ALL THE THREADS OF FATE.
PART I.
CRUEL SUMMER.
VI.
The oil lamp burned a soft orange, bathing the table in a dim glow only interrupted by the shadows from the warps in the glass. It was dying, and even with the pair of glasses on my nose, my eyes protested against the poor visibility. Or perhaps that was the lack of sleep.
Stifling a groan, my fingers slipped under the frames to rub the grittiness out of my eyes. It only served to make it worse, the words on the parchment now even blurrier than before.
I dropped forward, chin resting on one folded arm while my fingers fiddled with the thick pages of an ancient text, opened right at the middle and laid on a mountain of books. My glasses slid down the bridge of my nose, coming to a stop at the very tip, but I didn't bother fixing them. I couldn't make sense of the runes on the page anyway and my handwriting was beginning to resemble one long squiggly line rather than neat loopy calligraphy.
Permanent access to the restricted section was the biggest compliment I had received that year. Of course, it was slightly dampened by Professor McGonagall's disappointment, but it was definitive progress from last year's tentative assignment-only-and-under-supervision access. Said clearance didn't extend to after-hours access, but I figured as long as I didn't get caught, what Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore didn't know couldn't hurt them.
When I had woken up at quarter to one to Marlene's scowling face hovering above me and her rough shaking of my shoulder demanding I'd bloody quit screaming, I hadn't exactly been in the mood to address her questions, nor Dorcas's peeved glances she gave through sleep-heavy eyes, or Lily's horrified expression. At least Mary had slept through it. Though, to be fair, Mary could sleep through anything. It didn't help that I couldn't remember why I'd been screaming in the first place. I'd been sleeping quite peacefully, as far as I'd been aware. No dreams.
Forgotten dreams would be more accurate. I yawned, half in a daze and lulled by the soft light. Sixth Year was supposed to be my best. I'd managed all Os for my O.W.L.S., I'd dropped astronomy so I'd have a lighter course load, no rumours had been written about me in Hogwarts: A Gossip since last Easter… perfect prelude to a perfect year.
Instead it was day six and things just seemed to be going further downhill. No matter—I had every single book in the restricted section at my disposal, including their extensive collection in forgotten rituals and spells only accessible to those well-versed in ancient runes. Read: Meredith Potter-Greengrass's bespoke haven.
In one such book, I'd stumbled upon a sort of spell used to impede certain individuals from entering any selected alcove. The book suggested it was merely symbolic due to the fact no incantation or wand movement accompanied the spell but rather a series of runes, a series of runes which correct placement order was highly debated in the academic community. I wanted to try and prove it worked for next week's Ancient Studies session. If it worked, if my essay got approved, with further application it could get published, which in turn would make the words I'd thrown in Sirius's face about my future all the more likely to come true. My parents' opinions notwithstanding.
Of course, success meant figuring out the correct placement; so far, none seemed to make sense.
I was just about to give up, pack everything away and return tomorrow, when the main door to the library opened. Usually, the sound would get lost amongst the passing of pages and quiet murmurs. In the dead of night, however, it could be heard all the way back here, at a small table in the restricted section. The iron hinges creaked and whined as they ground together under the heavy weight of the wooden door, footsteps thumped on the runner rug, then the hardwood. More than one pair.
Very, very slowly, I closed my notebook and slipped it into my satchel. Every little sound seemed amplified, every ruffle of paper and the clink-clink of the lid returning to the inkwell was deafening. As was the sound of my leather satchel sliding across the table as I lifted it up, too many books and other materials inside for the movement to be swift as I'd hoped.
A flick of my fingers rendered the oil lamp dead, swathing me in darkness.
The footsteps were getting closer, and closer. The restricted section only had one entrance, which meant it only had one exit, which meant I could only stand there, holding my breath, hoping whoever was out there did not come this way…
If this was a professor in need of some late-night reading, or if Peeves told on me just for a laugh, Mother would kill me for getting caught. Headmaster Dumbledore would take away my restricted section privileges.
"The door's opened," was the harsh whisper directly from the gate leading to the restricted section.
It was a boy's voice, but the words had been uttered so softly I could not recognise it.
"What?"
Right. So two boys, then.
"The lock, look!" That was louder, just above a whisper. A sharp shh had him returning to that susurrant tone from before. "The door's unlocked."
"So?"
The high-pitch squeal of the gate hid any noise I made as I slipped around the table. My eyes had grown accustomed to the pitch darkness, enough for me to see in the faint silver glow of the first quarter moon. A small blessing, that the windows in the restricted section were as tall and unobstructed as in the main room of the library.
The mysterious intruders made their way in. I'd never strained my ears above the mad rhythm of my heart so hard before. Even then, I could not distinguish whether they were making their way to my side of the room or not.
"Keep an eye out."
Good, I supposed, that nerves turned one of my unwanted companions chatty. The whispered warning came from the left, that much I knew, which meant they'd made their way to the opposite side of the room. I allowed myself to relax, clutching my satchel as I began to tiptoe.
