Hi,

Thank you all for the reviews, I know it sounds like a cliche at this point, it's nonetheless true: You gave me reason to carry on, made my day and helped keeping to my devotion to write. Thank you for that!

Now, this story is rated M for a reason, adult themes ahead, underage sex, violece, overall bad conduct and ...well, sorry for the cliffie, I guess :)

I'll try to regain my speed in uploading, I had some minor difficulties in RL but it seems those are mostly handled. So, enjoy!

Oh, and of course, everything you recognize belongs to Rowling, this is her world, and I'm still grateful for the use of her sandbox!

TN_Chapter 14.

May 30th 1993 – 30th August 1993

Summer 2.

(almost 16)

"A-bee, you cannot go alone. Would you finally stop and listen to me?" – Caleb was running along the street by his sister and did his utmost to convince her not to continue the Muggle courses. "Sirius Black is the first to escape that prison! The Prophet will be packed with warnings tomorrow morning, you hear me? I'm not kidding! I will even talk to father if-"

Anne finally stopped and faced him. "Don't you dare!" – she pushed her brother in the chest with a finger. "I haven't mentioned your ways to anyone, Caleb, not your funny little drunken tours in Hogsmeade last summer, not your gambling, nothing I know about! This is my life, and I have just figured out how to live it, so you are not allowed to stand in my way!"

Caleb looked unusually pale and distraught; now he swallowed with guilt Anne could sense from a mile. "Gavin wasn't supposed to tell you," – he said.

"He is my brother too! We are supposed to trust each other!" – she realized she was close to shrieking and tried to calm herself. "Now let me be. I'll talk to you on the weekend," – she tried to turn away, but Caleb didn't give in and kept pace with her.

Anne found it hard to navigate the crowd with his additional mass attached to her arm. It was annoying. "I can't see why a guy like that would show up around here in the first place. If he escaped, he must be somewhere in the Caribbean by now!" – she tried to shake him off.

"You cannot hide anywhere better than in London."

Anne rolled her eyes. All she needed to her schedule was another wizard with a persecution complex. "Have you heard what I said about the Caribbean?!"

Caleb pulled at her arm again to stop her.

"I'll be late," – Anne told him impatiently.

"He's dangerous, A-bee, he killed dozens. You cannot use the tube! He–" – Caleb changed his voice to a whisper – "he killed thirteen Muggles before he was caught! Out in Muggle London! He can be anywhere! It's not safe!"

Anne sighed. "Caleb, I appreciate your worry. I do, really. But I cannot imagine a reason for him to show up at the Piccadilly. There are no wizards here, but perhaps you and I will not do magic. Now, please get lost! I'll send you an owl every night to tell you I was fine."

She didn't hope that would be enough for her brother, but something in her stance convinced Caleb he should let her be.

"Don't forget those owls then," – he whispered into her ear as he hugged her, then he finally walked away to Apparate from far enough not to call attention to his sister.

Anne shook her head and raced through the town to slip beside Paul with a guilty grimace. Paul's fingers drummed on a package under the desk.

"Sorry about lunch. I was held back," – Anne whispered.

"Sure," the boy replied, but magic was unnecessary to sense his disappointment. They were supposed to eat together, and now Anne was starving, indeed, without grabbing a sausage roll on her way.

After some minutes of catching up with the lecture and taking some hasty notes, Anne couldn't stand it anymore. Paul's feelings were strangely distracting.

"I'm really sorry," – she leaned closer to whisper. "It was my brother. He heard about some criminal on the loose at work, and now he'd prefer me to hide away in some basement."

"Is he a policeman or what?"

"Something of the kind… No matter, he's nuts. Sorry?"

Paul finally smiled. "Siblings are always a bother."

"Yeah."

"Can you stay after?" – Paul gestured towards the pulpit with rising hopes.

Anne thought about the schedule that she had obviously messed up already beyond repair. It was nearing the end of July, and the last two weeks were a hectic mess. Always running, always feeling tired, and being late from everywhere. An hour with Paul wouldn't make it any worse. She nodded. The boy's answering smile and the air around him that, again, gave off the vibe of a happy puppy was rewarding enough.

St. Mungo's the next day wasn't less deeply sunken into insanity. Not only her group of trainees but also Ulfhild was all about the page-long warning in The Prophet, telling the world that Sirius Black was on the loose.

"Thirteen Muggles-"

"You-know-who's supporter–"

"He could be Polyjuiced!"

"He can be anywhere. What if he comes here?"

Despite the nauseating vibes of anxiety around her, Anne had to laugh at the last claim. Why ever would a criminal on the loose choose to show up at St. Mungo's? He could shorten the process and just pop into the Ministry's atrium instead! How would he even find the ingredients for a supervised potion, and who would have brewed it for him a whole month before his escape? People seemed to have no idea what they've been about, only let their imagination run amok as if they enjoyed the thrills of a nightmare or a horror story.

Strangely, she feared that faceless witch at the Ministry who tried to entrap her brother more. Or the Malfoys, who offered their dubious help. Or her Aunt Duvessa, who had indeed shown up repeatedly at the Fawleys. They were real. A murderer of Muggles from more than a decade ago, who looked haunted and deranged even on his photo in the papers, didn't seem as much of a threat to her as her very own Aunt ranting about a witch's duties with Eleonora Fawley. And she had promised another visit for later that day. That is, the same time that day… Oh, bother!

Anne sighed and added another cleansing charm on the phials in the backroom of St. Mungo's brewery. None of the trainees were let at a cauldron, but they were allowed to clean up with supervision and had to listen through lectures on basic magical healing practices and what she understood as first aid. It was remarkably different from the Muggle approach. As for her only question about Muggles and squibs, the reply was, "We don't treat Muggles here unless the Ministry orders it," she lost all hopes of helping Filch with whatever she was to learn.

