Over the past seven and a half months, Gwen had gotten used to seeing an owl deliver the mail. Not once, though, had it brought anything for her.

"It's here!" Aidan beamed a smile as he held out the letter for her. "It's official. You are going to Hogwarts."

"Didn't we already establish that?" Gwen grumbled through a mouthful of blueberry pancake.

Why did they send Two-Faced Turban Teacher to her house if they were just going to send a letter? Her life was in ruins because of him. She glanced at it, at her own name paired with this new address, and refused to touch it. Breakfast was of far greater interest to her.

Aidan looked a little perturbed that she didn't accept the letter but had learned by now to take her attitude in stride. Most of the time.

"Technically, yes," Garrett answered her question between sips of coffee. "Turning eleven is a milestone for wizarding children. Most of the old customs have died out but you still get your initial acceptance letter around your birthday. And for Muggle-borns, especially, they try to give the families as much time as poss—"

Aidan faked the world's loudest sneeze. Garrett stopped talking.

The silence was like a gaping hole where her parents should have been.

"You get your list of all the required books and equipment around this time each year," Aidan said, pinning a smile back onto his face. "It shows you've been enrolled in the classes. This is a big moment."

"If you say so."

"Let's have a look, shall we?" He took a seat across from her and opened the letter himself. Apparently, if she wasn't going to read it, he bloody well would. His eyes scanned the page. "Looks like all the standard First Year classes… Half these teachers are the same ones we had… Merlin, they've still got Snape working there even with Potter coming up. That's a bit tactless."

Aidan's last comment was directed more towards Garrett than Gwen. Neither of them stopped to explain to her what was so tactless about this Snape person.

"We'll have to make a trip to Diagon Alley to pick up everything you need."

Gwen's stomach dropped and the pancakes turned sour in her mouth. The prospect alone made her nauseous. For months, every time the suggestion was made, she'd managed to avoid going back to that place and now—

"It'll be heaving these next few days, of course. We'll leave it a couple weeks."

Aidan Kindlewood, you absolute hero, she thought.

A bland, "sounds good," was all she said out loud before taking a palate-cleansing sip of ginger tea.

The three of them were sat around the table in their usual places and it still didn't feel like Gwen had a place. She just took one of the empty chairs.

This was how most days began, eating together — maybe not together so much as in the same general area — before Garrett left for work. Whatever that entailed. Gwen knew he was an alchemist and worked in a lab but beyond that, it was a mystery. Aidan typically worked late shifts which meant evening meals with just Garrett passed mostly in silence with a sprinkling of stilted conversation here and there.

Today being a weekday had Gwen bracing herself for the goodbye kiss they insisted on having every time Garrett left.

She'd tried to use magic in the vague, undisciplined way that witches her age did. The way Tup described. She tried to think abscesses into their mouths so they wouldn't kiss. It didn't work. Which she realised belatedly was probably a good thing.

"Once a spell's been cast, can you trace it back to the caster?" she'd asked.

"Not directly but you can check their wand for their last spell."

That didn't exactly answer her question but she'd left it at that, not wanting to raise suspicion. If they caught her in the act, they'd get rid of her. She could hardly afford to rock the boat that made her seasick. She just closed her eyes and carried on eating their food.

"This batch isn't as good as the last one," she said in a deliberately offhanded way. "I think someone's losing their touch."

"Tup can take out Little Madam's tongue," the house-elf spoke up from the kitchen. "If she's lost her sense of taste and has nothing nice to say."

Aidan's intervention was quick yet casual.

"No removing body parts at the table, thank you very much."

"I'm just saying, Fin's pancakes are better."

Tup let out an indignant shriek. The day a house-elf was outdone by a Squib, the whole species would jump off a cliff.

Now that she'd completed primary school, Gwen didn't have much to occupy her time. As usual, she'd failed to make friends so there was no one her age in Lenham for her to hang out with. Tormenting Tup was the closest thing she had to a hobby.

It wasn't exactly a fair fight. The elf always won in the end.

Returning to her breakfast, Gwen's gaze drifted to the letter next to Aidan's plate.

"What's the difference between witchcraft and wizardry?"

"Nothing," he said. "Boys and girls all learn the same magic."

"Then why is it called that?" She questioned, pointing to the writing that very clearly read, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Either read that copy of Hogwarts: A History or give it to me!" Garrett finally cracked. "Anyway, let me see that."

It was a mistake to draw attention back to the letter. Now both of them were talking about it, running through the required items like a shopping list. Aidan espoused a frugal approach, claiming used books were just as good and there was no sense spending double the price on new copies.

"That's the same textbook we used," he criticised, pointing to something on the list. "When was the last time they updated the curriculum?"

Garrett, meanwhile, insisted money was no issue. With a rather pompous attitude, in fact. Underneath that, though, Gwen sensed his real concern. He was worried how it would reflect on them, sending her to school with second-hand things like a pauper. As if such a blatant act of neglect would get them labelled unfit parents forever.

One thing they did agree on was that she needed her very own wand.

"Why?" she disagreed. "You don't have one."

"I do! It's…around here somewhere," Aidan's eyes darted all over the room as if trying to pinpoint where he last saw his wand. "Anyway, don't worry about performing wandless magic. It takes a lot of time and effort to master. They don't even teach it officially. It's more of a Hufflepuff common room thing."

Patience and hard work. Along with loyalty and justice, these were the cornerstones of Hufflepuff House, according to Aidan. Gwen remembered because it didn't sound at all like her. She favoured the work smarter, not harder approach. And as for justice, she saw no reason to mind the law when the lawmakers were invariably corrupt. The only thing 'wrong' with crime was getting caught.

The world was a slippery place and who was she to deny it? Not a Hufflepuff, that was for sure.

"They pretend to need wands so the other Houses don't feel bad," Garrett scoffed. "Because they're soft."

"We're puffy and proud."

"You'd have a far better reputation if you—"

"If we felt the need to brag, we know."

Humility was another trait they claimed to have but Gwen found that one hard to believe. She imagined they were all secretly smug.

"While we're on the subject," Garrett continued, pointing at her. "Don't be fooled into thinking Hufflepuffs are better looking than everyone else. They bamboozle you into thinking they're pretty when really, they're just well-rested."

"We can sleep at night because we can live with ourselves. It's not our fault the rest of you have issues. And excuse me, what are you trying to say? I'm gorgeous."

If they had to be on this subject, Gwen could see how Aidan was the more conventionally handsome of the two. He had the thicker build and was more sun-kissed which probably had something to do with playing Quidditch. He exuded warmth whereas Garrett looked somehow like a winter's day. Icy skin and eyes, body tall and spindly like a dead tree.

Gwen preferred Garrett.

Then she realised just how disturbed that thought was and shoved it down a bottomless pit in the darkest recess of her mind. She focused all her attention on finishing breakfast while the two of them bickered over everything and nothing, as per usual.

"There's another reason why today is so special," Aidan was talking to her again. Would he never quit? "It's Harry Potter's birthday."

"Which one is he, again?"

In nearly eight months, Gwen had learned a tremendous amount about both magic and wizarding culture. The name Potter had come up quite a few times. Not as renowned as Dumbledore but certainly something of a folk hero. Some people questioned if he was even real while others made false claims of having met him.

"He brought an end to the civil war by defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Ah, yes. The war. Garrett lost an uncle to it and Aidan, a cousin. Everyone had a someone who died in the war. How sad.

Since January, Gwen had been taken to little family gatherings with Aidan's parents and brother on a far more regular basis than she liked. But she did finally persuade Cyrus to tell her how he lost his eye to a dark witch's curse. That was fun.

