A/N: this is what I get for promising to stick to a bi-weekly schedule lmao. I had some personal stuff going on and then I fell into an X-Files rabbit hole and literally have been spending what little free time I get watching the show. I've had this chapter written forever but I don't like to post a chapter until the next one is already written, and I was procrastinating that whoops. Anyway, we should probably go back to schedule now!
ALL THE THREADS OF FATE
PART I
CRUEL SUMMER
VIII.
It never rained, but it poured. Something that was proving to be right our second week back to school.
On Monday, I woke up achy, with a stuffed nose, a sore throat, and a banging headache. Because that wasn't enough, a last-minute trip to the bathroom before I dragged myself down to the Great Hall gave me the lovely surprise of finding out my period was four days early this month. I had enough focus to glamour my bruises away, which had only turned darker over the weekend, but no magic would hide the fact I looked like death warmed over.
"You look like utter shite." Dorcas told me as she held the door to our dorm open.
I didn't hesitate. "Still look better than you."
"Not possible." Dorcas quipped, skipping down the stairs leading to the common room.
My huff was fake, but the smile that spread across my face after was very real. This was an exchange Dorcas and I had indulged in since we were twelve, blatantly poking fun at Marlene, who had developed the bad habit six months into First Year of letting us know, without hesitance, prompt, or compassion, when our image left much to be desired. At nearly seventeen, Marlene could say fuck all about the way we looked—we had developed enough confidence in our individual styles to not care that much about her unwarranted opinions. At the turn of eleven, however, still growing accustomed to a new environment with the added bonus of an ever-changing body and mind, the helpful remarks had grown mean quite quickly. Turning it into a joke had been the only revenge Dorcas and I had come up with at the time.
"Actually, Mer," Marlene began as I reached the bottom of the stairs. "You should really do something about—"
"Didn't ask." I walked past her, tired of her little comments and looks.
Of course, now that I was ill enough to look unwell, she decided to no longer give me the cold shoulder. Suddenly, she was no longer strictly on Sirius's side. Circe, sometimes I wondered.
"Yeah, McKinnon," Dorcas scoffed. She linked her arm with mine at the elbow and steered us towards the portrait hole. Over her shoulder, she added, "mind your business, will you? Ta."
Marlene let out a sound akin a gasp mixed with a scoff. Really, it sounded like she breathed in a bug. My sinuses were full of lime-coloured snot at the minute and I didn't think even I would be able to make such a sound. Dorcas met my eye—we burst into giggles, hopping out of the portrait hole and into the corridor. Mary and Lily were halfway to the moving staircase, Lily's red hair and Mary's wild curls visible through the throng of eager Gryffindors making their way down to breakfast.
Dorcas took the lead, dictating a slow pace for which I was grateful, as that little hop out of the Gryffindor Common Room had somehow worsened my symptoms. It wasn't long before an irate Marlene stormed past us, shooting us glares over her shoulder as she hurried to catch up with Lily and Mary. Dorcas pretended not to see it, but I kept a wary eye on her until she disappeared. Marlene was not above using harmless yet bothersome jinxes to execute her petty revenges.
"So, there's a thing." Dorcas started as we dallied by the staircase, waiting for the flight we needed to return. "And I would tell you, only I want nobody to know the truth—well, I will tell you anyway, just depends on whether you get the real version or not."
"Um." I rubbed at my eye with my fingertips. "What?"
I noticed we were the last stragglers on the hallway; everyone else had already climbed down the stairs and were zigzagging down to the ground floor. Dorcas stared at me, nose scrunched, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she hadn't spoken at all. I was all stuffed up, my sinuses were burning like I had accidentally snorted firewhiskey, and I was pretty certain I had a fever—a small auditory hallucination sounded just like the type of thing I would experience, considering the week I'd just had.
"Merlin, Meredith." Dorcas lifted a hand to my forehead. "Never mind, you look like you might keel over if someone breathes a little too hard next to you. I'll tell you later."
"No, tell me now." I rushed, overconfident of my health and triggering a coughing fit.
"Later." Dorcas insisted, hauling me into the staircase before we took too long and it shifted again. "When you're no longer half delirious with fever." She eyed me and tilted away just so. "Or a plague carrier. Sit next to Rosier today in class, will you? Share some germs with the twat while you're still infectious."
The idea of approaching Rosier so soon after the whole library incident on my own free will sent a shudder down my spine.
"As much as I'd like to avenge Mary and her singed ponytail, I have to decline." I sniffed, fighting the urge to sneeze and cough at the same time. "I'll try to get Slughorn to pair me with Snape today, maybe."
Snape may be a little snivelling coward, but he'd previously never had any issues with me. My cousin, yes. My friends, almost every day of the week. But not me. He was not daring enough to start something now when doing so would risk outing himself. Him, I would give a tough bout of the cold. Just as a little treat to myself. The possibility that he'd spread it to his little clique was just icing on the cake.
Dorcas laughed.
"C'mon, I'm taking you to Pomfrey." She turned a sharp left, steering us towards the Hospital Wing rather than the Great Hall. "Can't have you infiltrating enemy lines and spreading disease if you're unconscious."
I followed without protest. A detour to the hospital wing had already been my plan; that I had a friend to keep me company now was just a nice touch.
Two disgusting pain and fever relieving potions later, Dorcas and I joined our friends in the Great Hall for breakfast. It was almost nine, which meant we only had a chance for a quick bite, so Dorcas had to drag me all the way there, claiming that if we missed out on French toast she would never forgive me.
It turned out she needn't have bothered.
As I took my usual seat—halfway down the table, acting as some strange animate border marker for the girls' group and the boys'. Before, my place was always between Dorcas and Sirius; after last year, Sirius's place was usual occupied by Remus or Peter—I noticed my breakfast was already served, warm still thanks to a considerate stasis charm.
Lily and Mary were hurriedly pretending like they hadn't just plopped a spoonful of scrambled eggs on Dorcas's plate, next to the near-burnt toast that was just to Dorcas's taste.
"You needn't have done that," Dorcas commented. "I know somebody," she looked pointedly towards my cousin, who was sitting next to Sirius and nibbling at a piece of bacon with a too innocent expression. "isn't desperate to atone for their mistakes with me. Imagine just talking to someone, flipping 'ell."
The last bit she muttered under her breath. When she returned to her breakfast, though, a smile tugged at her mouth.
"Thank you," she said to Lily and Mary.
Lily acknowledged it with a quick nod as she returned to her cranberry juice and the book resting where her plate had once been. Mary waved it off with a wrist strewn with colourful bracelets and gold bangles. Marlene, who had decided to switch places with Mary this morning again and sit between Lily and Sirius, spared us not a glance, continuing to talk Sirius's ear off despite the fact that the object of her attentions looked like he would rather be anywhere else but at this table.
