Chapter IX

Precious Pieces


THE WEEK DRAGGED on in a long array of classes and essays and meals at the Great Hall. I listened and wrote and ate and wished it was Saturday already. I slept and hung out with friends and avoided Lucius Malfoy and counted the hours.

As I rifled through my closet, I could not help but smile at how different this felt to all the so-called dates Lucius Malfoy invited me to. I remembered sitting in front of my vanity table, wishing that I never had to stand up. Now, I was wishing the clock would move faster. I had only managed to get one evening with Harry over the week, and he had been frustratingly tight-lipped about his weekend plans. All my information gathering could be condensed into 'dress nice'. Oh well, I liked surprises.

Eventually, I pulled out a set of winter robes and a matching green hat and scarf from my wardrobe. It was about as flattering as I was going to get if we were going outside in the snow. I also wore more matching green lace underneath, but I would be caught dead before I admitted to anyone I colour-matched that much. Still, I had to suppress a shiver as I remembered how his hands felt on my body, and so sue me if I did everything I could to feel them there again.

"Have fun today!" I shouted to Rosalie as I made my way out of the dormitory. She shouted something back from the shower, but it was drowned out by the water. Cara, as usual, was still asleep.

I was almost out of the common room when someone called out to me.

"Miss Black?"

I tried to suppress a groan as I turned and saw none other than Lucius Malfoy get up from where he had been sitting with his friends and hurry over to me. I really did not want to talk to him; not now or ever. I did not want to see the smirk plastered across his face as he attempted to be all suave but ended up sounding like a stuck-up prick.

I had tolerated him all autumn, but hearing him talk at Malfoy Manor had been too much. I still had nightmares about the things I had heard him talk about. I did not care about muggles, but Morgana so help me, I would curse him to the brink of death and back again if he forced himself on a woman, regardless of who she was. Some things were just not done.

I slid my hand into my robes almost on reflex, feeling the comforting roughness of my wand. I tried my hardest not to flinch when he stopped too close for comfort.

"Mr Malfoy," I ground out, hoping it sounded cordial, and trying to figure out why I even bothered.

"Miss Black, I hope I am not interrupting." His voice was so oily I could feel it grease my skin. When I did not reply, his forehead creased, just a little. Good. Maybe I could not curse him—not in the middle of the common room, anyway—but I would definitely be trying my best to annoy him until his ears turned red. "I was hoping we could spend some time together, it has been too long since our last outing."

"Unfortunately, I have been quite busy lately," I said in the blandest, most polite tone possible, even slipping in a little smile. It was sharp, pretty, and perfectly polite. I hoped he would slit his veins on it. Maybe the red would paint nice accents on your branded forearm, oh brave Knight.

"Of course," he said, clearly off-kilter now. "I hope you would at least find the time to accompany me to Hogsmeade next weekend, or we might not be able to spend time together before the Yule break."

As if I wanted to. "Unfortunately, I already have plans. If that is all, I wish you a pleasant Saturday, Mr Malfoy." My piece said, I turned in his face, not waiting for a reply or caring if I was being polite any longer, salvaging whatever remained of my frayed temper. I was certain that if I spent another moment in his proximity, I would not be able to resist remembering some of the more painful curses from the Black books. I was dimly aware of him saying something, but I was paying him no mind. I was too warm in the coat, my sweater itched and my skin was squirming. I had to get out of the dungeons, out of the castle.

I wanted to see Harry.

I knocked on the Defence door with more force than was strictly necessary, and then forced myself to take a breath and unclench my fists. Deep breaths, in and out. I was not going to let that twat ruin my date.

When he opened the door, I grabbed him by the lapel of his coat and dragged him into a kiss, interrupting his 'hey' and whatever else he was about to say. I could feel his lips quirk up as his hands settled on my sides.

"Hi," I said, a little out of breath, after I broke the kiss.

"Hello, Cissa," he said, voice full of mirth. "What do I have to do to get greeted like that more often?"

"Keep taking me out on dates, pretty boy," I said as I pushed him into the classroom and kicked the door shut behind us with a foot.