"Witches and wizards throughout the country will be raising toasts to Potter today. It's sort of an unofficial holiday with its own traditions. Look—" Aidan grabbed the newspaper and turned to a specific page to show her. "The Daily Prophet publishes a list every year of all the babies born on this day. These are just the ones born since midnight. They'll add more in the evening edition."

There were three names, two of them Harry and the other Harriet. Gwen rolled her eyes. If Potter rose to fame when he was just an infant himself, the generation of namesakes would be hot on his heels. As if being a teenager wasn't awkward enough. She almost pitied him.

"So if this is the last day of July…" She counted backwards. "October must be a busy time for people selling fertility potions?"

Aidan paled while Garrett laughed.

"She's not wrong."

It was a widespread superstition, they explained, that being born today promised good fortune and great power. And who didn't want that for their child?

There were others, of course, like Garrett's estranged family, who cursed this day.

In the evening, Aidan made cocktails with pumpkin juice, ginger beer, freshly squeezed lemons, and non-alcoholic champagne.

"You left out the Flobberworm Mucus," Garrett complained.

"You don't even like this drink, you be quiet."

They still argued sometimes over which of the more nauseating aspects of the wizarding world to keep from her. She didn't mind skipping that stuff.

In a toast made ostensibly to Harry Potter, Aidan spent an excessive amount of time stressing the talents of his mother. From the sounds of it, he'd shared a number of classes with her and she never failed to impress. All his words were about the Muggle-born Lily Evans with the obvious implication being about Gwen. If one outsider could achieve greatness, why not another?

"Why do I have to take them to her?" the smallest of four boys complained.

"Because you're being friendly. Now, off with you," Molly Weasley sent him on his way.

With a sullen expression, the boy approached Gwen where she sat in the living room. He carried a tray of what looked to be cupcakes except they were overflowing with a suspicious green ooze.

"Do you want a Cauldron Cake?" he asked in a bland voice.

"No," she answered, equally listless.

She and her keepers had been at the Burrow for twenty-three hours and weren't scheduled to leave for another thirty. The wobbling Jenga tower of a house was a symbol of magic's triumph over gravity. That was the only positive thing Gwen could say about it.

It was narrow and cluttered and had that 'rustic' smell to it as if the inhabitants masked odours by baking bread instead of cleaning.

The sleeping arrangements left something to be desired if her desire was a bed to herself. She was sharing not just a room with the family's only daughter, but a threadbare duvet as well. So what if it was August? It was the principle of the thing.

"Suit yourself," the little carrot cake huffed and walked away.

That one was still annoyed with her for calling him Roland which in Gwen's defence, was entirely Garrett's fault. And in Garrett's defence, how was anyone supposed to keep track of so many names? Especially when they all looked so much alike.

She wasn't sure if Fred and/or George was two people. She'd yet to see them together in the same room, as far as she noticed. Evidently, he/they found inane pranks hilarious. Gwen wasn't the least bit impressed by his/their hijinks.

As for Percy Weasley, she kept waiting for him to ask if she had a permit to park her bum in this chair between ten a.m. and four p.m., and to issue a fine if she didn't.

This wasn't even all of them. There were two more boys, older ones, who'd flown the nest. Gwen imagined they couldn't get away fast enough.

Back at the Thicket, Tup had rambled on about how Weasleys and Ethelbanes never used to rub shoulders. Almost all the other families in the Sacred Twenty-Nine shunned the Weasleys as blood traitors. Whatever that meant. Gwen wasn't really listening.

"It was the Weasleys who reached out in support when Master Garrett chose love over duty," the house-elf explained. "All the other pure-bloods turned their backs."

Gwen had yet to find a single thing she liked about these people and she didn't expect that to change.

"Daddy, look, I finished it," Jenny Weasley rushed over to her father like a four-year-old showing off her finger-paintings.

"That's wonderful, pumpkin!" Arthur was actually looking at the sheet of paper as he spoke. "What a handsome Errol. We'll have to put this up near his perch so he can admire himself."

Gwen breathed more rapidly with each passing minute of the interaction. Her throat closed around a hot lump she couldn't swallow. She only managed to tear her eyes away because if anyone spied her staring daggers at them, she'd never get away with what she did next.

When she knew no one would catch her, Gwen crept over to where they left the picture. It was, admittedly, quite good. A drawing of the family's owl that was better than anything she could have done. That just added insult to injury.

Gwen tore up the paper as quietly as possible and slipped the pieces into the fire.

She made sure to be back in her seat, looking for all the world like she hadn't moved, before anyone came through the living room. Which they did a moment later, for a spot of afternoon tea. Afterwards, at Arthur's urging, Jenny went to show her drawing to Molly.

More and more members of the family helped her look for it as frustrated tears began to well in her eyes, and they all reassured her it would turn up. When she accused FredandGeorge of hiding it, Arthur did a marvellous job of soothing her and taking her mind off the whole thing.

"Are you sure you can't find it?" Aidan whispered. Of course, he'd joined the search party and dragged Gwen along.

"No," she snapped.

All the time Gwen spent observing the Weasleys, she was inescapably reminded of the research she'd done into her own family tree.

After meeting Fin and learning about Squibs, she'd been possessed with the need to dig up her magical roots. Aidan had been supportive of her efforts and offered all the help she needed. Garrett tried to warn her against using her ancestry to define herself. It was a warning she ignored when maybe she shouldn't have.

She kicked off the search with her maternal grandfather, a man she knew had been an Italian prisoner of war. Why she started with his line and not a local one, she honestly couldn't say. He was just the most interesting on paper.

Speaking of papers, his were relatively easy to find. Gwen knew when and where he died, when he got married to a Welsh girl after the war, when he first enlisted back in Orvieto, and most importantly, when and to whom he was born.

From there, she hit a number of dead ends and had to repeatedly go back and alternate between tracing the maternal and paternal lines. All logic to the search was in shambles and it very quickly got unmanageable if she was being honest. She wasn't being honest, though, she was being stubborn.

Painstakingly, she traced his lineage all the way back to an orphan in 1803. Not a baby, a boy estimated to be between seven and nine. A police report detailed the discovery of a child wandering the streets with no memory of himself or his parents. Four finely-printed lines in a newspaper called for the boy to be claimed. A call that was never answered.

Just as the Muggle paper trail ran dry, the image of a sea serpent bloomed in her mind.

Fairly confident she wasn't part-Leviathan, Gwen assumed this creature represented a person or family who used it as their crest. She was right.

The sea serpent was the emblem of the House of Marino, a prominent pure-blood family who once enjoyed close ties with the House of Medici. Gwen pored over their history until she finally found the connection.

"How do they know if someone's a Squib?"

"There's no way to test it for sure. Generally, a child will display signs of magic by the age of seven. Past that point…"

Giuseppe Angelo de Marino was, on paper, a pure-blood wizard who died aged eight. The same year a little amnesiac Muggle appeared out of nowhere.

That's what we do in this family, she thought ruefully. Kick each other out over magic.

It wasn't just that. The main Marino line died out around the turn of the century. Months of research only to learn something she already knew: she was alone in the world.

Now, she sat surrounded by Weasleys, watching them eat, talk, play, be together.

Gwen had six other Squib ancestors to track down and after all that, she didn't want to know about any of them.

The following day, the Weasleys braved the trip to Diagon Alley and returned even more bedraggled than when they left.

"You had the right idea, putting it off," Arthur said. "Never seen the place so packed in all my life. Aurors had to come clear people out for fear of a mass splinch!"

