Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I didn’t make much of Diagon alley. 

Sticking close to Mother and Father, I watched all the mudblood soon-to-be first years running around, shrieking and gawking in amazement. I didn’t understand what the big deal was about. I’d grown up around magic my whole life. To them, their acceptance letter was a salvation, a new start in a completely new world. 

To me, it was a requirement. An expectation. I probably would have been disowned if I hadn’t received it. 

I clung to my mother’s left hand, while her right held onto my baby brother, Draco. I let her and Father do most of the talking in any of the stores we went into. They knew best what I’d need, anyway. 

That was, until we reached Flourish and Blotts. 

I’d never seen so many books in one place. I’d never been allowed to step inside the Malfoy Manor library; Father said that reading such topics would be unbecoming of a well-bred lady like me. Whatever that meant. 

I tried to contain my wonder as I stared around at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, holding volumes of all kinds of colors, sizes, bindings, and subjects. There was nothing I wanted more than to explore, pull out books and consume everything on the heavy parchment pages. Luckily for me, Father ran into a friend from work . 

I never much cared for talk of politics, anyway, so it wasn’t out of character when I let my hand slip from my mother’s and quietly faded away from their presence. The moment I was out of their sight I giggled and dashed up the staircase by the door, eyes everywhere but where I was walking, occasionally reaching out to run my fingertips across the ridged spines. 

Letting out another happy little squeal, I skipped forward a few feet.

And immediately ran head-first into two identical-looking boys. 

The first thing that caught my eye was the shock of slightly unkempt fiery red hair on both their heads. Then there was the fact they looked almost like carbon-copies of each other. Both abnormally tall, with gangly limbs, ragged-looking robes, and dirt smudges on their faces. They both grinned widely. I found my own lips twitching in response. 

“Whoops, didn’t see ya there,” One twin said.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” The other chimed in almost immediately after. 

“I-...” I stammered, looking back and forth between them rapidly enough I almost got dizzy, “N-nowhere in particular-”

“Great, then you’re coming with us!” They announced in unison, as one of them grabbed my hand and started to drag me down the stairs and towards the back of the store, babbling all the way. 

“I’m Fred,” The twin hauling me along said.

“I’m George,” The other piped up. 

I couldn’t stop from giggling as I told them my own name, and they flashed me matching grins. 

Well, almost matching. I couldn’t stop myself from hyper-analyzing their appearances. Fred’s had a slightly wilder quality while George’s seemed a little kinder. 

“We’re first years,” They explained in that perfect tandem of theirs. 

I smiled at them. “Me, too!” 

After a few more moments of allowing myself to be dragged through the shelves, and glancing around to ensure I was still out of sight of my parents, I finally dared to ask. “...Where are we going?” 

“Aww, don’t you trust us?” Fred crooned before chuckling. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!” George added, before they finally pulled me to a stop in a shadowed space behind the shelf just behind the teller counter. 

“What are we-” I started to ask, but they shushed me, Fred placing a finger to my lips. 

So, I followed their lead, quieting down and peeking around the edge of the shelf. The owner of the shop was busy helping a few customers a few feet away, not paying attention to his desk. 

George fished something from his robes and placed it in my hand. I looked like just an ordinary inkwell. I was about to ask what the purpose of this was, but they gave me a you’ll understand soon look. 

“We need you to go up to the desk-” Fred began

“And swap out the inkwells-” George continued. 

“Then just sit back-”

“And watch the fun!” They finished together. 

My fingers tightened around the small, squat bottle, feeling suddenly like I was tasked with something very important, and nodded. I peered around the bookcase again. The shopowner was still distracted. 

I quickly darted forward, crouching low to stay out of sight, then carefully replaced the inkwells. When I turned back to the twins they were frantically waving me back over. I dashed back to their anxiously awaiting forms and they grabbed my robes, yanking me back into hiding. 

Scrambling to regain my balance, the three of us stared anticipatorily as the wizened old wizard brought the family he was helping to his desk, picking up his quill and quickly scribbling down their receipt as they paid. 

He plucked the parchment up to hand it to them– and his brow furrowed. 

“So sorry-” we heard him rasp, “I could have sworn I…”

He scratched down the receipt again, then cursed. He tried it a third and fourth time as well, frustratedly tearing his fingers through his thin, white hair, sputtering about how he had just bought this ink, and it must be defective. 

By this point, Fred and George were clutching their stomachs in laughter, and I couldn’t help but laugh along, covering my mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. They had been right; that was fun!

I heard my name distantly called through the shop, and instantly straightened, my laughter dying.

“I have to go…” I told them dejectedly. 

They’re grins didn’t falter. “That’s alright! We’ll see you on the train, yeah?”

My smile returned softly, and I clutched the stolen inkwell just a bit tighter, giving a nod. “Yeah…!”

I heard my name again, closer this time, and at this call, I turned and started walking away. Just before I popped back out into the open, I turned and waved at them.

“See you on the train!” I repeated. 

“See you!” George replied, while Fred added, “Yeah, see you, Ink Drop!”

I felt my cheeks tinge pink at the nickname. I’d never had one before. I found my way back to my parents, slipping the inkwell into the pocket of my robes, feeling far more relaxed about starting Hogwarts. I knew, now, I wouldn’t be alone. 

"Dear, what's that you've got on your face?" My mother tutted, using the sleeve of her robe to wipe at my cheek. "...It looks like ink. Now how in Salazar's name..."

I stopped listening, Fred's voice ringing in my ears. See you, Ink Drop. I subtly checked the fingers on that hand I'd held the inkbottle with and, sure enough, the pads of my fingers were tinged black from residue on the outside of the container. I smiled fondly to myself, and to the memory. 

I curled my fingers back around my mother's and allowed myself to be led around the rest of Diagon Alley, but my mind was no longer in the present.

Rather it remained on those strange ginger twins, that seemed to glow with playful mischief. 

I’d made two friends already, and term hadn’t even started. 

~*~*~

The train platform hummed and buzzed with the sound of hundreds of students and their families saying their last goodbyes before they boarded the Hogwarts express. 

Mother. Father, and Draco had accompanied me to platform 9 ¾, which, frankly, brought little comfort as I faced my next year almost completely on my own. But I chose not to dwell on that right now. 

I was, instead, scanning the platform over and over, hoping to spot a familiar pair of ginger boys. I hadn’t seen them yet, but they would be here, surely? They promised they’d meet me on the train…

I felt my robes being tugged and looked down to find my nine-year-old little brother gazing up at me with those wide grey eyes of his. 

“You’ll come back, right?” He asked quietly. 

My heart squeezed and I crouched down, giving him a hug. That was something else I was worried about. With me gone at Hogwarts all year, he’d have no one left home to shield him.

“I’ll be back by Christmas,” I promised, giving him a tight squeezed. “I’ll be home before you know it, I swear it.” 

He nodded, appearing reassured. 

The train’s whistle blew, issuing its warning towards the dawdling families. There was a sudden hurried push for the train doors, and I straightened. That’s when I spotted them. 

We caught each other’s eyes at the same time, and I knew their grins were mirrored on my own face. I lifted my hand to wave at them, but a stiff cane quickly knocked it from the air. 

I rubbed my wrist and looked around to find Father sneering in Fred and George’s direction. My gaze darted back and forth rapidly before I spotted who could only be the twins’ father glaring right back at us. 

“Do not get yourself tangled up with such filth,” My father advised in a drawl, ending it by pointedly calling my name. “The Weasley family are a prime example of blood traitors if I’ve ever seen them.”

I felt my chest caving in at his words. Blood traitors? I didn’t exactly know what that term meant, but the way Father spoke it made the meaning undoubtedly clear: bad. 

I let my gaze trail back to who I thought would be my first friends, only to see their expressions dark. The hostility in their gaze made my heart constrict. My eyes burned, but I bit my tongue and held it in, a feat I had much practice in. 

The train whistle blew again, the final warning. I no longer had time to dwell on my crushing disappointment. Mother grabbed my face and pulled me in for a kiss, I hugged Draco, grabbed my trunk, and hurried on to the train. 

~*~*~

That evening, at the feast, I prayed to whatever god may be listening that the Weasley twins would be sorted into Slytherin, as I had been. Then, we’d have no choice but to spend time together, and I can convince my parents that, blood traitors or no, they were decent wizards. After all, as Father always said, only the best wizards and witches ended up in Slytherin. 

But, to my despair, they were almost instantly sorted into Gryffindor, sitting down next to two other ginger wizards I could only assume were their brothers. 

I was placed in a dorm with three other witches who all seemed decent enough, but my heart still ached inexplicably. I pulled my emerald curtains shut tight around my fourposter and cried. 

The next morning, a girl with black hair, Wren, didn’t say anything about it, but stuck close by me the rest of the year. She was a wonderful friend, it turned out, but I found myself missing matching grins I knew would never again be flashed in my direction. 

When I went home that summer, I took that hurt, that disappointment, and locked it deep inside me...

And hardened my heart into stone around it.  

Chapter Text

Year 5

The train rumbles and rattles beneath our seats as Wren and I settle into our train compartment. I take a deep breath and rest my head against the back of my seat, feeling my muscles start to uncoil. I’ve always liked the feel of the Hogwarts express. Every little shake is a reminder that I am about to spend another term away from home. 

Wren, as always, is the first to break the silence. 

“I wonder who they’ve chosen for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year,” she muses, running her fingers through her almost Cruella DeVille-style hair. 

The silky, straight strands of her raven-black hair hang just above her shoulders, half of it dyed silver. 

I scoff, heaving my head off the cushion. “Whoever it is, don’t get attached,” I reply, “We all know they’ll be gone by next year.”

She grins at me in that slightly wicked way of hers. “I more meant, like… last year we had an incompetent self-centred prick, and the year before that was the actual Dark Lord…” 

The irony of the old master of the dark arts being attached to someone who taught the defense of the subject is not lost on either of us. She continues listing the professors of the past four years, and their admittedly interesting attributes before she circles back to speculating about the prospective professor. 

“I’m just curious to see what sort of creature Dumbledore’s got in the post this year,” Wren concludes. 

I shrug, “I personally don’t give a shit, as long as he actually teaches the bloody subject.”

Wren doesn’t seem to pay much attention to what I say, and I really don’t particularly mind. She enjoys talking, I enjoy listening. It’s always worked for us. 

“What if he hires… I don’t know… a vampire this year or something?” 

I chuckle, shaking my head, “Dumbledore may be old, but he’s not that daft. Surely he wouldn’t let a monster like that loose in a school?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason Black’s missing is because the old codger decided to hire him ,” Wren teased, scrunching her nose. 

