A/N: Here's a new chapter! It's not edited at all but I realised I'm going on holiday tomorrow and I won't be back until august so there's likely not going to be an update until then and I didn't want to leave you waiting 2 months for a chapter. I'll try to write but I can't promise anything as I usually like to just do touristy things or starfish by the sea.

Thank you to Eennio for being the only reviewer last chapter; I'm glad you liked it!

I hope people are still maybe liking this story.

ALL THE THREADS OF FATE

PART I

CRUEL SUMMER

X.

Where Professor McGonagall's office was a welcome sight, a safe space, Headmaster's Dumbledore hidden office was the wolf's mouth. Its many artefacts were the teeth, its tall, vaulted ceiling and decorated, grey walls, the cheeks. The plush leather wingbacks in front of the desk were the tongue, large, warm, and slick. And I was sitting on one. Willingly. With my heart in my throat and my stomach in knots, fearing one wrong move would show my hand.

The many portraits littering the walls offered scant comfort, for all that most of those capable of speech granted me a polite greeting and attempted conversation. Worse still was the phoenix's steady gaze on me from the moment the door had shut behind me.

I had only been here a few times before; suffice it to say I would not be returning once this whole Restricted Section matter was done and dusted. How anyone could be at home in such a place, with the air heavy and every corner so imbued with magic and presence it was as if the walls were breathing alongside me, was a mystery I would be happy to not pursue. Remus was out of his mind, labelling such an environment 'cool'.

The phoenix made a sound, a crooning mix between a trill and a squawk. I looked at it just in time to see it hop along its perch, closer than I was comfortable with. It tilted its head to one side and the other; I worried it could smell my wariness.

"It is not everyday that Fawkes is so taken with a visitor." The words, coming from above, echoed in the silent office. I did not jump, a feat I was proud of; Headmaster Dumbledore's mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. "He likes you. You should be pleased, he's an excellent judge of character."

He descended from the mezzanine in slow, deliberate steps. Deliberate, but not calculated. There was simply no need to rush, no franticness to even the smallest of movements. In his calmness, Headmaster Dumbledore appeared all the more powerful.

"As is his master, no doubt." I replied. The headmaster lowered himself on the highbacked chair at his desk; only then did I return to my seat. "Good afternoon, Headmaster."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, and soon the atmosphere turned awkward. Fawkes trilled again; I resisted the urge to look at him. The headmaster had surely noticed my discomfort, and if I was about to be accused of wrongdoing—some of which I was very much responsible for—I would not reveal another weakness.

"Professor McGonagall informed me your interview with her went well."

A wave of Dumbledore's long, pale wand summoned a tea tray between us. A plate of jammy dodgers sat in the centre, flanked by two cups of steaming earl grey and a saucer with fresh lemon wedges.

"About how I expected," I said only because courtesy demanded I spoke next, carrying the conversation along.

That was a lie. My interview with McGonagall had gone how I'd meticulously planned. Professor McGonagall was one of my favourite professors, though, and the whole time I'd toyed with the very real possibility that one too trusty or proud look from her would have me unravel and confess that I had indeed been out of bed after curfew, and Encyclopaedia Magicka had, how funny you should mention it, very much been ruined by my own hand.

I'd walked out of her office sure of her conviction in my performance, assured I'd been absolved of any suspicion—until Vaughn had caught up to me after Charms today, slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand, and informed me the headmaster wished to see me during my study session. The paper had contained two words, lemon posset.

Said headmaster now hummed in amused contemplation.

He reached for a lemon wedge and squeezed it over a cup of tea, claiming it as his own. Then, he proceeded to dunk a jammy dodger into the tea, popping the dripping biscuit whole into his mouth like the eccentric, funny old man he worked hard to have everyone believe he was. As if he weren't one of the most powerful wizards in the world. As if he weren't a recipient of the Order of Merlin. As if he weren't the head and founder of a secret society supposedly leading opposition, though based on my uncle's hush-hush travels this summer and the conversation I eavesdropped between my parents, all they seemed to do was go to bigged up gatherings and not much else. I supposed fighting the good fight became a tad difficult when your adversary had gone silent for months.