Squibs didn't matter, or so it seemed. Just like she didn't matter to anyone but Ulfhild, who kept her around as a mother hen and mentioned Madame Pomfrey less and less by the day. Anne supposed they could have even developed a friendship if she wasn't such an epicurean, but it wasn't easy to forgive her eccentricities.

Ulfhild loved everything that gave her joy, be it a wizard, a lemonade, or a piece of cake, and disliked hard work to the point of hiding from it. Not entirely different from the approach of the home-schooled and pampered magical kids and youngsters in Anne's group, who showed themselves unfailingly surprised whenever they faced the need to perform the most basic cleaning and antiseptic charms!

"It's unhealthy to push yourself too hard, love," – Ulfhild kept saying, and Anne was vastly annoyed when Miranda deemed it was the best advice she could get and celebrated the joyful witch every time Anne tried to vent about her.

"You're way too serious for your age, Annie. You could use a witch like her!" – Sophie laughed. "Surely better than Duvessa! Oh, Merlin, wasn't she ready to throw herself into business?"

They were right, of course. As much as her father wished Anne to avoid her Aunt, she had to guiltily accept her frequent visits at the Fawleys and all her words about being an accomplished young witch. Last time, Miranda even suggested they didn't show off their findings anymore so Duvessa would let them brew in peace. Sophie eagerly agreed.

Life was exhausting, and Anne missed the Northeastern side tower at Hogwarts to retreat for a nap and play her guitar. Instead, she made do with short kips at her Aunt's and Gran's or hiding behind the tearoom at St. Mungo's. There was the storeroom for unused beds, and she eternally hoped no one would need one while she was inside!

July wore off quickly, leaving her grumpy and exhausted, and at the beginning of August, Anne was relieved to receive her certificate for finishing the Muggle courses. Paul didn't share her cheer, though.

"Well, so this is the end of it, I guess…" – he waved the piece of paper before folding it, radiating sadness all over the place.

"Your mum will be glad," – Anne elbowed him like she would one of her brothers. "Another big step towards becoming a doctor! Imagine all the kimchi she would stuff down your throat for learning in the summer!"

Strangely, Paul didn't laugh with her like he usually would.

"You said you liked it when she sent some for you to try," – he said with rare hesitance. "Do you… do you think you would like to have some more… someday… or you know, something else?"

Anne stared at him. Surely, he knew they were unlikely to meet again. "What do you mean?"

"Well." – Paul cleared his throat and seemed slightly out of breath. "Well, I just thought people usually eat at dates… at least popcorn or something, do they not? Or an ice cream or those horrible pastries you like…"

"Are you asking me out?"

"Now, don't act as if it surprises you! I mean, we are too good to let go, and you already like me!"

Anne knew she wasn't acting. Even if Paul was indeed very kind. Also funny. There was still no other way to reply: "No, I don't!"

"Liar! You bloody well liked my mum's food and my notes! You even like my jokes! How would you live without them, huh? I wouldn't make you! What are you up to on Friday?"

"Look at the stuck-up jerk you're channelling again! Have you spent time with your sisters today?"

Paul sighed. "As a matter of fact, I did, and I will also admit they will mock me until Christmas if you said no." He again looked at her with those puppy eyes and pleaded: "C'mooooon! Just a date, and you save me, and I'll pay for your food! What would it be? Pastry? Popcorn? Kebab?"

Anne finally laughed. "I didn't know you were that loaded! So I get to choose whatever I want to?"

"You may also think about it until Friday. Your Aunt wouldn't mind, would she?"

"No, I don't think so…" Anne hesitated more, knowing her schedule around St. Mungo's and brewing with the girls than being afraid of Rachel's opinion. If she agreed to this, she would need to turn time for the least academic purpose of all. "But I only have time in the afternoon. About five or a little later?" – she tried, so she would only need to relive the time she was supposed to be at the Fawleys.

"Half past five it is. Be ready with a place in mind because I will be starving by then!"

"Your mum would never forgive me!" – Anne giggled, and Paul finally laughed. The sensation as if she satisfied a joyful puppy waved around her again, and for the first time, it seemed more than rewarding. Paul Kim was not a guy to express himself in a very romantic way, but he was undoubtedly cute.

And cuteness or entertainment was lacking anywhere else she turned that day. Duvessa visited with Eleonore Fawley again, and she had to sit under the blooming roses on the wallpaper in Eleonore's favourite parlour, sipping the tea gently crossing her ankles, and keeping a straight spine as long as they needed her accommodating smile and most of all her silence for a backdrop of their conversations.

They fortuitously exhausted all the gossip possibly shared about the Macmillans already and moved on to backbiting Narcissa Malfoy. It was their old favourite. Anne hid a sigh behind her cup and checked to make sure her smile hadn't faded.

"… that gathering she held to commemorate Lite! Now, I am sure you wouldn't call that a ball either!"

"I heard she offered shrimp with the appetizers! Why does her husband hold back their money for?"

"And their son! I've heard from a dear friend that he was outdone at Hogwarts by a Mudblood!"

"Nooo! What a crying shame! Lucius must be devastated! Imagine if he sent his spawn to Durmstrang!"

The women giggled like schoolgirls, and Anne didn't dare to change her sleepy ankles, not to call their attention. It didn't work.

"Darling, have you heard about this at school?" – Duvessa turned to her, suddenly remembering Anne's presence.

"He is second best of his year," – she reluctantly admitted. It would have been better to avoid the topic, but maybe she should use the fact to discourage any matchmaking attempts for good. "I cannot fathom how, but he's still better at Potions than many of his peers. Of course, in a different year, he would face more challenges in that regard."

Eleonore mercifully took the hint. "Why, not all families could brag with offspring as devoted as you young ladies in the east wing! My elf reports about the nicest vapours almost daily," – she explained to Duvessa. "Last week, I also mentioned this to Jervis in Hogsmeade. Imagine my surprise when he told me about a contest!"

"I don't busy myself with the dealings of apothecaries," – Anne's Aunt eyed her niece with vague suspicion. "Why, even Monty should have better sense than to allow his daughter in a public competition!"

