ALL THE THREADS OF FATE.
PART I.
CRUEL SUMMER.
"I didn't have it in myself to go with grace,
'cause when I'd fight you used to tell me I was brave.
And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?
Cursing my name, wishing I'd stay.
Look at how my tears ricochet.
And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home.
And you can aim for my heart, go for blood
but you would still miss me in your bones.
And I still talk to you, when I'm screaming at the sky.
And when you can't sleep at night, you hear my stolen lullabies.
I didn't have it in myself to go with grace,
and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves.
You had to kill me but it killed you all the same.
Cursing my name, wishing I'd stayed,
you turned into your worst fears.
And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain,
crossing out the good years.
Look at how my tears ricochet."
—Taylor Swift. My Tears Ricochet.
I.
Mornings in the Potter-Greengrass household tended to be quiet, especially in the summer. With four teenagers making the best of their scarce free time, it wasn't often that a soul could be heard before nine in the morning.
My mother liked to sleep in as much as my siblings did. My father didn't, but after twenty-eight years of marriage and three kids who did not share his love for mornings, he had a routine down to perfection. That routine included waking at the crack of dawn, The Prophet or some architectural magazine, a large French Press brimming to the top with the best Italian coffee available, and his favourite Puddlemere United coffee mug. He'd take all this back up to bed, where he'd sip at his coffee until Mum woke up. He always said it was because he couldn't bear the thought of starting his mornings without her, but I always suspected it had more to do with the fact that Glitter, our house elf, only really answered to Mum, if she was in the house. It made sense; Glitter was technically Mum's elf. My theory was only further supported by the fact that Dad seemed to do just fine in the mornings when Mum was away.
I, like my father, preferred to get up early. It wasn't so much 'preferred' as 'had little choice in the matter'. Sleep and I had been in terrible terms since I had a memory. I wasn't quite as extreme as Dad. As the sunrays began to filter through the curtains, the air cool and charged in the way that could only signify early morning, when most birds had already risen but where still happy to chirp, I'd wake up. 6:30 AM was my favourite time of the day.
At Hogwarts, it meant I could leisurely prepare for the day, avoiding the rushed franticness from my dormmates when 7:45 AM rolled around and they'd once more slept in. At home, it meant I could relax in bed, read a book, or do my nails knowing no one would interrupt me. Our home was large enough that hearing each other during the day was difficult—Hell, I'd even go so far to say finding each other could prove near impossible at times—except the West Wing of the house, fourth floor, second hallway from the main staircase housed all the bedrooms, and it could get pretty loud in the morning. Not so much now, but especially when we were much younger.
So, 6:30 AM had been, for the last ten years, my favourite time of the day. Except for today.
Today, it was the bane of my existence. Why? Because 6:30 AM meant Dad had been up for two hours already, which meant any chance of disposing of the evidence of last night without risking him finding out was gone. Still, better Dad than Mum.
The moment my hungover mind registered the time, I pushed the covers off me and stepped out of bed, pointedly ignoring the disgruntled, half-conscious protest from the other body in bed. I made quick of the time I had. My father usually went back to the kitchen around quarter to seven, looking for more coffee. He'd usually stop by my room around that time, asking if I wanted to join him. I only had fifteen minutes.
I rushed into the en suite bathroom. Washing my face of any remaining makeup didn't take long, but I yearned for the day I'd be allowed to use magic outside of school as I ridded my long blonde hair of any knots with the ornate, unicorn hair hairbrush my sister had given me last Christmas.
When I made it out of the bathroom, dressing gown covering the fact I was naked, I was received by my boyfriend's still sleeping form in the bed. I huffed, picking his shirt up from the floor and hurling it his way. It landed on his face, earning me a quiet huff from him. Still, he didn't move.
"Fabian, get up." I demanded in a half-whisper.
He grumbled something into the pillow, twisting and turning until he was on his stomach, arms holding the pillow closer to his face. I surmised he'd meant something along the lines of 'just a minute'. The small, mahogany mantel clock I kept on my bedside alerted me of the fact that we didn't really have a minute. It was 6:40, and my room was a mess. I still had a boy in my bed.
I moved quicker than a Cornish pixy, somehow managing to gather all clothing items in my arms in under a minute. Considering the size of my room, that was a feat in and of itself. My dress was a crumpled mess by the desk; I found my knickers under his jeans. My heels were by the opened French window. Their straps tangled along my fingers in my haste to retrieve them. The two French Windows in my room were directly within view of the door. I wasn't messy. Dad would notice a pair of strappy heels laying haphazardly under the window in a heartbeat.
I shoved my clothes inside my wardrobe, deciding to sort them out later.
"Mer," Fabian complained as I closed the wardrobe door a little harder than necessary.
He sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His red hair was sticking out in all sorts of directions. Sleep, or maybe it was the hangover, had the freckles on his face popping against his pale skin. I kind of wanted to take a picture of him, just to be able to relive how adorably handsome he looked.
"Give me five minutes!" He groaned, blearily blinking against the bright morning light. "Oh, my head."
I shushed him, walking toward the bed with his jeans still over my shoulder. Fabian lowered his hands from his face tentatively, like the mere movement pained him. I wouldn't be surprised if it did; we'd drunk a lot last night. He picked up his shirt from beside him, staring at it for a moment in sleepy confusion.
"We don't have five minutes!" I didn't dare raise my voice to a normal level. "If my parents find out that not only did I sneak out last night but that I also sneaked you in, they are going to disown me."
I was supposed to be grounded. If one thing did not fly in this household, it was disobedience. While we were usually pretty defiant towards certain rules, and my mother pretended not to notice because we were so good at being sneaky, attending a party both my parents were adamant I did not attend and having a naked boy in my bed would not be received overtly well. My parents were already iffy about me or Adelaide having boys over. If they found out Fabian had spent the night, I'd be grounded from here to eternity.
"What time 's it?" Fabian mumbled.
I caught the amused tone to his voice and ignored it. At least he was slipping his shirt on. The buttons were mismatched, but it wasn't like he'd run into anyone climbing out my window. At least, that was the hope.