But had he? Or had they merely adopted a more tactical approach, infiltrating rather than loud attacks? They didn't seem the type, but I knew very little about Voldemort and his Death Eaters. My mother's words, what she'd supposedly done, and Fabian's trip to Dublin which now I didn't trust had to do with his training, suggested something was going on. Not to mention what I'd Seen of Emilia's father.

There was also the possibility, of course, that I'd misunderstood, and my parents' conversation was unrelated to the secret opposition. Hell, even my uncle's trips could be related to something entirely different—he was a famed potioneer after all, he might just be working to keep a new potion secret from competitors. They'd never spoken of the clandestine group; James and I had assumed because it sounded fantastical and worthy.

Even as my thoughts twisted and folded in the labyrinthine dance they'd begun Monday night, I knew I was only trying to convince myself, to make myself feel better. Chances were that my family—perhaps Fabian, too—were part of something big, secret, and dangerous.

And it was all rumoured to be orchestrated by the man in front of me, picking crumbs out of his silvery beard. It made more sense than his decision to teach after defeating a dark wizard. It was honourable. If only it didn't demand my loved ones lie.

Some of my disdain must have slipped through my unbothered façade, for Dumbledore, upon looking away from his beard, asked:

"Are you vexed with me, Meredith?"

"No, sir." I shook my head, the picture of harmless. "More confused than anything. I was under the impression Professor McGonagall had determined I was innocent of any wrongdoing."

"You are, indeed."

The way his eyes glinted at me from above those half-moon glasses halved whatever degree of security his words had aimed to provide. It was like being stripped to the bare bones, being subjected to that gaze.

"Why am I here, then, sir?" I asked, applying myself to act normal.

If he was dubious of McGonagall's assessment, I would not fall prey to his omniscient, penetrating gaze and reveal my guilt.

Said omniscient, penetrating gaze remained on mine for a beat longer, before Dumbledore's features softened into tender amusement, the kind shepherds might reserve for an unruly yet amusing lamb. It was a look Professor McGonagall had oft directed at Jamie and his friends.

"We do not have the chance to converse often, you and I." He observed. "Not outside of Thursdays."

"You could always make Ancient Studies a biweekly lesson, sir."

Dumbledore laughed. It was a soft, reserved sound, but it counted. My anxiety eased. We did not talk often, that was true, so I barely knew Professor Dumbledore; I doubted he'd be this nice if he was about to suspend me for school property damage and assault of a student with intent to harm.

"There is, I suppose, a free slot in my schedule. There doesn't seem to be much interest in alchemy these past few years."

I hummed and reached for the remaining teacup. The lemon juice trickled into the tea, making light rivulets in the dark. I slid the squeezed lemon beside the fresh wedges on the saucer, the movement slow and careful in my attempt to emulate Dumbledore's cordial air.

"You know," I started, accepting a biscuit from the plate he extended. "My boyfriend took alchemy in his Seventh. He says he enjoyed the challenge."

After nabbing a biscuit for himself, Dumbledore returned the plate to the tray. "Your boyfriend?"

"Fabian Prewett."

He did not pretend to think about who that may be, leafing through a mental catalogue of the many children who had called these halls home in his tenure. Instead, Dumbledore's face lit up immediately, affable as if Fabian had just popped in to say a quick hello.

"Ah, Mr Prewett! Yes, I remember him, indeed. Yes, very fondly." His tone and eyes turned inward, reminiscing moments he would not share. "And his brother Gideon, too, of course. His sister's married now, isn't she? To one Mr Weasley?"

It was difficult not to deflate in disappointment. Professor Dumbledore hadn't even paused, and he'd already moved the conversation along by introducing a different, yet related topic.

"She has two children." I confirmed.

"Two children already? And it seems only yesterday that she and Mr Weasley left the castle."

That I might be able to do something with.

"Do you owl Gideon often, Professor? And Fabian?"

This time, Professor Dumbledore did pause. It was a blink-and-gone glitch, I caught it only because I'd been observing him so closely. His hand stuttered on its way to his mouth, half-bitten jammy dodger crumbling shortbread onto his beard and lap. Again, that steady, omniscient gaze over half-moon glasses.

I busied myself with my tea, getting the impression I was being assessed on an exam I came unprepared for.

"Why would I owl Fabian and Gideon, Miss Potter-Greengrass?"