The restricted section was segmented into three areas. Small working stations lined the walls, while the rest of the room was split into sections created by long aisles of bookshelves. Each aisle was two bookshelves wide, which stretched high towards the ceiling. Each aisle, then, referred to three or four topics of investigation and academia, split into sections and rows, then organised in alphabetical order: subject matter, author, title.
I tended to stick to the right, because that's where most of the ancient runes texts were kept and I preferred the view from that side's many windows. From what I could tell, they were aiming for the far left. That still left countless of tomes at their disposal and didn't help refine my guessing any.
"Rosier, it's an old sliding bolt on the outside of a flimsy gate." The other boy complained. "Not even a key. The old hag probably just forgot."
I stopped.
That was—was that Yaxley? I had no idea he and Rosier were friends. Nor did I figure they were such voracious readers that they would sneak into the library after hours.
"Or someone else had the same idea we did." Rosier retorted.
Yes, they were most certainly up to no good.
I was close enough now that I caught the faraway glow of their Lumos charms. This was playing with fire, of course. People liked to argue that James and his friends could sometimes be cruel, but those instances were few and far between and only ever the result of a thoughtless prank meant to be nothing but harmless. Everybody knew that Rosier was mean. Yaxley, a downright bully. He'd terrorise anyone, regardless of Year.
"Well, if that is the case, I am sure they appreciate all your moaning giving our position away."
I stifled a gasp. I'd know that drawl anywhere, that was Snape! What the hell were Snape and Rosier doing, hanging out with an upperclassman in the restricted section? In the middle of the night?
I needed to know more.
Making my way closer to their side of the room without being heard was tricky. Slippers meant it didn't much matter whether I stepped on a rug or the hardwood floor, my footsteps were silent. My breathing, however, was a different matter altogether.
They didn't seem to hear it, however loud it appeared to me the harder I attempted to quieten it, as the three of them explored the same corridor, right smack in the middle of the left section.
My focus went to Yaxley first. Yaxley was a tall and slender boy, had been ever since he started Fourth Year and returned from the summer hols with no baby fat and ten additional inches in height. His blond hair could rival Malfoy's and it shimmered an almost silver in the glow of their wands. Even with his advantageous height, he'd gone on tiptoe to peruse the sixth shelf, one hand dancing from book spine to book spine.
Evan Rosier was night to Yaxley's day. He was shorter than average, though to me he was still tall, and had a stocky frame, the kind that screamed physical strength while somehow still managing to suggest heaviness. He was all broad shoulders and wide chest, strong legs and arms. A mop of curly ebony black hair sat atop his head and toppled onto his forehead, sometimes obscuring his deep brown eyes.
Peeking behind one of the many tall bookshelves, I watched him push said curly mane away from his face with the flat of his hand as he inspected the fourth shelf opposite Yaxley. His eyes jumped from one tome to the next with frantic nerves. Rosier had never struck me as the nervous type, yet here he was.
And then there was Snape. Severus Snape. I had always been a little undecisive about him. He and James had butted heads since the moment they'd met. The same could be said about Sirius, though at first that was really just a kneejerk reaction to have James' back no matter what. Marlene didn't like him simply because he wasn't handsome or lively. Dorcas claimed to hold no opinion. Mary once thought he was nice, if a little shy.
Lily had considered him her best friend in the whole world. Until he'd began listening to the utter horse-shite a conniving little group of Slytherins was spouting. The kind of utter horse-shite that claimed blood purity mattered and muggleborns stole magic and were dirty. The kind of utter horse-shite that lead down dangerous paths if left unchecked.
As it was, apart from a little slap on the back of a hand and a couple dozen house points being taken, Hogwarts didn't do much to stop it. Snape had fallen down that vile rabbit hole. It culminated in him calling Lily a mudblood in front of the whole school. Ever since, she had not spoken to him or about him, no matter how much he secretly tried.
So that had been it for me, too. There was no denying Severus was brilliant at potions, had such a sublime grasp on the old languages he could be quite good at spell-creating if he so wished. But he was cruel without prompting, hypocritical, and was ashamed of his care for Lily, had ruined years of friendship to fit in. Going by his company tonight, I'd say not only was he still hanging with the wrong crowd, but he also shared those beliefs. Yaxley might as well have been a wannabe Dark Lord follower. Rosier wasn't too far behind.
I looked at Snape again, crouched as he was by one of the lower shelves, looking over his hook of a nose even at such level. Like the very books which knowledge he craved were beneath him. His greasy hair framed his face, giving it a gauntly appearance. He appeared vulnerable in an odd way, like he wished he could hide even as he craved attention. If he was helping them, did that mean he'd truly change so much that he wanted to aid Voldemort's cause in the not-so-far future?
That's what Hogwarts: A Gossip had whispered about Yaxley and Rosier, at least, even if there was no tangible proof.
"I've found it." Snape called, his voice barely above a whisper.
The effect was immediate. Yaxley dropped to his natural height. Two strides landed him beside Snape at the other end of the wide bookshelf. Rosier hurried to do the same and I watched as they huddled around the heavy text, passing the pages without care. They were searching for something within the book, evidently, something that could get them in trouble were they to be discovered.
"I can't see it." Yaxley grumbled.