Unfortunately, her joke falls flat. Every time I think about Sirius Black, my skin gets chilled. Sure, Father talks plenty about the old glory days, and what life was like as a Death Eater, but…

There always seemed to be a rhyme or rhythm to it, in the stories he tells. Black… there was no reason to kill all those people just to get to one man. To completely wipe him from the face of the planet, but for a finger. That kind of lack of control, sanity, and any scrap of humanity is what makes a man truly dangerous. 

He reminds me of my Aunty Bella, and I never much liked her either, from what little I can remember before she was sent to Azkaban. 

And to know Black is loose and completely undetectable?

I am pulled from my thoughts from a rapid tap on the glass of the compartment door, and I glance up to see Pansy Parkinson standing in the corridor. 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The girl’s alright, I suppose. She can be pleasant company, but her utter infatuation with my brother can really grate after a while. 

I haul myself out of the comfortable train cushions and slide open the door. I can word-for-word predict what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. 

She politely greets Wren and I by name before asking, “I don’t suppose either of you know where Draco would be?”

I let out a long breath at the sight of the hope sparkling in her eyes. We shake our heads, but I can’t keep from at least trying to help. 

“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess he’s probably towards the back of the train with Greg, Vincent, and Blase,” I sigh, nodding in the direction I’d indicated. 

“Oh… well, thanks anyway!” She replies and scurries off. 

I slide the compartment door shut and slump back down into the bench opposite Wren. “That girl…” I mumble, shaking my head. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Wren cooed, snickering at my expression. 

Hardly five minutes pass before a familiar blonde with two hulking forms trailing him passes by the door in the same direction Pansy had just disappeared down, and I get back to my feet. 

“You should really stop coddling him, you know,” my friend hums, pretending to examine her nails. 

I roll my eyes and scoff. “I’m just going to tell him Pansy’s looking for him.”

I slide open the door and hurry into the corridor, shutting it behind me.

“Let me guess,” I called after them, a smirk curling my lips, “You’re on your way to torment Potter?” 

They all stop and turn, and Draco scowls at me. “What’s it to you?”

I give him a false pout, “Aww, why don’t you two make up and kiss already?” I croon sweetly. 

I take immense satisfaction in the fact I can see my brother’s ears go pink. As far as I’m aware, he isn’t into that, but his reactions to the intimations are hilarious. 

“I should say the same thing to you,” he retorts, “You and those Weasleys have been going at it for ages -”

I make a sharp, scolding sound, holding out a finger to silence him, giving my best disapproving big sister expression. “That’s completely different.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, right, sure…” 

He, Vincent, and Gregory turn and start making their way back down the train. 

“Pansy’s looking for you!” I call after him, grinning to myself, before slipping back into the compartment. 

My grin melts as my thoughts start to stir and muddle in my brain. Me and a Weasley . Yeah, right. Whatever affection I had for those twins died with a little girl long, long ago. They aren’t worth my time, nor my energy. 

I’d sooner hex than kiss either one of them. 

Wren and I chat idly about the coming term and our plans for it while I watch the scenery flash by outside the train window. The sky was a dark, threatening grey, holding every promise of rain. 

A pathetically short amount of time later, my brother and his friends, Pansy in tow, wrench the compartment door open and invite themselves in. Draco looks thoroughly pissed, hissing things like professor and train and bloody Potter.

Wren perks up, leaning forward. “Wait– you met the new professor?”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What’s he doing on the train?” 

Draco throws up his hands as he plops down in the seat next to me, Pansy settling in on his other side, Gregory and Vincent thumping down in the row beside Wren. 

“Hell, if I know!” He seethes, “But Potter -” he spits the name a little too aggressively, in my opinion, “-and his little friends just had to find the one compartment with a Salazar-damned professor in it!”

Wren can’t help but snort. “Oh, no, a staff member prevented you from continuing your relentless bullying streak, how tragic,” she says sarcastically. 

I snicker along with her, and Draco tries to smack my shoulder, but I block his hand at the wrist. 

The sweet trolley rolls by, and we practically fill our compartment with little snacks, laughing and chattering like starlings. The sky grows steadily angrier as the promised rain finally comes, beating on the train roof and windows as if exacting some long-awaited revenge. 

Wren leans back and sighs dramatically, stretching her legs out, lying her heels on my lap. "I am so ready to get to the castle already, my legs are starting to cramp.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the train slowed suddenly, almost lurching to a stop. 

Wren grins, slamming her feet down on the compartment floor. “Brilliant!” 

“Wait,” Draco frowns, looking down at the watch on his left wrist. “We shouldn’t be at the station yet.”

“Maybe we’re early?” Pansy shrugs.

The swinging lamplights flicker then die, plunging us into a pitch blackness. 

“Or… maybe not,” Pansy amends.

“We’re probably just broken down. Merlin knows when this train was maintenanced last,” I dismiss, though I subtly shift closer to my brother, prepared to protect him in case there was an unnatural explanation for the sudden stop. 

I hear Wren’s robes rustling as she pulls out her wand, muttering lumos , and a faint light fills the compartment, just as we were all plunged into lung-stuttering cold. 

Her eyes are fixed on the glass door, and her ordinarily confident expression had completely fallen away, her skin pale as parchment. 

Fear sinks its claws into my stomach as I, and the rest of the compartment, turn our heads to follow her gaze. 

I recognize the monster immediately. 

With its tattered black cloak, and rattling breath, the dementor uses its rotting hand to slide open the door and cast a sweeping look around at us all. I have the unsettling feeling that whatever eyes it has under its hood linger on my brother and me. 

Then its chest expands, and it sucks in a long breath, and I am no longer on the Hogwarts Express. 

My vision goes black and I’m hearing what I distantly recognize as memories. 

The sound of ice clinking around in a whiskey glass.

Mother’s voice rising in pitch as she tries to defend us, and the sound of skin hitting skin cutting off her arguments. The sound of her quiet sob. The sound of her agreeing to Father. 

Aunty Bella’s cackle following the screams of that nice-looking couple. 

Father spitting insults at Draco the day he gets his want and finds out the core is unicorn hair. ‘You’re a disgrace,’ he says, ‘a soft-hearted, weak, pathetic excuse of a Malfoy.’

I feel a cane hitting my wrist. Filth, I hear him call them. My friends. A prime example of blood traitors. 

I gasp back to reality the moment the compartment door clicked back into place, the dementor having moved on. 

I realize dully that a tingle tear is tracking down my cheek. I wipe furiously at it with my right hand, my left clamped tight around Draco’s. For once, he doesn’t try to pull away or shove me off. One glance into his haunted, colorless grey eyes and I know he'd seen much of the same things I had. 

I’ve failed. Failed as an older sister. I’m supposed to protect him, and I failed I-

Snap out of it , I scold myself. That was just the lingering effect of the dementor’s presence. That’s all. 

I take a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the ice crystals from my chest. 

“A dementor,” I murmur into the deathly silent compartment. “Agents of darkness. They feed on happiness and leave you with all your worst memories.”

I’m not sure exactly who I’m talking to, but I don’t care. I bend down and pluck up a leftover chocolate frog. I open the package and tear off its back leg before it has a chance to jump and present it to Draco. 

“Eat this, and don’t argue .” I order quietly into his ear, in my best, stern, listen to me or else voice. 

He scowls, but wordlessly takes the chocolate frog leg from me, shoving it into his mouth. A small amount of relief releases some of the weight off my shoulders as I watch some color return to his pallid skin. 

I plop the rest of the frog in his lap and try to steady my shaking breathing. A small while later the lamps all sputter back to life. Everyone else is quiet, wearing similar haunted expressions to my brother and I’s. I give them all the respect of not asking. 

The rest of the train ride was spent in uncomfortable, weighty silence. Wren tries once to start up a conversation, “What in Salazar’s name was a thing like that doing on a train with children ?” but nobody can muster the energy to reply. 

When the express finally comes to a steady halt in the brightly lit Hogsmeade station, we all quietly stand and make for the compartment door, but not before two younger students hurry past. One was a boy with wide ears and buck teeth, and the other was a girl with fiery red hair that had me immediately placing her as a Weasley. She had the same eyes as the twins. 

“I can’t believe he passed out!” the young wizard exclaims, loudly enough for the whole car to hear. He sounded genuinely distressed. 

“Neville-” The ginger witch tries to hush, only to be interrupted. 

“I mean- we should talk to Madame Pomfrey! You think Harry hit his head on his way down?”

“Neville please- ” 

Their voices fade as they step off the train. I glance over at Draco, and see his expression dark, his lips quirked slightly. My gut tightens with worry. I know he's stressed, unsteady, all his old wounds opened up thanks to that blasted dementor. I know he’ll try to take it out on somebody. What better target than Potter?

We make our way to the thestral-drawn carriages, Draco, Gregory, and Vincent breaking off to find some other third-year Slytherin boys, while Pansy, Wren and I found a carriage with some other Slytherin girls, a couple of whom Wren and I were roommates with. It appears the dementors had gotten to them, too, because the ride is unusually tense as the dragonesque horse clops forward. 

I’ve always been able to see them. When I was two, before the Boy who Lived’s miraculous defeat of the Dark Lord, I’d been wandering around the manor when I’d heard voices in a room with a cracked door. I’d peaked inside just in time to see the flash of green light and see the body thump to the floor. Mother had spotted me not long after and ushered me away. 

I hadn’t understood what I’d seen until much later. And even now, I only have vague memories of the light. It’s still enough to grant me the vision of the magnificent beasts that are thestrals. 

Walking up the steps towards the entrance hall to Hogwarts, my suspicion from earlier is, unfortunately, immediately confirmed when I hear a familiar drawl a few metres away. 

“You fainted Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted? ” 

I turn my head to see him shove that Granger girl out of the way and groan. I can see what he can’t, which happens to be an adult who can only be the new professor making his way up behind him. 

“Excuse me,” I sigh towards Wren, trying to hurry forward before he can get himself into trouble. 

“...scary old dementor frighten you, Weasley?” Draco finishes sneering just as I reach him and clamp my hand around the back of his neck, trying to wrench him away while his arms start to flail. 

I realize with a start that I have to reach up instead of down to do this, now. We were almost the same height now.

When did that happen?

The younger Weasley boy, Ron I think his name is, snickers, and my head whips to him.

“Shut it, Weasley .” I hiss, my eyes glinting dangerously. He and the twins share the same freckles. 

“Is there a problem?” A mild voice sounds behind us. Draco elbows my arm away from his neck, shooting my glare, then rakes his gaze up and down the man. 

I do my own, though far more subtle, assessment of the new faculty member. His hair is the color of dark honey, streaked with grey, robes patched and shabby, and his case looks like it’s held together with twine and dreams. 

He certainly looks like the type to eagerly agree to fill a post most believed to be cursed at this point. 