I made a show of swallowing an overlarge sip, dabbed at my mouth with the corner of a paper napkin. It was Puddlemere United themed.

"No reason in particular, Headmaster." Many reasons. "Professor Slughorn keeps in touch with all his favourite students. You sounded quite fond of them, that's all."

He smiled again, almost self-effacing.

"Ah, well, I never claimed to possess the gregariousness our dear Horace does."

I laughed. "He's quite convivial, isn't he? I adore his Monday evenings!"

A half-truth, but a safe detour from that brief faux pas.

Conversation flowed. I returned to Meredith, and he was once again Professor, or sir. We spoke the length of three cups of tea and until there was nothing but stray crumbs and sticky smears of raspberry jam on the plate. Three lemon wedges remained. Fawkes even joined us at the desk, looking from one to the other as if he could understand us.

My curiosity remained a budding flame, one disputable word or other stoked my resentment, but I dared not hint at the subject again. Professor Dumbledore appeared to genuinely enjoy my company, and I was glad for the catch up. When we did speak of school, it was inobtrusive, and I found myself being more honest than I would have been with another professor.

There was only one moment that I found a little odd. It happened just as I finished my second cup of tea, expertly paced so I'd be done at the same time he was. While pouring me another cup, Professor Dumbledore, as if just searching for a new avenue of conversation, commented:

"You're quite the well-liked girl, Meredith."

I was so shocked by the compliment—with all that had happened lately, I didn't feel well-liked—all I managed was to blurt out:

"Pardon?"

Dumbledore looked as surprised as I felt. His eyebrows tweaked upwards.

"You have lots of friends," he pointed out as if it were obvious. "In and outside your House."

I thought of Alice and Emilia in Ravenclaw, of Damocles, Vaughn, and Nemesia in Slytherin to name a few, and realised he was right. I had more friends around Hogwarts than I did enemies; why, then, had I felt so alone as of late?

"Yes, I do." I agreed with only a slight tremor to betray me. "Except for Hufflepuff, really. Unless you count Longbottom, but he's more my brother's friend than mine."

"Why do you think that is?"

I shrugged. "Probably because I don't care for house rivalry as much as some of my friends."

That tender yet amused smile returned, accompanied by a quasi-solemn nod. "Mr Potter."

I laughed. Professor Dumbledore switched subjects again as if the last thirty-seconds hadn't occurred, keeping me from posing my own questions. It was strange, mostly because it was so arbitrary, insignificant. If my having friends in Ravenclaw and Slytherin was of such import, why, then, drop that line of enquiry as suddenly as it was brought up?

New conversation kept me distracted enough that it escaped my mind, and I was saying goodbye before I remembered. Hand poised on the doorknob, I turned with every intention of asking about it. Professor Dumbledore spoke before I could.

"Ah, Meredith, before you go." He'd Vanished the tea tray, and sat at his desk with Fawkes perched on one wrist while his other hand stroke the colourful feathers. "I very much enjoyed your essay on the Keeper's Ardour. You explored quite the interesting avenues, ones showing an impressive comprehension of the Ancient Ways, not just Ancient Runes. I was so pleased with the written work, that I tried your particular runic arrangement."

Dread filled me. That particular piece of research had been interrupted by three Slytherins up to no good, a tumble down a darkened passage, and that tense meeting in Professor McGonagall's office. Not to mention my cold, cycle, and argument with Sirius. I'd worked hard on it, of course, striving to be the best I could possibly be, but I'd handed it in without time to test it, and had harboured little hope that my runic arrangement would work. Like Dumbledore had said, I'd chosen an arrangement no scholar had done before.

I managed a weak, "you did?"

He looked away from Fawkes. His eyes were glinting. "It worked."

My jaw must have hit the floor. Unwilling, I let out a sound between a gasp and a squeal, throwing my hand to my face with such lack of grace I slapped my nose.

"It did?"

Professor Dumbledore laughed, almost as delighted as I was. Fawkes, in all the excitement, let out a little trill of musical notes.

"So well, I have sent copies to a few old friends of mine. Professor Agassiz, the editor in chief for Les Perspectives de l'anthropologie Sorcier Historique, perhaps you've heard of it." Of course I had; it was only one of the leading journals of European Magical anthropology. "And Mr Fretheim runs a scholarly journal in Norway with a focus on historical research. With some luck, you may be a published scholar before you even take your N.E.W.T.S."

