Chapter 25 - The Letter

The return to Hogwarts felt strangely uneventful, despite everything Ava had been through.

Classes resumed. Students laughed and argued over homework in the corridors. The Great Hall still smelled of toast and polish and ink. It was all exactly the same. And yet… Ava felt like she'd stepped back into a life that no longer fit.

No one pressed her for details about the holiday. Not Fred, not Angelina, not even curious Lee. And Professor Lupin…Remus… her father, kept his distance. She was grateful for that, even if she hadn't fully decided whether the silence was a gift or just a delay.

The question of where she'd go after the term loomed over her like a slow-moving storm. Her aunt and uncle had made their offer clear. So had Lupin. But Ava still hadn't made up her mind. Not yet. Not while everything still felt so… suspended.

The weeks passed quickly. Too quickly.

She kept herself busy, mostly with Fred and George. The twins were knee-deep in O.W.L. preparations, and to everyone's surprise, they were actually trying. Or at least pretending to. Ava helped quiz them during study blocks, reading aloud from dusty old textbooks while they tossed parchment balls at each other across the table. It was chaos, but it kept her from thinking too hard. That alone made it worthwhile.

Her own grades, however, had begun to slip. Not enough for alarm, but enough that she noticed. It was hard to care about essays and potion measurements when her nightmares still smelled like smoke and floo ash.

On a blustery morning in early spring, Ava sat in the Great Hall beside Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, watching in horror as Fred, George, and Lee devoured their breakfast like they hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Do you think they chew?" Katie asked, grimacing as Lee shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and spoke through them.

George had abandoned the fork entirely and was now tipping his plate directly into his mouth. Fred, in turn, washed it all down with a goblet of orange juice that promptly dribbled down his chin.

"Absolutely revolting," Katie muttered, pushing her plate away. "Lost my appetite."

"More for me," Alicia said cheerfully, stealing Katie's abandoned eggs.

Ava gave a small smile, shaking her head as she glanced at Angelina, who was flipping through a book of Quidditch tactics that Oliver Wood had given her.

"He thinks I've got the brains for captain next year," Angelina said to Alicia and Katie, trying to sound nonchalant. "Which is very flattering, but also terrifying."

"Wood's idea of flattery is yelling at you until you catch a Quaffle," Katie said dryly.

As the girls laughed, a rush of wings signaled the arrival of the morning owls. Hundreds of feathers stirred the air as letters and packages were dropped into eager hands. Ava barely looked up, until a weathered-looking horned owl swooped low and dropped an envelope directly into her lap.

She blinked, surprised. It wasn't an owl she recognized. The envelope bore no name, no seal, just blank parchment folded neatly in thick, ivory paper.

Frowning, she turned it over in her hands, but before she could open it–

"Ava!" called Lindsay from across the hall. "Class starts in five!"

Ava checked her watch and cursed under her breath. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. Hastily, she shoved the letter into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder.

"Coming!" she called, hurrying out of the Great Hall, the unopened envelope burning like a brand against her side.


After Transfiguration, the classroom emptied in a flurry of parchment and muttered goodbyes. Ava gathered her books slowly, already sensing Professor McGonagall's eyes on her. Sure enough, as the last student slipped out the door, the professor's crisp voice stopped her mid-step.

"Miss Johnson, if you'll stay a moment."

Ava swallowed hard and turned back, the weight of guilt pressing like lead in her stomach. McGonagall stood at her desk, spine straight, hands clasped over a stack of essays. She didn't look angry, just… disappointed.

"I wanted to speak with you about this semester," McGonagall said, adjusting her spectacles. "Since returning from break, you've yet to complete a single homework assignment in my class."

Ava lowered her gaze, wishing she could melt into the stone floor. "I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Professor. I just… I've had a lot on my mind."

McGonagall nodded once, her face softening. "I understand that you've endured a great deal. And your other professors and I have taken that into account. Which is why we've agreed to give you an extension."

Ava blinked, surprised.

"You'll have until the end of the month to turn in your missing work," McGonagall continued. "You're a talented young witch, Miss Johnson. I'd hate to see you squander that potential."

Relief bloomed in Ava's chest like a breath of spring air. "Thank you, Professor. I really appreciate it. I promise. I'll catch up."

McGonagall gave her a firm nod and returned to her papers. "See that you do."

Outside the classroom, Ava had barely made it ten steps down the corridor before she was ambushed, quite literally.

"There's our girl!" George cheered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"We've been waiting ages!" Fred added, sliding in on her other side.

Ava startled, then groaned. "Oh no. I already regret this."

The twins grinned, perfectly identical and perfectly mischievous.

"Regret what?" they said in unison, far too innocently.

She eyed them as they flanked her, walking down the corridor like a pair of red-headed bodyguards with an agenda. "You two waiting for me? That's never a good sign."

Fred gave her a mock-offended look. "We just missed your charming company."

"And maybe…" George leaned in conspiratorially, "We have a tiny favor to ask."

Ava squinted. "I'm not doing your homework."

George gasped as though wounded. "What? How dare you."

Fred snorted. "Okay, but hear us out–"

"No."

"But–"

"Still no."

"Brutal," George muttered as they turned the corner toward the Great Hall.

"I don't know why you two act like I'm the unreasonable one," Ava said, rolling her eyes. "You've had all semester to do it yourselves."

Fred draped an arm lazily across her shoulders again. "You just do it better than we ever could."

"We'd be fools not to ask," George added.

"Flattery won't save you."

