A/N: I LIVE! Apologies again for the extended absence, in all honesty I seem to have chewed more than I can swallow IRL, because I was a little bored and dissatisfied with certain life aspects and for some reason decided to fill that void with 101 tasks, and um yeah...

Anyways, this chapter is another BEAST because that's apparently all I'm able to produce lately. I edited and scrapped a lot that I had planned for this because I didn't like it which played a part on why this took so long when it was almost finished when I posted last chapter.

There's a little nod at the Hogwarts Legacy game, see if you catch it, and also I played with some opinions that may be a little controversial but you know, Meredith IS an entitled rich girl who as far as I'm concerned is still quite sheltered despite the fact that she knows a lot about certain aspects of the world, THINK BLAIR WALDORF SUDDENLY HAVING TO LIVE A REGULAR LIFE.

Also! two chapters ago, I went and forgot about Percy! Percival Weasley! Just completely forgot he existed. So, I will be editing that and correcting, for now just pretend that during her conversation with Dumbledore, Meredith says Molly has 3 kids, not 2.

And in this world, thestrals match the book description as opposed to the movie portrayal: meaning they do have hair on their tails and manes.

Hope you like this chapter and please leave a comment once you read! Thank you xx

ALL THE THREADS OF FATE

PART II

OUT OF THE WOODS

"I'll ruin it all over for you.
Why don't you rain on my parade?

I'll ruin it for you.
Shred my evening gown,

I'll ruin it all over
read my sentence out loud,

And over like I always do.
'cause I love this curse on our house.

It's the last thing I wanted,
Tell me, which side are you on, dear?

It's the first thing I'd do.
Give me some tips to forget you.

I tell you my problems
Have I become one of your problems?

And you tell me the truth.
Could it be easy this once?

It's the last thing I wanted,
Everything that's mine is a landmine.

It's the first thing I'd do.
Did my love aid and abet you?

I tell you that I think I'm falling back in love with you.
Back in love with you."

—The Alcott. The National & Taylor Swift.

XII.

The Greengrass family fortune laid in winged horses. Not many outside the trade knew this. Where the Nike and Chevalier families boasted their successes with Thestrals and Aethonans, respectively, the House of Greengrass worked diligently and quietly to breed the healthiest, strongest, most aesthetically pleasing of winged horses, according to breed, of course. A Greengrass Grainian was guaranteed to win any race; there wasn't an obstacle a Greengrass Abraxan could not excel. Our winged horses had the best temperament, produced the most promising offsprings, and generally performed better than those of other studs.

I was uncertain whose decision it was to make the information need-know, for certainly a secret it was not, yet most of the Wizarding World believed the Greengrass gold to be naught but generational wealth, land, perhaps, and other various successful business ventures. While there was some truth to that, the vast majority of our wealth came from the breeding and care of these beautiful animals. Perhaps it was the declining popularity of horses except for certain circles, as certainly with how encroached the Wizarding people of Britain were by muggles, it ought to be quite tiring, constantly having to cast Disillusionment on livestock.

I thought they were worth the disillusioning and the muggle-repelling. I cared little for brooms, but there was nothing quite like riding a winged horse. I thought it beat the excitement of Quidditch by a long mile. More than anything, I loved Thestrals. They were gentle and loyal, strong and fast without the hot-bloodedness of a thoroughbred, sharp and discerning like no other breed. And they were utterly beautiful.

It was on Friday afternoon that I made the trek down to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had informed me the prior evening that though there had been little change since we'd last spoken, he was certain Lilith would begin her labours soon, and I'd be the first he would invite to meet the foal. Shadow, he told me, was being a little more stubborn with her signs. The conversation had reminded me of how long it'd been since I'd greeted the Thestrals and, though I had plans for that evening, guilt drove me into the October chill and down the slippery hill that lead to the quiet corner of the forest the creatures called home.

"You've done so well," I muttered into the velvety neck of a particularly large Thestral. I was not very tall, but at 17 hands the beast was taller than my brother. "Such a good boy, yes, you are."

The stallion huffed against my shoulder and lowered his head close to my side. I pushed it away, amused. He was a colt no longer, yet the habit of checking my pockets for snacks appeared to have followed into adulthood. Though his eyes, like all thestrals', were a misty white, often described as expressionless, the look he gave me was decidedly pleading.

"Nope. I have no snacks." I shook my head. He let out a sound a tad too spoiled, backtracking in an excellent example of a tantrum. "Hey! Stop it or Hagrid will claim I'm spoiling you. I don't want to stop visiting."

The threat earned me another huff and a light kick to the ground, but he decided to play nice and return to my side. I resumed brushing his silky mane, braiding a fishtail plait every two inches or so. When a particularly strong gust of wind made me shiver, one large bat-like wing expanded around me, blocking the cold. And people thought them dangerous, malicious.

"That is so bizarre."

I turned at the voice. Dorcas stood at the edge of the clearing, looking around the seemingly empty space and going on tiptoe to peer into the stables. She had her arms across her chest, feet close together like she could force herself to take up half the space. With the nervous flitter of her eyes, I could not find the heart to tell her Shadow was but a stone's throw away from her.

"You look like you're alone, even though I know you're not."

The snap of a twig resounded across the space. She startled, looking at the spot next to me like she expected me to be mauled at any moment. It was a strange thing, to see Dorcas so discomfited. She was usually so brave in the face of magical creatures.

"It's alright," I assured her with a smile. "I've known Orpheus all his life. He's harmless—aren't you?" I reached for his forehead, giving him a nice rub once he lowered his head. "The sweetest boy."

Dorcas looked unconvinced. I supposed I was biased. Orpheus was a Greengrass Thestral. Uncle had allowed me to name him when he was but two hours old. Ever since, I had been particularly attached to him. Even though he wasn't, he felt like he was mine. It had been such a gift, when Hogwarts acquired him two years ago. The herd was in need of stallions, its number dwindling in the last decade or so. Orpheus was perfect—he was gorgeous, and he had the loveliest of temperaments, snack-driven tantrums aside, of course.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

Dorcas shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you."

