Loyal Pet

by H Bregalad

Bellatrix is an animagus and escapes with Sirius, Harry catches her and decides to keep her for a pet, she decides to raise him into a Lord and Master that she can be proud to follow. Rated M for sex and animagus sex. Warning: Polyamory eventually. There is also violence, including towards children and animals. You have been warned. Based on timbarney110's challenge 'loyal pet.'

77. Year 6 Chapter 13

Presents and Scheduling

Lethan didn't return to the 'family room' (terrible name that) so Gwyn tracked him down.

She found him pacing his room and packing.

"What did Lord Potter chase you away to discuss?"

He looked up, "I chased myself away, that was a rather weird ceremony. What did you mean by my present?"

"We've seen you carving," said Gwyn, "you're quite good. I know you've turned out little sculptures for Robbie and the others. I've been hoping for one of Eirian and me, but I'm not sure you ever saw us together before Greyback got hold of her."

He stared without saying anything.

Then he sighed and looked away, he opened his mouth but still did not say anything.

"We used to be identical," said Gwyn, "We used to have a mental bond. The way twins sometimes do. It broke when 'the wolf took her.' (I don't know why it's called that.) (It has nothing to do with being identical, though statistically that helps). I could still feel the bond trying to reform for months after, but I didn't know how to bridge the gap."

He nodded, "I can still see the echoes of that in the way you move near each other."

"What?"

"The echoes of being bonded," he said, "and echoes of the bond not being there when you reach for it. Like a lifeline you've recently removed from your harness, but aren't yet accustomed to its absence."

"Yeah." Gwyn breathed carefully so as not to whimper.

Lethan sighed, "She's moved on in ways that you have not. She's got her pack pulling her in. And she's anchored herself to her step-children as well."

Gwyn growled.

Lethan looked at her, "You haven't moved on yet, but you're testing the waters here and there, experimenting, planning ahead. I can respect that."

Gwyn sighed; he didn't know; and she couldn't tell him.

"Not sure I could reduce what I've seen to a single sculpture, perhaps a series."

That was a threat. Gwyn shrugged, trying not to betray her goose-flesh, maybe asking to be the subject of the art of a man so rough had been a mistake.

"To answer your question," he said, "Potter seemed to want to pigeonhole me about whether I was coming back, without outright giving me an order about when he expected me, nor that I needed to return at all."

"Oh!" said Gwyn, "Why?"

Lethan looked at her and then away, "I'm a firearms specialist, in a nation where the tools of my trade are outright illegal to own. Or at least, to carry out of the house. The fact that the magistrate in question was willing to ignore that to secure my surrender was good tactics in the moment, but the longer it goes on, the longer I work directly for that magistrate, the more it looks like corruption instead."

"Oh," said Gwyn, "What did you tell him?"

"Let me finish," he said, "I'm a firearms specialist and the task he gave me as a condition of my parole was advising you and encouraging you through graduation. Which, to my knowledge, is in June. Please alert me if I'm wrong."

"No, that's still on track."

He nodded and gave her a proud and encouraging smile. "Good," he said, "I think you should stay in school for a degree also," his eyebrow twitched, "'go to University,' whichever way you like to say it. I'm willing to advise you about that also, but it's not in my contract with him. And he knows it. So yeah, he wanted to know how long I was staying. ... Or how much longer I am staying."

Gwyn nodded, "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd be back by New Year's Day. I did not offer any information on how many of my guns I'd move out of the country, and on what time frame. But the sooner, the less blackmail he has over me. 'Blackmail' is the wrong word, but close enough."

"Oh, I see," said Gwyn, "Why are you … in such a hurry?"

He froze and sat on his bed and motioned her to a chair. She sat.

"I didn't think I'd be allowed, definitely not encouraged," he said, "I certainly didn't expect him to hint that I might be looking forward to my next assignment, and he supports me in that. (I'd entertained a fear that he meant to keep me on indefinitely. Holding his victory over my previous employer over me for as long as he can.)"

"You're not wrong," said Gwyn, "he's done that with others he's captured."

Lethan shivered, "I'm not sure whether I'm happy to hear that my assessment of him is correct in that regard. He offered to reimburse me for my plane tickets, I think there was an implied clause about me looking for cheap ones, which if I understand the airline industry, means leaving ASAP and returning as far after Christmas as possible. Also, seems like it behoves me to ship as many of my guns with me as possible while he's paying for the tickets."

"Oh!" said Gwyn.

"Conversely, the money I had saved up for each of those expenses might be freed up."

"Nice!" Gwyn smiled, "I don't know about moving guns or electronics, but if we go to London, I could buy you a portkey to New York for about twenty-five … 100 pounds. Probably other equally big port cities for the same price."

"Good to know," he said, "I'd like to know more about that … sometime."

Not this time, not when he was in a hurry to move his guns.

"On that note," he said, "would you like to come with?"

"What?"

"Extra plane ticket money. Would you like to meet my family? See where I grew up? See where I live when I'm between missions?"

Gwyn blinked. That is a loaded question in so many different ways, how am I supposed to answer that?

"I don't know if … Lethan, what are you asking?"

"I'm not offering anything yet, just trying to give you a chance to gather intelligence, just in case you … want to gather that intelligence."

"Lethan?"

"There are plenty of good universities in Chicago and surrounds."

"Oh," said Gwyn, "Are you serious?"

He looked at her, "I didn't mean it like that," he said, "I meant … No, before we get to what I meant, Yes, I am deadly serious. There are some very very good universities in Chicago, and you deserve to go somewhere that would give you the education you deserve."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Do you want a degree? Entertainment would play to your strengths."

Gwyn stared at him, "So you can get a degree in being a whore now?"

He looked offended, "No!" He said, "Entertainment is like … managing a hotel, or a Restaurant, or a concert hall, or most complex, one of those pop-up event companies, where you don't just have to provide those services to your customer's guests at your own location, but deliver and set up everything before the event, and pack up and remove it afterwards. I feel like that sort of 'adding an extra mile to an already difficult task' is more of your sister's style of race. But yes, your current skill set is considered very valuable in the mundane world, and you would only become more valuable with more focused training. Probably you could retire richer than I will, (if you choose to save consistently)."

Gwyn stared at him, "Oh."

I've been saying that a lot this afternoon.

"Also, Chicago is a big busy city, lots of people throwing lots of parties to attract business, lots of people coming to visit to make deals, and needing hotels to sleep in and food to eat while they are there. There'd be plenty of opportunities for you if those are the kinds of opportunities you are looking for."

"Alright," said Gwyn. That did seem a little more hopeful than staying here and washing sheets and clothes for as many guests as Ginny ordered her to take care of until she caught wind of Gwyn's relatives and took exception. Or until Kurt did something to annoy her and Eirian would stand up for him with just barely the wrong tone and Ginny would kick them to the curb with no more recommendation than before and they'd be worse off than they started, probably in Carny Alley, and now with minors in tow.

But hope and self-betterment was just what he was preaching because that's what Harry had ordered him to teach.

"Alright," said Gwyn again, "If that's not what you meant, what did you mean?"

He blinked several times like he'd forgotten what he'd been talking about.

"I meant, Gwyn, would you consent to date me?"

"What kind of question is that, We already…"

"I mean would you begin to seriously consider me for marrying material? Would you like to check on my family also? In the States, I think I cannot marry you until you're twenty-one. I don't even want you to commit to anything until then. My work pays very well, but it takes me all over the planet for inconsistent periods of time. I'm not sure if you have a clear idea of what that's like to live with, so I am not going to ask you for a commitment until you've seen me through a few cycles. Hell, most women would drop a man for falling off the map for two weeks, and I can't always promise how soon I'll be back. Some contracts last for a month or more. And there's always the chance I'll die or be arrested. It's not the kind of life most people would choose for themselves, let alone for a loved one."

Gwyn stared at him. Bile rose in her throat. He wasn't like that, he was so much better than that, but maybe he couldn't see it.

Or maybe it's me who is not seeing the truth for the strong arms in front of me.

Gwyn considered offering her sister in her place. Eirian could follow him around on missions, help lug his equipment, and maybe learn to shoot. She always said that the transition was easier if she was somewhere between exhausted and riding an exercise high. Not that Gwyn wasn't against exercise highs in general.

But Eirian had other attachments now and they both knew it. And Gwyn respected him for respecting those. (She had enjoyed having more of his attention, to be honest.) But there were other inconsistencies with his offer … to put her up where he'd be coming home to.

"Do you often shag prostitutes while on mission?"

"No," he said, "never."

She raised an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes, "I've never shagged a prostitute, because you were always more than that to me."