Anne's eyes widened slightly – remarkably less than what her fright would have induced without Occluding. "Erm… he accepted that Potions was my passion?" She felt her voice tremble enough to make a question of what she intended as a statement. "We were not about entering into anything like –"

"Jarvis Pippin is an honourable wizard. I find no shame in a little contest," – Eleonore expressed. "Really, Duvessa, you used to be more adventurous in your youth!"

It was only too easy to sense how her Aunt was affronted. Anne focused on her teacup.

"That solely depends on what you may call an adventure! Certainly not exposing myself. Like some of the blockheaded males of my family…."

"No one is faulting you, my dear!" Eleonore gently touched her friend's arm. "Wizards will be wizards," – she sighed. "We cannot be held responsible for their lack of tact."

"Or common sense," – Duvessa added dryly while Anne's teacup rattled on the saucer.

She was keenly aware that her Aunt's words might mean her father's "unlucky" marriage, which, if she mentioned just once, she would stand no more chance in Slytherin! Not only was she a half-blood, but she'd been lying about it for years!

Thankfully, Duvessa chose another of her brothers to lament about: "I remember I had quarrelled with my brother enough. That hag's influence was abysmal! I'm grateful it's all gone and done with, but I would never forgive her for using sweet Evan as a scapegoat! If that horrible witch didn't thrust herself upon him, he might have walked away just like old Abraxas' son."

"Oh, the Malfoy influence was not less tormenting!" – Eleonore assured. "My late Mr. Fawley escaped the Ministry's blacklist only because he was always on guard. A witch should have a more delicate hand if she wants to meddle with politics, or she ends up at the worst place like the youngest Black girl with her worthless husband!"

"Very true, Nellie, very true! No one knows what we suffered!" – Duvessa kept nodding, conveniently forgetting about her husband, who had happened to have been a Travers.

"For the cause, dear. All of that for the cause," Eleonore assured her with a sigh before she swiftly turned her attention to the table between them. "Cake?"

While Duvessa eagerly accepted "just a tiny slice," Anne was so preoccupied with puzzling together all the information she almost missed the moment to politely say no.

Cakes were about the best thing in the world. She would have gone to great lengths to defend her opinion, but any cake would turn bitter when one thought about the witch Gavin had mentioned. What was her name? Gavin said she told Caleb that she used to be their Uncle Evan's mistress. Coincidentally, she'd never heard if the witch had ever been tried or persecuted. However, Uncle Evan died at the end of the war. Anne also remembered some stories about the Malfoys and their escape but always told in a hushed tone… even Eleonore Fawley, who hated their guts, chose the cake instead of gossiping about their role in the war!

She finally understood why the Fawleys disliked the Malfoys, but if Duvessa was so adamantly opposed to the witch who entrapped Caleb, would she also help? She shuddered to imagine what her father would say about posing such a question!

By the time the cake was consumed, Duvessa accepted that a challenge and some competition could be healthy for young witches, especially when Eleonore mentioned the prize. Eight hundred Galleons. The old witches decided to round up the third for each girl if they won.

"You all deserve some nice new dress robes for your enthusiasm, darling. You may tell this to your friends!"

Anne fled the room as soon as she sufficiently expressed their gratitude. However, Sophie was decidedly unimpressed.

"Nah, we'd never spend that money!" – she said as soon as she heard the tale.

Miranda disagreed. "Come on, we can easily win this! She counted on her fingers for five families' best recipes: the Prince, the Fawley, the Macmillan, the Rosier, the Burk… I bet no one has ever even tried to match them!"

"Sure," – Sophie grimaced. "Because they don't have their own recipes already, with laboratories, paid hands, and probably decades in the business!"

"I say we –" – Miranda tried, but Sophie shook her head again:

"Don't be so naïve!"

"Naïve? Talent and a good brew would never measure up to the connections of all these families! Who would dare to deny them being the best? My gran doesn't only know Pippin but a bunch of other people, and if your relatives and Anne's Aunt also do the groundwork, we would get that prize with either distilled water or unicorn stale!"

"Oh," – Anne finally added her sole thought to their conversation, realizing there was only one naïve witch in the room.

"Well, that would be funny!" – Sophie laughed with Miranda. "My uncle could count how much it cost for our families to buy eight hundred Galleons!"

"Well, that's not our problem, we didn't ask for it!" – Miranda giggled. "But I wish there were still dances at Hogwarts to wear those dress robes! My mum says Dumbledore's remiss not to uphold tradition and neglect social events."

"As if Halloween would make up for Samhain!" – Sophie sighed. "I bet Milan would love to see you in green silk though…."

While Miranda and Sophie giggled on, Anne finally remembered the witch's name Gavin had mentioned and ran down to the entrance to catch her Aunt before she left. Duvessa's gasp was unexpectedly silent when she uttered Lucinda Talkalot's name. She only whispered Anne should wait for her owl and swiftly Apparated away.

The following two day's silence about the issue made Anne's nerves stand on edge. She knew she couldn't trust Duvessa. She knew it very well, yet she risked everything: her brother's trust and reputation, her father's rage, possibly his consent to her summer brewing, and somehow getting busted with her secret Muggle studies and her place at St. Mungo's. Because she was sure as hell that Monty Rosier would flip out epically and would probably forbid all her escapades if he ever heard about her foolishness and all his children keeping secrets from him. It was even worse to imagine him being delivered the news by no other than their Aunt!

With her stomach in knots, ruffled and tired, Anne had no patience for the gossip in Miranda's rooms. She closed herself up with the cauldrons and their experiments for hours on Thursday just to run heedlessly to the tube, climb the stairs, hurry through the Muggle streets, turn back time, and get late from St. Mungo's again.

She was exhausted, so instead of joining her training group, she went straight up to the storage room on the fifth floor, behind the visitor's area and the tea room. She set her wand to wake her within five hours, and after some tears of frustration, she fell deeply asleep.

