pristine shine.

"M-my lord?" she hesitated, hating the wavering of her voice.

Bellatrix was usually proud to say she was cold, unrelenting, brave. The Dark Lord, however, did something to her very being that changed that completely. She hated it. After all, he did not like cowards.

"I need you to keep that safe, in your Gringotts vault," Voldemort said before Bellatrix could continue her questioning. "Protected."

"Certainly, my lord." Her husband affirmed with the usual solemnity he wore finally returning.

"I am trusting you, Bella, Rodolphus." Voldemort levelled his eyes with hers, the undertone warning clear as day, his tone chilling her to the bone. It was exhilarating.

"My lord, if I may," she began, finally regaining her bravery. "why is this cup so important?"

She could feel the magic thrumming through it, pulsating almost like a heartbeat. Besides her, Rodolphus tensed, his hand twitching almost like he wanted to reach out to her, stop her from speaking out of turn by holding her hand. She didn't even turn to him. Voldemort's lips inched upwards in a petrifying smile. His dark eyes glinted.

"That, my dear Bella," he started slowly, revelling on the way they hung up to his every word, "is…"

I lurched forward, gasping for air. Darkness surrounded me, making my already racing heart beat even faster. Cold breeze hit my back, pushing my hair forward and making a shiver run down me. Slowly, my eyes grew accustomed to the blackness around me. I could see my wardrobe by the wall right in front of me, see the outline of my worn clothes in a pile by the bathroom door. Grabbing my wand from my bedside table, I flicked it once, seeing 11: 45 appear in bold, illuminating my room with a soft, blue light. I sighed, flopping back on the bed.

After a very long weekend of nothing but loud music and stealing Uncle's expensive whiskey, of nothing but me sneaking into Sirius's room after everyone had gone to bed, I had finally decided to go back home.

My father had been disappointed in me for ditching the family in such a moment of crisis, at least that's what I concluded from the withering look he threw my way the second I stepped into the kitchen. My sister, however, sent me a radiant smile, any trace of the heart-wrenching agony she had displayed days before vanished completely. I wasn't sure how she'd managed that, but I envied her for it. I had simply retreated to my room, finally arranging my abandoned Hogwarts trunk, answered some correspondence, and gone to bed at ten o'clock. Only to have the worst dream in history of time.

The dream itself hadn't been scary, not really. Sure, I had recently found a new sort of... aversion when it came to Death Eaters. In fact, I would go so far as to say it was anxiety. Alright, I was terrified of them. I had constant nightmares about them attacking Hogsmeade; I would surely never outgrow them. That dream, however, had had no fighting in it. There had been no attacking. None of the overwhelming fire, none of the strikingly red blood. There had been no pain. And that was what made me so afraid. Why in hell would I dream of Lestrange Manor? Why in hell would I dream of Voldemort?

You know it wasn't a dream, a little voice sang in the back of my head. My heart lurched forward again; my eyes stung. No, it couldn't be! I hadn't had any—any episodes since the accident! I'd finally escaped a familiar hell only to fall into a whole new one, except the new one was one I much preferred. I would rather relive that cursed day every night for the rest of my life than have to live with premonitions. But surely, the only reason I had been so afraid over this was because it had been a vision. It was so strange, though. Askew.

I knew Lestrange Manor well enough that I could come up with a mental image of the dining hall. In fact, I had attended at least two dinners there; one of those that are mostly political and have nothing to do with the guests liking each other. Socialising is business's best friend, my uncle said. I didn't know if it was true. What I did know was that the Potters, being pure-blooded, held civil relations with most pure-blooded families and, what with my aunt having been a Black—something I didn't particularly liked to think about because that would make Sirius and I political family—particularly the not-so-nice elite families, such as the Lestrange and the Malfoys. Our relations were cut short the second the war started and said families made their intentions pretty clear, so I had only been there a couple of times in my younger years.

Still, I remembered it perfectly. It had to do with the house being so different, but at the same time so similar, to the home I was used to. I remembered the look of it: a big, tall palace-like building, inspired by baroque architecture, that made you feel as if a part of the seventeenth century had been plucked up and left here, untouched by time.

