Regulus was late. Only by a few minutes, but late enough for Ellis to notice, late enough for him to murmur an apology. His hair was wet and dripped down into his rumpled robes. There was a flush on his cheeks as if he'd run all the way from the Quidditch pitch to the library. Ellis picked up her wand, watching as he tensed lightly, but, as the warmth of her charm snuck beneath his skin, he relaxed. His hair dried. The water and wrinkles disappeared. He was wearing his prefect's badge, which was a surprise. It was crooked.

"Thank you," he said.

"You could've done that yourself."

"Maybe I wanted you to do it."

"You are skilled at inconveniencing me," murmured Ellis, her eyes flickered away from her book toward him. In the dark corners of the Restricted Section, the air was thicker. Light was rare as it tended to disturb some of the darker tombs, so an enchanted lantern on the table broke the shadows. "How was Quidditch practice?"

"About as well as it can go with Lucinda. We talked more than we played since we're missing players. Trials are on Sunday—after Gryffindor."

Quidditch was a safe topic and one they both enjoyed. Not much else was safe.

Regulus drummed his fingers against the table, lingering on the details of Sunday's trials and listing off potential candidates for the open positions. His voice was low. Ellis murmured half-responses, her attention drifting to the uneven lighting that flickered over his tired face. Part of her wanted to press deeper, but the words caught at the back of her throat.

She shifted her focus to the book splayed before her, gingerly flipping a page. Absently, her free hand reached for a scrap of parchment, scribbling note that might help her see clearly in the murk of words. When she paused to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, she noticed Regulus's stare. He was watching her write with an intensity that sent a prickling heat up her neck.

He said nothing at first; he only tilted his head. Then he edged closer, eyes flicking from the parchment to her poised quill. Finally, he cleared his throat—softly, but enough to make her look up.

"What?"

"Your handwriting never changed," he said.

"Why would it?" grumbled Ellis. "Am I not allowed to have nice handwriting now?"

He leaned over the table, stormy eyes full of light, "Isn't it tiring to get angry at every little thing, Selwyn?"

She clamped up, feeling her temper rise. Ned had their mother's temperament, and it took a lot to get him boiling, but Ellis had a quick fuse. Not always. Not before Hogwarts. The moment she stepped in the stone halls, nitpicked by her classmates for being too soft, for crying too easily, for all manners of things, she'd gone from being mellow and malleable to a steel flint that sparked at the slightest contact.

"Whose fault is that?" she asked, tightly.

"Back in first year, when we teased you—"

"Bullied, you mean?"

"Bullied," he repeated. "We were cruel, weren't we? Barty and I?"

"You still are."

"I don't mean to be. Barty, either. He likes you an awful lot, actually. Thinks you're funny."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just realized that I used to get letters from you, but I can't remember when you stopped writing. Do you not write Barty either? Evan? What about Helena?"

"It's none of your business who I write to."

"I'll ask them, so you might as well tell me."

"Ask away. It's your time you're wasting, not mine."

"Why do you insist on being so difficult? It's impossible to have a conversation—"

"I'm surprised you'd want to have a conversation with me. I'm a…what did you call me…a bitch? A bloodtraitor? One less in the world is just what you want, so take it as a win that all the talking we have to do is about homework."

He smiled as if he'd caught her in a trap, "Did I hurt your feelings, Selwyn?"

"Yes."

He flinched back as if struck, surprise lighting his features at the unexpected bout of honesty. Regulus Black liked to act as if he were cruel, vicious, and cold, but he lacked conviction. At the slightest hint that his actions may have done harm, he became knotted with guilt. He was always the first to apologize after wrongdoing.

To her surprise, he did not immediately utter an apology. Much had changed in their fifth year, and she hadn't spoken to him more than a few dozen times then. His long bout of self-destruction following Sirius Black's disownment culminated into a deep devotion to the Dark Lord. Ellis had watched from a distance as he shoved Barty and Evan over the edge of the abyss with him. Not that they needed much help. Barty, Ellis thought, was the worst of them. Evan, a close second.

"I didn't know I could do that," he said, a nameless emotion rising on his face. "I thought you hated me."

"It'd take too much effort to hate you."

"I wouldn't mind it if you did."

The hairs on the back of her neck rise, bristling at his soft tone. Regulus Black didn't have the right to speak to her as far as she was concerned, but she was tired of this topic and the sooner it ended, the better off they'll be. Her hand waved, drawing one of the books closer to him. It fell open on the page she'd marked. She wanted to think about alchemy, not Regulus Black. If she thought about Regulus, she would angry or sad. Sad, mostly. It was a little heartbreaking to think of him.

Sometimes she had the hope that he would understand it best what it felt like to love someone who was so eagerly careening toward war, that he would be able to tell her with clarity that her worries about Ned were unfounded, that she could sit back and not think, not fight, not do anything and the world would set itself right, but she knew better.

The Dark Lord that he held in such high esteem was a faceless man hiding behind a mask. As far as dark wizards went, Gellert Grindelwald was held in higher esteem in her house. He never hid his face nor name from them. Lord Voldemort was a character saying the right words, speaking to the rotten heart of the Wizarding World. Ellis feared more for what was hidden behind the mask.