"6:43."
"Fuck." He cursed as he jumped out of bed, grabbing his jeans from my offering hands. "Have I ever told you how much I hate that you're an early bird?"
He hopped into his jeans, sending me a half-hearted glare.
I allowed a smile. "Right now, I share that hatred."
I pressed a kiss to his cheek as he finished fastening his belt. He turned in place, hand slipping under my arm to circle around my waist. I went on tiptoe, resting my hands on his shoulders for balance. When our lips met in a searing kiss, my stomach flipped and sent my heart into a wild run. He pulled me closer, coaxing my lips to part with his own. I fought the urge to moan as I leaned until I was completely pressed against him. He just had this talent of making every kiss special.
"Seriously, you have to go." I pulled away, a little breathless.
"Fine." He shrugged, leaning down to steal one last kiss before striding towards the window.
I giggled, watching him throw one leg over the windowsill before pausing.
"Wait, my shoes!"
Oh, the shoes! Where the hell were his shoes?! Under my bed, apparently. Though how they ended up down there escaped me, it was a mystery I pushed aside as I heard the distinct sound of my parent's doorknob twisting. It was faint, barely audible, but I'd spent years training my ears to catch it.
I rushed to the window, shoving Fabian's shoes into his arms, very nearly pushing him off the small ledge by the window.
"Meredith, wait!" He scrambled to catch one of the shoes, grasping the laces a moment before they dropped to the ground outside. "I need to put them on."
"No time." I shook my head, leaning in to peck him one last time on the lips. "You'll have to leg it barefoot."
Fabian rolled his eyes at my suggestion, which was more an order than a suggestion, but threw the shoes out of the window anyway, letting them fall onto the grass below. He threw his other leg over the window, effectively standing on the thin ledge on the other side, and began tiptoeing to the left.
"Remember, don't—"
"Apparate until I am off the grounds, I know." He interrupted, sending me a cheeky grin. "It's not my first time sneaking out, y'know?" He looked so satisfied saying that I couldn't help but laugh. "See you tomorrow!"
He smiled at me one last time before beginning to climb down the side of the house, where my mother's colourful clematis flowers grew on the trellis between my two bedroom windows. I didn't wait to see him go, simply closing the window and drawing the curtains the moment he'd stopped using the windowsill for balance. With luck, any damage to befall the flowers wouldn't be noticeable.
I turned around just as there was a short knock on my door. Checking my reflection on the body-length mirror standing beside the wardrobe, I made sure to look somewhat presentable, before opening the door.
My father was truly a sight to behold in the mornings. Usually so put together, seeing him unkept carried a certain air of hilarity, even after so many years of witnessing it.
His brown hair, dusted with grey, was unbrushed and going in all directions in an impressive show of volume. His face, unshaven. His pyjamas were hidden under a long, silk dressing gown. It was maroon, with a 3-inch black edge on the cuffs and collar. The initials F.C.P. were embroidered in golden thread on the left side, sitting right above his heart. He was wearing a pair of fluffy slippers. The same fluffy slippers I got him for Christmas when I was eleven. On his nose sat what he referred to as 'home specs'. They were a pair of old glasses, with a crooked frame from decades of use. Completely unsuitable to wear in public, and a long way from the presentable, fancy, black-rimmed, square glasses he wore to work, outside of home, or if we ever had visitors.
To the world, my father was a tall, elegant, successful wizard of remarkable prowess. It wasn't a front; he was a tall, elegant, successful wizard of remarkable prowess. At home, however, before the clock struck eight in the morning, he looked everything but.
"Good morning, Daddy." I greeted him with a soft smile.
"Good morning, Meredith." He tilted his head down, stepping forward to plant a short kiss on the top of my head. "Did you sleep alright?"
"Like a baby."
Never mind the fact the longer I was awake the more aware I was of the hangover that addled my body. My stomach flipped and swayed at every move I made, threatening to empty at any moment. My head ached so badly I was surprised I could even form a coherent thought.
"Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?"
Always the same question, with the same curious tone, like I was a guest, and this was simply good manners. Like he hadn't asked me the same since I had a memory—though the offer of having coffee didn't come until I turned fifteen. Prior to that he'd always tempted me out of my room with a steamy cup of black-and-white hot chocolate. A beverage my brother and I invented in our childhood, by mixing the hot chocolate powder with the white chocolate sauce Mum bought for French toast. We topped them with marshmallows, if no adults were around. Father only ever let me have the chocolate.
I always said yes, if anything just to spend time with him. He had a busy job, other commitments when not working.
"Maybe later," I said.
As much as I wanted to, I was still wearing a dressing gown and nothing else. I didn't want to think of the state of my hair. The party last night had been insane; I probably smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol. I really, really, hoped not, considering my father had just kissed me on the head.
"Very well; I'll see you downstairs when you're ready."
He nodded but didn't leave. I leaned against the opened door, hands placed on either doorknob. Father regarded me for a moment, before asking:
"How's Fabian?"
"He's—" I faltered, catching my slip-up at the last second. "I'm not sure. I haven't spoken with him since Wednesday. I was planning on floo-ing him later today." I shrugged, leaning my head against the door as my tone turned teasing. "I can tell him you asked, if you'd like. He'd be ecstatic to know you don't hate him."
As far as evading tactics went, it wasn't the best. My father hummed, eyeing me from over the rim of his glasses.
"Meredith, I am an auror."
"I know."
I tried my best not to show that his comment had sent my heart into a wild rhythm. I didn't tense; I didn't look away.
"All right." He nodded again, beginning to walk away. I subtly released the breath I'd been holding. My relief was short-lived as he turned back to me. "I don't suppose you could tell me how that got there, since you haven't seen Fabian since Wednesday?"
My heart stopped. My stomach dropped so fast I very nearly threw up. What? What had I missed that he'd managed to catch so quickly? I didn't dare turn back around, didn't dare blink.
"How what got where?"