I was lightheaded. This was such an honour.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. Truly, I am grateful for the opportunity."

"You did all the work, Meredith." He reminded me.

Perhaps, but he was definitely responsible for such important gentlemen even knowing my name. Maybe there was a way to turn this lovely evening into a monthly thing, see what else Professor Dumbledore could offer.

I skipped down the hidden staircase with such light steps I might have been flying. I wanted to laugh and twirl and squeal. This was a step in the right direction. Things were looking up.

Dinner was a delightful affair that evening. Nestled between Dorcas and James, I took my time enjoying a slice of pumpkin goat cheese quiche and a side of ratatouille. Idle chatter flowed between Lily, Dorcas, and I, with James jumping in every so often with whatever comment he thought pertinent, or whenever he started to feel like he wasn't getting enough attention. The only downside to the evening was that Marlene and Sirius were sat directly across from me, an unfortunate development I was working hard to ignore.

Marlene and I were, once again, on the outs. Though really, I wasn't certain we'd ever stopped. I was pretty certain she was the reason people had found out about Dorcas's nightmare. She'd sat up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder, sobbing for her parents. People had been teasing her relentlessly about it, calling out for mummy and daddy in mock cries whenever they saw her. Lily wouldn't have said anything, neither would I, that only left two options, and considering how Dorcas and Marlene had never gotten along, Mary was a less likely candidate, too. Marlene hadn't taken the accusation well, yet she'd deflected and avoided, never actually denied.

So, I was done with her, but I was also not about to let that ruin a perfectly good day. I had figured out a mystery wizardkind had been researching for centuries, nothing would bring me down from that high.

"Splendid weather we've been having, innit." Sirius announced out of the blue. The words were halted and awkward, a smidge louder than necessary. "Sort of—temperate. Though it'll storm soon."

Though conversation continued around the Great Hall, the tin and din of students and faculty alike decompressing after a long day ebbed and flowed through the domed room, the space around us quietened so that the faint faraway thunder could be heard. Lily stopped talking mid-sentence, and Peter's mushy peas splatted on the table as he paused with the fork halfway to his mouth.

"I… suppose."

My disbelief turned the reply, unsure as it had already begun, into a question. Sirius blinked at me. For some reason, he himself appeared bewildered, as if it hadn't been him who'd offered the bizarre observation in the first place.

"Innit?" Lily repeated. "Since when do you—?"

"I dunno."

Sirius coloured. I could barely believe my eyes. It wasn't the light pink he sometimes could not hide, but maroon. He could blend in with his Gryffindor scarf. James was staring at him like this was some stranger under Polyjuice and not his best mate.

It certainly appeared that way. Even since the butterfly Thestral prank, Sirius had behaved… off. Not out of character exactly, but not his usual self either. Each time he spoke during dinner, it sounded off kilter, rehearsed and almost nervous. Always a little too loud, like his intention was for all of us to tune into the conversation even if we weren't an active participant.

And what conversations they were, varying from one spectrum to the other. Funny one time, puzzling the next, or terribly interesting.

Some overlong, overdramatic retelling of some heroic Quidditch move some former seeker had performed against whatever team, securing the win for whichever other team. The muggle science of chemistry. How he'd heard the set for the Sphynx's world tour was sick as all hell, and even hellish too, since it apparently included gargoyles and harpies. Some article he'd found in a 1912 issue of The Linguist's Cove about how a mistranslation from Sanskrit to our more familiar Runes had resulted in the warped use of many a powerful spell, twisting charms into curses, and macabre hexes into mundane spells. That was a monologue I'd desperately wanted to interrupt with questions, and could he be so kind as to direct me to the issue itself? but I abstained, because I'd declared to the world that I hated him, so I couldn't very well engage in conversation in earnest. It wasn't very like him, either, waxing poetic about academia, for all that he was clever.

And now this about the weather. With such uncharacteristic words, too, splendid, innit. That was First Year Sirius, distancing himself from his family and upbringing by adopting words not often found in the vernacular of one of his standing. It made even less sense when considering that outside of meals he behaved completely normal.

