Brooklyn slumped into a seat on the Hogwarts Express, resting her chin in her hand as she stared out the window. She wasn't particularly thrilled about going back to her grandparents' house, but at least she'd get to see Ryan and Mia. That was the only thing making this trip worth it.

Across from her, Angelina and Lee were chatting about their plans for break. Angelina was heading home to spend time with her parents, and Lee was excited about some new Wizarding Wireless show he'd been raving about all morning. Brooklyn half-listened, her mind elsewhere.

Back on the platform, the twins were staying behind at Hogwarts. Molly and Arthur were going to Romania to visit Charlie, and since the twins didn't fancy a week trapped at Aunt Muriel's, they decided they'd rather stay at school. Brooklyn envied them.

Just before she'd left, Fred had hugged her tightly. "Try not to hex your grandparents," he joked, though she could tell he was serious. "Don't let them get to you."

George had ruffled her hair and grinned. "If you get bored, send us an owl. We'll send back something highly inappropriate."

She'd rolled her eyes at them, but the truth was, she already missed them. Christmas at the Weasleys' had always been loud and chaotic—exactly how she liked it. Being stuck with her grandparents, on the other hand, meant a month of strict rules, disapproving glances, and her grandmother pretending Brooklyn wasn't a Quidditch player but rather some proper young lady who needed molding. She also knew she would likely come back with cuts and bruises, too.

The train jolted forward, pulling out of the station, and Brooklyn sighed. At least she'd have Emily, Ryan, and Mia. That was enough to get her through this break.

Angelina nudged her. "Oi, you're quiet. That's weird. You good?"

Brooklyn forced a smirk. "Just bracing myself for several weeks of Grandmother trying to teach me which fork to use and Grandfather pretending I don't exist."

Lee winced. "Yikes. Want me to send you an emergency Howler halfway through the week? Pretend it's urgent business so you have an excuse to leave?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Tempting, but I'll survive. Probably."

Angelina gave her a knowing look but didn't press. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, tossing it into Brooklyn's lap. "Here. Consider it an early Christmas present. Just don't say I never gave you anything."

Brooklyn snorted, unwrapping the chocolate and popping a piece into her mouth. Maybe this break wouldn't be that bad.

The break was that bad.

Brooklyn's breaks had always been miserable if she wasn't at the Burrow, but this time was worse than she could have ever imagined.

It started like every other holiday—stiff greetings at the door, disapproving looks from her grandmother, silence from her grandfather. She knew better than to expect warmth. The only thing that made coming back bearable was Ryan, Mia, and Emily.

Emily had pulled her into a quick hug the moment she walked through the door, whispering, "Good to have you back. It's been rough."

Brooklyn had frowned at that, but before she could ask what she meant, her grandfather's sharp voice called her to the sitting room.

Dinner that night was tense. Their grandparents quizzed Brooklyn on school, on her classes, on Quidditch—carefully avoiding the topic of who she spent time with. She answered as vaguely as possible, choosing her words carefully, not wanting to poke the sleeping dragon.

But then Ryan—bless his innocent heart—had asked about Harry.

Brooklyn had barely said "Oh, he made Seeker—" before her grandfather's expression turned stone cold.

"Harry Potter?" His voice was quiet. Dangerous.

Brooklyn stiffened, her fork freezing in midair. "Yeah. He's a good friend of mine."

Silence stretched across the table.

Her grandmother sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "First the Weasleys, now Potter. Have you no shame, girl?"

Brooklyn clenched her jaw.

Her grandfather's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "My office. Now."

She wanted to fight, wanted to refuse, but she knew that would only make it worse. So she shoved her chair back and followed him, her stomach twisting.

The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him, already bracing herself.

"You are a disgrace to this family." His voice was eerily calm. He unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, folding it over in his hands. "A blood traitor. Befriending the very boy responsible for the Dark Lord's downfall. Do you have any idea what your father would think if he saw you now?"

Brooklyn's hands curled into fists. That was a low blow.

"I don't give two shits what that man thinks." The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

The first strike came fast, sharp across her back. She sucked in a breath, refusing to cry out.

"You have no respect."

Another strike.

"No loyalty to your own blood."

Another.

"No honor."

The pain was searing, but Brooklyn gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand tall. "No, I just don't follow cowards."

The next hit sent her stumbling.

By the time he was done, her back was raw, and her head spun, but she refused to let him see her break.

"You will stay in your room until you learn to act like a McClair."

He shoved her inside and locked the door.

She stood there for a long moment, her whole body shaking. This wasn't the first time he had hit her, but this… this was worse. She pressed her forehead against the wood, swallowing hard.