"Blood magic?" he asked, catching the words on the page.

"It's not a Dark Art; it's an ancient one. Alchemy is just as old."

"I know—the wards at Grimmauld Place are blood wards. Father renewed them this summer."

"Did you help?"

"I added a few of my own. I've heard rumors that the Selwyn Estate has formidable ones too."

"You might actually know a few," said Ellis, knowing better than to reveal the secrets of her house. Somewhere in the pile of books was her own copy ofThe Tales of Beedle the Bard. They were silly fairytales that her mother read to her before bed, but there was always a grain of truth to such stories. "The Fountain of Fair Fortune isn't just a story."

"You have a giant worm that drinks tears at your house?"

"Just read, Black."

Blood, Ellis figured, contained all four elements in perfect balance. Oxygen for air. Iron for earth. Warmth for fire. Water was perhaps the easiest since it was the base component. She had other thoughts, such as bringing a plant to class, but she overheard Dirk Cresswell in the hall come to the same conclusion.

Blood was more dangerous, but perhaps, more magical as well. Blood was already balanced in its natural state, but what if you could amplify one aspect? Fire for strength. Water for resilience. If they could weave those properties into protective wards, they could create wards that adapted. That grew stronger with each generation. It wouldn't just be a barrier—it would be alive.

Blood magic wasn't forgiving. It took as much as it gave. She only needed to think of Helena Greengrass to know that. The blood malady that cursed the women in her family weakened the whole line over time. The opposite must be possible too, which meant there must be a balance between the two. A balance that would perhaps break whatever curse plagued Helena.

Regulus fell silent, tracing his finger over the intricate diagrams on the page. He didn't ask any more questions, but his brows furrowed in thought. Ellis could feel his stare rise to her several times, words piling up behind his closed lips.

She sighed, dropping her quill and rubbing her temples. "You're thinking too loudly."

"I didn't realize thinking had a volume."

"Yours does." She leaned back in her chair, staring at the worn wooden beams of the library ceiling. "Get on with it. What's your brilliant observation?"

"You can feel magic. I've seen you do it."

Ellis stared at him, unsure of what to say. She did feel it—she supposed everyone did, but very few knew how to articulate. Magic was everywhere. Learning how to distinguish its various sources was difficult, but not impossible.

"Yes," she said finally. "Everyone can. They just don't know it."

"Does it help with dueling? Knowing how to do that?"

"Sometimes. Certain spells carry different weights."

"Teach me."

"Why would I do that?" Ellis scoffed. "I don't like being bothered, especially by you."

"What would it take?"

She arched an eyebrow. "There's nothing you have that I can't get myself."

"My family library," he offered immediately. "Kreacher can take you whenever you like."

The Black family supposedly hoarded all kinds of rare, forgotten books. Regulus was reckless to offer her free rein in exchange for a skill that required little more than a few lessons to learn—though mastering it was another story. She recalled how he lost his duel against Barty, and then his second against Evan. Even though he knew more spells than both of them combined, she couldn't imagine that he'd ever had to truly fight before. In fact, he was always slower to raise his wand than anyone else she knew, almost as if he feared what would follow.

She then thought of Ainsley, who needed guidance in Latin and proper spell-casting. It would be embarrassing for a Slytherin to fumble such basics. Regulus would be irritated, forced to spend time with a boy he clearly considered beneath him.

"Tempting, but no," she said, a small smile creeping across her face. "Tutor Ainsley for a bit. He'll need it."

"The mudblood?"

"Yes, the mudblood," she repeated, mocking his tone.

Silence prevailed. Ellis managed to read another few pages before Regulus finally spoke. When he did, his voice was low, but there was a distinct lack of heat to his words. "It'll have to be somewhere private. I can't have anyone thinking that I've become a bloodtraitor."

"Will you really do it?"

His jaw clenched. "As long as you keep your end of the deal."

"And you won't be cruel to him?"

"You can supervise us, if you're so concerned."

She was concerned. Moreso about the seventh-year boys that went around with puffed chests and an arsenal of curses, but, she could deal with them. She didn't know what she would do if it were Evan attacking an eleven-year-old boy. Or Regulus? Then there was Yaxley and the Carrow twins. Barty, she could trust to never risk angering his father with such things.

The task of caring for the new class of first-years was meant to fall on the fifth-year prefects, not her, but Madge Farley and Alaric Rookwood could scarcely be trusted with the password to the common room, let alone a group of children.

Maybe, Ellis was sensitive to these things because she was the eldest and the role of protecting someone had always fallen to her.

A muggleborn in their House was akin to a hen in a fox den.

She couldn't watch over him day-and-night. Avery and Mulciber were wanton for practice, targeting muggleborns across the school with spells that would get anyone else expelled, but since both their fathers sat on the Board of Governors, they only got a few days detention and a warning from Slughorn.

"It would draw a lot of attention if something were to happen to him."

"If we trained him like a little pet, they'd learn to tolerate him as they do elves. Fetch this. Fetch that. Clean that spot up."

"Is that what you do to your house elves?"

"No, of course not. I love Kreacher." Regulus' ears tinted, though it might have been the heat radiating off the lamp. "Sirius, on the other hand—you'd think he was drunk with the way he yells at him. He's got mother's temper."

Regulus Black loved his house elf. She didn't know what to do with the knowledge, but it felt heavy in her hands, like it was meant to be a secret stored away deep in the earth where no one would find it. She wondered who had named Kreacher such an awful name. Her house elves were called Pippin, Hibbs, and Strawberry. Ellis wasn't sure how they'd come about these names, but there were many house elves who lived on the island. Some worked for the Selwyns and some not. They had their own magic and houses, and Ellis wasn't sure what they did when they weren't around, but it had been Hibbs who first taught her a spell. Before her mother or father could. Ellis could still snap her fingers and make her missing items appear.

An hour or two passed in silence. It was the kind of silence that made her feel close to sleep. She imagined ducking under the table as she did at home and pressing her face to the carpet to sleep the afternoon away. She thought she might be just as comfortable listening to the scratch of Regulus' pen against the paper as she was listening to her mother humming down the hall.

After a while, Ellis passed her finished notes along and Regulus pocketed them, promising to read everything over before their class with Dumbledore. They agreed that it would be dangerous to use their own blood and instead would secure a vial of dragon's blood from Professor Slughorn to bring to class.

Several books disappeared within her bag, none of which had much to do with anything related to alchemy. One of them was a book on plumbing. Another on blood maladies. Ellis noticed that Regulus read like that too—chasing one thought as soon as it appeared, and the brief thought crossed her mind that he might like the library at her house just as much as she did.

"Dinner?" he asked. His prefect badge was still crooked, and Ellis wanted to straighten it out. It made her nervous in a way she didn't like.

She shook her head, "Seeing Mulciber will ruin my appetite. I'll eat in the kitchens."

It was not exactly a lie. There were several reasons she wished to avoid Mulciber.

He scoffed a little, twisting the ring on his left hand with his thumb. There were a few more mixed among them, ones he had worn last year too, but the signet ring stood starkest. Aging sliver with an onyx face, it was embossed with the crest of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. An heir's ring. Sirius had never worn it. "You shouldn't let him affect you that much."

Mulciber and her had their own history, but Regulus didn't need to know the details. It was enough that Mulciber's father was days away from being sentenced by the Wizengamot. Barty's father would push for a Dementor's Kiss. Ellis wasn't sure if her father disagreed.

"Black." He'd grown a bit over the summer and though he'd always towered over her, she felt much smaller. It was his eyes, of course. Grey and dark, not the bright gleam of silver, but the rumble of thunder before a storm. Her voice came out smaller than she liked, "If you're not planning on patrolling, can you let me know?"

"I'll be there."

"Are you certain? If you have somewhere else to be, I don't mind. I just need to know whether I'll be alone or—"

He leaned closer. Close enough that she could smell the subtle warm spice of his cologne. It was nice. French, maybe. "Were you lonely?"

No, it wasn't loneliness. Mulciber would see that she was alone and exploit it. She had no desire to stalk the corridors, bracing for him to leap from the shadows. Her gaze drifted to Regulus's prefect badge once again, worry twisting in her gut. She couldn't be sure whether someone told him what happened, or if Snape had forcibly sealed their lips.

Her mind flicked back to last year. Regulus had been neglecting his prefect duties, and Mulciber—angry at some perceived slight, or perhaps at the fact that she stopped his attack on Mary Macdonald—cast an Imperius on her. Ellis broke it and taught Mulciber a long lesson on the Unforgivable Curses until Snape had found him silently screaming beneath her wand.

Afterward, a long and bitter argument broke out in the Slytherin common room.

"You never said anything," said Regulus, dropping the façade of indifference. He flexed his hand, moving towards her. There were violet halfmoons painted against his pale skin. "You could have. I would've been there if you needed me to."

Ellis did fix the badge. It was the only thing out of place and part of the appeal of Regulus Black, the appeal he was all too eager to exploit, was that thin line near perfection. Sirius Black was a rogue, terribly handsome in that way that made one slightly intimidated to approach him for fear of being burned. Regulus Black was politeness and that soft, slow drawl, and the slip of the mask that revealed how craven he really was at times. Approachable, but Ellis thought that he was the more dangerous one. His eyes dipped to her fingers and then her.

"No, you wouldn't," said Ellis, quietly. She stepped back and walked away, glad to be rid of him.

Regulus Black and her had never been friends, but he used to be one of the few people she wrote to outside of school. His letters were always stunningly short—no more than a few lines and overly formal. He had sent Kreacher, his house-elf, to her manor once to drop off Pepper-Up potion which made it feel like he cared. He seemed to dislike Ned. They liked the same Quidditch team. Neither of them had to work after graduation, but she found the prospect of being at home rather boring and he had a middling interest in being a Healer. They never spoke about the Dark Lord.

She wasn't sure how the letters started. She might have asked to borrow a book, but as infrequent as they were, Ellis enjoyed receiving them. Regulus stopped writing first, as Evan had. Ellis had too much pride to salvage the rotting carcass of a relationship he wasn't interested in.

By the time she saw Regulus again, he had secured a vial of dragon's blood and made a schedule for their dueling sessions and his tutoring of Michael Ainsley. Part of her thought that she should call him out on his desperation, but Karkaroff's classes had sent a fervor through the school. People were dueling in the halls between classes. Karkaroff intended to hold a tournament between the different grades following the holidays. The winner would earn a prize. No one knew what it was yet, but speculations ranged from a bottle of Felix Felicis and an automatic Outstanding on their exams to a thousand-galleons.

"Did Slughorn want anything for it?"

"Only to remind you that there's a Slug Club meeting on the sixteenth, which you promised to attend. It's the first for the term, so he's invited some guests. He mentioned that you could bring a date."

"A date?" blinked Ellis. Who would annoy Slughorn the most? Someone so thoroughly stupid, he'd never venture to speak to her again.

"It's a social event, more than a club."

"I know." Ellis wrinkled her nose, an unpleasant memory coming to mind. "Nott never shut up after you took her. Helena and I had to slip her a dreamless-sleep potion."

Regulus smiled at that, pleased to hear that he was being fawned over. "No one will notice if you come alone. You might not know how to date seeing as you've never been on one."

"I've never been on a date?" repeated Ellis, surprised. "Who told you that?"

"Your general personality," Regulus replied smoothly, resting his chin in his hand. He watched her with a lazy sort of mirth in his eyes. "It's not conducive to romance."

She rolled her eyes. "And you're the expert on that?"

"You're impossible to please and allergic to sincerity," he continued, as if he were doing her a favor by informing her. "Not to mention bitter and temperamental."

"Jesus Christ, Black," muttered Cresswell behind them. "It's nine in the morning. Leave her alone."

Ellis must have had a worse reputation than she thought because when she turned around and awarded Cresswell with twenty points for his brave intervention, he turned pale as snow and ducked his head away.

"That's an abuse of power," commented Regulus.

"Add that to your stupid list."

Regulus seemed to save all his energy to exert it on their little exchanges. He was dead silent during their other lessons, save for the occasional snide comment beneath his breath or sharp retort when Barty was annoying him. He kept to himself in the common room as well, though he had taken to sitting closer to Snape's group of friends recently.

Professor Dumbledore arrived with new muggle candy. Jelly Babies. Ellis didn't like these as much as she had the lemon sherbet. Aside from being sour and then sticky, they didn't offer any fun surprises. A wizard would've made the babies cry or dance.

Cresswell's plant earned Ravenclaw another twenty points. Charity Burbage and Doris Purkiss brought a painting, claiming that the combination of charms, paint, and potion all borrowed from the four elements. Ellis thought they were reaching for something that didn't exist, but Dumbledore deemed it worthy of ten points, if only for bullshitting their way into an answer.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore came to a stop by their desk. His arm was covered in a row of watches, each stranger than the last. His robes were bright, sunshine yellow and reflected glints of gold with the candlelight.

"This was a very dangerous gamble," said Dumbledore, looking at the vial of dragon's blood with a twinkling eye. "But a clever one. Blood indeed carries all four elements in perfect balance and brings us to our next topic: Light and Dark. Muggles have a study called genetics—it's a curious science, one that may benefit us greatly in our understanding of certain illnesses, but, when used incorrectly, allows for the advancement of unpleasant ideals."

Regulus took a sudden interest in the wall.

"What about blood maladies?" asked Ellis, leaning over the desk. "Could you cure one using an alchemic potion?"

Dumbledore smiled. Ellis was certain he knew why she had taken the class and what she intended to do with the knowledge she gained. "With enough study, anything is possible, Ms. Selwyn."

"I see." Mustering up some courage, she asked, "Can I ask you a few questions after class then? About that?"

"You may. Though I'd warn you that I may not have all the answers. Life would be rather boring if I did."

Dumbledore looked at the vial again. "Thirty points to Slytherin. Well done, Mr. Black. Ms. Selwyn."

Class took a rather philosophical turn after that. They spoke at length about what categorized a curse as Unforgivable, how magic could be used for both bad and good deeds, why such stark divides did not truly capture human nature, and how alchemy was a study that did not invoke such judgments— "The greatest alchemy is not born from potions or spells, but from earnest hearts and hard work. It crosses the divide between light and dark and seeks an equilibrium."

"You want us to be Hufflepuffs?" muttered Regulus under his breath, drawing a mild grin from Ellis.

"It is hardly a condemnation, Mr. Black," Professor Dumbledore said in that pleasant, lofty voice of his, as though he'd heard Regulus perfectly. "Now, let us return to our discussion of balance…"

Thanks to Dumbledore's lively storytelling, class was far from boring, but even the Headmaster couldn't escape the reality of teenagers. When class ended, the usual scramble to pack up followed. Ellis could see, out of the corner of her eye, Regulus sigh softly as he began gathering his materials, evidently eager to escape.

"Ms. Selwyn," said Dumbledore, with a small wave in her direction.

She nodded, hesitating only slightly before edging around desks. She felt the eyes of several classmates on her—notably Cresswell, who had to lean away from the enormous, viney pot he'd brought in. Regulus, however, made a show of ignoring her, carefully sliding his parchment into its leather binder.

The others followed in a trickle, though a few others lingered at the threshold, eyes flicking between Ellis and the Headmaster with subdued curiosity. Finally, Regulus slung his bag over his shoulder and slipped out. Not without one last glance in Ellis's direction as if to give her a chance to tell him to stay.

With a casual flick of Dumbledore's knobby wand, the door swung shut. "Now then, Ms. Selwyn," he said kindly, all the sparkle in his blue eyes softening. "Your questions?"

Ellis cleared her throat. "I—yes, Professor. I was wondering if there's a way to target something inherited. I was thinking an alchemical approach might purify or replace something in the blood." She realized, with some awkwardness, that she was twisting her hands in front of her. She stilled them at once. "I only ask because, if I could find the right formula—"

"Blood is powerful indeed," Dumbledore said gently. "Both magically and metaphorically. But also complicated. It is not easily trifled with. Have you examined the medical volumes in the Restricted Section?"

Ellis swallowed. "Not yet."

He ran a hand over his bright yellow sleeves, the faint glitter of the candlelight catching on the golden threads in his robes. "This is in regard to Ms. Greengrass, I presume?"

"…yes…"

"And she is not aware?"

"She would hate me if she knew."

"I've always found Slytherins to be complex creatures—nothing is ever linear with you. Salazar was wise to choose a snake as his mascot." His eyes twinkled once more at his own gentle humor. "If possible, I suggest obtaining a sample first."

"…of blood?"

"You may need Ms. Greengrass's cooperation for that. Though, I don't doubt that there are other methods you could use, I would remind you to be mindful of legality." Dumbledore's expression turned thoughtful. "That being said, I see no reason why a personal research project on blood maladies can't move forward. Shall I prepare a list of readings?"

Ellis nodded and murmured her thanks, bowing her head a little. There was an unspoken sense of relief, for she had half-expected a stern lecture on the dangers of meddling in blood magic. Dumbledore gave her one final nod, and with another casual flick of his wand, the door swung open once more. Ellis gathered her things and stepped out into the corridor.

Helena would likely be furious if she ever found out. But Ellis couldn't help feeling a wicked sense of satisfaction at the idea of concocting a cure, bottling it neatly, and charging a ridiculous price to whoever was desperate enough to pay. Helena included. Though, knowing herself and Helena, she'd likely have to shove it down her throat, free-of-charge.

Helena Greengrass wasn't a friend. Ellis prided herself on having none. Still, for the last six years, Ellis bore witness to every repressed sob whenever Helena's mother fell ill, every anxious breath as Helena forced herself to stay composed, every obsessive check over her diet and the tiniest hint of sickness. It wasn't out of love or friendship that Ellis wanted to help. If she was honest, she just wanted the freedom to grab Helena by the shoulders and shout at her without the fear that she would fall ill and die.

Sunday rolled around with the scent of summer and a bright, warm sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and barely a breeze in the air. The Quidditch pitch was prepared with a fresh layer of sand and grass. The stands were already stocked with a fair few students, eager to get a start on the tournament for the House Cup. The Gryffindors lively cheers were only aided by James Potter's enthusiasm as he rallied the crowd ahead of holding his tryouts.

Ellis was in her dorm having dug her Nimbus 1700 out for the day. It was tangled between several scrolls and a few loose necklaces, which she had to unknot from the broom's twigs. Ned would be beside himself if he knew how poorly she treated the new broom.

Ellis was bidding to wear her Montrose Magpies jersey, but Helena wrestled it out of her hands, diving into the mountains of clothes in Ellis's trunk. After some deliberation, she settled on a light pink summer dress. The dress was fastened at the shoulders with floral gold buttons, enchanted to unfurl in the sunlight, and paired with delicate slippers.

Ellis took care with her makeup, opting to enhance her natural features rather than aim for perfection.

Helena, on the other hand, was effortlessly beautiful. Helena had soft blond hair that flowed like silk and warm, hazel eyes, though most often they were carefully clouded with disinterest. She was meticulous about her appearance, smoothing potions into her skin each night and concealing any blemish with makeup every morning. Ellis often found herself questioning the myriad of bottles on Helena's vanity—questions that frequently led to being corralled into buying her own.

It reminded Ellis of her cousins in France, who attended Beauxbatons and surrounded her with clouds of perfume, powder, and silk every summer. The luxury was intoxicating. She missed going to the salon to do her nails and get her hair washed and dried when she was at Hogwarts, but she and Helena were adept at substituting indulgences with spells and potions.

"Should we take Maisie?" asked Helena, wrinkling her nose. "Or Althea? We should ask—it'd be rude not to."

"And risk them saying yes?"

Helena sucked her teeth, throwing her a scolding look. "There's a reason they think you're mean."

"Because I am mean."

"It isn't as if we're inviting Alecto."

