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Chapter Text

The air was thick. She can remember that much. 

Marian Hawthorne wasn't a coward, never had been, even when her mind was trying to convince her otherwise.

The air was thick. She could barely breathe.

Marian Hawthorne was a disgrace to her lineage, kind of a good friend, even, maybe a good person.

The air was thick. She could barely see.

Marian Hawthorne was a lot of things. 

Chapter Text

If life could be kinder it wouldn’t be real. Marian had learned that at a very young age, life wasn’t black and white. It contained shades of gray, but those who were lighter, softer or better, often came with a price.

She looked in the mirror of her bedroom one more time and threw a brief glance at the letter in her desk:

Dear Miss Hawthorne,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

She felt numb. Flashes of the past weeks flickered in her mind, when her letter arrived she was on a dinner with the whole lot of pureblood families, courtesy of her father who had been paving his way to have everyone at the table in the palm of his hand.

Mikkelsen Hawthorne was a lot of things, a good man wasn’t one of them. The Hawthorne bloodline was antique, ancient, and according to her father, as pure as the snow from their homeland. They were originally from Denmark, until 6 generations ago they came to establish in the U.K, still, few of their relatives still lived on the cold land of their origins, Marian hated to go. 

Those 6 generations had gone to Hogwarts, to Slytherin of course and even if they weren’t the local ancient family, they surely were one of the richest. Second to only the house of Black.
Probably when the first Hawthornes arrived to the U.K they never thought about where they would be years later. Mikkelsen worked at the ministry, second hand of Cornelius Fudge and favorite of the people -the people who were currently dining at Hawthorne Manor-  to become the head of the Ministry.

“For Miss Hawthorne, master.” Krill, one of the domestic elfs bowed with the silver platter that contained a letter. Her father always read her correspondence before her, so she wouldn't get away with anything. It didn’t matter, Marian had other ways, she always made sure of that. 

“Must be from Hogwarts.” Lucius Malfoy said with a smirk. “Draco got his this morning”.

Inevitably Marian looked up from her dinner to glare at the blonde boy, who was sitting next to his mother, he already had a smug face to grace her with.

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, a nice boy wasn’t one of them. They had known each other since they were babies, Draco was older for just a few days days, or in his words, the first thing he had ever beaten her at. 

They didn’t like each other, actually, they hated each other's guts. But they knew what happened behind closed doors, in this cursed families, so for their sakes they got along in front of the people who mattered and kept their loathing to themselves, they also competed with one another, so if Draco got his letter before Marian that was a point directly to him and Marian hated to lose.

Indifferent, Mikkelsen read the letter and abandoned it in the same platter Krill offered it, he then continued to give it to Marian, who held it in her hands. 

“Already thinking in which house you’ll be placed, dear?” Narcissa asked. Marian knew that tone, she hated it, it was the small talk tone. 

If you think Marian is a person full of hatred you’d be quite right. In this place known as the Hawthorne Manor, Marian didn’t know anything that wasn’t hate or indifference, she had worked very hard to build the mask she used between these marble walls, but outside them... No. She couldn’t think of outside being in her personal hell.

“She’ll go to Slytherin. There isn’t another choice” Mikkelsen commented, sharp, taking a sip of his glass of wine.

“But her mother and grand-” Narcissa began but was abruptly cut by her husband. “Narcissa.”

“As I said Mrs. Malfoy…” Mikkelsen raised his voice, not enough to shout, but enough to be heard. “There isn’t another option.” Mikkelsen turned his gaze to his daughter, cold and pinching. “Right, Aneka?”

Marian flinched at the use of her second name, and as everything that had to do with this wretched house. She hated it. 

“Yes father.”

So that was that. The conversation shifted between the legislation Mikkelsen had promoted and his plans if, or better said, when he was named Ministry of Magic. That seemed early, Marian thought, the ministers were supposed to be in their positions for 7 years at least, Fudged had just assumed the position last year. She stopped listening after a while, when everyone started to praise the floor where Mikkelsen stepped on it made her sick.

Later on the kids were excused from the table and while others went to do Merlin knows what at the garden, she and Malfoy went to the library, it was remote, occluded and big enough so they could go separate ways but still be in the same place if anyone asked questions. When she closed the door Draco looked at her, like actually looked, not just glared.

“What?” she asked with annoyance.

“There’s no way you’ll get to Slytherin.” Draco scoffed. “You looked nauseous with the idea.”

“That’s because the idea of looking at your face everyday makes me nauseous.” Marian was already going her way to be as far as she could from the boy when Draco talked.

“You’re too soft.” he commented.

“And you’re too dumb.” she remarked. “What’s your point?” 

“I…” he began, but seemed to think better. “Nothing. Get lost or something.”

That was a point to her, she kept the mental score. The library had two levels, she enjoyed the second best, behind the long lines of ancient books there was a little floor board that was loosen up, there rested a book Marian had memorized of the thousand times she had read it, she didn’t know if her father went through her things, but for her it was better being safe than sorry. 