Splinching, Gwen was later told, was the mutilation that occurred when wizards teleported — or whatever it was called — incorrectly. In the event of a crowd crush, an individual trying to escape might take half the person next to them with them. Maybe not half. Maybe just a leg or a face.

"What brought that on?" Aidan was confused.

"What else? Harry Potter. They all want to catch a glimpse of him. I sent the fastest owl they had to Dumbledore, warning him to keep the boy away till the last minute."

"Better yet, just deliver his school supplies to him," Molly said. "That'd be safest."

Arthur disagreed.

"Too much of that treatment will make him feel like a pariah. He deserves as close to the normal experience as he can get."

As they kept talking, a tide of resentment rose steadily higher. It took Gwen a moment to identify Roland Weasley as the source. Curious, she zeroed in on his emotions. He was feeling invisible enough already without having to compete with the Boy Who Lived for some attention from his own family. Especially when the boy in question wasn't even here.

"Get the fuck over yourself," she told him sharply.

Sure, his parents made him live in a hovel but they didn't make him homeless. And yet he had the nerve to be jealous of an orphan! She wanted to smack him.

"Guinevere!"

Uh oh.

"That was completely unacceptable," Aidan snapped at her. He'd never snapped at her before. "We are guests here. That is no way to speak to someone who's invited you into their home. You apologise to Ronald right now."

Why? She wasn't sorry and he wasn't about to warm up to her either way. Even if she did manage to win him over, he had nothing to offer her. What did she care about hurting his feelings?

"Well?" Aidan was waiting.

Gwen walked away at a leisurely pace. She ignored Aidan when he called after her, then caught the beginning of his apology to Molly and Arthur. He'd make excuses out of the 'hard time' she'd been having lately. As if her experience was his alibi and the Weasleys were entitled to hear it.

Fucking faggot.

The anger Roland sparked found a new target in Aidan. How dare he speak to her that way? He wasn't her father. He wasn't even related. And given his lifestyle, he was lucky to even be allowed near children. He had no business taking that tone with her.

As she settled back into the armchair she'd occupied for most of the weekend, a nagging thought occurred. He had some business. If not for him, she'd be living in an orphanage right now. Garrett would never have taken her in on his own. She owed her comfortable situation — what comfort there was to be found — to Aidan.

And wasn't that why she was mad at Roland, for taking what he had for granted?

She wanted to shove down this feeling and ignore every person connected to it. She tried to convince herself it didn't matter, that she didn't owe Aidan an apology and certainly not any thanks. She stared into the fire as those efforts failed miserably. She was in debt and she knew it.

It didn't matter one bit if she never got invited back to the Burrow. That was preferable. But for Aidan's sake… Her behaviour reflected badly on him. The least she could do in exchange for the roof over her head was not be a fire to all the bridges in his life.

So she got herself up and marched back into the kitchen before she could second-guess her own feet. She found her keepers in hushed conversation with the Weasleys. Roland was sulking at the table.

Gwen took a breath and cleared her throat to catch their attention.

All eyes on her. What joy.

"I'm sorry," she began in a clear yet contrite voice. Her gaze alternated between Molly and Arthur. "I don't know what came over me. I've had a difficult time with all the changes recently. The wizarding world is a little overwhelming for me."

She heard the laughter Garrett swallowed. It was an outright lie, of course, and he knew it. In all the time he'd known her, she'd taken the magical world in stride.

"I'm not sure coming here was the best idea. Being around other children who've grown up with magic is a bit of a culture shock. But I really am enjoying my stay here." Another lie. "And I'm very grateful that you welcomed me into your house."

The sooner they left this pigsty of a house, the better.

"I spoke very rudely just now and there's no excuse for it. I want to apologise to you."

Both Molly and Arthur were eating this out of the palm of her hand. She didn't even need to be psychic; it was written all over their faces.

"And to Roland, of course."

"Ronald," he stressed.

Wait, was she talking to the wrong one?

"Him, too. The whole family." She turned her attention back to his parents. "I understand if you'd rather not invite me here in future—" Please don't! "—but please don't take this out on Aidan or Garrett. It's not their fault."

"Oh, you sweet, brave girl," Molly gushed. She actually came over and hugged her. "Of course, you're still welcome here! I can't imagine what you've been through."

The whole thing took a hilarious turn when Roland, unwilling to accept her apology, got in trouble for it. He even got sent to his room!

"If that's how you're going to be, it's no wonder you two fell out. You don't hear her talking to anyone else like that, do you?" Molly shooed him up the stairs. "You can come down when you've stopped being rude."

Gwen, eavesdropping, almost burst out laughing. Then she spotted Garrett watching her.

There was an odd look in eye and the slightest smirk pulling at his lips. When she focused on him, she picked up on something she never expected: pride. Or if not quite proud, he was impressed with her sly use of diplomacy.

"What? I felt bad."

"Sure you did."

Arthur Weasley asked for a word before they left.

"I hope you don't mind but Ginny mentioned you said something in your sleep. Normally, I'd brush that sort of thing aside but after that business in Knockturn Alley — well, you see, I took an interest in that, what with a Muggle being involved — anyway, that's when I found out you're a Seer. Very rare gift, did you know?"

"Is it? I hadn't heard."

Arthur looked confused for a moment, unsure if she was being sarcastic, before ploughing ahead.

"Apparently, you said something about the White Room," he made himself sound relaxed but inside, he wasn't. "Did you see something like that in your dreams?"

Gwen merely shook her head and refused to tell this complete stranger something that was none of his business. Besides, she only remembered dreaming about her parents.

One thing about magic Gwen found amazing yet kept forgetting was an option was instantaneous travel.

When they went to see Edward Scissorhands last month, they saw the trailer for Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey. It was already out in America but wouldn't come to the UK until next January. She made one comment about wanting to see it, and Aidan arranged something called a Portkey to take them to the States.

It looked like an ordinary candelabra. When they each took hold of an arm, its magic sank its hooks into them and flung them across the world.

They crossed an entire ocean in a matter seconds. To watch a movie. How anyone in the wizarding world found a reason to be unhappy, she didn't know. Sure, there was the travel sickness but when that failed to affect Gwen, she failed to sympathise.

Strictly speaking, they made the trip for Garrett's birthday on the twenty-third. Whatever. One reason was as good as any other to cruise San Francisco Bay and admire wild sea lions. These were infinitely more content than the ones at the aquarium. Gwen found herself wishing she could join them and swim away.

Returning to dry land, her question on whether it was possible for a witch to turn herself into an animal sparked a half-finished lesson on Animagi which morphed into a debate about werewolves. Gwen privately took Garrett's side; there was no point pretending they weren't a threat just to spare their feelings.

Aidan was wholeheartedly opposed.

"They're only dangerous a small percentage of the time! It's completely unfair to treat them like monsters the rest of the month. And it's a double standard! As if humans never hurt anyone."

The argument grew so heated, it started to threaten their trip. Gwen didn't know how she did it or if it was in fact her doing, but she willed them to calm down and they did. She felt the intensity of their emotions dissipate. They both tried to keep going but quickly noticed they just weren't wound up anymore. Fidgeting, they looked embarrassed.

"Did you still want to try the clam chowder?"

"Yes, please."

That was the defining activity of their trip. Taking the cable cars from one tourist trap to the next, eating whatever the locals did or didn't eat.

Gwen badly wanted to see ghosts at Alcatraz but her keepers insisted the prison was off-limits. Apparently, it was used for both Muggles and wizards. The spells that kept the latter from using magic and, more importantly, escaping were still in effect. If they went there, they'd be trapped.