My nine-year-old self had been more than excited to see the inside of the house. My own home was, after all, just as pretty on the outside, but not quite as big. The interior of the house, however, was such a harsh contrast to the outer architecture it had been seared into my memories forever. The house was dark, cold, and hollow, with deep, rich, dark colours. Even the floors had been a shiny, obsidian black. The whole thing screamed out money, but not in the same refined, classical way my home did. It was predominantly melancholic. The main dining hall, a monstrous thing in size, was located right next to the main entrance of the estate. In the centre was the same table from the dream, a long crystal table that could host twenty people, just like it had the two times I visited.

I also knew Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange somewhat. I knew they were proud, intelligent people who tended towards elitism. I knew my parents didn't like either of them, neither did my uncle, and even my aunt could say more than a bad word or two about Bellatrix. Sirius always said there was nothing Bellatrix wasn't capable of, she was unpredictable and volatile. I knew they hated each other. I didn't know why, but I could venture a few guesses.

None of this explained the familiarity that clung to these characters in my dream. I didn't know them well enough to know how they would speak. In fact, I was pretty sure I had only exchanged a couple of clipped pleasantries with the married couple that had lasted less than ten seconds each. And yet, I was strangely aware that the dialogue in the dream rang true.

So, it had to have been a vision. But if it was, why did Voldemort look so unclear? What was it about the Dark Lord that had stopped me from getting a clear image? He had moved slowly, like every move was calculated, and I was certain he had smiled once. But that was it. I would not have been able to recognize him if I saw him on the street tomorrow morning. That wasn't how it usually worked with my visions.

So, under that reasoning, it was nothing but a dream, I conceded. Feeling like I was lying to myself but more than happy to do so, I turned on my side and closed my eyes. Sweet sleep embraced me almost immediately.

When I woke up next, cold sweat clung to my all-too-warm skin and tears covered my cheeks. This time, however, I had no problem knowing whether my nightmare had been a vision or not. It was a dream that had turned into a faithful companion for the last several months, all fire and pain and screams. I wondered if the terrors of Hogsmeade would ever truly leave me, if I would ever be able to set foot on the small town again. Not only that but, how could I become an auror, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, if I was so easily haunted? The thoughts plagued me until I couldn't breathe.

There was a soft but insistent tap on my window again: the noise that had awaken me. Groaning softly, I dragged myself out of bed and walked towards the window, where a small owl was poking at the thick glass. It flew inside the second I pushed it open, setting itself in a flurry of feathers and loud qwaks atop my dresser.

Grabbing a small treat from the saucer in my desk, I walked over to it, offering it with a half-honest smile. The owl ate it immediately, almost biting my finger in the process.

"No need to be rude, you know?" I commented, carefully undoing the letter from its small leg.

The owl just squawked once more before flying to my desk and proceeding to eat more treats. Shrugging, I turned the letter on its side. It was Lily's. Apparently, Petunia was being even worse than usual. Home was hell on earth. Lily wasn't even invited to Petunia's wedding anymore, a decision born from Lily asking if she could take James as her plus-one. 'I want none of your freaks at my wedding! You're all vermin and embarrassing!' had been Petunia's answer to the question. Lily's excuse for asking James to be her plus-one and not me was that Petunia insisted her companion was a male, to avoid people from getting the wrong idea, seeing as though Lily was already weird enough. I snorted at that, not even slightly hurt over not being invited to Petunia's wedding. Lily was so transparent. I wondered if she still thought James and she were nothing but friends.

The letter ended with her letting me know she would be spending the rest of the summer away from home. I assumed it would be over at Marlene's or Dorcas', but it turned out to be much closer: she'd be staying with James. Lily would arrive this Thursday. James must have been ecstatic.

Deciding I'd go over and tease him about it for a bit, I locked myself in my bathroom for twenty minutes, taking a much deserved, scalding hot bath. The hot water paired with my lavender bubble soap and chamomile bath salts made me feel better than I had in months. For the first time in the past year, I felt like myself. Like the proud, highborn girl I was once. The true Princess of Gryffindor. Strangely, I wasn't sure which version I liked most, that one or this new, darker version of me.