“Oh, no–er– Professor .” Draco says sarcastically, and I resist the urge to whack him upside the head. 

“Excuse us, sir,” I add before grabbing Draco’s robes and hauling him away from certain detention. 

“Have you got pixies in your brain?” I hiss once we’re inside the entrance hall. “Listen, I understand if you’re upset after that dementor, but-”

“I don’t need you to rescue me ,” He practically snarls, spitting my name at the end with a curl of his lip. 

I know I shouldn’t, but I feel irritation and anger start to burn in my chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry for trying to keep you from scrubbing trophy cabinets before term has even officially started! ”

“Just leave me alone!” His voice raises, his fists balling at his sides. “I don’t need you!”

He storms off, and too late, I realize I probably should have handled the situation differently. Guilt seeps into my bones as I watch his platinum head disappear in the sea of students. 

I don’t need you!

That’s alright, I’ll still be here. 

Always.

Chapter Text

The next morning at breakfast, Wren and I sit together at the Slytherin table, looking over our new class schedules. 

“Potions and Defense against the Dark Art with Gryffindor…” I muse, scanning the list while I munch on a crumpet. 

“Figures,” Wren scoffs, only half paying attention. 

“Herbology with the Ravenclaws…” Wren gives a disapproving grunt that sounds oddly like pretentious pricks that I elect to ignore, “And… Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures with the Hufflepuffs. Everything else is just us.” 

“When’s our first Care of Magical Creatures?” Wren asks, cutting into a sausage. "I want to see what’s so special about the game's keeper.” 

I hum, scrutinizing the schedule a little more closely. “Not until Friday.”

“And what about Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“...Today.”

I glance up from the parchment and make eye contact with my friend. We both seem to have the same idea. Looks like we’ll be the first to see what this Professor Lupin is all about.

I hadn’t gleaned much from my first encounter with him. I glance up to his spot at the head table. He certainly seems quite shabby, and his honey-colored hair is prematurely streaked with grey. Other than that, he also seems rather young. Compared to most of the other members of staff, he almost appears juvenile. 

Then there’s those odd scars across his face. I wonder where he got them. If he got them in an encounter with some dark creature, perhaps that will make him a competent professor. That would be a nice change of pace. 

A noise down the table pulls me from my thoughts. My brother is exaggeratedly swooning over, much to Pansy and a few surrounding house members’ great amusement. I glance a little farther to the left, at the Gryffindor table, and see Potter, Granger, and three Weasleys all glowering at him. 

I roll my eyes. Such dramatics . I love my brother, but he really could be a major prick sometimes. Not that I’m going to say anything. I got that message last night loud and clear. If he wants so desperately to get his arse in trouble, he can deal with the consequences on his own. I don't care. 

On my right, Wren is snickering, watching Draco. I give her a disapproving glare. 

“What?” She exclaims, gesturing to him. “ Look at him! He’s making a fool of himself.”

“Let him,” I huff, returning my eyes to my half-eaten crumpet, taking a bite out of obligation more than anything, “If he refuses to take my advice, he can get what’s coming for him.”

Wren lets out a noise in agreement. Of course, she knows all about my argument with Draco. She’s the only one I can talk to about stuff like this. 

Breakfast ends and my friend and I stand, grabbing our bags. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” Wren asks, and I nod in confirmation. 

While we have all our core classes together, Wren and I have a few different electives. She has Divination and Muggle Studies, while I have Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. We both share Care of Magical Creatures. 

I’ve always found myself fascinated by all types of wandless magic. I dream of one day owning my own apothecary… if Father can ever get past the idea of me owning my own business. Naturally, Herbology and Potions are some of my top classes. 

My first lesson of the term is Arithmancy. I settle into my desk, pulling out my parchment, quill, and ink, and sit back. The slight charge of excitement in the air, the anticipation of starting a new year was infectious. I smile and finally allow some of the tension to loosen from my shoulders. 

~*~*~

Wren and I meet up at lunch and I quietly let her fill me in on her first classes. I enjoy hearing about Muggle Studies the most. My parents, being who they are, wouldn’t hear one word of me attending the lessons when the option for electives came up before my third year. 

Wren, in that stubborn, rebellious way of hers, took on the class almost specifically so I could vicariously experience it through her. I remember how touched I was when I read her plan in that letter she’d sent. 

Seeing as I don’t eat very much, and my silver-haired friend scarfs down food like a starving man, she and I are one of the first to arrive inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. We choose seats together in the back left corner of the room, and silently scrutinize everyone else who files in. 

Though I’ve already seen most of the fifth year Slytherins, I take note of how Adrian Pucey had really begun to fill out. Draven Thorne has his coily black hair done in rows of braids this year, which I feel suits him. Two of my dormmates, Avan Allsbrook and Ophelia Blackwood, stroll in, side by side. The latter looks comically short next to the former, who is not only tall, but breaking dress code day one by wearing platform lace-ups. 

Johnson and Spinnet, those two Gryffindor chasers, have slightly longer hair and look like they’ve gotten a tad taller. 

My chest tightens as Jordan strides through the door, looking over his shoulder and laughing. I know all too well who’ll be close behind him, who he’s laughing at. 

My fingers tense on the wooden desk, my face a carefully crafted mask of boredom, as the Weasley twins walk confidently into the class, in almost perfect syncretism. 

I can’t help but assess them. 

Now that they’re not across the Great Hall, I can see that they’re somehow even taller than before, the bastards, and their hair just a little shaggier. Fred’s slightly moreso. George’s hair, like everything else about him, is a bit more tame than his brother’s. 

I hate it. I hate everything about them. I hate that I can tell them apart so well. However, I manage to take small satisfaction in the fact that I know they hate it, too. 

The twins have this unspoken rule. Anyone who can bother to tell them apart doesn’t get pranked. Which worked great. Until it didn’t. 

Ever since the day we met in Flourish and Blotts, my mind meticulously cataloged every single detail about them and placed them into separate folders. Now, telling them apart is second nature. I love the scowl they get every time I say the right name. 

We’ve come to this sort of truce. 

We get to mutter curses and insults at each other in passing, trip the other up as much as possible, but they get to keep their little honor code by not directly pranking me. 

Fred glances over and the light in his face immediately dies. A sickly-sweet little smirk curls my lips. 

“Malfoy,” he almost spits. 

“Fred,” I reply, and his glower deepens, turning his face away. His brother clasps him around the shoulder and subtly leads him away before we can start a petty insult contest in the middle of a classroom. 

And good thing, too, because it isn’t long after the twins and Jordan find their seats that Professor Lupin sweeps into the room. He only walks about halfway down the aisle between the desks before he turns and smiles kindly at us all. 

“No need to pull anything out of your bags,” Lupin announces, “Today’s will be a practical demonstration. You’ll need only your wands.”

Wren and I exchange glances before we set out bags on the floor. 

“Now, then. Follow me.”

Bemused looks are passed back and forth between the students as we follow the new professor out into the corridor and through the castle. 

Despite his unkempt outer appearance, he seems to exude gentle authority. People feel compelled to listen to him, not out of fear, but interest and respect. 

I’m beginning to like this professor already. 

He leads us into the staff room, which was empty of occupants besides whatever was inside the shuddering wardrobe. 

“Are we all here?” Lupin asks, glancing around as if counting heads. “Excellent!”

He claps his hands together. “Now, I know you have all advanced past the study of boggarts, but after discovering our little guest here this morning, I supposed you wouldn’t object to tackling one yourselves.”

Wren straightens from where she’d been slouching against the wall, leaning forward a bit. I had to admit, my interest was piqued too. While it's true, we’d studied boggarts in our third year, we haven’t been able to face one ourselves. 

“Do we all remember the countercharm? Say it with me please,” He waits a breath to ensure everyone is ready before we all call “ Riddikulus ” simultaneously. 

“Wonderful!” Professor Lupin indeed looks very pleased with us. “And what does it do? Er… Miss Blackwood?”

“It changes the boggart from the shape of something you fear into something you find funny,” Ophelia answers in that sweet voice of hers. 

“Good, five points to Slytherin. But, as I’m sure you remember, the spell itself does no damage to the boggart. What truly vanquishes the creature? Mr. Jordan,” 

“Laughter,” the boy replies with a slight snicker of his own, “The thing can’t stand laughter.”

“Wonderful, five points to Gryffindor.” Smiling at us all again, he slips his hands into his robe pockets. “Now, do we have any volunteers? Who’d like to tackle the boggart first?”

A good few hands shot up, but Avan’s was the highest, which shocked no one at all. 

Professor Lupin waves her forward and instructs the rest of us to form a line behind her. Wren grabs my wrist despite my protests and hauls my ass forward close to the front of the line. She ends up third and I end up in fourth. 

Craning my neck to try and get a better view of Avan about to face her greatest fear, the scent of fireworks and cinnamon envelopes me from behind and I resist the urge to groan. Great. I don’t deign to acknowledge Fred’s presence behind me, rather choosing to ignore him for now. 

Professor Lupin fiddles with a record player for a moment, before fun, upbeat music fills the teachers' lounge. He gives Avan a countdown before using magic to swing open the door to the wardrobe. 

Instantly, a bright orange blaze envelopes the wood of the furniture piece, spreading across the floor, turning the tips of the witch’s choppy black hair golden. 

So, her greatest fear is fire. 

“Riddikulus!” She calls in an impressively strong voice, and with a crack the fire transforms into overflowing mounds of popping popcorn.

Giggles burst throughout the room, echoing off the walls. Avan moves aside to make room for Johnson to push forward. 

Crack!

The boggart shifts into some large, notably scary-looking bird of prey. The witch’s hand tightens on her wand before she shouts “ Riddikulus! ” and the boggart cracks into a burst feather pillow. 

Wren is bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, clearly eager for her turn with the dark creature. 

Professor Lupin, laughing, expresses words of praise and encouragement as Johnson moves aside, making way for my friend. 

The pillow, which had been flopping rather pathetically on the floor quivers, then–- crack!-- water floods the room up to my knees, much to the aggravated shouts of our classmates. I had expected this. Wren’s greatest fear is drowning. 

My wild friend, however, only laughs and casts the charm, turning the floodwater into an excessively large pitcher of fruit punch.

My chest tightens as I realize, that fast, it is time to face my greatest fear personified. Suddenly, I question how ethical it is for teenagers to not only manifest their greatest fear but also announce it to a room full of their peers. 

But, too late for that. 

A strong arm shoves me forward from behind. “Get a move on–-you’re holding up the line!” Fred hisses into my ear. 

I turn and glower at him before returning my attention to the pitcher of fruit punch. It seems to hover midair, and though there are no eyes, I have the uncomfortable feeling it’s staring straight into the recesses of my mind. 