The first night wasn't too bad. The pain was awful, but she could manage.

By the second day, her stomach ached from hunger, her throat was dry, and her body felt weak. She had slept most of the day, trying to conserve energy.

The third day, Emily got in.

Brooklyn wasn't sure how—probably picked the lock—but she stirred awake to find her older sister kneeling beside her bed, a piece of bread and a cup of water in hand.

"Brooke, you have to eat." Emily's voice was quiet but firm.

Brooklyn struggled to sit up, every movement sending pain through her back. "How'd you—?"

"Grandfather forgot to lock the door when he went out." Emily shoved the bread into her hand. "Eat."

Brooklyn took a small bite, her stomach twisting in protest after being empty for so long.

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed tightly. "They've never been this bad before."

Brooklyn swallowed the lump in her throat. "They've been building up to it."

Emily exhaled sharply. "This isn't just about you, Brooke. They've been getting harsher on Ryan and Mia too. I've been doing what I can, but…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "They hate that we don't follow their rules."

Brooklyn's jaw clenched. "They don't get to control us forever."

Emily gave her a long look. "How much longer can you last?"

Brooklyn had no answer.

By the time Brooklyn stepped onto Platform 9 & 3/4, she was barely holding herself together.

She had barely slept in the last few nights, her body wracked with pain, her mind clouded with exhaustion. The sharp sting of her grandfather's belt still lingered across her back, but worse than that was the lingering ache from the Cruciatus Curse. Her body felt like it had been shattered and poorly pieced back together, every muscle screaming in protest with each step she took.

She didn't remember getting on the train, only that she found an empty compartment and collapsed onto the seat, her head resting against the cool window. The pain was unbearable, but she gritted her teeth and refused to let out a single sound.

The door to the compartment slid open, and at first, she didn't react. But then—

"Brooke?"

The horrified voice belonged to Angelina.

Brooklyn barely turned her head before Angie and Lee rushed in, their faces paling at the sight of her.

"Merlin's beard, what the hell happened to you?" Lee demanded, dropping down onto the seat beside her. His usual easygoing nature was nowhere to be seen.

Brooklyn forced a small smirk, though it barely reached her eyes. "You should see the other guy."

Angelina knelt in front of her, gently taking her arm. Her eyes darted over the cuts and bruises littering Brooklyn's skin, her expression shifting from worry to fury. "Brooklyn, this isn't just a few bruises. You look—" She stopped, her throat tightening. "Who did this?"

Brooklyn sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "You already know."

Angelina and Lee exchanged a look, their jaws clenched. They did know. They had always known things were bad with Brooklyn's grandparents, but this? This was worse than they had ever imagined.

"Did they use—" Lee hesitated, his voice dropping. "The Cruciatus?"

Brooklyn flinched before she could stop herself.

That was answer enough.

Angelina's hands curled into fists, her face unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes burned with a quiet, simmering rage. "They can't keep doing this to you."

Brooklyn huffed a humorless laugh. "What am I supposed to do? Report them to the Ministry? They don't care. No one does."

"That's not true." Lee's voice was firm. "We care. And you sure as hell aren't going through this alone."

Brooklyn finally met his gaze, her mask of sarcasm faltering for just a second.

Lee wasn't joking. Neither was Angelina.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding slightly. "Don't tell Fred and George. Not yet."

Angelina exhaled sharply. "Brooke, they're going to find out either way. They're not stupid."

"I just need time." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Angelina studied her for a long moment before finally nodding.

"Fine."

But they both knew—Fred and George would notice the second they saw her. And there wouldn't be a damn thing Brooklyn could do to stop them from finding out the truth.

The moment the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Brooklyn braced herself. She had barely managed to stay awake during the ride, exhaustion gnawing at her bones. The only thing keeping her upright was the steady presence of Angelina and Lee, who had barely left her side since finding her in that awful state. They knew, just as she did, that the second they stepped into the school, Fred and George would take one look at her and know something was wrong.

And, of course, they were right.

The twins were waiting by the front doors, grinning as students spilled out of the carriages, their excitement for the spring term feast clear. But the moment Fred's eyes landed on Brooklyn, the grin vanished.

"What the hell happened to you?"

George wasn't far behind, his expression quickly shifting from amusement to pure concern as he stepped closer. "Brooke, you look—" He stopped short, his eyes scanning her face, taking in the pale skin, the dark circles under her eyes, the way she moved stiffly, as if every step was agony.

Brooklyn forced a smirk, shoving her hands in her pockets. "What, did you lot forget I got into bar fights over break?"

Fred and George didn't laugh.

Angelina and Lee hovered nearby, their faces tense, clearly waiting for the explosion. Brooklyn sighed, already feeling a headache coming on.