Probably way too deeply because she didn't come around when the door opened, only when Ulfhild's favourite mediwizard shook her ankle, visibly astonished to find her there.

Anne squeaked and jumped up that instant, but she couldn't erase the previous few minutes.

"Please don't tell them!" – she wasn't sure why she even asked. Obviously, the world was over, but the wizard snorted as if he were trying to conceal a peal of laughter.

"I didn't know others also hid here."

"Others?" – Anne stammered, dumbly looking around.

"Aren't you too young to work here?"

"Erm… summer program…" – Anne began, but she had doubts about telling where she belonged if the wizard somehow failed to remember. "I'm sorry, mediwiz-"

"I'm just an apprentice," – the wizard finally chuckled. "Under medi-wizard Smethwyck," – he specified. "Marcus Dagworth, hopefully, medi-wizard this time next year," – he offered his hand with a smile.

Anne hesitantly took it and tried to figure out a way from her predicament.

"Euphemia," – she chose to tell him, "I'm a trainee in the summer program."

"Well, Trainee Euphemia, I hope you rested enough because my master demanded my service for the last fourteen hours, and I'm not above pulling rank here," – Apprentice Dagworth said, peeking at the spare bunk but still with a smile on his face. "I somehow doubt you're ready to share."

With a gasp, Anne was out of the door, even if she never sensed anything more horrid than amusement from the wizard, who now laughed loud enough she could hear him through the closed door. With face pink by embarrassment, she found solace in Ulfhild's office, telling the whole terrible tale but the wizard's last words. Those were too embarrassing.

Although, Ulfhild found it all only hilarious and quite normal. She had but one suggestion: "Well, then you'd better be Effy from now on, love, because that delicious wiz wouldn't be looking out for an Anabella!" When Anne's eyes rounded out in indignation, she laughingly added: "You'll soon be out of Hogwarts. Time to learn about the world! Most of those in your group will never return here, but I doubt that's the case with you. Your masters will write their support to Madame Pomfrey, and after your NEWTs, I bet you'll find yourself back with us. And every newbie needs acquaintances, believe me" – she winked for emphasis.

Anne swallowed her discomfort and various thoughts about her age. She had only passed fifteen, even that not yet with the knowledge of others….Even if her summer use of the Time Turner made her sixteen soon, she was more concerned about Sophie's OWLs than her own…. She hid outside, cast Tempus, and turned back time with three hours again to finally arrive at her training, where she broke a holder-full of phials trying to get to terms with her life.

And Friday also began without any owl posts. She started that day in St. Mungo's, eager to discover if her mistakes had consequences. Thankfully, she could detect none. Then she spent one more morning with her gran and Aunt Rachel, had a kip, and hurried to the Fawley's to watch over her brews in the afternoon. The base she found worked better with the Prince recipe than the Fawley one. She went on adding the first layer of scents before Miranda could ask about it and watched over the brew until she was almost late seeing Paul.

No owls anywhere. She would one day grow up and skin Duvessa!

"Hey, where have you been?"

Anne belatedly realized she had spent the last few minutes in introspection, and her steps slowed to a point where she was again late. Thanks to Paul's keen eyes to stop her on her track, otherwise she would have walked straight on, missing him!

"Sorry," – she breathed with embarrassment and proceeded to explain how and why she had no idea what they should choose, and Paul leaning forward and sniffing the air about her didn't help her coherence.

"Nice perfume!" – he answered Anne's unspoken question with a hint of blush, but that finally helped to find a topic.

"D'you like it?" Anne began a longwinded explanation about scents and oils and mixtures, focusing hard not to use words that would have been strange for a Muggle ear.

Paul listened through all her ramblings with a smile on his face, and she hardly noticed as he manoeuvred them through the streets until she saw the small cinema.

"Is that what you want us to do?" – Anne finally cut her monologue and stared at the entrance. She hadn't been to one of these for ages.

Paul shrugged. "We don't have to, it was just… you know… plan B."

Anne sensed the enthusiasm lingering around him and tried to make up for her awkwardness: "What do you want to watch?"

"Well, there's Jurassic Park, but I don't know if you'd like it… and there are also more girly things like –"

"Hey, you've just let me rant about freaking perfumes. If Gavin did the same, I'd think he wanted somethin'," – Anne laughed until she saw Paul's eyebrows lifting hesitantly. Suddenly, she also felt something akin to awkward anticipation in the air. "I mean…"

"It's okay. I like you're into girly stuff," – Paul shrugged with a smile Anne recognized to mean he was laughing at her.

"C'mon, you're into other things than family and becoming a doc too!"

"I – well, sure…." – Paul peeked towards the cinema.

"Like films?" – Anne helped him out, and she was glad she could laugh a little at him.

"Jurassic Park is more than just a film, you know." What came next was a detailed explanation about various dinosaurs and pterosaurs, with a distinct emphasis on the velociraptor and its hunting strategy, more than once interrupted by different accolades of Spielberg as a director, a visionary, and a mage. Anne found it all too hilarious.

"So, how many times have you seen it already?"

Paul croaked, blushed, and finally groaned: "This could be the only the fourth… I didn't have much time, but –"

"Show me!" – Anne smiled at him, and the boy almost levitated them into the cinema rather blissfully.

Somehow, the stomping beasts and screaming heroes eased the boundaries between them enough for Anne not to mind Paul's arm encircling her shoulders. It was also good that he only laughed when, in her fright, she hid her face into said arm, even if that upended his popcorn. And somehow, a limb stubbornly stuck around her hand or shoulder even an hour after the film was over, and they were just hanging out in a nearby park. They continued their all-time favourite argument:

"You know there is music after the seventies. I can't even imagine how you can be so backwards! I know Meatloaf is overplayed this summer, but-"

"Yeah, well, if you must choose from the radio-friendly, then I'll go with Ace of Base," – Anne quickly recalled what she liked that morning the best in her gran's kitchen. Knowing Paul's penchant to favour the ballads, she was confident this would annoy him. At least she liked the lyrics. It seemed so daring from a young witch's downtrodden point of view.