I kept my tone casual. Not too innocent that it would be suspicious, but casual and curious enough that it gave the impression I thought he was inquiring after a book, or an extra glass, or something that could be explained away and wasn't as incriminating as an errant item of clothing.
"The love bite on your neck," my father commented in the same casual tone, gesturing at the left side of my neck.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. My hand flew towards my neck without my meaning to. I didn't remember seeing a love bite there when I washed my face, but I was more focused on making sure my mascara and smudged lipstick washed completely off than anything else. How could I miss this? Rookie mistake!
"Daddy—"
"So, instead of going to that party," my father interrupted. Just as well because I really didn't know where I'd planned to go with that sentence. "You sneaked a boy into the house."
At least he hadn't caught onto the fact that I'd done both things. Getting punished for one thing would probably be better than for both.
"I don't know why I'm surprised. If I can trust anyone to find a loophole, it's you."
He shook his head lightly, sighing once. He sounded more amused than exasperated. Maybe it was the time of day—he always seemed more lenient when it was early morning and just the two of us enjoying each other's company—or the fact that he hadn't agreed with me getting grounded in the first place.
"You're not mad," I noted.
"Not too badly." He shrugged. "I like Fabian."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Even if he's older than me?" I checked, unable to keep the hope away from my voice.
Fabian was twenty years old. I didn't think it was that big of a deal, considering I'd be seventeen soon. Mum had had a field day, going on about how not only was he four years older than me, but also I was above his station and he was probably using me for sex and as a social ladder. Dad had remained suspiciously quiet during that conversation, though I suspected he'd said something to her in private, since it wasn't long until my mother stopped making 'social ladder' comments.
Even though we'd only been officially together for eleven weeks, I knew Fabian Prewett well enough to know that wasn't his intention. He was in his second year of auror school and excelling at it. He adored his family, being particularly close with his twin brother, Gideon, and his older sister, Molly. It was one of the things that had attracted me so much to him, aside from his good looks and who he was, I absolutely adored the fact that he was family-oriented. All I ever seemed to do was date lads who had no prospects, no drive, in life. Fabian wanted to succeed both in his personal and professional life. He wanted to fight for what he believed in. I didn't think the fact that my family was considerably richer than his had ever even crossed his mind. It certainly hadn't crossed mine, until my mother so rudely pointed it out.
"I always thought you'd do better with someone a little older than you." My father shrugged like it was no big deal. The small quirk of his lips told a different story. "I know Fabian well; he's a good man."
My lips stretched into a big smile. At the sight of it, he grew suddenly serious.
"You are being careful, though. Right, Meredith?" I did not miss the way his eyes jumped to my neck and back to my face. It was quick, like he didn't want to be reminded that the mark was there. "Safe?"
"Yes, of course!"
In my haste to reassure him, my voice went up an octave. My cheeks burned. I opened my mouth to add something else, maybe explain how we were being very careful with our birth control in a more controlled manner—I didn't want him going all 'if you can't talk about sex, you shouldn't be having it'—but he lifted one hand in the air, flinching slightly.
"Alright, then." I got the hint and closed my mouth. Thank Merlin this conversation seemed to be nearing its end. "This'd better not happen again. I may like Fabian, but I do not approve of the sneaking around and circumventing your punishment."
I assented. When Mum caught me last week adding balding solution to Freyr's shampoo, she had not been happy. My defence that it'd been in retaliation to him slathering slug slime over all the surfaces in my room fell on deaf ears. I'd gotten three weeks of no going out to any parties and a curfew of 4:00 PM. The only reason I was allowed to go out before then being that Freyr had been misbehaving, too. He hadn't been grounded, though, since Mum didn't see him do what I claimed he'd done. I thought it incredibly unfair. It was August. I'd basically spend the last month of Summer hols on house arrest.
"Get ready for the day; I'll meet you downstairs." With that, my father turned and began walking down the hallways, adding over his shoulder: "You'll do well to cover than up, Meredith. Your mother won't be quite as lenient as I."
With my back pressed against the now closed door, I couldn't stop my mouth from stretching into a grin. A soft giggle broke its way through my lips; the sound echoed inside my room, against the polished floor and tall ceiling.
Mother wouldn't be lenient. She'd take away House Points and appoint me detention even though we were a month away from going back to Hogwarts. She'd tell Aunt and Uncle I wasn't allowed to see James. Even covering the love bite with makeup meant spending as little time as possible around her, because she would notice the area that was a little different than the rest of my skin, no matter how good I was at blending. I'd learnt that the hard way when I started using makeup before she thought I was old enough.
All that seemed so inconsequential, though. I just stood there, smiling like a fool, fighting the urge to squeal and dance. Because Daddy liked Fabian. Daddy thought he was a good man. Just like I knew he was.
Running to the bathroom, I couldn't help but let out a little squeal of joy.
At home, lunch and supper were served in the dining room. Breakfast, however, was a more relaxed affair. It took place in the kitchen, the room being vast enough to sit six people at the round table in the middle.
My mother was half French, and she spent the majority of her childhood years before Hogwarts in South-eastern France, alternating between Nice and Gréolières, depending on the season. This heavily influenced the way she decorated and ran our home.
While the rest of the house was a strange combination between France and England—a combination that Mother had somehow managed to balance perfectly—the kitchen was all France.
The counters by the stove and sink, the sideboard hosting most of our glasses and silverware, the doors leading to the cupboard, the table and chairs, they were all the same: beech wood polished and lacquered an ivory colour. The flooring around the house would alternate between marble or hardwood—hardwood for the bedrooms, marble everywhere else—but in the kitchen it was a beautiful beige tile, matching the worktops. The iron wrought chandelier hanging from the ceiling, right above the kitchen table, was my favourite in the whole house.
My mother believed the kitchen to be the heart of the house, which is why we had our first meal of the day together there. Every day, without fail. Freyr and Adelaide disagreed; they much preferred the second-floor drawing room to the kitchen. I agreed with Mum, though. Whenever news were received, be it good or bad, we ended up in the kitchen. Whenever I had a nightmare bad enough to pull me from bed, the atmosphere in the kitchen combined with a cup of tea were the only things able to calm me down.