"Oh," she said. Slick. "If you came back from a mission, and found that I'd lost my job and reverted to prostitution, would you kill him? Or me?"

"Neither," he said, "If you convinced me that it was prostitution and all above board. But I'd kill him if it was rape."

"Oh," said Gwyn, "Promise?"

He frowned for a long time, "No," he said, "Gwyn please don't resort to prostitution. There are infinite other possibilities. Including begging to my relatives, which is what I'd prefer. I can't guarantee whether they'd give you a handout on my credit, or find you a job," He rubbed his cheek, "Not sure how you rate telemarketing on the social morality scale."

Gwyn stared at him.

He shook his head, "Never mind that. Only one of my relatives does that, there are other options, I wish you'd come and meet them."

Because he wants to marry me. But knows he cannot provide everything I'd need in a relationship. It would have to be a team effort. And I know from his stories that many of his missions are with a team, and even when the team isn't backing him in the field, there's still a team backing him at headquarters, it's just how he thinks.

Only, when the mission is marriage, the team backing him is his family. Who I haven't met yet. And I don't think that way because my family is useless, (Not counting Eirian.)

But I still don't know why he wants me. I just know that I want him. But not on those terms. Never on those terms.

"I would like to meet your family," said Gwyn, "But … I'm not sure about the rest. I don't want to … travel that far from my sister."

He rubbed his forehead, "Yeah, fair enough." His hands twitched and he started looking around, perhaps for something to be doing, but his bag seemed packed already, and his guns were all locked in the other room.

"Is Christmas the best option for meeting them?" said Gwyn.

He stilled and faced her, "Yes, the best time. But not the only time. When are you thinking?"

There was a frantic pounding on the door.

"What now," he sighed and stood up to face the door.

"Gwyn, are you in there?" called Eirian, "Are you alright? Are you sick?"

Gwyn sighed.

He turned back, "Are you sure that bond is broken?"

Gwyn nodded, "I felt it break. I haven't felt it trying to reform in months."

He nodded, "Is that because one or both of you stopped trying, or because it did reform."

Gwyn stared at him.

He opened the door to let Eirian in.

She came in and embraced Gwyn very hard, "I heard you groan like you'd been stabbed … somewhere important. But … are you fine now?"

He asked me to marry him. And I said … that I couldn't say yes.

"I'm … healthy," said Gwyn, "I am not fine."

Eirian glared, first at her and then at Lethan. He snorted and turned back to the bed, moving his suitcase down onto the floor and turning to survey the room.

"What did he do to you?"

"Paid me compliments I didn't know I needed, and others that I'm not ready to accept."

Eirian growled suspiciously.

"Lethan, may we finish this later? I … will you wait for me?"

"I already implied waiting four and a half years for you, what else do you want me to spell out?"

"Don't buy tickets before we talk," said Gwyn, "is that clear enough for you?"

"That's clear enough, but indefinite. I won't buy tickets until after breakfast tomorrow," he said, "You have until then to persuade me further."

"Heh," said Gwyn and turned away and dragged Eirian from the room. 'Persuade' was their code for, … well, the sorts of conversations that that sort of word ought to be code for.

.

"What happened back there?" said Eirian.

"He asked me to marry him."

Eirian narrowed her eyes, "Seriously? Like proposed?"

"No more like, 'please date me for up to four years, and figure out whether you want me for a husband, instead of merely a locally convenient shag toy, because I fully intend to leave soon, but you're welcome to come with me, and I know you are most comfortable if you have plenty of time to make up your mind. And unless things change, I anticipate proposing when you graduate from Uni. So you know, that's a decision for you to research if you feel like.'"

Eirian rolled her eyes, "He is such a …" she shivered, "never mind."

Gwyn stared at her, "Do you want to try again?"

"Something something, congratulations, I knew you had it in you?"

"Huh?"

"Catching a husband, instead of a 'wife who happens to be male'."

Gwyn snickered, then sighed, "I haven't caught him yet."

"It sounded like he put himself firmly on a hook and asked you to reel him in."

Gwyn nodded, "He didn't quite promise that he doesn't play loose with other prostitutes on other missions. But he did ask me to be the one-and-only that he comes home to."

Eirian frowned for a while, then nodded.

"But I'm not sure if I care about whether there are other prostitutes, I think it's more that I care whether there are other missions."

Eirian shrugged, "Then tell him that."

"Tell him what?"

"That while you're going to Uni to become worthy of him, he needs to be finding a different profession to become worthy of you."

"Oh," said Gwyn, "Yeah, that's a good way to say that."

Eirian nodded.

"Did you really feel me groan when he admitted why he wants me to meet his family?"

Eirian nodded, "it wasn't as loud and clear as the bond used to be, but I did feel it."

"I didn't think it was possible."

Eirian shrugged, "More things are possible than we have arithmancy to describe and predict."

"I … didn't dare hope it was possible."

"Something has happened, but I won't try to specify what. What do you want to do about it?"

"If it's fresh and new and fragile, I don't want to hare off to Chicago and risk breaking it."

"And if it's a year old and has already found a way to endure the ravages of my wolf? What then?"

"Then I don't know."

"Then you should stretch it to the far side of the planet to see what kind of abuse it can take."

Gwyn stared at her. "Do you want to be rid of me?"

"No, I want to see you happy. I am stronger for my relationships with The Pack which I didn't choose, and again with Kurt and Robbie, which I did. I think you'll be stronger too for more and stronger relationships. I know you've grown more from being in contact with Ginny. Also with Uncle Lethan, but that's … enough different for you than it is for me, that I'm not as sure I recognise what's going on."

"Humph," said Gwyn. "Did you notice that they skipped over us when handing out communal presents?"

"They didn't skip over me, Harry's 'gift for me to share' was money for the kids' clothes. But … you're right, there should have been something for you."

"Come here," said Gwyn and led her back to her bedroom to pocket one little box, then to the family room. And pawed under the tree to find the other.

She held it out.

"Addressed to me."

"It's a gift to both of us, for both of us, its pair is in my pocket. Open it."

Eirian opened it.

"You know my ears heal when the wolf takes me."

"Then use sticking charms," said Gwyn, "They're shiny but that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" said Eirian holding up one earring, and watching how the light played across the tiny foil tambourine.

Gwyn opened her box and put on her own set of earrings.

"Listen carefully," said Gwyn, then held her hand out as far from Eirian as she could reach, and snapped her fingers.

Eirian blinked and held her earring closer to her ear, "Do that again?"

Gwyn snapped again.

Eirian nodded, "Talk?"

"Anything in particular?"

"How … fast are they?" said Eirian, "Slower than spirit and sound, faster than cast magic?"

"I think the upper bound of cast magic is the speed that sound propagates through magic, otherwise you'd get bullet whistle effects from a spell going past."

Eirian narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "I think some piercing curses do that. Not that the effect is audible, mind you, you just see the curse trail form after it resolves instead of as it travels, and it seems to spread out forward and back from some middle point between caster and target, I assume from the ratio of the distance and the angle of the observer a skilled arithmancer could determine how much faster than sound it is travelling."

"I assume," Gwyn agreed, "I think these resonate with each other at the speed that light or its equivalent propagates through magic."

"But magic has more polarities than electricity and magnetism combined, why would it have a speed of cross-induction propagation."

"Because without light, sound couldn't exist, without a field induction propagation speed either magic wouldn't move, or would move instantaneously."

Eirian pinched the bridge of her nose, "Sound exists, and is not instantaneous, therefore time exists? And light is also not instantaneous?"

"There are more pieces to it than that, but yes. And a hundred years later everyone is still arguing about whether these things ought to be named in German, French, Arabic, or Hindi."

"But of course," said Eirian and shook her head, "Now forget about Christmas break homework and the fact that you've done yours and I haven't. Tell me about why you made these. You're thinking that with a little help with translation, we can relearn how to interpret what the bond tells us?"

"I thought it was gone forever," whispered Gwyn, "I thought it might be convenient to re-create simulations of our favourite parts, and being able to talk to each other, and feel included in each others' conversations was one of the best parts."

Eirian nodded, "it did have many conveniences."

"I don't know though," said Gwyn, "Do you think what you said is even possible?"

"Maybe," said Eirian, "I guess it's worth a try."

"On the other hand," said Gwyn, "given our ages and issues, maybe being able to take them off during sex or full moons would be more convenient than the bond was."

Eirian raised an eyebrow.

"I enchanted the boxes soundproof for a reason."

Eirian smiled, "Sure, that makes sense."

It was a smile with a little too much condescension in it.

As if I can't handle being a prostitute. I can handle everything life throws at me, same as you. It has just thrown different things at me.