Aidan tried to assuage her disappointment with a visit to the Japanese Tea Garden. It was pretty and the tea was interesting but there were no ghosts.

Things only got worse from there. They wanted to go somewhere called the Castro District. They didn't explain what it was and they never uttered anything close to gayborhood but the ridiculous word came to mind all the same.

Gwen toyed with the idea of faking a stomach ache but Aidan would never leave her alone abroad even in good health. The prospect of spending even longer in that tiny hotel room with the two of them was worse than anything else.

There was a double bed for them and a fold-out couch for her. It was uncomfortable on various levels.

And so she meandered with them through a decidedly queer part of town.

The shops weren't so bad, she supposed. There were a few items of clothing she actually liked but her skin itched at the thought of wearing them.

During their stop at Java Road Coffee Co., a few patrons still called it Has Beans. Gwen, for whatever reason, thought of it as Spike's and claimed she wasn't thirsty in the twenty degree heat. The dykes working the counter offered her friendly smiles anyway. Garrett proclaimed their espresso to be the best he'd ever tried.

Everywhere she looked, there were same-sex pairs brazenly holding hands. Even the people walking alone were somehow overt, in the way they dressed or styled their hair or just the way they carried themselves. It was like some inverted, alternate reality where men acted like women and women acted like men.

It made her miss her parents. They would have never dragged her to a place like this.

For the most part, Gwen trained her eyes on the ground but that didn't help much. The pavement was littered with plaques, each one dedicated to a specific person. The achievements of Josephine Baker, Christine Jorgensen, Marie Equi, and countless others whose names she'd never heard were engraved in bronze.

Despite herself, she slowed down to read them. When her keepers questioned this, she directed their attention to the plaques. They couldn't see them; they weren't there yet.

Mercifully, their time there ended after a couple hours or so. She spotted a few faggots and carpet munchers in Golden Gate Park the following day — because now she could tell just by looking, goddamn it — but beyond that, it was a much more normal place.

Together, she and Garrett managed to drag Aidan to the Academy of Sciences. He perked up when they got to the dinosaurs. Then they found a spot for a lakeside picnic, having thrown the basket together themselves.

Tup had refused to join them despite being naturally invisible to Muggles. She talked about leaving the Thicket alone as if the building would notice and care. She was a strange little creature and Gwen didn't miss her company one bit.

Garrett, on the other hand, was surprisingly far more pleasant to be around.

Getting away, either from work or the house or Britain in general, did him a world of good. He was so tightly wound back home, he seemed almost like a new man here. Maybe because the city welcomed his kind with such flagrantly open arms. Or maybe because there was little risk of bumping into someone Aidan knew around here, and then being stuck standing there like a third wheel.

He was in such good spirits, he even put up with Gwen teasingly asking about his star sign as they walked the Philosopher's Way.

"I'm an asparagus with a vinaigrette dressing." Apparently, he was in a teasing mood too.

"You're a Virgo sun, Pisces moon, Scorpio rising," Aidan corrected. "You know this. I made you a chart."

"Oh, that thing. I threw it away."

"WHAT?"

"I had you pegged as a Tauros…Gyarados…Vulpix," Gwen let out whatever syllables came to mind.

Both men looked at her, then each other, then back at her like she'd started speaking in tongues.

"Are you saying words?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "They might not exist yet."

Half the songs that got stuck in her head hadn't been written yet. It was a nuisance.

"You know, you don't have to share my beliefs to respect them," Aidan complained. "I'd never make fun of either of your interests."

Gwen exchanged conspiratorial stage whispers with Garrett.

"Someone's acting awfully sourdough."

"There's no help for it. He was born in the Year of the Pumpernickel. We must be patient with him."

Aidan walked away with a dramatic hmph! while Garrett, chuckling, smiled at Gwen for the first time ever.

Having her around didn't seem to bother him as much on this side of the pond. Not even when she wanted to see Bill and Ted embark on their bogus journey a second time. Then again, it was the only break Aidan gave them from playing house.

Their monthly excursions to the cinema were much more bearable than their trip to Alton Towers awhile back. Gwen repeatedly claimed that she didn't want to go but Aidan was part-dog, part-bone. They'd spent most of that day waiting in queues. It left them with nothing to do but talk to each other which, at the cinema, was outright discouraged.

The theme park got even less fun when a random woman unleashed a tirade on the two men for 'exposing children' to their 'revolting lifestyle.' She hadn't wanted them standing in line in front of her kids. Maybe she was just trying to cut ahead.

Garrett hardly spoke a word for the rest of that day. Gwen had to steel herself against his emotions; he was so hurt, she actually felt bad for him.

If he was less miserable in San Francisco, she was happy to leave him here.

Upon returning to the Thicket, Gwen expected she and Garrett would settle back into their stiff acquaintanceship. She certainly wasn't planning on making more effort than usual. And neither of them did, really. Yet somehow, their brief dinnertime conversations flowed a little easier.

"Why do you call me Claudia?" she asked one evening. It had been bugging her for ages and it felt like they shared enough of a rapport now for her to ask.

Garrett froze like a deer in headlights.

"I've never called you that."

"Not out loud," she granted. "But you think it around me a lot. Why?"

He played with his food in a very out of character fashion.

"Finish your vegetables and I'll tell you."

After dinner, he led her over to the bookshelf. It looked ordinary but functioned like a magical conveyor belt. He took hold of one shelf and pulled it down. The shelves currently on display disappeared into the bottom while several new ones materialised from the top.

With a touch of reluctance, he retrieved the relevant novel, Interview with the Vampire, and told her to take a seat.

"It's a book about vampires," he began. "Well, really, it's about grief. But it features vampires. Not real vampires, mind you. They do exist but they're rarely depicted accurately in fiction. Real vampires—"

"Are you getting sidetracked or are you deliberately avoiding the point?"

"Sorry." Garrett cleared his throat. "Claudia is a little girl who gets turned into a vampire. Over the years, her mind matures but her body doesn't. To look at her, you'd think she was a child but on the inside, she's a grown woman. You remind me of her because, from time to time, you seem a lot older than your years."

And because you're afraid of me. You think I'm a monster. Just like they did.

Gwen didn't mean to project those thoughts and she wasn't sure if she had. There was just something about the shame in Garrett's eyes that made her wonder if he heard.

"I'm not very good at figuring people out. I have this habit of using literary comparisons to help make sense of them. It's not a perfect method, by any means. I sometimes lose sight of the person in front of me. I'm sorry."

They fell into a silence somewhere between uncomfortable and amicable. It was clear neither of them knew what to say. Gwen had the most peculiar feeling they'd crossed a threshold. One they couldn't easily backstep. As imperceptible yet momentous as the movement of tectonic plates. Something shifted and the distance between them was all of a sudden narrower than it had been before.

She didn't fully understand how she felt about that other than the knee-jerk dislike of it.

"I was never allowed to read fiction," she spoke just to break the silence.

"What?"

"Well, nothing involving the supernatural. Which is what I wanted to read. They said it was bad for my 'overactive imagination.'"

"That's preposterous. You can read whatever you like here."

Gwen pointed to the copy of Interview with the Vampire still in his hand. "Can I read that?"

He considered her request carefully.

"Don't tell Aidan?" he wanted her to promise. "It's not the most appropriate reading material for an eleven-year-old."

"Well, we both know I'm only young on the outside," Gwen tried to infuse the words with light-hearted, almost self-deprecating humour.

She was trying to put him at ease… Huh, weird.

Garrett gave her a small smile and then gave her the book.