"It's fine," she muttered, moving toward the warm building. "Let's just get to the feast."

Fred grabbed her wrist before she could brush past him, his grip gentle but firm. Brooklyn stiffened, but she didn't have the energy to pull away.

"You're not fine." His voice was quiet, but there was something dangerous underneath it. "Tell me who did this."

Brooklyn's stomach twisted.

George stepped in, eyes locked onto hers. "Brooke… was it them?"

She swallowed hard. Lying was pointless. They already knew.

"Yeah," she admitted, barely above a whisper.

Fred's hand tightened around hers for just a second before he let go, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to keep himself from hitting something. His jaw clenched, and when Brooklyn finally met his gaze, the fire burning in his eyes was terrifying.

"Let's go," George finally said, his voice stiff. "We'll talk later."

Brooklyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and followed them into the castle. The walk inside was tense, silent except for the occasional murmur between Lee and Angelina. Fred and George stayed quiet, but their silence was heavy, thick with anger and barely restrained fury.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, Brooklyn just wanted to sit down and pretend everything was normal. The warm glow of the floating candles, the clatter of students greeting their friends—it was a familiar comfort she desperately needed.

But as soon as they sat at the Gryffindor table, Fred and George flanked her, practically boxing her in.

"You're eating," George said, shoving a plate in front of her.

Brooklyn sighed. "I can feed myself, you know."

"Then do it," Fred shot back.

She rolled her eyes but picked up her fork, stabbing at the nearest thing on her plate just to get them off her back.

Across the table, Alicia leaned in, eyeing Brooklyn carefully. "You really okay?"

"Peachy."

No one looked convinced.

Fred glanced at George, something unspoken passing between them before he turned back to Brooklyn. His voice was quieter now, serious. "You know we're not letting this go, right?"

Brooklyn sighed, resting her elbow on the table and rubbing her temple. "Yeah, I figured."

"Good." George's voice was sharp, his usual humor nowhere to be found. "Because if they ever touch you again—" He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. The promise of revenge was clear in his voice.

Brooklyn swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exhausted all over again.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The rest of the feast passed in a tense blur. Brooklyn did her best to act normal, joining in when Alicia and Angelina gossiped about the latest school drama, pretending she didn't notice the way Fred and George kept watching her like she might collapse at any second. She forced down some food just to shut them up, though every bite felt heavy in her stomach.

By the time the plates were cleared, Brooklyn was desperate to get back to the dorms. The warmth of the Great Hall, the noise, the overwhelming presence of so many people—it was too much after the hell she had been through.

Fred must have sensed it, because he nudged her and said, "Come on, let's get upstairs."

Brooklyn didn't argue. The moment they got back to the Gryffindor common room, she headed straight for the couch by the fire, practically sinking into it. The warmth was comforting, but her body still ached, the bruises and scars beneath her robes a sharp reminder of what she had just escaped.

Fred and George sat down on either side of her. No words, no questions—just their presence.

After a moment, George sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Brooklyn… you can't keep going back there."

Brooklyn exhaled slowly, resting her head against the couch. "Where else am I supposed to go?"

"Anywhere but there," Fred muttered, his voice dark. "We'll figure something out."

Brooklyn wanted to believe that. But she also knew how the world worked. Her grandparents had money, influence. They weren't just going to let her leave.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she finally said.

George looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't push it. Instead, he just leaned back, staring at the fire.

After a long silence, Fred said, "We need to tell Charlie."

Brooklyn groaned, covering her face with her hands. "No, we do not."

"Yes, we do," George said firmly. "He needs to know what's happening."

"He's in Romania. What's he going to do about it?"

"You know Charlie," Fred said. "He'll do something."

Brooklyn hesitated. Charlie was the one person she actually thought of as an older brother. The thought of him finding out about this made her stomach twist—not because she didn't trust him, but because she knew exactly how he'd react. He'd be furious. He'd probably want to fly home immediately, and she didn't want to be the reason he dropped everything.

"Just… don't tell him everything," she finally muttered. "He'll lose his mind."

Fred and George exchanged a look before Fred said, "No promises."

Brooklyn sighed, closing her eyes. "I hate you both."

"Love you too, Brooke," George said lightly.

Fred smirked. "Now go to bed before we carry you there."

Brooklyn shot them a half-hearted glare before dragging herself up from the couch. As she climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory, she heard George say, "He's going to want to kill them, isn't he?"

"Oh, absolutely," Fred answered.

Brooklyn didn't have the energy to care. She just needed sleep. But as she curled up under her blankets, she knew one thing for certain—this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.