"I dunno," Fred said, turning his most pitiful puppy-dog eyes on her. "It usually works."

Ava snorted and shook her head as they entered the Great Hall. She slid into a spot next to Angelina, who was nose-deep in a Quidditch strategy manual, while Fred and George squeezed in on either side. The moment they sat, platters of food blinked into existence across the table.

As they dug in, Fred leaned over and tried one last time. "So? You'll help us, right?"

Ava stabbed a piece of broccoli and gave him a look. "No. And that's final."

George slumped dramatically. "You wound me."

"Wood's been working us into the ground," Fred added with a pout. "We've barely had time to sleep."

"Then maybe don't wait until the last minute next time." She reached for the pumpkin juice. "I've got my own mess to clean up. McGonagall's given me until the end of the month to finish everything I missed."

George winced. "Ouch."

Fred looked at her with concern. "I didn't realize you'd fallen that far behind…"

Ava shrugged. "Neither did I. But I'm not letting it snowball. I'll catch up. I'll probably end up living in the library for the next few weeks."

Fred rested a warm hand against her back and rubbed gently. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

George leaned forward with his mouth full. "While you're buried in books, we'll be buried in Quidditch drills. Ravenclaw match is coming up. I swear, Wood's got a stopwatch glued to his hand."

"Excellent thinking, Weasley!" came Oliver Wood's unmistakable voice from directly behind him. He clapped George so hard on the back, the poor boy nearly dropped his fork. "Night and day practice it is! Whole team'll thank you for the motivation!"

And just like that, Wood strolled off, grinning ear to ear.

The table went quiet.

Katie and Alicia gave George identical murderous glares. Harry groaned and dropped his head onto the table. Fred paused mid-bite and turned to stare at his twin like he'd just betrayed the entire House.

George looked around, eyes wide. "What? Butterbeer in Hogsmeade? My treat?"

Thwack.

George yelped and grabbed his shin. "Oi! Who kicked me?!"

Angelina, cool as ever, didn't look up from her book. She flexed her fist.

George backed away slowly. "Angel… you wouldn't hurt your favorite Weasley, would you?"

She stood.

George bolted.

"I'M GONNA GET YOU, WEASLEY!"

Her voice echoed off the stone walls as she tore after him down the corridor, braids flying, George's laugh trailing behind him like a challenge.

Ava leaned into Fred's shoulder with a sigh, letting the warmth of the chaos wash over her.

Somehow, for the first time in weeks, it actually felt like home again.


Ava sat on the wooden bleachers of the Quidditch pitch that Friday afternoon, her hands wrapped around a warm thermos more for comfort than anything else. The late winter air nipped at her cheeks, and though the sun peeked weakly through the clouds, it did little to chase away the chill.

Below her, the Gryffindor team sliced through the air like streaks of red and gold, calling out plays and laughing between drills. Fred and George flew in effortless unison, their moves synchronized like it was second nature. Watching them, Ava felt the smallest smile tug at the corner of her lips. How strange, she thought, that not too long ago she'd only been "Angelina's cousin" to them. Now they were her second family. Her safe place.

She turned her eyes to the sky, catching sight of Angelina banking hard to the left with the Quaffle tucked beneath her arm. She launched it toward the hoops with practiced precision. Oliver darted across the pitch, deflecting it with the palm of his hand before tossing it back. The easy confidence in his movements reminded Ava of everything she used to admire and everything that had since changed.

Even now, watching him in his element, there was a flicker of something, nostalgia maybe, but it wasn't longing. Not anymore. She didn't trust that part of her, the one that still responded to Oliver's presence. She had forgiven him or tried to, but some things still lingered like phantom bruises.

Fred's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Ava!" he called from above, pantomiming thirst with an exaggerated wipe of his brow.

She grinned and reached into her bag, pulling out a water bottle. "Heads up!" she called, tossing it high into the air. Fred dove theatrically, snatched it midair, and raised it in triumph like a Quidditch Cup.

He soared down toward her, tossed the empty bottle back with a wink, and shot off again.

Still smiling, Ava turned to tuck the bottle back into her satchel and froze.

Her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar near the bottom. A thick, rough envelope, stiff with age.

The letter.

She had completely forgotten about it, the one delivered by a strange owl days ago. Her stomach tightened as she drew it out. There was no name on the front, no wax seal. Just plain, yellowed parchment folded tightly inside.

She unfolded the letter with trembling hands, and the moment her eyes hit the page, the smile vanished from her face.

My dearest Ava,
You left so abruptly. I barely had time to say goodbye.
But it's alright. We'll have time, so much time, very soon.
You've grown into something remarkable.
I look forward to seeing that face again.

With all my affection,
Your godfather

P.S. You looked lovely in disguise. But I prefer the real you.

Her breath hitched. The wind suddenly felt sharper, like it had teeth.

He knew. He had known it was her at the funeral. Somehow, despite the Polyjuice Potion, despite the precautions… he had known. And worse, he'd let her know that he knew.

Her fingers clenched around the parchment, crumpling it slightly. The words burned on the page, each line more suffocating than the last. She scanned the stands, half-expecting to see him there. Watching. Waiting.

Ava shoved the letter back into her bag, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Without another glance toward the pitch, she stood and walked quickly down the steps. She didn't run, not yet, but every step away from the field felt like wading through water.

Fred noticed her movement, slowing mid-turn on his broom, eyes following her figure as she exited the stadium without a word. But Ava didn't look back. She couldn't. Not when she felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest.