Stella Nova Edited

by BrooklynFazenbaker

When the Weasley's took in Sirius Black's daughter on Halloween night, they expected him to return for her in a few days. Instead, they raised her alongside their children. How will a Slytherin "Weasley" change the story? Especially when she's a troublemaker and so close to so many snakes... and how will Sirius react to seeing his daughter again? (I do not own Harry Potter)(Edited)

28. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stella went back to Grimmauld. Kreacher was hiding in his room from her after her harsh order telling him to stay there until she said otherwise. A few orders were put in place, actually, including cutting contact with the Malfoys, Lestranges, and a whole list of others. He wasn't even allowed to whisper to the portrait of Walburga that he kept.

Stella couldn't bring herself to open the door to Sirius's room, but she opened the door to Walburga's room and let Buckbeak out, gifting him to Hagrid under a new name. She did make Kreacher clean the room before returning to his though. She didn't like the idea of Hippogriff dung just laying around the house.

Remus, knowing she could practice magic in the house, gave her private dueling lessons. She learned how to do non-verbal spells but hadn't quite mastered doing anything wandlessly just yet. She could make something very light float for a few seconds at a time unless there was something to distract her. Remus tended to distract her on purpose, smirking when she set her glare on him. Most nights, he stayed at Grimmauld with her. On full moons, he ran with a pack, returning a couple of days later with new scars to show for it.

Order meetings continued to take place in Grimmauld and Stella was no longer told that she couldn't sit in on them. She didn't send the information to Harry, the mail was too unreliable. She took notes with a quick quotes quill under the table though. Moody could obviously see it but knew what she was doing, so he said nothing. Remus had caught her once, staring at the quill and notebook in confusion before looking to her with a raised brow, to which she simply shrugged.

Molly had been furious about Stella being included, claiming she needed to be left out. When Stella told her that she would be doing no such thing, Molly had yelled and raved at her for it. Stella had simply rolled her eyes and waved for Kingsley to continue as Fred and George glared at their mother for yelling at Stella. The yelling was a normal occurrence around the house. If Molly wasn't fretting over the safety of her children and husband, she was busying herself by yelling at Stella. Almost as a way to pass the time.

At the end of one Order meeting, Remus sided with Molly.

"Stella, it's just not safe. You are far too close to the Slytherins."

"You are so worried that I'm going to fall for a Slytherin, sleep with him, and tell him all my secrets like you did," Stella hissed at him and everyone froze, Snape's eyes widening a bit in the corner. "I already did, though. And he died. So you'll excuse me if I'm not a whole too keen to listen to your arguments."

The yelling turned into Molly being pissed about Stella having been intimate with someone, especially a Slytherin, along with the fact that Stella hadn't told her.

"Well, I didn't tell you because I wanted to have this lovely argument," Stella deadpanned before setting a glare on Molly. "Obviously, I didn't tell you because I wanted to avoid all of this."

"You… you are Sirius's daughter…" Molly grumbled at Stella's sarcasm.

"Yes I am. I am the daughter of Sirius Black so if you would kindly stop screaming at me as if you are my mother and then acting like I'm simply a stranger that you put up with being around, it would be greatly appreciated."

'HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?

Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.

"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything," said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy. Though Ministry spokes wizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call Potter "the Chosen One," believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page 2, column 5)…'

Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving — the man was waving at the ceiling.

'SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE

Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.

Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (ctd. page 3, column 2)…'

To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title, 'Ministry Guarantees Students' Safety' was visible.

'Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.

"For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans," said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of counter curses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.

Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, "My grandson, Neville — a good friend of Harry Potter's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and…'

Stella had written to Neville and Luna quite often over the summer, checking in on both of them as often as possible. She'd written to Rose Zabini once, telling her exactly what had happened at the Ministry, sure that she'd already been informed but wanting to explain it herself. Rose had sent one sentence back: 'You were supposed to protect them.'

She hadn't written again.

Theo was still in St. Mungos. Stella wasn't allowed to visit since she 'wasn't family'. Instead she sent flowers every week with a note, telling him that she'd be there as soon as he woke up. He was in a magical coma while he healed, the only information Stella had been given about him.

Sirius's will had left her everything. Well, almost everything. There was a trust set up for Harry and a few personal belongings, but that was it. Stella gathered the items she could find around the house but the rest were in his bedroom.

"Kreacher!" she called and he appeared. "Gather these items from Sirius's room. Do not touch anything other than the objects. Do not disturb the room or the other belongings inside of it in any way. Bring me the items, NOW, and then return to your room."

The items were gathered within a minute and placed on the dining room table in front of Stella. Kreacher, with a CRACK, disappeared to his room again. Dumbledore pulled Stella aside after an Order meeting, asking her to accompany him to pick up Harry at eleven.

"Sure," Stella nodded. "Is he staying at the Burrow?"

"There or here. The choice will be his," Dumbledore explained.

"Okay," Stella nodded. "I've gathered the things Sirius wanted him to have. I'll go get them now."

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded and Stella ran off to grab everything and the notebook where she'd been taking notes, slipping it into the sack with the photo albums and other things.

At eleven, Stella noticed Dumbledore's hand.

"Sir?" she asked.

"I've come across a rather nasty curse," he admitted. "Nothing to worry over. Come. I believe Remus has side-along Apparated with you in the past?"

"He has," Stella nodded. "I brought a stomach soother for Harry in case that was how we were getting around."

"Good thinking," Dumbledore nodded and Stella took his good arm.

