Chapter 19 – Father

Fred stirred slightly but didn't wake. Ava sat up slowly, stretching her arms overhead as the first light of morning filtered through the dusty windows of the hidden room. The blanket wrapped around them had shifted during the night, exposing Fred's bare shoulder and most of his very unclothed backside.

She blinked, then grinned.

His freckles did, in fact, go everywhere.

Ava lay there for a moment, blinking in the soft morning light that filtered through the high windows of the secret office. The sunlight caught Fred's hair, turning it into a halo of copper and gold. His lashes were long against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, and his freckled chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked so peaceful. So human. And so impossibly dear to her.

Her eyes roamed over the curve of his bare shoulder, the lazy sprawl of his limbs, the way one hand still loosely curled near where hers had been during the night. She smiled, her heart tugging at the sight of him. She felt the ache of everything that had happened the night before still lingering in her chest, but there was comfort too. There was warmth, safety, and the strange new certainty that someone had chosen her, fully. She could've stayed like that for hours. But then the Hogwarts bell chimed in the distance.

Ava's eyes snapped to her wristwatch and her heart stopped. Then it leapt into a sprint. "Bloody hell," she gasped. Panic surged in her chest as she bolted upright. She leaned over and jabbed Fred's side. "Fred. Get up. It's almost time for class."

He groaned dramatically, one arm thrown over his eyes. "Nooooo."

She whipped the blanket off them both in one practiced tug. "Fred."

The cold hit him instantly and he curled in tighter like a child trying to escape the morning. "Can't a man sleep off a life-altering night of passion?"

Ava let out a disbelieving huff and bent down to gather her blouse. "You are impossible."

Fred didn't budge so she reached over and pinched his backside. Hard.

"OI!" he yelped, flinching as he rolled onto his back. "That's illegal in at least three departments of the Ministry!"

She smirked. "Sue me."

Fred cracked one eye open. "You're lucky I like you."

"Fred," she said sharply, hopping on one foot as she yanked on her skirt, "we are going to be late. As in Professor Sprout will have a rage stroke late."

"Well, if we're already late," he said, stretching with a lazy grin, "we might as well be fashionably late."

Ava scurried past him, picking her socks off the desk and her shoes from under a pile of parchment. "You are not dragging me down with you, Fred Weasley."

Fred leaned on his elbow, chin propped in hand, clearly admiring the chaos. "You're really cute when you panic."

She shot him a look as she struggled to button her blouse. "And you're really annoying when you're smug."

"Tell you what," he said, rolling onto his side, "let's just stay here all day. Just you and me. I'll make sarcastic commentary and you can try to study while pretending not to stare at me."

"I am not staying here."

Fred sighed like a man deeply wounded. "Tragic."

As she fastened the last button and twisted her hair into a quick braid, Ava glanced back at him, still naked, still lounging in the blanket like a smug, freckled Greek statue. God help her, he was unfairly attractive.

"I mean it," she said, half-scolding, half-breathless. "Put on some pants."

Fred grinned. "Aye aye, captain."

But he didn't move snd Ava had the sneaking suspicion he'd rather stay tangled up in yesterday, and in her, for as long as she'd let him. However, before she could speak further or climb back under the blanket with him the door creaked open upstairs followed by the sound of footsteps. Fred's eyes went wide as the sound of someone quickly descending echoed through the stairwell.

George stood halfway down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other still holding a half-eaten biscuit. His eyes landed squarely on Fred's mostly bare chest… then flicked to Ava's disheveled hair… the blanket on the floor… the intimate proximity. There was a beat of complete, mortified silence. Then: "OH BLOODY–"

Ava turned crimson instantly. Fred made a strangled noise and dove behind a workbench, yanking the blanket up like it might make him invisible. George's biscuit hit the floor.

George threw his hands over his eyes and spun toward the wall like he'd been hit with a Stunning Spell. "I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT!"

Fred, still half-crouched behind Ava, muttered something that sounded like a strangled curse.

"I was just–checking!" George said quickly, spinning around to face the wall. "Ava. Lovely to see you. Enchanting, really. Didn't mean to interrupt your post-coital bonding session or whatever this is. I just–uh–was looking for Fred because he didn't come back to the dorm and–yep–definitely found him."

"George!" Fred groaned from behind the bench. "Can you not announce it to the entire bloody school?"

"I'm not telling everyone," George called back, backing slowly up the stairs. "Just Lee. And probably Katie. And definitely Angelina. She owes me a Galleon."

"George!"

"Right, right, lips sealed! Leaving now! Ta!" He scrambled back up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.

Ava covered her face with her hands.

Fred groaned and dropped his head against Ava's shoulder. "Kill me. Just kill me now."

Ava snorted. "I think he was more traumatized than you."