I elected to remain quiet. Though I felt better, my brain was still foggy and I wasn't in the mood to comment on the situation Dorcas had no qualms mentioning. Though it was true enough that I had technically forgiven James, something had shifted between us and not for the better. Tensions still ran high.
If I squinted, I could understand why I may have come across as the bad guy from James's perspective—he, after all, hadn't the slightest why Sirius and I had really fallen out—but that did not mean I appreciated his oversight of what Sirius had said to me. It didn't help that it had become evident over the weekend that he very much still expected me to apologise.
Unwilling, my gaze fell on Sirius. He'd breezed past his discomfort and was reciprocating the attention Marlene doted on him, listening to her talk with a smile on his face that was neither grin nor smirk, yet gave the impression of being in danger all the same. He kept fiddling with the silver chain about his neck, moving the tag from left to right. As if he could feel eyes on him, and perhaps he could, when Marlene tossed her head back in a boisterous laugh, golden locks swaying with practiced flair, Sirius's regard shifted to me. I averted my eyes the moment we made contact.
How unfair that my bond with James was strained over something Sirius had clearly long gotten over.
Mulling sad things while being visited by a certain friend was a terrible idea. Determined not to get weepy, I focused on my breakfast.
It was less than what James had taken to piling on my plate the past week. By that I meant it was a perfectly rational amount of food. Two poach eggs, a little pile of sliced mushrooms, a triangular hashbrown, a slice of toast a nice middle brown as opposed to Dorcas's near crisp slices.
Yesterday morning I had descended to the Great Hall to find two maple and pecan plaits on my plate, a perfectly brewed cup of tea beside it. Since James had not bent over backwards to grab my attention, and since my plates had been empty upon my arrival at both lunch and dinner to my great relief, I assumed my favourite pastry had been a final olive branch before the offerings ended. Clearly, I'd been mistaken.
And he could keep feeding me breakfast all he wanted, I decided, as I dipped the corner of my toast into the poach eggs, finding the bright orange yolk as runny as I liked it. When I took a sip from my teacup, lemon, ginger, and honey touched my lips.
I ate every morsel of food that September morning. The ginger helped with any leftover nausea, and the lemon and honey soothed my sore throat so the prospect of swallowing didn't sound like some medieval torture method. The burst of energy carried me through my only single slot of the day, Arithmancy, and the first half of History of Magic had flown by before I began to get drowsy again.
Maybe I should repay the favour, buy James a lifetime supply of blackberry and apple pasties. Hell, I'd go so far as to convince Slughorn to pair me with James for the term and let him lounge while I did all the practical work. Revenge on Snape could be accomplished in different ways, after all.
Whatever boost breakfast lent me was seeped away by the veggie and hummus sandwich I nibbled for lunch. By the time I followed my friends down to the dungeons for double Potions—a class we'd shared with Slytherin house on Mondays since our first year. Though surprisingly, they were slightly less cutthroat in Potions than Ravenclaw were, who we shared our Thursday double sessions with—any surface upon which I could lay horizontal looked to be the perfect spot for a nap. Actually, any surface upon which I could rest my head.
The dungeons were cold, the type of icy damp that permeated the lungs. Most of the time, the body got over the sensation quickly until it became unnoticeable. That Monday, all it did was worsen my cold until I was a coughing mess, my skin stung with feverishness, and each time I breathed teeny tiny blades struck my sinuses. It didn't help that Slughorn enjoyed the sound of his own voice a tad too much.
"…after that, I told Grant I would be enjoying his adventures like the rest of the Wizarding community, printed and clothbound from the comfort of my own armchair." Professor Slughorn laughed, leaning on his desk as he faced a group of students more invested in counting the minutes of class he was wasting than his tale. "Anyway, that was my summer. Any of you got any exciting tales of your own?"
This was not our first Potions class of the term. Unlike Divination, which would not resume until tomorrow due to unexpected scheduling issues, Potions was one of our first lessons of the year. Professor Slughorn would continue to open his lessons with an exaggerated retelling of something that happened with this famous friend or the other over summer hols for another week at least.
After another ten minutes of students sharing stories that may or may not have happened over the summer, Professor Slughorn at long last noticed the clock.
"Oh, Goodness me! Is that the time? Right, best pair you up for this term this morning, then, since it's our last review before really getting started. It'll be good to start getting used to whoever you'll be working with this year. You know the rules, two pairs per table, no switching the partner I've assigned you."
He wobbled around his desk, fingering slips of parchments as he searched for the seating plan. It was half underneath a copy of Advanced Potion-Making and a paperweight depicting a thundering rainforest.
"Ah-ha!" He wrestled the seating plan free, smoothing it with a flick of his wand. "Let us see… Carrow, you're with Damocles. Uh, Alecto, that is. Other Carrow, Amycus, my boy, you're with Miss Fawley. Miss Evans, McKinnon. Mr Lupin, you'll be with Meadowes. This way maybe you'll do better this year than just scraping by, eh? Parkinson—oh, how's your brother doing? Married, I hear, isn't he?"
Nemesia Parkinson looked to be as pleased by suddenly being the centre of attention as she was that her eldest brother had tied the knot and she was being asked about it. Which was to say she wasn't pleased at all. Her auburn hair was carefully arranged into a detailed ponytail I wanted to bother her for the instruction pamphlet, but the loveliness of it did nothing to better the disgusted sneer twisting her features.
She gave a stiff nod. "The wedding was in early June, Professor. They fought to invite you, but Father and Mother insisted on it being a quiet affair."
To either side of her, Alecto Carrow and Cornelia Fawley shared a glance and covered their laughter behind their hands.
"Of course, of course." Professor Slughorn tittered. "Well, you're with Snape this term, my dear. Who knows? Perhaps by planting the seeds, I'll be invited to those nuptials."
Snape and Nemesia looked at each other with equal parts of disgust and horror. Sirius and James broke into delighted peals of laughter behind me. The Slytherins were much more open in their teasing, though it lacked the cruelty it would have carried had it been directed at anyone outside their House. My own laughter broke off into a coughing attack that left me seeing stars.
Slughorn cleared his throat, somewhat flustered by what he'd unleashed. "Yes, well… now, Pettigrew, with Potter. Other Potter, you're with… oh, Mr Black. Go on, pick a table and begin. We'll be reviewing one last potion from last year today before beginning with the real nitty-gritty on Thursday."
For the first time ever, Slughorn had chosen no inter-house pairing. Strange, though perhaps he'd simply tried to not overcomplicate a more complex curriculum. No inter-house pairing meant we could have the same partners on Thursdays as well.