I’m not sure if it’s just me, but time seems to slow down, my breaths loud in my ears as I try to wrack my brain and prepare for what might manifest before me. 

Finally… crack! And my father is standing before me, his usual cold sneer on his lips. My brows furrow. That can’t be right. Sure, I wasn’t the most fond of the man, but he wasn’t my greatest fear. 

All the pieces fall into place, however, when another figure steps out from behind him, and he lays a hand on her shoulder.

It’s… me. Only older. My face holds the same air of cruelty as the man next to me. And… it’s hard to see… but there, just where the sleeve of my left forearm rides up, I see a hint of ink. 

It feels as though the floor has been knocked out from under me. My ears ring, my vision tunnels. 

No.

I had become exactly what Father wanted. Cold, elite, respectable. And a-...

A…

I snap back to the present when someone shoves me aside, half standing in front of me so the boggart could switch its focus. 

My hands shake.

I hadn’t even reached for my wand. 

Wren steps forward and gently grabs my arms, leading me to the back of the staff room, away from the crowd where she attempts to talk me down. I can’t quite hear. I look back over at the wardrobe, wanting to see who had pushed me. 

Fred is standing there chortling at his riddikulus -ed boggart. I muster a scowl.

Impatient prick . 

The sound of my name brings me back to the present. 

“Hey… you’re alright. It wasn’t real. I promise,” Wren murmurs, her hands on my shoulders. “You hear me?”

I nod, mentally trying to scrub the boggart’s image from my brain. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine, thanks.” I mumble. 

Her lips press together, and I know she’s tempted to call me on my bullshit, but she doesn’t comment. 

We stand in the back corner, talking quietly while the rest of the class effortlessly faces their fears, the room periodically bursting into laughter. Relief damn near weakens my knees with Professor Lupin dismissing the class. 

Wren and I are the first out of the room, and almost slam head-first into a panting Pansy Parkinson. 

“What-” I splutter, my brows furrowing in confusion, then I see the worry in the girl's eyes and my expression neutralizes. 

“Pansy…” I say quietly but firmly. “What is it?”

She clutches her chest, clearly out of breath from running halfway across the castle. 

“Accident… hippogriff…” She explains between breaths, “Draco… hospital wing…”

She keeps going, but I've heard all I need to. Hands clenched at my sides I speed-walk down the corridor, Wren hot on my heels. 

I reach the hospital wing with impressive speed, my heart thumping against my chest. 

I regret what I said earlier. I do care. Very much so. I just hope this 'accident' isn't as terrible as I fear. 

Chapter Text

By the time I’ve thrown open the doors to the hospital wing, my features have schooled into calculating neutrality. 

It isn’t hard to find Draco’s bed. Even if he weren’t the only occupant, Vincent and Gregory standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and muscles flexed as if that somehow makes them intimidating, is a sure indicator. 

“You two. Out. Now.” I command with all the authority befitting of the name Malfoy. 

They look like they’re about to argue but wisely think better of it and thump out of the room. 

I watch after them to ensure they’ve left before sighing. Without turning my head, I murmur, “You don’t need bodyguards, Draco. You’re better than that.”

“Maybe I just don’t like getting my hands dirty,” He replies, and I finally turn to face him, my expression softening a fraction. 

“What happened?” I ask, cutting to the chase. 

With zero hesitation, he launches into the story of his first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, in which Hagrid introduced them all to hippogriffs. He tells me how the professor, biased as always, made sure the Potter boy got all the glory for flawlessly interacting with Buckbeak, one of said hippogriffs, so Draco set out to prove it wasn’t really that difficult at all. 

“Then, the beast damn near tore my arm off,” He finishes, scowling and brandishing his bandaged and slinged arm. 

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel a slight headache coming on. 

“So, you’re telling me,” I grind out, “That after receiving specific instruction on how to handle hippogriffs, you purposely disregarded them in an attempt to nurse your damaged ego?”

Draco’s expression hardens, ducking his head. 

“It is day one , Draco,” I admonish. “Feel free to continue your petty squabbling with Potter, but I can’t stand by and watch you make foolish mistakes that end with you hurt.”

“I’m not a child!” He spits in reply.

“Precisely. So, I expect you to stop making childish mistakes.”

A tense silence fills the space, and my hands flex at my sides. Eventually, after a few heartbeats of eternity, I let out a long breath and sit down on the bed next to Draco, staring at my hands in my lap. 

“I only worry for you,” I admit softly. “When Pansy said you’d been involved in an accident with a hippogriff… I know what those creatures can do. You are unimaginably lucky that you came away with just a few scrapes. You could have lost your arm or worse- ”

I have to cut myself off and take a breath before I let too much emotion leak into my voice. 

I lift my head and look him in the eyes. Just… look at him. For a moment. I think back to the slight sparkle that had been in his slate-colored eyes that day on platform 9 ¾ my first year of Hogwarts. Nine months later, when I’d stepped onto that platform again, that sparkle had been gone. There is not a moment I don’t blame myself for allowing the last bit of that innocence to die. 

Even now, they glitter with irritation. A small voice in my brain whispers all the apologies I wish I could voice to him. I silence them with a blink. 

I sigh again and slip off his bed, only half facing him. 

“I’ll stay out of your way if you promise to stop making stupid decisions, deal?”

He stays silent for a heartbeat before begrudgingly muttering, “Deal.”

I stride from the room, chin lifted and back ramrod straight. Exiting the hospital wing, I don’t falter a step, and Wren, who had been leaning against the wall, scrambles to catch up to me. 

For a while the only sound is our shoes against the stone floor echoing in the empty corridor. 

“He’s a prick,” Wren says eventually. 

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Offending a hippogriff like that is bloody stupid.”

“Well aware.” 

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

“Not even close.”

Wren has the decency to just nod as we make our way down to the dungeon. We’re a little early, but the detour to the hospital wing had taken up most of the free period between Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. 

Dodging around a gaggle of first years, Wren pipes up again. “Well, you’ve had a shit day.”

I snort softly. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Let me finish ,” Wren huffs rolling her eyes, but I know it’s good natured. “I couldn’t help but notice your roots have grown out. I could pull out some of my black dye and we could have a girl’s night?”

I feel my lips pulling into a smile despite myself. 

It’s something we’ve been doing together since third year. Wren went for the vertical split, and I went for horizontal, like my mother. 

I remember Father’s face looked borderline disgusted when he first saw it, and Mother was trying very hard not to look too pleased. 

Of course, I could always use magic to keep the top half of my hair dyed black, but I find I like the slight intimacy of allowing Wren to do it the muggle way. 

“That sounds lovely , Wren,” I reply, and I mean it. 

Chapter Text

I flop into a plush armchair next to the crackling fire in the Slytherin common room with a tired huff. The green hue the Black Lake cast on the room helped to soothe my frayed nerves, if only a little. 

Potions had gone just about as expected. The Weasley twins had been disrupting little pricks, Snape took points from Gryffindor, then assigned a mountain of homework before any of us had even properly unpacked. 

I’m so ready for today to be over

I lean my head back onto the backrest of my seat, closing my eyes and soaking up the relative quiet of the common room. It’s a peace with the same quality as the calm before a storm, knowing sometime soon everyone will be returning from classes. 

I can hear leather creak and, without looking, know Wren has settled into the chair beside me. She gives me the courtesy of providing the silence I so desperately crave. I don’t even bother to peel my eyelids apart when I hear the stone at the front of the common room grind open. 

“Does it hurt terribly, Draco?” Pansy’s crooning, falsely high-pitched voice splinters through the common room. 

My jaw clenches and my brows furrow. There goes that delicate peace. Why does she feel the need to do that? I’ve seen the way she acts when she doesn’t feel the need to pretend. To impress. It’s infinitely more attractive than this sickeningly demure persona. 

Pain pierces through my temple and radiates across my forehead. I stand suddenly, not bothering to stay and listen to my brother bathing in all the attention and stalking towards the girls’ dormitories. 

It’s not until I flop over onto my fourposter that I realize Wren has followed me. She leans against one of the banisters, gazing down at me with a sympathetic smirk. 

“...How do you feel about skipping dinner?” She offers. 

“Aren’t you going to give me a lecture on healthy eating habits?” I grumble; my voice partially muffled on the emerald quilt. 

She scoffs softly, “Usually. And don’t get me wrong, love, you could use a sandwich”

I groan, rolling over to scowl at her, opening my mouth for a rebuttal.

“– But -” She continues, giving me a let me finish look, “...I think you could use an empty common room for an hour more.”

I purse my lips, trying to deny how good that sounds right now. 

“...Sure you aren’t going to starve?” I protest weakly. 

“I can have Seraph or Avan bring me back a plate,” Wren says, waving a dismissive hand, before she reaches forward, grabs mine, and hauls me to my feet. 

“What do you say?” She asks, the silver half of her hair catching in the light, grasping our free hands together and swaying us so we’re somewhat dancing around the dorm room. “We can turn on some music… I’ll pull out the hair dye…”

I scoff, unable to keep the smile from spreading my lips. “Alright, alright,” I finally concede, shaking my head, “ Damn you for knowing how to cheer me up.”

“What would you do without me?” Wren says with exaggerated pride mixed with mock humility. 

“Honestly? I think I’d have died by now,” I tease and let her spin me.

~*~*~

Wren and I spent the next couple of hours before dinner personalizing the dorm room with Ophelia, Avan, and Seraphina Nightshade, our third roommate, a quiet witch with long, silky black hair, and equally dark eyes. 

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, honestly. Hanging up posters, unpacking clothes and books, chatting and catching up after the summer holiday, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved when the other girls dismissed themselves for dinner. 

Finally alone, Wren sets up an ambiance playlist, and I find myself smiling as she digs through her trunk, pulling out a box of black hair dye. While her back is turned, I change into an oversized, black, night shirt, and start brushing my hair out. 

Using her wand, Wren transfigures a rubbish bin into a comfortable stool and gestures for me to sit. She pulls on the clear plastic gloves and tsks at the state of my roots. 

I smirk, though she’s standing behind me. “What? I know you like doing it yourself, so I just let it grow out.” 

“Oh, just shush. Nothing different this time?” 

I shake my head, and Wren hums in confirmation. She pulls out the bottle from the box and shakes up the chemicals in it before cracking it open. The sweet smell fills the room, and I feel myself begin to relax, letting the sound of the music wash away the headache from earlier. 

Wren quickly waves her wand, parting my natural hair out of the way before the prickling cold of the hair dye seeps into my scalp, her gloves crinkling as she rubs it in, repeating the process until all my roots are covered. 

The next hour is spent singing along to spiteful songs and laughing, waiting for the dye to develop. 

I never feel as light as I do in these moments. Where I feel like I can just be a normal witch. Not a Malfoy, just… me. Where I can briefly say Screw expectations . 