Fred straightened, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on in record time. "He's never going to let me live this down. Ever. I'm going to hear jokes for years."

"Could've been worse," Ava said, lips twitching. "Could've been McGonagall."

Fred paled. "Don't even joke about that."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Guess the secret's out."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. And with George? That means everyone will know by breakfast."

Ava slid on her jacket, eyes dancing. "You better get dressed, Mr. Weasley. Your scandalous reputation awaits."

He groaned dramatically. "You really are a menace."

"Only to you."

Fred smirked, tugging on his shirt. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


Ava was only ten minutes late to Herbology, but it felt like she'd walked in wearing a flashing sign that said "Guilty." Her cheeks were still flushed from the brisk walk across the grounds, and she was half-convinced her clothes reeked of sweat and embarrassment. The greenhouse was warm and humid, the scent of damp earth and magical flora thick in the air.

Thankfully, Professor Sprout barely looked up from her bushels of bubotubers when she hurried in. She was elbow-deep in a wooden crate of them, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, and her wide-brimmed hat askew on her curls. Ava murmured a hasty apology, something about sleeping through her alarm.

Sprout simply waved her in with a dirt-streaked glove and a distracted smile, as if she'd already forgotten she was late. "Ah, Miss Johnson, good timing. We're just getting to the fun part."

She held up a large, swollen bubotuber for the class to see. It was a hideous thing shaped like an elongated pustule, its waxy green skin shimmering ominously under the enchanted glass ceiling. A thick droplet of pus dribbled down the side and plopped into the dirt below with an audible splurt.

"Now, class," she called cheerfully, "a reminder that bubotuber pus must be handled with extreme care! When not properly diluted, it reacts badly with human skin and by badly, I mean boils the size of gobstones and a week in the Hospital Wing. So please, gloves on and focus sharp!"

Ava grimaced and slid into place between Leia and Lindsay, both already elbow-deep in their potting trays. A bubbling cauldron of diluted pus simmered nearby, sending off a scent somewhere between rotten eggs and spoiled milk.

Leia handed her a pair of dragonhide gloves without looking up. "You're late," she muttered, lips twitching.

"No kidding," she replied, tugging the gloves on and grabbing her goggles from her satchel. "Did I miss anything actually useful?"

"Just Professor Sprout showing off her latest ooze collection," Lindsay whispered, wrinkling her nose. "Honestly, I don't know how she hasn't gone nose-blind by now."

They collectively flinched as another bubotuber burst with a soft pop nearby, sending a splatter across someone's apron. Lovely.

Professor Sprout bustled past them, humming merrily and oblivious to the silent gagging of at least three students nearby. The afternoon sun filtered through the steamy greenhouse windows, catching on the floating spores in the air and giving the entire room an almost magical haze, one that absolutely did not match the stench.

She reached for the trowel and tried not to think too hard about the evening before. One thing at a time.

Lindsay leaned in, whispering eagerly, "So... where were you last night?"

Before she could even begin to come up with a decent excuse, Leia didn't miss a beat. She leaned over her tray of half-peeled bubotubers and smirked. "Oh, come off it. Isn't it obvious? She was with Fred Weasley."

Her head snapped toward her. "Leia–" But it was too late.

Lindsay gasped, eyes scanning her from head to toe like she was trying to solve a crime. "Wait–she's right! You're still in yesterday's clothes. And you've got that look on your face."

"What look?" she asked, too quickly and too defensively. She could already feel the heat creeping up her neck.

Leia raised an eyebrow, delight sparkling in her eyes. "That goofy, just-snogged-my-crush-into-oblivion look. Bit flushed. Eyes all dreamy. Slightly smug. I'd recognize that look anywhere."

Lindsay's jaw dropped. "You slept with him!" she squeaked, her voice far too loud for a room full of gossipy teenagers.

A few nearby students turned our way. Someone across the greenhouse snorted. Ava buried her face in her gloves for a second before grabbing Lindsay's tie and yanking her toward her.

"Would you like to announce that again with an Amplifying Charm while you're at it?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Lindsay looked mildly apologetic, but only mildly. Mostly, she looked giddy. "Sorry! I just didn't think you had it in you! I mean–Fred Weasley! Was it romantic? Did he charm floating candles? Play music with his wand? Did he quote poetry?" Her grin widened. "Did he use his tongue–"

"Lindsay," Ava deadpanned.

She zipped her lips with an invisible key, but her eyes were practically vibrating with curiosity.

She exhaled and adjusted her gloves like that would fix her wildly unraveling morning. "A lady never kisses and tells."

Leia snorted, rolling her eyes as she reached for another oozing plant. "Yeah, but you did more than kiss."

She gave her a hard look, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the start of a smile. The worst part? They were right. She did feel different, warmer and floatier like she'd been set adrift and wasn't sure if she ever wanted to come back down. Across the table, Leia's bubotuber gave a vile squelch as she squeezed it, and a foul greenish pus oozed into her flask. The stench hit her like a bludger to the face.

"God, these buggers reek," she muttered, nose wrinkling. "I hate Herbology."

"Can't disagree," she said, gagging slightly and turning away from the rising steam. Her stomach churned, not just from the smell. She was still flushed from our earlier conversation, her mind flitting back to Fred's voice in her ear, the way his hands had felt, the look on his face when–Nope. Not going there.

After what felt like an eternity of whispers, innuendo, and an ever-growing number of side-eyes from our classmates, the class finally ended. Professor Sprout dismissed them with a cheerful warning not to touch our faces until we'd scrubbed our hands thoroughly, or else.

She lingered behind with Lindsay to help clean up while Leia rinsed her gloves off at the battered sink in the corner.

"Did you do your Defense homework?" Lindsay asked, wrinkling her nose as she wiped pus off her parchment.

Ava groaned and dragged a hand through her hair. "Slipped my mind."

Leia glanced over her shoulder. "Skipping class again?"

"I was thinking about it," Ava muttered, already bracing herself for their reactions. "Could one of you take notes for me?"

Leia arched a perfectly suspicious eyebrow. "Why? You and Fred planning a mid-morning snog behind the Quidditch shed?"

"No," she said too fast. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "I just... don't want to go."

Lindsay's teasing expression faded into something more sincere. "Are you okay?"

She hesitated. "Yeah, just tired."

And emotionally overwhelmed. And confused. And not ready to face the man who, until a few days ago, was just another professor but now might actually be the person whose blood ran in her veins.

"I just need a minute," she added.

Lindsay exchanged a look with Leia, but neither pushed her further. At least not out loud.

"But it's Defense Against the Dark Arts," Lindsay whispered as we left the greenhouse. "You can't skip that. Not with Sirius Black lurking about! What if he's still on the grounds?"

Leia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Black's not going to burst through the greenhouse window like some deranged dueling champion. Besides, what are we going to do—gently confuse him with hinkypunk theory? Most of what we learn in that class is utter bollocks."

That's when a calm, dry voice spoke behind them, sharp enough to slice through the noise of the corridor. "Well then, perhaps I ought to reconsider my entire curriculum."

They froze like deer in headlights. She turned slowly, stomach lurching and there, just a few feet away, stood Professor Lupin. Or–no... Not just her professor. Not anymore.

His robes were rumpled like he'd slept in them. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. His eyes looked darker than usual, bruised with exhaustion or grief or both.

He offered a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Good morning, Leia. Lindsay... Ava."

They mumbled a chorus of greetings. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Lupin cleared his throat. "Ava, may I speak with you for a few minutes?"

Leia and Lindsay glanced at each other, then at her. I hesitated. "I don't want to be late to Transfiguration."

"I'll have a word with Professor McGonagall," he said gently. "It won't take long."

She sighed, avoiding the searching look in his eyes. "Fine."

Leia patted her arm. "We'll save you a seat."

She followed him down the corridor in silence, each footstep echoing like a ticking clock between them. The air felt heavy and thick with unspoken truths, too fragile to name and too painful to ignore. The castle around them, with its moving portraits and flickering torches, seemed almost too alive, too curious. Eventually, they reached his office.

The moment she stepped inside, a wave of familiar scent wrapped around her–old parchment, dust, and something warm and herbal, like tea left too long to steep. It was oddly comforting. Lupin closed the door gently behind them.

She walked straight to the window, needing space, needing air. The lake shimmered under the midday sun, glittering like nothing had changed. Like everything was still as it had always been. But nothing was the same.

"What did you need to speak with me about, Professor?" Her voice was even. But flat. Like a door bolted shut.

He hesitated behind her. She could hear it in his silence before the words finally came. "I think you already know," he said softly. "When you ran out of the hospital wing... I didn't get a chance to explain."

She turned, folding her arms tight over her chest. "Explain what? That you're my father?" Even speaking it aloud felt wrong. The word didn't fit him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Lupin nodded slowly, moving to sit in the worn armchair near his desk. He looked smaller somehow. Tired.

"I wanted to apologize," he said. "That you didn't know sooner. That you had to find out that way. But... Anthony didn't want you to know about me."

She cut the air between them with a raised hand. "I don't need an explanation. Not from you."

"Yes," he said, more firmly now. "You do."

His gaze didn't waver. "Your mother—Vanessa—she loved you more than anything. She only wanted what she thought was best."

She clenched her jaw. "And hiding the truth was best?"

"She believed Anthony could give you the life I couldn't," he said quietly. "I was... not well. I was afraid. She was trying to protect you."