I massaged my hair with a bit of shampoo and conditioner, passing a thin comb through it to rid it of any knots before finally jumping out of the bath, the water long cold. The owl Lily had used was long gone by the time I resurfaced out of the bathroom, dressed already in my underwear. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I frowned, not really expecting anyone.

I quickly put my silk robe on and tied it, making sure whoever it was wouldn't notice I was technically naked underneath it, and opened the door. Big, wide eyes blinked up at me, accompanied by a benign smile I was much accustomed to.

"Morning, Miss." Glitter nodded her head once, big ears flopping with the motion.

"Morning, Glitter." I greeted her, still a bit confused. It wasn't every day that Glitter woke me up, not unless she was asked to by my parents. "Is everything okay?"

"Glitter has been sent to tell Miss that Miss is needed downstairs in the drawing room. Madam and Master will be waiting." Glitter stated in that same happy tone I had always heard from her.

I sighed, not really in the mood for whatever my parents had planned so early in the morning. It was after all, just nearing ten am. Knowing refusing Glitter would only cause her distress—she was bound to think me saying no was her fault, and she'd surely be sad for the rest of the day—I stepped out of my room and closed the door behind me.

"Thank you, Glitter."

The faithful elf sent me another blinding smile before hurrying off down the hallway. I went the other way, to the right and towards the stairs. The drawing room was in the ground floor. It was the place where we usually received guests who were not close friends, and it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't dressed appropriately. After all, we very seldom used the drawing room when it was just us.

My thoughts were confirmed when a sudden and bright light went off the second I opened the door, accompanied by the very familiar sound of a camera going off. I blinked in surprise, hand going up instinctively to cover my eyes.

"What the heck?" I muttered, still blinking to make the spots in my vision disappear.

"Meredith, language!"

"Oh, I am so very sorry! I thought I'd turned off the flash!"

The biting reprimand came from my mother, who was stood by the chimney, dressed in a finely tailored black dress, its skirts reached the floor in a waterfall-like motion. She looked regal, more so than I had ever seen her in my life, and that was saying something. The apology, however, came from a very flustered, young gentleman who stood right in front of me. He held the offending camera in both his hands as he balanced from one foot to the other, brown eyes, which were hidden under a thick pair of glasses, stuck to my face.

Delilah sent me a roll of her eyes as she very subtly tilted her head at our mum. She and James were sitting in the love-seat by the chimney, which was unlit. They were both dressed impeccably, the epitome of first class. In fact, everyone was, from my father, who stood next to Mum, to even the photographer.

"Miss Potter, allow me to introduce myself," a new voice said. I looked at the approaching woman with barely concealed annoyance. There was no need for introductions, I knew who she was. "Elizabeth Hallower, journalist for The Prophet."

At this she stuck out her hand for me to shake. I glanced down at it and then back at her. Elizabeth Hallower was around thirty years of age. She was an important journalist in The Prophet, good enough that she was constantly given liberty to write about whatever she pleased. I supposed having her here to write about whatever it was she would write about was better than having Rita Skeeter, though, so I shook her offering hand politely.

"I know who you are." I let her know. Elizabeth Hallower opened her mouth to speak further, but I turned to my parents, completely ignoring her. "Mother, Father, a word, please?"

"Of course, darling." My father nodded, already pressing a hand to the back of my mother's back to get her to walk forward. I didn't think anyone was meant to notice that, and I was certain nobody had, but I did. "Excuse us, Mrs. Hallower, Mr. Atkins."

Hallower seemed to be disappointment in our leaving, while Atkins, the photographer, seemed incredibly confused over it. James and Delilah didn't say anything, just watched us go. I followed my parents into the kitchen, where Glitter was now, happily cooking. She jumped from the stool she was using as a bench to overlook the stove the second we walked in, but my father dismissed her with a soft shake of his head. She went back to her chore, not paying us attention, but she stopped humming as to not bother us.

"Why is The Prophet in our home and why wasn't I told they were coming?" I demanded the second the door closed behind me.

This was unbelievable. There was now a photograph of me wearing nothing but my underwear and a silky robe, and it was in possession of The Prophet. I could feel the embarrassment heating up my cheeks.