"I can definitely do that."

"Good, now kidnap me from this dreary castle."

The restaurant was lovely. It was still somewhat weird to me how utterly unconcerned Harry seemed with jumping across borders and apparition nets as if they were cobwebs in the attic, but I took it in stride at this point.

We got a window seat looking out at a river somewhere. The daffodils he gave me sat in a vase against the window. They were beautiful in the shy, hesitant sort of way that unicorns have. The day passed by in a blur of food and wine and half-shy glances thrown about with the care of folding origami. I laughed as he told me of his time at Hogwarts; from how he stuck his wand in a troll's nose and flew his first broom to how he taught a secret defence club called Dumbledore's Army, and everything in-between.

We were leaning against a railing of a bridge, having departed the restaurant some time prior in favour of wandering the city. I still did not know where we were, but the buildings were pretty and the frost made Harry's nose hue into red and the world was spinning and spinning and spinning.

"Do you know what you are going to be wearing to the Midwinter ball?" I asked, wanting to double-check after the frankly embarrassing fiasco that was his last one.

One of my best friends went with another school's champion, who also happened to be Bulgaria's national seeker. The other one spent the whole ball sulking because of it. Oh, and I didn't know how to dance, so my date didn't get that many dances.

I watched as his breath misted, twirling up and up and away. "Dumbledore didn't tell me anything about balls, I don't wanna do another one."

"Not at the school, Harry. I meant the annual Midwinter ball that everyone who is anyone in this country attends," I said, trying to hide my irritation at his protestations.

"Is it another one of those pureblood things I was blissfully unaware of?"

I tapped my fingers on the cold stone, torn between snapping at him and screaming at someone because how did he not know? "Well, if you put it that way, yes. It is traditional that at least one family holds a ball over Yuletide. I am pretty certain there is some unspoken tradition that the families rotate the responsibility."

"Right," he said as he ran a hand through his hair. "Right. And how exactly does this concern me?"

"How exactly does this concern you, Harry? It is one of the biggest events for one of the largest holidays in Britain! That is like… like…" I forced myself to take a deep breath and reminded myself that Harry was raised by muggles. "There are eight holidays in Britain, four from the old Celtic calendar and four from the new Anglo-Saxon one. Since the Celtic holidays date back to Merlin's days, that's when all the big rituals happen, which leaves the new ones like Yule and Lithe for formal functions.

"Frankly, I am astounded that Dorea did not drag you to the functions held over the last few years. It is… bad taste not to attend." I cut him off before he could say something profoundly stupid. "And yes, you will attend. Not only because both Riddle and Malfoy will be there and I will not face them alone after what happened, but because if we ever make what we have public, I refuse to be the one whose—" I cut myself off before I said husband because that was taking things too far too quickly and I was drunk and irritated and… "Is it really that big of a deal? That much of a hassle? I get it, I am not the biggest fan of socialising and pretending to care either, but you make it seem worse than mandrake screams."

His concession came out with a sigh to rival the Hogwarts steam engine. "I guess you're right."

"Am I not always?" I said as I forced myself to smile, trying to shoo away the tension.

He hummed, mock-considering the question. "Where is it held this year, by the way?"

"Rosier Manor. Cara had been going on about the preparations for weeks." The girl was half excited and half terrified, after I had told her about what a certain fraction of the guest list were up to in their free time. "And since Uncle Evan is my mother's older brother, I am certain my family will be somewhere up there on the honoured guest list, perhaps even yours."

"Bugger. If I ask nicely, will you teach me how to dance?"

"Of course, Harry, right after I teach you the proper etiquette, table manners, and give you the rundown of who's who."

This wrung another groan out of him. Really, it was all his fault, I thought as I conveniently ignored that it may or may not have been me that started the relationship.

"You know, sometimes I can totally see why Andromeda ran off," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hands for warmth as he turned to face me fully.

I blinked. Then blinked again, as my heart wrenched. We did not talk about Ana. Nobody outside of the family really knew what happened, most people simply assumed she was married off overseas. It was so incredibly easy to let people come to their own conclusions and not correct them. It made it sound so much better than having the eldest daughter cast out of the family.

