Cloak
Grace is perplexed, vexed, enraged, surprised, confused, and—somehow—this all culminates in her becoming a third-year Ravenclaw's best friend.
King's Cross Station was just as crowded as usual. The Hogwarts Express, a hulking mass of black and crimson, was settled patiently atop the tracks. A warning whistle was sounded, and steam began to pour from the top of the train, collecting over the ceiling of the station. Students poured onto the train, dragging along trunks, hurriedly waving goodbye to their families.
"You'll be all right on your own, won't you?"
Mum raised a thin brow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I'm serious," Grace insisted. "It's just that James and Lily won't be back from their honeymoon for another week, and Dad's come down with that awful flu—"
"Your father will be right as rain after another course of Pepper-Up," Mum assured. Her hand found its way to Grace's cheek. "We'll be perfectly fine, darling. Don't you worry one bit."
Grace swallowed her apprehension. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get rid of me," she joked weakly.
The corners of Mum's eyes crinkled from a smile, and she pulled Grace in for a hug. "Nothing could be further from the truth," she said. "If I could, I'd have you and James back in the house, playing under the hornbeam for the rest of my days."
Grace couldn't help but grin at that. "Mum, I'd like to bring up something from when I was in my third year. If I recall correctly, you said something along the lines of, 'I'm fervently counting down the days until you two move out and get a place of your own.' That quote hasn't exactly aged well, has it?"
Mum released Grace and rolled her eyes. "Oh, you can't hold that against me. You know as well as I do how intolerable you and James were as teenagers."
"Fair point," she granted. She grabbed for the handle of her silver-plated trunk and shifted awkwardly for a moment. "Just to be certain—you're really sure you'll be fine—"
"If it turns out I won't be fine, you will be the first to know, and you can lord it over my head for the rest of my days." Mum shepherded Grace towards the train. "But, first, you've got to get on this train."
"Alright, alright," Grace said, hefting her trunk onto one of the cars of the train. "I'll see you during holiday. Bye, Mum."
"Goodbye, darling."
With one last side-hug, Grace peeled herself away from her mother, and disappeared into the depths of the train, hauling her trunk along the carpeted floor. She wandered about for a few moments, from car door to car door, trying to catch a glimpse of Regulus. She didn't dare scour for him out in the station, where his hawk-eyed mother might be, so she settled on poking her nose into a few compartments.
It was only after the train started to move forward sluggishly that she found him sulking in the last car. He was leaned against the space between two compartments, his trunk lazily hovering above him. His kneazle-cat, Cliodna, was nowhere in sight, but she often wandered away from sight, so Grace wasn't particularly surprised. She dashed towards Regulus, and, as she drew closer, she began to notice how foul a mood he was in. His eyes bored into the floor, his arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and a frown was stitched into his face.
"Hullo!" Grace beamed, coming up besides him. "Missed me?"
He started, very nearly tripping over nothing at the sight of her. "Oh—er—"
"I think these are full," she commented absently, moving to peek into the two compartments he was loitering by. "I found an empty one a few doors down, but there's this weird stain underneath the window." Her lips twisted into a grimace. "I tried to Scourgify it…but it just got bigger. Is that normal, you think?"
She moved forward, intending to show him to the compartment, but Regulus continued to stand shock still. She glanced back at him, and stopped when she found that his apprehensive look hadn't lifted in the slightest. He certainly didn't seem anxious: his mop of dark hair was brushed back neatly, his robes were pressed and ironed (Prefect pin polished and pinned to his chest), and he wasn't drumming his fingers against the wall or wringing his hands together. He seemed completely fine, save for the dour look on his face.
"What's wrong?" she asked all the same.
He blinked at her. "What?"
"What's wrong?" she repeated. "You're being sulky."
A shadow of annoyance flickered over his face. "I'm not being sulky."
"Yeah, you're just sunshine and rainbows, aren't you?" She gestured at his stooped form, and raised a brow. "Is it because you didn't make Head Boy? I told you last year—I'm half-certain Dumbledore makes up the criteria to become Head Boy on whim. How else could James have gotten it? Besides, did you really want James to hand the baton down to you?"
A long moment passed between them. The lighthearted air Grace had brought with her evaporated between them, eclipsed by Regulus's sullen mood. Grace bit the inside of her cheek, and her eyes flew over him once more, trying to pinpoint what might have happened. Perhaps his mother had said something before he went on the train?
Finally, Regulus said, without a trace of humor or inflection in his voice, "Wynford Kennedy's Head Boy."
"Really?" she commented lightly. "I suppose that's a sensible choice—Ravenclaw and all."
She didn't wait for Regulus to respond to that, instead choosing to haul him over to the compartment she had picked out. Her trunk had already been haphazardly pushed onto the metal racks above. Below the window, there was indeed a strange olive-green stain that vaguely resembled a crow plastered against the wall. Grace sat down as far away from it as possible and gestured at Regulus to sit.
With a flick of his wand, his trunk settled opposite hers. He plopped down against the plush seats rigidly, and proceeded to swallow thickly. His hands, neatly folded into one another, settled onto his knees.
"Alright," Grace started, eyeing him suspiciously, "this isn't an interview, so you don't need to do that."
He shifted a little, but otherwise remained much the same.
She pursed her lips. "Really—are you okay? Does this—" her eyes flitted over him once more, "—have anything to do with why you didn't write me this summer?"
He stared at her some more, and then croaked out, "I was busy."
Within the span of those three words, Regulus seemed to grow more pale and withdrawn, as though the mere thought of conversation was making him ill. Grace's eyes didn't lift from him. She waited, for a moment, for him to elaborate, but he simply kept quiet.
The last time he had acted like this was the first day of fifth year, just a month after Sirius had run away from home and taken refuge with the Potters. Regulus had been in rather a delicate state then; he hadn't wanted to talk to Grace much, preferring to burrow his head in a book or stare longingly out the window or listen absently to Grace chatter on and on. She hadn't quite understood what to do in the beginning, but she soon realized that the key with Regulus was patience. He would tell her what was the matter, in his own time.