"Patience." Snape dragged the word like his companions were the biggest inconvenience of all. His eyes found the ceiling. "It's this book, I'm sure."
I squinted in the semi darkness, trying without avail to glimpse at the hardcover. The text was ancient, that much was certain, based on its leather cover and yellowing pages that looked like one wrong tug could render them to dust. I could not tell whether its cover was royal blue or deep green, but it was certainly not black.
I was much too far to discern anything else and it didn't help matters that my vision hadn't improved in the semi darkness. Indeed, everything was fuzzy, even the boys.
It wasn't until then that I realised, in my haste to not be found, I'd forgotten to take my glasses off. It wasn't the poor light making everything blurry, it was my prescription.
I reached up with a hand, habit more than thought, and shoved the glasses past my nose to rest at the top of my head. Immediately, my far vision cleared, but the victory was short-lived. As I moved, having forgotten which arm my bookbag hung from, so had it, banging quite noisily against the side of the shelf I was hiding behind.
At least I knew our exact location now: Section T, Row 4. I spied it as I hastened to collect my belongings.
"What the hell?" Yaxley exclaimed.
"Potter!" and that was Rosier.
Oh, fuck.
Snape had snapped the book shut. "Are you spying on us?"
"Well, obviously," I said, unable to help myself. Terrible thing to say, but come on—
Yaxley's expression turned as dark as the night we were living. Rosier took two steps forwards. Right. I could survive without blue ink for a while, couldn't I? After all, that was easier to explain than a black eye. And Rosier looked like he could fling me halfway through the Quidditch pitch with one arm without breaking a sweat.
"I thought perhaps you were, uh…" I trailed off, slowly shuffling away. Yes, they were what? "But now I see you were just looking for some light reading, and—and—" oh, great, now Yaxley and Snape were coming towards me. "And who am I to deny you that? See you in potions, Severus!"
I bolted, pushing off the bookshelf with both hands. Footfalls echoed behind me but I did not slow, not even when I slammed against one of the bookshelves in the dark with enough force to bounce.
My glasses hung by my chest, tangled in strands of hair. Half of my face and my shoulder burned from the impact but I kept running. Three against one were not good odds, especially when they wouldn't shy from harsh jinxes and I was more an academic than a duellist. I could hold my own within a controlled environment, but this was not that.
The world was an array of grey outlines until neon blue streaked past me, thrumming with energy.
I ducked out of instinct, nearly slamming against the grated gate that marked the boundary between the Restricted Section and the main library. Shaking fingers pulled at the bolt, another streak of light flew past me, this one purple, so close I felt its warmth on my face, smelled its metallic scent. I knew well what it was, and I also knew it was not Hogwarts approved.
Yaxley's smile glinted like the edge of a knife in the dark.
Where the fuck was my wand? My nightgown had only the one pocket, and I didn't wear my garter holster to bed, so it had to be somewhere in my bag. The bolt slid open as I rummaged with one hand through the contents of my satchel, convinced it must be somewhere. I did not leave the dorms without my wand.
Rosier had joined Yaxley and the two were advancing. They hadn't thrown any more spells my way, but I was pretty certain that was because I was standing there, gaping like an idiot.
Oh, fuck it. Muggles didn't have magic, and they still knew how to fight.
I grabbed the Encyclopaedia Magica from its pedestal and hurled it at them with all my might. It was a hefty tone, over eighteen-hundred pages made of heavy parchment and leather-bound, with chains acting as bookmarks. The book flew through the air and slammed against Rosier's face with a mighty slap. The force of it had him stumbling sideways into Yaxley, who was quick to push him off.
I didn't stay to see anymore.
Slipping past the gate, I ran to the main doors and into the hallway. I tried to keep my footfalls quiet as I ran, but all caution abandoned me as I heard Rosier and Yaxley behind me once more. If I alerted Filch, at least they wouldn't be able to harm me.
I stumbled as a jinx hit me right on the shoulder, pushed off the stone floor and carried on, running even faster than before.
My lungs burned, my pulse was so fast it disappeared, and the air stung on its way in, but I was slight and short as opposed to Rosier's bulk, and I'd spent every summer since I had a memory running through the fields of France, as opposed to Yaxley, whose only athletic endeavours were navigating Hogwarts. So I turned down a hallway, spotting the perfect hiding place just at the end.
Above me, the candle chandelier was swinging back and forth all on its own.
"Help!" I hissed at it.
Peeves appeared, sprawled across the chandelier's many arms, using a fallen tree branch to push off the ceiling and use the chandelier like a swing.
"Pretty Potter! Weepy Merry!" Peeves shrieked, stretching until he was staring at me upside down. "Why do you disturb my sleep?"
"SHHH!" I didn't have long. "Distract them!"
"What's in it for good ol' Peeves?"
He began to swing from the chandelier harder, holding on to it with one hand and letting his body suspend in the air.
"In the West Wing attics, there's a box full of fireworks. They're yours!"
"Potter!"
I flinched, beginning to walk backwards, readying to run again. Peeves' eyes widened to the size of saucers with glee. His mouth stretched into a maniacal grin as he swung off the chandelier, doing roly-polies down the hallway, towards where Rosier and Yaxley were.