"You didn't let her know?" my dad asked my mum, apparently unhappily surprised.

"I knew she would say no." My mother sighed, rubbing at her temple with one hand.

Now that we were no longer in the presence of unwanted guests, my parents didn't look as refined as before. My mum was visibly weary, like getting out of bed had been an incredibly hard feat to accomplish. And my dad still had sorrow clinging to him. The sight of it made my anger simmer down to mild annoyance. They were struggling just as much as I was. We all had different coping mechanisms, this was theirs, apparently. I just didn't get how giving an interview helped one forget about emotional pain.

"It was a badly executed business decision." My mum relented, sending me an apologetic look. "I didn't expect you to come down in your undergarments."

I frowned and remained quiet.

"Ay," Father lamented, unwillingly making the corner of my mouth go upwards. "Meredith, The Prophet contacted us months ago about doing an interview. We felt it was too soon, after everything that had happened." He explained to me.

The frown I'd been wearing earlier returned to my face. I didn't want to give an interview about the Hogsmeade attack. It was still too fresh. I refused to talk about the twins, or about the things I had seen.

"It's still too soon." I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. "I thought you'd already given an official statement, anyways."

They had. I remembered reading it in bed when I was still in the Hospital Wing. My parents had gone forwards to let everyone know that I was recovering. They grieved the loss of the twins, but were happy I was in good health. They asked for justice, not just for us but for the poor people of Hogsmeade who had had their homes ransacked by criminals.

My parents shared a look. I tensed.

"This is more of—a family interview, to see how we're all recovering." Dad explained.

"I don't want to do that." I denied.

"I know, that's why we said no the first time." My mother nodded, finally letting her hand fall to her side.

"Then say no again!"

"They're insistent, Meredith." My mother retaliated. I could tell she was beginning to get annoyed. "And the publicity would help with the fundraiser."

The fundraiser was an event held by my parents every August. Really, it was held by the Potters, but it took place in my home, so my parents took care of everything. The idea was to raise as much money as possible for some good cause or the other. Last year it was so that the mystical forest, Ethereal Light, in north England wouldn't be deforested. It was my mother's pride and joy. The one time of the year where she could forget about students and business decisions with my uncle.

"What's us reliving the worst day of our lives got to do with the fundraiser?" I demanded.

"Hogsmeade is in complete disarray. The townspeople don't have enough money to afford reconstruction. I thought getting Hogsmeade back on its feet could be the subject of this year's fundraiser."

I replayed my mother's words over in my mind. Hogsmeade was destroyed completely. Only a few houses and shops had survived the attack. Most of its inhabitants had moved in with other relatives or gone to inns while they figure out how to restore their homes. I knew she was right. Hogsmeade was just the type of disaster that would have all the rich people we knew run over themselves to help. It would make them philanthropists.

The issue of the matter was, I could not hear the name without feeling like I would be sick. I wanted to help, I did. I had great memories in the little town. My first date with Fabian took place there. Sirius had kissed me many times while we sat on the sixth booth to the right in the Three Broomsticks. James and I had bought our parents' Christmas presents together there. Marlene, Lily, and I had gotten into so much trouble, spying on our other friends, drinking underaged, shoplifting new accessories from our favourite clothing shop. Not because we didn't have money, but just because it was fun and exhilarating.

I just couldn't bring myself to sit down in front of someone who didn't really care and relive the most painful evening of my life. But I knew Mum and Dad were right. It would be unfair to let my own selfish desires harm innocent people. People who had been just as hurt as I had been. Maybe even more so.

"James." I swallowed, hugging my torso. "I want James there with me."

"Of course." My father agreed, probably quicker than my mother would have liked.

After all, a statement by my lonesome would have a greater impact. I wouldn't have it, though. If I was going through this, I would need James. He was the one who looked for me. He found me half-dead and brought me to safety. I would not be here without James Potter. My parents would have lost three children within the same week. My sister would be alone.

"Go, get dressed." my mother sighed. "It's only pictures today, so you'll have a few days to ponder over what you'll say."