"Either way, I'd rather not ruin my Sunday by having to listen to those two tell me that water is wet."

"I think you may hate women, Ellis."

"Do I?" she asked, "I thought I just hated hags."

Helena tried not to smile, but she failed. "Alright," she said with a sigh. "We'll say we looked and didn't see them."

"We don't have to say anything," said Ellis, already wrinkling her dress by rolling about in her bed. "In fact, I'd love it if I never spoke to them again."

By the time the two of them slipped out of the Slytherin common room, it was nearing midday. The corridors were largely deserted, save for a few lingering students bustling off to their own weekend plans. They climbed the marble staircase in tandem, bickering over which route to take—Helena wanted to pass by the Great Hall, while Ellis insisted it was best to avoid any chance of running into Maisie or Althea. Eventually, they compromised, slipping out through a side door that led to the expansive grounds.

A wave of summer heat greeted them, bright sunlight bouncing off the green lawns that stretched down toward the Black Lake. They ambled in silence until they reached the edge of the grass near the water

"It's so warm," said Ellis, holding a hand to her brow to block the sun. Half the school seemed to be out by the Black Lake, but no one had braved the waters yet. Last year, one of the Gryffindors had been pulled under the still waters by the Giant Squid. "We should go swimming. It's not dangerous if we stay close to the shore."

"Until a mermaid drags you down and feasts on your flesh."

"They'd probably recognize our faces," said Ellis. She sometimes caught merchildren pressing their faces against the common room windows, eager to peer inside and see what a wizarding school was like.

"I can't swim," admitted Helena. "Mother was never well enough to teach me, and father was always at work."

"I can teach you," offered Ellis, looking to Helena with a light smile. "It's not as difficult as Quidditch."

Helena gripped her arm, resting her head on Ellis' shoulder. "You know you're very kind when you like someone. It's a shame you were born a woman. We could've married and lived happily together."

"We still can."

"How big is your Gringotts vault?"

"Don't ask how big it is. Ask where it is."

"Go on then."

"Bottom floor."

Helena and she dissolved into laughter. Ellis could admit that moments like this made braving the halls of Hogwarts worthwhile. When she turned eleven, two letters had arrived for her. One to Hogwarts, and another to Beauxbatons, which her mother attended before the war took a turn for the worse and children from the continent were evacuated to the United Kingdom.

The Selwyn family was small, but her mother was born of the French branch of the Rosier family. She was the seventh daughter of the family and one of her sisters was rotting away in Nurmengard Castle with Gellert Grindelwald. Ellis had too many cousins to count. It was fun living with them in the summer, an endless adventure and the constant warmth of laughter. But it was Ellis who chose to go to Hogwarts, wanting to see the halls her parents once walked.

There was a loud stream of chatter in the air as they approached the stadium. The climb to the top had Ellis counting her breaths, which only incensed Helena to once again goad her into trying out as a chaser.

They argued for a bit about sitting in the Slytherin section, but it would be empty and only gain them attention they didn't want. Reluctantly, Helena followed her to the Gryffindor section.

Lily Evans and her friends were instantly recognizable. They were wearing strange pants with wide bottom hems and stripped cropped shirts that had lions emblazed on the front. Muggle clothes, but someone had charmed or transfigured them to show off some school spirit. It was cute and festive. Ellis did not think such a show of comradery would be tolerated in Slytherin.

Lily Evans was beautiful. Even the boys in her house could admit to such things, though they would follow it up with a claim that they would not touch a 'flithy mudblood' even if she were the last girl on Earth. Her hair was a bright beacon of flame and her green eyes, a color which Ellis shared, were as bright and deep as an emerald. She looked more like a witch than any of them could hope to be. Dorcas Meadowes, Alice Fortescue, Marlene McKinnon, and Mary Macdonald.

Mary Macdonald was the girl that Ned was in love with. Two…or maybe three years…older than he was, she was a Muggleborn from Birmingham whose parents were both jewelers. She was quieter than the other girls and, because of that, a frequent target of Mulciber and Avery's cruel attacks. She had dark hair that frizzed with every storm and brown eyes and returned to Hogwarts with a warm tan after every summer. Ellis knew that she hexed some of the boys in her house for teasing Ned and his friends during their first year. Since then, Ned spoke about her as if she hung the moon. She liked Janis Joplin, a muggle singer who was dead, and a man called McJagger. Ellis had been forced to comb London to find tickets for the Rolling Stones so that Ned could take her and salvage his dying love life.

When Narcissa Malfoy attended Hogwarts, the Slytherin girls held the same sort of intimidating presence, but Ellis couldn't really claim that she and Helena were intimidating. Pretty, maybe. Mean, definitely.

"I told you that we should've asked Maisie and Althea. We look pathetic," whispered Helena, as if reading her thoughts. Too many eyes watched them as they entered the Quidditch stands. Many latched onto the broom that Ellis held with hungry eyes.

"We are pathetic."

"You might be, but I have prospects….and pride." Helena's face morphed into a expression of utter surprise. "Macdonald is waving at you."