I dashed off, pushing with all my strength towards the end of the hallway, where a massive statue of some hag sat. It was massive, both vertically and horizontally, so I could easily hide behind it and wait for Peeves to torment them into giving up.
"WHEEEEEE!"
"AH!"
"AGH, FUCK!"
It was so expressive that I startled. My hand slipped on the hag's surface and suddenly I was falling down, rolling against dirt and stones with nothing to hold on to slow my momentum. A string of mad cackling from Peeves echoed down like some twisted ambient music to my tumble.
I reached the bottom of the passage in a heap of limbs and school supplies. For a moment, all I was aware of was the darkness and the mad beat of my heart. Then, that the ground was cool like packed earth. And then, that I ached all over. Especially my face, it was on fire. Ow, and my ankle was pulsing, too.
A groan slipped me as I sat up, flicking my fingers. A tiny blue flame burst to life between them, faint but sufficient in such pitch darkness. My knees were both grazed, which explained the stinging, and I was missing a slipper, though it was nowhere to be seen in the small pile of belongings surrounding me, which included, I was annoyed to noticed, my bended glasses, the glass cracked down the middle, but not my wand.
Not my fucking wand—because who needed a wand to go reading? Me from now on.
The track back to the hallway was a slow one. Limping and dragging my schoolbag behind me, I finally reached the dorm at such a time the sun was beginning to peak in the horizon, dusting the sky with light orange. There was a slim chance that the boys would tell on me—though realistically I would probably face some blackmailing, I keep quiet, they keep quiet sort of thing—and I'd lose my Restricted Section privileges forever, but right then I was too sore and tired to dwell. I fell face-first on my bed and slept.
When I was seven years old magic was a parlour trick.
I could levitate objects by making silly faces, and I'd mess with Cressida by making her favourite toys disappear. Now, I knew that was called Vanishing. Back then I saw it as nothing more than a funny trick to punish my sister with for stealing my jewellery, or my clothes, which didn't even fit her properly but she liked to wear when playing something or other. I didn't know; I never joined.
My parents were reassured once I grew older and got given a wand my magic would settle, as it happened with every other young witch or wizard. And it did. I stopped accidentally enchanting the furniture and decorations to dance to whatever song I played on the piano or violin. The wallpaper no longer changed colours and patterns each time I sneezed. A relief, since it would drive Mother up the wall. She'd always been somewhat more appreciative of the twins' bouts of accidental magic—showing, in their ingenuity, quite the potential in the type of magic Mother herself excelled at—and, later, Cressida's, whose accidental green thumb was quite the talk in Mother's tea parties, even though I found it more disruptive than mine ever was.
However vexing to my parents, this meant that when I entered Hogwarts, Charms came easily to me. Like a fish takes to water, Professor Flitwick would say.
A very good thing, since when I woke up at 9:30 AM the morning after the library incident, my face was all sorts of blue, green, and purple. I bruised easy, and I had slammed right into that bookshelf with speed and force, so frankly I was more shocked about having slept so late. If I went out looking like this, however, I would have to explain, and explaining meant my Restricted Section privileges would be revoked.
So I took care to hide the bruise that spanned my cheekbone and temple with a simple yet effective enchantment. Another swish of my wand covered the one across my jaw. They both hurt, but only if I touched the area, and my teeth remained in perfect condition, so there would be no need for actual Healing. There was a long thin scratch to my neck from I didn't know what, but it, much like the scrapes to my knees, was scabbed over without a sign of swelling or infection.
I'd fled in fear of Rosier giving me a black eye, yet had ended up worse off. By the time I'd finished, fifteen minutes later, nobody would know it to look at me.
A very good thing, considering I was summoned to Professor McGonagall's office right before dinner to discuss, as her missive stated, 'a disturbance in the library'. What was worse, she had signed the letter as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, which did not bode well.
Charms were easy. Like a fish takes to water, I wrapped those words around me like a blanket as I sat, back straight, on the same armchair I had but four days past. Like a fish takes to water.
I wasn't the only suspect—seven other students from Fifth Years to Sevenths sat or stood around the office—but I was the only one sporting an injured shoulder, which I didn't really know how to fix myself other than letting it rest, an injury that worsened the longer I sat with my back straight and shoulders back. Also, it didn't help that I was the only one aware of what was going on.
Neither Yaxley nor Rosier were present. Or Snape, for that matter. The only Slytherins in the room were Bart Vaughn, a Seventh Year, and to my great surprise, Regulus Black.
He was sat on the armchair next to mine, black hair brushed back and robes so pristine he looked like some type of nobility. Despite how much Sirius despised the fact, Regulus looked just like his older brother. The resemblance was striking—I'd never been more aware of it than in that moment. He was a ghost of his older brother, a reminder of what had transpired between us before we returned to school, and the strain it had put on all our friendships.
I kept my eyes away, resolute. One problem at a time, and all that.