That didn't make me feel better, even though I knew the words were meant to comfort me. They filled me with a nearly overwhelming sense of dread. I knew plenty of The Prophet's tendency to change a story to their liking, purely so they could provide their readers with entertainment. I didn't want to fall victim to that. But I knew I had no choice. So, I went back to my room.

I got rid of my robe and put on my long-sleeved, black, satin dress. It was more traditional than the clothes I usually wore, with a sweetheart-styled neckline and a flowing circle skirt, but the soft fabric clung to the upper part of my body like a glove before it opened into a skirt that reached just below my knees. Pairing it with a thin, black-pearls necklace and my high-heeled Mary-Janes, I knew my mother would be proud. Grabbing a simple, black velvet ribbon, I tied my hair into a somewhat loose, low ponytail. Knowing nobody would be lenient if I was later than I already was, I did my makeup with magic and ran down the stairs, looking all in all like the aristocratic lady I once wished I would become. The Princess of Gryffindor. A ghost of who I was. The thing was that, now that I didn't want to be that person anymore, the more I found myself in situations where I had to be her.

"Oh, Meredith!" My mother gasped when I opened the door to the drawing room.

Immediately, every single person in the room turned to look at me. Something inside of me recoiled, like my very soul wanted to flee and hide. Outwards, however, I simply smiled and outstretched my hand to receive my mother's, which were already reaching out to me.

"You look radiant," she said, giving me a once over.

She was smiling the first genuine smile I had seen coming from her in months, even if her eyes were misty. It made the whole thing slightly more manageable.

"Thank you, mum." I answered sincerely.

There was a beat, in which me and my mother simply looked at each other. I couldn't remember the last time her gaze had filled me with such warmth. I realised in that moment that, despite our differences of opinion, my mother and I wished for much the same: our family, happy and together. Our short moment was interrupted by a sharp clear of a throat, curtesy of a very impatient Mrs. Hallower. I threw her an indignant glance, but the sound seemed to remind Mum of the reason why I supposedly looked 'radiant'.

"Oh, of course!" my mum shook her head, leading me by the shoulder to the larger sofa. It was by the bay window, the gardens in plain view behind it, the beige, thick curtains adorning the edges of the window like in a fairy-tale book. "Sit here."

She softly pushed me down in-between Delilah and James before walking behind the sofa to join my father. Delilah smiled at me.

"She's right. You look really pretty." She whispered to me, low enough that Mrs. Hallower and Mr. Atkins, who were talking to one another, wouldn't hear her.

"So do you." I answered.

And she did. She was wearing a white, long-sleeved blouse, with black buttons going down the front, tucked into a black skirt that reached her knees. She wasn't wearing heels, or any makeup, but she looked older, more mature. With her dark, long hair pulled back in a tight French plait, her high cheekbones stood out. I didn't know how to explain it, but Delilah looked less like a child. I realized with a pang to my chest that my baby sister had grown up, and I had missed it.

At my words, Delilah smiled and flushed, before turning back to face the journalist and her photographer, ready to have as many photographs taken as they wanted. Sometimes I wondered how she was so well-behaved, considering the people she had as family. The motion reminded me of what we were really here for.

"I hate this," James told me, leaning towards me so my parents wouldn't hear.

"Tell me about it." I replied without pause. "It has disaster written all over it. I can already read the headline: Potter Family Drowning in Maddening Grief."

"Merlin, I hope not." James shuddered.

"Alright, everyone! Please, look at the camera and smile." Mrs. Hallower suddenly clapped her hands.

I sighed but complied, turning from James so I could face the camera. Giving my best smile, I waited until the blinding light came. The camera went off twice before Mr. Atkins took a step back, fiddling with the large device. I watched him, meeting his eyes when he suddenly looked up and offered us an apologetic smile, mumbling something about sensible equipment.

"You have an admirer." James sing-sang in my ear.

"What?" I glanced at him. James pointedly nodded towards Mr. Atkins once. "No way." I snorted.

He sent me an unimpressed look. I shrugged, turning back to observe Mr. Atkins, who was currently closing a small door on the back of the camera. As if sensing eyes on him, he looked up, and very nearly dropped the camera to the floor when his eyes met mine.

"Maybe." I giggled.