She flicked a lock of hair out of her face; her hand tightened around her elbow. Though the five days were almost over, some colour still reflected in our hair. Dorcas' natural hair was so dark, the effects of the potion now looked like a sheen atop the strands. I was too far away to discern the shade, but it didn't matter. This was a conversation we'd schedule weeks ago and somehow kept putting off.

"I'm meeting Fabian at five," I said. "But we can go to the Common Room for a little while?"

I doubted she would want to stay here, where one wrong move could land her against a Thestral she could not see. Relieved, Dorcas nodded. I patted Orpheus' neck in goodbye, promising to return soon, and followed Dorcas out of the clearing.

We did not go to the Common Room. Dorcas wished for privacy, and worried someone might overhear our conversation in the Common Room, especially when the weather was so ghastly and most classes were done for the week.

Near the south entrance to the Quad, there was this cute little nook. An ornate stone bench with a cushioning spell nestled below a stone arch with trellises of ivy and wisteria. The wisteria leaves were already turning a crisp golden from the cold, but the tiny ivy leaves were as pretty as ever with their dark green and tangled vines. A small hippogriff fountain stood a few paces away, gurgling happily in the cool light of the early autumn afternoon.

This was one of Dorcas's favourite spots in the castle, private and beautiful yet not too secluded that it would take a long trek to seek company. It was a stone's throw away from the Tower, and most of Gryffindor House hung out on this courtyard more than the others, so she could slip out of this little nook when the fancy took her and join her fellow students, or opt for the five minute walk to the grand staircase.

I was unsurprised when she led me here; I was surprised when, after we were both comfortable on the bench, she put up two different privacy spells with a swish of her wand.

"Are you—"

"I lied to you over the summer." Dorcas spoke before I could finish the question. "We didn't go to Japan because my aunt died, and I spent August in Cornwall not because we needed the distraction from the grief but because it was our last summer together."

"—alright?" I finished lamely. "What do you mean, 'your last summer together'?"

Dorcas swallowed. Her mouth did this little grimace, flat and twisted. She played with the ivy, tapping it and watching it bounce. My mind raced. That simple sentence was rife with possibilities, one worse than the next.

What she said was one possibility that had not occurred to me.

Her parents had met when her father, a magical historian, had visited Kyoto to study a certain artifact. While her mother was not from Kyoto, her weekend there with her friends had coincided with his trip. The two had met at the museum café; love had bloomed out of mere chance.

Before Dorcas was born, they spent their years travelling the world in search of other interesting artifacts to study and beautiful places to see. After Dorcas, they'd settled down in London, a spot that had been a particular favourite of theirs. Mrs Meadowes' family, however, remained in Hakone, so they aimed to visit at least once a year, which is why nobody thought it strange that Dorcas had left for Japan as soon as school was finished.

This summer, it turned out, they had not gone to Hakone to visit family and favoured spots in the country, but to seek and purchase a house near Kyoto, the place her parents had met. Because of the war, Mr and Mrs Meadowes no longer felt Britain was safe. For Mrs Meadowes.

"But she's a pureblood, you all are." I pointed out, unnecessarily, of course, since this was something Dorcas very well knew.

Dorcas let out a breath. It was a shaky sound.

"Dad's been hearing whispers around the Salmon."

The Salmon Rose was a clandestine gentlemen's club hidden away in Muggle Ealing. The area of Ealing it was located in had once been Magic, but the raise in Muggles and the Statute of Secrecy had dwindled the Magical population to almost nothing but a few hidden dozen. My mother's brother frequented it whenever he visited England.

"How it's not just muggleborns that are the problem, and how sure can we be that families outside the Sacred are really as clean as they claim." Dorcas continued. Her brows were scrunched together. "They've started looking at immigrants, too, wondering what sort of muggle control there may be in their countries when England has become so lax. Mr Choudry's membership was revoked—and he was born in bloody Chelsea!"

Her anger was so that she tore out an ivy leaf without meaning to. She clasped her hands in her lap until her fingertips turned white.

"Dad made his thoughts on such rubbish clear, but now each time he goes it's just members arguing with the others of the same mind as Dad. It's not just the Salmon, either. Mr Wells has heard the same brabble in Cornwall." She added, erasing the one question I'd been able to form before I could voice it. "Mum's scared it won't be long until they turn on all outsiders. Magic is magic, but she was taught different, she uses different spells."

I could not believe what she was saying. It would not be the first time a wizarding war spread beyond the issue that started it—war was a time for all grievances to be aired out, active threats and fear made for excellent excuses to act on prejudices and resentments. Still, the thought that others beyond muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods were in danger was troubling. Protecting two peoples was doable, the entirety of wizardkind on top of muggles was impossible.

"You must go with them."

A cold gust of wind punctuated my words, hissing as it rustled the vines beside us and disturbed the fountain.

Dorcas refused before I even stopped talking. "No. This is my home, Meredith."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can finish your studies at Mahoutokoro." When her resolute expression did not change, I added, "Please, I can't lose more people."

The admission confused her, and if I was being perfectly honest it confused me too. I hadn't lost anyone, not really, but from the moment she began speaking, the same dread that had befallen me when Reading Emilia's fate slid down my body, that quiet war drum that echoed in the back of my head, off-beat with my heart. DEATH, DEATH, DEATH. I was unsure if it referred to the whispers her father had heard, or if it forewarned what would happen were Dorcas not to go with her parents. I had no desire to find out.

"I'm not running away; it'd be like proving them right." Dorcas insisted. My ears began ringing. "I am staying here, and I'm doing everything I can to stop this damned war and live my life. I have already spoken to your mother about joining Duelling Club late. My try-out is on Wednesday, though I'm not terribly worried. I can beat Black with my eyes closed."

DEATH, DEATH, DEATH, DEATHDEATHDE-ATH-DE-ATH-DE-ATH

DE—

"That's not funny!" I snapped, a little louder than intended.

The smile melted off Dorcas's face. She stared at me, long and hard, with her eyebrows stitched together until creases appeared in-between. At least the foreboding feeling had passed; I still hid my fingers in the pockets of my robes, the tips of them so cold they burned.

"I know it's not." Though Dorcas was agreeing, a sombre shadow marred her features. "But I am not a coward. Besides—" she sighed and began toying with the ivy again. "I couldn't go with them even if I wanted to."