"Since Madam Pince couldn't find any clues as to who the culprits were, you are all, from this moment on, under vigilance." Headmaster Dumbledore explained from his seat behind the desk, looking out of place on the very chair Professor McGonagall always looked at home in. "We will require a list of each and every book from the Restricted Section you are currently borrowing, as well as detailed accounting of the duration of your last visit. Those who borrowed some of the disturbed books will be further investigated, as will those who have borrowed or are borrowing any books related to the one in question."
The one in question was an ancient tome in dark artifacts which had been stolen, not damaged as Encyclopaedia Magica had, to my horror and regret, been. From Headmaster Dumbledore's right, Madam Pince glared at each and every one of us, a smudge of pink colouring her flared nostrils.
"Furthermore, the loss of Encyclopaedia Magica, though temporary as it may be, will be punished as severely as the theft, as will the damage to several other books. This act of vandalism remains the school's greatest concern," continued Headmaster Dumbledore, speaking in a slow drawl like he was in no hurry to be anywhere else. "We will, understandably, be thorough."
I struggled not to flinch. According to an enraged Madam Pince, Encyclopaedia Magica had been shred to pieces. Fixing it would require careful, methodical work. That was one act of vandalism I could take the blame for. Such a gorgeous tome and I had destroyed it for nothing. I was still bruised all over and, truly, what could Yaxley and Rosier have done to me? Nothing but dumb fear had ruined a relic.
"Until further notice," Professor McGonagall added. "No student, regardless of academic achievement, shall have access to the Restricted Section."
Our small gathering had remained more or less bored throughout this meeting; they were all unburdened by the guilt dragging me down. Professor McGonagall's words cut through that haze. There was a split moment of quiet before they erupted.
"That is so unfair!"
"But my essay requires—"
"If I don't have access to the Transfiguration section—"
"—I can't fail!"
"Headmaster, all due respect," calm and collected as could be, Regulus's voice stood out amongst the panic. "Surely none of us are the culprits, since it is obvious that were something to happen we'd be the first to be looked at. It must have been someone else—the Restricted Section is hardly under lock and key."
That was a surprisingly good point.
"I agree with Black," I said, taking advantage of the alibi he was unknowingly giving me. "Besides, why would any of us steal books we already have free access to?"
"I bet it was her!"
Imogen Mortemore's index finger was pointing right at me. Pain shot up my ankle in the worst-timed reminder in history as ten pair of eyes swivelled in my direction.
Shit.
Keeping my features devoid of emotion was as strenuous as Hercules' Labours, but successful all the same. Still, there was a fifty-fifty chance the apple and handful of grapes I'd snacked on half an hour ago would be making a reappearance.
"Her friends are always pulling silly pranks." She continued, arms crossed as she addressed the whole room. "They're the ones that enchanted the cutlery so they'd dance whenever someone mentioned Quidditch!"
There was a quiet murmur as students remembered the prank with varying shades of emotion, from fond amusement to well-brewed resentment. I shot Imogen the iciest look I held in my arsenal; my confidence grew when she shuffled in place. Like a fish takes to water. There is no proof against me.
"A joke you were most entertained by." I reminded her, before turning to Headmaster Dumbledore. "My friends only pull harmless little jokes, nothing like this. You know this, Headmaster, Professor."
Professor McGonagall considered my words. Her mouth pursed before she tilted her head, and even though she looked to Dumbledore before saying anything, she had relented to my argument. She didn't have to voice it; I knew that expression well.
Headmaster Dumbledore was less convinced. He did not move from his fixed position on the chair, elbows on the armrest and his fingers steepled, but his chin dipped only just, so that he was staring at me over the rim of his half-moon glasses. Somehow, the gesture worsened the intensity of his stare.
Suddenly, I was reminded of an incident last year—one I had played no part in yet had heard about all the same. One that had included Snape and culminated in Sirius's near expulsion, and James, Remus, and Peter giving him the cold shoulder for an entire month. Remus and James, who had yet to figure out that I knew about Remus' condition regardless of how many hints I casually dropped, had refused to give details. Peter had managed, before promptly being silence by the other two, to utter the words 'full moon prank'. One that did not take a genius to figure out; one that had been neither little nor harmless.
I broke our stare first.
"It was probably still her!"
That was Darcy Ward, a 6th Year Ravenclaw I vaguely remember snogging at a party last year. He had not been good; a disheartening discovery, since he was cute in a golden retriever-y kind of way. It appeared the golden retriever moonlighted as an attack dog.
"Just punish her and let me finish my assignment. I shouldn't have to take the fault because Potter is not all there. She's always ambulating around the castle at the craziest hours of the night like some ghoul, obviously it's had an effect."
He finished with a smug little smile my way, as if he was certain by exposing such a secret he'd signed the death sentence on my academic career himself. I'd pay the consequences while he went on his merry way back to the restricted section to write who knew what discombobulated essay on whatever obscure subject caught his fancy. Little did he know, however, that my late-night expeditions were already known to both the headmaster and the deputy headmistress.
So I kept quiet, and prayed someone would notice what his words had implied. My peers did not disappoint.