She took out the old copy, it barely held together since the spine was already broken. It was more than a first edition, it was the first ever written manuscript. In front of the first page with a really awful handwriting Marian always smiled at, was written:

To my favorite Mooncalf in the whole world,

The wild things know your name. And that, my dear, is the beginning of every great story.

On your birthday, I gift you this:

The first pages of wonder,
scribbled with muddy boots,
burnt corners, and dragon drool.

May you always follow the trail of the curious, the wild, and the misunderstood.

Happy Birthday, with all my love,

Grandpa.

With the fondness she could only have for the man that was her favorite person in the whole world, she read once more the cover of the manuscript:

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.

Newt Scamander was a lot of things, a great man was one of them. Newt had married Tina Goldstein, an auror that after living quite the adventures alongside Newt became the love of his life. Marian thought that her grandparents love story was the most beautiful lin the whole world, not that she knew that many others, but she had heard it a million times and she had never got bored of it. It was magical, one of those things you only find once in a lifetime, and from that union was born a gorgeous daughter named Olivia, with golden hair and eyes so mesmerizing you could get lost on them, she would go to Hogwarts and after spending 7 years at school that when she later became Olivia Hawthorne.

Marian’s life could pass as a privileged one, after all, she was granddaughter to one of the most famous wizards of all time, daughter to one of the most powerful of today and maybe her life was, in fact, privileged. But it wasn’t easy.

Her mom had married his father in 1978, against Newt and Tina’s approval, they hated the man. Even then when he was 17 years old; and in hindsight that didn’t matter. 17 or 30 years old, Mikkelsen had always been the monster he is.

Her grandma had always said that her mother was infatuated with the man, so they couldn’t do much, it was approving the marriage or losing her daughter for good, the Scamander’s always picked love over anything, so they did. In 1980 Marian was born, against all odds and against the blessing , as his father used to call it, where the first born of the Hawthorne house was always a boy. In this case, it wasn’t. Mikkelsen knew that was the first clue that Marian was nothing more than a problem.

The war ended in 1981 when Harry Potter defeated the one who must not be named, as everyone knew, but even when things had ended and the evil had been destroyed, it didn’t just disappear, things like that linger in the air, affects people’s minds, it twisted them in something they couldn’t recognize, something that was far away from humanity. So in 1984 when Marian had just turned 4 years old her mother was murdered.

Her grandparents found their daughter in Hawthorne Manor, untouched, cold and dead. No traces of magic or potions, just the dark mark stamped on the wall next to her body. 

They never fully recovered after that. Marian didn’t even remember the service. 

That changed things. She started to spend more time in the Scamander’s house, more time with her grandparents and was filled with love and animals and magic. It turned out that Marian carried the Scamander gene that allowed her to be a natural with magical creatures, it was as easy as breathing, so Newt's passion became hers. She studied, looked and made enough research that you would think it was a duty, she loved it, and Newt did nothing but encourage her. Mikkelsen hated the idea, in fact he opposed to it, legally. But trying to fight Newt Scamander was like fighting the whole Ministry, even more when old Theseus Scamander was still a highlighted figure in the auror department, so nothing could be done. Until 1989. 

Newt insisted on traveling, he always said that a person like him could never retire and so he went to the wild lands of Brazil, keeping his investigation, his life's work going on until Marian could handle it herself, or so his grandpa had said; being raised with an undying love to magical creatures, to taking care of them, learning and sharing that knowledge with the people who weren’t able to see yet was the main reason Marian wanted to become a magizoologist, but beside teaching her, Newt didn’t even have to do that much, Marian was born with curiosity, with thirst of knowledge so she devoured every letter and annotation, every picture and every discovery her grandpa had made. Brazil was a big deal until the letters stopped.

It wasn’t weird, at least not at first, but the months passed and finally the statement came, Newt Scamander was found dead in the Amazon, his belongings delivered to his family, his body buried 3 days later. That changed things, and hatred started to bloom on Marian’s chest at the ripe age of 9.

Mikkelsen used his power to separate her from her grandmother, claiming she was too old, too devastated to take care of a child. Everyone in the ministry folded, even when Tina had Theseus on her side, the only thing she could get was monthly visits, nothing more.

She caressed the handwriting again.

“In which house were you?” an amazed 8 year old Marian had asked while eating a butter cookie, it was the first time Newt had talked about Hogwarts, about how we went, his formal student years.

“In the best one of all of Hogwarts” his grandpa had told her, smiling. “Hufflepuff, the house of the kind and loyal”.

“That doesn’t sound so great.” she whispered, she was enamoured with the idea of the houses, of belonging to a great family, of having things in common. “The Gryffindors are the ones that are brave and all of that, right? The ones that are the heroes.”

“You’ll learn, little one, that being loyal is the greatest bravery of all. And sometimes the harder to accomplish.” Newt caressed her hair, softly and smiled.

“I’ll be a Hufflepuff then.” she declared. “I’ll be like you.” Newt smiled fondly at her.

“But don’t get expelled like me, that would be mortifying to the Scamander name, your uncle Theseus would probably scold us both.”

They laughed, that’s what they always did. 

How things changed. She still wanted that, all of that, but sometimes those memories seemed far away, like another lifetime and maybe they were.