Wren holds me under the sink in the dorm’s bathroom, helping me rinse my hair before she styles it. 

“These products are supposed to keep your hair in the same style for almost three days straight, even through sleep!” 

I hum in feigned impress, not believing that for a second. The bedhead is very strong with me. 

By the time Avandula returns with a plate of food for Wren, half my hair is freshly ink-black, shiny, and ever so slightly curled. Before my friend has a chance to collect her dinner, I grab her arm, pulling her into a hug in the relative privacy of the bathroom. 

“I know I don’t say it often,” I murmur quietly, “but I appreciate everything you do for me. Alright? You’re my best friend, Wren.”

She seems caught off guard by my sudden affection but quickly embraces me back. “Stop that. You’ll make me cry, and this eyeliner is expensive.”

I let her go and grin at her, before finally releasing her to devour her food. 

I follow her out and settle onto my bed, deciding to get a head start on this Potions homework, sitting cross-legged on my emerald bedding, surrounded by potions textbooks and a roll of parchment. 

Before I can really get into it, however, a large dinner roll is damn near slammed into my lap. I look up with a scowl to see Wren standing over me, munching on Merlin knows what. 

She swallows and smirks at me. “What, you thought I was going to let you go hungry? You’ve still gotta eat.” 

I can’t seem to muster a protest, rolling my eyes before taking a bite of the soft, buttery bread. Wren shrugs and wanders away. 

It’s another few hours before I finally call it a night, pulling my curtains tight around my fourposter. I close my eyes and breathe in the mingled scents of my dorm, settling comfortably into the routine of life at Hogwarts. 

Here’s to several months away from home. 

The thought sends me to sleep soundly.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass rather uneventfully–for Hogwarts standards, that is. I’ve attended all my first classes of term, and the patterned routine woven through with chaos held me like an old friend. 

Quidditch practices have started, and I occasionally bring study materials to the pitch, to watch Draco practice. That, and throw insults at him at my leisure, of course. 

One Thursday afternoon in early October, Wren and I walk out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom after another excellent lesson from Professor Lupin. 

“You know, I think he’s my favorite yet,” Wren muses, hefting her bookbag higher on her shoulder. 

I nod, inclined to agree. He’s structured, knowledgeable, kind, and firm. He may be the best damn professor in the entire castle. 

“I hope he stays,” I reply, turning a corner down a side corridor. “We need more professors like him.”

Wren opens her mouth to comment, but her words never make it past her lips. 

Passing back into another hall, we trip a wire, some invisible, magical thing. In an instant, colored powders explode all around my friend and I, covering our robes, skin, and hair with a loud BANG!

I yelp, swiping my eyes, and pulling my wand, quickly muttering a scourgify that cleans up the mess in a heartbeat. I hear sniggering and quick, scuffling footsteps, and look up just in time to see a pair of ginger heads sprinting around a corner. 

I make an angry, frustrated noise in the back of my throat, grip tightening on my wand. 

“Like hell you are,” I grind out and book it after them. 

For such long-limbed individuals, they’re not as fast as I expect them to be. It takes less than a minute before I catch up to them, close enough I can see the flush on their ears from the running. 

I wave my wand in front of me, aiming for Fred’s back and shout the tripping jinx. 

His feet immediately catch on each other, and he careens forward. I watch as he grabs his brother’s robes in an attempt to stay upright and instead sends them both crashing into the marble.

I smirk, and cross my arms, letting out a small hmmph of triumph. Sitting up and rubbing his knocked head, Fred looks over his shoulder, sees me, and scowls. 

Not only have I just knocked him on his ass, I’m also not covered in the vibrant colors they had so carefully placed. 

My smirk widens and I wave tauntingly at him, then sweep back down the halls before he has a chance to retaliate. 

“Well?” Wren asks, falling into step beside me once I reach her. 

“Tripping jinx,” I tell her, still grinning at the look, the utter disappointment in Fred’s face. “Didn’t see it coming. Poor little boys probably got scuffed knees.”

Wren snickers, returning my wicked smile and knocking me in the shoulder. “Nice!”

We descend one of the moving staircases in relative silence, before I start musing. 

“It’s odd, though, isn’t it?” I hum; my eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“What? That you kick ass? No, not odd at all.” Wren teases. 

I shake my head, but I can’t help the way my lips quirk at her comment. “No, no not that. I mean it’s…strange. That we were pranked.”

Wren gives me an odd look. “Erm… isn’t that, like, the twins’ whole schtick?” 

My hands tighten on the sleeves of my robes. “Well… it was just… colored powder. I cleaned it up in half a second with a simple charm. Their pranks aren’t usually tame like that.” 

I can’t tell her the real reason I find the prank strange. While what I’d said is true, it wasn’t the nagging thought in the back of my mind. 

I can tell them apart . They never prank those who can tell them apart. It’s that silly little pact of theirs. Now, Wren doesn’t fall under that category, but she was with me. She’s always with me. They know that. 

So why…

“Probably wasn’t meant for us, then,” Wren dismisses, shrugging. “They were probably aiming for first or second years. You know, students who wouldn’t know the scourgify spell, yet.”

My brows pinch slightly. 

Wasn’t meant for us…

I shake myself slightly. There’s absolutely no point dwelling on them. We’re even, now, anyway. Until they do something stupid, again, of course. 

~*~*~

When Wren and I finally make our way back inside the Slytherin common room, there’s an unusual amount of noise. That tell-tale buzz of excitement charges the air, and I quickly slip through the crowd, Wren on my tail, to where Draco is sulking in a corner with his goons- I mean guards- I mean friends. 

Wren shoves the back of his head by way of greeting, and I ignore his scowl as I ask, “What’s going on?”

Draco scoffs, busy waving Wren’s hands away. 

“Hogsmeade weekend announced. Halloween,” He snips. 

Wren relents her torment to grin at me. 

“Brilliant!” She announces, planting her hands on her hips. “I could use a butterbeer.”

The sparkle in her eyes tells me she’s looking for something far stronger than just butterbeer. 

I roll my eyes affectionately, shaking my head gently. “I wouldn’t mind popping by Tomes and Scrolls.”

“On the subject of Halloween, did you know, muggles…” Wren launches into a complicated and rather unclear account of how muggles celebrate the holiday. I listen intently, smiling, the silly little prank of the morning already long forgotten. 

Mostly.

Chapter Text

By the time Halloween rolls around, the air has finally taken on the chill of the season, and the Forbidden Forest is full of lovely hues of red, orange, and gold. 

It’s a lovely balance. It’s not quite so cold as to be miserable yet, and all vegetation is still in the beautiful transition from life to death. Even the whomping willow still has its yellow leaves, though I suspect it’ll shake them off soon. 

Aside from the whispers, newspapers read aloud, and general speculation of Sirius Black’s whereabouts (which, for the sake of my own sanity, I ignore) these past few weeks have gone by without a hitch. The twins have even left me alone for the time being, our paths only briefly crossing. Probably too afraid of being sent to their asses again, I suppose. 

Speaking of, the sound of footsteps walking past the writing desk I’ve commandeered in the library causes me to glance up, and scowl slightly. Fred and George stroll past the bookcases like they own the place, up to no good, I presume. 

I’m so busy ensuring the two boys don’t spontaneously decide to start burning books, I don’t notice Wren coming up beside me, until her hands slam onto the wood. 

I nearly leap out of my skin, jumping in my seat and almost knocking over my inkwell. I catch it just before it spills all over my Ancient Runes homework. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs, and my glare softens, despite myself. “What are you doing holed up in the library? We’ll be heading to Hogsmeade soon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I reply sarcastically, carefully replacing all my study supplies in my bag, “does your relationship with your parents hinge on your academic success?”

Wren rolls her eyes, hauling me to my feet as soon as the last quill is in my bookbag, dragging me out of the library. “What ever . Come on. You need to drop that stuff off back in the dorm before we can go. And I want to braid your hair. 

I can’t help but smile. Wren may be a lot, but this is just how she shows she cares. It’s possibly the only reason I allow her to continue her hold on my hand while we make our way to the dungeons. 

In our dorm room, Ophelia, Avan, and Seraphina are doing various things to get ready. Ophelia’s sticking a pair of delicate earrings in her ears, Avan’s doing eyeliner in the bathroom mirror, and Seraph’s brushing some tangles out of her long hair. 

The scene makes me smile slightly. I can’t help but get caught up in their excitement. Enough that when Wren demands I drop the uniform as well–“It’s the weekend!”–I don’t put up a fight. 

I slip on a deep, emerald green knit sweater and skirt that falls to just above my knees and binds at the waist with silver clasps. I add a pair of skin-color tights to ward against the chill and finish it with a pair of delicate, but comfortable, black boots. 

Wren smiles when she sees me, and even Avan offers a compliment, before the former sits me down on the floor beside her bed, and ties my hair back in a dutch braid. 

The five of us walk to the castle courtyard together where the rest of the school, third year and up, are gathering to have their permission slips checked before being permitted to the village. 

“I’m hoping to go to that tea shop with Faye,” Avan says while we mill about. 

“Oh, yeah! How are things going with her?” Wren asks, like she’d forgotten the two were dating. 

“Good, actually!” Avan says, smiling. “She’s great. Makes me teas for my headaches.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Seraph coos softly, and we all giggle a bit. 

“Ah, there she is,” Avan announces, spotting the silvery-haired Ravenclaw standing by the large courtyard tree, “I’d better go. I’ll see you all at the feast!”

She waves and we all echo the sentiment, “Yeah, see you!”

Movement at the stone steps catches my eye, and I see Harry Potter with his two friends pleading with their head of house, Professor McGonagall. I cock my head in curiosity, smacking Wren’s arm to grab her attention.

We’re too far away to hear the conversation but in the end, Potter walks dejectedly back into the castle. 

“Damn. Sucks for him,” Wren muses. 

“Sucks for who?” Ophelia asks, glancing in the direction we’d just been looking in. 

“Potter hasn’t got permission,” I explain. I can’t help but genuinely feel bad for the boy. It must not feel very good to watch just about everyone else enjoy a privilege you’ve been denied. 

“Aww, poor kid,” the mousy-haired witch sympathizes. 

Once everyone’s permission has been assured, we start the trek to Hogsmeade. 

The air is cool, but the sunlight is still warm, and the air smells pleasantly earthy. In the village, our little group splits. Wren heads off to Honeydukes, Ophelia decides to go with her before meeting up with Avan and Faye at Madam Puddifoot’s, and Seraphina says she needs something from Dervish and Banges. 

The stroll through the streets of Hogsmeade is wonderful, as always. Students and residents mill about, talking, laughing. I tighten my grip on the strap of my now-empty bookbag as I duck through the doorway of Tomes and Scrolls. 