"How do you know that, Ward?" Vaughn asked, dark eyebrows raised.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and one ankle bent behind the other, in a stance so masculine a tiny twinge of heat unfurled in my lower belly. I averted my eyes. My restricted section privileges were on the line, and I was in a relationship; this was not the time to revisit old crushes on tall, handsome Slytherin 7th Years with perfect features, corkscrew curls a deep brown two shades lighter than his skin, big hands that were always warm, and wide strong thighs that looked like the perfect seat, and the way his breath had spanned across my—
Nope. Nope. My thoughts were clear of all that and filled instead with the threat of academic failure and the clouds of a suspension looming on the horizon. The face my mother would pull when I broke the news to her were also effective on returning me to reality.
Murmurs and giggles flowed through the room. Imogen turned betrayed eyes on her fellow Ravenclaw, as if Vaughn's words had just named Ward the only possible suspect.
Regulus let out a quiet laugh. "Besides, if someone is stealing books about the dark arts, it is definitely not Gryffindor's little princess."
Another surprisingly good point. Though the insult was unnecessary. So was the disdain in his voice. Then again, Encyclopaedia Magica had been ruined because I hadn't my wand to counter Yaxley's and Rosier's hexes so maybe Regulus was onto something.
I would die first before letting him know that.
"Silence." Dumbledore's raised palm stopped the words on the tip of my tongue. My frown didn't ease. "We will continue as explained—no particular suspects are being considered at this time, so there is no use in pointing fingers. Your head of house will let you know when it is your time to be interviewed."
His hand lowered. The sternness in his expression disappeared as he nodded once, mouth slanted in a soft smile. It was as good dismissal as any, and all seven of us were soon making our way to the exit.
Outside McGonagall's office, the students waited until we were past the hallway and descending the first flight of stairs before erupting in protests. Dismayed complaints bounced off the walls as our small group broke into even smaller sections.
Some—the few who had not dared speak up in the actual meeting—wondered if this was even allowed, if they could go above Dumbledore to the school board, because surely this was in clear violation of some rule I was pretty certain they had made up about disregarding their hard-earned reward for academic excellence.
Imogen and Ward were in a heated argument about Ward's outing himself as a fellow midnight-strolling ghoul, and it only seemed to grow as they broke off from the group and continued down towards the Ravenclaw common room.
Vaughn shouldered his way out of the crowd first chance he got, but it was Regulus's leisurely pace that snared my attention.
Contrary to popular belief, the Black progeny and I had not first met at Hogwarts.
In fact, Mother was close friends with one of their uncles. Moreover, where my father did not bother much with Wizarding high society, my mother had ties to several circles. As a result, my siblings and I had been introduced to many a Magical family before our time at Hogwarts by attending dinners and the very tea parties Sirius had mocked me for enjoying.
At age six, Freyr had met and befriended Frank Longbottom instantly at one such event. Adelaide and Kingsley were engaged because they had gotten along so well when they met at Mrs Abbott's Easter celebration, where twelve-year-old Kingsley had listened to ten-year-old Adelaide rave about crystals with the patience of a saint and the smile of one who could not think of a better way to spend his Sunday.
I had attended each event with my best dress and an eager smile that would fade the moment it became clear Mother had very little to share about me with her friends, but hours' worth of proud stories about Cressida's silly baby antics, or how Adelaide was a natural at transfiguration, and Freyr would be in the Wizengamont, she was certain. My sullen mood never lasted long, for there were many a fun activity to take part in at these gatherings, and the twins always included me in whatever game they were playing.
Except for the winter I turned nine-years-old, when my mother dressed in her best gown and pearls, shoved me into a puffy, old-fashioned violet dress that was all itchy lace and overlong skirts, and took me to a party. At the ancestral home of the Lestrange family. To celebrate the engagement and upcoming nuptials of one twenty-year-old Rodolphus Lestrange and eighteen-year-old Bellatrix Black.
I had been immediately besotted with the outside of the house, the way it looked like a castle of old, twisty vines climbing up the side, a tall willow swaying by the gate. The fairy-tale turned nightmare when we entered the cold gloom of the house.
There was a strange tension in the air, between the two families celebrating the union, between the guests who were supposed to be friends.
My mother had introduced me to the Lestrange brothers and I had disliked them immediately, especially the youngest of the two who might have only been three years older than me but acted like I was a baby unable to even crawl and with dribble on her front. His haughty sneer had been mirrored on my face so perfectly, Rodolphus had been impressed. I did not appreciate the compliment back then.
The bride-to-be—I had expected a bright smile and blushed cheeks, excitement as she welcomed us into her future home. Instead I was met with heavy-lidded eyes shadowed by a severe frown, sharp cheekbones, and thin lips—had worn black, and sneered down her nose at me like she worried, much like her future brother-in-law had, I would smear her skirts with green snot. Her energy had inexplicably terrified me, and I decided there and then than if a hundred years passed before I saw Bellatrix Black again it would be too soon.
Only Andromeda, who had yet to announce her love for a muggle-born and be disowned, and Alphard had been kind to me. They were still almost strangers to me then, though, and I had keenly felt my siblings' absence.