"He probably changed twice before coming here." James continued. "Gotta look his best to meet the future Mrs. Atkins." He looked like he was barely holding back laughter.

"Over my dead body," I said, pretending to gag.

"Meredith, shh!" Delilah hissed, leaning around me so she could send a glare to both me and James. "He'll hear you."

"Sorry." James and I apologised at the same time, even if we were still trying to control our laughter.

I sat up straighter, looking back towards the front. My parents hadn't said anything to James and I, and it wasn't until I remained quiet that I realized why: they were having their own whispered conversation in the back of the couch. Mrs. Hallower was observing us with care, eyes catching every movement like a hawk. My parents were wrong. Today wasn't just pictures. Today was as much the interview as they day we'd sit down in front of a quill-bearing Mrs. Hallower, and I could tell the journalist was already planning a story in her head. I found it disconcerting, knowing that this shrewd but arrogant woman would be the one telling my story to the world. So, I turned back to poor, nervous-wreck Mr. Atkins.

"Look at his feet." I suddenly leaned on James, so fast and so out of nowhere he actually titled to the right.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

I watched as James rolled his eyes at me before turning to Mr. Atkins. It wasn't long until James saw what I was talking about. Mr. Atkins had definitely changed his clothes several times. And in his haste to be here on time, he had left his home with mismatched socks on. James turned to me, eyes wide, before the two of us burst out laughing. The click and splash of the camera's flash going off surrounded us, just at the same time my mum reached out and softly swatter at our shoulders, trying to get us to stop laughing.

It was an impossible feat. We'd quiet down only to erupt in giggles moments later. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had this much fun with James. I'd missed it terribly. The fact that our distance had been my own doing made me feel even worse. It left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.

Two hours later, Mr. Atkins had taken every single picture Mrs. Hallower could think of. She had my parents pose alone, she had us pose without James. She took a picture of just Delilah and I, standing beside the marble fireplace. She took a picture of Delilah, James, and I together, squeezed in on the love seat. One of just me and James. One of me alone by the window. At one point, she insisted we didn't smile. It sent a chill down my back and I felt myself grow more and more apprehensive. James never let me think about it for more than a moment, though. He kept me incredibly entertained, to the point where my mind forgot about my doubts.

"Thank you," I said.

We were standing by the hallway. Mrs. Hallower had claimed she had everything she needed five minutes ago, and James and I hadn't wasted any time leaving. Just as he was about to reach the foyer, though, I decided to speak the words that had been bouncing off my brain for the last hour and a half. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you, THANK YOU.

"For what?" James grinned, looking down at me with feigned ignorance.

"I know what you did today." I continued, walking closer to him. "You knew how hard this would be, and you distracted me. So, thank you." I repeated earnestly, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

"Nah, it was nothing." James shrugged, easy grin still plastered across his face.

"James, I mean it." I insisted.

After a moment of silence, James sighed, the smile slipping from his face with the same exhale. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

"I wasn't just trying to distract you." He admitted, looking sheepishly guilty. "I, um, I really didn't want to do this. So, if you think about it, I—" he cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I was helping myself, too."

"Did it work?" I smiled.

I didn't care that his actions had been half-selfish. I still meant what I had said full-heartedly. He'd made my morning all the more bearable.

"Did it?" he asked me instead.

"Yes," I said. "I would have probably walked off halfway through."

"Me, too." James agreed, serious. Suddenly, his face split into a bright grin. "We ought to thank Mr. Atkins, too, though. For all the comedic material he provided."

I laughed. A loud, bright laugh that didn't feel forced. A loud, bright laugh that felt liberating. A loud, bright laugh that ended up with tears threatening to leave me, out of nowhere, without my permission. I bit my lip, trying really hard not to cry. I was done crying. This summer would be spent happy and healing. James just looked at me, brows scrunched up in sympathy.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, clearing my throat.

"Don't apologise." James shook his head. "I understand."

I knew he did. Ari and Chris weren't his siblings. But we were close. We always had been. It was an expected by-product of us being neighbours, being home-schooled together until we were eleven. James and I had practically shared a crib. My parents were busy working, so were his, so our mums would usually take turns looking after us. And when my mum was off working, I'd usually spend my time being babysat over at James. He was my first friend, ever. The twins took a step away from us when we grew up, while James and I grew closer, but the four of us had still been pretty close. It couldn't have been easy for James. At least I had been unconscious for some of it.