But when Gwyn opened her mouth to protest, she instead remembered Lethan's look of abstracted pity, when he suggested the bond hadn't broken. What had that meant?

If the bond was surviving everything, even the coming and going of Eirian's wolf. That would mean it wasn't Gwyn's bond with Eirian breaking anew she felt each time the wolf took her. That was the recoil of Eirian breaking.

Eirian's eyes snapped up, "What was that?"

"The bond still exists," said Gwyn.

Eirian nodded, not like Gwyn was slow on the uptake, but like both of them had been slow.

"Why does that make you grieve?" said Eirian.

"Because it gives me an inkling what it means when you say, 'the wolf takes you'."

Eirian frowned, "There is no way you could comprehend what that means, please don't try."

"That's what we tell children about sex."

Eirian blinked.

"I am an adult and your sister and your twin, You can tell me if you need to."

Eirian sighed.

"Is it so bad that you'd rather protect me from all of it? Even knowing about it? It's not like I don't already hear rumours. (Most of them awful.)"

"It is awful," said Eirian, "and I have no illusions that you haven't already figured out that much."

"I know you have a proud facade you like to maintain, if it would bother you for me to know more or see more than I have, I won't pry but…"

"But what?"

"I'm learning the animagus, I've read all the books that I nicked from Harry's bookshelf while he was gone. I think I'm very close."

Eirian stared, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "What's your animal?"

"Some kind of hawk or bird of prey or something?"

"Owl?"

"I … don't think so, I think falcon or hawk."

Eirian nodded, "'m jealous. How far along are you, do you think."

"I was thinking I was close in November, but I chickened out. I wanted a knowledgeable spotter, and I didn't know who to ask. Melantha said 'Ask Potter.' Potter said he'd pay for any fees for whatever seminar our school offered, I said they didn't but I'd been reading his books. He floo'd his Transfiguration professor and explained everything, she offered any week in July. He counter-offered any weekend during spring hols and explained again how close I was. She said the third of January. So I have that to look forward to. Oh, I guess that rules out visiting the States."

Eirian stared, "How long a Christmas vacation did Uncle Lethan ask for?"

"I … oh, Potter told him to be back by New Year's."

Eirian nodded, "Then that does not conflict with a tutoring appointment on the third."

Gwyn blinked, "Oh, right."

Eirian kept staring, "You studied for how many months to figure out if you can follow me around on Full Moons?"

Gwyn nodded, "plotting and researching since the first full moon of summer when all of Potter's bandits tried it. Reading in earnest since early September when I realised he'd left his books behind."

Eirian nodded, "Just more of our ironic bad luck that you trying to follow my cursed self into the night leaves you a fellow predator, but a daytime one."

"Humph," said Gwyn, "Don't say that."

"No, I mean, dreadfully romantic, in a not nice way. Lethan would look good with a falcon on his shoulder though."

"Oh, you!" said Gwyn.

Eirian wiped her mouth, leaving behind an ugly expression, "Alright," she breathed, "You've asked. And you've earned the right to know. Not that you didn't already have the right to know, just that I needed proof that … you meant it when you said you wanted to know. That you were ready to hear it."

"What?" said Gwyn.

"It hurts a lot, to be taken by the wolf," said Eirian, "On every level of being that can hurt, it does hurt, a lot. Not like infinitely or anything. The Cruciatus hurts more, but only hurts physically and mentally, it doesn't access the other levels. Or at least, not the way the dark lord cast it. I'd hate to think what it would be like if Greyback could cast it."

"He can't?"

"He doesn't, at any rate, his idea of leadership is more … physical and upfront. He leads a battle from the front lines, not a war from the back office. And if he wants you toughened up and thinks pain and suffering is the correct method, he'll have you turned, and on the day after the full moon, when you want to curl up and pass out, he'll force your entire squad through alternating routines of push-ups and lunges.

Eirian sighed and looked away, "I won't say that is not also torture, but it leaves you stronger and more confident, not weaker and even more at the mercy of everyone with more status than you."

Gwyn nodded, she'd seen that dynamic play out and was glad she'd stayed unimportant enough to mostly not come to either of their attentions.

"And now that the war is over, he has already transitioned into teaching us how to be a peacetime army, which I think is almost the same thing as any other corporation, just the infrastructure to maintain is 'goodwill' and 'fighting capability.' We don't have tanks or whatever. But we do have ourselves. It's not the same as being, I don't know, a utility department and running off to repair floo outages or whatever, but managing inventory and maintaining assets and protecting and training manpower, same same, just, I guess you can buy a used farm truck anywhere, and cannot buy a tank without a lot of paperwork."

"I can't quite tell if you sound like Lethan."

"Or if he sounds like me, and that's why you like him?"

Gwyn rolled her eyes and eyebrows.

Eirian drew her wand and transfigured the earring hooks into clasps and put them on.

Gwyn reached out to the side and snapped her fingers.

Eirian took them off again and examined them, then switched which ears they were on, "sorry, didn't see the R and L marks."

Gwyn nodded.

Eirian stared at her.

"I love you Eirian," said Gwyn.

"Obviously," said Eirian, "I love you, too."

She's trying not to cry or something.

"So you're going to Chicago?"

Gwyn shrugged, "it's an option, apparently."

Eirian rolled her eyebrows.

"Go already," said Eirian with a wave back towards Lethan's room.

Gwyn shrugged again.

Eirian froze, "What's the range on these things?" she waved towards her ears.

"I don't know," said Gwyn, "it's just the Proteus charm, if they fail, we can reconnect them when I get back."

Eirian nodded, "if they fail?"

"And I think we can try other materials, but these are already high-copper brass, no nickel or silver to annoy humans or werewolves respectively. They wanted to try silver first as a prototype and save gold for when we were sure that we had the diameter and foil thickness we wanted. But I told them no silver, of course."

Eirian nodded, "I can see the logic, thank you for avoiding silver."

Gwyn nodded.

"You've already made up your mind, stop dithering. Go tell the poor man."

Gwyn nodded, "Yeah, I guess." She stood up, then turned back, "Eirian?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Permission to go?" said Gwyn, "Permission is the wrong word."

"Blessing? To date him?" said Eirian, "Blessing to date in general?"

Gwyn nodded.

"Of course," said Eirian, "I want to see you happy."

.

Lethan was in his weapons room eyeing crates and referring to an airline fee schedule.

He looked up from that.

"I guess I'm going," said Gwyn.

He smiled, but raised an eyebrow, "Nice, good to have you. But what do you mean by, 'you guess'?"

"Eirian said I could."

"You needed her permission?"

"No?" said Gwyn, "And I didn't exactly ask for it either."

Eirian snorted in her ears.

"I just had to explain, … I had to be sure that she understood what I did and did not mean by it before I could be sure…"

"Sure that you were going?"

"And how much it would cost me."

He stared at her, then nodded.

"Oh," snickered Eirian, "So I could have held out for extortion? Ugh."

Eirian rolled her eyes, "Careful Eirian, see if I come back."

"That's the spirit," said Eirian, "Yes, come back. But make sure he wants you to stay enough that he'll pay for our portkeys when we want to visit."

"Right," said Gwyn, "And she gave me her blessing to date in general and you in specific."

He smiled.

"And to stress test our reformed bond to the distance of the planet," she bit her lip.

"Is that… likely to be an issue?"

"I want to say no," said Gwyn, "but I have no idea, I would have said the timezone distance will make more difference than the absolute distance. I'm afraid that not being here when she returns from being a wolf will make even more difference than that."

"Don't go borrowing trouble," growled Eirian.

He stared at her for several seconds, "Yeah, that could be a big thing," he said, "or it could be a thing you've already done enough times as to have had a permanent effect."

Eirian made an unintelligible noise. (So much for the earrings providing subtitles to help us relearn to interpret the impressions that the bond gives.)

"What else is there to discuss?" he said, "planned itinerary?"

"Temperature?" said Gwyn.

He shrugged, "Very cold, I can only give it in Fahrenheit if that helps. Not the insane wind chill and constant precipitation to fear on the far side of the lake."

"Hmm," said Gwyn, "So, warm things, or waterproof things?"

"Both," he said, "and layers, so that you can take some off when we're indoors, which will be most of the time, but not all of the time."

"Alright," said Gwyn, "and temperature control enchantments?"

He nodded diagonally, "Bring them if you've got them!"

"Alright," she said.

He opened a gun case, then closed it again, locked it, and moved it to a different stack.

"Are we starting dating questions tonight or en route?"

"Do you want fast distracted answers or long slow answers to pass the time?"

"There's one I want you to answer straight out and not try to elide and mask because of muggle ears around."

He looked up.