Students bustled about, finding their partners and rushing to secure their preferred table. Nemesia sent me a pleading look as she passed me, widening her eyes at Snape as if to say can you believe this? I grimaced in reply, but better her than me.
For a beat, Peter and I hovered where we stood, uncertain as to exactly which Potter Slughorn had referred to. It was at moments like this when I took issue with people's laziness to say my full name. It wasn't that long, for Circe's sake.
We didn't dally long.
James threw a hand over Sirius's shoulder, patting him on the chest a little harder than necessary going by Sirius's harsh exhale, and dragged him to a table by the scruff of his neck. Peter shrugged at me. I returned his smile and followed him to the table Marlene and Lily had picked. Never had my aching body been so happy to take a seat.
"Now, last week we revised an infection eradicating serum, and a strong stain-remover," Slughorn was saying as I hauled my bag onto the table. "Today, we'll tackle quite a tricky one so you'll see I mean business this—Miss Potter!"
The exclamation was so unexpected I jumped, confused as to how I'd managed to deserve such a reprimand without even opening my mouth. Could he have noticed I was very slowly inching my head towards the table?
"What are you doing?"
"Uh…" everyone had turned on their seats to look at me. "Fetching my notebook?"
Professor Slughorn was not amused. "So sly, you thought I wouldn't notice, did you? How you didn't end up in my House is a question I'll keep asking for years, but it doesn't matter. I recognise the type whether under my wing or not. Please, return to your partner."
Oh… no…
I looked to my left, hoping perhaps in my delirious snot-stuffiness I'd sat myself down next to somebody else. Nope, there Peter was, with his face in a rapidly increasing grimace as his brain barrelled towards the same realisation I'd had. I refused to panic.
"I am with my partner, sir," I said. "Pettigrew with Potter, you said."
"Yes, yes, I did." Slughorn nodded once. He flicked the seating plan parchment open to inspect it. "And I also said—there it is Miss Potter-Greengrass and Mr Black."
He enunciated the words slow and clear, as if he were speaking to a child. As if in his haste to move past a little embarrassment he hadn't forgotten to specify which Potter he was talking about. I did not think it possible to blush and pale all at once, yet there I was, face burning even as all my blood rushed to my feet.
A pin could be heard as it dropped on the stone tiles, so quiet the room was. Everyone was no doubt waiting with bated breath for the drama about to unfurl. Sirius had gone about as white as I imagined I looked. James opened his mouth to protest, one finger raised in the air.
"Come now," Professor Slughorn prompted. "Potters, please swap places."
Defeated, James and I did just that. James's reluctance disappeared the second he realised he'd be sharing a table with Lily.
I opened my textbook on the table, placing my bag in the space between Sirius and I like some flimsy barrier. At least we were sharing the large table with Dorcas and Remus, but it lessened the tension very little. Sirius and I did nothing but share a quick glance before focusing on prepping the cauldron and utensils with more scrutiny than necessary. As a result, Dorcas and Remus seemed to believe it was for everyone's best interest that they did not say a peep.
Soon, however, the awkwardness faded somewhat. Draught of Peace was quite difficult to make—though it was a very fitting potion, considering everyone at our table could use some—and as such it required a certain level of attention that took precedence over whatever was happening between Sirius and me.
Which was absolutely nothing, by the way.
I placed the potion's recipe above my bag between us, and we each worked in silence. Without speaking, we decided which ingredients we would both take care of, and which steps, because familiarity was a handy curse, and Sirius remembered I disliked the texture of rough moonstone just as I did that hellebore made his skin itch. So he crushed the stone into a powder; I extracted enough syrup for the potion, and the class wore on.
The more time passed the weaker the effects of the pepper-up potion I took that morning grew, to the point where I had taken to resting my eyes each time we needed to let the potion simmer. A heavy cloud of steam had permeated all over the room, and Dorcas and Remus's potion wasn't doing great, or, rather, was doing a little too great, so anyone within smelling distance was starting to get droopy eyelids.
"I don't think it should be pink yet." Dorcas hummed. "It's turquoise then pink, right?"
"I'm not sure. Should it be turning greenish?"
No, the potion would turn turquoise after the porcupine quills—if they were at the same stage Sirius and I were, which they should really be considering how much time we had left. Regardless, Dorcas was half-right. The potion should be currently purple, not pink. I cracked an eyelid, peeking at our own potion. Yep, bright purple. I closed my eyes again as the sound of Remus rapidly flicking the pages of his textbook surrounded us.
"Wait, Cas, it should be orange." Remus halted. "Er, or turquoise?"
I passed Sirius the small bowl with the ground unicorn horn, confused myself as to what stage they were. Sirius accepted the bowl without a word, because I was public enemy number 1 and speaking to me was punishable by death in his little world.
"What was the last ingredient you added?" I heard him shuffle, probably stirring in the powder.
Dorcas was the one who replied. "Hellebore, and Remus stirred it seven times each way."
There was a beat of silence, before Remus, in a small voice, admitted, "I may have lost count."
"That's alright. We can salvage this," Sirius said, the picture of gentle reassurance. Git. "Do you think if they add a couple more drops and—"
Sirius stopped talking so suddenly I briefly wondered if Snape had jinxed him. Very briefly, because despite the mini-nap I was taking, I was still listening, and it sounded very much like that question had been directed at me, which was so surprising any other observation took a step back. I opened my eyes.
Sirius's face was thunderous. It startled me into speechlessness. My eyes darted from the bowl I'd handed him to our potion to the way his knuckles were turning white around the glass stirring rod. I'd feared for a moment I'd mixed up the ingredients, passed him the leftover moonstone instead, but that was ground unicorn horn, pearlescent in its whiteness, and the potion's colour was once again shifting, this time from pink to red. He still looked murderous.
"Meredith," Sirius started, slow and low. "What. Happened. To your face?"
I blanched. To the side, Remus sucked in a sharp breath at the same time Dorcas let out an ouch, but I kept my eyes on Sirius, feeling like I was facing an irate hippogriff and looking away right now would only infuriate it further.
"Nothing."
Wrong thing to say, especially at such squeaky level.
"Nothing? Nothing?!" he repeated, outraged. "You're black and blue, and it's nothing?"
"Pads," Remus warned in a quiet tone full of pity.
I nibbled on my bottom lip, suddenly finding myself at risk of crying. The whole incident became sillier and sillier the more I thought about telling someone, yet whenever I mentally strung a retelling, gathering strength to tell Lily or Dorcas, I grew overcome with stupid emotion. Sirius's anger and Remus' pity were not helping.
We were starting to attract attention, I noticed as I fumbled for my wand. I needed to get the glamour back up before everyone else saw. Sirius took in a deep breath; the hand he ran through his hair was unsteady.