It worked, he huffed instantly. "Seriously, after your last lecture about the Doors, I would have thought you'd at least mention something remotely like- I don't know –"

"Motörhead? Because that's what you said last week!" – in the rare moments she had for herself, she still laughed at that one. "My mum loves the Doors, but if I were to choose only one, I would go with the Cure. And I'm not saying this just because of the Wish!"

"And I'd keep to Duran Duran," - Paul sighed, but then he jerked his head with renewed interest: "You never mentioned your mum!"

Anne didn't know what to say. "I don't."

"But why? You keep talking about your brothers, grandmother, and great Aunt… you'd even mentioned that shady Aunt of yours lately. I was afraid to even ask!"

"She…" – Anne realized she almost choked when she tried to go on. But Paul was watching her, and the air was nice, and she felt so good up until that point - "she's not like… I mean… She loves me. Us. She taught me music, has many records, and she paints. I don't see her much."

The boy stared at her as if he expected something more. She couldn't fathom what.

"Leave it, it's all right, she's just not that kind of a mum… not cooking and talking and doing things like yours. She's just…."

"What?"

"There. She's just there. It's good for her that way."

"And what about you?" – Paul asked for Anne's bafflement. "Don't you miss her?"

"There's nothing to miss. I've just told you she's always there!"

"Where's that there?" – he carefully asked.

Anne shrugged and refused to talk about her chaotic family any more than that. "At her place."

They walked on in silence, and somehow, thoughts and feelings intruded on the night. She hated them. They were like her occlumency was cracking… there was a strange knot in her throat, too.

"Is that why you're such a Goth?"

Anne started. There was nothing she thought to match to the word about herself but being a witch, and that was decidedly none of Paul's business!

"What the hell are you on about?" She wore colours and had no death wish, she liked music that not many Muggles at her age, but whatever was age, really, it didn't even have a single meaning! Not for her, anyway! And even if she sometimes pitied herself, she knew better than to think about any ways of self-destruction or melancholy! Gods, Snape would give her a lead onto her untimely demise if she even lamented the possibility, consumed something that had a better place in a lab, or did anything she ever heard or read people "branded" as "Goths" might contemplate, if one believed to the idiots around them! "Music is music! I can just like whatever I want, you know!" – she finished her sudden rant, not even knowing for certain whatever she listed while fuming.

"Who's that Snape guy?"

Anne snorted. "Just a teacher. And a prime jerk among them, who would never even want me to study medicine, but can't bother giving me an alternative either!"

"After what you said about him, I thought he was the one who cared…."

"Well then, you're bloody wrong. Whatever he cares for, that's surely not me. He even said so, and I couldn't hate him anymore if he asked!"

"Why?"

"Because he's an idiot and a jerk! And because he doesn't let me be where I should be! And I don't wanna talk about him, okay?!"

"Like your mum," – the boy nodded and tried to move on, but Anne was too far taken to walk with him.

"No! I told you she was fine!"

Strangely, Paul didn't seem convinced when he nodded. "Uhum."

When she reluctantly joined him and walked on, he brought up the film again, and Anne was happy to discuss velociraptors. When she mentioned it was already late, Paul walked her to her gran's house and hesitantly stopped there. Suddenly, it occurred to Anne how a date was supposed to end, but he didn't lean closer, and she couldn't sense any overwhelming emotions from him either. Which made her feel surprisingly safe.

"You know," – Paul mentioned after making her promise to come down to the park on Sunday – "it's not a bad thing to be a Goth. My older sister says she's one, and I always thought it was more like a mindset. You guys see the beauty in things others are afraid of... Mum doesn't get it, but my sister is into many things you also like… and if I want her to see a psychiatrist, it's not for those things, believe me!"

Anne climbed the stairs to her gran's flat and one floor more, turning back time to a reasonable hour and going home as a good girl was supposed to. It was a lovely date. Finally, one that made her wish for more. The only thing she couldn't understand was why her emotions were then in such turmoil she couldn't fall asleep for hours.

The morning owl landed on the kitchen table way too early for her to get rid of grumpiness, and Duvessa's message almost landed in the bin. Finally, excitement won out because she didn't mention anything about Monty, and Anne decided that this was way more important than anything Paul made her blabber about.

It was impossible to conceal the letter from her relatives, so she swiftly lied it was from Gavin and promptly wrote him so he wouldn't pop in that day before she explained she was to go to Fortescue's on Diagon Alley to meet him. In reality, she did her best not to let her anxiety take the better of her when she dressed for the Leaky and found the small tearoom close to Knockturn, where her Aunt asked to meet her that morning. She hid behind the building and waited an hour, but nothing wrong seemed to have happened, so she turned back time and entered.

The fact she missed telling at least her brother where she was to go only hit her after the small tearoom door closed on her heels, and Duvessa asked first after greeting her:

"Am I right to believe my brother won't burst through that door to retrieve you, my dear?"

Anne's breath hitched, and she realized how crucial a mistake she'd made. Testing the waters was not enough. If she was to confess she came alone and no one was the wiser, the least of her problems would be her brother chastising her until the end of days!

"It's true I haven't been home for a while to tell him, but I see my brothers frequently. Caleb even expects my owl every evening since that criminal escaped last month…" – she tried to hedge.

Duvessa laughed gracefully and nodded. "Smart boy, I always liked him! We all need to support each other in these times until the Ministry pulls its giant head from its hind side. You may always count on me, Anabella, no matter what Monty chooses to tell you. I hope you know that."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"We are only you and me, dear. Do use my name!"

"Thank you, Duvessa!"

"That's better. Now, I hope you also know I see what you're doing. Trying to reclaim your place in society is a wise choice. All my brothers were… are idiots for different reasons. That doesn't need to ruin our lives, now does it?"