"You do know that I'm a witch, right?"

"Of course," he said, "is that an issue?"

"Normally we're not allowed to tell muggles until after marriage, or after betrothal, depending on jurisdiction. But since you already know about magic, I'm not breaking anything by bringing it up. I could not imagine dating seriously and not being allowed to talk about it."

He looked at her, and picked up one of his … whatever that was, a very dull knife with a handle, that could also attach to a rifle. He hefted it, and looked around, probably for the gun it went to, which must be some sort of memory game since most of the cases were closed, and some were padlocked.

He paused and looked at her again, "The average adult can easily kill another average adult in their sleep with a pillow. The fact that I am trained in an additional six ways to kill you while you're awake, and I cannot guess the number of additional ways that you are trained to kill me … just doesn't change the equation very much. For strangers you meet on the street, yes. For friends that you've already invited to be inside your locks while you sleep, not at all. Every object in the world is a weapon in the hands of someone who needs a weapon. No object in the world is a weapon to someone who doesn't currently need one."

"Oh," said Gwyn.

He moved a case to access the case below it. He nestled the colourful not-a-knife thing into a space in the foam carved just for it.

"That doesn't mean I don't believe in guard rails around stair landings, nor locks on gun cases. Dangerous things are still dangerous even when everyone around them has the most benign intentions."

"I feel like I should probe both that rule and that exception a little bit more," said Gwyn, "But I'm not sure what to ask."

"Something like, how safe it has to be before we don't need to take security precautions?"

"Perhaps."

"You never don't have to take security precautions," he said, "But I don't need every drink cup to be labelled with warnings against temperature and drowning. Likewise, if you put a safety railing across every single stair of a staircase climbing down it would become more dangerous, not less. There are some risks you alleviate as far as you can, and post warnings as appropriate and then you have to let the people take their own precautions.

"Perhaps you have to teach swimming in school, and stream geology. And how to ride a train. So they can tell where to steer clear of the water, and where it is safe to swim. When and how far to stay clear of the edge of the platform, and when it is safe to board. A train platform is useless with safety railings keeping you from the fall because it would also keep you from the train. The entire point of it is to raise everyone to the level of the train, regardless of where the doors end up. And no one is paying to put railings around a river, for one thing, rivers rise and lower a bit with the seasons and the railing would always be in the wrong place or catching debris. For another thing, they'd be in the way of someone trying to climb out, and some people do put up ladders for that."

"Alright," said Gwyn.

"Have I talked your ear off long enough, are you going to teach me how to be safe around magic?"

Gwyn smiled, "Probably, on and off. I'm not sure if there are courses prepared specifically for muggles. … I'll check."

He nodded and smiled.

"I think floo travel is safer than trains, but it never feels like it in the moment."

He raised a concerned eyebrow.

"And International Portkeys … I'm under the impression they give safety lectures before unless you assure them twice that you've done it before in the last year."

He stared at her.

"I've never been on an international. Have you used Wotcher to portkey around the estate?"

He nodded.

"Have you ever carried … big stuff?"

He shook his head.

"I think there's a technique to it, but I don't know what it is."

"I'll take your word for it," he said.

Gwyn didn't know what else to say.

"Not sure if it makes any difference," he said, "I feel like the other answer to your question, 'do I know you're a witch?' is that … I don't know this, but I'm 95% sure some of my aunts and cousins might be. They have weird enough hobbies, and intermittently better things to do than stick around." His dimples twitched, "but perhaps that describes me as well."

"Hmm," said Gwyn.

And the image formed of the two of them sneaking around a family reunion, trying to figure out who the mages were, without admitting that she was.

Because of course she couldn't until she knew who she was allowed to tell.

She could say, 'Oh, We came by international portkey from London.' and when asked, explain that it was just a private airport club that her parents had a membership to, and no, she couldn't get them tickets. But where was the fun in that?

But no, spy games were more her thing. At least to read about. He …

I don't know what he does for fun.

How was that possible?

Something to investigate. On a long slow plane ride? Or curled up cosy somewhere in a shiny modern skyscraper while blizzards whistled ineffectually against the windows.

"Lethan?"

"Yeah?"

"So, umm, I have until tomorrow morning sometime to call the international portkey office and find out rates, and schedules and whether I'm allowed to transport a squib?"

"You have a squib to transport?" he said.

"You, from a magic family but supposedly without magic of your own."

"Ah," he said with an amused lift of his eyebrows, "I see. You have the darnedest terminology, and here I thought the children were referring to dangerous forth — err … Fawks day toys, not to each other."

Gwyn shrugged.

"Yes," he said, "and find out about moving cargo."

"Alright," she looked around. And wondered if ammunition could survive being shrunk.

"But that's tomorrow," he said, "This afternoon, go and pack."

"Alright," she said and went.

.

...-...

A ritual subverted

[Author's Warning: This section contains a lot more POV switching than normal, I usually don't mind such when reading, but they can be jarring and confusing when listening, so I'm experimenting with murkybluematterb's technique of marking section breaks that are also POV shifts with the initials of the new POV character.

(Feel free to let me know what you think/feel about this.)

Like so: ]

.

[A.G. A.G. A.G.]

.

Astoria could barely eat lunch. The Thing was this afternoon.

The Thing that she'd been waiting for, for her entire life. A cure. A chance to have the health and endurance that other children took for granted.

Just thinking about it made her feel faint. Reflexively she forced herself to cough, the momentary chest compression helping do what her heart couldn't do on its own, not because it was weak, but because her blood didn't quite do its job. Because her marrow didn't quite do its job, because, well, at every step backwards along the chain of causality, the possible reasons for an effect multiplied by about 30. The biological machine that was the human body had a mass of intersecting feedback loops to keep it in sync, and when they worked it was amazing, and when it didn't, sometimes the reason was rather opaque. Astoria's problem seemed to be related to her magic, not how she used it, but how full her reserves were.

She could either be a little physically exhausted and heal poorly from every little thing because her reserves were at normal levels or she could be a lot physically exhausted because that's what a mage's body did when she'd exhausted her reserves of magic and it redirected its focus to recovering from that, and in the process, it got out of its own way and let her blood recover also.

She'd never managed to exhaust herself magically until school, and never for long enough to knock herself unconscious until staying at Potter Manor. The air was just so clear there, not full of bright crystalline sun sparkle of water magic against large rocks like at Hogwarts or the constant yellow and green crackle of growing things at The Greenwood.

No, at Potter Manor magic was just there, still and waiting, rich with possibility, as if for her to make a choice. Not flowing hard ahead, intent on its own pursuits. Yes, there was water and farmland everywhere, stands of trees here and there, and the occasional stone wall or obelisk. But the whole atmosphere of the place had the carefully purified and insulated feeling Astoria had otherwise only found inside of potions labs.

She'd managed to reach magical exhaustion one day practising levitating a (large) basket of produce. And another day practising the Patronus charm. Both times she slept soundly for 12 hours. And both times, two days later she'd had the best and clearest days of her life.

Since then, she'd experimented to see if she just needed more sleep, (going to bed soon enough to get 12 hours uninterrupted). But that didn't seem to be it. She experimented with pushing herself to the edge of exhaustion by levitating her mattress for as long as she could focus on that. That worked wonders when she could focus long enough to have any effect. But by definition, at the end of the day, she often didn't have much focus left. Some days she didn't have enough clarity to do any magic at all the whole day, it wasn't — … just 'ugh,' basically it was all just 'ugh.'

And none of that worked at Hogwarts regardless, because she could breathe in more magic than she could use up. And the Greenwood was even more filling.

But now she was at Hermione's house, with even less magic supply, but very little magic legal to do. So she was stuck until … whenever.

But Draco's aunts assured everyone that it was all repairable, not by working backwards to isolate the cause which grew more difficult to understand and harder to test for and more expensive at every step. But by rebuilding it all according to a working template.

Draco had brought her a book on blood adoptions and shown her which one everyone thought would be best. Draco would become her half-father at some practical level but reject the legal and familial implications of that, leaving him her half-brother somehow. And leaving her parentage alone, meanwhile, to make sure that nothing got erased, a hair sample from either her or each of her parents would also be used to keep things identical enough that no ancestry paperwork anyone tried to run would change.

Unfortunately, the ceremony required Astoria's active participation, so she'd set about to memorise her lines and actions to a perfect shine.

(But Astoria's focus was not the best, neither was her memory, so she'd known to give herself at least a month to memorise it all, both the meaning of everything and especially her place in it all and her lines.

Add to that: Kat was a curious little swat and had likely read the entire book three times out of boredom for other things to read in the times between when she was sent to bed and when her mind consented to take a break and sleep.)