"Who did that to you?" His voice was awfully calm.
"No one." I hissed. A swish of my wand and the side of my face tingled, the bruises hidden once more. "It's stupid, it doesn't matter."
Sirius did not look convinced. In a surprising turn of events, however, he appeared to be attempting not to snap at me, and as such required a moment to collect himself.
Dorcas leaned on her elbows. "Mer, what happened, though?"
"I—" I panicked, before realising I could twist the truth. "I was on my way back to the Common Room after hours and thought I could hear Mrs Norris, so I hid. Behind the statue on the west corridor of the hag with the hump? Apparently, aside from being ugly it also hides a passage. Before I knew what was happening, I'd rolled all the way down to the bottom."
Dorcas's face scrunched up. "Your luck has been atrocious lately. Have you seen any black dogs, by chance?"
"Yeah." I deadpanned. "Saw the Grim running about the neighbourhood the week before term started. I've just been waiting for the next accident to do me in, really."
Dorcas laughed. The danger had not passed, though. Remus's chuckle was half-hearted at best, and Sirius had grown tenser beside me.
"When was this?" Remus asked me with a light curious tone I didn't trust.
"Friday night." Well, 3:30 AM on Saturday, really, if one got technical, but I counted it as Friday.
Remus and Sirius shared a long look, a secret conversation passed between them. They—did they know? No, impossible. I hadn't seen them that night, and even if Remus was the more studious of them, he wasn't that invested that he would go to the library in the dead of night. Then again, just because they weren't in the library didn't mean they hadn't been around. Freyr had complained on Saturday about James hogging the Cloak…
Fingers grazed my jaw. I recoiled, aghast.
"Don't." I snapped.
Sirius's hand hovered in the space between us; he looked as shocked at his own actions as I felt.
"It looks bad." He cleared his throat and lowered his hand back to the table. "You should see Madam Pomfrey."
"It's none of your business," I replied, terse.
Sirius gritted his teeth so hard it was audible. In front of us, Dorcas and Remus busied with rescuing their potion while doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop.
"Right." Sirius exhaled. "Merlin forbid you ask for help."
He sounded so bitter, like I was the problem. Like he hadn't hurt me. I'd had enough. If standing my ground meant I lost my friends, then I'd make new ones.
"You are not my friend, Black." I snipped. "You have no right to my life."
Sirius blinked. It looked as if his brain disconnected for a second, expression going blank before his eyes clouded and lips parted. Something quiet and secret constricted in my chest at the sight. I ignored it at the same time he recovered.
"Please." He scoffed. "Not your friend? You called me a good-for-nothing coward!"
"Because you hurt me!" I exclaimed without thinking.
This time, it was Sirius who recoiled. Eyes wide and hands braced on either side of him, he looked equal parts horrified and like he was getting ready to run. Again.
What did he expect? That he could say all those things to me and they would just slide right off like all our other silly little arguments? That he could call me a selfish brat and I wouldn't strike back?
"When was this?" Dorcas leant against Remus. They'd stopped pretending not to listen.
Remus sighed. "Before we came back. They had an argument; it was… a little more serious than usual."
I scrunched my eyes closed, tapped at my forehead with quivering fingers. This was so embarrassing. Everyone was listening, and I felt so shit, and Sirius couldn't see.
"Meredith—" he tried. "Meredith, listen—"
"No." I glared at him. "I never did anything to you, and you just—"
My voice broke. Sirius swallowed. The anger had seeped from his bones, leaving behind a swirling emotion I couldn't quite decipher. It looked like panic. It looked like grief.
"I get that now, alright?" he swallowed again, lowered his voice into some semblance of privacy. "And I do want—we shouldn't talk about that here."
His eyes moved pointedly to the right. I didn't like his tone. Didn't like that this—the gentleness and the soft eyes—was something I'd missed and could no longer trust. And I really didn't like it when his hand touched my elbow.
"Don't you touch me." I seethed. "We are not friends. I hate you."
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop it. If I had grabbed the mortar from the table and whacked him across the face with it, Sirius would have looked less stricken than he did now. He stared at me, jaw slacked, hand hovering an inch from my arm. I wasn't sure he was breathing, he was that still.
Remus muttered an expletive under his breath. It sounded far away, as if underwater.
Sirius cleared his throat once. Twice. His brow furrowed as he searched for words. Apparently, I hate you too, seemed to have vanished from his vocabulary. Which was troubling, almost as much as his reaction to the words, because it suggested that maybe he didn't. Even when all the evidence pointed to him doing so.
At long last, he must have settled for something, because his mouth opened, and—
BOOM.
There was a loud shriek—which, to be honest, might have come from me—and it was echoed around me as the cauldron by my hand exploded. The remnants of our draught flied everywhere. I scrunched my eyes close and ducked, but it was very little use. The half-brewed potion drenched me completely, scalding and so flowery in its scent it stank. After a few moments of nothing but laughter from one side of the room and complaints from the few who had been unfortunate enough to be near the exploding potion, I opened my eyes.
Sirius looked like a pitiful puppy that had been left out in the cold rain. Or, in this case, out in the reddish half-poisonous rain. It stuck his robes to his body and dribbled down his hair. I couldn't imagine I looked any better. Dorcas and Remus looked much the same, save less put out.
Behind us, Marlene was gagging. She and Lily had, too, gotten drenched in the concoction. In fact, only James and Peter weren't covered in it, but even they sported some wet patches on their robes, and my cousin's hair had a few blobs sticking to the strands I doubted he'd get out by himself.
"I'm really sorry." I told them, dejected.
"Mr Black, Miss Potter!" Professor Slughorn huffed, looking as frustrated as he could accomplish, which really just made him look like a nervous otter trying to appear tough. "You should not get distracted after the unicorn horn is applied, it's when the potion is at its most unstable. You should know that!" He wagged a disappointed finger at us. I lowered my eyes. "Save your chatting for less crucial stages of brewing or I'll be forced to reconsider pairing you again next term!" oh, please, reconsider. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."
With that, he rounded on Dorcas and Remus, fussing that they'd accidentally ingested our faulty potion.
Great. I wasn't going to be making any new friends now, not after I had gotten our House Points halved.
On Tuesday, my fever broke. Though my cramps raged on and too sharp an inhale would worsen my cough, I felt less like death and more like a reanimated corpse, which was an improvement.
At lunch, Lily and I approached our friends at the Gryffindor table to find Peter with a dark purple bruise that spanned his nose, left eye, and cheeks, spreading up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. Bloodied tissue paper was sticking out of his nose like some Hallowe'en garland.
"Oh, god, Peter," Lily gasped. "What happened?"
"Quidditch trials." Peter mumbled, his voice came out squishy and nasal. Indeed, Mary, James, and Sirius were all wearing their Quidditch gear. "I didn't make it into the team."