Anne tried to return her smile. Her occlumency was yet up to the task, but she neglected her meditations and began feeling the loss. She could sense the buzz around the teashop almost as keenly as Duvessa's various emotions. Astonishingly, one of those was genuine affection. At least some affection – for her. She could only theorize it must have come from her Aunt's glee about her misbehaviour. It couldn't be more evident that she chose to go against her father's wishes.

"You posed me a question, Anabella," – Duvessa reminded. "I tried to convince Monty that you needed more thorough guidance, but he'll never see reason. You're proving me right, dear. If you don't know about family matters, there must be someone you can turn to for advice."

Anne grabbed her narrow chances: "I've heard you tell Madame Fawley that Lucinda has already been a matter of sorts…"

"An issue, I would say. Or a thorn in the side," – Duvessa sighed. She watched her niece contemplating her for some moments. "But you've heard that too. Where did you learn her name?"

"One of my brothers mentioned she was working close to them in the Ministry. First, I couldn't understand how such a trollop be let among decent wizards, but then I also heard her mentioning my uncle's name," – she halted when her Aunt huffed, glad she had some time to come up with a tale in the last few days. "I'm so confused, Duvessa! What could she want with that?"

"That harridan has a lot of nerve to take dear Evan on her mouth after what she's done!" – Duvessa fumed. "Your uncle would be still with us had she had the decency to do the right thing just once! Yet she chose to throw him to the wolves and buy her escape! What did your father tell her?"

"He doesn't want to meet her, as far as I know," – Anne told her honestly. "He seems glad about my brothers' achievements. He even praised them for befriending Mr. Malfoy. They are very talented, Duvessa, they are always praised and well-liked… but then I heard as if Mr. Malfoy was supporting this Lucinda, and I must confess, it confused me even more!"

She could sense her Aunt's vengeance awakening, and she tried to push her as far as she could: "I fear my brothers are mixing with the wrong crowd with the best of intentions, and even if I know my place and duty, I simply just can't imagine being friendly with a spawn of someone who doesn't care about those I hold so dear!"

She must have miscalculated this time because Duvessa's lips pulled to a sardonic smile.

"How close are you with Miranda Fawley?"

"She is my good friend, but –"

"And are you absolutely sure about the connection between Lucius and the harlot? Think about it, dear. I would understand if you had doubts."

"I'm absolutely certain and have never discussed this with any of the Fawleys," – Anne professed in a voice of hurt innocence, conveniently forgetting about Miranda's suspicions on the first afternoon they gathered at her grandmother's house. She wasn't lying. Surely, not as much as she probably could. "I had the impression there was something wrong about that witch even before I heard you, Aunt. I may feel too callow to do anything about this, but if you don't believe me, I can –"

"Hold your horses, dear. I merely asked a question," – Duvessa put a calming hand on her wrist. Anne could sense how the air changed about her, from tentative affection to anger, then doubts, and now amusement. "Keep your voice down at all times, especially in public. I wasn't about to affront you, but you passed my test," – she fell deep in thoughts for a while, and Anne tried to be as amiable and subdued as one could get while sitting on pins.

The next came a thorough interrogation about her brothers' work ("Oh, how nice they both fit in so young!"), her friendships ("You wouldn't be the first to find a Carrow the shallowest creature around, that doesn't mean the family is indecent"), her choice of staying with her Muggle relatives for the summer ("For Merlin's sake, girl, what were you thinking?"), which Duvessa somehow already knew. It was disconcerting.

Anne tried to do her best and mutely prayed for Aunt Rachel's forgiveness when she said she favoured her flat for its fortuitous location. At least she added some hazy words about her father, who used to believe her to be a squib, which made Duvessa laugh, and the use of Muggle Mathematics in endeavours with Arithmancy.

"Now, about that, dear, I must know precisely what made you embark upon this nonsensical summer brewing?"

Somehow, this seemed to be the hardest question, even if this was the one she could answer with rare honesty. "I – I really like Potions… when I feel sad or lonely, I find myself in Mr. Pippin's shop with all the fragrances, and… somehow the world already feels a better place."

Duvessa shook her head and asked for some more tea before she argued: "That may be the reason for your friends. They are having fun and don't do or know much about the work. But you're different, Anabella. Even Eleonore sees your devotion. Her house elf reports to her every day. And you are the one closed up with those cauldrons."

Anne shyly hid her face, putting her hair behind her ear. "I like it. That's all the reason."

"Perhaps he didn't lie then…" – Duvessa hesitated. "My Deidre needed a tutor last year to prepare her for some belated NEWTs. The Ministry cannot be convinced to alter their demands," – she waved an issue away with a hand Anne could only imagine. She remembered Deidre must have been about twenty last year. Probably the poster face of those overpampered brats she met at the St. Mungo's trainee group.

"What's more prevalent now is your underhanded Head of House and his insufferable arrogance."

When Anne could only mutely gawk at her, she explained: "Dear late Evan was only three or four years ahead of him, you should know. I've heard enough about the abhorrent ways of that brainy little ratbag. Everyone was astonished when he went back to teaching. However, the current Headmaster doesn't know better than to employ him as a Slytherin Head, and some say he is not completely inept.

"Still, he has the manners of a moth-eaten rag. Some things never seem to change, and when I asked him for private lessons for my Deidre…" – Duvessa shook her head with an enthusiastic roll of her eyes. "Never mind. It's enough that he mentioned you."

Now Anne's jaw dropped in the most unbecoming way. "Did he?"

"Why, yes, your friend, the Borgin girl, confirmed the other day that you tutor some of your peers with great efficiency. But forgive my doubts if I didn't fight Monty for permission to whisk you away to Devon. Your cousin did well enough with a retired master from Beauxbatons, and that's all that matters…. It's still nice to know that cunning devil wasn't about to send me up the garden path," – Duvessa smiled, confusing Anne about her opinion beyond measure.

"Wh-what did he say?" – Anne couldn't help asking.