Within thirty minutes of being there, I had run and hidden in the first cloak closet I found that was a little out of the way, only to find it was already occupied. By an eight-year-old Regulus Black who had, between pitiful sniffles, demanded I leave him alone. I'd refused, unsure of the chances another hiding spot would be available, and we had sat in darkness and tense silence until his tears dried and curiosity got the better of him.
A forty-minute conversation later about candy floss and how thestrals were his favourite animal, not mine, and he had the plushie to prove it, the door to our refuge had opened to reveal a tall boy, who had taken one long look at us—Regulus had been delighted by his presence, but his stormy appraisal had frightened me so much I'd nearly cried—had closed the door behind him and joined us.
And that was how I met Sirius Black. Not at the Hogwarts express like everyone had assumed.
By the third time we'd seen each other, at the races this time, not at a sad excuse for a celebration, Sirius already called me Starlight. We were as good friends as two kids who had shared a horrible experience because of their parents could be, and Regulus, who had worshipped his older brother, always joined us.
The Regulus walking beside me and pretending he wasn't slowing his pace to match mine was a far cry from the sweet kid I had known him to be. Sirius had complained as much last year already, when we were still on speaking terms—how he could do nothing but argue with Regulus constantly, how he worried his brother was listening too keenly to his parents commentary on the country's social and political tensions. Reg is spending too much time visiting Bella, and he's not right; he's so bitchy and angry all the time. I had bit my tongue; at first because 5th Year Sirius had, too, been bitchy and angry, so Regulus mirroring that wasn't a wonder, and then because after Christmas I no longer spoke to Sirius and honestly had more important things on my plate than a teenager's mood swings.
After that meeting, however, I could not help but take notice of the frown that had been on his face from the moment he'd entered and had yet to dissolve. Of the bitterness laced in his every word. Regulus and I had never really been friends, yet the insults he'd thrown my way in there had taken me by surprise. He had always been polite; such vitriol was uncharacteristic.
And yet…
I stopped walking. Cold prickled my fingers and slipped into my blood as I replayed the words he'd said in Professor McGonagall's office.
Regulus met my gaze with an impassive one of his own, a clean mask I had seen his brother wield plenty of times but never him. He knew. Somehow, I didn't know how, Regulus knew what had happened at the library, and instead of ratting me out, he had given me the perfect alibi. For some reason, that knowledge did not fill me with comfort, rather it racked up my anxiety by two notches.
"Not here," he hissed, shoving me into the nearest broom closet before I could scream, or panic, or maybe threaten him with telling his parents if he carried on hanging out with Yaxley and Rosier of all people.
Except, I was pretty sure Walburga and Orion would only focus on the part where his son was befriending people within the Sacred 28, and forget all about the up-to-no-goodness of the pair.
Was that what was happening? Was he hanging out with Rosier and Yaxley? I couldn't recall ever seeing them together. Maybe Regulus knew merely because he'd been the same as I, an unsuspecting witness.
"You need to sort out your face, otherwise Dumbledore will know what happened before you even open your mouth." Regulus tugged on the cord that turned on the gas light in the little alcove. His voice was low as always, but the harshness of it was new. "Yaxley will not appreciate that."
Or maybe not, then.
"Rosier will, though, since he's apparently dying to get his hands on you."
My heart stuttered at the words, my hands were so clammy I doubted I'd be able to turn the doorknob, but my voice remained steady as I said:
"I have no idea what you mean. Since when are you friends with Yaxley and Rosier, anyway? They're bullies."
The look Regulus granted me was so dry I knew there was no fooling him. In the past, such a look from him would have sent me into a fit of giggles. Right then and there, all it did was turn my stomach. Oh, those grapes had definitely been a mistake.
"How do you know?" I demanded.
Regulus' eyes shuttered. His foot shifted until it bumped against a steel bucket. It slid against an old mop and a scrubbing brush, which in turn clattered onto a pair of wooden boxes by the door. Dust flied into the air in the aftermath, meanwhile the space between Regulus and I stretched and twisted into foreboding.
"Regulus—"
"Just keep your mouth shut, alright?" he snapped, as uncomfortable in this situation as I was.
"Keep my mouth shut?" I repeated. "Regulus, what the hell? Why would you tell those arses where to—?" I stopped, my mouth unable to catch up to my brain.
I actually had no idea what they'd been looking for. It could have been nothing dangerous, since I once found a book in the restricted section that was nothing but recipes from before the Roman Empire had conquered Britain. Just because Yaxley had a bad reputation didn't mean he was planning something terrible, anyway.
The pit in my stomach disagreed strongly with that delusion.
"It doesn't matter. It's nothing." Regulus insisted. His hands were tightly fisted. "This has nothing to do with you, so long as you don't tell anyone. So shut up and keep your head down, got it?"
More and more this was starting to sound less like a threat and more like a warning.
"Why?"
Keep quiet I had expected to be told since the moment I got caught—not from the mouth of Regulus Black, but I supposed the universe needed me unsteady—keep your head down, however, threw me for a loop.
Regulus exhaled very slow through his nose, and avoided the question. "You won't say anything."
