I have three poems to read in Spanish, one story reading to do, and a workshop to prepare at the museum. This means that I should destress by writing, clearly :D

Thank you so much to those of you who commented! I think the art of fillers has gone slightly lost, and it's okay to switch up the tone every once in a while.

Song of the Day: RATATA by Missy Elliot


They were muggles. She remembered it clearly. The last time she saw the Dark Mark conjured, it was because muggles had died. She couldn't remember why, because what reason did Death Eaters have? They were muggles, simple as that. That was why they had to die.

People ran. That was the fear that was instilled into them. If you see the Dark Mark, you run the other way. Doesn't matter who you are with or who you are, unless you were the one who conjured it yourself. It meant that the Dark Lord would arrive. It meant that whoever was killed was seen beneath him.

At that moment, Eliza only thought about Harry. How scared must he be? Certainly, he didn't know what it meant. He couldn't. He was raised far away from all of it, which was also a big mistake in the long run.

Her feet charged forward straight. It was stupid. She shouldn't be doing this. Chances are, the person was just an idiot who thought to have some fun, not knowing what the Dark Mark meant. The best-case scenario: Eliza scolded the witch or wizard. Worst case…

She did not want to think about the worst-case scenario, because the worst-case scenario would mean a copycat or someone was trying to bring the old days back.

There were others and the group was breaking up. She noticed the bright red hair of Arthur Weasley accompanying three figures gently

"Harry!" Eliza exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around the boy. He returned it, his heart was beating so hard against his chest that she could feel it. Eliza pulled back, looking over him. No superficial cuts, no bruises. A little bit of dirt on his nose, but he was fine, but there was a glazy look in his eyes.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione demanded. "Did you see how they treated her?"

"I don't know," Arthur Weasley was unsure.

"They acted like she wasn't even human –"

"Well, she isn't!"

Arthur nodded to Eliza, apologetically. "Ms. Shafiq."

"Please, Arthur, you can call me by my name."
"What was all that about?" Harry asked. "Eliza, is it…bad?"

She looked at Arthur Weasley.

"We didn't catch the culprit," Arthur explained. "We lost Harry, Hermione, and Ron when it was conjured. And then they found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand which he lost –"

"Oh!" she frowned. The Dark Mark was a spell that needed to be conjured with conviction. Surely Winky didn't hold that much malice to conjure such a thing… could she? Maybe, she'd finally snapped. House elves weren't treated well, especially not in the Crouch family.

Was Winky the Elf she saw earlier tonight? The one who had talked to the air?

She walked with them back to the tent, holding her wand close. When they arrived, they were ambushed by the entire Weasley family and then some more wizards asking what exactly had happened.

Harry tugged at Eliza's sleeve.

"Eliza, you know the thing I wanted to tell you earlier today?"

Harry explained. His scar had hurt a few days prior.

"I thought that you might know something about this," he touched the lightning scar on his forehead. "It only ever hurt when Voldemort is near."

"What did you dream?" she asked, a lump forming in her throat.

"I dreamt that an old man died. There was a flash of green but I couldn't see more. There was…" he shook his head. "It can't mean anything, can it?"

"Who else knows about your scar hurting?"

"Well, Hermione and Ron, but also Padfoot," he lowered his voice. "I don't know if Hedwig can get my message to him, but I'm afraid that if he knows he will come back. I'm sure it's okay.

She grimaced.

"You know when you break a bone or injure something, it still hurts sometimes. I have that with this scar," Eliza pulled up her sleeve to show a small burn mark on her wrist. "I got that from a firework when I was nine. It still hurts sometimes. If it were only hurting a bit, I wouldn't be concerned, Harry. And unless proven otherwise, I'm certain it can't be a coincidence."

They turned around. There were a bunch of Ministry officials running around, telling the wizards to calm down and return to their tents.