"What do you mean?"

"I…" she huffed in frustration. Her mouth twisted like she had to physically chew out the words. "I like girls."

I waited for her to continue. When all she did was eye me out of the corner of her eye like she was trying to predict my reaction while pretending not to care about it, I had to stifle a laugh.

"Yes, Dorcas. I know."

"No. I mean—" she rolled her eyes and twisted to face me. "I fancy them like you fancy blokes. And, before you ask, yes, I know I fancy boys, too, but not as much as girls, I don't think, or at least not as often… what's that look for?"

"Dorcas," I started, slow and deliberate. "I already know that."

She gaped at me, completely baffled. The babbling from the fountain rose in volume, the autumn wind howling against the stone of the castle as we stared at each other, silent and expectant.

"Does everyone know?" she breathed at last.

"I don't think so." I was quick to assure her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Dorcas was a deeply private person; she did not like for people to know things about her unless she told them herself. "No one has ever said anything about it—I mean, James and Peter kept joking about the one time you kissed Lily, but we've all kissed each other at least the once. No one told me, I've always known, just like I always knew you would be my friend."

She snorted. The vulnerability was gone, replaced instead by the aloof confidence she often exuded. Her hand, however, twisted until she could squeeze mine in return.

"You and your weird magic."

Affection coloured the tease, a rare display she seldom allowed. I laughed. It was weird, I supposed, how there were so many things I had known years and years before the knowledge was useful or made sense. If it allowed me to comfort a friend, however, I didn't mind it quite as much.

"I don't care, you know?" I checked. "And I don't think anyone would mind, either."

Dorcas's face wavered.

"I thought my parents wouldn't mind, either." She told me with the same detachment one reserved for the weather. It was a controlled expression. "But they lost their shit when they caught me snogging Tracey Einar over the summer."

I would have, too, for an entirely different reason. Sweet Circe, Tracey Einar was a bitch. An annoying swot that made me very grateful I hadn't ended up in Ravenclaw. She made Marlene look like a saint.

"Don't give me that look, Mer." Dorcas scowled. "You used to fancy Black. That's loads worse."

My heart lurched.

"Fair enough." I allowed, suddenly finding Dorcas's gaze too heavy. "Did your parents… did they…?"

"Disowned me? No." Her voice was soft. "They just said something about not wanting to disrupt my life and how England was better suited for my chosen lifestyle."

"I'm so sorry, Dorcas," I apologised. "I have been so busy with my bullshit I haven't been there for you."

She said she'd wanted to talk almost three weeks ago. Though she'd been the one to suggest we postpone our talk, I had been all too eager to agree, too distracted with the library incident.

"I'm alright." The smile she gave, albeit small, was sincere. "I meant what I said. I was already contemplating how to tell them I wanted to stay when they found out. I don't want to run away, I don't want to choose the easy way out just because it's safe. Others don't have that option."

I looked at her. At her small smile and her hair billowing in the wind. The remnants of the potion were too weak now to make a difference against her dark hair, it was back to its lovely jet black. Her gaze was clear of all doubt or sadness. Her parents' rejection had hurt her, but Dorcas would look ahead.

"Dorcas Meadowes, War Heroine." I teased.

"Oh, stop it!" Dorcas rolled her eyes, but she still laughed. "Do you want to talk about the bullshit that has kept you so distracted?"

I snorted. "Where do I start?"

It wasn't an evasion tactic. I could tell Dorcas anything. Though she didn't know about last Christmas, I kept it that way not because I didn't trust her, but because I had made the mistake of trusting someone with it who oughtn't have known. If the secret got out, there would be no doubt as to who had leaked it.

I truly didn't know where to start. There were the damned dreams that had, as Sirius had guessed, come back. There was Sirius himself, whose words still kept me awake. We had not shared a single word since Mary's birthday—I didn't see the rest of half-term going any differently. There was also…

I perked up so suddenly Dorcas jerked back.

"I am the one responsible for what happened to Encyclopaedia Magica." I confessed, grateful for her privacy spells.

Dorcas stared at me, sceptical. "You damaged a book."

"I threw it at Rosier's face and broke his nose in the process."

She blinked. "Why?"

The whole school knew, of course, of the library incident. Well, not exactly. They knew that the Restricted Section had been broken into, and that those students with permission to enter it were under investigation for theft and destruction of property. We had been advised to keep it secret, which in Hogwarts of course, meant that the whole student body knew about it by breakfast the next day. The rumour had lost whatever interest it held when the weeks had gone by and no perpetrator had been caught. There was juicier gossip to spread, like my and Regulus's apparent secret relationship, which still evoked a couple of giggles, mostly from the younger years.

Finally telling someone of what had happened was such a relief tears stung my eyes. I told Dorcas everything, from the essay I'd been writing at the time all the way to how I fell down the passage and twisted my ankle. I told her about forgetting my wand, something Rosier still liked to mock me for. I told her about Snape's involvement, the mysterious note I had found tucked into my copy of Glossary of Spells and Charms for the everyday Witch, from M to S. with very clear descriptions of what would happen to me if I didn't keep what I had seen a secret. I hadn't recognised the handwriting, but I'd guessed it'd come from Yaxley. Rosier didn't strike me as that imaginative, and Snape wasn't foolish enough to write down a threat that could incriminate him.

By the time I was finished, Dorcas was as white as a sheet.

"That's where all the bruises came from?" she checked. I nodded. "I did think it strange you'd trip, but you were walking around the castle delirious with fever, so anything was possible."

"I didn't want to talk about it in Slughorn's classroom, where anyone could hear."

Not the full truth, but not exactly a lie either.

"Why haven't you told Professor Dumbledore?"

"Are you mad?" I shook my head. "If I tell Dumbledore, I might end up being responsible for three possible dark wizards being expelled. I would have a massive target on my back, and if they're smart about it, which Snape and Yaxley are, so would everyone I have ever held dear."

The delusion that they were up to not good had shattered the moment I had found Yaxley's note. In truth, I'd known all along that I'd been fooling myself, but it felt good to worry about other inconsequential things that had little to do with the war threatening to resurface again in Britain.