They appeared in Private Drive and Dumbledore clicked something, causing lights to leave the street lamps and fly into his device.

"Deluminator," he told her. "Created it myself."

"Cool," Stella nodded and she followed Dumbledore up to a plain looking house, where Dumbledore rapt his healthy knuckles on the door and they waited a moment for the door to open.

"Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?" they heard from inside and Stella knew Harry had hoped that his relatives would be asleep by now or thought Dumbledore simply wasn't coming.

The door opened and the man that Moody had scared just a month and a half ago was standing there, looking dumbfounded at the sight of Dumbledore's billowing cloak and his pointed hat.

"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?" Dumbledore greeted.

"We've come to take him for the rest of the summer," Stella explained.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that we were coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited us warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."

Dumbledore stepped into the house, Stella right behind him, and closed the front door.

"It is a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."

Stella looked up the stairs and found Harry standing there holding a Quidditch jersey and a sneak-scope.

"Hiya, Harry," Stella greeted. "Still packing?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"I'll come help. All those siblings made me rather good at this sort of thing," Stella said, going up the stairs and following Harry to his room.

It was a bit of a mess and everything was just tossed into the trunk. Stella folded the clothes while Harry gathered the rest of his belongings, helping her pack everything in a better order. Stella placed the sack of items from Sirius into a cauldron with a wink. He stared at it curiously before she shut the trunk and he locked it up.

When they walked down to the sitting room, it was to find Harry's relatives looking extremely uncomfortable as cups kept bouncing off their heads, Dumbledore sipping from his own and seeming not to notice.

"Ah! Are we ready?" he asked Harry.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Get these ruddy things off us!" Vernon yelled and Stella just raised a brow before giving Dumbledore an amused look.

"Oh, of course. It would have been more polite to just drink it, though, you know? Alright Harry, Stella, let's be on our way."

Dumbledore waved his wand and the cups all disappeared as he stood.

"Just one last thing, then," he looked to the Dursleys once more. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time —"

"No," Harry's aunt argued.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."

"Dudders?" Stella whispered to Harry and he just shrugged.

"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."

"Preposterous," Harry's uncle muttered.

"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."

"I'm so happy I didn't stay at home," Stella whispered to Harry. "I wouldn't want to miss this for anything."

"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you — ?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

None of the Dursleys said anything. 'Dudders' was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well, Harry . . . time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.

"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "Would you like to stay at the Burrow with the Weasleys or Grimmauld with Stella?"

"With Stella," Harry stated.

"I shall send them to her home to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak . . . just in case."

Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Dumbledore the mess within. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, Stella, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure. Keep your wand at the ready, Harry," Dumbledore said brightly.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?"

"If there is an attack," said Dumbledore, "I give you permission to use any counter jinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"You are with me and with Stella," said Dumbledore simply. "This will do."

He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.

"You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said.

"No," said Harry. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do," said Dumbledore. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment."

Stella gave Harry the potion, which he gave a confused look before taking. Stella and Harry took Dumbledore's uninjured arm and they disappear, appearing in what seemed like an abandoned village square.

"Did the potion work?" Dumbledore asked Harry. "Any stomach pains, dizziness, or need to be sick?"

"No," Harry shook his head, seeming confused.

"Wonderful work, Stella."

"Thank you, sir."

"This way."

He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"So tell me, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Your scar . . . has it been hurting at all?"

Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.

"No," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."

He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry.

They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again.

"Professor?"

"Harry?"

"Er — where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"Charming?" Stella asked quietly.

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can I help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Both of you. Left here."

"Sir, are you using us to convince someone to work for you?" Stella asked. "How very Slytherin of you. I'm impressed."

"Well, we all have a bit of every house quality in us," Dumbledore smirked.

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here too.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —"

"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione Granger told me."

"And she is quite right. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind them.

"Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked…" Harry started.

"Correct," Dumbledore nodded as they continued, now turning down a side street. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Do you think he's good?" Harry asked.

"An interesting question. He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant—"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark Forces for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort."

"And… sir… I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think – ouch."

Dumbledore had pointed with his injured hand.

"Sir," Stella brought his arm down gently, looking it over and thinking to ask Theo-

She cut that thought off quickly.

"Now, Harry, Stella has written all the information down for you over the past few months- yes Miss Black, I knew- so you can review it yourself later. For now, let us focus only on the task at hand."

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Stella let out a gasp when they reached the front gate, Dumbledore freezing in his tracks and almost causing Harry to run directly into him. Stella had a wand in each hand and stepped protectively in front of Harry.

"Wands out and follow me," Dumbledore said quietly and Stella placed Harry between them, watching their backs as they stepped through the gate.

"Lumos," Dumbledore's wand ignites, casting its light up a narrow hallway.

To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry right behind him, Stella bringing up the rear. A scene of total devastation met their eyes.

A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little further away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and China lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry gasped and Dumbledore turned to him.

"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."

Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. The teens followed, gazing around, half-scared of what he might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.

"Maybe there was a fight and- and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry offered.

"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

"You mean he's — ?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes."

And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Harry let out a shocked laugh as Stella's jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery look in his eyes.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."

The wandlight sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.

"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something . . . ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"Please," said the other.

They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion. The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments reformed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather clock.

"Dragon blood?" Stella asked, having dipped her finger into it, smelt it, and squished a bit between her fingers before spreading her fingers again to see how thick and sticky it was.

"Why, yes!" shouted the wizard called Horace with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling. "Wonderful. Wonderful."