With the result that one day when Astoria tried again to understand the ritual, the book had been left open to a different version of the ceremony. That had been a day that Herbology had been especially difficult. And Theo and Daphne had been especially comforting afterwards. (Also Theo was a swot, but a different kind than Kat). He had proceeded to explain everything she'd missed in much simpler terms. (If he could teach all her classes that would be great.)

It all added up to Astoria ending up first accidentally and then on purpose, memorising a different version of her lines. She liked them better, not just because the words were so much more straightforward, but because they offered her an additional comfort about her place in the world, also, (to her mind at least) a second fail-safe to keep the ritual from going wrong, (or going right, but uselessly) and rebuilding her anew with exactly the same problem as before.

But she didn't have a good way to voice her fears. Well, she voiced her fears, but not her seemingly obvious solution to them. They repeated their assurance that Draco's blood and the specific time of the ritual would overcome that problem. That she didn't need to worry.

But she did worry, and she coveted just a little bit more than was being offered her.

And she'd memorised the easier lines along with the harder.

And she'd reached out and taken some things that had not been offered her. (She lived with these people of course. It had been as easy as offering to help with laundry.)

Once they realised, if they ever did realise, they would take her desires as a compliment. Hopefully, they wouldn't realise until long after the change could make them feel responsible in any way.

It wasn't fair.

She ought to ask permission. She would ask forgiveness the moment they knew. She would do anything they demanded as a forfeit if only it worked properly. If only she could run up the stairs between classes and be on time instead of breathing hard and half-dead from exhaustion. If only she could have the memory and focus to give explanations half as good as Theo's.

If only she could be helpful to anyone, instead of always and eternally a drag that everyone else must tow along or leave behind.

"I know this would be much easier," Draco was saying, "If we could floo straight there, but maintaining ritual spaces being the delicate balance that it is, we've been ordered to floo to the public floo here," he pointed out the location on a paper map, "and either walk or take a cab. Walking would be better symbolic of a pilgrimage for answers, but we're not doing a scrying, we're doing an adoption, being carried is more ideal. If you can stand the cold iron and the motion?"

He was repeating himself, He was nervous too.

"I barely managed to eat anything," said Astoria, "I don't think motion will make me worse."

Draco sighed. Possibly in relief.

"Let's go then," said Daphne, and checked her cue cards to make sure she had the correct floo address.

That made Astoria feel better, she'd had the same idea.

"Can Theo come too?" she said.

"It's not the done thing," said Theo, "I'm not, strictly speaking, part of the ritual."

"Draco's aunts will be there," she countered, "supervising, even though they aren't part of it either."

Theo looked away, trying to find a way to explain why that distinction wasn't sufficient to allow him to be there.

"I'd feel a lot calmer with you there," said Astoria, "To explain anything, just in case they use different words than the book used for the same thing."

"Oh," said Theo and sighed. He shared a glance with Daphne and Draco, before he nodded, "Give me five minutes to ditch my dragon hide and leather." On his way to the door, he changed his mind, "Go on without me, I should be there before you catch a cab."

"Granted," said Daphne, and started the fire.

.

Theo did catch up.

Astoria just had time to notice that the crosswalks had decorative cobbles and maybe there would be enough motion to make her sick after all, and then the cab was there and they were piling in.

But once they left the city centre there were no more decorative crosswalks and everything was (mostly) smooth. And then they were pulling up at a house that looked like it had wanted to grow up to be a townhouse, shoulder to shoulder with neighbours, but had been plopped down in front of a mansion's driveway instead and never given a garage.

They were welcomed onto the porch by two women who did look slightly like Draco's Mum.

One of them pointed at the afternoon sky, "Our window started when the moon rose. And ends when the moon sets. Until the sun moves to the next house. So we have twelve hours to work each day, every day this week, and again for part of next week. There is no need to rush, if you have questions or insecurities or wish for anything to be double-checked, say so."

They all nodded to that.

They went inside. At the vestibule, they took off their shoes and belts.

They went downstairs to a huge basement room with its own vestibule. Where they stopped again to go over a reminder of the rules for this ritual space.

Astoria glanced ahead.

One-quarter of the floor was a sheet of glass, one-quarter was a sheet of slate, and one-quarter was a slab of wood. And the remainder appeared to be normal concrete, and yet … looked warmer than that.

The ritual circles were laid out on the slate. Two circles interlaced like a ven diagram with a glass potion's cauldron in the centre section. From the colourless flame, Astoria guessed that it was being warmed by an alcohol gel candle.

In the middle of the room was a weird teeter-totter with two planks stacked in a metal frame, each plank led across into one of the circles and wooden wedges and blocks held them up at each end.

"This is where everyone who's staying strips to shifts," said one of the women and began unlacing her skirt.

The other one had already removed hers and hung it up.

There were hang pegs everywhere. And benches to sit on if needed.

Draco had already hung up his jacket and was starting on his pants.

Astoria looked away and decided to make use of a bench.

Very soon they were in only the long cotton or linen shirts they'd dressed in at home, Theo who hadn't been planning to attend was in a tunic and a plant fibre belt. That would be fine also.

And then they went in.

"Draco, your place is there in the grey and white chalk and ochre circle. Astoria, in the soapstone and salt."

Draco crossed the wooden bridge into the circle with white and rust-red runes, the dark grey chalk was almost invisible against the slate.

Astoria crossed the other bridge into the other circle.

Draco sat cross-legged facing the cauldron. As he was supposed to. Astoria knelt facing away, as she was supposed to until her time came to finish the potion and figure out how to drink it from a hot cauldron big enough she didn't trust herself not to drop it and spill it all over the ritual runes.

She chanced a glance back, the ritual hadn't started yet, right?

Oh, there was a crystal ladle and tumbler right there on a trivet beside the cauldron on her side, just as there was a silver knife and a vial and a stirring rod on Draco's side.

This will be fine, I can do this. What she couldn't understand was, why Draco was willing to help her? Why any of these people were willing to go out of their way to help her? But especially Draco.

One of his aunts was a ritual healer, this was exactly what she did every day for money. That she was willing to do this for free either implied someone was paying her without telling Astoria about it (probably Dad). Or she was a nice person and Astoria was a special case, or an interesting case, or she hoped to gain notoriety across Europe for succeeding at a new treatment method, or something.

But his other aunt was a soldier and mercenary if you believed one set of rumours, a violent crazy sadist if you believed a different set of rumours, and a brilliant strategic mastermind hiding behind a facade of impatience if you trusted other rumours. Therefore, she was here to cause mayhem, or because she was being paid, or because … (but everyone had double-checked the solution she'd found, and it came up clean and correct every time. They may not trust her, but they trusted the maths and the maths were correct.) … Maybe the mayhem to be caused wasn't here and now, maybe it was elsewhere. What outcomes could be expected if this succeeded? What outcomes could be expected if this failed?

Again Astoria pushed past thoughts of suicide, she had a mantra for this: maybe not everyone wanted her around, but enough people did want her that it behoved her to stick around and try to make good on their investment: No, not quite, where was this supposed to go. But, never mind, if this cure worked that would be enough.

But if it didn't?

Maybe not everyone wanted her around, but the only person who'd ever told her that anyone would be better off if Astoria didn't exist, was Pansy, (So that was telling, right?) And even Pansy hadn't said so for at least a year. So … enough other people wanted her around … to be willing to help her with everyday things, all the time, with no hope for things to ever get better. Therefore, her existence was already making it worth their while somehow, even if Astoria couldn't see it. If she trusted Pansy's words that she made a few people's lives worse, she had to trust so many other people's actions, that she made their lives better.

But it was hard. But she'd do it anyway. And maybe it would become a lot easier once she was cured.

Maybe even if she was not fully cured.

Also, soon it would be her moment to identify her parents to the potion and complete the ritual.

.

[D.M. D.M. D.M.]

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Draco checked the ingredients, and tools, they were in the optimal order but outside in, that wasn't how Professor Snape taught him, but at least they were in an order. Draco mentally rehearsed using them correctly despite the inverted order. It would be fine, he could do this. He looked up.

The bridge planks were un-shimmed and swung away. That fulcrum axle was a handy little device, he wanted one. Not that he was likely to need one for another decade if his past experience was anything to go by.

Aunt Andromeda stepped forward, wand in hand, about to activate the circles but Draco suddenly remembered and held up his hand.

She stopped.

Draco yanked off his rings and drew off his necklace, "Sorry," he said and caught Theo's eye. Theo cupped his hands and Draco threw them. Theo carried them out to the other clothes. Without even looking at them.

Admirable.