“Too soft.” She whispered to herself. Draco wasn’t wrong, after all, outside this house, she had softer edges, she smiled, she laughed. There was no need in pretending, she didn’t have to.

The memories of past days faded and her eyes focused on the present, on her eyes, she recognized those, they were the same hazel color that her mother once had, that Newt had. She was the spitting image of both, it couldn’t be denied, even when her gaze was sharp and her moves were blunt, she radiated a different energy than her father. 

She looked at her braid, the one her nanny had made for her, it looked like the one her mother wore on the picture she had beside her bedside table, the one where she laughed along her parents while holding her as a newborn, her father didn’t appear on that one, probably that’s why it was her favorite.

She gave a last look to her room, she didn’t feel nostalgic, in fact she wanted to leave as soon as possible. She took the picture and the letter and closed the door.

The ride to King’s Cross was silent. Marian hated the fact that her father was coming, she wasn’t going to be able to… No. She couldn’t think about it, she would break, in front of Mikkelsen she could never break.

Instead, she watched the manor getting smaller once the carriage started to move, her nanny, Mrs. Kingsley, an old woman who Marian adored, was going too but she’d arrived there by the floo connection in the Hawthorne Manor, the carriage was unnecessary, but Mikkelsen loved impressions. That’s why he was going in the first place.

“You seem quiet.” Mikkelsen commented. Marian flinched, it took her off guard. “Here is what’s going to happen Aneka...” he fixed his gaze on her, a shiver ran through her spine, it was like staring at the face of evil. Her fingers twitched and his father began to speak as if reciting an ancient text. “You will walk through that wall. You will get on that train. You will sit with the right kind of children; no blood-traitors, no Mudbloods, no imbeciles from the countryside. You will keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.” he leaned closer, grabbing his cane with a dangerous tight grip. “When the Hat touches your head, you will not hope. You will not wonder. You will command it. You will go to Slytherin. And if it hesitates, if it even dares to suggest otherwise you will remind it of the blood it runs through your veins. You will get top marks. In every subject. You will be at the top of your year. You will not speak ill of this family. You will not show weakness. You will not shame our name. You will not embarrass yourself like the pathetic useless thing you are when you think I’m not watching.” Marian did the best she could to hold his gaze, to lock her mask, to pretend that it didn’t burn, that she wanted to cry.

In a flick, his father had grabbed his cane by the shaft and hit her with the handle. The pain scorched through her temple, she could already tell that cheek was going to bruise badly, she whimpered, automatically grabbing her face with her left hand, tears falling involuntarily but never leaving his father's gaze, challenging, a little foolish perhaps, but it didn’t matter.

“If I hear from a professor, from a student, from a fucking ghost that you’ve failed to meet these expectations…” he leaned, pressing the handle of the cane into her forehead. “I will not send a letter. I will not send an owl. I will come for you. And you know what happens when I come.” he finally let go and sat like a gentleman in his seat of the carriage, Marian wanted to scoff at that. He casted a spell Marian didn’t know, it covered bruises and wounds, but the pain of it remained until it healed, just to cover his own cruelty from the world’s eyes. “Pain is temporary Aneka. But failure? That’s permanent. Do not make me remind you of that again.”

Even then, Marian’s gaze never left his father’s eyes, even with a bombing pain in her cheek, even when she knew what Mikkelsen was capable of, even being a child, her gaze didn’t flicker. Because Marian Hawthorne was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy doesn’t actually remember meeting Marian Hawthorne, because there hasn’t been a time in his life without Marian Hawthorne in it. Well, maybe his first days as a newborn, but that lasted exactly 15 days before it went to hell. So, naturally, he didn’t exactly meet her, she was imposed in his life, without a warning or without even asking. If you asked him, he would say it was absurd for him to be friends with a person who he didn’t even choose to be friends with in the first place. So they weren’t.

He can remember growing up and having a golden hair head next to him at all times, in every picture or gatherings, hazel eyes glaring at him, small pale hands always clutching whatever object she had in hand as if she was going to kill everyone in the room and flee. He actually doesn’t know exactly where the loathing for Marian had started, but Merlin’s beard, Draco hated Marian, like absolutely did. She was always talking like her moral compass was way above him, as if she was better than him, as if she didn’t come from the same place he did. Probably if Marian wasn’t such a hypocrite Draco could tolerate her, if she wasn’t such a saint, maybe, they could be friends. But she was both of those things, and Draco could never be someone who could get along with Marian, he would have to change his entire persona and that would gain him exile from his own family in a flash.

All of these thoughts were circling in his head while waiting at platform 9 and ¾ with his father, he insisted on coming so he could accidentally run into Mikkelsen and worship him like he had been doing for the past 13 years or so; personally he just wanted to go to the bloody train and make fun of Goyle.

He was about to speak when the bustle at the entrance announced the arrival of people he really didn’t want to see. Even between the crowd, the loud noises and enough distractions, Mikkelsen seemed terrifying as always, Draco sometimes thought that the man was a marble statue that came to life, even (and in the most rare occasions) when he smiled it lacked warmth, emotion, life. He couldn’t quite understand how Marian could be full of… whatever she was full of, when his father was so dull. 