But Harry knew. And unless father told him—which I knew he would not have, since it was all too hushed up—or he saw the family tapestry—which was equally unlikely, since he had no reason for him to go to Grimmauld Place…

Which meant Harry had known her.

A thousand questions spilled forth. How did he know her? Was she happy, wherever she was? Did she mention the rest of us? Was she—

"Cissa?"

"You knew Ana?" It was more of an accusation than a question; an entreaty for truth. I was too afraid he knew her, too scared to hear about her. Too ashamed and haunted by the past. I heard his yes, but it was swallowed up in the sudden storm of memories. I was already sinking into some sorry mixture of remembrance and regret.

Andromeda Druella Black, firstborn daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black, the star and pride of my mother and father. The perfect daughter. Right until she wasn't. Right until the picture-perfect porcelain facade shattered, and then she was gone. Because she hated Rodolphus Lestrange, and she would rather marry a muggleborn and be cast out of the family. Because she hated being the perfect daughter, always meek and obedient.

And she hated me, too. Because little Narcissa did not question her parents. Little Narcissa was grandfather's favourite, so she was out of father's sight more often than not. Because little Narcissa told her favourite sister to listen to mother and father, because they knew best, told her that the mudblood boy was beneath her and it was not right to court him. So she left dumb little Narcissa broken and bleeding and confused and alone.

And then she was gone, so mother and father turned their attentions to Bella. Sweet, bubbly Bella. Because with Ana gone off, Bella was now the eldest. The Lestranges were placated, a marriage was set up, and Bella was gone too. Bella, who hid somewhere behind violet eyes, so the world would not hurt her. In her place was a cruel woman who no longer made jokes. A woman that did not have restraint. I swallowed down the knot in my throat as I felt the skin of my neck itch and pull tight, as it always did when I remembered the time the cutting curse hit my jugular.

"Cissa, love, talk to me."

Instead I buried my face into his shoulder, breathing in the forest and the rain, guilt squirming in my chest because it was not his fault. It was not her fault, either. But I still missed her. I still wondered where she was, and how she was doing, and resented myself for burning bridges I did not even know were there. I felt the tears begin to well up at the corners of my eyes, because Ana was the only other person to ever call me Cissa. I wanted to cry because he loved me, and a stupid part of me thought that maybe I did not deserve it.

But I was Narcissa Black and I had been raised better than that. So I squeezed my eyes until my breathing evened out. "I miss her," I managed to whisper through my clenched throat. "I miss her so much."

I felt Harry step away from me, and I turned my face away, drawing my coat tighter around myself all the while hating myself for the admission. The show of weakness. My cheeks were burning despite the freezing air.

"Sometimes, I wish I could unmake the past, y'know? But… I can't."

I felt him press something small and cold into my palm. I looked down to see a tiny hourglass resting in my hand, glass cracked and covered in hoarfrost; the delicate metalwork warped and blackened. A time-turner. No, I corrected myself, Harry's time-turner.

"We can't unmake the past, Cissa," he said even as he wound the thin golden chain around my wrist, closing my fingers around the whole reason he was here. "But we can try to fix the future."

Perhaps I should not have been surprised that he had carried it with him all this time. In our own way, we all carried our demons with us wherever we went. I felt the metal dig into my palm as I squeezed the little hourglass as if I could crush it, and my pain with it.

"Tell me about her, please?" I tried not to sound desperate. I probably failed.

"The first time I met her, I thought she was Bellatrix," he said after a while, in slow, hesitant words, running his hand in slow circles around my back. I leant back against him, listening; soaking his words like a wilted flower yearns for the sun; silently urging him on. "She and Ted—er, her husband—were wonderful people, just like her daughter Nymphadora. She insisted that her mother gave her an awful name, and threatened to curse everyone who didn't call her Tonks. I… I'm afraid I didn't know Andromeda very well. We didn't really get a chance to talk much. I know she was overjoyed when she found out she was going to be a grandmother. I was supposed to be godfather, you know? Never got to see the kid. Before I ended up here, that is."