"You should have seen it!" James chortled.
I noticed he and Sirius had swapped places, much to Marlene's annoyance. She evaded the forkful of peas James accidentally sent scattering across the table as he waved with his fork. Regina, whose existence I had in all honesty forgotten about, was nestled into Sirius's side, a sweet smile across her face as she spoke to him.
"So, Petey gets up in the air, right?" James continued, attention veering from Lily to me and again. "He's by the hoops, managing to catch a few quaffles. Every bludger Padfoot sends his way just goes swoosh through the hoops, but he's not one to lose faith and keeps going."
Next to me, Peter let out a little whine. He sunk lower into the bench. Mary, who had been to the trials and no doubt had secured her spot on the team, pressed a hand to her mouth. Her giggles could still be heard. Remus patted Peter on the back, but otherwise didn't tear his attention from the half-finished Potions essay by his plate.
After the exploding potion incident, I had been prepared for two things: either my friends finally chose sides, dividing our group, or they all turned their back on me, for what I said to Sirius, for covering them in disgusting goo, or for costing them so many House Points. Hell, maybe for all three. Imagine my surprise when I reached the Common Room after free period yesterday to find neither had occurred.
They weren't acting as if it hadn't happened, but they were also not acting differently. It was as if they'd decided, at long last, that the whole situation really was none of their business. Well, Marlene was still a little miffed with me—though considering her strange behaviour all summer, I didn't think it was connected to Sirius anymore—and Sirius had gone back to not speaking to me. I'd caught him looking at me a few times, but since I only caught him because I was trying to look at him, I thought it best not to address it.
"He's doing alright," James's voice rose, hung in the air with dramatic flair. "And then, bam, Geller just starts sending balls his way, Mary joins him, Pete doesn't know where to go! He twists, manages to block two, and turns around only to—"
"Geller's Quaffle hit me straight in the face." Peter finished, snorting wetly.
James deflated, disappointed that he couldn't finish the story himself. Lily and I inhaled through our teeth. Geller was a seventh year lined to join the Ballycastle Bats as Chaser. Not only was he great at the game, he was also very strong, enough that he could have been a Beater if the fancy took him.
"He spluttered and fluttered down to the grass like a swatted fly." Mary gasped between giggles.
I couldn't really blame him. Mary, however, had broken a nose and a wrist, in different occasions, and had continued to play as if nothing had happened, claiming that so long as she was conscious there was no reason to pause.
"It's alright, Peter," Lily consoled. "There's always next year."
Peter attempted a smile, and granted her a weak nod. Considering Peter had trialled for the team every year since Second, I couldn't imagine next year's trials would go any better. It wasn't that he was awful at Quidditch, when we played during break, Pete made for an excellent Keeper—the trials just made him nervous.
"Here." I piled some spinach into his plate. "Make up for some of that blood you lost."
Peter's face twisted for a whole other reason than embarrassment. He poked at the spinach with a fork, disgusted. Our friends began laughing again.
Divination was, secretly, my least favourite subject. I'd only taken it because everyone had been so shocked when I didn't mention it in Second Year as one of the electives I was considering.
"How can you not take Divination, Merry?" James had gaped at me. "You're practically a Seer! Easiest O of your life."
Therein lay the problem, though. All my life I had been a little too good at guessing things about the future, being certain something would happen weeks or months before it did. Sometimes it was fun, like when I guessed all of Marlene's birthday presents before she opened them, or how I knew that Vaughn fancied me last year. But most times it was awful, inconvenient, and bloody terrifying. It only seemed to worsen the older I got, which wasn't promising.
So when we came back to Hogwarts only for Professor Dumbledore to announce Professor Shirtcliff had decided to retire, and Divination would not recommence quite yet due to scheduling conflicts with the new tutor's former workplace, I was elated. My… skills… had apparently gone dormant in January, giving me a false sense of security that they were gone for good, only to—maybe? I still wasn't certain—reappear this summer. I had the sickening feeling that by practicing in class I was only strengthening them.
Not that I could drop the class, either, of course. Because if I somehow managed to fetch a summer internship at the Department of Mysteries, studying Ancient Runes, Ancient Studies, and Divination was just the type of obscure interest they were hoping for.
James had been right, though. Easiest Outstanding in the entirety of my Hogwarts career.
I followed my fellow Sixth Years up to the North Tower. Their excited chattering bounced of the stone walls even when we left the thin staircase and walked down the short vestibule to the door. I forced myself to look on the bright side: this new professor had no idea who I was, it was a fresh start.
That thought solidified in my mind as we finally entered the room. It was completely changed.
Where Professor Shirtcliff had hung colourful star shaped lanterns with glitter, now swayed levitating chandeliers. Where Professor Shirtcliff had tasselled throws and beaded curtains on the walls, now hung astronomical charts, and prints of tarot cards that where educational rather than a little too circus-y. Gone were the incense and the teeny decorative mirrors that made the light dance, replaced instead by obelisk-shaped crystals of different colours, and bookshelves that were actually filled with books rather than fake mirror balls and other silly artifacts that had no real use at all. There was even an area set up for scrying. Scrying! A skill I'd been forced to learn on my own because Professor Shirtcliff couldn't even dream of understanding it.
Though no longer swathed in mustard yellow tulle and purple crushed velour, the tiered rounded tables remained. Students dragged their feet toward them, their spirits deflated upon seeing the sudden change in decoration. This no longer looked like the fun class, but rather a place of academia. Whoever our new professor was, they understood Divination was the severe magic I knew it to be, rather than a trick to swindle muggles with.
Interest piqued, I sat myself at the same table I had for the past three years, to the right on the second tier. My partners, also, were the same ones, because Professor Shirtcliff believed in many things but a seating plan was not one of them, and we liked each other enough not to want to swap.
"This is exciting, isn't it?" Emilia Clarke, Ravenclaw, greeted as she plopped her bag on the table.
"Hiya, Meredith." Alice, also Ravenclaw, joined me on the other side.
I gave them both a smile. I seldom saw Emilia outside of Divination and Herbology, the only classes we had coincide, and Alice I hadn't seen since late July.
We had a few minutes to catch up, much like everyone else was doing, until a sharp knock echoed around the room. Utter silence followed the sound. On the first tier, a Hufflepuff boy even let out a startled yelp before slapping his hand over his mouth.
Whatever I had imagined, the new professor was everything but.
He was much younger than Professor Shirtcliff. No way was he older than Fabian, which was strange because I didn't recognise him. And he was the type of man one remembered: svelte frame, great bone structure, and intense eyes. Despite the shaggy blond hair and jeans—they may have been black to appear more formal, but they were flared jeans—he demanded attention.