"There's a spell to collect it all back into a vial," Stella told him. "Dragon blood is dead expensive right now."

Horace raised his wand and the blood flew into a small, glass vial. He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry and Stella, who had just turned around so he could get a good look at her.

"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"

"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter and Stella Black. Harry, Stella, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd.

"So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

He pushed past Harry and Stella, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old time's sake?"

Slughorn hesitated.

"All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and Stella and directed them toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry took the seat and Stella sat on the arm of the chair, arm going across the back to hold herself up and with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep them as visible as possible. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon them.

"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here —" He gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at the teens, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Dumbledore. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

"It's rather impressive," Stella admitted with a small smile.

Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," said Dumbledore.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Slughorn bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

"You're quite right," said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of Harry's neck prickle unpleasantly. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand . . ."

He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace . . . are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" asked Dumbledore.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," said Dumbledore. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts —"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days —"

"Professor Umbridge was torturing students with a blood quill and whips and chains," Stella spoke up, voice hard. "She deserved more than the mild concussion and rope burn that she received."

"That's what she did, did she?" said Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."

Harry chuckled and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at him while Stella smirked.

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "It's just — I didn't like her either."

Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought the two of you," he said abruptly.

Harry and Stella merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.

"You look very much like your father," he told Harry before looking to Stella, "and you, like your uncle."

"We've been told," Harry nodded, the attention going back to him.

"Except for your eyes. You've got—"

"My mother's eyes, yeah."

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother and your uncle," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's and Stella's questioning looks. "Lily Evans and Regulus Black. Two of the brightest I ever taught. Lily was vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too. Regulus was protective and had a good head on his shoulders, always looking out for the younger students, as well."

"Stella does that," Harry nodded. "Which house was yours?"

"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now, don't go holding grudges against me!" Slughorn wagged his finger at Harry and Stella slapped the back of his head gently.

"That's my house you're judging," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes. Another Black in Slytherin. I'm assuming you're in Gryffindor. Runs in families typically. Not always though. I mean, look at Sirius Black, your father. Oh, sorry dear."

Stella felt like an invisible hand had twisted her intestines and held them tight, the other slowly wrapping around her throat.

"Well, anyways, the whole Black family had been in my house until him. Shame – he was a talented boy. I got Regulus when he came along, but I would have liked the set. Lily was a Muggleborn, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of our best friends is Muggleborn," Harry spoke up.

"And she's top two in our year," Stella added on.

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.

"Not really," Harry said coldly.

Slughorn looked down at him in surprise.

"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggleborn, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"

He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . . People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Stella, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.

The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

"Of course not," he said, looking down at the two teens. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year. "Still . . . the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate —"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice: It was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when he remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort.

"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on.

Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend . . . in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. . . . I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me. . . . If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection . . ."

Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.

"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Stella, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."

Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. Slughorn seemed taken aback. Stella just smirked as she stood as well, standing close to Harry.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost. . . ?"

Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket. Stella stuck Sirius's wand back into her hair next to Blaise's before buttoning Theo's jacket, which she'd grabbed on her way out of Grimmauld without thinking that night.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes . . . well . . . very gracious . . . as I say . . ."

"Good-bye, then."

"It was nice to meet you, sir," Stella told him.

"Bye, Professor," said Harry.

They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.

"All right! I'll do it!"

Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.

As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done," Dumbledore smiled to them.

"We didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.

"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

"Er…" Harry muttered.

"He's very Slytherin," Stella supplied.

"Horace," said Dumbledore, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office.

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you both. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived' . . . or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.' And he does like having the set, so seeing the two of you together and having a history with the Black family, he will want to keep you around as well."

Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.

"This will do. We shall go straight to Grimmauld place. I shall need to speak with you privately before I leave, Harry. Then I will send word to Molly so that she knows where you have chosen to spend the rest of your summer."

They landed in front of Grimmauld and Stella let them in, moving to the kitchen to make Harry something, not sure how much he'd eaten so far this summer, telling him to meet her there when he was done. She pulled the leftover stew from the cold box and heated it using her magic, placing it in a bowl and setting it on the table. She cut a few pieces of bread for him as well, buttering them and putting them on a napkin beside his bowl. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, taking a few deep breathes. It was always hard to breath when someone mentioned Sirius, Blaise, or Theo. Remus had tried speaking to her, as had Dumbledore just a few days ago, but she'd shaken her head and walked away. She couldn't talk about it yet. It still hurt too much and the uncertainty surrounding Theo just made everything worse.

Harry entered the kitchen and Stella quickly brushed a stray tear away, turning and busying herself with wiping down a counter. She heard Harry's chair scrap across the floor and turned, seeing him sit and begin to eat. She walked over to him, running her fingers through his too long hair.

"How would you feel about a haircut?" Stella asked him.

"Honestly? Please do. It keeps getting in my eyes," he admitted.

Stella gave a small smile before tapping Harry's head with her wand and shortening his hair a bit, a mirror floating in front of him so he could tell her when. Once done, she vanished the mirror and sat beside him.

"So, is it just you?" Harry asked. "In the house, I mean."

"No. There's also," Stella raised her voice, "Kreacher!"

Kreacher appeared with a loud CRACK.

"Kreacher, Harry is staying with us. I want you to ready his room and then return to your room. If he gives you an order, you will follow it. Treat him with the same respect that you owe me."

Kreacher bowed low and disappeared again.

