a/n: once again did NOT stick to my schedule, oops. May was crazy busy for me at work and I kept getting sent all over the country and couldn't sit down to properly write other than sporadic entries on my phone. Also, you know how england is, one degree above 15 and we think it's summer and start to fill every available moment with summer activities.
Made up for it with a very long chapter though! I think it may feel like it's slowing down but Part I is very much about laying the foundation and things will kick up again from chapter 10 onwards.
enjoy!
ALL THE THREADS OF FATE
PART I
CRUEL SUMMER.
IX.
"I think I'm going to get a cat."
Marlene announced it so out of nowhere Remus and Mary stopped their tentative conversation to stare at her.
I tried to nudge her with my elbow, subtly telling her to choose a less ridiculous topic of conversation so Remus and Mary could go back to theirs. Mary had had an on-and-off crush on Remus since Second Year. Halfway through Fifth Year, Remus had finally realised he fancied her. Neither of them knew about any of this, so they'd kept dancing around each other. It was all stolen looks and shy smiles and careful conversation that tended to turn awkward and I was dying for them to finally go on a bloody date.
If Marlene insisted on filling our walks between lessons by blurting out the first thing that came to her mind, that date wouldn't ever happen. Maybe it was the bitterness talking, but I'd never before noticed how much shite came out of her mouth.
"You think you're going to get a cat," Remus repeated slowly.
Marlene was not exactly an avid cat lover. She liked animals to an extent, and she'd loved the snow owl her parents had gifted her with for her first year at school up until it'd gone missing last April. So she was capable of caring for a familiar—though I supposed the jury was still out on whether she'd been responsible for Amaranth running away—and a cat would have been a great idea, much less beaky and bitey, except Lily's Siamese cat had been on the receiving end of many a tirade for using Marlene's curtains or wrongly-placed cashmere jumper as a scratching toy.
"Yeah, a tabby or something." Marlene shrugged, looking altogether unexcited at the prospect. "Mer, what's the one called with the booties?"
Remus and I shared a look. 'The one with the booties' could be almost any cat breed. Mary shuffled away from Remus and back to Marlene's side, tugging at her curls by the ends.
"Er…"
Before I could come up with a quick answer as well as an excuse to leave Remus and Mary alone, loud shouts and hoots dragged our attention towards the next hallway. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and what were lions if not a pack of really big ones? As one we all hurried over, without even sharing a look.
A large gathering of students from all four houses formed a circle in the middle of the hallway, pushing on tiptoe and nudging each other out of the way as they craned their necks to see whatever was in the centre. The high-pitched voice of Professor Flitwick rose among the clamour, chastising yet still struggling to make himself heeded.
"You reckon a fight broke out?" Mary wondered as we four shouldered our way through the throng as a unit.
I rolled my eyes, barely dodging an elbow to the eye as I slipped past a Hufflepuff. What sort of idiot got into a fight right outside a classroom in the middle of the day?
"—gonna write to mummy about it?" The mocking question filtered through from the middle of the circle. My heart lurched into my throat. "Sorry to break it to you, Reggie, but—"
Remus and I shared a panicked glance as we both realised it was our idiot having a lapse of judgement and not some random bloke.
"—get back at me that way anymore!"
We broke through the crowd just in time to watch Sirius shove his brother with both hands. Shorter and slimmer, Regulus stumbled; his features twisted into a seething leer. Professor Flitwick rushed from one side to the other, like he looked unsure as to which student he ought to restrain first.
"Sod off, Sirius." Regulus growled. He looked so full of bitterness he was near unrecognisable. "You—"
Whatever offensive insult he'd prepared went unheard. Professor Flitwick flicked his wand, delivering a harmless yet effective jinx to the back of Regulus's head. He flinched, rubbed at the spot with the palm of his hand, and managed a glare and pout hybridised frown. Sirius's face split into a devious smile.
"Mr Black! I won't say it again," Professor Flitwick squeaked, doing a little hop in place. "I'm in no mood to grant detention."
Both brothers squinted down at him, likely a reflex at the call than any real desire to listen. Stomach in knots, I stepped forward and suddenly gagged as Remus took a hold of my school robes and hauled me back with such strength I collapsed into him, the clasp of my robes threatening to choke me.
I coughed. "What the fuck, Lupin?"
Remus was undeterred by my icy glare. He also refused to let go.
"Don't get involved."
I crossed my arms. Whatever happened with the Black brothers wasn't any of my business, anyway.
"Move away both of you." Professor Flitwick requested, attention pivoting from one to the next.
Regulus did nothing but stand there and glower. It was uncanny; he'd always been the calmer, softer of the two, while Sirius tended to be the hot-headed one. Not in this moment, though. We all watched as Sirius considered his options before his shoulders dropped. He waved one dismissive hand at his brother as if to say whatever, you're not worth the bother before he stepped our way, like he'd known we were there all along.
He pulled a face at Remus, flicking his head to the left to cast the hair from his eyes. Just as the tension began to dissolve, as students deflated in disappointment that nothing exciting happened after all, Regulus glanced around, briefly met my eye, and took three quick strides. His hand locked around Sirius's elbow. Sirius teetered, unprepared, which only landed him closer to his brother.
I readied myself for the worse—a punch, a well-aimed hex, hell, maybe some hair pulling, I really wouldn't put it past them—but it came to naught. All Regulus did was whisper something fast in Sirius's ear. No more than two sentences.
Sirius went still with unfettered rage. His head moved in a slow turn. He didn't say anything, didn't move much, just stared at Regulus, and Regulus stared right back.
It happened so quickly I missed it. One second the two brothers were locked in a heated gaze, and the next blink of an eye Sirius had Regulus by the front of his robes, hauling him until the two were on the same level, eye to eye.
"What the fuck did you just say to me, Reg?" Sirius asked in a quiet tone. By the smooth thunder in it, the words sounded as much of a threat as they did a question.
Regulus looked, for the first time since we'd arrived, like he was about to crack. Which wasn't much better from his brother, who looked two breaths away from losing the plot.
"Mr Black! That is it!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, his voice reaching new decibels only audible to dogs.
With a swish of his wand, the Black brothers were pushed away from each other and held there. Regulus' oxfords slipped on the stone floor before he regained his balance. Sirius shrugged his robes back into place; a grimace soured his face as he rubbed at one ear. Despite the lack of dignity, they both stood tall and elegant, betraying their aristocratic upbringing. Never had they looked more like brothers than in that incensed moment.
"Another ten points from Gryffindor," Professor Flitwick continued. "And I will see you in my office tonight at seven o'clock sharp, where you will both behave. Your Heads will be hearing about this."
The heels of his shoes tapped together, giving out a swift clack to highlight the point. Someone to the side snorted at Your Heads, while giggles scattered about. Professor Flitwick swivelled in place, now reproachful of the crowd.
"Disperse! You'd better all be at your correct classrooms in five minutes or I'll continue dishing out detentions."
There was a collective groan of disappointment. Dragging feet and small shuffles turned quickly to jogs and tugged sleeves as Professor Flitwick's left eye twitched in warning.
"Let's go," Mary said, beginning to walk in the direction we'd come. "I don't fancy a detention over Black. He's not that much of a mate."
No, he was not. In fact, he was not a mate at all.
I dallied. Sirius lifted two fingers at Regulus, keeping his hand at the level of his hip even as he repeated the movement twice. Regulus rolled his eyes with his whole head at the gesture, hardly amused but not nearly as angry as before. Sirius, too, no longer resembled the eye of a storm.