And so we stood there, and I listened as he told me everything he knew about the Tonks family. I never asked if she had reconnected with her family. I did not think I would be able to stand the response, either way.

···

The music came to a slow stop, hiding back into the rafters and corners of the room. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness that came from hours spent leaning back against his arm. Squeezing his shoulder with my left hand, I smiled up at him. He was grinning ear to ear—it was the first time he went the whole song without making a mistake, and it only took us two days to get there.

"I told you your flying experience would help." What I had actually told him was that if he had a third of the grace on foot that a seeker required on a broom, he would already be above average. Despite dancing lessons being forced on practically every child, not all of them learned, or learned well.

But I wanted to dance with Harry, and I wanted to push him past mediocrity. Maybe he did not have people in his life to push him before, but I wanted to see him shine, because he was good at what he did.

I gave him a quick kiss before I went to change the record.

"Maybe, or maybe you're just a really good teacher."

"Does that mean I can give out homework, now?"

"Of course, that's what being a teacher is all about," he said with a chuckle.

Well, in that case…

"Good, then we are done for the day," I said as I put the record in its folio. My shoulders ached from the tension and my feet were sore from dancing barefoot. I had wanted to run us through at least one more song, but… On further reflection, I could think of several things that we could do that sounded more appealing. "For homework, I will have to remove this."

"Fuck me," I heard him groan behind me as my skirt fell to the ground around my feet.

That's the idea, sweetheart.

"What, you really expected no incentives after such a stellar performance, Harry?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking as I bent down to put away the record on its shelf. So what if I made the Room put the shelf as low as possible?

The way he smiled at me; the way his shirt was rolled up around his forearms… It did things to me.

We had talked since that night in Carcassonne; kissed since. I knew that Harry loved flying and that his patronus was a stag. I knew the way he ran his hands through his hair when he had nothing else to do with them. I knew the scars on his face and his hands like a sailor knows the maps of the oceans.

Yet despite all that, that night still felt like a dream. A stolen moment, caged in too many feelings; too many doubts. So I did not shiver as I felt my skin paint itself with goosebumps, because I wanted—needed to know that it was more than just a fluke. That he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

My breath caught in my throat as his hands settled on my sides, soft as morning mist. He pressed a kiss to the shell of my ear, holding my hand still from where it had slowly teased the bottom button of my blouse open. "You have no idea how beautiful you look."

I watched as a mirror flowed out of the stonework, only tall enough for us to see our faces, hiding my bare legs. Perhaps that was the point. We looked into each other's eyes, my back against his chest, his arms around me. He searched my face, and I felt more naked than the day I was born.

"I love you, Cissa."

My heart fluttered to the shape of those four words like a little hummingbird, because he had never said them before. Not like this, anyway. I could feel his heart beating from where I leaned on his chest. I entwined our fingers, squeezed his hand where he held mine.

"I love you too, Harry."

His smile was warmer than sunshine and brighter than all the stars in the night sky.

I felt the ghost of a touch on my abdomen as he freed a second button. And a third. I felt him tease my blouse open slower than a melting glacier; felt him pressing kisses to the spot behind my ear, neck, and shoulder. I pressed into him, relishing the feeling of being loved and wanted.

The evening passed in a blur of kisses and gentle hands cupping cheeks. It held an eternity of soft touches and entwined legs and smiles so wide it made my face ache. We made our own music, then, pulling threads of quiet sighs and sharp breaths and those low sounds from the back of the throat that make your heart tremble like thunder.

It felt so blissful, it made me wish I could end my days like this more often; made me wish I could squirrel Harry away somewhere secret and never deal with the outside world again. I wished I could go back to Carcassonne instead of London tomorrow.

"Dance with me again?" I asked, tracing the shape of his arm with my fingers.

"Like this?" he asked, looking down on where we lay entangled in our altogether.

I grinned, pulling him off the bed. "Why not?"

···

I watched as the scenery of rural London sped by the window, a dreary mixture of fields, houses, half-sludged snow, and brown trees sticking out toward the sky. Occasionally, the sun would peek out from behind the clouds and glare into the compartment, making me squint.