I took my time getting ready that morning. I needed to make sure I didn't look sleep deprived or nauseous. Any trace of alcohol and cigarette smoke, however small, needed to be gone before breakfast. The twins had attended the party last night, too, and I knew that if anything was out of place they'd inquire relentlessly about it, just to tip Mum off.
By the time I went down, just after nine, with my hair washed, dried, and up in a ponytail, and wearing a floral linen sundress, the only person missing from the kitchen was my little sister. Dad was sat at the table, The Prophet read halfway in his hands. He sent me a smile as he saw me enter. It had me grinning again.
"Morning!" I greeted, placing a kiss on Dad's cheek.
He echoed my greeting, patting my forearm twice before flicking to another page of the newspaper with the same hand. He was reading the society page, which was not something I'd expected from him. Gossip was much more my mother's thing. Elias Gray and Talia Wrexham had recently tied the knot. I caught a glimpse of their wedding day picture as I stepped around my father and made direct eye contact with my brother.
I was the middle child of four.
The twins, Freyr and Adelaide, were only a year older than me. Well, 12 months and 24 days older than me, as Freyr liked to point out. As if those 24 days could really make a difference. They'd been kind of a miracle pregnancy and our parents hadn't wanted to tempt fate, so they'd begun trying for another baby pretty much as soon as they could. Despite our certain proclivity for messing with each other, I liked the twins more than I did our little sister. Though I'd never admit that aloud.
While I barely grazed the 5'4'' mark, both Freyr and Adelaide had been blessed with my father's height. Well, not quite exactly my father's height, but there were many days when I envied their 5'10 stature. Especially when Adelaide looked like a willowy goddess and I felt like a stumpy gnome beside her.
Though identical twins, age and lifestyle habits had brought more obvious differences between them. They shared hair colour, a beautiful dark brown that glinted golden in the right light, and hazel-coloured eyes. They shared the same nose and mouth, the same eye shape, but Adelaide spent hours covering what she deemed to be imperfections and seemingly reshaping her bone structure with makeup until she was all angles and alluring brightness. She styled her hair with such methodological care it was always pin-straight and shiny as the finest silk.
Freyr didn't care for any of that. He was vain enough to take care of the way he looked without changing a single thing about him. His hair sat on top of his head in its natural waves, sometimes looping over the sides or down to his forehead. He dressed however he wanted, which often included a lot of dark colours. Like me, he liked to merge wizarding and muggle clothing, while Adelaide preferred the traditional clothing of our world above all else. She would never be caught dead within a two-mile radius of anything darker than mauve. He needed glasses; she had perfect vision.
They were very close, inseparable actually, but not so co-dependent that they needed to be together every hour of every day. They were in completely different circles at school, as a matter of fact. Freyr was in every art society Hogwarts could offer, while Adelaide was more into herbology and earth magic and being one with the universe. People often forgot they were twins.
When they looked at me like this at such an early hour, however, sitting one next to the other as they often did at home, that same mischievous glint to their eyes that let me know no secret of mine was safe, it seemed impossible that they could ever be mistaken for anything other than two sides of the same coin.
I ignored their looks and smiled at them, bidding them a good morning, too. I was in the best of moods, nothing could bring me down. And that included the two of them trying to get me into more trouble.
"What did you do?" Adelaide asked, tilting her head to the side as she studied me.
I made sure to keep my hair over my shoulder, the covered love bite out of view. That was just the kind of thing they'd grasped unto and never let go.
"Nothing." I shrugged. "I'm just happy."
In response to that, she shared a look with Freyr before looking back at me with narrowed eyes.
"Uh-huh." Freyr hummed, unconvinced. He sat up to rest his elbows on the table. "I don't buy it."
I shrugged, careful not to roll my eyes when my mother was so close.
"She's plotting something." Adelaide agreed.
I opened my mouth to retort the only reason they thought so was because they likely were. My mother chose that particular moment to turn away from the counter, teacup nestled between both her hands, so I bit my tongue instead.
"Both of you drop it." She scolded lightly. "I think it's nice to see you acting so lovely."
This she said to me, lips quirking at the sides in a way that wasn't quite a smile but warmed her features as much as one would have.
"Thank you, Mum."
I went over and placed a kiss on her cheek. She hummed, sipping at her tea. Black tea with a spoonful of honey, like every single morning since I had a memory.
"It's a nice change." She added with a light tone that meant no malice.
My father let out a chuckle at that, pausing in his reading only long enough to sip at his third cup of coffee of the morning. Freyr guffawed like Mother had just told the best joke ever, leaning back on his chair as he wheezed, face turning red. Adelaide joined him and soon the two were immersed in their own little bubble, laughing so hard no sound came out and repeating the exchange between themselves, even imitating our voices. That time, I did roll my eyes, more at their ridiculousness than any exasperation. I really was in a great mood.
My mother allowed a smile, bright and jovial, as she sat her teacup down on the counter and turned to me fully. I watched her as she pulled at my shoulder strap, straightening it, and brushed a hand down the front of my skirt to rid it off wrinkles.
Out of all my siblings, I looked the most like my mother. Or so people claimed. I'd inherited her light blonde hair and made an effort to keep it the same length as her, even going so far as to sometimes style it in the same fashion. I had her amber eyes, her mouth. We were the same height. Even with my nose being very much from the Potter side of the family, people always said I looked exactly like my mother when she was my age. There was no mistaking whose daughter I was.
It was the best compliment I could ever receive. My mother was beautiful, poised, a lady true to her standing. She was successful in both her job as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and a curse breaker. She was powerful in mind magic. She had an active hand in society, was a philanthropist. She broke every bad stereotype given to Slytherins while exalting every good one. She was everything I wanted to be, and while I tried to emulate her as best as I could, I always feared I fell short.
While she was a strict parent, she was never anything but supportive of me. Even then as she fiddled with my necklace and straightened my dress and made sure not a hair was out of place in my ponytail, I knew she did it out of love, out of wanting us to always look our best. Regardless of how annoying it was.