Staring at the man was like staring at a wall, no secrets to give away, no emotions either; he carried a solemn expression, nodding once in a while when someone important enough would come across his vision field, his black robes made his marble like skin stand up as well as his very green eyes which were always methodically focused on the most important parts.

It took a while to see Marian, she was walking slowly behind his father, next to her was the woman Draco recognised as Mrs. Kingsley. Marian looked the same as she always did when her father was in the same room as her, blank stare, lips pursed and somehow, her skin looked color drained, rosy cheeks no longer in sight and tinted lips long gone. She looked physically ill every time she was next to her father. She never lowered her gaze of course, but it looked like she wasn’t even there, a ghost almost, the only thing that always remained the same was her hair, always golden and always styled in a braid Marian would toss at the front of her left shoulder. He never had seen her without the bloody braid in her head, and Draco hated Marian so much that even braids seemed stupid to him.

Lucius straightened himself and with a false smile he approached the man who was already surrounded by people, even house elfs were searching a place to see him with their very own eyes.

“Mikkelsen. A pleasure, as always.” Lucius greeted, Draco’s stomach squirmed with the tone his father used, sometimes it was embarrassing even for him. “And Marian, my, my. How time flies, 11 and to Hogwarts.” Draco followed with his gaze the eyes of the girl, even when we already knew what he would find. Nothing. Sometimes when they were alone he could search for emotions in those eyes, often he found annoyance or even rage, when things were bad enough he could even see sadness, but he had never seen Marian having an emotion worthy of a spark, she didn’t even cry. 

“Lucius.” Mikkelsen greeted, cold and with a tone that implied he was sick of whatever Lucius wanted to say. “I believe we have business to discuss.”

“Don’t we always?” Lucius smirked. “Children, you should take your places before all the good ones are gone.” Draco stared at Marian, like carving a hole through her head, he knew, he knew she would try something, but was she brave enough to do it with her father right there?

“Yes. Mr. Malfoy.” Marian said, her tone as emotionless as she could make it. “Father.” She addressed her father and both shared a look, Draco saw hate, in both of their eyes.

Draco’s relationship with Lucius was complicated to say the least, behind closed doors Lucius was as cruel as anyone could imagine, but if he wasn’t on the wrong mood or if Draco did something as it was expected then he left him alone, he always pressured him, that was true, but at best Lucius Malfoy could be totally indifferent towards his own kid. A luxury from what he had heard and seen, Marian didn’t have. So he considered himself lucky, most of the children in the sacred 29 were blessed with that kind of treatment, others, like Theo or Marian were the ones who suffered consequences they probably shouldn’t. But it was different.

From what he had told him, Theo listened, tried to be a son who didn’t hand out reasons to be beaten or punished, he tried. Marian on the other hand? She pulled stuns like this, challenging her father as if he wasn’t who he is, as if she could do something. As if being good in this world didn’t have a significant weight, one she could carry. Probably that was what Draco hated most about her, she was reckless and an absolute fool, but worst of all, she was good. Annoyingly good.

“Keep an eye on her for me, would you Draco?” Mikkelsen said with a cold remark to him, not tearing his eyes apart from his daughter, Draco could count with the fingers of one hand the amount of times Mr. Hawthorne had talked to him. “Malfoys and Hawthornes, we should… stick together.” he smiled, finally looking at him, but it didn’t look like a smile. It sent shivers through Draco’s spine, it was twisted and full of hidden intentions. But Draco was eager to prove himself worthy of Mikkelsen’s attention, even if he didn’t fully understand what that meant, maybe because of that, he and his father weren’t so different after all.

“Of course, sir. A pleasure.” Marian dropped her blank stare to glare at him. Draco smirked, oh how we loved getting under her skin. “Should we go?” He addressed her. Marian whispered a sad goodbye to Mrs. Kingsley and with no further comment she started to walk right beside him avoiding at all costs touching him, as if doing so she’d combust into flames.

The walk to the train was absolutely silent, unusual for both of them, since they were always bickering as soon as they were left alone. They got in the train and with a quick flick of her gaze, Marian scanned the inside and probably found what she was looking for because she dragged Draco to an empty compartment and lowered the blinds. He couldn’t even refuse, everything that had to do with Marian always ended like that, he was sick of it.

“My father will hear about this!” Draco said, straightening his own robes and looking completely offended.

“Oh relax you big baby.” Marian scoffed. As soon as she made sure they were alone her whole demeanour changed, it was like looking at two very different persons, her color returned to her face, so did her frown and constant scowling, awfully and completely obnoxious. But at least she seemed alive. “I need to talk to you.”

“No.” Draco said in a heartbeat. “You have that face.”

“What face?” she asked frowning even more, how was that even possible?

“The I’m about to ask you for something you’ll hate doing face . Whatever it is, I won’t do it” he sat in the compartment, why was he even sitting for?

“I don’t have a face for asking you things” she said, but leaned on the door behind her and stared at him. “So I assume you want your father to know who did all your herbology work when Mr. Atkinson was our tutor.” That damn girl. 