Gentle fingers covered mine, stopping me from picking at my cuticles. I hadn't even realised I'd started, yet I'd picked the scab on my index finger clean off and the wound was bleeding again. I followed clean blunt nails down wide knuckles and across scar-flecked hands to Remus's kind green eyes.
"I'm staying."
He gave me this look, long and considering. I liked it about as much as I liked the taste of ox liver.
"If you like," I shrugged with a nonchalance I did not feel. "I'll lend you my notes later."
Remus' thanks were a quick squeeze to my hands. I made my way towards the end of the hallway, pausing only long enough to call, "you coming?" to Marlene over my shoulder.
"I'll catch up with you." Marlene waved.
With the same hand, she undid her ponytail, allowing her hair to fall free. She looked like they'd just announced Le Petit Coeur were doing an early autumn shoe sale. Remus eyed her but chose not to comment.
Unable to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder as I rounded the corner. Regulus's robes billowed as he strode away. Professor Flitwick appeared to be muttering under his breath as he waddled into his classroom with short stumpy steps. Sirius had joined Remus and Marlene, the latter of which was handing him his school bag. He looked to be calming down, rubbing at his neck in the hopes it would ease the tension.
Our gaze met and held until I disappeared around the hallway.
Mondays were often an early night in Gryffindor Tower. Students tended to squeeze as much fun as they could out of the weekend, and Sunday nights were as busy in the Common Room as any Friday or Saturday. As a result, on Mondays most were tucked in bed long before curfew and not a minute later.
That was fine with me, since it meant I could find a cosy seat right by the fireplace and make a dent on homework without anyone overstepping me, or the threat of an overturned cuppa ruining books and parchment. Lack of music and scattered conversation allowed for a study space to rival the library, except much warmer.
With so few distractions, I was done with homework at quarter to ten. It would have been earlier if James hadn't come back down around nine-ish for a chat like we hadn't spent all of dinner giggling and whispering to each other around Slughorn's round table. Lily had not appreciated our behaviour, but James and I had enjoyed ourselves.
"This seat taken?"
I looked up from the length of parchment atop the book in my lap, a splotch of black ink landing right in the middle. Remus hovered by the armchair, already wearing his plaid pyjamas and a fuzzy dressing gown, one hand outstretched in the general direction of the sofa.
I shuffled further to the right, moving my planner out of the way. "No, go right ahead."
He made to sit down, and his eyes landed on the few words I'd already written at the top of the parchment. Stilling, he hovered awkwardly above the cushion, not quite sitting, yet not standing either.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were busy."
"I'm not," I assured him. The barn owl quill tickled my chin as I shook my head. "Just writing to Fabian, though really I owled him yesterday already, so I should probably postpone this one a bit."
It'd be clingy, wouldn't it? But the letter he'd sent me two days ago had arrived today and while full of trivialities that amounted to nothing but a long I am thinking of you today and yesterday and tomorrow, I had this itch that would not pass to write back as soon as I could, to reassure him the tale of how his nephew Bill had stuck blueberries up his nose had made me laugh, so it was funny not just to him regardless of what Molly said; to remind him coffee wasn't tea, so he ought to quit drinking it on an empty stomach if he didn't want to feel sick all day. I wanted to tell him about the two thestrals Hagrid had informed me would foal any day now, how Freyr's painting was coming along, and how James had shuddered at Sirius's suggestions he get a tattoo, a horrendous idea because they were permanent and his mate didn't seem to get that bit, but he knew I would because he was certain I would never get one—wasn't that just hilarious?
Basically… another ten-inch letter full of trivialities that amounted to nothing but my own I am thinking about you today and yesterday and tomorrow. I'd already sent one yesterday; this one could definitely wait a few days.
I sighed, reaching over to place book, parchment, and quill on the coffee table in front of us. When I returned to my seat, Remus was looking at me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, eyes dancing with humour.
"What?" I demanded, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing." He shrugged, before adding, "Merry's in looove—"
I swatted at his shoulder. "Shut it."
The warning was weakened by the giddy smile threatening to split my face in two. Remus laughed; I joined him, allowing myself to feel every little ounce of elation and affection I harboured towards Fabian without it being tainted by the possibility of the future, or societal pressure. In this moment, I was merely a girl enamoured, being teased by a close friend.
"How was Slughorn's evening?" Remus asked.
The remnants of his laughter pinked his cheeks and accentuated the thin cut that ran from his bottom lip to his chin. A new wound he'd been sporting for a few days that I hoped wouldn't scar.
I tore my gaze away from the healing mark. "Boring, though better than last week, I suppose."
"I bet the food's nice, though." Remus sighed, wistful. "James still goes on about that quiche from last year."
"He eats meat. I got carrots and celery for my starter, and some leafy salad for my main. What does Slughorn think I am, a pet rabbit?" Remus chortled, a sudden and ugly sound that made me smile despite any irritation harboured toward the Potions professor. "I mean, whatever happened to legumes! Grains and seeds!"
"I don't know what Slughorn was thinking mistaking you for a rabbit," Remus' mouth was crooked around the words. "You're clearly a bird."
The gasp I let out was terribly dramatic. "You take that back."
"Sing for me, songbird!" Remus joked.
He ducked the punch I threw his way, covering his arm with a hand anyway, and whistling completely out of tune all the while. Whatever bird he was trying to imitate would have no luck finding a mate this winter, with a horrible call like that.
"I am no bird!"
Raising on both knees, I pelted Remus with a maroon cushion, its golden tassel missing his eye by a hair's width. He laughed, eyes scrunched into tiny bright slits and his mouth so wide I could see his back teeth. I thumped the cushion over his head again, all the while demanding he take his words back.
"I bet you—" he howled in triumph when his hand managed to wrap around my wrist. "—all the galleons I have that your patronus winds up being a blackbird."
"A blackbird?" I p-shawed. "That's so simple."
Remus meh'ed. "If the shoe fits."
He lifted both hands in the air, swaying them up and down as if to balance the weight of probability. I dropped my weight back onto my feet, mouth hanging open.
"What is up with you tonight?" I laughed, delighted. "You're more… I dunno, more Marauder-y than usual."
It wasn't that Remus was any less mischievous than Sirius or James. He could be just the same or even worse. It was the quiet ones you had to look out for, after all, but however playful he was, he tended to be less prone to banter. With me, at least; Merlin knew they were all a proper nightmare when they hung out together.
Remus shrugged, a little too casual.
"Did you tell Mary? Is that it?" I pestered, finger poking at the round of his shoulder. "Are you both in looovve?"
My teasing had the opposite reaction that I expected. Remus's expression dropped, green eyes dimming as he looked toward the fireplace. My hand dropped back into my lap, where I played with the hem of my skirt.
Remus picked at the scar on his neck, so old it was now a thin pearlescent line. "She doesn't fancy me."
"Pardon?" I blurted out. Remus cringed. "I mean, er—" I was uncertain what to say, considering I had it on good account Mary did fancy him. "You told her that you—"
"No! I didn't get a chance." He covered his face with his hands, body sliding down the cushions in his mortification. "I was going to ask her to Hogsmeade, but then she started talking about some Hufflepuff that had asked her to go already. She's over the moon about it! Tosser probably doesn't know how lucky he is."
That last bit was grumbled into a pout. His chin tucked into his chest and his arms crossed as he wallowed in his romantic misfortunes. A strand of slick light-brown hair fell over his forehead and between his eyes—the remnants of the bangs he'd been growing out, or maybe an attempt to copy Sirius's 'rock-n'-roll' hair—he huffed at it. the ripple of air was only enough to flutter the strand and land it right in his eye. He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning out complaints all the while.