Draco motioned for Aunt Andromeda to continue. She did, starting with taking the potion out of stasis, and then moving outward activating each circle in turn.

Draco took up the stirring rod and added the essence of butterfly silk, a drop at a time until the potion began to turn iodine brown.

He stoppered that vial and set it aside, he took up the other vial and the silver knife.

Here goes, willingly given, specifically for letting Astoria heal herself.

He cut his finger and let the drops well into the vial. It wasn't large, it only existed to let him bleed freely and then heal himself, as a separate process from counting how many drops he added to the potion.

He turned to the potion, "Blood of an ally, willingly given," he murmured, "clean and stable, you will provide health and structure to my friend."

He added the seven drops while stirring at a carefully maintained speed, clockwise.

The potion lightened to Amethyst, perfect, he withdrew the stirring rod gradually, without slowing the motion, without adding turbulence, and mostly without adding ripples.

When most of the potion had dripped off, he tapped the end against the inside of the cauldron three times to remove the last drop and laid it carefully across the back lip of the cauldron. Perfectly accessible for Astoria working from the other side.

"Astoria?" he said and sat back, to wait for her to do her part.

Somehow saying her name hadn't felt like calling her by a name that already belonged to her, but like bestowing that name on her for the first time, demanding the right to name her, taking the right to describe her to the world, offering her the right to the protection of his influence.

Merlin! This really is an adoption, he had to be careful or he'd end up taking more responsibility than he'd meant to be offering.

He didn't dare look accusingly at Aunt Bellatrix, she'd probably laugh and distract everyone.

Astoria had taken up the stirring rod and the vial of hair, one hair from each of her parents blond and black. She opened the vial and continued the stirring.

She was murmuring her chant quieter than Draco thought was proper for a ritual tone, but she seemed to be enunciating clearly and seemed serious so that probably was fine.

The words that Draco caught seemed to be the right ones, but the rhythm seemed wrong.

Then she reached what she seemed to judge as the correct moment and upended the vial, and continued her stirring and chanting. That hair seemed more brown than black, and then it also dissolved. And the moment was gone. It was difficult to see clearly against the dark slate of the floor and with the light already as dim as this.

"The salt is already singeing," said Aunt Andromeda, "More hints towards the curse being sentient and knowing it will be expelled soon."

Aunt Bellatrix grunted, "Or else her faith is already healing her even before the adoption starts."

The adoption had already started, Draco had felt it, could feel it.

Daphne grabbed Theo's hand. Now who's comfort had Theo really been invited for?

"The salt is being used up too fast, There's more darkness being released than expected," said Aunt Andromeda, "perhaps we need heavier circles in future."

She wasn't being as quiet as she thought.

Astoria kept going, but she was twitching nervously and trying not to let it distract her.

"Or the equipment or ingredients were contaminated in some way," said Andromeda, "That doesn't make sense, I washed everything properly."

Astoria nodded and smirked proudly as if she'd been the one to wash everything properly, as if …

Draco looked at the empty vial still in her hand, and the other vial of hair lying beside the cauldron.

Oh … what in the name of Hel and Persephone did you do Astoria?

"Why do I get the feeling," muttered Theo.

Her chant finished. She put down the stirring rod. "Umm," she said, "I … have a confession to make."

The salt stopped darkening.

"Of course!" said Theo in exasperation.

Maybe the salt even lightened by half.

"What's up Astoria?" said Daphne.

For once not shortening it to 'Stori.' For once giving the name its full weight. For once …

Oh, Astoria, that was genius. Incorrectly approached, to the point of illegally dark, if she'd gone through with it, without stopping for permission.

Probably she wouldn't have guessed what she was doing without the salt filter containing and bringing attention to the darkness.

If they gave permission, the potion would stop being dark, but someone would need to calculate how much and in which directions it needed to be stirred to get it back on course.

.

[P.G. P.G. P.G.]

.

Xylia returned with a tray loaded with tea and sat down, "Any change?"

"No," said Pollux, motioning to the tapestry, "She faded halfway and that was all for eight minutes, then she faded the rest of the way, just like clockwork. Nothing since."

Xylia poured their tea and passed him a cup. "I must say, this is the most boring and most nerve-wracking way I could imagine spending an afternoon. At least when sprouting seeds, you know that they will take a couple of weeks to germinate and I can walk away for a while."

Pollux agreed and sipped his tea. It was a sure sign she was nervous that she was repeating him. Not that it wasn't also endearing.

It was how he'd first sussed out that she had feelings for him, and what kind, that he was her favourite person to quote when she was nervous.

"It's been twenty minutes," she said, "do you think something went wrong and they had to start over?"

It had been thirty minutes, but Pollux wasn't going to say that out loud.

"No," he said, "They should be done by now. If only barely." The only way for her not to show up is if it killed her, or if … it changed her into someone else. But there were several reasons why perhaps a ritual might take longer than advertised. And he hadn't asked how long it was likely to take, he'd remembered a similar ritual when his second cousin had adopted a step-daughter to make her eligible for the apprenticeship she wanted. That ritual had taken barely more than fifteen minutes from start to finish, (not counting the two weeks to source the materials and clear the girl's choice with her parents and religious councillor.) Pollux had merely assumed that this ritual having roughly the same meaning ought to take roughly the same amount of time.

Now I wish I had asked.

"I keep telling people that the curse doesn't have a will of its own," said Xylia, "It's always active. It only appears to come and go, because a few things slow it down slightly, like nightmares and exercise, not because there is something there trying to torment me."

"I wish I understood why it hit her so much harder than anyone else," said Pollux. He wasn't above quoting her in conversation either.

"Granted," said Xylia.

And then the tapestry changed.

Not by a familiar name and face reappearing, but by three names appearing, followed by three faces.

Nor were their layout as had been predicted.

Astoria's name was a row lower than it belonged, and the embroidered foliage growing to encompass her was coming from an awkward angle. And when her face filled in, her hair was a mess of pearly white and brown threads. Lighter even than Daphne's. Two other boys were there, the predicted one beside Astoria, a shiny black vine connecting them as her half-brother, and another boy on the same row as Daphne, with a yellow vine growing down to meet the green vine from Daphne growing up the other way. Not close enough to imply a spouse, Not even the vines growing together and then down to Astoria that would imply a child of a breed contract. But still, they were placed close enough together to imply things, if all the dates didn't preclude any standard kind of breeding being a possibility.

"Well!" said Xylia, "it seems that mistakes were made."

"Quite," said Pollux, "but as none of them have death dates, I think we can relax and wait for introductions."

Xylia laughed, "As if you haven't already met Theo and Draco."

"Oh, I've met Theodore Nott of Nott and Draco Malfoy of Malfoy. But look at their heraldry, Those are Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy of Granger. And last I heard, Draco Malfoy was refusing the change of House membership. And Theodore was too frightened of commitment to be pinned down either direction."

"Oh, I see," said Xylia, "Then what heraldry is Astoria's?"

Astoria's heraldry was blank, not unusual for children her age, and yet, there had been a Greengrass shield behind her before she'd faded from the tapestry. Even now the three colours of vines seemed to be questing for some form of dominance in the tuft of foliage that supported her name and picture.

And then the shiny black thorns from Draco won out, sort of. The yellow-green from Theo and the deep green from Daphne still cupped around her, But it was the black that engulfed her and supported the shield that bloomed behind her. Again, the variegated rhomboid weave of Granger.

Xylia sighed.

Pollux looked at her. That had sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Look at her!" she said, "Look at her smile!"

Pollux looked, and yes Astoria's usual grimace had smoothed out completely, and her eyes no longer showed her revulsion at even the slightest hint of excitement, that was gone now, and her eyes joined in on the smile.

Xylia sighed again, "I am delivered," she whispered, "Of my second-born."

"… Oh," whispered Pollux.

"The hours of pain were long, and the suffering was great, but when my child is born, I forget it all because my joy is complete: that my daughter is safe."

Pollux smiled to recognise what poetry she was re-translating and applying to her situation. He turned his back on the tapestry and took his wife in his arms.

Pythia told us we should name her Anastasia, and who knows whether that advice had been literal or metaphorical.

But that wasn't important right now. Right now Xylia needed him to be thankful for the contribution she'd made, and not repeat even the barest hint of what the world had often told her, that Astoria's life might have been better off without her contribution.

.

[D.M. D.M. D.M.]

.

When Astoria raised the tumbler to her lips and squeezed her eyes tight. Draco closed his eyes in sympathy. And then when everything flashed unbearably bright he was glad he had.

The potion wasn't a normal 'by-measure' potion. It wasn't only the magic in the dose itself which worked on the drinker, either permanently or for some predefined period, usually an hour. Nor was it the every-size-dose-is-correct kind of potion that provided a structure to shape the drinker's magic to cause the desired effect over time, usually, 'until complete'.