Beside him, Marlene giggled, perched her chin on her hand, and gazed at Sirius from beneath heavy lashes. It eased his embarrassment some, though his ears remained pink. Whatever embarrassment remained vanished when her other hand draped over his forearm in one smooth yet deliberate arch. His mouth stretched into that sideswept smirk I loathed.

The whole scene was revolting. And disconcerting. And, really, couldn't she give it a bloody rest?

Apparently, she could. Just as easily as Marlene had begun the flirtation, she removed her hand from Sirius's arm and sidled closer to Lily, returning to her meal without so much as a last glance towards Sirius. His mouth opened and closed before he looked at James for help, and then Remus when James was unable to provide an answer.

Remus hadn't even been paying attention, enraptured as he was by Mary, who had sat beside him. No matter, for an answer came soon enough. Precisely twenty seconds later.

A little twinkle began, like a small tinny bell. It was slow, at first, and then faster until it became frantic, almost one continuous ping. As it stopped, the food platters and plates exploded into goopy slime, bursting like lava out of a volcano and descending just as rapidly.

In a panic, I flicked my wand, erecting a simple shield to deflect the goo. It turned out, I needn't have bothered. Though it appeared arbitrary, in reality it had been controlled with a great deal of care. Only four individuals had been affected. The very same four individuals who had claimed, a mere few days' past, that us girls could never prank them.

Before they could even react, colourful bouts of confetti burst forth from goblets and pitchers, trickling down and sticking to the goop, covering them like snow.

Remus wiped the green slime from his eyes, having to pick at tiny bits of confetti before it was safe enough to open them. James sputtered, blowing his nose and sending rivulets of confetti flying across the table. Peter gagged, somehow having gotten some of the concoction in his mouth. Sirius looked like a wet rat that had crawled its way through a child's art project.

I laughed and laughed, setting off Dorcas and Lily, too. Though it wasn't the most ingenious of pranks, nothing compared to the marvel the thestrals had been, the four of them looked ridiculous.

"Merry!" James huffed. "Did you do this?"

"No!" I laughed, which probably made me look guiltier.

My giggles turned to a screech as he pivoted in place and grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me into him. The slime was cold against his school robes—an unsettling sensation, since I believed for some reason it ought to be warm—with a pungent herbal scent, and the confetti was rough against my face.

"Blagh—I had nothing to do with—ugh, don't!" I struggled against him. James laughed as he nuzzled the top of my head, getting the goop all over my hair. "Jaay-meee, it was Marlene!"

I freed one arm to point at her, the only one of us who hadn't laughed, yet sat vibrating with contained energy. Her face dropped as she slapped a hand against the table.

"Meredith!"

Remus chortled, reaching for a napkin with which to wipe his face.

"It was fairly obvious, Mar." He told her with an easy smile. "Is that the best you can do?"

Lily scoffed, lifting her chin at the challenge.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

James looked as if the dark skies had parted to reveal Morgaina herself. With the way he was staring at Lily, all wide-eyed and lips parted in awe, you would think she'd told him exactly how to win the Quidditch Cup rather than pulled a joke on him. Though I supposed the two things weighted about the same to him.

"I'm disappointed," Remus continued. "I was expecting a little more… flair."

He shook his head in a slow motion, looking down at the table like he couldn't stand the sight of them. It made for a very convincing picture.

"We planned it very carefully." Marlene complained. "It was brilliant!"

"You lot do look hilarious." Dorcas pointed out, somewhat reluctant to give Marlene any credit.

My eyes fell on Sirius again. He was failing to pick the tiny bits of confetti out of his hair, which was plastered to his face and neck, all of him covered in a thick film of lime green slime, flopping in glops each time he flicked at it only to bounce back to where it came. One of them smacked him right on the nose before sliding into his mouth. He gagged. It set me off again.

"Alright, Mer," Marlene said, top lip curled in distaste. "It wasn't that funny."

I ignored her.

"Look at him—" I snorted, trying and failing to find an end to the laughter. "Oh, Merlin, he looks like a wet rat!"

James laughed, too, flicking goop at his best friend. Sirius batted it away, wiping his face with the same hand and only managing to spread it around.