"Sorry, Rem." I stifled a laugh, reaching for the offending hair strand and tucking it out of the way. "Next time."
He nodded, blinking slowly at the dancing flames.
"It was silly anyway, it's not like it would last."
"Whyever not?"
"Because of my—" he bit his tongue, staring at me with wide eyes like he'd just remembered who he was speaking to. "Uh, I'm just swamped, you know? With prefect duties and assignments and… erm, stuff with the lads."
It was a lame excuse, but I couldn't call him out on it. Because he didn't know that I knew about him. I had dropped hint after hint after unsubtle hint for years, and Remus still hadn't caught on. I wasn't sure if he was purposely ignoring my intelligence or that he was so deep in denial he became a little thick. Also, I didn't exactly want to come outright and say it, because having to explain I'd figure it out halfway through Second Year because his monthly problem just so happened to coincide with my own cycle, give or take a few days, wasn't exactly a tidbit of information I was dying to share with him.
"I've got no plans," I said instead. "For Hogsmeade, I mean."
He peered at me out of the corner of his eye. "Aren't you going with Fabian?"
"Nope." It was my turn to slump against the cushions. "He's in Dublin this weekend, something about suspicious activity they need to monitor and he can't share with me because it'd breach confidentiality."
A quiet chirp momentarily derailed our attention. Fox, Lily's Siamese, had hopped onto the backrest of our sofa and was currently tiptoeing towards us in the centre. His little nose sniffed at the fabric and our way, curious.
"Stinks," Remus replied, absent-minded as Fox jolted, sniffing his way once before immediately jumping into my lap.
"Like one of Pete's farts," I agreed.
Remus snorted. Fox eyed him distrustfully, even as he draped his dark tail over my folded knee and rubbed the back of his head against my thigh. Remus narrowed his eyes with the same amount of suspicion at the cat's clear possessiveness.
"So, what do you say?" I poked the roundness of his shoulder, even as my other hand buried itself in the cream softness that was Fox's fur. "You, me, a sleepy Scottish village in the mid-September sun? We'll make it like something out of a romance novel."
"You're in a relationship." He deadpanned.
"I'm always available for my favourite Marauder."
"Can I get that in writing?" Remus asked, perking up, all upturned nose and big eyes. "Because it would really settle a five-year long debate."
My eyes found the ceiling. "You have permission to tell James, yes."
"I thought you two had made up."
"Kinda?" I leant my cheek on the backrest. "Though I think I only caved because I wanted him to stop trying to shove food down my throat."
Remus ah'ed, head tilting back and forth in a slow bob. He twisted in place, copying me and resting his head on the scratchy backrest.
"Is that why you've been nowhere to be seen?" he wondered. My bewilderment must have shown, for he soon added, "this is the most time we've spent together outside of classes since term began."
I felt my cheeks warm before I had any chance to try and stop it. I looked down to the space between us, idly picking at the sweet wrapper forgotten between the upholstered cushions. Across my lap, Fox began to purr.
"I've been ill," I said.
Remus hummed. I could tell he didn't believe me.
The truth was I'd been quite strategic—dividing my time between Dorcas, Lily, and the library or the music room near the attics that went mostly unused because its windows had no glass and it was frosty as anything. Whenever I was with Remus, someone always came along. Someone I'd ensured hadn't been there when Sirius and I got into it—Mary, Alice, Damocles, friends that weren't close.
Remus had always been so kind to me. I feared he would confess he agreed with James and urge me to apologise to Sirius. I feared what my refusal would mean to our friendship.
Once the silence had stretched long enough to threaten awkwardness, Remus cleared his throat, shifting in his seat until he was comfortable.
"In a scale of one to ten," he began. "Ten being absolutely smashing, and one being a split breath from jumping off the Astronomy Tower—" I snorted at the vivid picture. "—how are you?"
The sweet wrapper crinkled between my fingers as I scrunched and smoothed it, scrunched and smoothed it. Fox swatted at it as it appeared between my fingers, eagerly waiting as it disappeared for it to appear again. Remus didn't react to my suspicious eyeing, so I relaxed, assuming the question came from the fact my life really did look like a shitshow for a while there.
"Like a 7?" I shrugged. "Y'know, not terrible, but the Astronomy Tower is floating in the back of my mind."
Remus' nose wrinkled. "Morbid."
"Hey, you started it."
His head swayed in a so-so move. When he faced the fireplace once more, his expression slowly turned contemplative. Green eyes reflected the flames until they shone the same yellow they did whenever the Moon was too close and his emotions ran high; his thin mouth pulled at the corners.
"Rem?"
"I'm showing you because you'll hear anyway." He told me, briefly looking away from the flames. "There's no point in hiding it."
Reaching into his side pocket, he procured a folded over magazine. The pages displayed an article, the title composed with rounded yet sleek font. Very hip this year, similar fonts could be found in record covers and dust jackets, adverts for clubs and concerts. It had been all over the titles for Hogwarts: a Gossip last week.
Fox gave an overzealous stretch, claws digging into the sofa for a moment before he pounced onto the edge of the backrest, tail curling under my chin before nearly taking out my eye. Instead of scrambling to keep him close, making promises for extra treats that would go unheeded, I let him go, gaze never breaking away from that blasted magazine.
I accepted the offered issue, my mind filled with the quietness before the storm.
REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD—BUT WHO'S PLAYING WHO?
Evening, our darling readers, it is with equal parts delight and horror that we must share with you a most interesting piece of intel, brought to us by one of our most faithful. Usually, such a story we would keep to ourselves until photographic proof was provided, but with three separate accounts we had to but share.
It appears an inter-House romance looms in the horizon… or is it a mere ploy to twist the knife deeper?
Allow us to set the scene. The day: Saturday, though which date remains uncertain. The hour: the quite moments during dinnertime, when even the busiest of hallways is desolate, and illicit affairs can bloom into fairy-tale love hidden in the crooks of the castle. The stage: A dusty broom cupboard. The players: the Princess of Gryffindor and the Slytherin Compass.
My stomach got lost somewhere near my feet. I read the sentence again, and again, eyes snagged by those three words: the Slytherin Compass. The Slytherin Compass. The Compass.
Regulus was the best Seeker Slytherin had seen in fifty years. Mostly because those who joined Slytherin Team focused more on how to win no matter what and with whatever methods rather than strategy. It made no damn sense from the House where the cunning and ambitious resided, but I imagined it was because the Slytherins who actually were cunning found no appeal in the game, leaving it to the ones who preferred brute strength as an expression of power. Regulus, however, was the exception. He enjoyed the sport, and he enjoyed strategic plays; he had the eyes of an eagle, too. Regulus came along and suddenly Slytherin were no longer relaying on attacking the opposing team's Seeker and winning by how many times they threw a quaffle or bludger through the hoops. No—they had a Seeker of their own with sharp focus and even sharper attention span, expression so shuttered he gave nothing away until he was already zooming by, one hand outstretched toward the Snitch.
Such prowess had earned him his own nickname in the silly magazine—The Compass. Just like I was The Princess.
My eyes jumped down the page, skipping two whole paragraphs that were an erroneous fabrication of our history, before landing on a sentence that stopped my whole heart.
This is when we wondered, beloved readers, if this secret rendezvous was a long running con.