The air is musty with the scent of books, different from the one at the library. I run my fingers along the leather spines of the books I walk past–an old habit from when I was young. 

Near the back, the old store-keeper has a small section of imported muggle books. My neck cranes sideways to read the titles of the volumes. Some I recognized, having already read them. Some I recognized from Wren telling me about them in her muggle studies classes. 

One caught my eye from its metallic gold cover, dragons decorating the front, back, and spine. I flip open the front flap and snort after a few moments of reading. 

For people completely unaware of magic, muggles sure had an obsession with it, along with a great many false ideas about how it worked. 

Regardless… I tuck the novel under my arm, and keep scanning. The second one I pluck off the shelf has a cover of half a woman’s face obscured with the branches of a nightshade bush. The premise seemed rather dark. I tucked it under my arm as well. 

“Ah! Miss Malfoy,” the old book-keep exclaims with gruff affection when I approach the counter, “lovely to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you, too, sir,” I reply kindly, placing the two books on the counter. 

You’d be hard-pressed to dislike the man. He had the energy of a darling grandfather, with a twinkle in light blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. 

“Four, sickles, my dear,” the old man says, his quill scratching on his log book. 

I fish the silver coins from my pocket and place them on the counter before gently stuffing the novels into my bag. I give him a polite nod and wish him well before walking out of the store and back into the streets of Hogsmeade. 

~*~*~

“Look what I got,” Wren whispers excitedly later that afternoon when she falls into step beside me on the way back to Hogwarts. 

I look over at her, eyes falling to her hands as she lifts something partially out of her bag, the distinctive curved glass of a firewhiskey bottle glinting in the setting sunlight. 

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Only you,” I say affectionately. 

“I’m honestly surprised every time that the old codger at The Hog’s Head doesn’t question the ages of his patrons.” 

“He probably doesn’t care, so long as he gets gold out of it,” I muse. 

As the sun approaches the horizon, the temperature of the air begins to drop, the breeze brushing our faces taking on a bit of a bite, so by the time we arrive back at the castle, our noses are dusted pink. 

We swing by the common room to drop our haul in our dorm, both Wren and I instantly hiding our bags in our trunks, before hiking up the numerous stone steps and corridors to the great hall for the feast. 

The sound of a crinkling wrapper catches me by surprise, and I glance sidelong at Wren, just in time to watch her pop a sweet into her mouth. 

“What?” She asks around the sweet at my pursed lips and narrowed eyes, “It’s just a little snack!”

“We’re going to a feast .”

“Whatever.”

I roll my eyes and chuckle exasperatedly. We follow the tide of students into the great hall, the floating candles replaced by floating jack-o-lanterns, enchanted bats squeaking around the ceiling, and tables full of all sorts of delicious foods. 

The chitter and laughter filling the grand space seems to be lighter, happier. The trip into Hogsmeade paired with the holiday appears to have put everyone in a good mood. Even the ghosts seem to be of brighter spirits. At least, the Bloody Baron isn’t threatening to kill so many people this evening. 

The desserts are even better than the main course. More pumpkin flavored confections scatter the table than I can even begin to name, along with other classic autumn flavors: apple, cinnamon, sweet potato, and more. 

I find myself drawn to the cinnamon treats, filling my plate with them. 

Only when everyone is stuffed to bursting, do our head boys and girls start leading us back to our respective common rooms. 

On our way out, I pass by Draco in time to hear him say, “The dementors send their love, Potter!” and smack him upside the head for it. He glares at me and opens his mouth to say something rather intelligent, I’m sure, but I ignore him, and breeze right on by. 

“Sweet Merlin, I am stuffed ,” I say with a groan, hand over my stomach. “I never eat that much.”

Wren chuckles, “I’d say I’m beginning to regret that little snack earlier, but I don’t particularly feel like listening to your I told you so lecture.”

“Well, you’d deserve it.” I retort and scrunch my nose affectionately at her.

But I just can’t stay mad at her. This day has gone too well. 

We file into the common room, Wren and I claiming a two-seater sofa for ourselves. Some of our dormmates and a few others we’re friendly with claim the surrounding seats, and we chat for all of two minutes before a chilling sort of hush falls over the crowd. 

“What’s going on?” Ophelia asks, looking around. 

I look up and see Professor Snape standing just inside the entrance to the common room. My blood runs cold. He’d only been in here once before during my time at Hogwarts–last year, when a giant snake roamed the halls, petrifying students, and kidnapped a girl. 

That’s when the whispers finally reach our ears, and dread makes my head go fuzzy.

Sirius Black is inside the castle.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black.

Mass murderer.

Somewhere in the castle.

Broken fragments of the professors’ conversation filter through my ears, and my chest constricts. I’ve hidden myself in the shadows by the entrance to the great hall, where the staff is discussing the incident. 

Draco is safe , I remind myself. I’d sent Wren on ahead to make sure of that. He already has his sleeping bag, having commandeered a corner of the great hall for himself, Vincent, Gregory, Theo, Blaise, and, of course, Pansy. My little brother is safe . That’s what matters. 

But it still feels like the air is too thick. Or like my throat is too narrow to properly accept it. Either way, I need to get away from here. Listening to the professors is only serving to coil tighter the rising panic in my gut. 

Searched everywhere , I hear, while carefully backing out of my hiding place. 

Can’t find him.

I pick up my pace on my way to the pile of plush, purple sleeping bags, trying desperately to leave my spiraling thoughts behind with the professors. Their voices bounce around the inside of my skull, loud and dizzying. Black. Murderer. Somewhere. Can’t find him.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m running, swallowing back the further tightening of my throat. One would think I, as a Malfoy for Salazar’s sake, would be able to handle such prospects but no . And no amount of my usual self-scolding is helping. 

He killed dozens of people for existing in the wrong space at the wrong time. I have no doubt that he would harm an entire hall full of children in order to exact his revenge on Potter. 

Fucking Potter . Everything has to revolve around the kid, doesn’t it?

Just as I’m about to reach the giant pile of purple fabric, I’m, rather suddenly, halted in my tracks. By slamming my face into an unyielding, unreasonably tall chest. 

“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy .”

Oh. Great . Just wonderful. Because this is absolutely what I need right now. 

I do not have the time nor the mental energy to jeer back. My eyes stay trained on his scuffed black school shoes. I tug on my braid, wishing I’d undone it earlier, because the wispy fly-aways haloing my face aren’t enough to conceal my wide, panic-stricken eyes. 

Fred rubs his sternum, though I can’t see his face from this angle. I know him by his posture. He stands a little taller, a little straighter than his twin, shoulders slightly broader. 

I stand still, because I’m worried moving will only serve to make me fall apart when it is taking everything to hold myself together. I expect him to move, to purposely shove my shoulder with his while walking away from me, but no, he just stands there. Savoring my misery, no doubt. 

“You’re… not okay,” My jaw clenches. It’s not a question, just a statement of fact. I don’t know why that aggravates me so much. 

“Hey…” His voice is suddenly unbearably soft, and he lifts a hand as if to touch me and quickly thinks better of it. Good. He sighs frustratedly, and his hand disappears above my vision, presumably to rake through that fiery hair of his. 

“I need you to look at me,” he says, voice somewhere between concern and aggravation. 

I don’t move. I don’t want to see him. I can’t handle his face right now. 

He says my name, and though my hands clench I still don’t move. 

I should walk away, should just breeze past him with my chin up, the same air of superiority I’m so sure to exude around others. But my legs seem to think otherwise, seeing as my knees have locked. 

I can hear him take a deep breath, like he’s momentarily debating something, then-

“ Ink Drop .”

My head snaps up to his, and I choose to ignore the relief in his eyes when I do. That name… that fucking nickname. 

It has no right to affect me so. The way my throat tightens painfully with nostalgia and something else I can’t bring myself to name right now. Four years. It’s been four years since he’s called me that. 

That day in Flourish and Blotts… 

Before our fathers got involved, before we were told how to-

I push that thought away. One existential crisis at a time.

Fred got what he wanted. I’m looking into his eyes. Godric , those eyes. Warm and brown, and for once not sparkling with mockery or mischief. 

He takes a second to ensure he really has me, before repeating, “You’re not okay .”

I press my lips together and shake my head. Just the smallest of motions. 

He sighs, looking around at the stone walls of the great hall like they might yield the answers. 

My throat bobs as I try once, twice, to swallow. 

“...Why?” My voice is hoarser than I want it to be. 

He looks back at me and I see understanding flash in his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so serious. 

“I’ve seen you damn near every day for the past four years,” he explains quietly, “and never once, have I seen the kind of panic in your eyes as there is now. Well-...”

He doesn’t finish his own self-correction, but I know what he’s talking about immediately. 

The boggart. 

I just nod, my hands cradling my elbows. The silence that follows is a special kind of torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My mind is a jumble of broken thoughts and fragmented memories. 

Black. Ink Drop. Murderer. Blood traitors. Draco’s safe. Still care . 

The kind of thoughts that keep shifting because I can’t bear to dwell on any single one for too long. 

I’m simultaneously relieved and further wound up when I see George approach. 

“What’s going…” He begins and trails off immediately when he sees the looks on his twin’s and my faces. 

He purses his lips and looks at Fred, questions I can’t read clearly shining in his eyes. 

In a few eyebrow twitches, they seem to share a thousand words, and George nods in understanding. Acceptance. 

Fred seems to relax in the presence of his brother, and after only a heartbeat’s hesitation, he says, “Let’s get you a sleeping bag, yeah?”

I nod. I don’t have the energy to fight back right now. I’m sure by morning I’ll be tearing myself apart for allowing them to see such weakness from me, but for now…

Fred walks in front and to my left, George at my back and slightly to the right. They feel balanced. Safe. I don’t know what that means for me. 

They don’t say anything more as we reach the sleeping bags, Fred plucking one and handing it to me with uncharacteristic gentleness. His arms briefly brush against mine, so strong and study I have to immediately stamp out the urge to drop the sleeping back and leap into those arms, just for a chance to feel safe. 

But that is much too far. I have to be strong on my own. I have to protect my brother, even if he claims not to want it 

“Do you know where you’re going to sleep?” George asks from behind me. 

I nod mutely, daring a glance up at Fred. 

He returns my gaze steadily, asking “Do you want us to walk you there?”

I slowly cast my gaze over to the corner where a distinctive head of platinum hair sat with his friends. Less than a meter away, I can see Wren. Even from across the great hall I can see how many questions muddle her mind. 

“No,” I mumble, and start to walk away. 

After only a few paces, however, I stop. Look over my shoulder. Both twins are watching me. The words clog my throat, so I choose to keep my mouth shut, merely nodding my thanks and striding away before I can do anything else stupid.