"Or a—a stray—" James gasped. "—a stray dog caught in—in a—in a clown's gutters!"

I didn't quite get the joke, and neither did the girls, but it sent Peter and Remus into wild laughter, incandescent and irrepressible as James'. Sirius rolled his eyes with his whole body, but his mouth was twitching. When he caught me watching, however, his expression turned into a glare. It sobered me off, returned me to reality.

"You're funny, you are." He made a face at me. I pulled one right back. "And you, traitor," he squinted at Marlene. "You don't know what you've started."

She snorted.

"Ooh, I'm trembling."

She should have been.

The next morning, we woke up to find all of our stuff, as well as every piece of furniture in our dorm was levitating. Wardrobes, trunks, my glasses, books, a forgotten sock, even our beds—with us still in them, mind, which was an energising way to wake up, ever so fun—were eight feet off the ground and floating aimlessly like a leaf caught in a river. Poor Fox was trapped in a constant loop of going arse over tit.

Marlene sulked the entire twenty minutes it took all five of us girls to come up with the counter to the jinx, because of bloody course they didn't use a simple levitating spell.

Lily focused on the more pressing concern of how exactly four boys had managed to reach our room, when the girls' staircase didn't grant those of the male species access. In her haste to find out, she grew forgetful and slipped out of bed before we could finite the spell. Therefore, she, too, became trapped in a constant loop of going arse over tit. Almost poetic, it was, both her and her cat performing synchronised acrobatics against their will at seven thirty in the morning. She spent the entirety of her routine swearing vengeance, while sweet Fox only emitted the occasional confused meow.

Dorcas and I were the only ones delighted. Sure, it was annoying, and irritating—especially after we'd tried seven of the many variants of finite-related spells and none were the right one—but after the initial shock wore off, I could admit it was a little funny, harmless.

Mary, who was terrified of heights, disagreed with all her heart. She also swore vengeance.

And so, the war began.

I was a reluctant participant for obvious reasons, and contented myself with suggesting ideas subtly enough that Lily or Dorcas could say were their own. So when the girls transfigured the boys' school shoes into geese that honked with every step, and their robes into hot pink balloon suits, sealing it all in place with a well-aimed sticking jinx, I claimed no ownership and merely joined the other spectators, happy to watch.

The boys assumed I was involved, anyway.

The next day, during Defense, one of the few classes all nine of us shared, my mother's theory lecture was interrupted by the sound of thunder. The whole room lit up white. When the brilliance and the sound had faded, light splattering echoed, like the first few raindrops against tree leaves. But it was not water that rained, but black ink. And it wasn't over the whole room, but only atop us five girls. Dark clouds formed and hovered over us. It wasn't long before we were complete soaked, the ink slippery and cold.

My notes were quickly being obscured by dark splotches, and little puddles of ink were forming on my school satchel. Not to mention my hair. My lovely, shiny hair that I had spent 45 minutes this morning styling in bouncing waves, carefully creamed, moussed, and gelled to look natural and effortless.

"I'm going to skin them alive."

Beside me, Dorcas glowered. "Not if I get to them first."

"Get in line." Lily replied, though her glare was more strongly directed at James than the other three laughing boys.

Only two rows behind, they definitely heard us, yet remained completely undeterred. I supposed our threats were less effective when we had to blink ink out of our eyes. It also helped that the whole class was in absolute stitches.

Mary was too busy pushing her notes out of the danger zone to seek revenge just yet. Marlene had the bad luck of catching my mother's eye first, therefore she was unable to do anything but sit there while Mum tried to counter the jinx and order everyone to quit rioting and return to your seats.

"Oh, Flower, you look—" Remus chortled. "—terribly under the weather—" that made Peter laugh so hard he choked. "Perhaps, you should sit down?"

Sirius' mouth was crooked in a smug smirk. "I told you it would storm, Starlight."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're funny, you are."

Lily was satisfied with shouting profanities and colourful insults at James, who looked more preoccupied with Lily's full attention being on him than any of the nasty ways she promised she would get back at him.

I thought this required a little more than mere words.

Dorcas lifted her wand at the same time I did. Her jinx smacked Peter right in the mouth. Every feature of his enlarged, elongated, expanded until he resembled a caricature of himself.

"Ah, help me!"