Rumour has it The Princess has cried mercy in her year-long war with our delicious Mr Black, while the brothers only grow more estranged. Was this passionate meeting a well-aimed hit from one brother to the other? Was every touch filled with vengeance, a pleasurable attempt for Meredith to lose the battle but win the war?
Or could it be perhaps, and oh, how we tremble just to think it, that this fiery affair was merely a well-hidden romance? Could it be possible that the two brothers had sat down and shared a meal many times before, and it is only the youngest that now eats? For Regulus was heard calling our cold princess Starlight in the secret confines of a broom closet by not one, but three different people, and we know of only one other to have ever called her that in earnest.
"Oh."
My stomach rolled, and the inside of my skin felt slimy. I could not look at Remus even if he were to spontaneously combust right there next to me.
"It arrived during dinner, so you didn't see it."
I hummed. Never had I appreciated Slughorn's silly little club more. The gatherings were superfluous, a public relations event, nothing more. To Professor Slughorn's advantage, of course, but one could get some benefits of one's own, too, if cards were played right. Tonight, my benefit had been skipping public humiliation in the Great Hall.
"Sirius—"
"Morgaina!" I flinched at how shrill my voice sounded. Hogwarts: a Gossip crinkled and protested under my fingers. "Can we not talk about Sirius right now?"
Remus's eyebrows twitched up his forehead. When he spoke, his tone was as dry as my throat, "you're being accused of shagging his brother. We're a little hard-pressed not to talk about him."
"I did not shag him. None of it is true, none of it." I repeated. "I wouldn't—"
Remus' raised hand stopped me.
"I know." Maybe, but I had the ugliest inkling he'd doubted for a second. Had considered it to be true. That maybe I would sink that low to get back at Sirius. "But people believed it. After what happened during Potions—they ate it up."
I threw Hogwarts: a Gossip on the table, heedless of where it ended up or if it toppled the inkwell sitting there. Elbows on knees, I hid my forehead behind the heels of my hands—the closest I would ever get to throwing a tantrum. Once again, I wished I'd been more like Cressida as a child; my sister would know what to do with the powerlessness invading my body.
Remus slid a hand up my back. I swallowed a scream.
Mother's office at Hogwarts was everything one would expect of a curse breaker part-timing as a Defence teacher, which meant it was the exact opposite of our home.
The light marble that made up many of my home's floors weren't to be seen. Nor were the smooth flagstones of the castle. In their stead, a sleek obsidian so dark it swallowed any reflection and appeared liquid. The walls, their plaster smooth without a crease to belie the brick beneath, were painted a midnight blue that darkened as they raised towards the domed ceiling, its many vaults arching into and crossing each other until one found difficulty distinguishing one from the other. A long spiral staircase of wrought iron disappeared into one such intersection. Its destination, a small platform wherein the door to my mother's chambers awaited, usually unused but available, nonetheless.
The ceiling was not only vaulted but Charmed to move at will. Mist hovered above like thunderclouds threating rain, or perhaps the morning fog about to welcome the day. The result was a neigh impregnable private chamber, as only those familiar with the ceiling's temperament were able to safely traverse the fog up the staircase and find the platform without being hit or pushed off.
Mother disliked having her time to decompress disturbed, and she liked intruders even less.
The furnishing was all velvet chesterfield sofas and black leather armchairs, a low coffee table decorated with intricate carvings. Persian rugs protected the floors were most footfall traffic occurred, and little trinkets turned the seating area into a domestic space: magazines, fresh fruit, a tea set, and two flower arrangements bursting with lush lilac roses, Scottish thistle, sunset calla lilies, and red ruscus.
Play and work were divided by the large hearth in the left wall, flames roaring with enough fervour to illuminate most of the room. What the flames could not touch, floating candles of varying dark colours took care of.
Mother's desk was right in front of the iron staircase, which in turn was right in front of a door even I had no idea what it led to. A sentinel protecting a fortress protecting a secret. Considering the arched columns surrounding that area, I had a strong suspicion the door lead to more steps, which in turn lead to another upper-level Mother hadn't allowed us access to.
The whole chamber was a Gothic wet dream, except for the right wall, which was in fact not there at all. In its place stood three arches, their spired columns depicting Old Traditions and folktales, with ivy tangled and obscuring some of the carvings. Beyond, the Black Lake was visible, as well as part of the forest. It was a beautiful sight, if one could overcome the sheer drop that awaited if one inched a little too far.
Cressida had taken one look at this room last year and interrogated Mother on such a complete disregard for Health and Safety. Mother had countered that if she was so terribly afraid of a little height, she ought to simply not near the precipice. Before adding that if she was worrying about Health and Safety her first week at Hogwarts, then she was really not going to like the trick step in the main staircase. Cressida had replied that she had, indeed, not.
The first time I had looked at this room, I had wondered at the duality of one singular woman. One who could shower a home with light and perfectly balanced colours, drifting from one palette to the next depending on a particular room's use, and then work surrounded by Darkness. I had taken in the magically grey reading material, the poisonous plants as decoration, the Runes carved into the skirtboards, the secrecy of hiding doors in plain sight, and wondered whether I knew my mother at all.
I had felt the spark of intrigue, the allure, come to life within me, and barrelled into the very real, then-horrifying possibility that perhaps I should have allowed the Sorting Hat to put me in Slytherin. That perhaps I would be naught but wasted potential.
Wasn't that just a perfect example of the many differences between Cressida and me? This room had presented a hazard for her; I had grown jealous that I didn't have my own death-trap in a study somewhere.
Ducking under a straying maroon candle, I slipped the hood of the Invisibility Cloak off my head. My heart was thundering within the confines of my chest, and no flame would bring warmth to my fingertips. Hogwarts: a Gossip sat heavy in my pocket.
There was no answer upstairs, and no noise coming from the mysterious door behind the staircase—not that there ever was, really, but Addie and I had learnt our lesson about approaching the door willy-nilly. The jinx stung something awful, and I was too tired to try and get through my mother's wards and have her find out.
I slumped onto the desk chair, absently swivelled left to right as I fiddled with the Cloak's hem. The fabric shimmered when twisted over, revealing the colourful inner lining for a flash of a second before it disappeared again, and I stared at my own invisible lap, the toes of my oxfords peeking out.
It was a good thing, in a way, that Mother was not in. It meant postponing a most unpleasant conversation. On the other hand, the sooner I showed her the article the sooner she could reach out to the right people, keep this particular slice of gossip away from serious publications. Fabian would never read Witch Weekly, but Molly did. She was already a little on the fence about me, watching me like a hawk for a mistake, and she would most certainly tell Fabian about this.
Fabian couldn't know, specially about the intricate history between Sirius and me. As far as Fabian was concerned, Sirius was my cousin's best mate, and he and I had never gotten along. No bad blood, nothing but two souls simply not fated to forge a bond. It was a well-maintained lie, and one I would not have a gossip column reveal. Especially if he found out about our sexual history before he did our dead friendship. That would not go well. I had told Fabian my first time had been Hyperion Wulff, the poor bloke who had the misfortune of sharing a dorm with my cousin and his friends but never managing to befriend them. While I did know Hyperion carnally, he had not been my first. I did not wish Fabian to find out I'd lied and—
I sat up straight.
Lost in thought, I'd been staring off into space, fingers dancing over my mother's desk for want of something to do. Except I hadn't been staring off into space. And my fingers hadn't been dancing around nothing, but scouring; they had found what they sought.