Chapter Text

The days and weeks leading up to the first quidditch match of the season grow progressively more cold and miserable. Every other day is soaked through with freezing rain, today being no exception. Though, even as we trudge across the grounds with our hoods up to Hagrid’s hut, I can’t help but be grateful. 

I have no classes with Gryffindor today. And tomorrow is the quidditch game. 

Since Halloween, things have been… odd. Fred and George haven’t tried to pull… anything on me. In fact, they seem almost… friendly. Nodding when we pass in halls and mostly leaving me be. 

I can’t stand it. 

The routine has been broken. One of my few constants has been shifted. I don’t know how exactly to feel about it.

I refuse to allow myself to entertain the thought that tickles at the back of my mind. It’s nice.

As usual, Slytherin is the first to gather on the grounds, but Hufflepuff isn’t too far behind. Everyone has their hoods up–a few, even, holding their textbooks over their heads–except for one girl with long, light brown hair and round glasses, who appears to be enjoying the rain. Heather Selene. 

I’m so lost in my thoughts I forget for a moment that I’m a witch. With magic accessible to me. I fish my wand out of my robes and wave it above Wren and I’s heads, muttering a charm. An invisible umbrella immediately manifests, diverting the water from our heads. 

“Took you long enough,” She grumbles.

“You have magic too, you know.”

“Mine never last.”

We share a grin before Hagrid emerges from his hut. Now, the groundskeeper has never been known for how put-together he is, but he seems to be a mess . Even for his standards. 

Red, puffy eyes like he’s been crying, beard a little more gnarly than usual, shoulders hunched just so, like he’s trying, rather ineffectively, to make himself look smaller. 

I catch a glimpse of him tucking something small into the inner pocket of his mole-skin coat. Parchment, and perhaps, the tip of a feather. 

My eyes narrow. 

“Righ’, well, I’ve got somethin’ interestin’ for you lot, today,” The large man grunts, putting on a large smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “An’ safe. Perfectly safe.” 

“Why do I suddenly doubt that?” Wren whispers in my ear, following the rest of the class as Hagrid leads us around to the back of his hut, where he has a sort-of tent set up. 

Really, it’s just a pen with four tall posts at each corner, supporting a stretch of canvas that keeps the creatures beneath relatively dry. 

“Inside here are a bunch o’ hedgehogs, an’ exactly one Knarl. Yer job is ta figure out which one it is,” Hagrid announces. “Whichever one of ya catches it first, don’t get homework this week.”

Clearly taking that as permission, several students, including Wren and I shift forward, stepping over the fencing and into the corral of numerous hedgehogs. Noticing a small table laden with plucked daisies, I nudge my friend toward it, and we both grab a handful of flowers. 

Crouching down, we offer one at a time to the nearest animals. 

They immediately waddle over to us, propping their little hands on our fingers to better devour the flowers. 

“Aww, look at them!” Wren coos beside me, giggling, “Can we keep them?” 

I snort softly, watching her scratch the little guy’s underbelly. “I wish. Definitely not knarls, though.” 

Knarls take great offense to being offered food, believing it to be a trap, and will immediately attack whoever had attempted to feed them. At least, that’s what was in the assigned reading. 

“Hey, does… Hagrid seem off to you?” I venture as we shuffle off to the next pair of awaiting hedgehogs. 

“He’s looked better, I suppose. Why?” Wren tilts her head curiously. 

“...I’m worried,” I admit.

“For Hagrid ?” She snorts a laugh. 

“While his qualifications are questionable at best, that’s not the point. I think it has something to do with Draco’s first lesson with him.”

Wren blinks at me, and I sigh, realizing I haven’t yet told her about my argument with my brother in the hospital wing. “He directly disobeyed Hagrid’s instructions and was clawed by a hippogriff-” 

“He let third years handle hippogriffs?” Wren gasps.

I groan, “Not the point. Either way, Draco was in the wrong but refused to accept it. I thought it had blown over, but…”

I glance briefly over at the professor who seems rather lost in thought, just standing in the rain. “I saw him tuck a letter and a feather into his pocket. I think Draco may have said something to our father.” 

“Oh,” Wren says, finally realizing, “no, yeah, that’s bad.”

“I’ll have to-” I broke off as a sudden shriek split the air, followed by a burst of laughter, and both Wren and I snap our heads towards the sound. 

A curly-blonde Hufflepuff I know as Jasmine Dove is sucking on their finger while glaring pointedly at what looks like a hedgehog, but is increasingly obviously a knarl, clutched in a cackling Heather’s hands. 

“Well done!” Hagrid congratulates, lumbering over and clapping Jasmine on the shoulder, nearly sending them to their knees. “Seeing as that was a joint effort, the both of ya don’ have to worry about no homework this week.” 

Several groans of defeat echoed through the Slytherins while the other Hufflepuffs mostly murmured congratulations. 

Wren and I stand, brushing our hands off on our robes, and listen as Hagrid informs us that the rest of us have essays on the behavioural differences of knarls and hedgehogs due next lesson. 

As we trudge back up the grounds, I make a point to pass by Heather and Jasmine before our houses part ways. They’re the only ones I can reasonably call acquaintances. 

“Hey, good luck on your team tomorrow,” I say, offering a smile.

“Thanks!” Heather replies with a smile, at the same time Jasmine narrows their eyes and asks, “Why?”

I shrug, “I’m willing to root for anyone who’ll put Gryffindor on their asses.” 

The brunette glances at her friend, who cocks their head. “I’ll take it. See you in Transfiguration.”

I nod politely. “Yeah, see you.”

~*~*~

Luckily, the rest of the day was spent under a roof, as the storm only seems to be getting worse. I’m starting to feel really bad for the quidditch teams who’ll have to play in this if the weather doesn’t turn. 

On the way out of the great hall after dinner, I’m just about to revel in my blissfully twin-free day, when my shoulder is suddenly knocked sideways by an obscenely tall ginger wizard. 

I whip around, ready to finally, justifiably spit something venomous at them when they both uniformly throw up their hands in a show of innocence. 

“Sorry, love,” George says.

“Didn’t see you there,” Fred adds, nodding. 

I almost feel like tearing my hair out in frustration. Why can’t they just be normal again? 

Then I see them share a smirk before ducking down a side passage and I just know they’re up to something. 

I’ll have to check my robes carefully when we get back to the dorms, just to ensure they didn’t plant a dungbomb on me or something. 

Instead of anything dramatic, I just sniff and turn back around, walking stiffly down the corridor. 

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Wren asks, eyebrows raised at me.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, perhaps a little too quickly. 

“Oh, don’t bullshit me. I saw you three on Halloween-”

“It’s none of your business!” I snap, then immediately cringe at the hurt look on Wren’s face. 

I sigh, shoulders curving inwards, slightly. “You know how we were almost friends? Before Hogwarts?” 

She nods. 

“During that time… Fred gave me a nickname. He hadn’t used it since… until Halloween. Now they’re being all weird, and I really don’t feel like dealing with it.”

It takes a lot more effort to admit than I would have preferred. 

“Maybe they’re just feeling nostalgic?” Wren suggests and I just shrug, leaving it at that.

Back in our dorm, I crawl into my fourposter and draw the curtains shut tight. Gently patting my pockets, I’m almost hoping to find some sort of prank device. More dread than is entirely necessary fills my stomach when I feel the crinkle of parchment that definitely wasn’t there before instead. 

I pull it out and carefully unfold it. In egregiously messy handwriting, is a note. 

We’re hanging out with some friends after the match tomorrow. See you there, Ink Drop?

~F. W.

Nope. Absolutely not. 

I should throw it out in the bin just outside my curtains. I shouldn’t even entertain the idea. 

We’re not friends. We’ve spent five years establishing that. 

And yet, I can only bring myself to carefully refold the note, and stuff it back in my robes before undressing, and attempting to sleep.

Chapter Text

I’ve never been one for sports, but as Wren and I trudge through the howling storm to find decent seats in the quidditch pitch, I’m exceedingly glad I don’t play on any of the house quidditch teams. 

At least Slytherin doesn’t play this match at all, so I don’t have to worry about Draco coming down with some awful, cold-induced disease. With the way he’s still dramatically nursing his arm, I can only imagine how miserable he’d be if he got sick. 

“Well, this sucks,” Wren mutters helpfully, huddled up close to me. My invisible umbrella does little to block the wind, or the way it sends the rain flying in all directions.

“Really?” I reply sarcastically, watching the two teams march onto the pitch, little more than smears of red and gold amidst the downpour, “I hadn’t noticed.” 

With the gusts of howling wind drowning out even Lee Jordan’s tasteful commentary, I debate telling Wren about the note. I feel ridiculous, the parchment still tucked delicately in the pocket of my robes. It’s that feeling of ridiculousness that prevents me from confiding in my friend this particular time. 

Luckily, Wren saves me from my inner struggle. “Anything new on the Draco-Hagrid-hippogriff situation?”

I shake my head. “No, other than the fact he’s still acting like an ass about his arm, and…”

My brow furrows as I remember something.

“What?” Wren calls me on it immediately.

“It’s just that… He got a letter this morning. When I asked who from, he told me to mind my own business.”

“That just sounds like his average bitchy behaviour,” Wren points out.

I nod concedingly. “Fair. But usually he says if it’s from mum or dad. Likes to rub in the fact he’s the favorite.”

“So, you think he really is going to push this hippogriff thing?”

I sigh, watching the crimson blur that is Oliver Wood swerve to block yet another Hufflepuff goal, “I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

Lightning strikes somewhere within the storm.

“Hey, does anyone see that?” A first year nearby shouts, pointing up. 

In unison, every member of Slytherin house tilts their head up, just in time to see a scarlet speck disappear into the storm clouds, quickly followed by gold. Another bolt illuminates the pitch in a brilliant flash of light, revealing dozens of cloaked figures trailing behind what can only be Potter and Diggory. 

“Sweet Circe,” Wren curses beside me, “Are those-?”

“Dementors,” I breathe, eyes wide.

“Who the fuck let those things onto the pitch?” Draven calls from somewhere behind and to my right. 

Another flash of lightning. Gasps ripple across the pitch. There have to be hundreds of dementors in the sky now. My bones chill and my skin crawls just looking at them all. The rain thickens, turning into sleet. 

I squint to see through the darkness, wind, and rain, trying to make sense of what’s going on in the clouds. 

That’s when a scream echoed across the space from the mass of red-robed Gryffindors. 

“ Shit !” Wren gasps beside me.

And I see it. The small scarlet shape of Harry Potter, plummeting back down to earth, his broom nowhere in sight. 

My hand grips my wand, instincts telling me that I should do something, but having no idea what. 