Three of my classmates turning dark was so easy to ignore when my friends and I were in the middle of a prank war. The article from The Prophet about whether the Dark Mark had been spotted for the first time in months down in Bristol—or teens playing pranks? Read more in p. 16—could be cast aside when Marlene was acting extra mean. The Hogwarts: a Gossip article did wonders to distract from the danger Lily and Emilia were in. The anticipation of Lilith and Shadow giving birth, the tangled mess Sirius and I were, was the perfect combination to forget about the images flashing in my mind of death, fire, and destruction.

If what Dorcas told me was true, though, perhaps it was time to refocus.

Dorcas's cheekbones flushed in anger. "Aren't you worried about what they'll do with whatever they stole? You have the power to stop them!"

"Telling a teacher will only make them angrier, it will not stop them."

If anything, it would get them out there sooner, giving them the tools to do more damage. I could not tell on them without risking a suspension myself—for being out past curfew, for attacking a fellow student, for destruction of school property—but that didn't mean I could do nothing.

"What are you planning?" Dorcas asked, no doubt recognising the look on my face.

"I'm not sure yet." I admitted, absent, mind focused on something Professor Slughorn had said during his never-ending T and T on Thursday. "But I'll let you know as soon as I decide."

The Burrow, the homestead for the Weasley-Prewett union, was a chaotic home.

That was the first thought that sprung to mind as the green flames of the Floo dissipated. Overstuffed sofas with fluffy cross-stitched cushions framed a Tudor styled rug that had survived one too many reparos. A knitted throw haphazardly draped over an armchair, its wool a garish combination of purple, orange, teal, and canary yellow. The coffee table serving as an island between the seats was askance, as if someone had run into it in a hurry and forgotten to straighten it; the varnish in one corner was chipped.

I accepted Fabian's hand on my way out of the chimney, nearly faceplanting when my ankle twisted on a forgotten stuffed dragon. It was purple with green on its paws and a rounded green patch on its belly. As I lifted my foot off its neck, its eyes stopped bulging and returned to a much less horrific state.

"That's Charlie's." Fabian chuckled.

He snatched the plushie from the floor and sat it on the armchair. With a quick flick of his wand, he vanished away any soot that remained on his person.

"Thanks," I murmured when he did the same to me, too distracted with the loud surroundings to ask.

There were shelves on every wall, some with pots overflowing with herbs, others with pictures. A teetering mountain of records stood beside an ancient gramophone. The bookshelf was filled to the brim, to the point that books had ben piled on top of each row on the shelves. Beside it on the stone wall, displayed to be seen from any point in the room, hung a butter-yellow-faced clock with five hands, and phrases instead of numbers: home, work, school, lost, travelling, hospital, mortal peril. All five hands pointed to home. All my life, I'd never met anyone who actually had one of these. In certain circles of Pureblood society, it was considered poor taste to reveal the more sensitive parts of family manners to guests. Merlin forbid they knew the real reason someone had not attended tea. To flaunt such a weakness was undignified.

"Love?" Fabian called. I noticed he was halfway to the kitchen, his face alit with curiosity when I hadn't followed right away. "Are you coming? Or do you plan on keeping Sparky company all night?"

I spared the clock one last glance before moving to Fabian's side. My fingers twisted with his, stomach knotting with nerves even as I asked:

"Sparky?"

"The dragon." He nodded towards the armchair with a grin so wide it crinkled his eyes. He squeezed my hand. "Charlie didn't speak much when Gideon gave it to him, so he and Bill just kept throwing words around until one caught Charlie's attention. Granted, Bill wasn't much older either, so the words weren't exactly illustrious."

I ah'ed. "A name befitting of such a powerful creature."

Fabian laughed, a loud warm sound that settled any anxiety I carried. Though tonight had been sold to me as a friend dinner party, it was my first time ever visiting Molly's home, and a few quick questions on the way here had made it clear that it was more a family event than a friendly gathering. After all, though Mr and Mrs Prewett, or Arthur's parents, weren't in attendance, no one present was unrelated to either family.

I was the only outsider. Even Gideon's girlfriend, Rosmerta, had been a staple at any Prewett function since they were First Years and had been considered part of the family long before they'd begun dating three years ago.

I would have preferred a visit to Mr and Mrs Prewett than to have to face Molly alone.

"There you two are!" Gideon hooted as we entered the kitchen. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd bailed." With a crooked smile that spelled trouble, he swatted at Molly's arm. "See, Molls? Told you she would come, ye of little faith."

Molly, a wailing Charlie hoisted high on her hip, eyed us with a look that could only be called unimpressed.

"I would have no reason to doubt, if they had arrived on time." She sniffed. I fidgeted in place when her careful gaze inspected me head to toe. "We may not be accustomed to the lavish dinners you attend, but we at least appreciate punctuality."

I was able to control my face before it twisted into a scowl.

"I have been ready since four." I informed her.

"I forgot the custard, had to go back." Fabian shrugged beside me. He handed the bag he carried over to Molly, who swapped it for a sniffling Charlie. "You're never on time, when you're not the host, Molls. So don't go acting all high and mighty and that."

Well-natured laughter bounced off the kitchen. Even Bill, who was dwarfed by the large wooden chair beside Gideon, peaked out of his hunched over form to giggle with the insecurity of a child who did not wish for the adults to remember his presence, lest he be banished back to the children's table. Considering in this house the children's table consisted of a three-year-old and a newborn, I could not blame him.

Molly spluttered and busied herself with the stove. It was a rare thing to witness, Molly Weasley speechless.

Fabian nudged me towards the table. I took the seat beside him, facing Arthur's brother, my back to Molly. Discomfort twinged in my spine, but it soon vanished with everyone else's ability to brush off Molly's sourness.

"You look lovely," Rosmerta's kind smile as she peered over Fabian's shoulder was a balm over my nerves.

Gideon was fun. Rosmerta was kind. Arthur, though not present yet, was a combination of the two. I was not very familiar with newlyweds Bilius and Althea Weasley, but since she appeared more preoccupied with engaging little Bill in conversation, and he had jumped in on Molly's teasing with ease, I imagined they were good people.