“You said you wouldn’t-” he got interrupted.

“Or maybe to know who broke Mrs. Zabini’s ancient jar that time during your birthday dinner.”

“It was Nott’s fault!” he screeched and bit a smile. His aiming was wrong and the three of them hid the thing before anyone could notice, and if someone were to ask Draco he would deny it, but acting like they were partners in crime had been so much fun. 

Maybe they did hate each other, but it was comforting how they could still act like children when they were with the other, there was no pretending, no putting up faces that weren’t theirs so their families could approve. Draco sighted. “What do you want?”

“The pact stays intact. In Hogwarts or home or wherever.” the girl said with a serious look. “No words from you, no words from me.”

The pact was something they had agreed on when they were 6 years old. It was Christmas Eve, and as every time, the pureblood families were dining on Hawthorne Manor. Everything seemed as normal as always. Marian glared, Draco scoffed at the sight, nothing new. It was late when all the grown ups were going heavy on the wine, making things blurry and not as clear as they should’ve been.

Most of the kids were playing when it happened. Someone had thrown Mrs. Parkinson, a colour bomb. It didn't do any harm, but staining her hair in a bright purple was enough to make her scream and search for whoever committed the crime.

Marian had seen the entire thing, she was in a corner reading when Malfoy was aiming at Crabbe and firing to Mrs. Parkinson instead. So when Mrs. Parkinson went to ask her if she saw anything, with the fresh reminder of Draco telling Marian she was a dumb blonde, her voice didn't waver when she said “it was Malfoy.”

The next day Draco appeared at Hawthorne Manor with a bruise in his temple. Lucius said he fell off his broom, Marian didn’t believe him at all. It has been the one and only time Marian apologized to Draco, she didn't say much, just that she understood. Draco just imagined that the only person who could understand him was someone going through the same thing. So they knew. Maybe they hated each other, but that small detail was enough to understand each other, something other people could never understand.

So the pact was born, they couldn’t tell about their pranks, faults or anything that could give their parents motives. They must have each other’s backs.

“What’s in for me?” he dared to ask after a couple minutes in silence.

“Me not opening my mouth” she gave him a tired look. “And if I remember well, you are still rubbish at herbology.”

“You’re rubbish at potions.” he counterattacked.

“Good thing you are not.” she finished, and how he hated it.

“Fine” he finally gave in. “But you’ll stay out of my business.”

“Only if you stay out of mine” She extended her hand. “Deal?” Draco seemed to think things through. He nodded and took her hand.

“Deal.”

They let go of their hands after a second, instinctively Draco cleaned his in his robes, Marian rolled her eyes before opening the door. Both of them took a look outside the train, it was still very crowded but neither of their parents were in sight, so it was safe, they sighted in relief.

“Alright. See you in a while then.” Marian began to walk to the other side of the train. Draco already knew where she was headed, they had known each other for too long to not know their secrets.

“Hawthorne” he said with a voice Marian always mocked him for. She always said that he was trying to have the voice of an adult when he still sounded like a baby fwooper. He still didn't get that. “I would like to spend the next 7 years of my life without having to see you dumb face every single day” Marian glared, as always, but she let him finish. “So don’t get into Slytherin.”

There was just a second where their usual routine kind of fractured. It wasn’t a compliment, far from it, actually. But it was something, something more than anything Draco had given in the 11 years they had been alive. 

Marian breath hitched for a second. She could give something too.

So before she turned away to go she looked Draco in the eyes and smiled, not a grin, not a smirk, a soft and tiny smile.

“We are allowed to dream.” she said and left.

If anyone were to ask Draco when his life had stopped being out of his control, he would say that it was exactly at that moment where everything went to hell. But oh well, those were future problems.

In this present time, Draco only looked as if he had been hit in the face with a bludger and eaten something that was spoiled.

Chapter Text

Marian was about to give up her quest and return with a pliant face so Malfoy, Nott and Zabini could make her room in their compartment while Parkinson looked at her with murderous eyes when she heard it.

“You’re Harry Potter!” 

It wasn’t the name of the boy who had saved the entire wizarding world that brought her to open the door of that compartment, it was the voice who was announcing it.

“I’m Ron-” the boy was cut abruptly by Marian when she shrieked “Weasley!”

Ron Weasley was, among other various things, Marian’s one and only best friend. Funny enough, Ron was the perfect example of who Marian shouldn’t be making acquaintances with, of course she didn’t care; her relationship with Ron began by chance when Olivia, Marian’s mother, was pregnant. 

It was late February when at 5 months pregnant Olivia Hawthorne was on St. Mungos for a quick check up, Mikkelsen had opposed to it since they had a private healer and was against Olivia going out the manor like at all. But Amelia Blainey, a descendant of Noreen Blainey and current Matron of the hospital, was the one who assisted on the birth of Olivia herself, so it seemed fitting for her to be the one receiving her future child.

Even when the procedure for the check up was fairly simple and was not invasive at all, she was shuddering as a leaf when a woman, an angel, her mother had told her once, offered her a mug with warm tea and a piece of advice.