No, this potion was a symbolic link tying together and powering the whole ritual, when the first drop of it passed her throat, it was not her magic that was shaped to the purpose of the potion. But the magic in the cauldron that was pulled into her to have its intended effects within the confines of what the ritual circles allowed.

When the light faded, Draco opened his eyes.

Astoria looked completely different, and yet also the same.

Her hair was some strange colour, a very bright shade of brown. Not like Daphne's or Draco's, Not brown like Theo's. Perhaps brown like Theo's but with Draco's opalescent sheen underneath.

She might get teased for being a redhead, but it wasn't the copper orange that was usually called red. Not precisely.

She climbed to her feet and looked at the adults for permission to exit her circle.

Draco stood up, his first thought after seeing that she was conscious, was to check the circles for signs of damage which might imply that the magic had found a way to break out of its confines either physically, which may or may not matter, or metaphorically, as in, a rune or phrase was entirely burned out long before the ritual was complete, failing to do its part to encourage or forbid one of the ways that the magic might cascade if left to its own devices.

Everything looked correct. Draco had contributed structure, not magic. Any curse expelled from her rather than merely been negated by her insides having been rebuilt correctly … well the salt hadn't darkened noticeably farther than her unsolicited-sample-taking had started.

Aunt Andromeda moved forward and began deactivating the runes.

The moment it was allowed Astoria ran to her sister.

But it was Theo who caught her up in a hug, swung her around twice, then set her down again, trying with an awkward fervency to curl up around her.

What in the world Theo?

She didn't seem to mind, but she was confused.

Draco felt for her.

Eventually, Daphne gave up waiting for Theo to finish and wrapped her arms around both of them.

That seemed to calm Astoria for a while, then she snaked out a hand and reached for Draco.

He stepped forward and held her hand.

She squeezed twice in welcome. And then they were still for most of a minute, then two minutes. Theo sniffed very wetly.

Huh?

He'd been chipper and happy and reassuring this whole time. And now … what? Just … what?

Eventually, Daphne asked that. A little more tactfully.

"I had a younger cousin who died in a healing ritual they repurposed. When it went wrong. I don't think any of them were old enough to be messing around with any of it. Dad said we're all lucky that no one got turned inside out." Theo shuddered, "Sorry, nothing like this really, it's just … my emotional baggage, ok? I'm just nervous after the fact. When the potion started to go wrong, I knew I'd lost you and maybe Draco. When it turned out you'd done separate arithmancy to make everything another step safer, and your only mistake was not talking to us about it … Astoria, good idea, but dangerously stupid. Please don't scare me like that."

Aunt Andromeda rushed over and shoved a calming draught into his hand.

He tried to give her a mutinous glare, but couldn't hold that up against Aunt Andromeda's glare. As if there had ever been any doubt about such a contest.

Theo accepted and sipped about a quarter of it. Theo was usually a quiet sort, that was a bigger dose than Draco would have predicted Theo would ever need at once. But this was a recent post-ritual environment, all the more reason to keep negative and volatile emotions to a minimum until the level of magical activity faded back to ambient.

So either Theo was going through even more than Draco could guess from the surface, or he was going to be emotionally dry for half an hour, or given the environment, he thought emotionally dry was the safe choice. Probably wise.

But it meant Astoria was hugging Draco now instead.

For once, Draco chose to be alright with that.

.

."

[A.G. A.G. A.G.]

.

Draco's aunt returned to the far side of the room and continued cleaning up her ritual space.

It seemed like they'd be stuck here for a while, and Astoria was bored.

"Theo?" said Astoria, "When you said 'younger,' how old was your cousin?"

Theo frowned thoughtfully, "I don't think any of them were as old as you. But specifically, the one who died was less than 10. And I am suspicious of children that young understanding symbolism, or at least not well enough to make it work for them. Maybe what they asked him for was fine, and the actions they asked him to take were fine, but ritual magic and witchcraft are symbolism-heavy. I guess you're far enough along to be dealing with charms with mental components."

"For sure," said Astoria.

"I don't know the particulars of their ritual, either the one they intended or the one he performed, but … Look at you and Draco? Your blood marrow was following the wrong pattern. Draco's blood marrow follows the right pattern, that's the theory. He could donate his ability to make blood properly, and then you'd be fine and he'd be dead in a month or so."

Astoria shivered and let go of Draco.

"Nor did he donate some fraction of his blood or fraction of his ability to make blood, Instead Draco offered the structure of himself, as a pattern for the duration of the ritual, for the potion to rebuild your bone marrow according to a new pattern. Most of what the ritual called for him to sacrifice absolutely was a few seconds of his privacy, for the potion to reach inside him and copy everything that it needed to copy. And symbolic of that sacrifice he also gave a few drops of blood to identify to the potion and ritual which body it should scan."

"Hmm," said Astoria.

"If you'd stopped there, (well the potion would have needed to be completely different), but if you'd stopped there, there's a real possibility you'd have come out of the ritual looking like his twin in every conceivable way. (Including ancestry tests might have called you his twin, or they might have called you his son, depending on which way the potion was reworked.)

"We told it to start rebuilding with marrow and blood, and there's a chance that it might have stopped there, depending on how accurately we estimated how big a cauldron of the stuff to brew, (we over-estimated on purpose), but who knows how much more magic would have been available to keep going, and how far it might have kept going.

"But the recipe didn't end with Draco's blood. It also included other samples, on the one hand, to keep the ancestry tests from saying anything other than what you chose for them to say, and for another to give it other sources to work from and compare against, and let you stay yourself, not change you so much into his twin as to make your soul uncomfortable whether your body still belonged to you."

Astoria gave him the stink eye, "Are you saying that I could have ended up his magically bonded twin?"

Theo shrugged, "That'd be rather unusual, bonded twins are rare enough, even for twins, but … you might have seen side effects similar to the side effects they get when a bond breaks and they end up in a body other than the one they preferred."

"Ugh," said Daphne, "That sounds horrible."

Theo half shrugged and turned to confront her about whether she was ok with accepting the role of her mother.

She diverted into it how smart it was for Astoria to choose her for the second pattern, but if she'd mentioned it ahead of time they could have used the alternate recipe which called for a sample from a same-sex sibling, rather than from both parents. Because Daphne would have exactly matched what was called for and been a pattern free of the curse.

Draco pulled Astoria away from that discussion and picked her up.

That was startling.

"What?" she said.

"Theo is paranoid about Daphne understanding that she agreed to adopt you. He's right to be concerned whether he can handle the responsibility alone, and certainly, he cannot if Daphne starts working against him. Your new mother is rather formidable."

Astoria giggled.

"But I think they ought to be having this argument somewhere other than right in front of you, but we don't yet have our ritualists' permission to leave, so we are not doing that yet either."

Astoria agreed with that idea, it was the picking her up that she'd been annoyed by.

She wasn't a little child, even if she was still tiny. Hopefully, that would start to even out now. No one else in the House of Granger got picked up regularly, except Pansy, and that was only by Greg and Vincent showing off. And Pansy dominating them, flirting all around probably.

And it wasn't like Draco wasn't also on the wispy side, but no one picked him up.

Though come to think of it, Theo, Daphne, Pansy, and Hermione might pick him up if he started crying or something.

But I'm not crying or anything. I feel very good. Perhaps not my most clear, but at least I'm not on the verge of being out of breath.

I wonder how much work I can do before I get out of breath.

"Why didn't you tell us you wanted to substitute in Daphne as the link to your ancestry?" said Draco, "It was a very clever strategy, I'm surprised no one else thought of it."

"I didn't umm, make the change because I was being clever, I did it because I didn't feel clever enough to memorise the correct lines, compared to the ones for siblings."

Draco rubbed his face, "So you instructed the ritual to use them as your siblings, while the potion was instructed to use them for your parents, it will be interesting to see how any of that turns out."

"Oh," said Astoria, "Sorry."

"It didn't kill any of us or drag us into magical exhaustion, so we're probably fine. Conversely, it might end up meaning you have four parents biologically and ceremonially have no parents at all, or something weird."

Astoria laughed.

She had the reflexive thought that laughing was usually a bad idea, especially with her diaphragm limited by the odd angle at which she was being held.

But she felt too good to be letting that concern her until it did get her out of breath.

But somehow laughing didn't get her out of breath.

So that was fine.

It was so much better than fine that she laughed even harder.

Draco was smiling at her, at first merely sharing her amusement, but then in bemused concern, "Are you ok, Astoria?"