"So do you." I told Rosmerta.

Her brown hair was all tousled curls and bright blonde highlights—the carefully careless haircut did wonders to her facial structured—and she looked at home with her plaited skirt and oversized jumper.

Rosmerta took the compliment in stride, resuming whatever discussion between her and Bilius our late arrival had interrupted. I pulled at my sleeve, its silky fabric slipping through my fingers like water, and wished I'd gone for the sea-green cardigan Lily had suggested instead. It would have turned my slate grey skirt into a more casual garment. In a sea of worn jeans and cosy jumpers, I was terribly overdressed.

A soft tug caught my attention. I twisted on my seat to find Charlie was no longer crying, and appeared transfixed by my hair, which, to my abject horror, was still changing colours. The strands that Charlie was tangling around his fingers were a pale green, almost a chalky sage, whether due to my emotions or the potion's dwindling effects, I was unsure. No wonder Molly had been so unimpressed.

"Hello." I whispered to him.

His pouty mouth spread around his fist in a wonky smile. Sage green hair poked out of it like new blades of grass, it matched well with the sticky stream of snot sliding out of one nostril. I slowly peeled my hair from his hand, praying he wouldn't start crying again.

Charlie, thankfully, did not cry. He stared at me with wide eyes so big I was surprised they stayed inside his head, and ducked his top lip into his mouth so he could catch the trailing snot with a long swipe of his tongue. I tried not to show my disgust; it was a Merlin trial. I was unused to small children, but Fabian was usually pretty unfazed by anything his nephews came up with—I did not wish to start an argument here of all places.

"I lah-kee dwagons." It was quite the sober statement, though some of its severity was halved by the way he flailed in Fabian's arms, trying and failing to get away. He settled for waving a chubby hand at me. "You lah-kee dwagons?"

"I do." I nodded.

Charlie inched backwards, narrowly avoiding Fabian's chin as he stared at me through eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Pwove eet." He demanded with a pout.

To the poor boy's bewilderment, I laughed.

Rosmerta and Althea rose to help Molly finish bringing the food. I considered lending a hand, but I was not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts quite yet, and after a few swishes of their wands all the serving dishes were levitating down on the table. The job was done before I could even push back my chair. This did not stop Molly from sending me a disapproving look over her shoulder.

"My favourite dragon—" I focused on Charlie. "—is the Swedish short-snout."

Curious, I watched as Charlie mulled it over, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn back. It made for a highly amusing sight.

"The ones with the blue fire," I added when uncertainty began to cloud the toddler's podgy face. "And its skin is, like, blue but also silver?"

His face lit up with recognition. He whooped, so loud and high that Fabian jolted, seeming to remember the small child he held in his lap.

"I lah-ee-k them, too!" he exclaimed. Excitement glimmering in them, I noticed his eyes were the same shade of blue as Fabian's. "They aw beeg and fly twall!"

"They are gorgeous." I agreed.

"Gor-juice." He repeated, nodding his little head until his wispy orange hair covered his eyes.

I poked my finger into his armpit until a squeal erupted, his little body writhing so he was halfway to the floor, Fabian's arms holding him by the shoulders. My laughter was echoed around the table.

"Come on, then, little monster!"

Arthur lifted his sprawled child off my boyfriend's lap, and clapped Fabian's shoulder in greeting. Charlie flailed in protest only for a moment, before he settled on his father's shoulder.

"Alright, Mer?" I had to twist my neck back to return Arthur's welcoming smile. It showed no teeth but pulled at the skin around his mouth until dimples appeared and his eyes thinned. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Y'know. School," was all the explanation I could give.

There were sympathetic groans from those around the table who were young enough that the memory of Hogwarts was fresh. Molly and Arthur had graduated eleven years ago, so the bad had softened with time until only the good remained. Food was served as Althea shivered at the way the Gryndylows would press their faces against the windows of her Slytherin dorm, their eyes glowing like a cat's in the darkness—the mermaids were fine, she explained, and even the giant squid was sweet, but those Gryndylows made me want to crawl out of my skin—while Bilius shared the story of how he almost lost his dominant hand to an unsupervised Chinese Chomping Cabbage in Fifth Year after he dozed up studying for his OWLS.

Gideon made a crude joke about how such a tragedy might have kept him from bagging Althea that I'd rather not have heard. Molly, too, found it too crass for the dinner table, specially with Bill right there. The stinging hex pinked Gideon's nose all the way to dessert.

Molly, though she had her faults, was an excellent cook. She tended to cook more than anyone invited could possibly finish eating—much like her mother, Mrs Prewett, was wont to—but an impressive amount of effort went into attempting it by her guests. Even little Bill appeared eager to eat as much as he could stuff into his mouth; Charlie got a small plate full of carrots, mash, and tiny pieces of shredded seabass.

My plate was pretty much exactly that, except without the seabass. While Molly had prepared a myriad of main dishes—the seabass her youngest was poking at with distaste, a beef stew Fabian was happily enjoying, and a stuffed turkey breast the Weasley brothers were fighting over who kept the leftovers—she had seemingly forgotten, once again, that I did not eat meat. Which was fine, since it was a life decision Fabian himself was keen to overlook.

As if summoned by my grumpiness—unsurprising, since I had recently been informed I did a piss poor job of keeping my thoughts from my face when in familiar company—Fabian spared a look my way. The surprised double-take he granted my plate before he remembered was a little insulting.

"You alright?" he checked, voice pitched low so we didn't interrupt the flow of conversation. "You want some bread?"

What I want is for you to remind your sister of the existence of tofu. I constructed the sentence in my mind and weighted the benefit of voicing it. I would be staying with Fabian until Monday, since half-term affected my prefect duties little and no one could take my Monday evening patrol. That, and I doubted my parents would have allowed me to visit for an entire week. Bringing such a sentence into the open would lead to an argument I wasn't sure I wanted to have.