It turned out Molly Weasley was already on her 5th pregnancy which was due anytime by now.

“They can even be friends when they are born.” Molly had said. Olivia laughed and agreed.

So behind the back of Mikkelsen himself, Marian was brought to every birthday party, gathering and sleepover the Weasleys orchestrated, even when Olivia passed away, Newt made sure she still could go visit her second family. That’s what Weasleys were for her, her second home. 

Even when things started to change 2 years ago, her bound with the Weasley family seemed unlikely to be broken; every monthly visit to her grandma ended up in a Weasley visit too, Krill and Dima, the house elves of the Manor smuggled their letters so even if they couldn’t see each other, at least they could know how they were, Marian didn’t have any more friends, but she thought she didn’t need more.

“MARIAN!” Ron shouted, when he smiled the freckles in his face blurred with a tiny blush, Marian liked when Ron smiled. He got up and hugged the life out of her, they hadn’t seen each other for 3 whole weeks when Marian visited her grandmother for her birthday. “I looked for you in the crowd but I couldn’t find you! Merlin! Can you imagine?! I will be able to see you everyday, we’ll eat lunch together and if you get sorted in Gryffindor we could have sleepovers like when you come home and…-” Ron was a typhoon, he was going heavy on everything they could do together, but Marian noticed the uncomfortable look the brunette boy was throwing at the window.

“Yes, yes. We can discuss that in a moment” she smiled, her hands still held by Ron in a surprisingly strong grip. “I don’t want to seem gossipy, but I heard that your name was Harry?” She looked at the boy with a tender smile, the poor thing recoiled in his seat, Marian could only imagine how life was for the kid, he was her own age and he bore the entire weight of saving a world he actually didn’t know.

Marian knew about how Harry was raised by muggles, the people on the Ministry talked and Mikkelsen was loud and clear when he showed his disgust towards a boy who had saved everyone’s life. Harry was the kind of person he would hate Marian to be associated with, which probably was her strongest reason to sit next to him and offer her hand.

“Marian” she greeted. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Harry shook her hand, as if he was delighted to meet her.

“He’s Harry Potter!” Ron exclaimed once again. “That means you have the…” he pointed to his own forehead. Marian scolded him. “What?”

“You can’t ask random people about their scars. It’s rude”

“He’s Harry Potter!” Ron said again as if it was obvious.

“He’s a person, Ronald” Marian rolled her eyes.

“I don’t mind…” Harry said with a smile and raised his fringe so Ron could stare at the scar. Marian smiled, Harry seemed nice, thoughtful. Marian liked that.

“That 's awesome!” Ron said with a grin. “I heard you lived with muggles, are they very different? My dad is obsessed with them, maybe you could even meet him one day and tell him all about…-”

“Ron” Marian paused him with a stern voice, surprisingly he stopped talking. Harry laughed.

“You two know each other?” Harry said more as a fact and less as a question.

“We do. Best friends since we were in the womb, quite literally. Our mothers met when they were pregnant” the red haired boy poke her a little with his elbow while Marian smiled. “But we don’t see each other that often anymore, her father is… difficult, to say the least”. Harry made a face which demonstrated how he couldn’t understand a thing.

“And your mum?” Harry asked. Marian knew it wasn’t a malicious comment, the boy didn’t even know who her parents were, still, that didn’t stop her breath to falter and her smile to go off.

“Hmm…” she whispered. “She passed away. When I was 4.” She was expecting Harry to make a face, everyone made it when she said she was practically an orphan because her father didn’t care about her. Harry didn’t.

“I’m sorry” He said with a gaze full of empathy, and of course he could relate, he was an actual orphan. 

Suddenly, Marian stopped to feel so out of place, maybe going to Hogwarts was a nice thing, even if she got sorted in a house she didn’t want to be, she could still have friends like Harry, friends who understood.

Time went by talking about how life was when Marian was with the Weasleys, Harry even answered more questions than he should about how life was with muggles and Marian shared some stories too since her uncle Jacob was a muggle too.

“I couldn’t get to know him very well since muggles can’t live as much as a wizard. But my aunt Queenie said he was an amazing person” She told the boys who were mesmerized with the story about her very particular family. Harry was stunned when he discovered that the author of one of the books he bought for the course was her grandparent.

After the lady of the trolley came into view and Harry offered to buy the whole thing, even when Marian got tired of saying that it wasn’t necessary, the cat got out of the bag quicker than she wanted to.

“And the whole kitchen was painted blue, my mother was furious and Marian…-” Ron got interrupted for the second time in the day by a girl who was helping a boy to find his missing frog.

“You are Harry Potter!” For the first time, Marian could see with outside eyes how being identified by every person in the wizarding world felt like. It seemed bloody awkward, and because it didn’t just seem but it was awkward, she was about to kick out the nosy girl from their compartment when her big brown eyes focused on her and said even louder. “You are Marian Hawthorne! I’m Hermione Granger”. 

Oh. Right.

The silence it fell was awkward, Harry was kind enough to not seem uncomfortable but Marian’s face was another story, how she hated her last name, hated what it meant, the look on people’s faces as if they were scared of her. It made her sick.