With this in mind, Grace decided to abandon her questions. She slumped against her seat, making herself more comfortable, and said, "Have you heard the bad news?"
Regulus tugged at the sleeves of his robes. "Bad news…?" he echoed emptily.
"About the Hobgoblins," she continued. "They've broken up again! And I know what you're thinking—they break up and get back together every other year, so that'll probably happen again. But Musicians Monthly says that this time it's final. Isn't that terrible?" She craned her head back. Her eyes caught onto the black gleam of Regulus's trunk. "And they were working on a sixth album, too. I wonder if they'll still release—"
Their compartment door was opened, and Grace stopped mid-sentence. The trolley witch, a sweet elderly woman with grey curls and a tartan dress, peeked her head in. "Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked.
Grace perked up as she caught sight of an enormous pile of cauldron cakes. "I'll have some of those," she said eagerly, pointing at the sweets in question. She began fishing around in her robe pockets for some money. "Do you want anything, Regulus?"
"I'm fine."
Grace exchanged a few Galleons for the cauldron cakes. When the trolley witch disappeared onto the next compartment, Grace looked up at Regulus and found that he was rubbing at his forehead wearily.
"Are you…" she began unsurely, taking a bite of her cake, "…feeling a bit sick or something…?"
"I'm fine," he said again.
She didn't believe him in the slightest, but there was no point in arguing about it. Grace dusted some crumbs off of her hands and pulled out a pack of Exploding Snap from her pockets. She forced a grin, and asked, "Well—if you don't feel like talking, would you rather play a game?"
His eyes met hers—dull grey against bright hazel—and he said, "If you want to."
She didn't want to so much as she wanted Regulus to want to. She shuffled through the cards in her hands and fanned them out over an empty seat.
"I'll go first," she said, and flipped over a card.
The atmosphere of the game was uneasy and stilted. Grace spent much of it cracking jokes, hoping that one of them might lift Regulus from his sour mood. Regulus spent much of the game in his own head; he was pensive and aloof, glancing down at the cards only when Grace probed him for a move. Even then, he only turned over or chose the first card he saw.
An hour went by in this way, with Grace trying vainly to make their last train ride to Hogwarts as thrilling as possible while Regulus tried his absolute hardest to ensure the exact opposite happened. She was beginning to wonder if Regulus was truly feeling glum or if he was just determined to be in a bad mood.
After Regulus decided to 'pass' over a move ("What do you mean pass? There's no passing!"), Grace threw down her last card a little too hard, causing it to flash sparks, and snapped, "Look—I can't help you or cheer you up if I don't know what's wrong."
Regulus's lips were pressed into a thin line. "Nothing's wrong."
"So you're just upset over nothing, then?" she pressed. "You just woke up this morning and decided to be miserable?"
He dropped his gaze from her. His eyes traced over to the window. The train was now speeding past large fields of golden wheat. Grace sighed to herself and leaned forward, pressing her palms against the side of her face.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "If you say nothing's happened, then—fine—I suppose nothing's happened. But it's clear to me you're in a rotten mood all the same, and I don't want for our last year to start off like this."
Regulus's eyes found their way back to her. He opened his mouth, and Grace assumed that, naturally, he would be offering his own apology, too. Instead, he said, rather hastily, "I've got to go."
"Go?" Grace's brows furrowed. "What do you mean? Where've you got to go?"
"There's a Prefect meeting," he explained away. He rose from his seat, and rubbed at the back of his neck.
"I thought that happens later? We've barely spent an hour on the train."
"It should be starting soon. In any case, I should do patrols, make sure everything's in order."
"I can help you with that," she said readily.
"Er—well—"
"Two pairs of eyes are better than one," she added.
"Sure, but—"
The compartment door swung open, and Regulus's words faltered and died in his throat. Grace's head whipped to the entrance, where she saw, to her utter confusion, Rosier and Yaxley.
She had not had many interactions with the two during her time at Hogwarts. Rosier and Yaxley tended to keep to themselves and a few other Slytherins from old, pure-blood families like their own. Besides the occasional barb, Grace rarely talked to them. They were by no means friends—or even acquaintances. The same was true, she was sure, with Regulus. Although he shared a dormitory with Rosier and Yaxley, they were hardly close. Regulus had always considered Rosier too arrogant and Yaxley too domineering. They kept out of each other's way.
So why had Rosier and Yaxley shown up at their compartment?
Rosier, with his wavy brown hair and hooded eyes, stood at the threshold of the door. His eyes danced between Grace and Regulus for a moment before finally landing on the latter. His lips were dipped into a faint, disapproving frown. Behind him, Yaxley stood tall and utterly disgusted. His eyes—pale as ice—were narrowed in on Grace, and his lips were twisted into a scowl.
"I don't remember sending for two idiots," Grace said flatly.
Yaxley pushed past Rosier instantly, coming inside the narrow compartment. His wand was already drawn. "You'd do best to keep your mouth shut—"
Grace rose like a whip, and she dug her own wand out. "Repeating advice your mother's given you?"
Regulus came between them, facing Yaxley. His withdrawn expression harshened into something more grave, as though he had been transported from the Hogwarts Express straight into a funeral.
Yaxley opened his mouth, but Rosier stepped in front of him, staring down Regulus. "Where've you been?" he asked crossly. "Do you know how much time we've wasted looking for you?"
The questions were so bizarre, so unprecedented, so unusual, that Grace could not help but gape. Her wand hand lowered. Her mind whirled with confusion. When had Regulus and Rosier ever talked except out of pure necessity? Why should Rosier be looking for Regulus?
To her further astonishment, none of these questions seemed the least bit surprising to Regulus. Instead of snapping at Rosier, instead of taking points from Slytherin and assigning detention to the duo, instead of insisting that they leave, Regulus simply nodded jerkily and made to move forward. Yaxley stepped out of the compartment, grumbling under his breath. Rosier turned to leave, and Regulus appeared to be more than ready to follow.