What I want is for her to tell me next time that when she says 'only worry about dessert', that doesn't extend to me. Every other host had never had a problem catering to my preferences, after all. The house elves at Hogwarts did it beautifully. Mrs Longbottom's vegetarian wellington was so good I sometimes caught myself thinking about it. Alphard, my mother's best friend, was atrocious in the kitchen; he had still gone through the trouble of learning how to make butternut squash pasta bake for each time I'd visited with Mum. It was courteous and at the very least Molly could have told me to bring my own food if she was stuck. I had an inkling pettiness had a lot more to do with this than any lack of skill or creativity.

I was weary from even thinking of explaining all that. This weekend was supposed to be fun, and happy, and conflict-free.

"Oh, go on, then." I told Fabian instead, making grabby hands at the bread.

He passed the breadbasket over. I plucked two slices from the pile, one rye and the other a lovely farmhouse that dusted flour over my fingers. Once the basket was back on the table, Fabian's hand gave my knee a long squeeze before settling on my thigh.

Though everyone was lovely, it became very obvious very fast that we led completely different lives. This was different from what I was used to—at a high society ball I could handle myself pretty well, weaving conversations and impressing those older than me with my academic knowledge.

Sat at a table with a group of young adults who'd rather talk about annoying bosses and the rise of the cost of living than discuss the linguistics of spell creation—oh, don't, Bilius had cringed, no work talk. 'S bad enough I gotta deal with this shit five days a week. I didn't point out that he and Gideon had been discussing the very same but moment's earlier—I had little to contribute to the conversation. I wasn't even sure how exactly the cost of living worked, which was a terribly embarrassing thing to realise when Rosmerta complained a carton of 24 eggs going up by 10 sickles was extortionate, and I had happily expressed my belief that such an amount was very cheap. I would never forget the way she stared at me.

"Tell us, Meredith," Gideon had chuckled after an awkward beat. "You go an' buy enough food to feed us ravenous wolves dinner. How much d'you reckon that's goin' to set you back?"

"Uh…" I swallowed the last bit of mash, wide eyed and nervous at suddenly being on the spot. "Well, I doubt it would be very expensive, would it? Even if eggs are, um, dear now?" Rosmerta was not quite successful in stifling her scoff. Heat flashed across my cheeks. "So I suppose it would be about 10 galleons?"

Gideon blinked at me before bursting out laughing.

"10 galleons?!" he repeated.

"O-or 15?" I hastened to correct.

That unfortunately sent Althea and Bilius into a riotous fit of laughter. He even slapped his fist onto the table, rattling the crockery. Little Bill, a tad lost but eager to join, began laughing, too, big eyes gazing up at all the adults and their fun. Even Charlie let out a delighted squeal on his seat between Molly and Arthur. At least they weren't laughing.

"15 galleons!" Bilius wheezed at Gideon like the redhead hadn't heard it himself. "She thinks a—quick nip to the grocer's—!"

"Mate—" Gideon wiped at his eye. "I know!"

I hunched over in my seat. The blush that had heated my cheeks spread down my neck until I was certain I resembled a tomato. I could feel the heat coming off my ears in uncomfortable waves. I dreaded to think what colour my hair had turned.

"Not 15, then, I take it," I said, small in my knowledge that they were making fun of me. That they had done for some time. I was surprised to have it from Gideon, who was usually so nice.

"No, love." Fabian's hand squeezed my thigh. He was smiling, too, but there was a soft edge to it and his eyes were warm. "Not 15. Oi!" He kicked his brother's chair. "Quit it. 'S not her fault."

I wondered what they would think if they found out how much I would readily pay for Mr Inoue's book.

"And she won't be far wrong," Molly interjected as she and Arthur began to clear the plates with careful and precise wand movements. "If this bloody war carries on the way it is."

That cut the amusement down to the root. A new conversation began, hushed and low-spirited, about the war, whispers of things in motion that were too hush-hush to make it to the papers yet. Althea claimed it was too depressing to speak about, and busied herself once again with entertaining the children. A lot of what they were saying sounded far-fetched and convoluted, but I was starting to suspect lately this war was driven on rumours alone. This, however, was exactly the opening I needed to try and pry out of Fabian whether he was part of the Order or not.

"I'm sorry about my brother." Fabian murmured, draping one arm over the back of my chair until he was so close I could count his freckles. "He sometimes doesn't think."

"That's alright," I dismissed, even if it wasn't. "Scary, isn't it? This whole war business. I heard they've infiltrated the Ministry."

By heard I meant Saw, but the semantics mattered little since this was a rumour that had been bouncing around for nearly six months.

"And apparently they're using Ireland as testing grounds for all sorts of spells and potions." That was completely fabricated, but I wanted to see how he'd react.

Fabian didn't disappoint. His face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. His hand landed on the table as he angled his body towards me, bottom lip sucked into his mouth.

"That's ridiculous." He snorted. "They're nowhere near ready to use Ireland for that, first they have to avoid uh—er…" He stared at me, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He cleared his throat, nervous fingers started to fiddle with my hair. "I mean, I can't imagine they would go that far."

His voice took a soft and assuring cadence I appreciated. It was mitigating and comforting, yet not quite as finite as I worried it would be when I approached the subject. I made sure to keep my expression open and soft, harmless, as I readied to poke at a bit of information he'd let slip.

"Jamie's really worried, though." I started, peeking a look around the table. I caught the whisper of annoyance that rippled across his face but refused to accept defeat. "Apparently, Uncle and Headmaster—"

The words were so poorly chosen in my haste that Fabian didn't even let me finish.

"Enough, Meredith," he said with such a severe tone of voice I snapped my mouth shut, stunned. He'd never spoken to me like that. Fabian softened. "I don't want you worrying about this. Rumours are just rumours, yeah? I don't like your cousin putting these fantastical ideas in your head."

Damn. Maybe I should have waited to broach the subject when his cock was in my hand. He was unlikely to disagree with anything I said then.

"But—"

"No." He interrupted again. His thumb brushed against my temple. "Don't worry about the war, you just focus on school and your friends."

My frown deepened into a full scowl. Before I could push the subject, Molly returned to the table with her hands on her hips and three different types of dessert hovering behind her.

"That's quite enough, you lot!" She admonished, sounding about twenty years older than her twenty-eight. "I won't have all this talk of war around my dinner table. You'll curdle the custard."

"And we don't want little Percy hearing about all this." Arthur announced.