On an empty stomach, Diagon Alley had been a monster. Now the beast's belly was full. The crowds had tripled since that January afternoon even though most schoolchildren ought to have done their shopping by now. The start of term was less than one week away.

"We've left it so late," Aidan was fretting. What a surprise. "We should've got this done before we went to San Francisco."

"That's what I told you at the time," Garrett said. "See what happens when you don't listen to me?"

Gwen was in no mood for their bickering. The strain of blocking out the magic in the air had concentrated, for whatever reason, in her teeth. Each one hurt. The pain pulsed through her skull and settled in her brain; a budding migraine taking root. She tried to recall how many teeth there were in the human jaw. It was something Garrett would know but she couldn't ask; her mouth had tensed shut.

She met Aidan's yammering with grunts and nods until he asked a question that required a worded response. She had to answer him telepathically. It spooked him a little but at least he didn't look at her like she was the Antichrist.

Interestingly, though, it seemed she gave him a fragment of her headache in the process. He kept squinting and pinching the bridge of his nose as they started loading up her trolley with stationery.

With Aurors patrolling the Alley, everyone had to forgo the Extension Charm. A number of mishandled trolleys crashed into each other.

When Gwen crashed, she had the excuse of being half-blind from pain. The other half of her blindness was brought on by shutting off her senses. She hated it. Fumbling through a thin, two-dimensional world where every beige thing felt like a prop, fake. They walked past a florist and to her nose, the plants were dead.

It was hard to pick a lesser evil, the ceaseless frying of her nerves or this colourless, numb void.

Gwen ran through multiplications in her head in an effort to self-soothe. She was up to the nine times table when she noticed a man loitering outside an ice cream parlour.

She assumed he was waiting for his kid to emerge with a volcano-shaped sundae spewing lava sauce and exploding sprinkles. But it took twenty minutes to reach the till in Flourish and Blotts — the release of Hogwarts: A History had been perfectly timed; Garrett finally owned a copy — and when they came out, the man was still there. A lack of bags indicated he was neither shopping for himself nor chaperoning a child.

Probably just an avid Harry Potter fan, hoping to see his hero.

As her gaze lingered on him, the image of a turban once again flashed before her eyes, and she knew it wasn't Potter he was hoping to find.

Another assassin. It was oddly flattering.

Did they not know where she was staying or were they unable to break in? Seemed strange to keep waiting for her to walk by. Then again, when trying to kill a psychic, the best 'plan' was to wing it. And Turban Teacher knew she was a Seer. Wasn't that the very reason he wanted her dead?

Before they left the Thicket, Garrett made his stance perfectly clear.

"I don't care who it is, I don't care what's happened to them, we are not setting foot in Knockturn Alley."

He made Aidan swear to it.

Since this was Diagon Alley, no one would be breaking any promises by breaking this man's arms.

Frankly, Gwen didn't have the energy to deal with or even draw attention to him. She just wanted to avoid him if possible. But with how forcibly she was having to push back against her own powers, he'd get dangerously close before she sensed the attack coming. She'd damn near had her throat cut before. She wasn't about to risk that again.

When she happened a glance at Aidan, thinking his headache appeared to have passed, inspiration struck!

Gwen wanted to use this man as a conduit to syphon off all the energy that was making her sick. She had no idea if this would work or even how to attempt it. But given he was here to murder her, it seemed only fair he serve as her guinea pig.

She just had to figure out how to establish the connection…

By now, she'd read maybe twenty Muggle books on psychic practices. None of them covered this specifically — not as far as she remembered off the top of her head, anyway — so she cobbled together her own method from basic tips and tricks.

She began by focusing on him. It was easy enough to tap into his soul or aura or whichever part of a person Gwen always accessed with ease. Now, to build a link. Crude as it was, she could only think to visualise a pipe running between them, a one-way drainage system flowing from herself to him.

She crafted it out of pure imagination until she could feel it in the space between them.

Once that was in place, and with some trepidation, Gwen inched open her senses to the magical atmosphere around them. It poured straight through her into him. She watched him shudder, grimace, and turn pale. All of a sudden, he looked ill.

Holy shit, it worked.

There she was, existing in the middle of Diagon Alley without being spiritually flayed or crushed by the pressure of her own emotional dam. The pain in her teeth subsided as the tension eased.

"I did it!" she cried excitedly. "Praise me."

"For what?" Garrett questioned at the same time Aidan offered a bemused, "Well done."

Now that she could take in her surroundings without suffocating, Gwen took the time to appreciate the charms of Diagon Alley. It really was a quirky little district. She'd never read Dickens but knew his work well enough to wonder if he was the architect responsible for this place. There was no mention of it on his Chocolate Frog Card.

Even better than taking in the sights was the shopping itself. Gwen had never been one for retail therapy but she was definitely developing a taste for being spoiled. Her indulged joy intensified with every purchase, even if they were just school things.

Syphon, meanwhile, wasn't looking too well. Alternately clutching his stomach and head, he began to sway. He was going to collapse before they finished shopping; she needed to hurry things along.

Apparently, Garrett had the same idea. He suggested splitting up for the sake of efficiency, and went to buy Gwen's cauldron and other potion-making equipment.

Madam Malkin made no effort to hide her displeasure when Aidan brought Gwen to get fitted. They'd left it appallingly late and she warned them her robes might not be ready before the school term began. She'd have to dress second-hand.

It took a fair bit of time to get measured. So much so, Garrett rejoined them and left again to run some other errand.

When she and Aidan finally headed back out onto the street, Syphon was losing his lunch in the gutter. People hurried past, assuming him to be drunk and ignoring his plight, and Gwen was happy to do the same.

As Aidan led the way, she was hit by the overpowering stench of animals. Covering her nose did absolutely nothing to block out the smell, and then she noticed they were approaching the Magical Menagerie.

"Not this again," she grumbled and came to a stop.

"Hear me out." Aidan, persistent as ever, urged her on. "I had this owl, Dennis all throughout my Hogwarts years and I honestly don't think I'd have survived the N.E.W.T.s without him."

"Dennis?" she scoffed. "For an owl?"

"Helga, help me, there's two of them," he muttered to himself. "I suppose you'll pick a name like Odysseus or Nietzsche?"

The syllables of Odysseus left Aidan's mouth carrying the image of a tortoise and a strong sense of association with Garrett. Gwen tried to see the animal more clearly but it slipped away, leaving only the impression of something old and dead.

"I won't be picking any name at all."

"My point is, an animal can be your most constant companion. Especially when you and all your other friends are stressing over your exams. You can start to feel really alone. It helps to have a pet."

Inside, the shop was a wall-to-wall violation of animal welfare. Cages were one thing, even when stacked so tightly together, but the stench betrayed the unhygienic conditions in which the animals were kept.

"Even by my standards," Gwen spoke over the cacophony of growling, hooting, and squawking. "This is grim."

"Give it a chance," Aidan tried to sound optimistic but didn't quite succeed. "Although, now that I think about it, I got Dennis from Eeylops."

The owls here all had a murderous look in their eyes. Buy me, the look said, or else.

It was a struggle to steer the trolley through the maze of enclosures. They passed by a rabbit thumping in displeasure and then some mutant cross-breed of cat and orangutan. It hissed at her. She hissed back.

"Anyone taking your fancy?" Aidan asked then pointed out a toad the size of a dinner plate. "What about that handsome devil?"

"I really don't want—" Gwen cut herself off with a gasp. Her voice went up an octave or two. "Look at her little SOCKS! Look at her MOUSTACHE!"