"Hold on," Grace said, catching onto Regulus's upper arm. "You're going? What's—"
"This isn't any of your business," Yaxley sneered. "Why don't you—"
Grace didn't care to hear Yaxley finish that sentence. Her hand fell from Regulus, and her eyes snapped to Yaxley. "Why don't you leave?" she spat. "Your voice is grating. How anyone can stand to listen to you speak is beyond me."
Yaxley made his way back into the compartment, muscling past Rosier and Regulus. He loomed over Grace. "If you'd like to keep your tongue, I suggest you stop using it."
Grace's eyes burned with rage. She lifted her wand, and the tip of it dug into the white of Yaxley's throat. "Threaten me again, and I'll hex you within an inch of your life."
"Hex me?" Yaxley said. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, you insolent little b—"
"Stop." Regulus's voice was tight, and cut through the air like a knife. His hand gripped Yaxley's shoulder, and he drew the taller student back. "She's not worth it."
The fire in Grace sputtered and died out in an instant. Her brows drew together. Had she heard him correctly? She's not worth it. He couldn't have possibly meant that, right? Grace's hand fell back to her side limply, and she simply stared, gobsmacked and gutted, as Regulus turned—turned his back on her—and followed Yaxley and Rosier out of the compartment. The door closed behind them.
She pressed forward, just touching the thin veneer of the compartment door, almost intending to go after Regulus but falling short. She wasn't sure what she would do, what she would say. She could hardly believe the moment she was living in.
From beyond the door, Grace could hear the scrape of the Slytherin boys' heels against the floor of the train. They moved a little further down, but not far enough, because Grace could still hear snippets of their conversation.
"Haven't we talked about this?" Rosier bit out.
"I thought you said you'd cut off the blood traitor," Yaxley's harsh voice bled through.
"She's not a blood traitor." This was Regulus's voice, still world-weary, still exhausted, still—somehow, despite the fact his tone wasn't venomous at all—hurtful.
"Not a blood traitor?" Yaxley spat. "Isn't her brother with that Mudblood?"
"Do you need glasses? Does she look like her brother?" Regulus snapped.
An uneasy moment of silence followed between the three of them. Grace stared, wide-eyed, into the white of the compartment door. She wasn't able to wrap her brain around the conversation she was overhearing. It was simple enough. She understood the words. But the way they were being put together, the fact that it was Regulus saying them…how was she to make sense of any of this?
"Fine, whatever," Rosier sighed. "This isn't worth discussing. Let's go."
And they went.
She stood like that—hands by her side, the tip of her nose barely an inch away from the compartment door—for a long moment. It might have been only a few minutes, but it felt like an entire millennia. She did not understand what had happened, only that something had, only that something was wrong.
She's not worth it.
Those words couldn't have come out of Regulus's mouth, but they did. The only way Grace could manage to swallow down that moment was by assuring herself that Regulus couldn't have possibly meant it. She was almost certain of that, in fact. She meant too much to him to be called worthless. She stopped him from spiraling into a mess of nerves during exams week. She let him read boring books to her by the Great Lake when they had breaks between classes. She pierced the shadows of his life with light and laughter, and she knew he appreciated that. She knew it.
She was worth so much to Regulus Black, just as much as he was worth to her—so how could he have said that? And why?
The only reason she could conjure was this: something must have happened during the summer. It was the only thing that made sense, because Regulus had been perfectly fine (a little distressed, perhaps, but that had been because he was worried he wouldn't be chosen as Head Boy) at the end of sixth year. Something must have gone wrong in the summer. It would explain why he hadn't written her back. It would explain his drastic change in mood.
It might even explain why he was suddenly on speaking terms with Rosier and Yaxley. Perhaps he had been blackmailed into their fold over the summer. Perhaps his mother was forcing him to socialize with them. Perhaps—perhaps—
"I don't know," she breathed in frustration.
She reached out a hand, and grasped at the handle of the compartment door. There was no use in her spinning wild theories. She had to find Regulus and free him from Rosier and Yaxley's clutches. She had to get him to explain himself. She needed to hear the explanation. She needed to know there was one, because the alternative was too terrible to even consider.
She sped down the train cars, tracing over the compartments. She started off carefully enough—subtly peeking through gaps in the doors—but as she passed compartment by compartment, as her search for Regulus proved more and more fruitless, she became rather frenzied. She forced open compartment doors, popped her head in, and muttered an apology when she found Regulus was not there.
It was only when she burst into a compartment and a Gryffindor nearly jinxed her in surprise that she decided to put a hold on her wild search. She exhaled, letting out a long sigh of frustration, and leaned back in a small alcove between the restroom and another row of compartments. She was beginning to wonder if Regulus was even in a compartment. Perhaps Rosier and Yaxley had whisked him off to an impromptu Slug Club gathering. Or perhaps there really was a Prefect meeting, and Regulus had managed to weasel away from Rosier and Yaxley and was now near the very front of the train, listening to the new Head Boy and Head Girl drone on and on.
Grace sighed, and rolled her neck back. Her head bounced against the wall. She was no longer allowed in Slug Club due to the Niffler incident in third year; she was half-sure Slughorn would have wards up to bar her from entering his little group of star students. And she wasn't sure where the Prefects met in the front car; she only knew that she wouldn't be allowed there either, and would probably cost Slytherin a few points by barging in.
But at least she'd find Regulus, right?
Grace steeled herself, and moved forward once more, intending to snoop around in the front car. Her eyes continued to linger over the compartments, hoping—despite all odds—that the next one would have Regulus. And if not that one, then the next one. Or the one after that. And on and on…
One of the compartment doors she passed hadn't been closed properly: the bottom of it was caught in the slot of the frame, leaving a large gap for her to see through. A very familiar voice dragged through the air sluggishly. Grace faltered and came to a stop when she caught a good glimpse of the inside of the compartment.
"—oh, and my mother has been saying that Minchum is simply putting on a show, you see, with the heightened security in Azkaban. He can't have caught that many forces on You-Know-Who's side. There are too many, of course. So, really, what's he imprisoning? Nothing, probably. It's likely a near-empty building filled with thousands of Dementors. It's a waste of our resources, if you ask me."
It was Gamp—rambling on and on, his tone monotonous and irritating—but that wasn't what caused Grace to come to a halt. It was who was sitting with Gamp: Ophelia Greengrass.