"Are you sure you want to do this today?"

"No, not really," I said as I turned to Emmy. "Honestly, a part of me wishes the train would break down somewhere in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm sure it'll turn out okay," she said softly, squeezing my hand with a little smile. It made me wish I had as much faith as Emmy, but my head was plagued with doubts and doubts that had doubts themselves.

Harry's accidental admission that he knew Ana had reopened wounds I tried hard to forget were there. All the feelings came tumbling out in a jumble of confusion and sorrow and that night I had broken down in the shower all over again. It was funny in its own twisted way that the tears came easiest when I was already drenched in water anyway. I was nothing if not efficient.

I had tried sending owls, tried asking grandfather to see if the Ministry had something. I even went to Gringotts. All I got in return for my efforts were 'no's, some more polite than others. That, and the sullen silence of unopened letters. And so I asked Harry if he could take me to her house, so I might make amends—he had been to their house, after all.

I'm so sorry, Cissa. I don't know where they live, they moved… sometime during the first war.

I had a very strong urge to blast something to smithereens. But I refused to let my composure slip even further. I was a Black, Morgana damn it all, and I would keep up the fucking appearances as much as I could. So I went about my day, half-present, half-lost in my own head.

All until I walked in on Emmy explaining some muggle thing to Marlene. And it hit me like a bludger to the face that unlike Harry, Emmy still lived in the muggle world—at least during the holidays. That she was not so sheltered and ignorant about how the muggle world worked. And that now that I knew the name of the faceless muggleborn boy she had run off to marry; maybe, just maybe, Emmy could help me find my sister.

So instead of dwelling on what might be, I lost myself in the conversation; listening to Alice gush about her plans to spend Yule with Frank at Longbottom Hall and Marlene brainstorming with Cara about last-minute gift shopping for her brothers. I felt the cool metal of the broken hourglass from where it hung on its chain, nestled in the valley between my breasts, right next to the heart, as the train beat a rhythm on the tracks. It was still broken and warped and shattered.

Our goodbyes on the platform were short, since we would be seeing each other in less than two days at the ball. I sent Minky to drop off both my own and Emmy's luggages at our houses, with explicit instructions not to be seen by Reverend Vance.

I fidgeted with my coat, adjusting and readjusting as we crossed from the platform towards the gateway to muggle London and praying that what I was wearing was not too out-of-fashion. My doubts were quickly swallowed by the sheer volume of people, sounds, lights, and smells that barraged me from the moment we went through the enchanted brick pillar.

It was not my first time in the city, having visited a few times during the summer, but it had never felt so oppressive. It was like being in Diagon Alley days before the school started, with crowds of bodies pressing through the station and the streets.

I was extremely grateful for Emmy, who pulled me through the mass of muggles and into a post office on the corner of the street across. It had a blinking light that spelled 'Merry Christmas' in white and red and green in front, blending into a cacophony of lights, sound, and unfamiliar holiday music.

I browsed through a collection festive of post stamps—they were used to pay for your letters, Emmy had once explained—while she went to the front desk to ask something of the clerk.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

Next year all our troubles, will be out of sight—

I jumped a bit as Emmy thumped a thick book down next to me. "I got us a telephone directory," she said as she started flicking through the pages. "It's like a list of all floo addresses in one book, but for telephones. So if the Tonkses are connected, and decided to be listed, they should be… Here!"

I stared at where she was pointing with a sickening apprehension. There, in black on white, was TONKS. I leaned in to have a closer look with my heart hammering away in my throat. There was a Barbara, a Daniel, and at the end Edward. With a number and an address.

Someday soon we all will be together

If the fates allow

Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow—

"Do you think it's him? Do you want to call ahead?"

"No, I—" I don't know what I would say. "Do you know where it is?"

She looked around to see if anyone was listening. "Can't you just take the Knight Bus? I thought it went… well, everywhere."

I shook my head. "No, I do not think that wise. It is known to be the choice of transport for all sorts of… shall we say less savoury parts of wizardkind, and these are not the best of times to be with those sorts of people."