"He's grounded at the moment for lying to you and working with Narcissa and Bellatrix," Stella explained to Harry. "Uncle Moony is here most of the time, as well. It's a full moon though so he's made himself scarce. I'm trying to convince him to let me brew him wolfsbane. He says it's too time consuming and it's easier to just go to the packs. Will make it easier if Dumbledore sends him there for missions like last year. Fred and George tend to show up at random as well when they aren't busy in the shop. Members of the Order come during every meeting and most stay for dinner."

"Why aren't you at the Burrow?" Harry asked curiously. "You didn't mention it in any of your letters."

"Molly and I keep having rows and I didn't really want to be around too many people," Stella shrugged. "Hermione's staying there as well. We can floo over tomorrow and see everyone if you like?"

"Sure," Harry nodded, smiling at the offer.

"Good," Stella nodded. "Eat up. I think we both need a bit of sleep."

Harry finished and Stella showed him to his room, which he'd stayed in last time around as well. She went back to the kitchen and found the dishes already cleaning themselves. She sighed, knowing Kreacher was trying his best but she needed to be mad at someone other than just herself all the time. She'd make peace with him within the week, she decided.

Stella laid in bed, wearing one of Theo's sweaters and cuddled under his favorite blanket. Blaise's cologne had been sprayed on her pillow, making her hair smell like him a majority of the time. She had overheard Molly telling Remus that it wasn't a healthy way to cope but Remus had defended her, telling Molly that Stella would be ready to deal with it in time. It had been less than a month since Theo had gone into his coma and since Sirius and Blaise had died at that point, and Remus thought she was doing exceedingly well compared to how she couldn't get out of bed for the first two weeks.

Stella woke, feeling exhausted still. She had grown used to it at that point though. She didn't want to move around but she knew that she had to.

"Kreacher?" she asked and he appeared, eyes wide and ears flat against his head. "Will you make breakfast, please? I think I need a bit longer this morning. And make sure Harry's alright, please?"

"Yes, miss," Kreacher nodded enthusiastically before disappearing.

Stella went to the loo attached to her room and stripped. She stood under the hot water for a while once she'd finished washing up, unable to bring herself to step out into the cold. She always forgot to put warming charms up until it was too late. Blaise had always tossed one over his shoulder towards the bathroom as she'd walked into it for her. She turned off the water and immediately stepped into the cold, forcing that thought away quickly as she got dressed, this time in Blaise's Weasley sweater from the year before. It was a bit long on her so she pushed the sleeves back before spraying it with a bit of Blaise's cologne and leaving the room fully dressed. She put her hair in a messy bun as she went, using Blaise's and Sirius's wands and the hair pin from Theo to hold it in place.

Harry was already eating when she arrived, eggs, sausages and toast on his plate.

"Kreacher, send word to Molly Weasley that we're going to floo over and then return here, please."

Kreacher bowed and popped away, returning a few minutes later. Stella sat on the floor with Kreacher, passing him a plate so that they were eating together. Kreacher's eyes widened and she even saw a few tears in them, causing her to feel rather guilty for her treatment of him for the past few weeks. She didn't know any other way to punish him though, refusing to physically abuse him as the other Blacks had.

"Fair warning, Harry, Fleur Delacour is at the Burrow. She and Bill are getting married," Stella told him.

"Wait, what?" he asked, confused.

"They got to know one another at Gringotts," Stella explained. "Began seeing each other and now they're engaged. They're quite sweet together but Molly hates it. Ginny and Hermione aren't the nicest to her, either. Call her Phlegm."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Stella just shrugged and finished her food, waving her wand and sending the dishes to the sink to wash themselves.

"Kreacher, do you need anything while I'm out of the house today?" she asked.

"No, miss," he shook his head. "We be needing groceries, though."

"I can get them. Unless you just need some fresh air?"

"Kreacher can get them."

"You know the rules," Stella reminded him. "Straight there and back. No speaking to anyone."

"Yes, miss," Kreacher nodded. "Kreacher will not disrespect miss again. Kreacher is sorry miss."

"I forgive you," she assured him and it took twenty minutes to stop his crying after that.

Stella sent Harry through the floo first, making sure he spoke clearly enough before she went through as well. She stepped out as Harry was brushing soot off of himself, having just gotten back to his feet. Stella smirked as she stepped out of the floo gracefully, not a hair out of place.

"Shut it," Harry rolled his eyes but gave her a smirk as well.

"Oh! Harry dear!" Molly yelled, rushing into the room and pulling Harry into a tight hug, Fleur right behind her.

" 'Ello, Stella," Fleur smiled.

"Bonjour, Fleur," Stella smiled. "Comment vas-tu?" (Hello, Fleur. How are you?)

"Bonne," Fleur's smiled grew. (Good. – feminine – don't ask me why there are masculine and feminine versions of words in French for I cannot remember.)

"You know French?" Harry asked.

"I've been learning," Stella shrugged. "I've been speaking with a few of the family portraits to learn."

"Votre famille est française ?" Fleur asked. (Your family is French?)

"Oui. Mon arrière-grand-mère est allée à Beauxbâtons," Stella shared. (Yes. My great grandmother went to Beauxbatons.)

"Why do I hear two people speaking French?" Ginny asked before walking into the sitting room. "Oh, you're here!"

Ginny gave Harry a quick hug before wrapping her arms around Stella and dropping her voice to a whisper as Fleur spoke to Harry.

"Why are you speaking French?"

"I've been learning it from my Great Grandmother's portrait," Stella whispered back.