In a communal cage, gazing up at Gwen with bright yellow eyes and a curious head tilt, sat the most dapper little kitten she ever did see. Covered in sleek black fur all over except for a white chest, three white paws, and a white upper lip.

Apparently, the little devil was fully aware of her own cuteness and how to wield it. She stood up on her hind legs with her front paws against the bars of the cage, showing off the tiny pink beans she had for toes. Then, ever so softly, she mewed.

"I'm goo," Gwen declared with a hand over her melted heart. "My organs are goo."

The kitten shared the cage with her siblings, each one sporting a unique coat. There was a splotchy calico pouncing on a tabby while a grey kitten chased a ginger tail. Objectively, they were all cute but none of the others had the same effect on Gwen.

Aidan suggested she keep browsing before making a final decision but there was a definite I told you so glint in his eye. He helped her pick out various accessories then led her to the counter.

The aspiring taxidermist who sold them the kitten tried to offer advice on proper care.

"Yeah, thanks, I'm actually planning to keep her alive, so you can shut up now."

Aidan didn't even scold her for being rude. He knew as well as she did, it was a fair comment. He just hurried her out the door.

Gwen had walked into a pet shop with the very clear intention to leave without a pet. Now she was a cat owner. Because if there was more than one way to do something, someone was bound to do it wrong.

"Murphy," she named her. After Murphy's law.

All of a sudden, she felt a spike of concern. It came from Aidan. His eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding a little ways down the street. Syphon had collapsed on the ground, writhing in an apparent seizure. A small crowd gathered around him and an Auror rushed over. Someone called for the man to be taken to St Mungo's.

"I hope he's alright," Aidan worried.

Gwen might have reassured him the guy had it coming but the sight of Syphon's slack jaw and rolled-back eyes reminded her of her parents. Her chest tightened. Her breath grew short. She took her burgeoning panic attack and locked it in a box made of iron will. She'd deal with it later when she was alone.

The Auror held Syphon to his own chest, so tightly they both shook, then disappeared.

Before she had any chance to raise a wall inside, the atmosphere of Diagon Alley flooded Gwen's system. She fell to her knees, slamming onto the cobbles. She was only vaguely aware of Aidan crouching next her and too affected to refuse his help getting up.

"I tripped," she insisted.

"You were standing still."

"I'm good at it."

Her head was spinning. In the corners of her eyes, the people rushing by were like demons born from shadow and sleep paralysis. She felt naked and nauseous and helpless. Her skin prickled; she must have been sweating. Yet a chill settled in her bones. She hated this fucking place. She wanted to leave. Fuck going to school. Fuck shopping. Who needed so many things anyway?

Anger helped her through the struggle of putting her defences back up.

Stop it, she told her churning stomach. Or I'll cut you out.

If she didn't pull herself together, she'd throw up on Aidan's shoes. She absolutely refused to show weakness. Forcing air steadily in and out of her lungs, she straightened her back and schooled her features, trying to look bored.

Two times one is two. Two times two is four. Two times three is six.

As she clung to the thoughts that kept her grounded, she almost failed to notice Garrett reuniting with them. In San Francisco, he'd found the nerve to kiss Aidan in public but hadn't brought it home with him which was a small mercy in her current state.

Gwen could respect that they kept it behind closed doors. The only problem was she also happened to live behind that door.

"Can we head back now?" she tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. "I want to set up Murphy's bed and try out her toys."

"Who's Murphy?"

Lacking the enthusiasm that overtook her just minutes ago, Gwen introduced her new feline friend to Garrett.

"What happened to not wanting a pet?"

"Do you not see how fancy she is? How could I resist?" She fed Murphy a treat then turned her attention back to Aidan. "So we're leaving?"

Without Syphon, she found the frantic energies of the Alley even more chaotic and harder to block out than before. Maybe it only seemed worse now after having such a sweet a taste of relief.

Four times five is twenty. Four times six is twenty-four. Four times—

"Not yet," Aidan crushed her hopes. "There's one more thing we need."

With that, both men led her down the street towards a shop so dimly-lit, Gwen thought it was closed.

Ollivanders, the flaking sign just about read. The words that followed were barely legible as they passed below. Something about wands.

Inside, Gwen wondered why no one had ever invented a spell to deter dust. In the cramped space, there was scarcely enough room for the three of them to stand without brushing up against each other. The trolley had to wait outside; Murphy's cat carrier only just fit between their legs. From floor to ceiling, the shop was packed with long, thin boxes made either of cardboard or wood.

"We're buying a fire hazard?"

"Technically, yes," Garrett said.

For whatever reason, Gwen's eye was drawn to a painting of a medieval castle hanging on the wall. Not the whole castle, just a tower.

"That's Hogwarts," Aidan told her brightly.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Well, that's only a section of the castle, obviously."

Gwen studied the empty wall space on either side of the painting and couldn't shake the feeling most of it was missing.

"What's the word for those paintings that are cut into sections?"

With impressive speed, Garrett plucked the answer from somewhere in his brain-library. "Polyptych."

"Right. Where's the rest of it?"

If she looked closely enough, she could almost make out a figure standing in one of the windows, staring back at her.

Her study of the painting was abruptly cut short. A skinny man with shock-white hair emerged from between the stacks. He was wrinkled as a prune and looked through them with milky eyes.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Young lady. Garrick Ollivander, at your service."

"Hello again," Aidan greeted the old man cheerfully. Then he nudged Gwen forward. "Say hello to Mr. Ollivander."

"Hi."

The shopkeeper peered down at Gwen as if examining a new specimen.

"Interesting," he said, and Gwen had no idea what was so interesting about her square face and Roman nose. She began to suspect the man was blind and using other senses, both natural and supernatural, to navigate his environment. "Let's see what we have for you, shall we?"

"Ollivander is the best wandmaker in Britain," Aidan whispered to her as the old man disappeared behind a stack of boxes. "And he's a genius at finding the right match, just watch."

Within twenty seconds, Ollivander selected one wand from what must have been a thousand. He removed it from its box with just the slightest flourish. It was maybe a foot long, reddish brown, tapered at one end with a thick handle on the other.

He offered it to Gwen.

The instant she touched it, raw power coursed through her being and the image of a bizarre lizard appeared before her mind's eye. Four-legged and winged, it sported dark green scales and a glistening pair of long golden horns atop its head. Built like an ox, it almost looked more like a bull than a reptile. But it breathed fire and could only be one thing.

She turned to Garrett. "Dragons are real?"

He nodded confirmation while Aidan politely explained her gift to Ollivander.

"Merlin's mercy," he breathed. "It's been a long time since I met one of your kind, young miss. Very long indeed. I never thought to meet another. Some call it a bad omen. Some believe Seers are only born when calamity sits on the horizon of time—"

"Ahem," Aidan pointedly cleared his throat to silence to the old man.

"You ahem, I'm intrigued!" Gwen wanted to hear more.

The wandmaker — who she was almost convinced was a Seer himself — didn't oblige her with more ominous tales. He instead got down to the business of finding her a match when she failed to connect any further with his first pick. This new information reframed his whole approach.

"A wand of black walnut demands an insightful mistress," he said, confidently presenting her with this new candidate. "It also makes for one of the most versatile. I'm afraid I've nothing in stock at the moment precisely suited to the art of Divination, but this one should adapt well enough."

Vivid blue flames burned her from the inside. This was a silvery dragon with an upturned snout. Its energy thrummed within the wand so vigorously, it threatened to splinter the bones in her hand.

Not one drop of that power displayed itself when she waved it at a gaslamp. The light didn't so much as flicker.