Without hesitance, I took another step forward and wrapped my arms around his midsection, giving him the tightest hug I could possibly muster. James' arms flung around my shoulders as he pressed a kiss to the side of my head. It was a show of affection long overdue. A hug that should have been given much earlier. My wounded pride and overwhelming grief had stopped me from opening up to him, to anyone, really. I also knew that I'd been uncharacteristically cold towards him all year. I didn't want our relationship to become strained.

"I love you, James," I said honestly.

"Love you, too, Mer."

I smiled, pressing the side of my face into his shoulder.

"That's nice."

Not anymore, I thought as I took a step back and turned to face Mrs. Hallower. Clearly, her conversation with my parents had ended and now she and Mr. Atkins were stood in front of us. I mustered a tight, civil smile to match her cat-that-ate-the-canary one.

"Mrs. Hallower," I said. "I hope you got all the pictures you desired."

"Indeed, I did." She nodded, her voice in a tone of superiority I deemed unnecessary. "Would you and your cousin spare a moment to answer a few questions? They're very brief, I assure you."

At this she sent me an award-winning smile, showing two rows of whitened teeth surrounded by bright red lipstick. The smile had no effect on me. I shook my head immediately.

"I'm afraid the time to answer questions will be on Thursday, not today." I denied, pretending not to see Mrs. Hallower tense all over in annoyance.

"And we are expected elsewhere." James added as an apology.

As far as I was aware, we weren't expected elsewhere. That didn't mean I would pass the opportunity to leave. We said our goodbyes and turned around, leaving my house and that blasted woman behind in a moment.

The library at James' house was massive with the walls covered in books from floor to ceiling. The soft, maroon carpet was decorated with a dark purple pattern I'd tried to find the end of many times during my childhood. The bookshelves were embedded into the very walls, so there was no wallpaper, just mahogany. After the walls had been completely filled, standing bookshelves had been added, and they were scattered around the room, making the whole thing look like a maze of sorts.

I found Sirius by the window. He was leaning against the frame as he sat on the window seat, a thick book about magical creatures opened before him. Without saying anything, I walked forward, pushed one of his legs off the seat and flopped down in front of him with a huff.

"You will not believe what I did all morning!" I said as greeting, lifting my legs so I was sitting crossed-legged, my knee brushing his.

"Hello to you, too." He looked up, grey eyes shining in amusement. Lazily, he lifted his leg up again, effectively caging me.

"Shush!" I insisted. "This is bad! Mum had a momentary burst of madness! She had The Prophet come in! And take pictures of us, even James, for some article."

"Is that why he left all dressed up?" the question was rhetorical. I looked at him, waiting for the joke I could feel coming. "Here I was thinking he'd gone to visit Lily."

"Sirius!" I protested, even if a laugh escaped my lips. "You don't get it. I had no idea we had guests coming over. I went downstairs wearing nothing but my underwear and a silk robe."

I paused, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks all the way from my neck. Sirius's eyebrows rose. I shook my head.

"They have a picture of me wearing nothing but my underwear and a silk robe! What if they use it?" I wondered, not for the first time.

"Well," Sirius started, dropping the now closed book on the floor, fingers wrapping around my wrist. "In that case…" he trailed off, tone pensive.

I leaned forward an inch, wondering where he was going with this. Surely, he'd seen how vexing the situation was, how my parents should have given me a word of warning. I understood the reasoning behind the interview. I didn't agree with the means, but I agreed with the final goal: trying to get Hogsmeade back on its feet. Still, I was overly annoyed at the fact that I had not been told.

"I will definitely be buying a copy." Sirius nodded, so solemnly that it took me a second to realise he was joking.

I gaped at him.

"Sirius Orion Bla—"

A pair of lips on mine cut me off. My astonishment died quite quickly as I returned the kiss fervently. We broke apart after a moment. Sirius never strayed too far, instead he leaned again to capture my lips in a soft kiss. I frowned half-heartedly, keeping my eyes on his.