“Hawthorne?” Harry asked and Marian turned to look at him. “Why do I feel I’ve heard that name before?” 

“Her father is… kind of famous” Ron said while scratching his head, clearly pissed about the whole situation.

“Kind of?!” The nosy girl asked with a know it all tone, Marian’s patience was slipping away little by little. “He is the second in charge of the Ministry. People say he is a favourite for being Minister when Fudge retires, he was in the front page of the daily prophet just yesterday! Something about an initiative to prohibit the ownership of magical creatures in schools or something like that, if you ask me I think that would be great. Do you know how many students have had accidents because of those beasts? They are dangerous!”

That did it. Ron scoffed, he knew Marian enough to know exactly what was going to happen.

“Good thing we didn’t ask you then” Marian answered coldly. “I’d fear the fate of the wizarding world if it had to be on the hands of someone as ignorant as yourself.” Hermione looked at her sheepishly as if understanding what she had said and to whom she had said it. “There are no such things as dangerous creatures, only blinkered people.” Marian went out the compartment and sighted, she walked through the hall and to the bathroom, there she let go of the tears she had been holding.

The initiative her father had promoted had a greater impact on her than she had expected, and to see that people were actually agreeing with it made her actually sick, to see that everything her grandfather had fought for, died for was going to waste and she wasn’t able to do anything… It made her skin crawl. She thought that Hermione was awfully nosy and maybe a little annoying, but she seemed smart and likeable. She regretted her choice of words after saying them.

She gripped the edge of the sink so strongly that her knuckles were white and her fingers ached, she looked at her reflection and hated what she saw. Red eyes and full of hatred, loathing that shouldn’t be there, at least not yet.

“Snap out of it!” she spoke through gritted teeth, giving herself a small pat in her cheeks, avoiding the area her father had hit earlier. “You can do something, can make a difference. We’ll go to Hogwarts, escape home when it’s time and fix everything he is doing. You can do something, breathe.” She reassured herself. That had been the plan all along since she saw Newt’s coffin being pulled to the ground, when she was torn apart from her grandmother, when she wasn’t able to meet the Weasleys as much as she liked, when the talks about forbidding magical creatures started.

Learning, knowledge was power after all. Escaping, being free. Amend everything his father was doing, she could do it, it was only a matter of time.

When a couple of minutes passed she opened the door of the bathroom to find Ron outside of it, leaning against the doorframe, with one of his knowing gazes that seemed to see right through her.

“Are you better now?” he asked, giving her room to step out.

“I am,” she said with a stern voice. “I just got so angry, I didn’t mean to snap at her like that. It’s just that…-

“She hit a nerve.” Ron said as if it was obvious. “She had it coming though, way too annoying for my liking” he smiled and dragged her to the compartment where Harry was waiting for them, he didn’t ask questions or give her awkward looks, they just laughed and talked about a million things.

She could apologize to Hermione later.

She had heard about Hogwarts since she was a little girl. Her grandfather had told her countless times how he would have liked to finish his studies at the biggest and most incredible school in the world, while her grandmother grumbled that Ilvermorny was the best school for learning magic. But not even five thousand stories from Mr. Scamander could have prepared her for what her eyes were now seeing. For the first time in her life, when she saw the castle, Marian did not think about what she should be because some old-fashioned people had dictated it that way, but rather about what it could become, for the first time, her dreams seemed reachable, they had a form and a start, and it was here. She actually could change things.

“It's brilliant, isn't it?’ Ron asked his two companions. 

“More than brilliant,” Marian blurted out. Coming out of her trance, she turned her gaze to Ron. “By the way, since we were with Harry, we didn't see…” the girl was interrupted when she was suddenly lifted off her feet and spun around in the air, right by the person she was thinking about. “George! GEORGE!” she shouted, laughing at the top of her lungs.

Marian had always had a soft spot for the Weasleys; they were her family. She had watched them grow up, and they had watched her grow up too. Bill and Charlie were like older brothers to her. She didn't see them often, but they sometimes sent her letters, especially Charlie. They both shared a huge love for dragons, and he would send her gifts and photos from time to time. 

Percy was a special case. He didn't have the same sense of humour or big heart as the others, but he was kind to Marian and often helped her with her studies because the blonde girl hated her private tutor and preferred to learn from Percy. Fred always made her laugh and never played mean jokes on her, sometimes they were even partners in crime, and on occasion, Marian would talk to him when she didn't want to talk to anyone else.

Ron was her best friend in the whole world, he was the closest thing she had to an actual brother, and although Ginny was reserved with her, she always asked her to plait her hair or play tea party together.

But George. Oh. George was a different story altogether.

With George, she could do absolutely everything she did with the others, from planning a joke, to talking about how sad she felt, but it was always different. Marian could spend hours looking at the redhead's face without getting bored, talking to him or sitting in complete silence. He always brought her peace. She would never tell Ron, but on many occasions, George was her favourite person in the world, and her favourite pastime was literally spending time with him no matter how they did it.

“George!” she shouted again. “I'm going to be sick if you don't put me down!”