That’s when Dumbledore stands, his voice the only noise to carry clearly above the storm. “ ARRESTO MOMENTUM !” 

Potter’s fall slows, but when he lands on the pitch, he doesn’t move. Both teams land, swaths of yellow and red engulfing the poor boy. Something glints in Diggory’s hand. The snitch. 

“Does… that mean Hufflepuff wins?” Wren asks, incredulous. 

I shake my head, disbelieving. “There’s no way Diggory will take that win. He’s too fair for that.”

Snape appears in the corner of the Slytherin crowd, ordering us all back inside. The match is over. Wren and I stand, trudging back up to the castle, a stunned silence falling over the whole of the house. 

Once under a roof, Wren and I charm our clothes dry. 

“I want to crawl under my blankets and never leave,” Wren complains, holding her arms and shivering. 

When she turns to head towards the dungeons like everyone else in emerald, I stay put, gazing down the corridor. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Wren asks, confused. 

“...I’ll join you later, yeah? I’ve got… something I need to address.”

Wren’s lips purse at my vague answer, but turns away without another word, and disappears in the sea of students. 

I sigh and start off in the direction of the hospital wing. My hand slips into my pocket, fingers brushing the parchment. There’s no way the twins would follow through with their plans now that their teammate is injured. 

I’m not disappointed. This is good. I don’t have to deal with them.

And yet, I’m walking anyway. 

Standing outside the doors to the hospital wing, I can hear the entire Gryffindor team worrying over their star flier. I lean in close, trying to learn what I can. 

Hufflepuff had been declared the winner. 

What utter bullshit. Even if I had originally been rooting for that team. 

I can hear the team make their way to the door and I immediately fall back, hiding in the space beside the door hinge, so when they open the door, they can’t see me standing there. 

Bell, Johnson, and Spinnet file out first, huddled close together. I can’t tell if it’s the rain dripping from their hair, or if they’re actually crying. 

Fred and George trail after them, a little farther behind. My chest constricts, my usual cool confidence completely evaporating. Maybe I was wrong for thinking I should confront this problem head-on, instead of just letting it fizzle out. 

But the twins stop, turning in unison as if they knew exactly where I was standing. 

They try for their usual lopsided grins, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes. They’re obviously worried. 

Without saying anything, I reach into my cloak and pull out the scrap of parchment and hold it out. 

George claps Fred on the shoulder. “I’ll leave this one to you, mate.”

He nods at me before making his way down the corridor, “Nice seeing you.”

I find myself nodding back before frowning. 

We’re not friends. 

Fred sighs, running a hand through his shaggy, ginger hair. “I’m sorry, Ink Drop, we called it off because of Harry-”

My fingers tense on the note at the sound of that damned nickname. 

“Why?” I demand. 

His brows furrow. “Why what?”

“We’ve spent the last five years at each other’s throats , and now you’re acting like- like-”

“Like we’re kids in a bookshop again?” He offers, his smile soft. 

“Well… yes.” I concede begrudgingly. 

When he still won’t take the note back, I finally stuff it back in my pocket. Fred looks at the doors to the hospital wing then nods down the corridor, eyebrows raised slightly in invitation. 

I have little choice but to start walking. 

“How about I ask my own why question?” Fred offers, looking sidelong at me.

I huff, but shrug regardless, keeping my eyes determinedly forward. 

“Why do you hate me?” 

Well, that catches me off guard. I immediately forget my attempted aloofness, my head snapping up to look at him. 

“Excuse me?”

“Really think. Why is it we’ve been ‘at each other’s throats’ as you so eloquently put it?”

I frown at his teasing tone. “Well because you’re-”

Funny. Charming. Irritating. Creative. Independent. 

All words that come to mind, but none are any sort of justification for hatred. 

“Is it because I’m anything? Or is it just because daddy said so?”

My eyes widen slightly, staring at the stones as they pass underfoot. My hand wraps around my wrist, feeling the phantom flare of pain when the fangs of Father’s cane dug into the flesh there. 

Is that really it? Do I just hate them because I’m… supposed to?

“That day on the platform…” I begin quietly. 

Fred nods. “George and I spoke about it. We’d thought we’d seen you wave, but when we found you on the train, you were completely different.”

For once, I acknowledge the guilt that cringes in my stomach at the memory. “...Father hit me for waving,” I admit. 

“Bastard,” Fred spits, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. 

I just shrug. 

For a moment, there’s just the sound of our footsteps echoing in the stone hall. “So, you… what, want to try again?”

That grin is back. “Don’t you?”

I have to fight the urge to mirror his grin. “You could have been more direct about it,” I complain.

“Would you have listened?” He retorted.

Fair point. 

“Well, this is where I leave you,” Fred announces, coming to a sudden halt. 

I look around, my eyes wide as I realize I recognize our surroundings. We’re standing in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” I push on his shoulder, ushering him back up the corridor. 

He laughs, “And here I was, thinking we’d just been having a moment.”

“I’m serious!” Godric, if someone sees Fred and I together, and this gets back to my father, a whack on my wrist would be the least of my concerns. 

“Fine, fine, see you around Ink Drop!” He waves over his shoulder as he hurries back out of the dungeons. 

I find myself waving back. 

“See you…

Chapter Text

The weather goes from cold to downright bitter, but at least now, with the Hogwarts grounds blanketed in a thick layer of snow, there’s beauty to make it bearable. 

But even so, the snow is just a reminder of the rapidly approaching Christmas season. What’s supposed to be a jolly holiday is soured by the dread settling into my stomach. Father and Mother had bid Draco and I come home this year.

I’m sure there’s no possible way that can go wrong. 

The Thursday before Christmas break, Wren and I walk to the last Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the semester. 

“You know, I think Lupin may be the best idea Dumbledore has had in… well, ever,” Wren gushes, a teasing sparkle in her eyes as she sighs dramatically. 

“And I think you’re in love, Wren,” I tease, pushing her shoulder with mine. 

She lets out a horrified scoff, shoving a little harder in return. “I would never defile myself with the likes of a Gryffindor .”

“Oh, you’re so superior.”

I haven’t fully let her in on what’s going on with Fred and George, but I’ve told her some, and she definitely suspects something’s going on. The teasing hasn’t ceased since. 

For her sake, it’s good I know she’s just teasing. Otherwise, I’d hex her into next semester. 

Crimson bleeds into the swaths of emerald as the Gryffindor and Slytherin students spill into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Professor Lupin greets us with his usual smile and claps for our attention. 

“You may all leave your bags and textbooks by the door. You will need nothing but your wand this afternoon.” 

Lupin smiles at us as the sound of muffled thumps fills the room. “As I’m sure you may have noticed, your desks have been set aside. That’s because today’s lesson is a practical one.” 

Several murmurs ripple through the crowd. Practical in this class is just code for fun .

“Last lesson we studied the use of the Impediment Jinx in a purely theoretical context. Today, however, you will get to practice its use.”

Lupin strides over to the large portable blackboard and flips it over so we can see a charmed tournament board with all of our names awaiting placement. Oh, this is going to be fun. 

“Split up into groups of two, attempt to impede your opponent, and the first person to do so successfully moves on to the next round. Blocking spells are permitted. Those who will not proceed shall please kindly move to the left side of the room. The winner receives a 10-galleon gift certificate to Honeydukes. Have fun,” He faces us, eyes gleaming amusedly, hands clasped behind his back, “and good luck.”

With that clear dismissal, students start pairing off and separating out across the classroom. Wren and I decide to part ways for now, and I approach Draven instead. 

“Show me whatchu got, Malfoy,” He smirks, and I roll my eyes at his overconfidence. That hasn’t changed since first year, and it gets old. Fast. 

“Bring it on, Thorne.”

Thirty-five minutes of ass-kicking later, it’s down to two students, myself among them. Rolling my shoulders I turn to face my final opponent. 

Fuck. 

I’m not sure whether to grin or groan. Probably groan. Fred has the grinning covered. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Ink Drop,” he hums lightly.

I huff, rolling my eyes to hide the way the corners of my mouth quirk up. “I thought you would’ve dropped out on purpose four rounds ago.”

“Oh, I thought about it. Then I saw you wiping the floor with everyone who stepped up to you and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have you humbled.”

“How noble of you.” I glance to my left, and Wren is looking at me with raised eyebrows. 

I give her a not now look and she oh-so-subtly flips me off in reply. 

I sigh quietly and turn back to Fred. “Are you ready?”

He cocks his head and grins, “Always ready for a good win.”

Taking that as confirmation and ignoring everything else I throw my first Impedimentia. 

He blocks it like we’ve been sparring for years. I frown. He smiles wider. 

I get in one more jinx before he turns the tables completely, putting me on the defensive. The surprise is evident in my voice as I shout “Protego!”

Once. Twice. Three times I block his attacks, but I can’t keep up. When the jinx hits it’s like my world has suddenly been plunged into molasses. My muscles respond, but so slowly, they may as well have not been working at all. 

Fred straightens, tucks his wand into his robes, and gives a flourishing bow. 

“Congratulations, Mr. Weasley!” Professor Lupin says warmly, “And excellent work, all of you.”

He mutters the counterjinx and my lungs properly expand as movement rushes back to my body. 

I shake myself out with a small noise of distaste. I hope I never have to feel like that again. 

In the background, students rustle as Lupin dismisses the class early, seeing as the tournament is over. Fred reaches out with a friendly smile. 

“You alright, there, Ink-” I hold up a hand to cut him off. 

His expression falters and I squash the guilt I feel. 

I clasp his hand and shake anyway, but while there, I lower my voice. “I need you to stop calling me that in public.”

“Why?”

“...Not here,” I glance around. There are too many people around. Some of them are looking at us.

I finish shaking his hand and let go, slipping my own into my pocket. “Later, okay?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before nodding, “Alright,” and falling back into the crowd until he comes up beside his twin and they head out together. 

My fingers brush against the parchment he’d subtly passed me, now in my pocket, and nearly leap out of my skin as Wren materializes beside me. 

“You are not telling me everything that’s going on,” she accuses, eyes narrowed. 

My shoulders sag a little bit. “I know,” I mumble, hefting my school bag onto my shoulder, “I just- I’m not entirely sure what’s going on either.”

“Well, you can start with why you’re suddenly all buddy-buddy with-” 

I throw her a quick look that tells her to keep her damn voice down, and she throws her hands up in surrender. 

A few paces down the hallway spent in silence later, I finally concede. “Alright, how about this?”

Wren perks up immediately. 

“You’re going home for Christmas, too, right?”

She nods. 

“Then you’ll probably be over at my place at least once. I’ll tell you everything then. I promise.”

Wren purses her lips and ponders this. Finally, she nods. “This is acceptable. I will hold you to this.”

“I expect nothing less from you.”