"Mum," I whined, gently swatting at her hands.
"Alright, alright." She huffed, furrowing her lips.
It was clear she wanted to keep picking non-existent lint from my skirt, but she let go off me and returned to the counter. She faced me again, with a small stack of envelopes held between her thumb and fingers.
"You're very popular this morning," she said, unceremoniously plopping the stack of envelopes in my arms.
Freyr scoffed at her comment. It earned him an elbow to the ear as I passed his chair on my way to my seat. He yelped and any satisfaction I felt at the sound dissolved as, without looking up from her own cup of tea, Adelaide reached out and pulled on my hair hard enough for the ribbon holding it back to come undone. It stung. I halted on my step, reaching out to hold on to my hair in an attempt to soothe my aching scalp. The stack of envelopes fluttered to the floor and landed in a haphazard pile by my feet. The twins laughed again.
"Addie, ow!"
I twirled around. My hand was up and descending on hers in a quick slap before she could hold the ribbon away from me, a move she'd executed many times before. She stopped laughing, letting go of the length of fabric as soon as my flesh made contact with hers.
"Merry!" She gasped, holding her hand close to her chest.
"Hey, that's not fair." Freyr protested, peering at Adelaide's hand. "You left a red mark!"
"She pulled on my hair."
"Because you elbowed me." Freyr shot back.
He leaned forward, meeting my glare head on.
"Oh, I didn't hit you that hard."
In between us, Adelaide was holding back a grin, no doubt ecstatic at having initiated such a conflict. While I believed there was no need for her to tug on my hair with such force for having lightly cuffed him, I was willing to grant Freyr that I may have slapped her harder that intended. There was a bright red circle on the back of her hand, right where my fingers had landed.
"I believe your mother said she'd had enough of the juvenile arguing." Our father piped in, looking at the three of us from above his glasses.
Our mother adding an "indeed I did," was enough for Freyr's mouth to plop close, whatever retort he'd had prepared silenced forever. Adelaide straightened in her seat, injured hand forgotten as she dropped both hands to her lap, spine pin rod straight. I stood awkwardly next to her, inches away from my chair, suddenly all too aware that my hair was undone, and my father was irritated, which meant our previous agreement may no longer be valid.
"Now, Adelaide, do give Meredith back her bow, please." Dad continued.
"But she started it!" She huffed within an instant, hands flailing up in exasperation.
"And I am finishing it."
He levelled his eyes with hers. The authority there was clear. Addie didn't say anything. She picked the ribbon up from the floor and handed it to me. I grabbed it quickly, just in case she decided to drop it again in pettiness.
"Thank you." Dad inclined his head. "Meredith, clear up that mess so we may have breakfast in peace."
"Yes," Mother hummed.
She sounded stern, but it was the 'I am supposed to be cross because I am the adult' tone of sternness she often used when our antics amused her, not the 'you have disappointed me beyond my expectations' tone of sternness I heard her use often in class but very seldom at home with us. When she walked towards the door that lead to the lower areas of the house to notify Glitter that we were ready for breakfast, I took the opportunity to crouch down and recover my abandoned correspondence.
Sitting down, I sorted through it. The very first envelope was one I recognized immediately. 10.9 by 8.3 inches and carefully wrapped in waxed tissue paper with my name intricately penned right in the centre. The colour of the tissue paper changed every week. This time, it was a lovely midnight blue. It made the silver ink used to write my details pop, and was dense enough that which it covered was barely visible. Still, there was no mistaking Hogwarts: A Gossip.
That blasted magazine. It was nothing more than gossip and rumours, penned with equal parts humour and sincerity, and with pictures to boot. It started on the twin's first year at Hogwarts, and whoever was behind it had quickly taken a liking to me and my friends. No one knew who wrote it, because the truth was that everyone did. We all knew where to send the rumours to, and then they'd be crafted and elongated into articles that made sense, even when the original rumour had been nothing more than a short whisper. In exchange for information, a reward would be given. Usually, a little pouch of galleons would appear by your bed the following morning. In special cases, it was something the person deeply wished for. It was like our own twisted version of the muggles' tooth fairy. What was worse was that seven times out of ten what got published wasn't a fabricated rumour, but the utter truth. It made the other three times quite difficult, since everyone believed it to be true as well.
None other than my own sister blew kisses my way from the front cover. I recognized the dress she was wearing from last night, which meant they'd covered the party. That didn't exactly bode well for me. At least it wasn't my picture in the front cover. That would have been worse.
The article focusing on the party was near the start of the issue, starting as pretentiously as every other usually did.
For those of you who don't know, and if that's the case, please, do return this issue to its rightful owner, Adelaide Potter, beautiful as always, features on the front page. A snapshot taken from what was probably the best party of the year. Music, food, and alcohol were in abundance. As well as other not so innocent substances and hobbies we are not so proud to divulge in this article, but if you are ever so curious, do turn to page 62.
I rolled my eyes at that, holding the magazine farther away, enough that the letters came into sharp focus instead of being blurred enough to be uncomfortable. I needed glasses to read, but sometimes I just couldn't be bothered.
So many well-known faces were in attendance, including some of our favourite witches and wizards. Oh, how we tremble with contained excitement as we try to decide who to talk about first! There was Sirius Black, looking delicious as ever. What we would do to get a night with him! Or maybe we have. Does that mystery entice you, Mr Black? It certainly—
I had read enough. Fabian and I were there for most of it, and whatever we'd missed that had been important one of my friends would tell. Even Marlene was a more reliable source than Hogwarts: A Gossip. At least she'd be blunt about it instead of elegant. I didn't fancy reading about a bunch of strangers lusting after my ex, either.
Well... did it count as a relationship if all it consisted of was years of friendship followed by stammered confessions, sloppy kisses, and inexperienced touching that ended after only a couple of weeks in such terrible a way that it obliterated any previous friendship? After all, we never actually entered a relationship. Many would argue it was a mere almost, that it didn't count. To me, it did.
I imagined Sirius held a different opinion.