"Oh, yea, makes sense," she frowned as she scratched her head underneath her hat. "I know a bus that goes nearby. It's close to where I went to school when I was little. Do you want to…"

"Yes. Let's go."

I had not even thought about the fact that muggles will not accept sickles until the conductor asked for pence. I panicked a little even as I squeezed the coins in my hand, hoping nobody noticed. By the time I regained composure, Emmy had paid for both of us and was pushing her way through the people standing in the aisle and up the stairs to the second deck.

The bus slowly made its way through the city. I watched as we passed by the hanging lights shaped like wreaths and falling stars; watched as cars tried to shimmy up and pass the bus by on each stop. There was hot air blowing from a vent somewhere near my leg, and the foggy window was leaking freezing air, making it both too cold and too hot at once.

I tried to think of something to say as we sat on the bus for what felt like forever. I played out dozens of possible scenarios as we made our way through the grey sludge that London called snow. By the time we got off the bus a few paces from Ana's street, I had not thought of a single word to say.

I hugged Emmy in thanks and called Minky to take her home.

"Take care, Cissy. And Merry Christmas!"

"You too, Emmy. Say hi to your folks, and stay safe!" I added as she extended her hand towards the little elf and the next moment I was alone.

I had not even noticed when it started snowing again. The lights were on in the house. I could just make out a tree full of lights through one of the front windows as I opened the gate and made my way to the front door. The doorbell rang too loud, disrupting the quiet of the evening with a reverberating ding. I swept my foot from side to side, clearing some of the fresh snow from the landing as I waited. There were muffled voices from the other side of the door, and then I heard the locks slide and a key turn and the door cracked ajar.

"Hello? Can I help you?" said a man's voice, half a face peeking through the gap.

Could he? 'Hello, are you Edward Tonks?' The words refused to come out. I looked down at my feet where I had cleared away the snow, lost for words.

"Ted, who is it?" someone shouted from inside the house.

Ted leant onto the doorjamb with a sigh. "If you're here about a charity choir or somesuch, I'm afraid we're not interested."

"I… No, not charity. I'm…" I took a deep breath.

"Close the door, damn you, or you will let all the heat out!" came the shouts again.

"Sorry, I just… Came to visit," I finished lamely, then took off the hood of my coat because I realised that there was no way I was going to be able to explain myself coherently. My stomach twisted on itself and I felt like throwing up when I saw his eyes widen in recognition.

"One moment, it's just the neighbours about something!" he shouted back into the house before stepping out and closing the door behind him, forcing me to take two steps back and almost stumble down the front steps. By the time I caught my balance again he had drawn his wand from somewhere. "What's this about, then?" And his voice was colder than all the snow and ice in London.

"I do not want trouble," I said, then reached into my pocket even as he raised his wand. I held out a small box, wrapped in gold paper and a silver bow. His arm fell, then, and he looked around; looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Are you here alone?" he asked as he eyed the box. After I nodded, he turned around and opened the door. "Best come inside, then. It's not me you're here for, after all."

I busied myself with stamping the snow out of my boots in the entryway as Ted shouted that they had a guest. The shoes were all set under a bench in a neat row, except a pair of small, bright pink boots that lay haphazardly next to a little sled and three pairs of skates. I was just thinking of whether I should even take off my coat when she appeared, wiping her hands on an apron and looking at me as if I were an apparition.

"Cissa? What—"

I cut off whatever she was about to ask as I embraced her, squeezing her like she was a lifeline, because I missed her. I missed her and I had no idea how to tell her. "I brought a gift," I mumbled into her shoulder, noting that we were of a height now that we were older.

In some ways, Ana had not changed at all. Yet it still felt odd that I could talk to her after all this time. She was no longer the person who I used to look up to when I was little. We sat there like two adults, straight backed and saying little, skirting around the obvious topics and leaving gaping silences in the spaces between us. Even in the cloistered privacy of a cosy house with a fireplace and fresh gingerbread, it felt more like an audience and less like talking to family.