"Oh," Ginny pulled away. "I've missed you. You need to come more often than dinner on Sundays."

"I'll do better," Stella promised her with a nod.

"You better or I'll go to Grimmauld myself and drag you over," Ginny threatened as Ron and Hermione walked in.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, running over and giving him a hug.

Harry was still uncomfortable when anyone other than Stella or Molly hugged him, but he was getting better at it, hugging Hermione with a bit more effort than normal. Ron shook his hand, smiling brightly before hugging Stella, lifting her into the air in the process.

Hermione and Stella locked eyes and Stella looked away quickly. Hermione had also been trying to talk to Stella but Stella was avoiding her, partially because she didn't want to talk about it and partially because Stella felt guilty for not being there when Theo'd been hurt. She felt guilty for a lot of things. She looked over at Harry, who was eyeing Hermione with a sad look on his face and realized he was feeling it as well.

"So, Fleur, congratulations," Harry offered. "Stella told me about you and Bill."

Fleur kissed Harry's cheek in thanks.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming — zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens!"

"Speaking of chickens, why don't you and I go gather eggs while Harry catches up with the others, Fleur?" Stella offered after seeing Molly's annoyed look.

"Oh, sure," Fleur sighed.

Stella grabbed her old apron, tying it around her waist as she went.

"Je suis tellement heureux d'avoir quelqu'un à qui parler maintenant. Je pense que Molly me déteste," Fleur admitted. (I am so happy that I have someone to talk to now. I think Molly hates me.)

"On s'y habitue. Elle ne m'aime pas non plus la moitié du temps," Stella shrugged. (You get used to it. She doesn't like me half the time either.)

"Quand j'aurai une fille, elle saura toujours qu'elle est aimée," Fleur frowned as she spoke. (When I have a daughter, she will always know she is loved.)

Stella changed the subject to the wedding, asking Fleur what she was thinking for flowers. They continued the conversation, Stella switching to English every so often, not knowing every word she needed to say just yet. Plus, Fleur still needed to practice her English. Stella cleaned the eggs while Fleur wondered off to the sitting room. Molly walked into the kitchen from the sitting room a moment later, trying to avoid Fleur.

"Hello, my dear," Molly smiled to Stella as she cleaned the eggs. "How are you?"

"I've been better," Stella admitted.

"Oh, Stell," Molly sighed, pulling Stella into a hug.

Stella sank into the hug. She missed her mum, had since she'd gotten to Hogwarts if she were being honest. She had so many father figures but only one mum that she'd ever known. Stella didn't know how it ended up happening, but next thing she knew she and Molly were sitting at the table, Stella crying in her arms. It took a few minutes before Stella had stopped crying, hiccupping instead of sobbing.

"Sorry," she told Molly, trying to laugh it off. "Don't know where that came from."

"It's alright, dear," Molly told her, helping wipe the tears away. "I'm here anytime you need me. I know that I've had a rather terrible way of showing it lately and I'm sorry."

"No, I get it," Stella shook her head. "This time, anyways. I know you just want to protect me from everything that's happening but you can't protect me forever. I'm kind of in the thick of it now."

"And I hate it," Molly admitted softly. "I never wanted you to have to experience this sort of loss. I mean, your father and your boyfriend… plus Theo in St. Mungos… It's too much."

"You've been wanting to ask ever since you found out, haven't you?" Stella let out a small laugh, the most genuine one she'd had in the past month and a half now.

"I have," Molly admitted.

"We started seeing each other around Christmas time," Stella admitted.

"Do you want to tell me about him?" Molly asked.

"Not today," Stella shook her head. "I don't really feel like crying again to be honest."

A crash sounded from upstairs and Stella and Molly both sighed.

"Let's let them figure it out for once," Stella stated, hand landing on Molly's arm as she went to stand.

Stella went back to cleaning the eggs, Molly drying them and placing them in a cart. Hermione came down the stairs a few minutes later.

"Mrs. Weasley have any owls arrived? Harry said our test results are supposed to come today!"

"No, sweetheart," Molly shook her head, Hermione having her own nickname now, even if it did resemble the 'sweetie' that Fred tended to get. "Oh, what happened to your eye?"

Stella turned, looking to Hermione in confusion and wondering if the large crash was whatever had caused the black eye that Hermione was sporting.

"We were in Fred and George's room," Hermione sighed. "Can you get it off?"

"Have a seat," Molly told her, waving to the chair.

"I'll get the book," Stella sighed.

Fleur and Ginny came in from different directions as Stella got the book out of the pantry and passed it to Molly, who was already complaining about her spell not working. Harry and Ron joined them as Molly was getting more frustrated.

"It just won't budge," Molly complained. "This has always worked before. I just can't understand."

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come off," said Ginny

"But it's got to come off!" squeaked Hermione. "I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"You won't, sweetheart. We'll find an antidote. Don't worry," Molly said soothingly.

"Bill told me 'ow Fred and George are very amusing!" said Fleur, smiling serenely.

"Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing," snapped Hermione.

She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'd have noticed," Molly assured her. "But it's not even ten yet. There's still plenty of time."

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back —"

"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!" barked Ron. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s . . ."

"Don't, don't, don't!" said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!"

"What happens if we fail?" Harry asked the room at large, but it was again Hermione who answered.

"We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."

"Will ours go to your house?" Harry asked Stella, looking rather nervous.

"Possibly," Stella nodded. "If theirs arrive and ours don't, I'll call for Kreacher."