Ducking under some rosemary that had been nailed to the doorframe to dry, he swept into the kitchen with his newborn son swathed in blankets and angled for all to see. That was the end of the war conversation. Percy Weasley stole the show quite successfully, for all that he was just a bundle of creased pink skin and a tuft of hair so light it was almost white. He had no eyebrows, but no one else seemed to think it strange.

Having learnt my lessons, I kept my opinions to myself and luxuriated in some apple crumble and custard while everyone, even the men, cooed and ah'ed over Percy. Fabian was so besotted with his pink raisin of a nephew the very real fear that he would ask me to start having children the moment we got married began to take root in my mind.

It was as I considered this possibility that there was a sharp knock on the kitchen window. Althea stretched one lean arm over the back of her chair to pull the window open; a gust of cold wind rolled in to tangle her long dark hair.

An owl, snowy white and speckled with grey, glided in and perched itself on the deep bowl that housed the ice cream. With a chirp, it spat the letter it carried in front of Fabian, before staring at him expectantly.

Bewilderment twisted Fabian's face as he opened the letter. It soon gave way to mild alarm, before being replaced by a stoicism I could hardly recognise on him.

"I have to go." He'd barely finished apologising when he'd pushed to his feet. Even then, this was hardly an apology, since the tone of his voice brokered no argument.

"What?" I blurted out.

"Is everything alright?" Arthur asked.

He tucked Percy closer to his chest, and his face looked a shade or two lighter. Molly, I noticed, had taken two steps until she could put one arm each around her two sons' chairs. Her mouth was drawn.

"It's nothing bad, just work," Fabian said. "Relieving."

Aurors did not keep sociable hours, that was true, but he had not graduated yet and it was eight-thirty on a Friday evening, relieving did not usually take place at this hour. At least not when my father had been involved. Trainees also did not get put on call for emergency relieving.

When Gideon gestured toward himself, Fabian nodded. A quiet stillness had entered the kitchen and Rosmerta appeared reluctant to let Gideon go; her fingers kept flexing on his forearm and elbow.

"Meredith." Fabian rubbed a hand across his jaw and into his hair. He crouched down beside my chair with a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, I have to take you back to the castle."

I blinked. "What? Why?"

"We were supposed to have the whole weekend together." He frowned. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I was uncomfortable with having this conversation in front of everyone, but the disappointment within Fabian was so pronounced I couldn't even manage to scour an ounce of annoyance. I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I can stay at yours." I suggested, tapping his chin with the pad of my thumb. "I'll even wait up for you like the wonderful girlfriend I am."

He huffed out a laugh and his arms snaked around my waist in a wonderful embrace.

"That won't work," he said, deflated. Dread began to pool in my stomach. "I won't be in London for at least a couple of weeks."

I knew the answer without him telling me, but still I asked:

"Where are you going?"

"Wales. I'm going to Wales."

My heart got lost somewhere near my feet. It seemed Fabian had unknowingly confirmed my suspicions after all.

The Gryffindor Common Room was a sight for sore eyes: warm and busy and golden maroon like a sunset.

I began to drag myself to the seating area by the corner my friends preferred best—indeed, Marlene and Mary were sprawled on the rug as they did their nails, and to my mild surprise Remus and Sirius were huddled close to Lily on the sofa, their attention rapt on the book she held in her lap—but something out of the corner of my eye halted my progress.

It wasn't Dorcas hunched over a desk as she made a dent on her homework, or the way the long raven quill she used billowed in the space above her face. It was not the vivid conversation my brother and sister were having, crowded on an armchair, full of big gestures and the odd loud word. It also wasn't the game of exploding snaps Peter had just lost against Seventh-Year Bertram, though undoubtedly the colourful explosion had played a part in the straying of my attention.

There, hunched on a loveseat, legs stretched before him and one foot idly kicking at the coffee table, was James. He drummed his fingers on his belly, a long string of air flapping his mouth as he exhaled. His eyes were narrowed through his askew glasses.

I switched tracks and flopped down next to him.

"Jamie." I greeted.

James didn't even glance my way. "Merry."

"What's this face?" I thumbed at the crease between his brows. "Do you need some fibre? I could fetch some plums from the kitchen. Or pears. If it all fails, you can never go wrong with a strong cup of coffee."

"What?" He finally looked at me, face scrunched in distaste. "No. It's that stupid book."

With a jerky nod, he resumed his glaring. I followed his line of sight and met Remus' eyes in a fleeting 'hello'. While Lily snorted at whatever Sirius muttered—a comment which earned him a cuff to the back of the head from Remus—I managed to glimpse at the book cover, revealed as she brought her feet up onto the sofa.

"What's wrong with The Return of the King?" I wondered, surprised at James' animosity.

"It's long and stupid and boring. And old as bats." He rolled his eyes. "And Lily hasn't stopped reading it since this morning!"

"Jamie…" I paused, pressing my lips into a line to suppress a smile. "Are you jealous of an inanimate object?"

"No." he scoffed, before continuing in a tone that suggested I should know better, "I'm jealous of my two best mates sharing the inanimate object with Lily. They were huddled together during lunch, and dinner, and now this. That should be me!"

He flung a hand in their direction, chest heaving in outrage.

I stared at him.

"I could like Lord of the Rings." He defended.

"About as much as you could like Fleetwood Mac." I laughed.

James's eyes widened to a comical size. The thickness of his glasses didn't help matters. He shoved his hand against my mouth, covering it as he gestured wildly, and shushed.

"Not so loud!" He hissed.

He looked nervously toward them. Our friends had paused their reading long enough to send us a curious glance or two, but Lily lost interest the quickest, granting James only a glare and a huff.

'Sorry, mate' mouthed Remus before he, too, carried on reading.

I pushed James' hand away and wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist. Merlin only knew where his hands had been. Ugh. It wasn't my fault he'd proclaimed to love the band in a futile effort to impress Lily. He could have chosen a different one, like one that he actually enjoyed that she did too.

For someone so smart, Jamie could be such an idiot.

"She hasn't talked to me all week." He told me. "Won't even look at me."