Mary Macdonald was waving at her. Ellis knew she should wave back, for Ned's sake, but something inside her resisted the acknowledgement. It was one thing to be called a bloodtraitor within Slytherin. She was more liberal in her opinions than anyone else was, but she couldn't claim to be friends with any muggleborns. Nor was she looking to forge such paths.

"Merlin, she's coming over here."

"Stun me."

"Shut up and make her go away."

"Ellis, right?" asked Mary, flanked by Dorcas Meadowes and Lily Evans, herself. Marlene was too busy trying to convince Alice to give her back her cigarettes to be bothered to come along. "You're Edmund's sister."

Edmund? Ellis nearly laughed. She couldn't recall the last time someone called Ned by his full name. Perhaps Hibbs, who still hadn't grown out of calling him "Young Master Edmund."

"Ned, you mean?" asked Helena, sharply.

"He's trying out today, isn't he?"

"Let's hope he doesn't fall off his broom this time," said Dorcas. She narrowed her dark eyes at some of the boys flying laps around the pitch. Her face was framed by large, bug-eyed glasses and her hair had started to resist some of the charms used to keep it pin-straight. There was a spattering of freckles across her face and all-over her muscled arms and torso—she was a beater for the Gryffindors, and it showed. "I guess you're prepared for that though. Is that the new Nimbus?"

Ellis held the broom close, "It's for Ned."

"You should give it to him, before Potter gets all worked up and starts drilling them," said Lily. Ellis thought it was an improvement that she didn't spit out Potter's name as she usually did.

"Do you want to sit with u—"

"We're fine here," said Ellis, pointedly. "And you can tell the rest of your housemates to relax. If Helena and I planned on attacking anyone, we would've dressed the part. Unfortunately, we left our masks—"

"Maybe you did, Ellie," scoffed Helena, leaning forward with a wicked grin. "I'm always prepared."

Mary's eyes went wide. Behind her Dorcas and Lily shared a furious look. Ellis knew she'd hear it from Ned later, but it was clear that they had come as a united front for a reason. Not for goodwill, but to see if there was danger in letting them stay.

"Cloak too?"

"A little transfiguration might do the trick."

"You shouldn't joke about that," snapped Lily furiously.

"You're right," said Ellis, holding her hands up, so they could see her bare left wrist. Some of the tension dissipated. "But you'll cause us more trouble by trying to be nice."

Mary, brave as ever, trudged forward despite their nasty attitudes. "I wanted to say thank you for what you did—"

"I didn't do it for you, Macdonald," said Ellis, dismissively, "Mulciber's a creep, even by Slytherin standards."

"Still, I heard that he's been angry with you. If there's anything I can do—"

"You could leave us alone," suggest Helena, brightly. She waved her hand, gesturing toward the other girls. "Go back to your friends."

Mary opened her mouth to say something more, but one glance at Helena's hawkish eyes and Ellis's deadpan expression seemed to convince her to let it go. With a tight nod, she and the other two Gryffindor girls drifted back toward the cluster of red-and-gold seats, still casting wary looks over their shoulders.

"They act like we're about to open fire on them," Helena said under her breath, crossing her arms as she surveyed the stadium.

"They're just trying to figure out if they need to watch their backs," Ellis murmured, scanning the sky until she spotted Ned weaving in and out of the goalposts.Good, she thought, noting his steadiness. "Same as we'd do."

Somewhere in the distance, James Potter's voice boomed out instructions to the group of hopefuls swooping through the air. The bright sun glinted off the polished bristles, and the energy was palpable—excitement rippling through the stands. It reached its summit when James Potter reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it overhead, exposing the hard line of his torso to the world.

Another roguish figure, just as shirtless, zoomed in front of the stands, pausing so he could relish in the sighs and cheers. His broad shoulders flexed as he beat back a bludger. Sirius Black turned, eyeing the crowd of girls as if he hadn't known they were there.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, eyes shining with delight.

"Oh," breathed out Helena, eyes glued on Sirius Black's bare back. "Merlin, I'm so glad I lived to see this."

"Aren't we supposed to dislike him on principle?" asked Ellis, wrinkling her nose.

"The eyes see what they see."

"Mine don't."

"Yours must be broken."

Ellis merely rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to laugh. The sound of a whistle blasted across the pitch, and Ellis turned her attention back to the sky, hoping that this time, Ned wouldn't fall. His hands moved in tight, nervous gestures around the handle, but to his credit, he didn't wobble too much.

James Potter's whistle blasted across the pitch again, followed by a shout. More laps. The prospective Chasers and Seekers, all spaced themselves out, forming a wide circle around the pitch. Some—clearly confident flyers—exhibited fancy maneuvers, showing off in the hopes of catching James' approving nod. Marlene McKinnon, who was also on the team, stood from her seat and shouted something that had Sirius barking with laughter.

Ellis tore her gaze away, curling her fingers around her own broom. "I should probably bring this down to Ned," she said quietly. "He looks like he's going to throw up."

Helena's eyes were glued to the black-haired Gryffindor who had just rocketed into a steep dive. It ended with a smooth pull-up that sent whoops of appreciation rippling through onlookers in red-and-gold. "Throwing up is better than breaking a leg."