Refusing to think on the matter, I dropped the magazine face down on the table, and grabbed the closest letter to me.
It was from James, my cousin.
It'd been badly folded. He hadn't bothered with an envelope or a seal, simply folding the piece of parchment thrice before sending it. His handwriting usually left much to be desired, but that morning it was simply atrocious. It didn't take long for me to realize that was because he'd been drunk out of his head when he'd written it. He went on and on about how fun the party had been. He'd also found a new favourite brand of firewhiskey, apparently. In one sentence he accused me of having stolen his last pack of cigarettes. In the other, he'd forgotten I'd even attended, demanding an explanation for my absence. He went on about his woeful heart and his love for Lily Evans, my best friend, for ten sentences straight. He spoke of Sirius, too, but I didn't pay much mind to it.
I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"Read this," I giggled, placing the letter in front of the twins.
They both leaned at the same time, reading it without picking it up from the table. Freyr was soon snickering with equal parts amusement and fondness. Adelaide, however, was less than amused.
"That boy is a disaster." She shook her head.
"What are you talking about?" Freyr retorted, grinning from ear to ear. "As always he continues to exceed my expectations."
"While I know both you and James'd rather spend your days partying in a fever dream of alcohol and other..." Adelaide trailed off to gauge how much Mum and Dad were listening. Not that much, it turned out. "Illicit substances," she pointed at the end of the letter. At his subtle nod, she flicked it to the other side. "I think it's time for him to act accordingly to his standing."
"Hold on, since when—?"
I left them to their bickering, knowing once they got started it could go on for a while. Eventually, they wouldn't even be arguing about James.
By the time Glitter placed my breakfast in front of me, I'd sorted through most of my mail. Four of the envelopes were from people I didn't really know, students at Hogwarts who were desperate for a taste of the inner circle. Girls who likely thought I'd be able to fix them up a date with one of the boys. Boys who thought a definitive 'no' meant 'please, keep trying.'
"Thank you, Glitter." I smiled at her.
"No need to thank Glitter, Miss Merry." Glitter shook her head, ears flapping comically about.
Her big round eyes glittered in the morning light, making them appear more emerald than usual. She bundled off, letting the two plates full to the brim with eggs, bacon, beans, and toast descend softly in front of Freyr and Dad. Mum was having Greek yoghurt with cereal, a plate of freshly peeled oranges on the side. Adelaide was on some new kind of diet which required her to consume nothing but fruit in the morning. Her plate was full of apple slices, cubed watermelon, cantaloupe, sliced kiwi, orange wedges, and all types of berries. It looked delicious. Though Cressida was nowhere to be seen, her plate had been placed on the table anyway—Troll-shaped candy-floss-flavoured cereal, milk on the side as to not make it soggy—ready for when she decided to grace us with her presence.
I was having toast with butter and raspberry jam. A classic, and just as tasty. Taking a bite, I tore open Lily's letter.
Lily Evan's was one of my best friends. She lived in Cokeworth with her muggle parents and sister. Petunia, her older sister, was currently causing her more troubles than usual. She and her fiancé were being particularly mean to her, in that passive-aggressive, feigned polite way that was brutal. It didn't help that she'd gone out last night in at attempt at getting distracted only to be annoyed by James. 'Terrorised' was the word she used.
Marlene's letter was more a hurried scribble than a letter. Come over NOW! in black, loopy calligraphy. She'd underlined the 'now' twice, which could only mean her crisis was much more urgent than Petunia being nastier than usual. After all, Lily was typically fine so long she had someone to vent to. Marlene could escalate the situation until it was irreparable.
Finishing my toast, I rose from the table, gathering the rest of my correspondence in a hurry. Most of it would end up in the bin, but there was one particular envelope I couldn't open without Dorcas' help. I needed to get that piece of business sorted, the sooner the better.
"May I be excused?"
"Well, that depends," Mum started, sharing a glance with Dad. He paused in his eating, slice of toast halfway up to his mouth, egg yolk trickling from the edge. "Where exactly are you going?"
"James'." I replied immediately.
It wasn't a lie, though it wasn't the truth, either. James and I had made plans for today. Based on his letter, however, I very much doubted he'd be up for anything but sleeping. If I told her that I was going to Marlene's and then quickly popping off halfway across the country to Dorcas', before maybe visiting Lily, unless she was up to meeting at Marlene's, however, she wouldn't let me go. Because it was unlikely I could do all that and come back home before curfew.
"Not seeing Fabian?" She pressed.
"No."
Freyr and Adelaide shared a look at my answer. Even Dad was suppressing a smile at Mum's obliviousness.
"Very well. I want you home by four, not a minute later, Meredith!"
I was out of the door before she finished calling after me.
War was a funny thing. It took when you least expected it and gave when you didn't need it. The Wizarding World had been actively at war for six years now, though few really felt it. I hadn't. In fact, I didn't even understand much about it.
This was what I knew.
Lord Voldemort was a wizard obsessed with blood-purity. He'd embarked on a mission to cleanse the Wizarding World of those he deemed 'impure'. Mostly, muggleborns. Half-bloods, too. Some 'blood traitors'. He'd gained a following, his so-called Death Eaters. Regardless of suspicions, no one truly knew who they were.
So far, Voldemort and his people hadn't succeeded much. The Ministry was against them. Rumour had it Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had a secret resistance of his own working behind the scenes. I supposed even old people needed hobbies.
I also knew we were at a stalemate. Though how such a thing was possible at war, I couldn't understand. There had been nothing from Voldemort and his followers in over a year. Several disappearances and acts of barbarity had been blamed on them, but they hadn't taken claim. No Mark had been cast.
The Wizarding World had been at war for six years. Lately, it nearly resembled peace. But as I stepped down into the front lawn of my house, something shifted around me. I knew with as much certainty as I knew my name that a storm was rolling in on the horizon, and it was coming for me. The sun beamed down in fractured rays, odd colours that did not belong, neon and sharp. The breeze whispered in my ear, resembling soft words turned to shrill screams.
I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut.