If the day weren't already so strange, Grace might have stepped in and demanded to know what was happening out of pure curiosity. (Greengrass didn't associate with Gamp. No one associated with Gamp; it was social suicide.) But, as it happened, she couldn't care less about why they were sitting with one another. What truly mattered in that moment was that Greengrass was a Prefect, but she had not been called up to the head of the train yet. This meant that the Prefect meeting had not started. But it would, eventually, and Regulus would definitely be there. It was the only place Grace could be sure Regulus would be, and she needed to use that to her advantage.
She slipped into the compartment. Gamp glanced up at her, and his voice stuttered and gave out. He blinked up at her with his bleak blue eyes, faintly suspicious of her entry. Greengrass, it seemed, hadn't been listening to him at all; she was gazing out the window, one hand propped under her chin, the other scratching at the stiff material of her robes. The passing light struck the auburn of her hair, making it gleam.
"What do you want?" Gamp asked, drawing Grace's attention to him.
Greengrass shifted her head. If she was surprised to see Grace, she certainly didn't show it. Her eyes flickered up and down Grace before returning to the window, disinterested.
"Oh, you know—just passing by," Grace said in an entirely unbelievable voice. "Er—how are you two…?"
Gamp's suspicion eased. He let out a lengthy sigh. "So-so," he answered. "I'm a little upset that Hogsmeade trips have been cancelled. Safety is an issue, of course, but I figure the Ministry could have offered protection or instated extra precautions instead of having Hogwarts cancel them altogether."
"Sure," Grace nodded along, sitting down near Gamp rigidly. Her eyes flickered to Greengrass. "Hogsmeade's nice to get away from the school and all. What do you think, Gr—?"
"Yes, I agree completely," Gamp said immediately, turning to Grace fully. She bit back a groan. "It becomes rather boring, doesn't it? Milling about the school with the same people, day in and day out. Hogsmeade provides a fresh breath of air, an opportunity to explore beyond the limits of the school. My mother says that the problem with schools nowadays is that they keep forcing students inside, keeping their heads bent in books instead of allowing them to get practical knowledge and—"
"Right, yeah, practical knowledge and all," Grace cut in. She was staring at the back of Greengrass's head. The redhead hadn't moved in the slightest, and Grace was beginning to wonder if she had, in fact, fallen asleep.
"You know—I don't really believe O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s really test our practical knowledge," Gamp started suddenly. "Take the Astronomy O.W.L., for instance. That was all mugging. I don't recall there being a single question that actually tested my ability to think critically or creatively. I feel that's sort of a waste of our resources and abilities, don't you? How do you suppose Hogwarts is going to rear the next generation of innovators when they don't even test us…"
He continued on and on about the merits of exams. Grace wracked her brains, trying to figure out a way to shift Greengrass's attention from the window. She did not know much about Greengrass—only that the girl was constantly at odds with Fuentes (although the feud had calmed in recent years, the two now preferring to simply ignore the other), only that Greengrass was one of the top students in their year, only that she was almost always with Colvin and—
Grace frowned. That was what was so strange about this situation. It wasn't just that Greengrass was sitting with Gamp of all people; it was that Greengrass was without Colvin.
"Hey—where's Colvin?" Grace asked pointedly, hoping to draw Greengrass into the conversation.
To her annoyance, Gamp cut his tirade short in favor of speaking on behalf of Greengrass: "Haven't you heard?" he said imperiously. "The story's been making rounds. It's a bit startling, because none of us suspected it in the least. She hid it rather well and all—"
Grace kneaded at her forehead. "Just—what are you talking about?"
"Colvin's entire family has gone into hiding," Gamp explained, "on account of her father being a Mudblood—"
"Say that word one more time, Gamp, and I promise you won't like what happens next." Greengrass's eyes tore from the window and narrowed in on Gamp. Her voice was calm enough, but held an icy quality that made Grace shiver.
Gamp dropped his eyes, and he mumbled out an apology. He clammed up after that, settling on twiddling his thumbs and eyeing Greengrass nervously. Grace looked at Greengrass with newfound respect. It seemed she'd had the ability to shut Gamp up this entire time.
"What are you actually doing here?" Greengrass asked, gaze shifting to Grace.
"You're going to the Prefect meeting, yeah?"
Greengrass's hand ghosted over the silver and green badge pinned to her chest. "Of course," she said suspiciously. "What does that matter to you?"
"I've sort of lost Regulus, and I can't seem to find him. If you see him at the meeting, would you mind just telling him to meet me back at the compartment with the weird stain?"
Greengrass didn't say anything immediately. Grace met her gaze almost defiantly—chin out, jaw tight—and hoped that Greengrass might do her this one favor. They didn't talk to each other often, if at all, but Grace had always found her and Colvin the most bearable of the Slytherin girls. She hoped Greengrass thought the same of her.
"Why should I do anything for you?" Greengrass said at last.
Grace's lips dipped into a frown. She wanted to be irritated with Greengrass for this, for the expectation that if she wanted something from Greengrass then she had to earn it, for that very Slytherin attitude of quid pro quo, but she had only ever approached Greengrass with the intention of using her so perhaps she should have seen this coming.
"Alright, fine," Grace said. "Regulus went off with Rosier and Yaxley, and I'm worried for him. I just—" she broke off, trying to figure out a way to have Greengrass understand why it was so imperative she find Regulus. "Imagine the situation was reversed. Imagine if Colvin had gone off with them. You'd be worried too, wouldn't you? You'd want to find her, wouldn't you?"
Greengrass lifted a brow. "Are you trying to tell me that if I needed you to pass along a message to Lila, you would have? And, so, shouldn't I do the same for you and Black?"
Grace squinted at her. "Yes…?"
"You haven't managed to find Black on your own? Surely he, Rosier, and Yaxley must be cooped up in one of the compartments?"
Grace's temper spiked. Of course she'd tried to find him. It was hardly her fault there were a thousand and one compartments on this blasted train. "Look—just tell me if you'll pass along the message or not."