"Yes," she said, "laughing doesn't get me out of breath anymore."

His eyes widened, and he smiled again. But he seemed disappointed about something.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm happy for you," he said, "so happy that I might start crying or something."

"Complicated," said Astoria, "Put me down first?"

He flinched like he was going to put her down, then squeezed tighter, "I'm not crying yet Puppet."

Astoria wrinkled her nose at him, "I'm not a puppet."

He tensed, "Of course not."

She glared at him.

He sighed, "I'm sorry, Astoria, can I make it up to you?"

Astoria rolled her eyes at him, "Why are you holding me anyway?"

"I used to always be scared to touch you for fear of knocking you over or anything, it was probably an illusion, but now you feel flexibly solid like a kitten wrapped in dragon-hide. It's probably also an illusion, tell me if I hurt you or anything."

"You're not hurting me," said Astoria, and on that note, she would let him hold her as long as he wanted. "I'm also not a kitten, just to be clear."

"Well, no," he said, "Oh, and speaking of things we should have asked you sooner: if you wanted to change your name, it would have been easiest and most thorough to do during the ritual. And nicknames might also stick best if adopted soon."

"Oh, good grief," said Astoria.

"As it is, you'll probably be extra sensitive about people calling you nicknames you don't like for several weeks."

"Oh, will I?" said Astoria.

Draco shrugged, "How about it, are there nicknames you do like?"

"Stori is fine," she said automatically, then thought about it, "Starry is slightly better. Aunt Ranee used to call me 'gosling' sometimes. I suspect she meant 'cygnet' but that gets confused with 'signet' so she rounded off."

"You might be big enough," he said doubtfully, "to start aspiring to 'swan' instead of 'goose' as a designation to grow into."

It wasn't about that, Aunt Ranee was a quarter swan. One of her near ancestors was a swan-kin. But people got weird if anyone brought that up. So Astoria didn't explain.

"One of my grandfathers was named Cygnus," mused Draco.

"Hmm," said Astoria, she thought about trying out anything so pretentious around Pansy and Vincent. No, bad idea. "No," she said aloud, "I think not."

"Alright," said Draco, "Whatever you want."

Does he mean whatever nickname I want, or does he really mean that I should ask him for a ridiculous favour as a forfeit because he called me an offensive nickname?

"What I want is to be able to keep up with the others," said Astoria.

"Huh?"

"I want to be able to keep up with the others," said Astoria, "I have no illusions about how much I've missed out on so far because I could not keep up. I have no illusions about being able to catch up with all that now. But I want to be strong enough that no one thinks of leaving me behind as just the obvious thing to do."

Draco rubbed his face again, "That is about both strength and endurance."

"I know that."

"Endurance is more annoying to build than strength."

"I don't care, I want it anyway."

Draco stared at her.

"Just to clarify," he said, "which 'others' are you thinking about being able to keep up with? And which of their activities are you hoping to keep up with? Because that … could make a huge difference in what kind of time frame we're talking about."

"Pansy and Greg and Vincent," said Astoria, "and I'd like to get to crack their whip at least once, just to shock them."

They often did their exercises together, often staying in sync, but sometimes instead, they'd rush ahead and whoever finished first got to snap a belt in the general direction of the others until they finished. They'd changed it from stinging jinxes after Tracy came home with the information that the noise a whip made was from breaking the sound barrier and one of them pulled a muscle trying to dodge a stinging hex in the middle of sit-ups. The rule became no hitting anyone with the belt and that spell dodging practice was a separate drill from racing through exercises.

Draco sighed, "I'm not sure if you are aware of how masochistic their training regimen is."

"I'm entirely sure," said Astoria, "that you have no idea how masochistic my training regimen had to be just to maintain sufficient hours of consciousness to attend class."

Draco stared at her.

"Teach me how to keep up with them, big brother, or prove to me that it's outside of my range."

Draco kept staring at her. Though his dimples flinched like he wanted to smile proudly, but also didn't want her to think he wasn't taking her seriously.

"It might take the rest of the term and all of summer break," he said, "But I suspect that what you want is within your range."

Astoria grinned at him.

"But don't say I didn't warn you, if you decide part way through that you have better things to do with your time than chase those idiots around."

"Then … come with me?" said Astoria.

Draco snickered, and put her down, "maybe I will."

Astoria crossed her arms and stared up at him.

Draco crossed his arms and stared down at her, "The first thing is to have you able to keep up with your classmates. For that, I want you running up and down the stairs twice an hour and — no, first I want you to start paying attention to what you want to eat, and we'll discuss how to help your diet adjust from what you needed before to what you need now."

Astoria raised an eyebrow and tried to think about what she wanted to eat. She glanced around, Mrs Tonks was cleaning up the ritual space and Mrs. Lestrange was talking with Theo and Daphne in low tones.

Something didn't seem right about the adults ignoring her so soon after a big ritual. Something also didn't seem right about still being here when she was so hungry.

"Astoria," said Draco gently, "Little Swan."

Astoria looked up at him, "What?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Where to get treacle tart and onion stew with pea gravy in it."

Draco looked horrified.

"Maybe with eggs in it. Do you think my parents would mind me stopping by and demanding treacle tart from Dad, instead of from Theo, since he's adopted me and … I didn't ask them first and …."

"Settle down," said Draco, "I'm sure they'll want to talk about it forever, but as long as you approach it from the right angle, I'm sure they'll be fine. And we can find any dessert you want in Diagon if you want to face your parents on a full stomach instead."

"No," said Astoria, "I don't want normal treacle tart, I want Dad's grand-mum's treacle tart, it's … different, not as sweet, lots more flavours, almost like they serve it at Hogwarts sometimes. Like what Harry makes, I bet he stole the recipe from Hogwarts unless Daphne gave it to him."

"I did no such thing!" Daphne exclaimed as she crossed the room, "And I'd guess that he has the Hogwarts recipe, not Dad's recipe. Why are we talking about Harry's out-of-date treacle tart recipe?"

"Because I asked her if she was hungry and she immediately mentioned onion and pea stew and treacle tart like they were beyond the realm of appetite and into the realm of cravings."

"Not surprising at all," said Daphne and stared at Astoria, then looked over her shoulder at the adults, "Put it in your notes, if you're keeping them, that the patient requested dense vegetable broths and a nutrient potion."

They both stopped what they were doing to face her.

"We've got nutrient potion upstairs," said Mrs Tonks.

Daphne turned to look at Astoria for a moment, then shook her head, "No, I think we'll be going home. I want her to feel free to sleep and eat at will for a couple of weeks, just like you said."

"So be it," said Mrs Tonks.

.

So they floo'ed home.

Astoria had been looking forward to demanding to walk on her own on the way back, but they didn't walk back to the public floo, they just dressed and climbed the stairs to find their shoes then circled the house to a different floo and went home.

They were right, Astoria did eat a lot and sleep a lot for the rest of winter hols. But when she wasn't trying to eat or nap, she also ran up and down and up the stairs as often as she remembered.

Pansy joined her sometimes and mocked Kat for not trying to keep up.

Kat, as usual, looked at Pansy like she was insane and continued with her revising.

Draco also joined her running the stairs sometimes, but mostly he interrupted her at random intervals, (or maybe just, once in the morning and once in the afternoon) to do some stretches and sit-ups. He said that they would be adding lunges 'by spring hols.'

That seemed deliberately ambiguous, so it might be he was putting it off, or it might mean he had an idea what level of stamina he was watching her for before he introduced that.

Astoria made up her mind to ask Pansy which of their exercises was 'lunges' and decide for herself whether she was ready for them.

But yeah, maybe she'd trust Draco that her first goal was to be able to race between classes faster than her peers.

But then ten days were up and Draco changed the stair running to three times each hour and got the basement stairs and attic ladder unlocked which was 50% more stairs, times 50% more repetitions.

More than enough for her to travel from any class, back to her bedroom in the astronomy tower, and then to her next class, between every class.

And she was running, not walking.

Her classmates were never going to leave her behind by accident again. Maybe if they ran to lose her on purpose. But that was what speed was for. Draco kept telling her that endurance was the harder and more rewarding skill to concentrate on, so she trusted his regimen.

Theo and Daphne joined in sometimes, but not very often.

Theo, like Kat, complained that there were perfectly good secret passages all over the school, there was never any need to climb more than two flights of stairs on any particular trip through the castle.

Hermione was more likely to invite her along on trips to the parks or wherever to feed peanuts to the ducks and squirrels...

...-...

{End Chapter 13}

A/N: To be clear I very much endorse murkybluematter's series: Starting with The Pureblood Pretense. (Warning, ridiculously long chapters, as if I am one to talk.)