Between my hands, hovered a letter. Creased, written in black ink. Seemingly ordinary, save for the fact that it was steeped in Magick. Ancient, the kind that preceded wands, and so was all the more powerful. It tingled my skin, sending tiny zaps of energy to my elbows. Its warmth and might had been what snapped me out of my musings, its desire to be uncovered and learnt.
The letter started like any other, greeting my mother and wishing her and her family good health. The rest of the letter was dull, almost inane in its monotonous politeness. No doubt ensuring were it to fall in the wrong hands, the person would lose interest quickly and move on. A decoy to protect the real contents of the letter, that which the Ancient Magick was guarding.
I was most definitely the wrong hands. Unfortunately for my mother and whoever she was corresponding with, I would not lose interest quickly.
The tip of my wand dented the thin paper. Breaking such a cloaking charm required wandless magic, something I was yet to excel at besides a select few spells. Anything bigger than an alohomora or a dancing bluebell flame left me shaky, so it would be best to run a few diagnostic spells with my wand before attempting anything. Ironic, that such diagnostic spells were taught to me by the very woman whose privacy I was about to invade.
Before I could mutter the first one, the hearth gave a crackle, a quiet, whimpering thing, really, easily unheard except in this deafening silence. I sprang to my feet, letting the letter flutter back to the desk and tucking the chair into its place. I had only just enough time to slip the Cloak's hood over my head and dip behind the sofa for good measure before the fireplace roared to life, illuminating the entire office in a cold green light.
My instincts weren't always that bad, I decided. Usually, I would have simply moved away from my snooping and taken a place on the couch, welcomed my mother back to the castle. Perhaps it was guilt, or the same Thing that had lead me to that letter, but my first reaction had been to hide; a good thing, because my mother was not in the mood for visitors. That was obvious before she even stepped out of the Floo.
"—know what to do!" Her voice was hard and shrill, so different from her usual composure. "Like I haven't enough to deal with. Now there's this."
From my place, I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. Short, precise steps. Rustling of papers. The soft thud her cloak made as she threw it on the very sofa I was hiding behind, the weight of it. Softer footsteps followed her progress, coming at longer intervals, like their owner luxuriated in wide strides rather that hurried steps.
I knew her companion was my father before he even spoke.
"Come now, don't meddle."
He sounded weary, not quite as frustrated as she was but with a definite edge to his tone. I cringed. An argument between my parents was the last thing I wanted to overhear. Though it could be worse; at least they weren't shagging.
"I try." Mother clipped each word. "That girl makes it very difficult not to."
There was a prolonged silence, so intense it was deafening, suffocating. I pressed my hand to my face and nose, worried they'd be able to hear me breathe, that's how quiet it got.
Suddenly, there was movement, quick and severe, like fabric stumbling against fabric, heels of shoes digging with too sharp a snap against the floor. Merlin, what if I'd been wrong? What if they were about to shag? I eyed the balcony.
"That girl." My father repeated.
His voice was so quiet, it froze the blood in my veins.
Daddy never shouted. He was always warm and happy, smiley. Everyone in the Potter family was. Uncle Fleamont was much the same, and what I remembered of Uncle Ernest and Aunt Dorea matched that description. Though Aunt Dorea had married into the family, so maybe she didn't count.
No, Daddy never shouted, and he didn't shout now, but the way he'd just spoken—hard and hollow, each word enunciated with precise attention—made me wish he had. It would have been better.
"What has Meredith ever done wrong, Drina?"
My heart stopped. My head felt fuzzy. They were talking about me. I was that girl.
Unaware of my feelings—and how could he be—Daddy continued in that same strange tone, "truly. Was her refusal to be sorted into Slytherin really that horrible?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Of course not—"
It was a good thing my mother took no issue with shouting, otherwise the gasp that escaped me would have blown my cover. Mum never cussed. Ever. She thought it betrayed an unexpanded mind.
"Cressida's in Ravenclaw and I haven't an issue. I care little what house my children end up in. Though her cowardice was disappointing."
"She was eleven years old in an unfamiliar place." Daddy defended before she was even done speaking. It did little to erase the words from my heart. Disappointing. Cowardice. "You cannot blame her for wanting to remain with friends."
My mother sniffed. "We did it."
"We did not have the same luxuries."
Another silence followed Daddy's words. They tugged at my chest, even as I still recovered from the blow my mother had unknowingly dealt me. Uncle Fleamont was much older than my father, already out of Hogwarts and with an almost career by the time he started First Year. Uncle Maximillian had attended Beauxbatons; even then, he and Mother had not been close growing up. The six years between them, while not as many as the ones separating my uncle and father, made themselves known.
Their first day at Hogwarts must have been twice as scary as it had been for me, who, as Daddy had put it, had the luxury of close siblings and friends to stick close to.
Someone sighed, I couldn't tell who. The leather behind me rasped as their weight settled into the cushions.
"If she had accepted Slytherin she would have learnt how to be more discreet by now." Mother mused, her voice coming from right above me. I didn't dare breathe. "Though one good thing might come out of this mess if it leaks."
The sofa creaked and whined again as Daddy sat down, too. When he spoke, gone was the sharpness, replaced by a coaxing serenity I recognised.
"I know your doubts about Fabian—"
I knew them, too. Never did I think my mother would rejoice, would take the risk of my reputation being ruined so that the boyfriend she remained a little unsure about would walk out of my life. A pit grew in my stomach as I wondered if perhaps she was the reason the previous Hogwarts: a Gossip article about me had landed in the society column of The Prophet.
"Meredith is a sensitive girl, sweet." She tutted. "She doesn't need a warrior in her bed, she needs a nice man."
"Well, she's had one for quite a while now, Alexandrina." Father reminded her, tension once more running through his voice.
I never knew him to use my mother's full name, it was always Drina, or Lex, but the strangeness of such an act was overpowered by my mounting confusion. I always thought Mother didn't like Fabian because of his lesser financial status, now it sounded like it was something else entirely. Something that didn't make sense. Fabian wasn't even a full Auror yet. Even if he were, specialised investigator and law enforcer was a far cry from warrior. Alright, maybe not a far cry but it was not the same.
There was a stitch at the base of my spine but I didn't dare move, needing the conversation to continue.
"One who so happens to also be a nice man." The only response my father received was an unconvinced hum. He carried on, "you know Fabian's opinion on the matter, he doesn't want Meredith to be involved any more than you do."
Oh? Was that so? Involved in what, I wondered.
"And he does make her happy." Mother conceded.
"He does. It's a good union." His voice was slightly muffled. There was the hushed sound of movement. "If only we could find such a smart match for Cressida."
"Don't go moving your focus to your other daughter yet—" my mother scoffed, the suggestion exactly what her anger needed to be rekindled. "There's still Meredith's insistence on not choosing a career." Rather, not choosing the career she wanted. "Minerva approached me with the matter. I told her Merry would be a musician, she—very curtly I may add—informed me it was her impression that Merry had no such plans for all that she remained undecided."
Out of spite, I would remain undecided. Since everyone was so busy making decisions for me and keeping things secret.
"Well, you shot down her option pretty quick."
"What, like you weren't taken by surprise?"
"I didn't see it coming, I admit."
Seriously? How did they not see it coming? I supposed all my extracurriculars, my reading material, the little Magical puzzle boxes full of complex spells and Runic encryptions that needed to be carefully dispelled to reveal a prize… those were just passing fancy, like a house pet with a feeder toy.
"No child of mine will be a curse breaker during a war." Mother declared. "Especially not Meredith, she is much too soft. She won't take it."