This time, the answer was immediate: "I will." Greengrass began to lean her head back towards the window. "It doesn't cost me anything, and I figure whatever's going on with Black, Rosier, and Yaxley must make for an interesting story…so, why not?"
Grace wasn't very appeased by Greengrass's apparent entertainment about the situation, but didn't voice her qualms. "Alright," she said. She rose, and inched back towards the door. "Thanks, I guess. And—er—sorry to hear about Colvin."
"Which part?" Greengrass sighed. "That she's gone into hiding or that her father's a Muggle-born?"
"Neither. I'm sorry you're not together."
She left Gamp and Greengrass's compartment feeling much better—more lighthearted, more optimistic. Greengrass might be a little cold, but she was reliable. If she said she would deliver Grace's message to Regulus, then she would. And once Regulus heard it—Grace wants to see you, so go to the compartment with the weird stain—he would come. Once Regulus knew that Grace was looking for him, he would go to her.
Grace rushed off to her old compartment, eager for Regulus to arrive. She barreled into the last car of the train, but stopped short at the threshold as she saw three boys—young, Gryffindor, jeering—trying to force open the door to her compartment.
"You'll pay for that one, Hornby!" one of them spat, trying to jab his wand through the gap in the door.
"Do you think this will leave scars?" another one murmured, voice thick. He turned, and Grace winced as she saw his face was dotted with large purple pustules—no doubt the work of this Hornby.
"Leave me alone!" a shrill voice from within Grace's compartment cried out. "You were the ones who started it—"
"And then you went crazy and attacked us!" the last boy spat. He was the tallest of the three, and his hands were hooked onto the edge of the door, trying to pull it back. "Can't you take a joke—"
"It's not just a joke!" the girl within cried out. "It's not!"
"Anteoculatia!" the first boy roared after he managed to force his wand inside.
A terrible bang went off, starting Grace. She jumped, and sped forwards. If that compartment was destroyed, then where was she and Regulus supposed to meet?
"Get away from there!" Grace snapped, striding forward with her wand outstretched.
The tall boy had managed to pry open the compartment door completely, but his hands fell slack when he saw Grace. "Er—" his dark eyes darted to his accomplices, "—it's not our fault. She hexed Green—look!"
Green poked at one of the large pustules on his face, and he groaned in pain. "How bad is it—?"
"Stop poking them—" the tall boy hissed.
"It's not my fault!" The girl within the compartment, a Ravenclaw, came forward. There was a thin sheen of sweat collecting over her deep russet skin, and her dark hair was frizzy and disheveled. She was clutching her head, where two large antlers had erupted from her skull. "They were making fun of me—and look what Golightly did to me!"
"It was in self-defense!" Golightly, the boy who shot the spell, protested. "She hexed Green first. If anyone should have points taken away, it's Horrible Hornby—"
"Don't call me that!" Hornby shrieked in indignation.
Grace stared at the students before her. "Er—I'm not a—"
"But you are horrible," the tall boy scowled at Hornby. "Merlin—even Moaning Myrtle can't stand you—"
"You don't understand the history—"
"You and your history—"
"Alright, shut your mouths," Grace bit. "I'll take fifty points from Gryffindor if you don't—"
"Fifty points?" Green cried out.
"From Gryffindor?" Golightly said. "Why from us?"
"Because I didn't see her—" Grace pointed at Hornby, "—hex you, but I did see you hex her, so…that's why."
The tall boy narrowed his eyes at her. "What sort of Prefect are you? How can you just—"
Grace twirled her wand in her hand. "I'm the sort of Prefect that will hex you in addition to taking fifty points from your House if you don't leave immediately."
The tall boy seemed ready to argue further about this, but Green muttered something about Slytherins and his friend relented. The trio of Gryffindors left, but not before throwing Grace a few dirty looks. She rolled her eyes and side-stepped a slack-jawed Hornby in order to get back inside her compartment.
"Nice, the cauldron cakes are still here," she said appreciatively, collapsing into her seat and taking a cake to munch on.
"Thank you!" Hornby burst, grinning. She moved forward, closer to Grace. "I don't think a Prefect's ever taken my side before, and—"
"Oh, I'm not a Prefect," Grace said plainly.
Hornby faltered for a moment. "But—but you said you'd take points from Gryffindor…?"
"Yeah—I sort of lied, because this is my compartment and I wanted them to bugger off." Grace gestured at her crumpled cauldron cake wrappers.
Hornby's face fell. "Oh…I see." She scratched near the base of her antlers.
Grace sighed to herself, and picked her wand. With a quick swish and a few incantations, the antlers disappeared. "There—they're gone now. And, while I can't take points away, my friend can. He's a Prefect. He'll be here soon, and I'll tell him about what happened."
Hornby was all smiles again. "Really? Oh—thank you." She sat down in one of the seats, much to Grace's chagrin. "When will he come? I should explain what happened: I only hexed Green, because the three of them wouldn't leave me alone." A tight frown overcame her lips. "I didn't even really mean to hit Green, I sort of just wanted to scare them away. And I didn't realize the spell would do that." She looked up at Grace with her large dark eyes. "Do you think Madam Pomfrey can fix his face?"
Grace was fairly certain the only thing Madam Pomfrey couldn't do was raise the dead. "Yeah," she shrugged. "He'll probably be fine."
She slumped against the back of the seat, relieved. "Oh, thank God. I was worried that he might be stuck like that forever, and then his family would probably write mine. And then maybe they'd even sue me or something, and we can't really afford to get wrapped up in any legal battles at the moment. My dad's just lost his job at the Ministry. They're cutting funds to make space for security or something, and a lot of people in my dad's department got laid off—"
"Oh, that's too bad," Grace said with almost no sympathy present in her voice. "Say, shouldn't you be heading back to your compartment now?"
Hornby's gaze fell from Grace. "Well…actually…I was sort of hopping from compartment to compartment. There weren't any empty ones left, and I don't have many friends—or any at all, really…" She struggled with something for a moment, but ultimately decided to just swallow it down.
Grace closed her eyes briefly. Merlin—she'd only wanted to track down Regulus. She'd never wanted to almost duel with Yaxley or sit through Gamp's rambling or even become a young Ravenclaw's confidante.