"I'm mad at you." I let him know between kisses.

He hummed, clearly not believing me. Honestly, I wasn't very convincing, considering my hands were firmly on him, one on his leg, the other on his chest.

"Love, if you honestly think your parents will let anyone post a half-naked picture of you," Sirius shook his head, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse point was. I felt my shoulders relax unintentionally. "Then you clearly don't know your family."

I sighed, tilting my head back so he'd have an easier path down my neck. His lips trailed the dip of my jaw, settling in the hollow of my throat, and sucking until I let out a moan, a pleasant warmth travelling all over my body until it settled in my lower belly.

"It was awfully embarrassing." I whined, even if I was hardly thinking about it anymore.

His lips left my skin as he sat up, earning a slight sound of protest from me. Something flashed behind his eyes, dangerous and promising. I moved the hand that was on his knee up his thigh, resenting the fabric of his jeans. I'd been fantasising about touching him for months and now that I finally could he had to wear thick, unbendable clothing.

"I know." He nodded. "If it's any consolation you have a nice body."

"Sirius!" I gasped, shoving his chest slightly.

His hand shot up to grab my offending wrist, pulling me closer. Instead of letting myself fall into him, however, I pulled back, something he clearly wasn't expecting, and sent us both falling backwards. I ended up with my back flat against the soft cushion of the window seat, Sirius scrambling not to fall atop of me. His hands ended up on either side of my shoulders, the rest of his body so close to mine I could feel his warmth. After he realized I wasn't exactly complaining about our new situation, Sirius happily settled between my legs, his hips levelled with mine.

"You…" I trailed off, shaking my head.

"What?" he smirked.

"Are insufferable." I finished, raising one eyebrow as I shot him a look that didn't have that much of an effect because I ended up smiling.

"Let me make it up to you," he requested, one hand reaching out to play with a stray strand of my hair. I hummed, hand trailing around his waist. "There's a party tonight. Wanna go?"

"Like you have to ask." I replied immediately, suddenly excited.

The last party I'd gone to had been my birthday party. It could suffice to say it hadn't ended well. Now, however, there was no reason why I wouldn't have a good time. Sirius smiled down at me. I could see his own excitement shining in his eyes. Merlin Gracious. We leaned towards each other at the same time, our lips meeting halfway. He lowered himself, so he'd be closer to me. I unconsciously spread my legs, giving him more room between my thighs, not caring at all about having his weight on me; I actually enjoyed it.

I briefly remembered we were right by the window. Not just that, but the window faced the gardens, where I knew James, Peter and Remus were. They could see us, if they looked up at the house long enough. The idea left my mind quite quickly, and I turned my attention solely on Sirius.

We kissed until we couldn't breathe, hands mapping each other. My left hand buried itself on his soft hair at the same time his found my neck, mouth leaving wet, hot kisses down the soft skin of my shoulder and collarbone. I bit back a moan, arching my whole body towards his touch. My chest brushed his at the same time I bucked my hips to meet his.

"I think," Sirius gasped. I felt the intake of breath cooling against the hot skin of my chest. "We should go up to my room."

He sounded strained, like the very idea of having to walk all the way up to his room was painful. I softly pulled on his hair until he looked at me, pupils so dilated I could barely see the grey of his eyes.

"I think," I murmured, one hand trailing down his chest, lips stretched into a smirk. "We should stay here."

"Mer, they could see us." Sirius's eyes jumped to the window before finding my face again.

I felt my smirk grow at the same time my hand found the buckle of his belt.

"Isn't that exciting?" I whispered closely to his face.

His eyes widened a fraction. After a second, he laughed, his hair tickling my cheek.

"Is that so?" he asked me.

In that moment, I pulled on his belt, sliding it off every loop and unceremoniously dropping it on the carpet. Sirius licked his lips, looking at me with so much desire that it had my skin tingling. My smirk grew.

"It is."

"Alright, then," Sirius said.

At the same time my hands unbuttoned the front of his trousers, his hand dipped beneath my skirt. I practically shivered in anticipation.

We kissed again.

A/N:

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

If you have a few minutes to review, I would appreciate it very much. Other than that, have a lovely day and see you soon!