"At Beauxbatons," said Fleur complacently, "we 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then —"

Fleur's words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Four black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

"They're definitely owls," said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

"And there are four of them," said Harry, him and Stella joining them.

"One for each of us," Stella nodded.

The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, four handsome tawnies, each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to the house, was carrying a large square envelope.

"Oh no!" squealed Hermione.

Molly squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One, two, three, four, the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All four of them lifted their right legs.

Stella moved forward first, Harry right after her, their owls in the middle. Ron's owl was to her right and Hermione's was on Harry's left. Nobody in the kitchen spoke. Harry got his envelope open first, then Stella, Ron, and finally, Hermione, who was shaking so hard that it made her owl tremble.

'Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades Fail Grades

Outstanding (O) Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

Stella Nova Black has achieved:

Ancient Runes_O

Astronomy_O

Charms_O

Defense Against the Dark Arts_O

Herbology_O

History of Magic_O

Muggle Studies_O

Potions_O

Transfiguration_O'

Stella saw the History of Magic grade and felt her heart squeeze. Theo would be proud…

She took a few steps back and looked away from the others, taking a few deep breaths. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she hadn't wanted to cry that day. She felt like that was all she did lately. She was suddenly feeling rather upset with herself for how she'd spoken to Cho the year before after Cedric's death.

Molly approached her slowly and Stella passed her results over.

"Nine O's," Molly smiled proudly before looking Ron.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily to Harry. "Here — swap — Knew you'd be top at Defense. We've done alright, haven't we?"

"Well done!" said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven O.W.L.s, that's more than Fred and George got together!"

"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I — not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep — nine 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head but Harry laughed and Stella gave her a tentative smile.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any more sausages from breakfast?"

The next few weeks were spent split between the Burrow and Grimmauld. Stella had told Ginny she'd do better and she was trying. Molly always pulled Stella into a tight hug when they were alone, letting Stella cry to her for a bit and telling her little tidbits of information. Slowly, the pressure on Stella's chest was lessening. It was still there and some days were much harder than others, but Molly seemed to be able to sense it and always made Stella's favorites on those days.

Harry and Remus were becoming closer and Harry had even called him Uncle Moony in conversation once with Stella. Remus still trained Stella on her own, Harry not able to use magic in the house.

"Why can you use it in the house and I can't?" Harry asked after watching Stella and Remus practice duel one day.

"Because it's my family magic. If we were in a Potter family home it'd probably be different," she told Harry before turning to Remus. "Is there a Potter family home? Can we go see it?" She turned back to Harry, "Would you want to see it if there is one?"

"Slow down," Harry laughed.

"Never," Stella smirked.

"There is a Potter family home," Remus smirked. "I can look into it to see if it's safe to visit or not."

"Whoo!" Stella cheered, throwing her hands in the air excitedly.

"What are we screaming for?" Snape's voice suddenly asked as he swept into the room. "Ah. Potter's here. I forgot."

"Hello, Professor," Stella greeted him.

"Everything alright?" Remus asked, concern clear on his face as he stared at Snape.

"I came to speak with you about something… private," Snape told him and Stella knew what that was code for.

"Let's go to the Burrow, Harry," Stella grabbed his arm and dragged Harry to the floo, forcing him to go through first.

"I wanted to know what that was about," Harry complained as they walked through the sitting room.

"I promise you that you didn't," Stella told him as she pushed him towards the stairs. "Now, go get Ron and Ginny so we can play Quidditch."

"Fine," Harry grumbled as Stella gave Molly a hug.

It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the grief and stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Arthur brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Molly's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus.

"There have been another couple of dementor attacks," he announced, as Molly passed him a large slice of birthday cake. "And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it — well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother only managed a few days as far as I can remember."

"Yes, well," said Molly, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff —"

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur. "The man who ran —"

"— the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry interrupted. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of his place."

"Why?" asked Ron, while Molly pointedly glared at Bill.

"Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."

"Talking of Diagon Alley," said Arthur, "looks like Ollivander's gone too."

"The wandmaker?" said Ginny, looking startled.

"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."

"But wands — what'll people do for wands?" Stella asked.

"They'll make do with other makers," said Remus. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."

Their letters and booklists arrived the next day, Stella and Harry opening theirs at the table in Grimmauld over breakfast. Remus had used a sticking charm to put Harry's and Stella's grade on the cold box and Stella remembered when Molly used to do the same with pictures that she and her siblings had drawn for her when they were little. Harry was made Quidditch captain.

"Oh, that's going to be fun," Stella smiled.

"I'm going to build a team better than yours," Harry smirked.

"That's likely," she smirked good luck finding a chaser better than—"

Stella's smirk fell and her heart hammered in her chest painfully.

"What?" Harry asked, looking panicked. "What's wrong?"

Stella just shook her head, stood from the table and went up to her room. She pulled Blaise's jersey out of her dresser and stripped out of her shirt, pulling the jersey on instead. She climbed into her bed, pulling Theo's quilt over herself and began to cry again. Harry walked into her room a few minutes later, climbed in the bed behind her, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she cried. She could hear him sniffling behind her and knew he was crying, too. They had both lost too much.

Saturday, Stella was wearing one of Theo's old sweaters, two wands in her hair and another up her sleeve as they flooed over to the Burrow for breakfast and a trip to Diagon. Bill, who would be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passed a full money bag across the table to Harry and tossed another to Stella over his shoulder.

"Where's mine?" demanded Ron at once, his eyes wide.

"Those are already theirs, idiot," said Bill. "I got it out of your vaults for you because it's taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his . . . Well, trust me, this way's easier."