"Well, she failed," she snapped before she could stop herself.

Lupin's shoulders slumped, but he didn't look away. "Maybe. But I want you to know, I never stopped loving either of you."

She scoffed, bitter. "Love? I didn't even know you existed until this year. That's not love. That's absence."

He stood and crossed to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled something out. A small black book. He held it out to her with both hands, like it was something sacred.

She took it, hesitantly. Flipped it open. And then her breath hitched.

Photographs. Dozens of them. All of her. She was pudgy and grinning with food on her face. Her mother, beautiful and alive, held her close. Her on a swing, bundled in winter robes. Her first broom. Her fifth birthday. Candids. Private moments. Impossible moments.

She turned the page and froze. A photo she recognized.

It was her, maybe six or seven, on her mother's lap, pointing up at a sky filled with bright, spinning fireworks. She remembered that night. She remembered feeling magic in the air.

"That was you?" She whispered. "The fireworks?"

He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "I cast them from the hill overlooking the park. Your mother… she brought you there on purpose. Same time, same bench, every week. So I could see you." His voice thickened. "It was the only way we knew how to be close. Quietly. Secretly."

Tears welled again, blurring the ink and curling the page in her hand. She blinked hard, willing them not to fall but one slipped free anyway, landing like a raindrop over the corner of the photograph.

"And… the wolf," she whispered. "The Patronus?"

A faint, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That was me, too. I thought… maybe if you saw it enough times, it would bring you comfort. Even if you didn't know why."

The photo slipped from her lap, landing softly on the rug. She stared at it as if she could fall into that moment into that sky full of silent fireworks and a time when everything felt simple. "The night my mother died…" she began, but her voice caught. She forced it out. "You were there, weren't you?"

He closed his eyes like the question physically pained him. When he opened them again, they shimmered with something haunted.

"I was. I came to the house that night because I couldn't stay away any longer. I needed to see you — not from across a park, not from the shadows, but really see you. I was done hiding." He took a slow step forward and lowered himself into a crouch before her, careful and steady, like approaching something fragile. "But I was too late."

She couldn't breathe. Remus rested his hands on his knees, his eyes searching hers, open and unguarded in a way that stunned her.

"You don't have to forgive me," he said softly. "I'm not asking for that. I don't deserve it. But you deserve the truth, Ava. All of it." His voice trembled. "And you deserve to know that I never stopped being there. Not really. Even when I couldn't speak, even when I was just a shadow at the edge of your life… I was there."

His words didn't shatter her, they didn't explode like glass but instead ached. They echoed. They curled inside the hollow places she'd learned to ignore. They pulled at something old and wounded and long buried, something she hadn't let herself name: the part of her that had always wondered if someone out there, anyone, had been watching or had cared.

She didn't speak. She couldn't. But in that moment, for the first time in a very long time… She didn't feel quite so invisible.

Before she could respond, a soft sound disrupted the quiet. It was a slow, deliberate scratching at the back door of Lupin's office and her head snapped toward it.

The door creaked open, hinges whispering, and a large black dog stepped through the threshold.

It moved like a shadow, silent and fluid, its paws making no sound on the stone floor. The air in the room seemed to tighten. The dog didn't sniff or pace or bark. It simply… watched.

Its silver eyes locked onto hers and she couldn't look away. There was something unnatural about it. It was not threatening, exactly, but uncanny. Like it didn't fully belong in this space. Like it knew more than a dog should.

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "Is that… yours?" She asked, gesturing towards the dog.

Remus stilled beside her. She felt it before she saw it. The subtle shift in his breath, a fraction too long of a pause. Then, carefully: "Yes. He's… family. He's been with me a long time."

She glanced at him sharply. There was something in his voice she couldn't name. It was not fear, nor surprise. More like an unspoken acknowledgment. Recognition. A tether strung tight between them. The dog didn't move. It just watched them.

Remus gently stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of her, as if shielding her from something. Or someone. Then, with a soft exhale, he turned back to her and gestured toward the main door.

"It's time for class," he said, quietly but firmly. His hand hovered near her back but didn't touch. "I've said what I needed to say. What you choose to do with it… that's yours. If you want me in your life — as a professor or a father — I'll be here. No pressure. No questions asked. And if not… I'll step back."

She looked up at him. His face was calm and composed. But his eyes held something deeper. Not a plea. Not regret. But quiet sorrow. The kind that lived in people who had learned to carry grief like a second skin. It nearly broke her.

But she couldn't speak. Her throat was tight and her heart was a storm. So she nodded. Just once. Then she turned and stepped into the corridor. The door clicked softly shut behind her.

She didn't look back. She couldn't. And yet, every step away felt like she was carrying the weight of something that would never fully leave her.