Next, Ollivander suggested pine for its magical fluidity and its taste for unique masters, and when that failed, cedar for its perception. Neither responded to her even a little.

"Beech is well-suited to those who are wise beyond their years," he explained as he held out a pale wooden tilde for her to try. "This is not a wand for the narrow-minded."

It was not a wand that wanted anything to do with Gwen, apparently.

Reaching out to take each wand was starting to feel like sticking her hand into a bush of stinging nettles. The added strain mocked her. How weak her defences, so easily chipped away. How hopelessly Muggle. What kind of witch couldn't touch a magic wand?

"Sycamore might take a shine to you." Ollivander's love for his craft beamed like sunlight through the dark shop, never wavering. There wasn't a hint of strain in him. Yet. "These wands are always yearning for experiences outside the ordinary."

This dragon was a dull brown thing but the Common Welsh Green, they said it was called, got its name from its brilliant green fire. Teeth as hot as burning coals sank into the flesh of her palm and all she had to show for enduring it was another failure.

Three more attempts proved futile before Ollivander changed tactics.

"Let's try the walnut again but with a different core."

This time, when he placed the wand in her hand, Gwen saw a unicorn grazing peacefully. It was a calmer energy than the furious power of the dragons but no better in terms of making a match.

Painstakingly, they worked their way through a whole herd to the same disappointing effect. And then again with a flock of phoenixes.

Talk of different cores had Ollivander thinking further and further outside the box.

"This wand dates back to the days my father ran this shop." He dug out possibly the dustiest box and presented her with a mossy, almost rotten-looking wand. "He favoured kelpie hair which I don't use and don't generally recommend but I think your case calls for exceptions."

The wand plainly disagreed as it sat lifelessly in her grasp.

"Worth a try." He took it back. "No, it's dragon heartstring for you. I'm sure of it."

The kelpie — a vaguely monstrous aquatic horse with seaweed for hair — was a miserably tame thing compared to the raw wildness she sensed in the dragons. She supposed Ollivander's assessment was a compliment but she wasn't exactly keen to go back to dragon heartstring.

As Ollivander scoured the forgotten depths of his shop for a potential match, Gwen took comfort in petting Murphy. The kitten was blissfully unbothered by the debacle taking place just a few feet away. She made a game of hunting dust bunnies until she knocked down one of the box towers, and Aidan made Gwen put her back in her carrier.

Ollivander didn't seem to mind the mess when he re-emerged.

"Powerful intuition is one of the lesser known traits of English oak's preferred masters." The wand he offered her was riddled with knots and had the detail of a snake's head intricately craved into the handle. "It is believed that Merlin himself owned a wand just like this."

Gwen noticed her hand trembling as she reached out.

She'd started to think of dragons as crocodilian creatures, around that size, but the one rampaging inside her head now was far more massive. Far more ferocious. An adult. Its power seared its way up her arm.

The wand fell from her limp fingers. She barely heard it clatter on the floor. She barely felt herself sway, in danger of toppling over, as she clutched her throbbing elbow. Everything below that burned.

"Try holding them in your left hand," Garrett's voice made Gwen jump because she'd forgotten he was there.

Aidan didn't follow his logic. "How will that help?"

"If the right is your dominant hand, is it more sensitive to visions when you touch things?"

Gwen had never thought of that or noticed a difference. But then, how often did she favour her left hand?

Following Garrett's advice, the next wand wasn't quite so difficult to hold. The Chinese Fireball — they'd gone through enough breeds, she was starting to learn the names — was only a baby and Gwen's impression of its strength was dulled through the skin of her left hand.

Still, there was no response from the wand.

"Curious," was all Ollivander had to say about her repeated failures while her keepers tried to hide their growing concern.

On it went. And though she was careful to use her left hand, the power of dragons was immense as the tides and as hard to ward off. They eroded her strength, her resistance, one wand at a time.

Diagon Alley, overfed and bloated, pressed in on her. She felt Guinevere Knight shrink; there was less and less room for her inside her own being as the pressure mounted. Would she end up like Syphon? Like her parents? Would she know when her brain lost its shape?

Six times six is thirty-six. Six times seven is forty-two. Six times eight is forty-eight.

Other eleven-year-olds came and went, obtaining their first wands without fuss, as well as older teenagers and even a few parents taking the opportunity to get replacement wands for various reasons. It allowed Gwen the much-needed reprieve of taking breaks. At the same time, however, it got more and more disheartening.

Why did this come so easily to everyone else? What was she doing wrong?

"The Alley's been so busy this year," one harried mother commented to Aidan. It was such a tight squeeze now, Garrett opted to wait outside. Maybe he just didn't want to see a woman pressed against the man he pretended to marry. "We left the wand till later since no one else can take his wand, so to speak."

Before she even finished her sentence, her son found his match. They paid the standard seven Galleons and went on their way.

The very-much-still-wandless Gwen, meanwhile, leaned against a wall for support, struggling not to slump straight down to the floor.

Nine times ten is ninety. Nine times eleven is ninety-nine.

That odd painting hung above her head, and she could swear she heard someone laughing.

"I must apologise. I've allowed myself to develop a bit of tunnel vision with this one and it's clearly not coming together the way I expect." The world's greatest wand whisperer tried to shoulder the blame when they'd literally watched him match over a dozen witches and wizards with their perfect wands. All of them in fewer than five attempts and some in just two. "I think it's best we step away for a moment and when you come back, I'll have another look with fresh eyes."

Using phrases like 'tunnel vision' and 'fresh eyes' probably did indicate a certain fixation on her being a Seer. Gwen was more than ready to give up for one day but Aidan wanted to parent from the middle ground.

"How about we try one more and then we'll go get something to eat?"

"I think she needs a break," Garrett said from the doorway.

"Well, what if—Would you mind if Gwen walked through the stacks herself?" Aidan looked from Ollivander back to her. "And if nothing calls out to you, we'll grab some food and come back later."

"A wonderful idea," Ollivander smiled.

Gwen barely found the energy to sigh. "Fine."

Dragging her feet, she sidestepped the counter and ventured into the labyrinth of unclaimed wands. She let her fingertips brush against the boxes as she passed, nothing called to her. One, however, did catch her attention.

Holding the box but not opening it, never laying eyes on the wand itself, Gwen heard the shriek of a bird. Another phoenix. Those wands, in particular, seemed the least impressed with her.

"That one?" Ollivander choked back his surprise. "Do you really think so?"

"No, but there's something about it."

Gwen put it back where she found it and continued the search.

All she found was indifference; ten dozen wands didn't even reject her as she walked by, they simply ignored her existence. She was about to turn back and insist they leave when something snagged the corner of her eye, pulling her gaze toward a specific box.

There shouldn't have been anything eye-catching about it. It was wedged between its siblings, collecting dust like all the others. Yet Gwen drew nearer to it, unable to help herself. Carefully, she dislodged it from the stacks.

"Mischievous one, that," Ollivander's words barely reached her ears. "It's been brought back twice. People say it plays tricks on them. Very oddly behaved for a willow."

Opening the box released a cool summer breeze. Gwen heard it rustling through leaves and a songbird's answering melody. Without thinking, she reached out with her right hand…

A lone tree stood on the grounds of a manor house, its dropping limbs dipping into a tranquil pool. The countryside air was so clean, so invigorating in the languid place. Gwen could almost taste the strawberries from bygone picnics beneath this tree.

Then a man dropped from the branches and stopped before hitting the ground. With a sudden, sickening crunch, Gwen felt her own neck snap.

"AH!" she cried out and dropped the wand. Her hands flew up to her neck to hold her head in place.