"No, no. Tell us more," Stella smirked as she stood behind him and Fleur.

"Thanks, Bill," said Harry, pocketing the gold.

" 'E is always so thoughtful," purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill's nose.

Stella mimed vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry choked over his cornflakes, and Ron thumped him on the back. Stella didn't mind Fleur, honestly, but seeing someone fawning over her big brother was still icky.

It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which Stella had ridden once before, was awaiting them in the front yard when they emerged from the house, pulling on their cloaks.

"It's good Dad can get us these again," said Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moved smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window.

He, Stella, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.

"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry," said Arthur over his shoulder. He and Molly were in front with the Ministry driver and Remus; the front passenger seat had obligingly stretched into what resembled a four-seater sofa. "He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too."

"It's because you're 'The Chosen One'," Stella stage whispered to him, causing him to snort a laugh.

"Here you are, then," said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours, I expect," said Arthur. "Ah, good, he's here!"

There were no aurors waiting outside the inn but Hagrid instead, oblivious to the stares of passing muggles.

"Harry!" he boomed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry had stepped out of the car, grabbing Stella and doing the same to her right after. "Buckbeak- Witherwings, I mean- yeh should see him, Stell, he's so happy ter be back in the open air—"

"Glad he's pleased," Stella nodded, rubbing her ribs.

"We didn't know security meant you," Harry smiled brightly.

"I know. Jus' like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do," said Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. "Let's get goin' then — after yeh, Molly, Arthur —"

Stella looked around the Leaky Cauldron, never having seen it empty before. Only Tom, the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, "Jus' passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know."

"Actually, Tom, would you be able to pack enough lunch to go for about nine of us and for Hagrid to be picked up in a few hours?" Stella asked, passing over more than enough for all of them.

"Of course!" Tom brightened. "A few hours you say? I'll have it ready and waiting!"

Stella gave her thanks and the group walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and rapped a certain brick into the wall, which opened at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. They stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around.

Diagon Alley had changed. The colorful, glittering window displays of spell books, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Lestrange was sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary. A few windows were boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

'AMULETS: Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi'

Stella thought about buying one as a joke to give to Remus but chose better. A seedy-looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.

"One for your little girl, madam?" he called at Molly as they passed, leering at Ginny, as Stella had hidden behind Ron when the man's eyes had begun sweeping over their group. "Protect her pretty neck?"

"If I were on duty . . ." said Arthur, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.

"Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, dear, we're in a hurry," said Molly, nervously consulting a list. "I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Stella and Harry, you've both grown so much — come on, everyone —"

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," said Arthur. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid and Remus, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's schoolbooks?"

"I don't know," said Molly anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, Remus, do you think — ?"

"We've got them, Molly," Remus smiled kindly.

Molly nodded and Stella wondered if Molly would have been as convinced if it had just been Hagrid going with them. She, Arthur, and Ginny left for Flourish and Blotts as Stella, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Remus, and Hagrid set off towards Madam Malkin's.

"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us," said Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending down to peer through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, all right?"

The four teenagers and Remus headed inside. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.

". . . not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

Stella groaned, head tipping backwards unhappily and hid behind a clothing rack, Remus chuckling as he went with her. A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself; it was a few moments before he noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione reflected over his shoulder. His light grey eyes narrowed.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," said Draco Malfoy.

Stella came right back out of her hiding place and Draco's eyes widened.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" she added hastily, for a glance toward the door had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it. . . ."

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneered Malfoy. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."

"What cell is your father in? I want to send some to him," Stella tossed out, voice sounding rather monotone as she stared at her disowned cousin.

Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack.

"Put those away," she said coldly to Harry and Ron. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister's. He was as tall as she was now. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!"

But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. "Wow . . . look at that . . . he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

"Dumbledore may not be here, but I am," Stella spoke up and Narcissa's head snapped to Stella, eyes widening as if she'd just realized that Stella was there. "Make a move on any of them and you'll resemble Dolohov once I'm through with you."

"I expect the two of you will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius," Narcissa hissed.

"My, my, Narcissa. Being disinherited does not look good on you," Stella smirked, blocking Remus with an arm so he couldn't step towards Narcissa, Hermione pulling Harry's arm down as he tried to raise it against Narcissa. "Being brought back into the family looks amazing on Andromeda and Nymphodora though. I'll be sure to let them know I saw you at tea tomorrow."

Stella had no intentions on having tea with Andromeda or Tonks, having only seen Tonks in passing a few times at Grimmauld. Narcissa didn't need to know that though.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —" Madam Malkin tried distracting everyone.

"Ouch!" bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don't think I want these anymore —"

He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.

"Well, really!" said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust.

She was distracted all through the fitting of Ron's, Stella's, and Harry's new robes, tried to sell Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and when she finally bowed them out of the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.

"Got ev'rything?" asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.

"Just about," said Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "Bu' they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them."

"Oh, they tried," Remus smirked. "Stella Nova took care of them though."

"Everyone all right?" asked Molly as she, Arthur, and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's — stick close, now…"

Stella got everything on her list for Potions and thought of a few pranks for Malfoy, grabbing a few other ingredients and deciding that she could get anything else she needed through mail order. Stella bought a large box of owl nuts at Eeylops for Owlivia. Then, with Molly checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"We really haven't got too long," Molly said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . ."

"Whoa," said Ron, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George's windows hit the eye like a firework display.

Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry's eyes began to water just looking at it. The righthand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

'WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO? YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO — THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!'

"They'll be murdered in their beds," Molly whispered.

"No, they won't," Ron argued, laughing with Harry, Stella, and Remus. "This is brilliant."

Stella led the way into the shop, far too excited to wait. She helped back the shop but she had yet to visit it, too busy with feeling so lousy and then being distracted by Harry's arrival. It was packed with customers; Stella could not get near the shelves. She stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; Stella noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and Harry pushed his way toward the counter, making sure to pull Stella along, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: reusable hangman — 'Spell It Or He'll Swing!'

" 'Patented Daydream Charms . . .' "

Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

" 'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.' You know," said Hermione, looking to Stella, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair, face falling a bit when he saw Hermione's face.

"What's happened to your eye, Mia?"

"Your punching telescope," she said ruefully and Stella wondered if Hermione was flirting.

"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," said Fred. "Here —" He pulled a tub out of his pocket and approached her. "I'll just dab a bit of this on it and it'll be gone within the hour. We had to find a decent bruise cream remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."

"It is safe, isn't it?" she asked.

"Course it is," he gave her a soft smile, putting a bit of the cream on his finger and gently applying it to her eye, turning to Harry and Stella once he'd finished. "Come on, Harry, Stella, I'll give you a tour."

They followed Fred towards the back of the shop, where they saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

"Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties. . . . Oh, here's George. . . ."

Fred's twin shook Harry's hand energetically before hugging Stella.

"Giving them the tour? Come through the back you two. That's where we're making the real money — pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!" he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labeled 'EDIBLE DARK MARKS – THEY'LL MAKE ANYONE SICK!'

George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Stella saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

"We've just developed this more serious line," said Fred. "Funny how it happened . . ."

"You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm," said George. " 'Course, they didn't have you teaching them, Harry."

"That's right. . . . Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!"

"So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves . . ."

". . . I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes . . ."

"And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," continued George enthusiastically. "This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape."

"And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look," said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. "You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one."

"Handy," said Harry, impressed.

"Wicked," Stella was already getting ideas.

"Here," said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry and handing two to Stella.

A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain; Stella saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.

"There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said.

Stella found it very odd to hear Fred and George called "Mr. Weasley," but they took it in their stride.

"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," said George promptly. "Harry, Stella, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge."

"I can't do that!" said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.

"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.

"But —"

"Harry, you gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten. Stella, you've been funding us for two years now," said George sternly. "Take whatever you like and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask."

George swept through the curtain to help with the customers and Fred led Harry back towards the front. Stella stayed behind, looking over everything curiously. She grabbed a portion of the darkness powder and a few of the cloaks and gloves before grabbing more decoy detonators. She walked to the register where George was standing.

"Are you sure, George?" she asked him, feeling rather small beside her much taller brother.

"Of course," George told her, passing her a bag to hold her stuff in. "Just promise that you'll continue causing trouble now that we're gone?"

"Of course," Stella nodded. "I'll even teach some of the younger students. Keep it going."

"I actually wanted to talk to you alone," he admitted. "I don't want to steal you from the group, though. Lupin looks rather nervous over your shoulder. I don't think he's spotted you yet. Let's go join everyone."

Ginny was eyeing love potions when they got there and Fred was explaining how they worked, Geroge deciding to cut in.

"— and the attractiveness of the girl," said George. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've —"

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," said Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"I'll take one of those," Stella said, reaching out and grabbing a pot, slipping it into her bag.

"Yes, I am," said Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"

She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

"Pygmy Puffs," said George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Stella was surprised Fred didn't recoil. She certainly did.

"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you," she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."

Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Molly, who had chosen that moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" said Ginny at once.

"A what?" said Mrs. Weasley warily.

"Look, they're so sweet. . . ."

"I'll get you one," Stella offered. "I didn't know what to get you for your birthday, anyhow."

The three moved towards the Pygmy Puffs, smiling at the little puff balls. Ginny picked a purple one and Stella got a bright pink one for Luna. Stella wondered around a bit more, looking around at everything with Remus, him smiling brightly and wishing the twins had been around when he was younger.

"I think Hogwarts would have burnt down," Stella laughed as put a few boxes of Fireworks into her bag.

"It still might with you around," Remus joked, eyeing her bag.

"I think I'm quitting Quidditch," she announced, causing Remus to turn to her sharply.

"What?" he asked, eyes wide.

"I…" Stella couldn't explain it though.

The idea of playing without Blaise in the air or Theo cheering them on… It was a bit too much for her.

"I don't want to play anymore," she told him. "It's not the same."

"Stella Nova…" Remus sighed.

"I know," she told him. "I know. I can't just drop everything because… because they aren't here. I just don't think I could do it, honestly. I'm going to make sure that I get the spots for the team on the sign-up sheet and then I'm going to build the team up and fly for a bit, see if I can handle it. I just don't know."

Remus put his arm around Stella's shoulders and pulled her close to his side. She sniffled a bit and wiped her eyes quickly, not wanting anyone to see.

"I know this has been hard for you," Remus whispered to her. "I've been through a bit of this as well and I hate that you're experiencing it. All I can tell you is that it'll get better. One day, Theo will wake and this war will end and the world will be brighter again. Don't close yourself off to that."

"I'm trying," she promised.

"I know you are," he assured her. "You've made so much progress and I am so proud of you."

"Thanks, Uncle Moony," Stella gave him a weak smile.

"Of course," he told her, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Let's get back to the others."