And how fucked up was that?

She hung up my coat and offered me fluffy slippers because the floors could be cold in winter, and I thanked her. I complimented her on the house and she hummed in polite disbelief as she placed the gift under the tree. I trailed behind her as she went to the kitchen and pulled out a tray of biscuits from the oven.

It was full of what my limited knowledge said was muggle cooking appliances and smelled like I was seven and did not have a care in the world. She put some on a plate and smiled as if it was our little secret. She made me tea like I always took it—no milk, no sugar—and pushed both cup and plate across the counter to where three stools sat tucked underneath. I sat in silence and watched as she put another tray into the oven, this one full of large pieces that were probably destined to be a house at some point. We danced our little dance, trying to see who we were.

"I'm sorry," I said, eventually, after she sat down next to me and snipped off the side of one of the stars. She used to do that when we were little, snipping one after another until all five corners were gone. She always gave the centre to Minky when our parents were not looking. "You were right, as always. And I was a prat."

She gave a shrug. "We were both young and foolish." They were the first real words—words meant for me, not to a stranger visiting the house—she said to me in over two years and something in my mind shifted when she looked at me. I focused all my attention on eating the legs off a gingerbread man. "For what it is worth, I am sorry, too. I was in love and angry at the world, and you were sheltered and hurt and you meant well."

'Why did you not respond to my letters?' Snap went the gingerman's head. "Are you happy?" I asked instead, looking up to find her staring at the biscuit in my hands.

"Yes." Her eyes wrote a tragedy in three acts, there and then. Too tired and knowing for the fact that she was twenty one. Still, she must have been a really shit writer, because I was suspecting there might be a happy ending hidden somewhere in the smile lines around her eyes.

"Good. I am happy for you." And I meant it. But… "Do you think—" I lifted a shoulder in one of those dainty shrugs that have more meanings than a smile. Because I had no idea what she wanted, and I did not want to risk breaking the tremulous web of understanding we had weaved in the last half-hour.

"Yes, Cissa, you can come visit whenever you want. Just… Please come alone. I worked hard to make sure they cannot find us." I did not have to ask who she meant by 'they'.

I said my goodbyes not long after, forcing myself to leave even though I wanted nothing more than to stay and talk with Ana all night. She had her family to attend to, and I had mine waiting for me at home. So I put on my cloak and my boots and embraced my sister before stepping out into the cold.

I walked down the lane that led up to the house slowly, committing every detail to memory so that I could apparate back here whenever I wanted. I took note of the way the lamp posts leaned, of how some of their neighbours had neat gardens while others were overflowing with wild shrubbery. I sculpted the shape of their house—the roof, the brick chimney, the white-washed walls, the eleven flat stones that led to their front steps from the road.

And then I gripped my wand and hurled myself through space to Islington on the other side of London, a few streets away from Grimmauld Place.

"Welcome home, Narcissa!" my mother called out of the drawing room as I passed, making a beeline towards my rooms. I stopped, one foot already on the staircase.

"I will be down in just a moment!" I called back as I rushed up the stairs.

I shut the door, threw up the strongest silencing charms I knew and squealed like a little girl, spinning around and grinning like a maniac. I threw my clothes over the back of one of the sofas, before skipping through to my bedroom whistling some unfamiliar Christmas tune.

Minky, bless her little soul, had already laid out my dinner clothes. I looked into the mirror, barely recognising the person wearing the silks, because I had found my sister again and it was more than I had ever hoped for. I felt so happy I could burst.

I took off the little broken hourglass, and the metal no longer felt cold. It was still broken, the housing so warped that the inner casing could not turn, yet it was a work of art. A mechanical and magical wonder. I traced my finger along one of the intertwining spirals of runes inscribed into the metal, and it felt as hot as summer in my hand.

I placed it on a little pillow of cloth inside one of my drawers alongside all the happiness bubbling inside of me, and shut it close, hoping they would both stay there. I schooled my face, forcing the smile deep inside of my soul, and walked out of my room to meet my parents. It would not do to look too happy after I had spent some time shopping in Diagon Alley, after all.