"Albus did say she—"
"Albus was not referring to her top marks!" Her control slipped once more, so that she was strained and almost frail, a shaken counterpart to my father's rationale. I no longer knew what to think, no longer recognised these people. "The things I've done… things I've seen? It will only get worse. No—Merry does not have what it takes."
"She's stronger than you think." Father argued.
It was the wrong thing to say.
"Strong? Strong? She tried to—" Her voice cut off. She tried again, finding different words to say the same thing, the words floating in all three of our minds. "If it weren't for Black, she would be—I—my Merry—"
There came the rustling of clothes, a sharp breath that came out to fast, my father's voice once more muffled by what I imagined was my mother's shoulder, or her hair.
"Drina, I know."
I squeezed my eyes shut, fought the urge to cover my ears like a child. Shame coated me like a second skin. Another disappointment, another disgrace. For a moment, unbidden came the desire that I hadn't attempted what I did when Sirius was in the house. We'd been all alone, and I liked that he'd be the last person I spoke to. A moment of weakness that, had it gone ignored, could have prevented my parents' utter disillusionment of their mess of a daughter. Though I supposed those feelings would have still been there, I just wouldn't know it.
Horrified of my own thoughts, I shook my head, breathed in as deep as I dared in hiding. I did not mean that. Sure, sometimes, in the dead of night, I did wonder, worried that Sirius catching me meant my fears would come true, but I refused to believe it. Freyr was moving to the States. Addie wasn't a fighter, neither was I. We were fine and I did not mean any of that.
"Come, Lex." Father's voice was a raspy whisper. "We're fine."
"I'm sorry." My mother sniffled.
I'd never heard her cry, not even when her own mother died. This whole conversation—though hurtful to me—was private, a moment of vulnerability and openness I had no business witnessing.
"I know you are. Come on." The sofa creaked again. "How about we go sneak into the kitchens for old times' sake, huh? I bet Rox remembers me. Or we could always visit the attics for a good old snog, like in Seventh Year."
My mother's laugh was wet and soft, but she rose to her feet anyway. "You're impossible."
"You knew that when you said yes to me."
I risked a peek over the edge of the sofa. My father was already by the door, eyes puffy even behind his glasses, but bright and tender as he smiled at my mother, one hand outstretched toward her.
"And we're too old for snogging in secret." Mother continued like he hadn't said anything.
She still took his hand, tucked herself right into his side. From this angle, I was not able to glimpse her face, only the silky waterfall that was her hair.
"Never too old, sunburst—" the endearment was new to me, but not to them, not with how easy it slipped my father's lips, how my mother pressed even closer to him. He kissed her head, squeezed her hip. "Never too old."
They crossed the threshold together, not even separating when my mother reached over and closed the door. I kneeled there, too shocked, bewildered, aggrieved, too everything, to do anything but breathe.
My parents' plans to be believed, they would not return until much later. I shuddered to think it was for sporadic instances such as this that my mother kept the designated chamber above her office as a bedchamber rather than a workspace, or perhaps a personal library. Her office Floo was, after all, connected directly to the family home's receiving room.
Whatever consolation the knowledge that they would not be separating any time soon granted dimmed in the light of what I'd overheard. Of secret meetings and Headmaster Dumbledore's apparent opinions of me that were openly shared with Merlin-knew-how-many people, of Fabian's duplicity.
I could have de-spelled the mysterious letter, I had time and then some. Instead, I stormed toward the Tower, feeling very much like by doing so I was readying to conquer its Tarot counterpart. I would not be a pawn in this particular board game, not when I was already a willing one in so many others.
In the Common Room, I ignored the questioning glances thrown my way by my sister, who had joined James, who had joined Remus upon my departure. The brother of the boy I'd been accused of shagging in a dusty broom closet a week prior, I ignored, too. If Sirius Black wished to offer commentary on the whole situation, he could go ahead and request an appointment with the other half of the rumour. I was not interested.
"Merry, where did you go?" James jumped into the fray without pausing to question what the thunder I brought in could mean. "Why did you take the Cloak?"
Instead of throwing it his way as I planned, I folded the Cloak neatly over my arm, the bulk of it tucked into the crease of my elbow so it would not drag.
"Despite your attempts at monopolisation, James," I faced him. He faltered for a split breath, his bewilderment growing at the anger I could not hide. "Explanations are unnecessary. It's my heirloom, too."
I aimed for the stairs, overheard James's whispered warning of, shit, big words, and hoped Adelaide had been also cued into his silly theory that I only employed the use of several monosyllabic words in a row when angry. I wanted to be left alone, and James's theory was sound except for one tiny mistake: I did not use big words when angry, I used big words when enraged. The wrath burning through my blood was of unprecedented levels, a volcano poised to eradicate all life forms.
Six and a half hours later, in the milky blue of a typical early autumn Highland morning, my rage simmered into a faraway hum, present still but subdued, tamed into slumber. It threatened to awaken as I navigated the Great Hall and took a seat between Dorcas and Lily. Whispers and high-pitched giggles followed wherever I went, accompanied by poorly concealed staring and pointing.
It appeared Remus was right; the student body had believed everything that article said.
I ignored them as best as I could, and it helped that Lily and Dorcas had attached themselves to my hip the minute we stepped out of our dorm. Mary, too, was being more considerate than usual, opting to hover near and inform me the moment I pushed open the curtains around my bed that she was horrified someone had deigned to reveal such a secret and that it was no one's business who I trifled with, before asking which brother sported the better broom, if you catch my meaning, Mer, wink, wink. Such support had elicited an indignant scoff from Marlene, who had still been able to place her distaste aside and await my answer: if you're so curious, you ought to find out for yourself.
What had been meant as an acerbic comment to halt any others appeared to Marlene as confirmation, which was why she'd spent the entirety of breakfast up to this point sending me looks that alternated between impressed and annoyed. It gave me the strangest sensation, as if she and I had been going head-to-head in a competition I could not recall entering but was perhaps winning.
"Has anybody seen the salt?"
The question came from a First Year that had arrived tardy to breakfast and suffered the misfortune of being separated from his friends. He ducked his head into his shoulders as he stared at Mary with big wide eyes, lips tucked in like he wanted to swallow the words. His voice had been quiet, almost lost amongst the general chatter. What wasn't quiet, however, was what followed immediately after the word salt left his lips.
Pops, tiny at first but increasing in sound and intervals. Pop! Pop! Pop! From right in front of us, the crockery was popping, disappearing into gusts of white smoke only to reveal not a butter knife or a napkin ring but butterflies. Like a wave originating deep in the sea and spreading out to shore, the popping spread out through the table and the Hall. Dozens and dozens of butterflies fluttered about the tables, startling students into speechless awe as they flittered in a burst of colours, yellow, blue, pink, multicoloured.
The goblet by my plate turned into a monarch butterfly the size of my hand. The pepper shaker by Mary's elbow became a beautiful blue-and-black specimen I had never seen before. Dorcas was delighted; her laugh was a contagious tinkling bell, joined by others as they snapped out of their shock and began to enjoy the colourful wonder.
A wonder that was not meant to last.
As they had appeared, so they vanished: a puff of white smoke and a loud pop!. In their beautiful place, now what many considered a nightmare. Gasps and shrieks raised and echoed, some even screamed as the white puffs of smoke dissipated into miniature thestrals. Like the hydra of old, two tiny dark creatures borne out of one butterfly.