Duvessa laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know? Information like this is usually hard-earned, dear. What is there you could offer in exchange?"

Anne was perplexed. She thought she already told her Aunt more than what was sensible.

"Come now, dear! You wish me to step against a Malfoy. There must be something you know about to help there!"

"Well, Madame Fawley would surely support you and…"

"Yes?"

"…and Mr. Malfoy likes to play high debts with the magical Sports and Games Department…"

"Try something less commonly known, dear!"

"…and he wanted my brother to develop debts there. He also knew in advance everything Lucinda told him… and he doesn't let people pay off Caleb when he wins." She saw Duvessa's thoughtful nodding and suddenly remembered: "Lucinda wanted to talk to Father, but he denied it, and Mr. Malfoy kept pushing for it. Is it possible he is the one who wants something from Father? Why would a witch like Lucinda ask for a private meeting for herself if you all know her history with my uncle?"

"Very good, Anabella. I know exactly how to handle that hag, but it will be complicated. I will rely on your assistance, dear. I expect to find you ready whenever I need you."

Anne nodded. That was the least. "Will you also tell it to my father?"

"Monty? Whatever has he to do with any of this?" Duvessa patted her cheek, making Anne feel like a toddler. "You came to me, dear, because you trusted me more. We all need allies in this nasty world. Don't forget that!"

With that, Duvessa put two galleons down and emerged from the table. She arranged her robe and was ready to leave when she looked at Anne and only added as an afterthought:

"He reminded me of a brilliant little bother in my own family, whom I should better not destroy with bizarre demands. He supposed she would do that herself without any assistance from her betters or her peers."

Despite Duvessa's self-confidence, August wore off without much to add to Anne's musings. There were no more owls or visits at the Fawleys. Gavin called her a fool for meeting their aunt and foresaw nothing to help them. The first batches of soaps and matching perfumes became ready, and Eleonore chose Sophie's idea with the rose water and wild berries to start in Pippin's competition. The St. Mungo's trainee group lost two wizards and a witch when they spoiled a whole cauldron of antiserum for poisonous plant bites with their carelessness, and Ulfhild filled out the certificates for the three trainees who finished the summer course.

Paul was the only constant in the barely managed chaos, and Anne noticed she began to use their time together like a new kind of meditation. Her thoughts seemed to calm in the boy's presence. It was quiet, and slow, and wonderful. He didn't demand more than an occasional quarrel about music, listened when she wished to talk, and spoke about more and more of his favourite things every time they met. He never mentioned her mum or Snape again.

He also held her hand more. And touched more. Her arm, her knee, once a thigh, but he apologized for that one. He was in raptures when Anne let him kiss her, and she didn't feel the need to disappear because all she had to do was step back, and the boy stopped with a smile. She felt his happiness. She could also sense he was grateful and forever surprised when she listened to his ramblings and remembered the other day. It was also true she learned a lot about dinosaurs, films, airplanes, and the names of different clouds. None of those she would have ever thought would be nice to hear about before.

The last week of August was too short, with the Hogwarts Express returning to school on Wednesday, and Anne was already grieving for their friendship, even if Paul promised to write. He was perplexed about the boarding school he couldn't find in the register and wasn't supposed to visit during the winter break. Paul asked her to meet on their last Monday, so she made her purchases at Diagon Alley over the weekend, packed her trunk, said goodbye to her parents, and thanked her "summer fun" for her father.

When she packed away her notebook, she noticed she hadn't filled out the time she'd spent with Paul. Now, she added the turns by memory and counted the hours and the days. Then she counted again. This was probably the longest summer she'd ever lived because it seemed she was to turn sixteen in six weeks. Three, if she kept up with this insanity, but she wouldn't. The soreness of the end of this summer was overwhelming, even with the hardest parts and challenges and all… and she was practically sixteen, just like Paul.

Monday morning, Paul took her by the hand and made her scamper through the whole town. He shyly produced a key when they finally stopped somewhere on the east side before a nondescript house.

"It's… it's not mandatory, and anyway, we could just order a pizza and watch TV. I just… So, my mum's friend promised this colleague of hers to take care of her plants… and she will only return in a fortnight. So if you'd like a pizza, and, I dunno, MTV or VH1…"

The air didn't particularly change around him. Anne sensed more awkwardness and insecurity but no more desire or anticipation than she was already used to. And she trusted him.

"Sounds good for me," – she nodded and tried to smile. It was weak, but Paul didn't mind that.

The first half an hour was spent discovering the house and actually watering some of the plants. Paul showcased a healthy knowledge about them, which was good for some Anne didn't know. Muggle houseplants had little use in Herbology, and Rachel only kept cactuses.

The telly was then turned to MTV, and soon, the pizza was on its way. Paul still didn't do more than hold a gentle hand on Anne's shoulder and sometimes another on her knee, radiating uncertainty. Finally, she couldn't take any more of the suspense and kissed him the way she remembered from last summer, eliciting a decidedly strong reaction. It wasn't a question anymore if Paul wished for more, even when the doorbell awkwardly rang in the most inopportune manner, and the boy fled with pink cheeks and shallow breaths to pay for the delivery.

Anne had all kinds of thoughts while he was away. Strangely, the fact that she was a witch crossed her mind only once or twice because she had already decided that Hestia Carrow's hypocritical ways were not for her. It would have been much better to live a life similar to Ulfhild's but with more devotion to a job she liked. However, she vividly remembered all she'd seen last Valentine's Day at the Infirmary and had no fancy to expand on those experiences. Also, they evoked a strange mix of abhorrent memories she tried to banish to a box lost in her mind in vain.

Thankfully, Paul seemed also engrossed in his thoughts, and they settled down to eat in front of the TV. Eventually, Anne burst out: "I hope you don't like dogs, not even the small ones!"

"Never thought about it. But I can be a cat person if that's what you want," – the boy replied, perplexed, and he seemed first shocked when Anne swiftly kissed him again. It didn't take long, though, and his hands tentatively caressed along her spine, then her arms, then tried to move on, but he always stopped himself with a gush of frustration and worry Anne couldn't place.