"Welcome, Sixth Years, to Divination. I'm delighted that you're my very first class."
As soon as he spoke, I knew why I didn't recognise him. He was American, though I hadn't visited the country enough to guess which part. Beside me, Emilia gave out a dreamy sigh.
"My name is Tobias Hercules Grace, a little mouthful, so I will settle for Professor Grace."
Scattered laughter followed. It was hesitant, since it was difficult to tell whether he meant it as a joke or not. Professor Grace had yet to smile.
"Now, as I understand it, Divination is not taken very seriously this side of the pond," he continued without blinking. "Truthfully, Divination's an ancient temperamental magic that can't be accessed by just anyone. As it stands, none of you are likely to succeed—but I ask you try anyway, and you may be surprised what you find."
Wow, what a way to introduce a class. Maybe Professor Shirtcliff's near fanaticism was better. The few students that hadn't been dejected when we first came in certainly looked it now.
"Who knows? Maybe one of you might even possess the Sight and be a natural at it without need for practice." Professor Grace added with a little shrug.
As one, like they had rehearsed, the entire class turned on their cushioned stools to stare at me. I squirmed in my seat.
"Oh, don't worry, Professor Grace," Ward crowed from his seat on the third tier behind my table. "Your dream's closer than you think. I can See it!"
He dragged the word see out like one would when imitating the oooh a ghost might make. The classroom erupted in laughter. My face warmed. I wanted to sink lower into my seat, maybe slip under the table. Instead, I tightened my spine and jutted my chin, giving anyone brave enough to meet my gaze the nastiest look I could muster. The one that promised a slow icy death.
The giggles didn't last very long, suffice it to say.
Professor Grace remained incognizant, or at least he decided some slight teasing was normal in a room full of teenagers.
"Excellent!" he perked up. "I'm glad to see you're all as excited to start!"
He smiled and, just like that, became a completely different person. There was no frown, no intense staring. He looked friendly, light-hearted, and—
"Merlin Gracious." Alice muttered under her breath, not so subtly clutching at her chest.
—and way too young to be teaching a bunch of over hormonal teenagers. Although, to be fair, Merlin Gracious was right.
The class went on without a hitch. Professor Grace had us practice a basic three-card Tarot draw, moving from table to table so he'd obtain a general idea of our individual progress. Three-card draws were easy, because they were vague. They were tricky, because they were vague. Too many variables.
When it was our turn, Emilia did Alice—in the past she had struggled to tackle a problem, but since she was applying herself in the present, she was likely to succeed in the future—Alice did me—I had struggled with balance in the past, but things were in motion that would return it to my life and bring true happiness in the coming years. Perfectly generic readings, though they were what the cards pointed to.
I did Emilia. The three cards she picked and which I revealed were also, technically, fine cards. They still robbed me of breath.
"What?" Emilia giggled, looking at me with blatant interest. Her Black Country accent grew thicker in her excitement. "Am I going to marry a fit Italian man, or lose all my hair?"
Alice snorted. "Wildly different spectrums, Mills."
"I wanna be prepared!" Emilia defended herself. "Wigs aren't cheap, innit."
Professor Grace cleared his throat, but even he was having trouble hiding a smile. Whatever stern exterior he'd managed to portray when he received us was gone now, replaced by an easy, out-going personality.
"Let her think," he suggested before looking at me. "Don't worry, take your time. It's okay if you're not sure."
Oh, but I was sure. I was also sure that the next time I had an 'inkling' I was locking myself in my room and not going out until the 'inkling' vanished.
For the past four days, I'd had the same daydream. During every class I didn't find that interesting, I would find myself staring at a random spot on the wall as my mind wandered. Usually, such waking reveries would take me down lovely paths, what it'd be like to meet the lead singer of The Sphynx and have him find me so dazzling he'd invite me backstage, for example. Or performing a violin solo in the beautiful Royal Opera House—sometimes it was a piano solo, sometimes it was whatever song I couldn't get out of my head. This week just gone, the daydreams I'd find myself having—for they were had not made, as they came unbidden and uncontrollable—were not quite so pleasant.
A lovely semi-detached house in a lovely muggle neighbourhood in Wolverhampton. Laughter bouncing off the walls and a degree of peace the epitome of familial felicity. Little by little, the laughter faded and the colours dimmed, replaced by arguments and hushed crying. Worry permeated the walls and seeped into the carpets. Sudden flashes of neon light would blind me, red, purple, green, until they disappeared and the house was visible once again. This time darkened in the middle of the night, not a light or sound within. Night would fade to morning without a hint of movement to be sensed, and the house would stand, frozen and forgotten, forevermore.
Concerning as they were, I'd done a great job of ignoring them. I had enough going on without adding whatever that could be to the pile, and I couldn't understand them anyway.
Until I had revealed Emilia Clarke's cards.
The Sun. The Two of Swords. Death.
Death did not mean death. It meant the end of a chapter, something without or within changing. Depending on the situation, it was actually quite a nice card to draw. A shard of fear burrowed into my heart anyway as an unwanted thought flittered into my mind that death was also the end of a chapter.
"Your parents must make a decision now." I heard myself saying.
"What'd you mean?"
When I looked at her, Emilia was frowning in bewilderment.
"You have a happy home, but your parents have noticed the strains in the war. Your father has seen what the Ministry is trying to hide. They're trying to decide what to do." I rushed to explain while keeping my voice low so not everyone would hear.
The colour drained from Emilia's face. She hadn't the slightest what I was talking about. I cared very little. The more I said the louder the thought got, like an alarm triggered by the smallest movement. DEATH, DEATH, DEATH. The last time it happened, my gran died. Of old age, surrounded by her children in her favourite cottage in France—instinct told me Emilia would not see such a happy end, if this came to pass.
I did not wish for it to come to pass. We were not close friends, but Emilia was nice. Moreover, her little sister Lucy was Cressida's best friend. She had spent two weeks this summer with the Clarkes down in Muggle Devon—it was all Cressida had talked about the rest of summer, going on and on about muggle things I'd had to ask Lily about because I had no idea what they were. If Emilia's father, a pureblood, was sniffing around things he ought not to without being subtle, while having a muggle wife, then I would do what I could to warn them.
"They suspect already." I insisted. "You must write to them tonight—the danger is nearer than they think. There will be no return."
I needn't have bothered to lower my voice. Professor Shirtcliff had always made a spectacle of any of my demonstrations, ever since I guessed the exact date, time, and place she'd been born Third Year's second term. That was when she declared I possessed the True Sight, to the biggest amusement of my classmates. The moment Professor Grace had approached our table, everyone had begun to hush up, eager for the opportunity to take the mickey.
By the time I was finished speaking, utter silence rang through the room. Not even the rustle of fabric against fabric could be heard. No one said anything, just stared at me like they thought I was insane. Professor Grace, too, was looking at me with mild interest, in the careful way one might a puzzle that turned out a little more complex than anticipated. I couldn't quite understand why. After all, both Alice and Emilia had given strong predictions, for all that they'd been vague.
I hadn't been, I realised. My interpretation had been correct, but I'd been specific, cognizant of details that had not been previously revealed. Details Emilia herself was unaware of. Fuck.
Without giving an explanation, Professor Grace gathered the cards and started shuffling them.
"Wow," Alice let out a nervous giggle. "I know we joke you're a Seer, but that's taking it a bit far, don't you think?"
Emilia hummed, unsure. She looked to be hoping I'd turn around and declare it was all a joke.
"It wasn't my intention to scare you," I said. "I had to kick off the year strong."
The blasé flick of my hair over my shoulder was feigned. So was the accompanying smirk, coy and conniving all at once. It worked like a charm. The classroom roared with laughter and the tension broke. Soon, there will be no return and they suspect were being thrown back and forth with enough dramatic flair to make Marlowe weep with pride.
Professor Grace offered the deck of cards to me.
"Can you shuffle them for me?"
I accepted the deck, opting not to mention that he had shuffled them already. After I'd done so, I offered them back. He didn't accept them.
"Why don't you draw a card?" he asked with a light tone. "Since you've already shuffled them."
I stifled a sigh. Emilia and Alice watched on, intrigued, but the only reason I went ahead with his little experiment was that the rest of the class was still too busy chatting and laughing.
Without breaking eye contact with Professor Grace, I picked a random card and set it on the table, face up. His eyebrows raised at it, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a hmm, what do you know? expression.
"Would you pick up another one? Just to satisfy my curiosity."
I did so. I placed it beside the other one, also face up, also without looking. This was not, after all, the first time I'd been requested to partake in such an exercise. Professor Grace ooh'ed under his breath.
"Every time!" Emilia whined.
Alice, however, let out a harsh laugh that was more of a cackle. "Told you! You owe me five sickles!"
I snorted. That also happened every time, Emilia never learnt. I placed the deck back on the table, glancing at the two cards with detached curiosity.
The High Priestess. Judgement.
Every time I was asked to pick a random card the High Priestess would come out. This one even looked a little like me. With her starlight-coloured hair and amber eyes, she blinked up at us from where she kneeled in a blanket of glinting pomegranate seeds. Instead of two pillars, this deck had a wintering tree of a wood so dark it was near black on one side of her, and another tree on the other, exact save for the colour of its wood, which was stark white. Behind her, the cosmos spread out, swirling and ever-complex.
The High Priestess was a good card. That Fate had decided to award it to me was a compliment. What had grown tedious quickly, however, was the way Professor Shirtcliff would react whenever I drew it. Like I had just confirmed every theory she had uttered about me.
Whenever I pulled out The High Priestess, Judgement would soon follow. That had taken a little longer to figure out, as usually I only drew one card and the pattern was dismissed as coincidence several times. Until Alice and Emilia began to be vocal about their little game, and Professor Shirtcliff stopped asking me to draw one card and instead began requesting two. It elated her—according to her, it meant she could claim having discovered the first Seer in a century. It made me feel like a parlour trick, even though she meant no malice.
"Good cards," Professor Grace commented. "What was your name again?"
"Meredith Potter-Greengrass, sir."
He accepted the deck of cards, that time, slipping Judgement and the High Priestess on the top.
"Miss Potter-Greengrass," he said, testing my name like he was trying to remember where he'd heard it before. "Welcome to Advanced Divination."
Just like that, he moved on to the next table. There was no gasping for the powers that be, no congratulatory shake of my hand, or extravagant proclamations. Intrigued as he may be, Professor Grace was not interested in sharing his thoughts with the whole class. Or anyone, for that matter. I couldn't help but be relieved.
Wednesday and Thursday went on without a hitch.
Dorcas aced a complex glamour on the first try during Charms. Peter's woes over Quidditch were soon forgotten when he landed a date with a Fifth Year Hufflepuff; they'd already made plans to go out again on the first trip to Hogsmeade. James and Sirius distracted Professor Quickwater so badly during Herbology that he forgot to assign homework, spending who knows how long after bell trying to wrangle the thirty or so bowtruckles they'd released at the perfect moment. I received not one, but two letters from Fabian, both several pages long. Professor Slughorn was happy to pretend the incident on Monday had been a one off and didn't pay our table any extra attention.
Everything was fine… well, ish.
"Sometimes I wonder…" Lily trailed off, idly swaying her lit wand left to right.
"What?" I prompted.
It was two hours after curfew, and since it was a Thursday, she and I had prefect patrol together. It wasn't strange for us to remain quiet while patrolling, but there'd been a certain sadness to Lily's silence all afternoon and during dinner. It didn't take a Seer to find out why. I still wanted her to be the one who said it.
"If it was a mistake, coming to Hogwarts." Lily looked at me over the corner of her eye. I could only stare at her. "I mean… do you think I'd have been better off?"
There was nothing but silence as I mulled that over. There were no portraits on this hallway, so no one complained about our swivelling Lumos charms. Well, a mouse busy nibbling on a triangle of cheese appeared a little bothered, based on his twitching nose that bared its teeth, but it couldn't make any noises.
Today had been a bad day for Lily. Mother had us learning advanced protection spells this term, alongside silent spell-casting—though that was a skill we were developing across all our classes—and she thought today the perfect opportunity to test our duelling skills. After all, trials for the duelling club were on Monday. She had reminded us of the proper etiquette, breezing over proper duelling and wand posture, before pairing us off.
Rosier and Clarissa Welch had been under the impression a duelling environment also meant they could run their mouth. Usually any half-blood or muggleborn in the vicinity would be fair game, except Rosier had yet to get over my breaking his nose with Encyclopaedia Magica, and Welch always liked to remind Snape of the embarrassing moment of his life where he'd been friends with a muggleborn, the horror—as such, Lily had been the sole target of their vile comments.
It got bad. Defence was one of the few classes we all had together. We'd gotten involved, the rest of Slytherin had gathered to defend one of their own, and soon a class-wide duel had broken out. By the time Mum was able to break it up, four people had to be sent to the Infirmary. Snape never said a single word.
"No." I shook my head at last. "Magic can't be turned on and off, Lily. It's a part of our very being. It would have grown as you did, and without the proper training or tools, you would have become a danger to yourself."
I hoped she would hear what I wasn't saying. Among the many slurs and snide comments, Welch had straight up accused Lily of stealing magic. A completely ridiculous concept, because if stealing magic were possible, there'd be no Squibs. Lily's magic was hers. It had always been hers, and it would always be hers, even after she died.