Grace looked at Hornby for a moment. Her eyes flickered to the compartment door. It had been partially tugged out of the frame, stuck midway in the frame. If Regulus came by, there was no way he'd miss her. And, besides, it would probably be a while until the Prefect meeting happened.
"What is it?" Grace sighed.
"It's just—my family's got sort of a history with Moaning Myrtle. You know Moaning Myrtle, right? She's sort of—" Hornby pulled a wailing face, "—you know?"
"I'm familiar with her."
"Yeah, well she used to haunt my great-aunt. Apparently, they didn't get along in school. But then the haunting got a bit too much, and the Ministry restrained Moaning Myrtle to Hogwarts. But now she just goes around Hogwarts, searching for students related to my great-aunt, so she can make all our lives miserable." Hornby huffed. "And no one wants to be my friend, because they don't want Moaning Myrtle to follow them around. Not to mention—a lot of what that ghost says has caught on, like—" she grimaced, "—Horrible Hornby."
Grace's brows had risen. "Wow," she said, unwrapping another cauldron cake, "I didn't think Moaning Myrtle ever came out of her bathroom."
"She makes special visits just for me," Hornby said darkly.
"I'll tell you what—maybe I can get the Bloody Baron to scare Moaning Myrtle into leaving you alone—"
"Really?" Hornby practically yelled. "Really—you'd do that for me?"
Grace winced at the volume of her voice. "Yeah—I just need to talk to him. I dunno if he'd listen to me, but I suppose if I make it sound like Moaning Myrtle's been badmouthing him or something…maybe he'll agree."
"I think this is going to be the best year I've ever had at Hogwarts," Hornby breathed. "No Moaning Myrtle. Oh, and you're going to have your friend take all those points from Golightly and the others, too. I just—" she blinked at Grace, "—thank you! Thank you—er—what's your name?"
Grace smiled wryly. "I'm Grace Potter."
"I'm Sophia." She stuck her hand out.
Grace took it and gave her a firm pump. "Nice to meet you, Sophia. I suppose you can just hang around in here until my friend gets back."
"Okay," she agreed easily. "And then he'll take the points?"
"Yeah," Grace nodded. "But after that, you'll have to go—if you don't mind. We have some things to talk about."
Hornby—Sophia—deflated slightly at this news, but agreed nonetheless. "That's fine," she said, and began to comb her fingers through her unkempt hair. She pinned the dark coils into a tight bun. "What do you need to talk about?"
Grace shrugged. "This and that."
"Oh," Sophia said with too much emphasis than Grace thought was necessary. She leaned forward and dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Is it about…S-E-X?"
Grace opened and closed her mouth several times. "I—what? Why are you spelling out that word?"
Sophia flushed. "I dunno…it's not…you shouldn't say it aloud."
"Why not?"
"It's not proper."
Grace snorted. "Alright, if you say so. And—no—it's not about S-E-X. Merlin…you kids get stranger and stranger every year."
"I'm not a kid," Sophia protested. "I'm thirteen years old. My mum said I'm old enough to go to the mall on my own now—"
"What's a mall?"
Sophia's eyes grew wide and round. "You don't know?" she gasped out. "But it's the best! It's this big, big building—" she stretched her arms out wide to indicate the size, "—and it's got hundreds and hundreds of little shops inside. There are boring stores, of course—things for adults, like watches and taxes. But they've also got a bunch of fun things! The mall near my house has got two movie theaters in it. And one of my neighbors was working there during the summer, and she let me sneak in to watch movies for free! I only wish I'd had another friend working in the concession stand, so I could get free popcorn, too, but…"
On and on the hours went, Sophia Hornby chattering nonstop about all the movies she saw during the summer and the little cream puffs her mother made for her birthday and how she wanted her father's new job to be at the concession stand in the mall. Grace fell in and out of listening, sometimes watching the young girl fidget on the seat opposite her own, sometimes finding her gaze travel to the wide window—to the lush, rolling hills, the occasional flock of grazing sheep, the streaming white clouds.
Grace held hope every minute of the way to Hogwarts. Any minute now, she thought confidently, Regulus is going to step into this compartment. He's going to tell me what happened with Yaxley and Rosier. He's going to say sorry. He's going to come back. Any minute now.
Evening cut through the sky. When the train came to a stop, Regulus had still not come.
"Do you think he just got lost?" Sophia posed innocently. "Or maybe he forgot? My dad forgets things often. He once forgot my mum's birthday, which she wasn't very happy about—"
"I dunno—maybe," Grace cut in gruffly. "Let's just drop it."
"Okay…"
The night air was thick and vast. Grace waded through it blindly, kicking at the soft, damp soil, scowling at nothing. Sophia stuck close to her side, shrinking under the cool dark. The moonlight that fell through the trees was faint and splintered, doing little to light their way. A chilly breeze whistled through the air, and Grace unconsciously wound herself tighter into the dark wool of her cloak.
Sophia squinted and pointed forward. "I think those are the carriages."
Grace glanced up, and saw pinpricks of light—the lanterns attached to the horseless carriages. She nodded absently, and dropped her eyes back to the ground. She could not care less about finding her way to Hogwarts, about the Sorting of the new first-years, about the scores of steaming food that would decorate the tables in the Great Hall. She would not enjoy it, not when she had been spurned so viscerally by Regulus.
"It's sort of unnerving, isn't it?" Sophia said once they neared the row of dark blue carriages. "The way they just look at you…like they can see into you."
Grace looked around. There was no one around, save for a few straggling groups of students, and none of them were looking at Sophia. "What are you talking about?"
"The horse-dragons that pull the carriages," she said matter-of-factly.
"The horse-dragons…?" Grace repeated. Realization dawned on her. "Oh, right, Reg—I mean, I heard that it's Thestrals that actually pull the carriages. They're not self-moving."
"Thestrals?" Sophia said dubiously. "What are those?"