Dorcas was so startled by the abrupt change that she shrieked, a sound one would think twice before attributing to her. It was mostly swallowed by the pandemonium that had broken loose in the Great Hall, especially when Slytherin House thought the best way to get rid off them was to attack them, which only ended with the creatures retaliating. Miniature or not, a sharp fang remained a sharp fang.
Cautious, I outstretched a hand. The goblet turned monarch butterfly turned thestral pranced onto my palm, stretching its wings in a lazy move that could only be described as boastful.
The First Year who had uttered the fated words screamed as, mistaking my actions for a sign of general friendliness, the thestrals cantering and flying around our table began to near us in innocent curiosity. In a panic, he swatted one with the back of his hand like one would a gnat. The poor thing hurtled through the air until it was stopped by Mary's forehead.
"Ew! Get it off me!"
She slapped at her own forehead once, twice, until Lily reached across the table and grasped her wrist.
"It's not on you anymore," she said, her voice a calm soothing rhythm that could be found nowhere else in the entire Hall. Even the professors were having trouble deciding who to deal with first, the hysteric students or the thestrals that seemed to be multiplying. "Look, it's on the table."
Actually, it was on Dorcas' head, having sought refuge far from Mary, but she didn't need to know that. Why the insects had received a much warmer welcome escaped me. Beautiful as they may have been in their colourfulness and grace, butterflies were still fuzzy insects. Thestrals, I mused as I raised my hand to inspect the animal further, were beautiful in their own way.
Whoever had been responsible for this—and based on the hushed sniggering taking place to my right, I had a pretty good idea who the perpetrators were—could not see thestrals. The little creature in my hand with its dark long tail flicking at its flanks was a close copy, but the leathery wings were more like a dragon's than a bat's, the hide a smidge too thick, and there was the whisper of scales in certain stretches of its slate grey skin. An illustration had been used and imagination had filled in the blanks.
I was still stunned by the ingenuity. Staring at its mist white eyes, I was still delighted.
A particularly loud screech came from Hufflepuff and the flimsy composure my cousin and his friends had been hiding behind shattered. They broke into laughter, howling like the giggles came faster than they could replenish air. James grabbed Peter by the wrist so he could lift his hand and high five it.
"Are you responsible for this?" Lily demanded, swerving on her seat to face them.
Remus had the sense of mind to look somewhat abashed—a front, based on how equal parts mirth and mischief glittered in his eyes, but the rest of his face portrayed enough contrition for Lily to buy it. My cousin wasted no time pretending.
"Of course we are, lilypad," James said and stretched back as if there was a backrest he could oh-so-carelessly-but-aren't-I-cool recline against. "We're the marauders."
He teetered, leaning too far back, and Sirius had to shove a hand behind him to hold him up. James merely grinned and gave Lily a wink I assumed he hoped would look sexy but really just made him look like he was about to sneeze.
"You're a bunch of dorks, is what you are." I dangled a sliver of bacon in front of one of the thestrals, hoping to entice it away from Peter's sleeve. It worked. "This isn't a prank; it's adorable!"
James's grin expanded, shifted from vaunty to earnest. He elbowed Sirius on the side. The two of them looked so much like proud parents I held little doubt they'd been the ones behind the idea, tangling the other two into the execution.
"In what world is this adorable?" Marlene frowned. She kept eyeing every Thestral with caution, as if they were waiting for the right moment to attack. "They're horrifying."
Around us, the chaos was quieting. Professors Quickwater and Benanti had managed to wrangle most of the miniature creatures swarming Hufflepuff table, keeping them contained in hovering spheres made of pure light. Professor Slughorn was attempting to do the same in Slytherin Table, though the creatures there seemed much more violent and delayed his approach.
"How is this not a prank?" James's challenge was halved by the happy grin splitting his face in two. "It's disruptive, and other than you nobody finds thestrals adorable."
That wasn't true. I could think of one other person who liked thestrals as much as I did, or who at least had done so once. He was currently having his hair pulled on by three eager thestrals on the other side of the Hall, with a fourth one flapping its wings at his face.
"I disagree," Dorcas piped up, using her elbows to peer around me at James. "They're cute like ugly dogs are cute. But Mer is right, this is not your best work by far."
I looked at Sirius, wondering if the reason they'd chosen thestrals was so that he could subtly bully his brother with a facsimile of his favourite animal. There was no malice to his face, though, not a shadow of the anger that had been present when he'd fought with Regulus.
Sirius was having fun. It was plain in the spark in his eyes as he took in the Hall, the loud laugh that escaped him when Remus brought something he'd missed to his attention—like Professor Flitwick sprinting away from a small herd of thestrals as fast as his little legs could carry him—the bright energy that surrounded him.
"They're beautiful." My voice was no louder than the susurrus of springtime breeze.
I wasn't sure I was referring to the thestrals. Or, maybe, only to the thestrals. Sirius turned to me, and for a heartbeat I worried he knew.
"Not our best work?" James repeated, aghast.
"Frankly, below average."
I felt Dorcas shrug beside me but didn't turn, nor did I rejoin the conversation. My cheeks ached; I'd been smiling, like a fool, toothy and happy. I was smiling still.
"Can I keep them?" I asked, at the same time Lily chastised:
"Dorcas, don't encourage them."
I barely heard her. James's offended like you could do better was a faraway sound. Time stood still. Sirius was still looking at me, his gaze a living thing I could feel nuzzling my skin. And the smile on his face, it was the smile of a friend. I struggled to think.
"No." Sirius answered me. The exuberant joy about him gentled, so that the word didn't hurt. "After ten more minutes they'll go back to their original form."
Shame, that. I looked at the dozen or so thestrals milling about our slab of table, curiously nosing at the remaining cutlery, attempting to do the same to my friends before they were spooked by their immediate rebuff.
"—only one who can trick people, James," Dorcas was saying.
She'd noticed the Thestral resting atop her head and was currently cradling it between her palms, letting it use the space between her thumbs as a rudimentary version of a liverpool. The copies on our table appeared to be a lot more docile than the rest, more similar to what I was used to from dealing with the real animal than what a large part of Wizarding society assumed based on what they looked like.
"Next joke." James snorted. "None of you girls could do anything close to what we do with minimum effort."
I looked away from Slytherin table where five thestrals were scratching and pecking at Rosier's face like a murder of vengeful crows—a few students' away on opposite directions, Yaxley and Snape weren't doing much better—and began paying attention.
At some point, the argument had escalated to include everyone. Well, it was more like the girls were ganging up on James—Remus and Peter were still giggling, watching the scene unfold and evolve—and I was too distracted to realise I was included. The look on James's face was a challenge I was familiar with.
Back ramrod straight, Marlene sniffed. "I think we could, actually, James."
The four boys shared a look before bursting into laughter, uproarious and uncontrollable. It was frankly offensive. Mary gaped at them in disbelief. Dorcas glared. Even Lily, who cared little for practical jokes just for the sake of practical jokes, crossed her arms and gave them the stare-down.
Eventually—and truly it was a while, the thestrals had begun to pop back into butterflies—Lily grabbed her satchel and hurled it at James over the table. Her aim was true; my cousin toppled over the bench. Dorcas and I laughed, especially at the noise that escaped him as he fell, and Sirius was able to seize his laughter down to quiet chuckles long enough to remember they weren't alone in their dorm having a fun little sleepover. We were still there, expectant.
"It pains me to break it to you, beautiful, but removing all the nice flavours from our Bertie Bott's isn't really a prank." Sirius spoke slow, carefully enunciated words as if Marlene did not speak the same language. Then, he added insult to injury by winking at her.