When I opened them again, the breeze was just a breeze. The sunrays were no longer neon and obstructed, but warm and comforting against my pale skin.
I shook off whatever that was, pushed the experience to the back of my mind as I always had whenever it occurred, and began walking. Still, the thought that our period of calm was about to end never left me. It stuck with me, even as I reached James' house.
James and I lived on opposite ends of the same street. His father was my father's older brother. We'd practically shared a crib. Cradle to grave, we were. I knew my way around his house like I knew my own, which is why the fact that neither my aunt nor uncle were around was not a problem.
Though our homes were roughly the same size, James's front door opened to a small sitting area instead of an entrance hall.
Styled after the Gryffindor Common Room, it was warm and cosy. A brown chesterfield sofa, large enough to sit three, rested against the wall, a maroon hand-knit throw over the backrest and goose feather cushions besides each armrest. Two wingback armchairs sat diagonally in front of it, placed on each corner of the Persian rug covering the floor, each the same chocolate brown leather as the sofa.
I split my eyebrow open against the clawfoot of the ottoman beside the sofa when I was six and James pushed me just a little too hard in his haste to claim the last Christmas-themed Chocolate Frog. Whether or not the adults had reprimanded James for it, or even if they'd been present, was a little foggy. The way James' eyes had filled with tears as he cradled my head close and patted my hair was still crystal clear in my mind. He never pushed me again.
There was no coffee table, just a half-circle end table beside the sofa. The only door lead to a cloak closet right next to the entrance. The other entryway led to a hallway, at the end of which were the stairs. James' room was on the third floor, but that wasn't what I was after. No, I wanted the family room, first door on the first floor. That's where the Floo Network was.
I peered into the drawing room and the dining room on my way towards the staircase, but both rooms were empty. I hadn't the slightest where Poppy the house elf was, but I was sure she'd show up if I needed her. I knew Uncle Fleamont would be in Rhayader until next Wednesday dealing with some business I wasn't privy to. They were all very hush hush about it, and no amount of eavesdropping had gotten me nor James any answers. It seemed our parents were too accustomed to our eavesdropping. I hadn't found Aunt Euphemia yet. James was likely still abed. The other Potter Manor inhabitant was one I was planning to avoid.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I hesitated, slowing my steps as I walked further down the hall. Potter Manor was slightly more echoey than my own home. Though I couldn't quite make it out, there was something in the air that advised me to step softly, like I had inadvertently become aware that I was no longer by my lonesome.
The door to the family room was open. Inside was the very person I didn't want to see.
Sirius Black.
Snogging the living daylights out of some blonde.
What was it today with people lusting after this boy? It was like everywhere I looked, there it was. I teetered by the door, unsure.
I couldn't say anything, really. This was his house just as much as it was James's. Aunt and Uncle had made sure Sirius belonged in this house. He had his own room. His favourite food was in the pantry. Great for him. Not so much me.
I sighed, resigned to waiting their snogging session out in the library. The boy had been blasted off his own family tree, he deserved a break.
Regardless of what the world thought, I didn't hate him. A hard-hitting conclusion I'd reached only last month. He'd had almost as tough a year as I had. The only difference being his had taken a further left turn while mine had recently righted. He deserved what little happiness he could get. Marlene would have to wait a little longer.
I hadn't taken two steps in the general direction of the library, when Sirius called out to me, ending any chances of me coming and going undetected.
"Starlight!"
I flinched.
That nickname was something I wished he'd abandon with ardent fervour. Everyone thought it a term of endearment, but I knew better. He'd tried a couple others in the beginning, but Starlight had stuck like a bad Jinx.
I turned back around and entered the room. If Sirius had dillydallied long enough during his snogging session to spot me, then I was using the Floo. He was already half-way to the door, effectively blocking the beeline I'd planned on making for the fireplace. He had this sideswept smirk plastered across his face that made my skin crawl and my blood race, lips and cheeks flushed from the blonde's attack on his face. His black hair was ruffled, though he made no attempt to fix it.
"Into voyeurism, are we?" He teased, grey eyes sparkling with mischief.
I sent him a look, and bit back my reply. Giving into such a clear bait would just egg him on. It was at moments like this one that I found it very hard to remember I didn't actually hate him. Merely found him infuriating. It was... profound dislike. Yes, profound dislike, not hatred.
It repeated in my mind like a mantra.
"I imagine James is still sleeping?" I asked, cutting straight to the chase.
"Like the dead." Sirius confirmed with a bob of his head.
The motion had his hair falling over his eyes, he pushed it aside with the heel of his hand, relaxed as can be. He'd always had longish hair, but I didn't think he'd cut it at all this summer. It'd reach his shoulders soon, if he didn't do something about it.
I wondered briefly if it was a sign that he was letting himself go after the fiasco that went down with his family at the end of June, but he didn't look any different than usual. Same confident glint to his grey eyes. Same punk-rock-fuck-what-anyone-thought attitude that was never quite as successful as he wanted it to be due to the ingrained gracefulness of his upbringing. It was supported quite well by his temper, though.
He seemed to be in good spirits this fine morning.
Which made me grind my teeth.
"And my Aunt?"
"With Dromeda." Sirius answered immediately.
He was casual as always, like my aunt visiting his cousin wasn't strange.
In truth, it wasn't. Andromeda Tonks née Black was disowned by the Black family when she chose to marry a muggle. I wasn't sure of the details, but as I understood it, she'd sought solace in Dorea Potter, my great-grandaunt who had been a Black before marrying into the Potter family.
Great-grandaunt Dorea and Great-granduncle Ernest never had any children—though not for lack of want—and they doted on my grandfather, and then Daddy and Uncle. I always thought that the reason Great-grandaunt Dorea welcomed an eighteen-year-old disowned Andromeda with such opened arms. That and the chance to rub it in the faces of the rest of the Black family, to turn her back on them even more.
After great-grandaunt Dorea died eight years ago, Aunt Euphemia took it upon herself to ensure Andromeda still had someone. Not that I thought she needed it; Andromeda always struck me as quite formidable. It helped that James became such close friends with Sirius as well, that Aunt Euphemia loved Sirius like a son. So, no, Aunt Euphemia visiting Andromeda wasn't strange. There was still something in the way he said it that made me think it wasn't a social call this time around.