"Is there something wrong?"

"What? No!" – Paul's eyes had never been bigger or darker, and his cheeks were almost crimson. "It's perfect! You're perfect," – he flushed even more if that was possible. "I mean… I like you a great deal, and-"

"I like you too," – Anne whispered, surprising herself.

"I hope," – Paul laughed, and Anne felt he tried to calm down. "You know, I… I haven't really had a girlfriend before… and-"

"Am I your girlfriend?" – Anne cut in to make sure.

"Well, I hope… I mean, if you want you to be…." Anne thought about Malcolm for a second, and Paul seemed a vast improvement.

"Yeah," – she said and coughed because her voice sounded strangely breathy. She didn't know if she liked that.

"Hey, I… I had this idea, but you don't have to like it. I– I can just let it go, you know, because it's good enough, and we have time, but –" – he searched through his pockets and produced a pack of rubbers. "I just thought I would very much like to, but I wouldn't like you less if you said no."

Anne didn't realize how awkwardly she was staring at the box while she was preoccupied with making sense of all the mixed emotions around her. Paul was almost terrified but also eager and super excited. He did really like her. He was also almost on the edge with lust, something she'd never experienced with him before… and there was the usual self-reproach. This time, it almost consumed him. Anne could only imagine how loudly he must be arguing in his head. She found it cute.

"May I read that?" – She asked when she noticed some text on the box. Of course, she knew what it was for, but she'd never seen it outside a supermarket or a pharmacy. Paul seemed to calm by her pragmatism.

"Sure!"

They read the lines and went through the basics almost in a clinical manner. They were neither into surprises, and Anne admitted she'd only kissed another boy once and that it wasn't as good as kissing Paul. This gave the boy a healthy and much-needed ego boost despite his admitted and total lack of former experiences.

"Maybe I'm good at this?" – He boldly suggested, and Anne laughingly agreed that there was a chance he was.

Paul kissed her again then, and they agreed they didn't need to push themselves. So not much more happened for at least an hour when Paul's wandering hands finally begged her top off, and the boy almost squeaked while the air around him began to vibrate with pleasure. He grabbed his crotch and squeezed his eyes shut, almost panting: "Anne, you're so beautiful! I don't think I can handle this!"

She was confused. "You want me to put it back on?"

Paul's eyes flew open, and he stared at her in disbelief. "Never!" – he cried and tried for another kiss, but Anne was laughing too hard, and he missed her lips, planting a wet kiss between her ear and jaw. Anne sighed when it made her suddenly tremble for more. It was exquisite and finally as exciting as she formerly only sensed such a feeling in others.

"More of those!" – she asked him, and the boy kissed his way from her ear down her jawline to her neck.

"D'you like this?"

Anne nodded, and he repeated the process on the other side. She found it all the most similar to floating or vertigo, and Paul's emotions only added to that. He tentatively touched her breasts and was so much in awe that Anne felt as if she was almost religiously worshipped.

The next hour divided them from their clothes, and it was already nice enough to lay on the thick rug and just feel each other. At least Anne thought so, and Paul must have shared her opinion because at one point, he simply just came, trembling with his head on her shoulder and apologizing, although Anne couldn't fathom for what.

It was past noon when they had the idea to try showering together, and after that, Paul led her to a bedroom, and kisses renewed. This time, they already had an idea about what they were trying for, and Paul even reached inside her with his finger and caressed her from inside. Anne had nothing to compare to that feeling. She mimicked his approach until Paul stopped her with that now-familiar squeak.

The rubber was awkwardness in a box. Mainly because they only experimented with the first one, but the second seemed well at its place, and although it hurt when Paul pushed his way inside her, he knew where to kiss her neck to divert her attention. There was nothing to distract his, though, and truth be told, the whole thing didn't last very long.

No matter, they still had some cold pizza and decided to return to water the plants the next day, Anne's last day in London, before the wicked Hogwarts Express would rudely take her away. Not for the first time, Anne hated the idea of leaving for school.

Paul walked her home, but she sent him away when she saw Caleb in the doorway. "See you tomorrow" had never sounded sexy but that evening.

"Where the hell have you been, A-bee?" – Caleb set out to ruin the mood as soon as he saw her.

"With friends. What is your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is that I've been trying to talk to you these past two hours, and neither gran nor Rachel seem to have an inkling about where you've gone! A criminal is on the loose, our bloody Aunt is haunting the halls in the Ministry, and you're asking me about my problem?"

"Wait, which Aunt? Do you mean you've seen Duvessa in the Ministry?"

"How the hell would Rachel have gotten there? Would you tell me?!" – Caleb almost screamed at her. "But you know what, I don't know anymore if I preferred her outing us all going there, or Duvessa making Lucius Malfoy threaten me in the dining hall!" – The last part he whispered but with no less agitation.

"And what did he say?" – Anne asked, strangely finding herself unable to lose her calm.

"That if I choose to deploy more relatives with a dab hand in poisons, I should be ready to investigate their dealings as a member of the MLE. And also something about misunderstandings and youthful angst that overstate the least bits of friendly japes to animosity."

Anne tried to make sense of it all when Caleb added: "And something more about me being a fool, and him never suffering those, but I thought that self-exemplary. What do you have to say? I know you were the only one who knew about Lucinda, and Gavin didn't do a thing. But you sent him an owl some weeks ago to cover for you, so I came to you A-bee to ask: Where the hell were you that day, and what do you know about our dearest Aunt?"

Anne was contemplating all his words, and any possible reply she could give him well before he finished venting his anger. She felt that, his fear, and frustration clear enough. However, the sudden gagging and a scream she could only perceive in the atmosphere around them, her brother's body jolting upright in a strange yellow-green hue, and the other two quick spells, one red, one orange, that volleyed into the house's gate she didn't expect the least.