I may have choked. Had he really called Marlene beautiful, in front of everyone? She was, of course, and had the annoying habit of always looking like she just stepped out of a magazine but also it took absolutely no effort, you know? just a little powder here and there, oh, my hair? No, I just detangle it and let it dry.
There was a dull, as if everyone else had found the compliment unexpected but no real cause for alarm. Meanwhile, the word had rearranged my thought processes into a murky soup. Marlene, who had already been a little pink from being laughed at, was flushed a red so bright it was scarlet. She looked like she couldn't decide between pleased and annoyed.
"Well—" she finally managed a word out. "Your real prank's about to land you in the doghouse."
Always a paragon for synchronicity when spectacle was involved, we turned our attention at once to Ravenclaw's table, where Regina sat amongst a group of girls. Her companions would startle each time a nearby Thestral popped back into a butterfly, but she batted not a single eyelash, choosing instead to glower across space, her gaze as true as an arrowhead on Sirius's back. She exuded lethal tension, her entire aura one large signage for DANGER DO NOT APPROACH. I was surprised smoke wasn't coming out of her ears. If looks could kill…
"Uh… yeah." Sirius turned back around, tucked his head between his shoulders. "That's not because of the prank. Fuck. Is she still glaring?"
We looked her way again. Regina's eyes narrowed into slits.
Remus nodded. "Yep."
Ducking out of the way of a butterfly turned fork mid-air, Lily rolled her eyes with her whole head. "Let me guess, you broke up with her and were completely insensitive about it."
"Uh, no." Sirius made a face at her.
We stared at him, unconvinced. I couldn't help the dubious tilt of an eyebrow. Sirius averted his gaze, uncharacteristically abashed.
"She broke up with him!" Peter blurted out.
Such a reveal produced a tenser silence than Sirius calling Marlene beautiful. Longer, too. Peter adored the sudden attention.
"Because he called her the wrong name, twice." He wheezed out a laugh.
His meaty hand slapped against the polished table, completely ignoring the elbow Remus kept aiming at his ribs.
"Once while she was giving him head!"
Again, absolute paragon of synchronicity when confronted with spectacle and scandal, we looked as one to Sirius, though our movements were slowed by shock and disbelief this time around. Next to James' empty seat, Mary slapped her mouth with a firm hand; the giggles still carried through. Marlene leaned toward Peter in so severe a stretch she may as well have been sprawled across the table. Her eyes were wide as anything, open mouth quivering.
"What the fuck, Pete?!" Sirius growled. His hands tightened into fists. "I told you that in confidence!"
Yeah, well, don't be doing that again.
"Sorry!" Peter squeaked.
James, who had opted to make himself comfortable on the floor, hastened to his feet, tripping on his robes in the process and catching himself on Sirius's robes. He attempted to shrug him off, but James held fast.
"Come on, mate." He tugged on the back of Sirius's robes, who looked two breaths away from vaulting over the table and twisting Peter's neck. "He didn't mean to."
It did seem very unlike Peter, to blurt such a secret for us all to hear. Sirius cared very little whether it was an accident.
"You're dead."
He pointed one finger at Peter, steady and threatening. Peter flinched like Sirius had levelled his wand at his chest with his mouth poised for an Avada.
"What'd you say we get out of here, huh?"
James did not wait for an answer. He hauled Sirius to his feet, shoving him ahead of him as they walked towards the doors. Over his shoulder, hazel eyes found Remus, communicating a message not meant for us.
Around us, a new type of chaos had erupted as the butterflies popped back into the items they'd originally been with no consideration for their current location. It resulted in many a student having to dodge knives falling business end down, or heavy bronze goblets. Dorcas's napkin ring bounced off the First Year's head before landing atop her plate with a clonk. Poor kid should have skipped breakfast.
"Oh. My. god," Lily said.
It set us all off.
"What?" Mary, between giggles. "I mean—what?"
"Peter…" Remus' weary sigh.
"I can't fucking believe this." Dorcas, with her fingertips pressed to her brow in abject horror. "I'd change schools."
"Whose name?" Marlene beseeched Peter with an outstretched hand. "Come now, Pete, give us a name."
Regina definitely knew we were talking about her. Her glare intensified; her cheeks coloured. My heart went out to her. She'd been so eager, so earnest in her affections. We may have been taking the mickey out of Sirius, but she had no way of knowing that. For all she knew we were talking shit about her.
"Oh, w-well," Peter stuttered, unable to break from Marlene's relentless stare. "It was, uh—"
"Oi!" I shoved Marlene back into her seat and glared at Peter with fervour strong enough to rival Regina's wrath. "Sirius may not have hexed you, but I will."
He swallowed. His beady eyes grew glassy.
"Like you're not curious yourself," Mary said.
Her face held a different question. One that stupid Hogwarts: a Gossip article had helped conceive, no doubt.
"Not my business, how Sirius chooses to rat out his own infidelities, is it?"
I rose to my feet, dismissing both comment and silent question in one. To Peter, I granted a frosty look. He looked like he'd start weeping any moment.
Dorcas and Lily fell into step beside me. Breakfast was nearly over, and it was a bit of a walk to classroom 1B.
"Well, I'm dead curious." Marlene's excitement had been stoked by Mary's own curiosity. "Tell us, Pete!"
Neither Lily nor me turned around, but we did share a glance, and then an amused smile at Dorcas's quiet so embarrassing, I'd die. It was terribly embarrassing, but it was also kind of funny, too, drenched in irony as the situation was.
Still, I looked at Better-Meredith Regina, shifted my perspective to reveal the longer list of attributes she shared with someone else rather than me, thought of that throw-away beautiful, the dynamic changes in our group, and felt as though someone had swapped the book I'd been reading for a different title. One which story I would dislike.
reviews:
OryxGreen: Thank you! I'm glad you liked chap 9. I want to make an effort to show that Meredith does have other friends who may not necessarily be as close as her main 4 but still people she can trust (like Nemesia and Damocles in Slytherin, or Alice soon-to-be-Longbottom). Her argument with Sirius during potions was painful to write, there was a lot of heart there and a lot of regret too. I'm glad you liked the divination class! I really enjoyed writing it too. I definitely won't be abandoning this story, I really like it and it's so nice to delve into. I might not update as frequently as I want, specially when RL gets in the way or I hit a wall, but I'll keep writing. Thanks for the support!
xls: yeah, you do end up feeling bad for him, don't you? He's got lots to atone for, but I like a redemption arc where the MMC actually apologises and tries to change, so we'll see something like that for Sirius. Hope you keep reading!
Eennio: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. He's a conflicted kid, but he's starting to see he was wrong and wants to do better, which is important. Hope you like this chapter too!
annik92: have no idea if you'll ever see this, but thanks for your review. I'm glad you're intrigued with the story and hope you stick with it. As for you comment about identical twins, I actually know this! Freyr and Addie are actually based on my real life cousins who are boygirl twins and look so similar they're almost identical. Of course they can't be because Genetics and Biology as you've pointed out. I used 'identical' because I don't think a 16-year-old girl in the wizarding world would know the difference between dizygotic and monozygotic twins and would simply use the term in the layman's sense. Also, this is fanfiction and I don't think it makes a massive difference whether the reader knows about the complexities of twin zygosity. I guess we could argue Magic may influence twin zygosity in different ways that non-Magic folk aren't familiar with, too! Anyways, hope you still like the story and continue reading x
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favourited in the last month! Please leave a review and let me know how you're liking the story or any thoughts you may have. I'll see you soon! xx