Ellis winced and was reminded of the horror show that followed Ned's first tragic attempt at becoming a Quidditch player. A broken leg, lots of blood, and her wand pointed at Professor McGonagall. She'd earned some points among her classmates for that, but most people knew her as Ned's crazy sister afterwards.

"Right," Ellis murmured, pushing past Helena. She eased her way through the row of stands, murmuring quick 'excuse me's' to Gryffindors scowling at her.

She hurried down the stairs and cut across the patch of trampled grass that encircled the pitch, eyes fixed on Ned. He flew by overhead, hair plastered to his forehead from the sweaty effort of keeping up with James' breakneck pacing.

Sirius Black dropped gracefully to the ground only a few feet in front of face was warped into a nasty, unprompted , Ellis thought,did not have the mental flexibility to understand that one did not simply abandon their family because they happened to wear different colors at school.

Instead of relaxing his posture, Sirius took a step forward. His glare bordered on contempt, and it was so sudden—so intense—that Ellis felt a flush crawl up her neck. She braced herself, wondering if it was worth cursing him and ruining everyone's day.

Sirius didn't give her time to wonder for long. His hand clamped around her arm in a rough, almost desperate grip, and he hauled her aside, away from the spectators. The roar of cheers and jeers dulled behind the wooden barrier that separated the pitch from the stands, leaving them in a small, shaded alcove.

"Get off," Ellis hissed, wrenching her arm to break free. His hold was strong.

Sirius didn't budge; his knuckles whitened around her arm."You should know better than to try and buy a spot on our team, Selwyn," he said, words tight and angry. "We're not in the business of selling ourselves."

"Even if you were, you wouldn't sell for much. Disowned, poor, and a blood traitor?" Ellis clicked her tongue and wrinkled her nose, fighting the urge to break his fingers off her arm. "You're lucky the Potters are into charity—"

His reaction was instantaneous. He whipped out his wand with a speed that told Ellis he'd done this plenty of times. Before she could even shift her stance, the tip of his wand pressed against her cheek, a white-hot threat. "Say what you want about me," he snarled, "But, don't you dare speak about the Potters that way."

"Get your wand out of my face before I break it."

"Try—"

Ellis' fingers pinched the tip of the wand and pulled it toward her. Sirius kept his hold, eyeing her strangely as if he'd forgotten that hands existed. They wrestled back and forth with the wand. Ellis reached for her own, deciding she'd take an eye in recompense for the trouble he was causing her.

Her free hand fumbled for her own wand, but she couldn't draw it cleanly in the cramped space. Sirius's face was set with determined anger, and she knew he was fully prepared to duel her—maybe not with lethal intent, but Ellis was far looser about the concept of murder than he might have been.

"Padfoot, where'd you—" James' face went white at the sight of her and Sirius Black locked in a fight.

Sirius took the chance to shove her 's elbow hit the ground first as she fell hard. Sharp pain flared, her skin scraping against a stone. Dew and dirt seeped into her dress.

Ellis, in her fury, reached for the wound she knew was there and tore it open. "Just because you don't understand what it means to have a brother doesn't mean I don't, Black."

She stood back up with as much dignity as she could, waving her wand to repair her dress and clean herself up. Sirius, for a fraction of a second, looked ashamed. "Give this to Ned," said Ellis, holding out the broom. "And tell him I said good luck."

He stormed off, but didn't leave her broom behind. Ellis' cheeks puffed out in anger. How had Regulus dealt with that idiot for so long? She would've beat him to death, but then again, Ellis was the eldest. It was the opposite for Regulus.

"Selwyn." James looked at her and then made a vague sound, almost near regret. "Wait, wait, there a second."

He returned a moment later, dragging Sirius back with him. "Apologize," muttered James, shoving Sirius forward.

"To a future Death Ea—"

"To a girl, Padfoot."

"I don't need an apology," said Ellis, perplexed. "This is sort of behavior is expected from Black. He's obviously inherited some acute mental troubles from his inbred parents."

"Merlin, Selwyn, just let him do it! We're practicing self-improvement."

Ellis was ashamed to say that she and Sirius' shared a look of agreement that James Potter' was insane. Self-improvement? What sort of muggle-brainwashed bullshit was that?

"I'm sorry," snapped Sirius, between ground teeth.

"I'm sorry too," she said, eyeing both with disgust. "It's clear that there are levels of hell below bloodtraitor yet to be discovered."

Ned, as if to compensate for her troubles, made James Potter cry like a baby after performing the Wronski Feint to knock the other Seekers out of the running and steal the snitch for himself. His friends cheer like madmen. One of them was sobbing loudly in between beating his hands together. Another had lost his shirt, revealing Ned's name emblazed in red paint across his tanned chest. Ellis knew that they would likely crack open the bottle of liquor Ned nicked from their father's study that evening.

"Did…did you show him how to do that?"

"I love Quidditch," said Ellis, crossing her arms at Helena's disbelief. "You know that."

"But, you never play! Why don't you play?"

"I'd be too good."