They were so dramatic. Didn't they realise that telling on them would have dire consequences for me, too? I wasn't about to lose access to one of my favourite areas of the castle simply because they wanted to play pretend at being dark wizards.
"Why are you helping me, Regulus?" I demanded.
There came a pause wherein I convinced myself Regulus would not speak. His face shuttered close, his spine stacked up, and his expression cooled a couple more degrees. Certainly, nothing would be gained from continuing this conversation. This was the perfect moment for me to leave such a useless conversation—except all I seemed to do lately was lose and run away. perhaps it was selfish, or all the more cowardly, that my stance would be against a 5th Year of all contenders, but that was something to be dissected at a later time. So I stayed put, holding his gaze with an icy stare of my own.
To my secret delight, Regulus gave in. It was a long inner fight for him, full of flashing thoughts and balancing options before he decided he'd already gone through the trouble of handing the currency over to me, he might as well go and finalise the exchange.
"You have to tell Sirius to come back home." He gritted out.
I scoffed. "Tell him yourself."
Inside, though, I was reeling by such an inane request. Regulus shook his head. For a split moment, his composure slipped and he was brimming with anxious energy, while remaining completely still.
"He didn't answer any of my letters this summer." I hadn't heard of any letters arriving for Sirius this summer. "He won't listen to me."
The words rushed out like a pipe that could no longer take the pressure. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, Regulus no longer resembled his brooding older brother, or the pureblooded aristocrat his father was. Instead, he keenly reminded me of that same little boy I'd caught crying in a cloak room years ago.
"So you tell him to stop being an idiot. Mother may have blasted him off the family tree, but I'm sure if he apologises for his impertinence, she and Father will welcome him back. They haven't touched his room; it is exactly how he left it! So their anger must be reversible. He is being absurd—he may enjoy annoying Mother but this is too far. What happened was—it doesn't even matter! We both know it's not like he'll marry a mudblood anyway, so he can stop pretending like his fascination with muggle filth matters."
My eyebrows were so far up my forehead it hurt. Knots began to twist my stomach at the way he'd said mudblood and muggle. As if they were the most disgusting thing he could imagine and he couldn't believe he was soiling himself by saying the words.
"You have to tell him, Meredith, to just keep whatever shit he believes to himself and come back home to his family."
I gaped at him, unsure of what had surprised me more, hearing him say shit or the sentiment behind his little speech. Because despite the fact that Regulus had made his opinions on muggles clear—and what disappointing opinions they were—the words had been earnest.
A display he was evidently regretting as nothing but silence followed his declaration. Try as I may, I couldn't find any words in response to it.
"Regulus…" I breathed, apologetic.
Sympathy tugged at my heartstrings. Had it been my own brother who had walked, I would also have been desperate to get him to come back. There were no warnings, however, no help Regulus could offer me in exchange, that would lead me to ask Sirius to move back into 12 Grimmauld Place, no matter how much his presence at Potter Manor irritated me.
Because James was right. I had been there when Sirius ran away from home; it had been my hands that had staunched the bleeding from the nasty cut in his arm, so deep and gnarly I had been equal parts convinced and horrified that there would be no salvaging it. He'd had smaller bruises and injuries, but I still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night with the memory of his warm blood in my hands and under my nails.
James wasn't the one who had walked past the family room at just the right moment. My uncle wasn't the one who had broken through the haze of panic and anger and pain and gotten a coherent response out of him. My aunt wasn't the one who had run shaky fingers through sweaty black hair in a feeble attempt at comfort. It had all been me. And while Sirius had refused to explain what happened while I was present, it didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
I may have wanted Sirius to not be everywhere I turned, but I was not cruel enough to want him to return home. Something Regulus didn't seem to appreciate. His expression soured, erasing the ghost of the sweet kid I used to know until there was nothing but bitter contempt.
"Save it, Starlight," Regulus spat through gritted teeth, twisting the nickname his brother gave me into a seething insult. "Don't make this into something it's not."
With that, Regulus wrenched the door opened and left. I heard him snarl 'move' at someone, followed by a giggle and hurried footsteps, but when I myself made it out of the broom closet there was no one in sight. Not Regulus, nor the owner of the giggle.
A/N: Here's a new chapter. I think I'm going to try and update bi-weekly. It seems like a reasonable schedule.
KryakosX: thanks for reviewing! It is a tough situation for everyone, and they're just trying to navigate it all. You should always choose family, you're right, but what do you do when you consider a friend family, too? Being neutral is not always helpful. Hope you like this chapter!
OryxGreen: Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you're still enjoying it! In the first version, Meredith's parents were always very distant, but I never really delved into the fact that they were only kinda distant with her and that their relationship with the other children was different. It was more neglectful than over-critical/overbearing as it is now, but I wanted to focus this time around on what happens when expectations clash and you somehow keep disappointing your parents even when you succeed. James and Meredith have a complex relationship. Like on the one hand they adore each other, and on the other hand James is like maybe I should branch out, but also please never leave me. They're still young, and James doesn't know all the details. It's gonna take them a while.
Thank you to those who favourited and followed since last chapter. Thanks for reading, and drop a review if you can please!