Work became mayhem. None of them got much sleep, and Eliza dragged herself into the office. She ended up having to return to the campsite to see if Mr. Roberts, the muggle in charge of the tent site, had recovered from his memory charm. Then, all hell broke loose when Rita Skeeter published her sacrilegious article.

Remus stood in the doorway whenever she returned from work, anxious. When she returned from the World Cup, he did not let her leave the house until she had more hours of sleep and an acceptable amount of food in her stomach.

"You don't think it's just his old followers being a bunch of mardy buggers?"

"Not if Harry's scar is hurting," she shook her head. She must have a book on scars induced by magic somewhere, but she supposed that a scar from the killing curse was not well researched seeing as there was one person in the entire world who survived to tell the tale. The more she looked into it, the more frustrated she got. It felt like Science Fiction, but clearly, there was a fact behind it. Any time Harry felt his scar hurt, it wasn't only because Voldemort was nearby. Was is overall Death Eater business? But what would he see that?

The question stayed unanswered.

Then, things began to become strange. Not that Eliza had a good average rate of what was normal over at the Ministry or what she did in the Muggles department, but something nipped at her. It was like when you woke up and realized that your coffee wasn't tasting the same, or the postman never said hello anymore. It was a mishap or two, but then a third came which made her shake her head. Surely, some of the tricks that were being played on muggles weren't that cruel were they?

Arthur waved it off at first, he was busy with the blunder of the World Cup. But then they blamed it on former Death Eaters – which wasn't any better if you asked Eliza – and then they were back to confiscating objects that had been magically altered.

Best Job Ever, Eliza sighed as she got a new set of dress robes for work.

"I think it's not my century," she turned to show Madame Malkin the new dress. Madame Malkin pondered.

"Yes, that dress flare does not flatter you at all…It's the flair but the 19th century is much more your taste – quite modern for the Wizarding World."

Someone scoffed. "Please, it shows a little too much of a muggle touch."

Eliza froze. From her periphery vision, she could see the black-and-white hair that piqued from around the corner.

"Narcissa," Eliza greeted. "A pleasure to see you here too."

"Ah Madame," Malkin said. "You're here for your son's dress robes?"

"Yes, and make it quick – I have lots of shopping to do with my Draco."

Narcissa Black, or Malfoy as she was now married to Lucius, stood proud as she did 12 years ago. The pure and ancient house of Black was a stubborn tree that could not be uprooted, after all. Her hair was still a mix of blonde and black, a nod to where she came from and who she was currently. She eyed Narcissa as Madame Malkin left the room, Eliza undid her new travelling cloak.

"How have you been fairing?" Eliza kept her tone light. She didn't want to get off on a bad foot with Narcissa. She never did anything bad to her. It was the association that made it bitter. But that didn't mean that there was a small part of her that wasn't petty. Something about seeing Narcissa when Eliza was no longer in the position that she used to be in made her feel … liberated. Was that the word? It felt liberating for Eliza to not want to be Narcissa anymore.

"It is looking up," Narcissa seemed rigid. She pointed outside of the shop. "My boy is in there looking at the best new brooms. He doesn't want the firebolt anymore, and says it's too flashy."

"I never had the honour of teaching your son at Hogwarts," Eliza hummed and stepped down from the mirror.

"My son does not take muggle studies," Narcissa snapped. "He's much too good for that."

"I see," Eliza hummed. "Well, happy meeting you here. I surely won't come by for old times sake."

Narcissa eyed her suspiciously. Then she walked up to her. Narcissa came too close to Eliza's ear.

"The sun will look up on you again if you choose correctly," she warned. "You've fallen from grace once, pick well." Narcissa tucked a piece of Eliza's hair into her bun, brushing it off as though just touching it was a disgrace to her.

Madame Malkin returned with Draco's robes and just like that, Narcissa was gone. Eliza observed Narcissa as she got Draco, dragging him along to the next store.