"Are you unhappy here?"
Surprise flashed across Lily's face at the question, as if she couldn't fathom why I would say such a thing.
"No!" She assured me. "I love it. I love the quirks of the castle, all the lessons, and I love you guys. But… sometimes I still feel like I don't belong here, you know? Like maybe they are right and I should just go back to where I came from."
"They're not." I frowned. "Are we—have we made you feel like you don't belong?"
Lily sighed. When she stopped walking, pausing by a still life of a pineapple beside half a watermelon, and took longer than the painting warranted to observe it, I gave her the time she needed. I even pretended not to hear the smallest of sniffles. Or how she wiped at the corner of her eye with a discreet knuckle.
I waited, yes, but I wouldn't drop the subject. If we had somehow made her feel like she didn't belong, that was something that needed rectifying immediately. Because she did. She was a natural in Charms, amazing at Potions. I knew a part of her had always wondered, overcompensated, but I dreaded to think we, her very own friends, had played a part in that.
"You haven't done anything."
She turned to me at last. There was nothing to show for her emotions but the slightly pink tip of her nose.
"But you're all purebloods, except for Mary, but she lives with her dad and doesn't speak to her mum. Even after all these years, I sometimes hear you and Dorcas talk and I haven't the slightest what you're on about!" Her hands went up in exasperation, the light of her wand casting swirling shadows in the stone walls. "And there's all these unspoken rules I've been guessing at, that it's like trying to translate a language I don't know with a dictionary that only has half the words. I've been here six years already. Six. And this thing with Rosier and Welch—"
"That's just some of the Slytherins, you shouldn't listen—" I tried.
"—it's not just the Slytherins." Lily cut me off. "They're just the only ones daring enough to say it. A Ravenclaw called me a mudblood yesterday and tried to jinx me."
That was the first I'd heard of it. "Who?"
"It doesn't matter!" Lily huffed. Her hands landed on her hips. "None of you get it, not really. You think that you can argue with whoever thinks that way until your voice goes hoarse and the problem will go away. It won't."
"It's the right thing to do."
"You don't even know what it's like, Meredith." Her eyes shone with a hurt I'd seldom seen. "None of you do. You will never know what it's like to be me. And—I don't know, I'm just… I'm so tired."
I hesitated, unsure.
She was right. I had no idea what it was like for her, not really. I sympathised, I got angry, but I wasn't Lily. No matter how much I understood, I would never understand it at the level she did. Personal, intimate. Until just now, I hadn't even known there were things in the Wizarding World that still took her by surprise. It had never occurred to me that she might be at a loss during certain conversations.
"You're right." Lily didn't expect that. "The first time I sneaked into Muggle London, I was terrified the whole time. I nearly got run over by several cars and a bus. I mean—I knew what they were and all, we weren't that sheltered growing up, but I was really confused by how the traffic lights worked."
Lily's mouth hung open before she forced it closed, looking very much like she wanted to laugh but knew it'd be insensitive.
"You're meant to go when it's red for them." She supplied.
"I know that now. But green means go, everyone knows that."
Her face twisted into a contemplative expression before she allowed a reluctant nod. Seeing that she was about to delve into a deep explanation as to why rules were different when it came to cars, I barrelled on.
"You think it's obvious because you've been around that your whole life, so to you it has become a rule everyone's aware of without having to voice it. Like how it's rude not to stick to one side of the sliding staircase and allow others to pass."
"The—" Lily giggled. "The escalator, Mer, not sliding staircase."
Ess-cah-late-orrr… right. Who came up with these names anyway? I raised my eyebrows at her. Her expression turned sheepish in an instant.
"We may sometimes forget you don't know the same unspoken rules we do, true. But that's not something to be ashamed of. You've never made any of us feel bad because we don't understand something Muggle. I still have no clue how credit cards work, and you spent ages explaining. You think Marlene can survive a day alone in Cokeworth?" I snorted, dismissing the very idea with a flick of a hand. "You belong here, Lily Evans. Ask anyone who actually matters, and they'll tell you the same thing."
Lily was quiet for a while. I could see she was thinking about what I'd said, so I hoped they'd been the right words. I didn't know how to address the discrimination issue without coming across as an entitled arse, but her insecurities about the aspects of the wizarding world she still didn't understand were something I had hopefully handled well. I'd try and keep an eye out, anyway, for conversations that were a little too pureblood.
"Thank you, Meredith." Lily smiled.
And that was that. There were no more red-rimmed eyes or sad silences. We went back to patrolling, with Lily actually paying attention this time rather than aimlessly illuminating corners of the floor, or the vaulted ceiling. The issue wasn't gone and dusted, of course, but Lily felt better.
"What was that with Rosier today, anyway?" She asked as we climbed the stairs to the sixth floor. "He was well snippy with you."
When Mother had gone over the correct grip while duelling, Rosier had loudly announced that if somebody didn't know how to hold on to a wand they'd ought to go back to First Year. And if they forgot to bring a wand to a duel, well, then they had no right calling themselves Magic. He'd done all that while looking at me. And then he'd asked me what I thought, in such a snotty voice as to let everyone know the comments had been aimed at me all along.
James had answered back such a creatively nasty comment I was a little impressed.
In my opinion, he should be embarrassed that I'd managed to break his nose and blacken his eyes without using magic at all. All this talk about how he was superior to muggles and he got bested by a well-aimed book.
"I don't know," I shrugged, pretending to think about it. "Maybe he fancies me."
Lily let out a noise that was a mix between a cackle and gagging. It made me laugh.
"Ew, imagine!" she shuddered.
The idea was so ridiculous, we just kept making fun of it, and the topic of why Rosier had said what he did was forgotten.
The rest of the week was uneventful. My cold went away, James continued to give me the perfect breakfast every morning, and Rosier quit pestering me. Sirius and I didn't speak, but we also didn't argue. In fact, he had taken to giving me a wide berth, and I was fine with that. I posed for Freyr again, and crazy as it sounded, I could have sworn not only did Koschei recognise me, he was happy to see me. Lily's spirits remained up, and while Dorcas hadn't shared whatever had been bothering her since Monday, she did promise we would talk soon. Everything was looking up.
And then the new issue of Hogwarts: a Gossip arrived on Monday evening.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and also those who favourited and followed since last chapter. Please leave a review if you have a chance! xx
OryxGreen: Sorry to have kept you waiting! Yeah, our poor James is between a rock and a hard place so to speak. Meredith is a better person than me because i wouldn't have forgiven him, either, tbh. Marlene is such a nasty friend, she's got what's coming. Can't wait to force her back a peg or two! I'm glad you liked last chapter, and enjoy this one!