Peter's voice was a squeaky sound.

"Absolutely not!" My mother ordered, voice getting louder as she reached us. "We do not answer—"

I flicked and swished my wand, sending one spell James's way and the other Sirius's.

"—violence with violence—"

It was not a slow change, as with Peter. One second James and Sirius were laughing, and the next, they were simply no longer there. In their place sat one brown and grey chinchilla, and a black al-mi'raj, its horn pearlescent silver in the candlelight. Lily stopped mid-sentence, jaw slackened as she started at the chinchilla that had become my cousin.

"Do not think about it, Miss Meadowes." Mother snatched Dorcas's wand out of her hand before she could fully aim it at Remus. "I am disappointed. In both of you."

She levelled me with a look, palm outstretched to receive my wand.

"I turned them into animals," I said. "That's not violence."

"Your intentions weren't any better than theirs."

Mother took my wand, her tone as frosty as ice, before she faced my friends. She returned Peter back to normal without issue; he slumped against Remus and stared at Dorcas with both fear and contempt.

A swoop of her wand later, James and Sirius went back to their original forms. I couldn't help the twinge of disappointment at how easy she countered my spells, like it was nothing but a handkerchief she'd lifted to reveal them.

Sprawled on the desk upside down, James gaped at me. His glasses rested on his forehead rather than his nose, and it would have been funny had it not still been raining ink on me.

"You turned me into a mouse." He frowned. "Everything was so big. Blimey, I'm glad I'm not a rat."

"Hey!" Peter protested.

Remus closed his eyes in a sigh of the long suffering.

Lily scoffed. "What, like being yourself is any better?"

"What about me?" Sirius complained. "All I could see was blues. What the hell did you turn me into?"

"Enough." Mother sighed before I could answer. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Five points from Gryffindor, each, for disrupting the education of your fellow students and turning on each other."

The whole classroom broke into giggles and mocking ooohs. They turned into disappointment when, with another simple flick of her wand, Mother got rid of the storm clouds and the ink rain, though she left the ink on our person. The seven of us deflated. Mother ignored our outraged expressions with ease.

"The two of you will receive your wands at the end of class," she said to Dorcas and me before walking back to the front of the classroom. "Now, everyone, let us be silent and continue with our lesson."

That was the end of it. We didn't dare try anything else during class, but on the Hogsmeade trip, my cousin and his friends had the misfortune of being suddenly followed by a six-piece band. The instruments would twirl and dance about them as they emitted such terrible and discordant music that it could hardly be called so. It only lasted for thirty minutes, but it was worth it.

They retaliated by stealing all of our clothes, parading them through the school as they flew on their broomsticks, and then feeding them to the giant squid. Well, it turned out it wasn't actually our clothes but perfect copies, but the horror we'd experienced had been very real. So we fought back by sneaking into their room in the middle of the night, and filling every surface, drawer, nook, and cranny in their dorm with copious amounts of shaving cream, glitter, and papier mâché strips, before emptying seven large jars of marbles on the floor. I was pretty proud of that one.

Peter thought it was funny, which was disappointing, but the other three had been enraged. I'd never seen Remus that angry at anyone. It would have been disconcerting, and worrying, except that a strip of papier mâché tickled his nose and triggered five consecutive sneezes in a row. It was hilarious.

I was still giggling about it two days later as I stretched out of bed and made my way to the loo. Sure, James had rolled his ankle when he stepped on a marble, but he hadn't needed so much as a cold compress, so any guilt that was born as he hobbled down the stairs to the Common Room died very quickly. They had looked so silly, covered in white tufts of shaving cream and glittering red and gold as they trampled towards us. Sirius had strips of papier mâché stuck to his jaw and chin like a scraggly beard in a failed Merlin Hallowe'en costume.

I giggled and patted my face dried with a towel. The thought of Hallowe'en had given me an idea. Maybe I could convince the girls to dress up as the boys that day, make it an ensemble costume this year. Though I doubted Mary would be willing to put shaving cream all over her tight curls.

My smile vanished as I lowered the towel. A little noise left me as I stared at my reflection. Half-asleep, maybe I was only confusing a trick of the light with reality. I rubbed my eyes clear and looked again but, no, I hadn't been mistaken.

My hair was powder blue.