"The…er…horse-dragons. They're harmless, I think. How—" Grace glanced down at Sophia uneasily. You could only see Thestrals if you'd witnessed death, and Grace had not exactly pinned Sophia as someone who had watched a person die. She decided now might not be the time to delve into that topic.
"How what?"
Grace cleared her throat. "Er—nothing. We should get a move on, before the carriages leave without us."
They sprinted the rest of the way. Grace was panting by the time they reached the long line of carriages. Sophia climbed into the closest one. Grace put her foot on the step, but before she stepped inside, she cast one last look around her. She spotted Greengrass snap at Gamp as she entered a carriage further down, along with a few other seventh-years, but Regulus was not amongst them.
Grace pursed her lips and hauled herself into the carriage, sitting opposite Sophia. She crossed her arms over her chest, and stared stonily out of the small side window. Fine, she thought viciously. If Regulus did not want to see her, then she did not want to see him.
The carriage moved forward with a lurch. Sophia craned her neck out the window. "I wonder how the Thestrals can tell when to start. Do you think they can listen to our thoughts?"
"I—why would they be able to do that?"
"I dunno—it might explain how they know when to move, and…it just seems like they can, right? It's just the way they look, with those pale eyes." Sophia glanced at Grace. "What do you think?"
"Er—yeah, it's weird," Grace agreed blindly.
Grace hastily ducked her head out of Sophia's line of sight. She shifted her body closer towards the window, peering through the glass. The moon came into full view as they reached open air. Light struck the craggy black rocks in the distance. Off to the side was the Great Lake, the surface of which shimmered under the moonlight. Silhouetted boats spanned through the body of water.
Grace had never been able to participate in the customary boat ride all first-year students did. She had never quite minded it before, but now…now she wondered what all she had missed.
The carriages arrived at Hogwarts—that tall castle with spindly spires and rugged parapets—in almost no time at all. Before she knew it, she was encased in the warm glow of the Great Hall. The torches hung across the four walls blazed bright. The majority of the students were already seated and chattering with their fellow classmates.
Grace's eyes found Regulus almost instantly, which she hated. He was sat amongst the other seventh-year Slytherins, at the very front of the table. On his left was Rosier, and on the right was Yaxley. He was sandwiched between the two of them, and although she couldn't make out his exact expression from her distance, nothing in his posture—straight back, a goblet of pumpkin juice rolling lazily in his hand—suggested he was displeased about his seating arrangement.
Another scowl ripped from Grace. She ducked her head, and tried to forget all that had happened on the train. She wanted Regulus out of her head, but that only made her think of him harder, made her worry for him, made her more furious at him.
"Er—aren't you going to go there?" Sophia asked, stopping in front of Grace. She pointed limply at the end of the hall, where the Slytherin table was situated.
"No," Grace said shortly. "Where do you sit?"
"Me?" Sophia repeated. Her eyes darted about the Great Hall. "I dunno—wherever I can fit amongst the Ravenclaws. Do you—do you want to sit with me?"
"Yeah. Lead the way."
Sophia brightened almost instantly, and scampered off towards the middle of the Ravenclaw table, pulling Grace along. The contrast between the duo—Sophia's shining, merry face besides Grace's sour, scowling one—was alarming, and several Ravenclaws stared at them as they sat down together.
"What?" Grace snapped at them, reaching for a goblet.
They looked away hastily.
"Do you like the Sorting?" Sophia asked conversationally. She turned to Grace eagerly.
"It's alright," Grace said flatly.
Her gaze dotted about the Hall. Up in the center of the professors' table was Dumbledore, deep in conversation with the new DADA professor—a slight woman with bold eyes and sleek dark hair. His hands were clasped together, and there was a certain air of fatigue surrounding him. Grace wasn't particularly surprised by this. Dumbledore had been called so often to the Ministry last year, he was hardly present at Hogwarts. A rumor that he was stepping down as Headmaster and becoming the Minister for Magic had begun to spread because of it.
McGonagall called for attention, and placed the Sorting Hat atop a stool in front of the students. Grace sighed to herself as the old ragged thing burst into song. She had actually been looking forward to hearing it sing, if only because tonight would be the last time she would ever hear it at all, if only because the finality of it somehow made it more alluring than it actually was. She had wanted to hear the song and make dry remarks about the rhymes to Regulus.
But that had been before the day went completely sideways.
Unwillingly, she found her eyes wandering back to Regulus. He wasn't watching the Sorting Hat either, but most of the older students weren't. He was simply lounging between Rosier and Yaxley, quietly listening to whatever the latter were discussing. Rosier had a sly smile on his lips and Yaxley was on the verge of laughter, so Grace could only assume they were throwing slights at the Sorting Hat or Dumbledore.
She started as the Ravenclaw table suddenly burst into a peal of applause, and realized, with a faint dumbfoundedness, that the Sorting had started.
"It's less than usual," she noted quietly, eyes flying over the small gaggle of first-years. There couldn't be more than ten.
"Yeah," Sophia agreed. "Half my year's gone, too."
Grace's gaze scattered over the Great Hall. Every table except Slytherin's was noticeably smaller.
"My dad said most families have probably gone into hiding," Sophia explained quietly, "on account of all the attacks and stuff. My mum wanted to do the same, actually, but Dad didn't think there was any need. He thinks this might blow over, once the Ministry manages to collect themselves."
"You could sooner teach a fire crab to play Quidditch than get the Ministry to do their job properly," Grace muttered into the mouth of her goblet.
Sophia laughed at that. Soon after, the Sorting was finished and platters of food appeared onto the Ravenclaw table. While Sophia dug into a large chunk of roasted chicken, Grace pushed some collard greens back and forth with the edge of her fork. She had swallowed down a couple of bites, but much of her appetite had gone the minute the train had come to a stop.
Dinner in the Great Hall passed by unbearably slow. Grace was painfully aware of Regulus's presence, even though they were nowhere near each other, even though she was almost certain he hadn't even noticed her.
She waited and watched. After the empty plates and goblets disappeared from the tables, after the Prefects began to collect first-years, after the students began to yawn and trickle out of the Hall, Grace rose and slunk towards the Slytherin side, intending to latch onto Regulus once he peeled himself away from Rosier and Yaxley's sides. It was so simple in her head: he only had to excuse himself. He only had to lag behind a moment. He only had to let her back in.