On the last day of the Summer holidays, Arthur and Molly invited them over for dinner. Remus was reluctant at first, not knowing how the parents of one of his students would react to a werewolf over at dinner, but Eliza pleaded. Remus did not get out of the house much. He only left the house to tend to the garden that was now growing at their little cottage. She didn't trust him with the magical herbs just yet – she kept those over in Surrey.

With the sun beating down on them, she played Quidditch with the Weasley boys. Remus declined. Instead, he sat in one of the chairs and read a book. While he was on his feet, he still had a pallor look to his skin. It had been a long while since she'd played and it was a mistake to make her a keeper, but slowly, she got the hang of it again. At some point, she even dared to do the Wronski feint.

The summer wouldn't feel unusual if it just weren't for the signs that something was about to go terribly wrong.

And to top it all off, she still hadn't heard from Sirius.

"I won't judge you," Molly said as the dishes were being cleaned.

"Pardon?"

Molly nodded in Remus' direction. He was telling Harry about something from the book he was reading.

"A werewolf isn't that bad, seeing as you've already been living together. You've had worse."
"Molly," Eliza exasperated. "It's nothing like that.

"People talk," she raised her hand. "Ginny told me that all of the girls in her year were taking bets."

"It's not like that, Molly," Eliza looked at Remus and Harry, the fascination on Harry's face. Remus was used to pushing people away. Remus was ready to push Harry away were it not and most certainly he wouldn't even contact him because he thought that Harry deserved better. He spent too much time wallowing in his condition, not wanting to impose on others. Helping Remus show love was like coaxing a turtle out of their shell when they've been nearly killed by too many seagulls. "We're bound by our love for someone, that's all."

Molly did not accept that as an answer, but let it be.

As they were doing their goodbye rounds, Eliza made sure to know.

"Your scar isn't hurting, is it?"

Harry shook his head. "Not since the World Cup, no."

"Good, but write us if anything is wrong – it may be a lot faster than getting an answer from, you know."

Harry nodded, "I promise."

"Good. Now, promise me you'll be on your absolute best behaviour or I will ask Madame McGonagall to revoke your Hogsmeade pass."

"She means it, Harry," Remus added. "Not that she has the power too, but it's the threat that counts."

Eliza grinned and held out her arm for Remus to hold onto. He held onto it, and like a tube that was sucking them from the inside, the two of them shot back home. Remus stumbled slightly on arrival as the ground was a little bit uneven.

"I thought you're used to it."

"Apparating for me is like driving a car. You get your license and then never use it. You, however, drive that car like it's your only way to get around," he was supporting himself on his knees. Then, he held a thumbs up.

"I hope that was okay for you," Eliza reached into her pocket for a key.

"It was… weirdly fine," Remus said. "I thought Harry would be a lot more reproachful."

"For what?"

"For not talking to him all these years."

"Did I do that to you?"

"Well… you very nearly did," Remus reminded.

Just as she was about to turn around and open the door, promising they'd have this talk over a dram of fire whisky, a loud crack sounded in the garden. Birds flew off, a sign of something bigger that startled them.

They readied their wands. Remus went in front of Eliza, he was more adept at jinxing and disarming than she was currently. They stepped into the house without turning on the lights.

"Lumos," Eliza whispered. Light emitted from the tip of her wand. A chair creaked in the corner.

Red sparks shot out of Remus' wand and the silhouette dropped to the floor. It hadn't been hit but the figure was now scurrying behind something to block them off.

"Blimey, Remus!" Sirius' raspy voice sounded. "I got the message alight – never break into a werewolf's den!"

The two friends lowered their wands, looking at Sirius credulously. He held up his hands in the air, grinning.

"Surprise."


The next one will still deal with the Goblet of Fire and then we'll make our gradual descent into the Order of the Phoenix which is exactly where the fun will begin.

In the sense of I can finally let out all of my critique about some of the adults in Harry's life during that period hehehe

Love,

Spring