The perfect nothingness of death seeped into every tissue fibre as the hanged man slipped away, pulling her with him.

The emotional box containing the panic attack she didn't have earlier was ripped open and the walls of this tiny, dark shop closed in around her.

Like a coffin.

She ran.

From one instant to the next, she was standing in Ollivanders then racing down the street. No awareness of the door she must have passed through. No sound of her name being called though it probably was. Diagon Alley went by in a blur until she barrelled at full speed into someone, knocking them both to the ground.

Pain didn't even register. Finding her bearings, she noticed she'd landed on a chubby boy in a checkered sweater vest.

"Am I dead?" she asked, urgent and breathless.

"No, but I think I might be," the boy groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

"What in Godric's name are you doing?" came a new voice.

There was an old woman standing over them, staring down her nose at them. She wore a terrific scowl and a vulture as a hat. If she'd killed the bird with her own hands, Gwen wouldn't be surprised.

"Sorry, nan," the boy said. "We had an accident."

"Running down a busy street," she tsked at Gwen, ignoring the boy altogether. "What's the matter with you, you silly girl?"

"Piss off," Gwen said without fire or venom. She just sounded tired.

The grandmother turned white then beetroot-red. The boy curled in on himself like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO YOUR ELDERS LIKE THAT?" Her shrill voice carried and drew attention from up and down the Alley. "You wretched girl!"

Aidan arrived on the scene and helped Gwen to her feet, checking her over and asking repeatedly if she was alright.

"Get off the ground, Neville," the grandmother issued a sharp command. "Stand up straight."

The turtle-boy obeyed in such a hurry, he managed to stub a toe trying to find his footing. He bit his lip and bore the pain in silence.

By then, Garrett had caught up to them, looking none too pleased.

"Augusta," he acknowledged the old woman stiffly.

She visibly bristled. Her stony gaze fixed on him, turning even colder. The summer air took on a slight chill.

"It's Mrs. Longbottom to you, boy." With pointed disgust, her eyes scanned him from top to toe, then quickly shifted to Aidan, and then to Gwen. She scoffed. "I did hear some rumour you degenerates were granted custody of a child. Little wonder the brat has no manners. She won't learn proper behaviour from the likes of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know perfectly well what it means. Two men raising a girl," she huffed. "It's unnatural."

"But a geriatric woman can raise someone else's son?"

"He's my grandson and don't you dare criticise our family. Where were you during the war, a bathhouse? I won't have Neville exposed to deviants or to such rudeness." She turned her attention to the boy and swatted him with her handbag. "Come along."

As she shepherded her grandchild away, the loitering crowd was left with no one to gawk at but Gwen and her keepers.

Mortification crawled all over her and whether it belonged to her or one of the men, she couldn't tell. Without warning, Garrett grabbed hold of her arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and then—

Gwen felt herself being sucked through the thinnest straw by the most determined drinker. The g-forces involved seemed lethal and if she still had skin after this, she'd consider it a miracle. It didn't exactly hurt but was easily the second worst sensation after getting hanged. Then it stopped as abruptly as it started.

It took her a second to register they were back at the Thicket. He must have teleported. For some reason, he'd brought them to the bathroom of all pla—oh. Gwen lunged for the toilet just in time.

They had both praised her strong constitution when she didn't get sick travelling by Portkey. So much for that.

The nausea didn't pass and she clung to the bowl for fear of throwing up again.

Tup came in, plainly curious. They were expected to return via the Floo Network. With Aidan. On any other day, the elf commanded every inch of this house. One look at her master now and her ears flattened like a frightened cat. She backed out the door without a word.

All the while, Garrett stood there seething. It was a breed of anger Gwen had sensed before, in Papa, in the moments preceding a blow. It made her nervous but she had to ask, "Where's Murphy?"

When Garrett spoke, his voice was low and deadly like she'd never heard before.

"We left your things with Ollivander when we had to chase after you."

The roaring sound of flames erupted somewhere below them. Followed by the sound of footsteps hastily climbing the stairs.

"You know I can't Apparate without a wand," Aidan griped as he entered the bathroom. The space was just big enough for all three of them without being uncomfortable. At least, not more uncomfortable. "Thank you so much for leaving me there like a twat."

"Not now, Aidan."

"People were staring."

"OF COURSE PEOPLE WERE STARING!" Garrett's voice ricocheted off the tiles so viciously, Gwen flinched. "You saw the scene she just caused!"

Gwen wanted to hide, to shrink, to turn invisible or at least camouflaged like she was that day in Knockturn Alley. She wanted to turn back time and keep from ever touching that insidious wand. Nothing happened. Any other child's magic would manifest in some unpredictable way under such stress. Hers didn't.

Maybe that was why the wands didn't respond to her. Maybe she was just broken.

"I'm the one who pushed her to keep going," she heard Aidan say. "If you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me."

"Did you go back for Murphy?" she asked him.

"That's what you're worried about?" Garrett's ire came down on her, words slashing at her like knives. "The pet you've had for five minutes? Not the people who took you in, you selfish little—"

"Hey!" Aidan cut him off.

There was a long tense moment of silence, then Garrett stormed out.

With a sigh, Aidan sat down next to her.

"Murphy's downstairs with the rest of your school supplies. Mr. Ollivander took care of her before letting me use his Flooplace. He said to tell you he was sorry." Aidan paused, taking in the state of her. "I threw up on Zachary Stumptoad the first time I Apparated. He was never going to fancy me back but I think that ruined my chances for good."

The reminder, the idea of him liking other boys made her gag.

"Let it out," he said soothingly and rubbed her back only to pull his hand away when she flinched. He was quiet for a minute before asking, "What happened?"

"I ran into that boy—"

"No, I don't mean about Neville. What happened in Ollivanders?"

Gwen shuddered. When she brushed her fingers over the vertebrae in her neck, she could still hear it, still feel it.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, that's too bad because you're going to have to," he said, gentle yet firm.

She stared down at her own vomit. The silence stretched on. All she wanted was to be alone but she knew he wasn't about to let her get away that easily. She had to give him something.

"I don't like wands."

Pathetic.

That evening, after being sent to bed without supper, Gwen opened her door a crack to better hear the argument going on downstairs.

"She stays here a few more days before going to Hogwarts, she stays at the castle through the holidays, then by next summer she has another home lined up."

"You cannot seriously kick her out over something like this."

"We never said this was long-term. We said we'd see how it goes."

"How were you expecting it to go? Like she'd never get upset?"

"She lost it over a wand, Aidan! That's the most fundamental part of being a witch. She won't talk about her parents. She lies about having nightmares. She needs more help than we're qualified to give."

"What, now she needs a doctor?"

"Maybe, I don't know. How can we know? We're not parents. We're not cut out for this."

"Is that what this is really about? That old bat calling us…"

Gwen tried to keep listening but her eyes were drawn to the room. Her room. The guest room. It couldn't decide. All the things they bought to make the room hers flickered in and out of existence. The space reverted to its old neutral décor right before her eyes. Then it was her room again. Then it wasn't. All of it depending on whoever won the fight. It could go either way.

Her throat closed up and she felt a burning pressure under the skin of her face, right behind her eyes and brow and nose. It was tears. But they wouldn't fall so they just clogged up her sinuses. In lieu of sobbing, she trembled. She sank to the floor, hugged her knees to her chest, and didn't cry.

Murphy ran over. Her little claws dug in as she climbed her new human but her paw was gentle and comforting when she pressed it to her cheek. Gwen only hoped they'd let her keep the cat.