He'd hunched against the sofa, arms crossed pitifully against his stomach and eyes downcast. His foot kicked and rubbed at the rug spread beneath the coffee table. It depicted a prairie with a herd of unicorns grazing; they took off at a canter when James's heel got too close, leaving a dull clearing with only a flower or two.

I patted the top of his head. "You did spike her."

The idea horrified him.

"No, I didn't!"

"What do you call this, then?" I lifted a lock of my hair to his face.

"I don't like that word." James frowned, averting his eyes. "It makes it sound worse than it was."

"James. You four stripped a health-related potion to its barebones, modified it to suit your evil intentions, and then slipped it into our drink without our knowledge." My dry tone made a grimace appear on James's face. "You betrayed our trust, and you could have poisoned us. It is every bit as bad as it sounds."

"I know that, alright?" He interrupted. His knee started bouncing fast. "But there was no danger. We wouldn't have given it to you if there was."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall seeing you around the castle with colourful hair."

James squirmed. He scratched at his cheek.

I punched his arm. "Jamie! What did you do?"

"We, uh, gave it to Peter to try first," he said. "Padfoot got him a cheap wig to wear. We were so sure he'd get caught out, the bloody thing was horrible, but nobody noticed."

A wig. They'd used a bloody wig.

I laughed, shocked. How absurd, wearing a wig hadn't occurred to me. Or any of us. Not even once.

"You lot are barking mad."

James's eyes crinkled before his mouth completed the smile. He tousled my hair with a lazy hand, dropping it around my shoulders in a half-hug.

"I am sorry, though." He told the top of my head. "I didn't think. Well—I did, but I only thought of a wicked idea and not of the after. I didn't… I didn't mean to upset you."

I patted his belly and draped my arm across, scooting closer to his side. We hugged for a quiet little moment.

James was excessively affectionate, always ready with a hug or a pat or an arm around the shoulder. A curious thing, since my siblings and I were simply not like that. I had a select number of people with whom I enjoyed physical affection, as if it were a finite thing I ought to use sparingly. Addie was a little bit more generous, and Freyr was worse than me. Cressida, eerily similar to our grand-mère, was colder than all three of us combined.

Not Jamie. He was indiscriminate with his affection, giving it to friends and acquaintances, offering pleasant strangers a welcoming pat on the shoulder without pause. No wonder Sirius, so starved for it, had flocked to him so readily. After the night I'd had, James's openness was a balm to a tender nerve.

"She really doesn't like me." James mumbled into my hair. "Not even a little."

"She does. She just doesn't—"

"No, Meredith." James sounded so serious my voice died in my throat. "I knew she didn't fancy me, but I thought at least she liked me as a friend. Her hair's never the right colour."

And Lily was still talking to Remus and Sirius, allowing them to crowd her and read over her shoulder, despite the two of them also being responsible for her hair changing colour countless times a day. She was close friends with Remus and enjoyed spending time with Sirius every once in a while, yet she disliked Jamie. I was so sure she only pretended to, but there was proof now to the contrary.

I could think of nothing to say that would lessen James's pain, so I squeezed him tight instead.

"You are my favourite person—" I propped myself up to look at him. "And—"

"Not true." James narrowed his eyes at me with mock betrayal. "You told Moony he was your favourite."

I rolled my eyes. "You are my favourite family member—"

James raised his eyebrows.

"You are one of my favourite people in the world," I huffed. Though menace you may be, I added silently. Based on the look on his face, I thought perhaps James knew what I hadn't said aloud. "And you deserve more than a girl who refuses to see how great you are."

James nodded, contemplative.

"What place am I?" he asked, wide-eyed. Evasive. "On your list of favourite people, I mean. Pretty high up, gotta be, right? At least top five."

I groaned, pushing off the sofa. Idiot. See if I try to cheer you up again.

"Merry, wait!" James laughed, tugged on my wrist until I fell onto the cushions. "I'm only joking. Well, not really, I still want to know, but it can wait."

"You just dropped four places, by the way."

He clutched his chest, the absolute drama queen.

"You wound me so." I couldn't help a smile. It vanished at his next words, "What are you doing back anyway? I thought you were coming back Monday."

James pushed his glasses up his nose. I suddenly became aware that Lily, Remus, and Sirius were sat very still. I dreaded to think they'd been able to hear the entire conversation, though it would explain Lily's frown, and why Remus looked like he'd like very much for the ground to swallow him. Sirius was fiddling with the tag hanging from his neck, eyes stuck to the pages of Return of the King like they required all his attention and then some. But Lily closed the book and looked at them expectantly, and it wasn't long before they began a lengthy discussion. They probably couldn't hear a conversation happening on the other side of the room, and it was more likely they had simply reached a point in the book that required a bit of dissecting.

"Merry?" James pressed.

"He was called away last minute," I said. "To Wales."

James blinked. "Wales? Wait, but that's—"

"Yep."

Over the summer, Uncle Fleamont had spent a few weeks in Wales under the pretence of a business trip that had arisen so out of nowhere, even Cressida questioned it. That trip was the reason James had gotten it into his head that his parents were part of the Order—they'd been a lot more mindful of James's proclivity for eavesdropping, and left the house at odd hours. Uncle had returned with a limp that had lingered for another two weeks.

A week or so ago, around the same time I discovered that encrypted letter on Mother's desk, my mother invited my siblings and I to tea at her office to inform us we would not be spending half-term back home, since she and father had decided to take some time for themselves and go on a little holiday. And the trip back to London is such a hassle for only a week, don't you think, dears?

Mother and Father's half-term early October holiday? Wales.

And now Fabian and Gideon were needed there, effective immediately.

Something was going on in Wales, I just hadn't the slightest what.

"Bollocks." James exhaled.

"Yep." I felt slightly numb around the edges. I looked at James. "Jamie, are you, by any chance, up for some rule-breaking?"

James regarded me for a minute, his expression pinched, before a grin spread up to his ears.

"Always."

I smiled back. "Good. We're going to need the cloak."

James jumped to his feet, offered me a hand. Mischief glinted in his eyes as he said:

"Fantastic."

Eennio: Thank you! Sirius will eventually know the truth, I just don't know when at the moment because where I had he would no longer fits. Hope you like this one, too!