But he didn't do any of that. From the shadows, Grace saw Regulus walk steadfastly between Rosier and Yaxley. He was so close to them, it was almost as if someone had placed a Permanent Sticking Charm on him. She scowled as she saw them leave the Great Hall together.
"Is he your Prefect friend?"
Grace jumped, and clutched at her heart. She turned to Sophia with narrowed eyes. "Merlin—what are you still doing here? I thought you went up with the other Ravenclaws."
"I was going to, but I saw you go off, and you were sulking, so—"
"I'm not sulking," Grace said instantly. A beat passed, and then she sighed. "Alright, I'll—er—see you later. You should head up to the Ravenclaw tower and get some sleep before classes."
"Go up by myself?" Sophia said, face flickering with worry. "What if Moaning Myrtle comes?"
"What do you mean—" Grace glanced around the Hall and saw that she and Sophia were the last students there, "—okay, fine, I'll walk you up, then."
Sophia beamed, and diligently began to lead Grace out of the Great Hall. "It'll be good if you're there, too, because then you can help me solve the riddle. I've only managed to get it right once or twice."
Grace looked at her warily. "I'm not very good with riddles…"
"That's okay," Sophia assured. "I'll help, too. It probably won't be too hard. The knocker usually gives simple ones the first week back, so the first-years can get eased into it."
"Er—sure."
She followed Sophia up the Grand Staircase, into the west side of the castle. They dashed up the stairs leading to the Ravenclaw tower, Sophia taking two at a time while Grace followed haggardly. Soon, they reached a large wooden door with no doorknob or keyhole. In the center of it was a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.
Sophia took the knocker in her hand and struck it against the door.
The eagle knocker opened its beak and spoke: "A wizard bought a broomstick. Over time, its malfunctioning parts are replaced. Eventually, all parts are replaced with new ones. Is the broomstick still the same object the wizard first purchased?"
Grace stared at the knocker. "What?" she said. "What—what're you talking about? It's still a broomstick, isn't it?"
Sophia's nose was scrunched up in thought. "I dunno," she said honestly. "I mean, when you've replaced all the parts, then it's no longer exactly the same as it was when it was first bought."
"Alright, then I guess the answer is no—"
"But," Sophia continued thoughtfully, "it's still the same broomstick in principle. And, besides, when did it stop being the old broomstick and start being a new one? When the last part was replaced? But it's been different since the first sign of wear—"
"Oh, this is just ridiculous!" Grace burst, glowering at the silent eagle knocker. "Who wants to answer some riddle this late at night? And what sort of question is this, anyway? It's not even practical! Who cares if the broomstick is the same or not?"
The eagle knocker didn't answer, and—with a sinking in her heart—Grace found her thoughts fleeing to Regulus. Regulus, who would have unraveled this riddle instantly if only he were here. Regulus, who was cleverer than her in the way of words, who always knew what to say and how to say it, who listened, truly listened, who could weasel meaning out of anything.
"Fuck," she said, and kicked at the threshold of the door. The tip of her foot throbbed with pain, but it was a small prick compared to the twist and turn of her heart. "Who the bloody hell cares about a broken broomstick? You know—" she seethed at the eagle knocker, "—I've got a better riddle for you. Why isn't he talking to me? Why is he ignoring me? Why now? When nothing's happened? Something must have happened! Is he in trouble? Has he realized something, and—"
"Er—the knocker can't answer your questions," Sophia interjected nervously. "It only asks questions that you've got to answer."
"Well—well—that's dumb!" she exploded. "Sometimes what a student needs is an answer, not a question! Sometimes we just need a little guidance! Sometimes, we just want to know why our best friend has fucked off—"
"How about I give it a try?" Sophia suggested.
Grace merely grunted in response, and moved away from the knocker. She crossed her arms over her chest, and glared into the dark wood of the door.
"We change all the time," Sophia murmured to herself. "Objects change all the time—they collect dust, they wear down. Even if we don't notice it. I don't think that broomstick was ever the same as it was at any previous moment. It changed between the second it was bought and the second after." She peered at the eagle knocker. "I think…the concept of the broomstick remains the same—it's still the wizard's property—but materially it's become different."
"Very well put," the knocker said melodiously, and the door swung open.
Grace frowned. She didn't like the answer. Could a broomstick really become a completely new broomstick just because a few parts had been swapped out? That wizard bought the broomstick to use it, and he did. He flew on it and he treasured it and he loved it, and that affection had worn the broomstick down completely, had changed it over time.
Which parts of Regulus had she bent? Which parts of him needed to be taken out and replaced? Was there some part deep within him that was the real Regulus—shiny and intact—and was it still loyal to Grace? Or did it need to be replaced, too? Was the Regulus that Grace knew and understood gone, simply because she had not paid enough attention?
A/N : Grace is sort of beginning to work through the five stages of grief. And here's some insight into Regulus: his entire thought process at any point during this chapter (and the next few) is just a loop of fuckfuckfuck.
Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and faves! I'm so glad you're all enjoying this story! Please keep letting me know what you think :)
Sandungera : Just wanted to thank you for your review on the last chapter of Flying! I was so, so happy to read that you found the change in mood seamless; it was one of the things I was most worried about. I am also a member of the Avery protection squad! I've got a whole ass redemption arc planned for him.
FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff : I'm so glad that made you happy! By the way, I don't think I ever mentioned how awesome your username is!
EchoStorm7 : It makes me so happy that you find Grace likable! I was really worried that she might come across as irritating in the beginning. And I'm so glad you find her and Regulus cute! Thanks for reviewing :)
QueenAnarchy2.0 : There's absolutely no need to apologize for the long review or questions! I love them! Your reviews for the last chapter of Flying and the first chapter of Falling were lovely, and I really enjoyed reading them. I wrote a response to all your questions and the insightful things you noticed, but it turned into an absolute behemoth of a reply, so I'm just going to PM it to you so I don't add to the word count here. Thank you for being such a wonderful reader! :)