"What's wrong?"
"She's giving her a hand with Dora." Sirius shrugged.
Andromeda and Teddy had a six-year-old little girl named Nymphadora, or, simply, Dora. The little girl had turned out a metamorphmagus, which gave her the ability to change her features and appearance however she wanted it. It made for quite an entertaining and adorable sight.
"She's fine." Sirius added in answer to my frowning. "She's just going through a colour phase, refuses to wear or eat anything that isn't orange. She's ran around with neon orange hair for a week."
His eyes were bright with amusement. I bit my lip. While the mental image of six-year-old Nymphadora running around in an orange tutu and neon orange hair was hilarious, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me laugh and thinking it was because of him.
"Right."
I stepped once more toward the fireplace.
"Speaking of orange, how's carrot head?" Sirius called after me.
I turned around. Instead of being halfway to the sofa as I expected him to do after I'd more or less dismissed him—I imagined he was eager to return to his blonde paramour—he'd followed after me, teasing grin so well in place I wondered if he'd only told me about Nymphadora to poke fun at Fabian.
"Must you continue to call him that?" I questioned with a bored tone I did not mean. "It's getting old."
I loved Fabian's ginger hair. I loved his fair skin and his freckles. Sirius's mocking comments actually grated on my nerves.
"Fine."
Sirius lifted a hand up in mock surrender. He had a cord of leather wrapped around his wrist like a chunky bracelet, a silver ring on his middle finger, dull from wear. His sideswept smirk was back in place as he lifted the same hand further up and gestured a big nose to his face. "Beaky."
Fabian had a large nose. It wasn't quite pointed in a way that would give him a bird-like look—like Severus' hook of a nose—but it was his most prominent feature with its strong bridge and snubby tip. Despite its size, it wasn't ugly. Not everyone could have Sirius's damned good genes and near perfect nose.
I wondered what Aunt Euphemia would say if she arrived home to find I'd gauged Sirius's pretty grey eyes out. Then again, it'd be such a waste of a good manicure.
"I actually find that particular... flaw," I relented, hating the word. "Quite endearing."
"I'm sure you do."
Ugh. He was so smug. I wanted to punch him, push him, pull at his hair—profound dislike, not hatred, profound dislike.
"It comes in particularly useful, at times."
That shut him up. He blinked, eyes darting down my body before jumping back to my face. I didn't even blink, didn't do a single thing that would make him think I was joking. A shadow of emotion crossed his face too quick to decipher before he settled for annoyed. He crossed his arms, his mouth opened and—
"Hi!"—he was promptly interrupted by the eager greeting to our side.
The girl Sirius had been snogging had decided she no longer wished to be part of the furniture. A bold move, considering that was all she was likely to be. In fact, I'd be surprised if she was still here by the time I came back. At some point during our conversation—argument? Dispute? What was I even supposed to call that?—she'd bounced off the sofa and skipped to our side.
"I'm Regina Niké."
Sirius looked both amused and exasperated. Of course that didn't stop him from raking his eyes up and down Regina's body.
"Meredith." I looked away from Sirius and regarded Regina with a polite smile.
She was pretty. Eyebrows plucked into a perfect arch rested above doe blue-green eyes, thin lips a natural peachy pink colour. Her honey blonde hair hung down to her waist, shiny as silk even in this lighting, straight and lacking frizz even after being attacked by Sirius's fingers.
We were roughly the same height, I noted as I met her eyes, but while I constantly felt like my short stature took class away from me, Regina exuded the same soft grace as a ballerina would. Despite her scanty attire, she didn't give off the same vibes most of Sirius's conquests did. She looked like a nice, sweet girl.
I was silently seething.
"Oh, I know!" She assured me, lips stretching into a wide smile. At my raised eyebrow, Regina's cheeks coloured a light pink. "I now sound like a lurker. Great. I'm not—my friends just really like Hogwarts: A Gossip."
Her sentence ended a little unsurely, sounding more like a question than a statement.
"Just your friends?" Sirius and I asked at the same time.
Sirius with an amused tilt to his voice, light and teasing. I sounded a little more dubious, tone less polite than advised in such an early acquaintance. Regina giggled, rolling her eyes as she leaned her body against Sirius's side. Her chest was completely pressed against his arm.
"Yes, just my friends." She insisted with another giggle. It was soft and remarkably innocent. It somehow made me dislike her more. "Would you direct me to the lavatories?"
Merlin Gracious.
Sirius complied, giving her directions for the guest restroom down the hall. She thanked him by going on tiptoe and kissing him full on the mouth. His hand squeezed her waist, brushing her lower back.
For some reason, I found the gesture rude. My eye twitched. I was finding it considerably difficult not to breathe in deep and let the air out through my mouth. When they finally broke apart, Regina offered me a smile and a wave on her way to the door. I returned it with extreme difficulty.
"She looks young," I found myself saying after a moment.
"Nah, she's only a year younger than us." Sirius dismissed. "You're one to talk about age."
As opposed to earlier, his comment about Fabian was no longer teasing in nature. It was scathing, accusing, like the words were a weapon. I noticed his guarded position, the hard look on his face. I gave a tilt of my head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, careful not to show how his comment had hurt. Without another word, I walked to the fireplace.
That time, he didn't stop me. I didn't quite understand why that disappointed me.
Once inside the fireplace, fist full of Floo powder, I turned to him one last time. He was walking to the sofa, his back to me. For some reason, the thought of leaving without saying goodbye didn't sit well with me. I also didn't want to say goodbye.
"Black," I called. He turned. "You didn't see me leave."
"Who left?" He asked, feigning confusion.
His eyes were alive with mischief.
"Exactly." I winked.
With a forceful throw, I let go of the Floo powder, calling out Marlene's address. Engulfed in green flames, I only caught a glance of the beginnings of a laugh on Sirius's face. Oh, but I heard it.