“Stop threatening me, blondie. I really like this jumper,” he said, lowering her to the floor. The twins were unusually tall for 13-year-olds. “How do you always know it's me? Even Mum confuses me with Fred all the time,” asked the redhead, as his brother went to hug their friend too.

“It's easy to tell it's you, I'd recognise you anywhere.” Marian said, although after noticing the smile on George's face, she added, “Because Fred has always been taller.”

“And more handsome, but who's counting,” added the other redhead to annoy his brother with the help of the blonde, with whom he bumped fists.

“Very funny,” George rolled his eyes indignantly. “I missed you,” he smiled affectionately at the blonde.

“I missed you too.” And there it was, the special spark she felt with George and no one else among her brothers. Marian didn't understand it and didn't know the reason behind it, but it felt good, warm and pleasant. They both started walking towards the boats that would take the first years to the castle.

He just smiled and hugged her with one arm as he walked her to the boats that would take her to the castle.

“Are you worried?” George asked, stopping in line with her as he looked at her frown, like she always did when she was thinking too hard about things. “You know, you can always be a Gryffindor and not go against your father, at least not technically.” The blonde smiled and gave him an amused look.

“And have to put up with four Weasleys every hour of the day? I don't think so. I choose to live a quiet life.” She smiled, although the thought of ending up in Slytherin and not in the house she longed to be in was more depressing than she had expected.

“Don't pretend it's not your dream come true.” George smiled and stopped before Marian got into the boats, hugging her. “Everything will be fine, sunshine. There's nothing to worry about.” Marian smiled at the nickname George always called her. 

It all started one day when they were playing outside the burrow and the summer sun threatened to cook them. The girl undid her usual braid while 10-year-old George watched her. The sun seemed to illuminate her blonde hair even more. “Sunshine,” George had exclaimed, “you look like sunshine.” The rest is history.

With a squeeze of his hands and a flashing smile, George let go of her and Marian boarded the boats with Ron and Harry, although Hermione, the clever girl from the train, had joined them in an uncomfortable silence, while everyone was staring at the castle Marian nudged Hermione on the arm and the girl looked at her with a little panic in her eyes.

“Hey…” Marian said in a low voice. “I’m sorry about what I said on the train, I didn’t mean any of it, well, except for the part where I said there were no such things as dangerous creatures but blind people, I do mean that” she smiled to Hermione who seemed a lot calmer. “Creatures are important to me, I want people to know them, understand them not… fear them.”

Realization sinked deep in her bones. Maybe she related more to the animals her grandpa spent his life protecting than she thought.

“I… am sorry too.” Hermione said. “My parents are muggles so I really don’t know any more than what people say about them. Maybe you could teach me?” She asked with a really cute smile and Marian felt something warm on her chest.

“I absolutely can” she smiled too and offered her hand. “Marian, a pleasure.”

“Hermione” everything felt lighter after that.

Throughout the journey, Hermione acted as their guide, providing even more information about Hogwarts and its teachers. Arriving at the castle, all the children looked with amazement and attention at the size, architecture and peculiarities of what would be their home for the next few years; Marian was delighted, feeling happier than she had been in years. They stopped on the grand staircase leading to the Great Hall, where they waited for instructions. Ron and Marian had stayed close to Harry when they saw a boy speak to him, Marian got distracted with another fun fact Hermione was whispering in her ear. 

“So it 's true then. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.’ Murmurs were heard after what the young blond boy had said, everyone curious. “These are Crabbe and Goyle, and I am Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Harry was about to be polite when Ron let out a small chuckle at the poshness with which the blonde boy had introduced himself. 

“Do you think my name is funny? I don't need to ask yours, an old robe and that red hair, you're a Weasley.” He looked at Malfoy with contempt and then warned Harry. “I'd watch my friends if I were you, Potter, don't go hanging out with the wrong sort”. That Marian had heard.

She came to stand in front of Ron and in second she changed the kind expression she had been using while listening to Hermione ramble about the Hogwarts founders for something colder, sharper. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it so soon.

“Hawthorne.” Draco said and Marian could actually see the moment the boy swallowed his previous words. With the greeting of Malfoy the whispers and mumbles intensified.

“I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Malfoy,” she threatened simply. “It's not in your best interest to play the game of who has more class than the other, and I think you know that.”

“Besides, I'm perfectly capable of choosing my own friends, thank you very much,” Harry said firmly, crushing the blond boy's fragile ego. Ron smiled, feeling proud of his old and new friends. Draco just glared at Marian, even when a small blush from embarrassment covered his cheeks.

Minerva McGonagall was the teacher who formally welcomed them to the castle, as they had previously met Hagrid, who already knew Harry and ended up becoming friends with all the children. The teacher explained the selection ceremony, and they were finally able to enter the Great Hall, where magic emanated from every corner. It was a sight to behold; whether you were a Muggle or a wizard, Hogwarts always took your breath away.

The children began to pass through as they were called. Until then, Marian could only get a hold of herself, praying that the Sorting Hat would have mercy on her poor tortured soul. Ron and Hermione ended up in Gryffindor, which was to be expected since all the Weasleys were in the lion's house. The hat took its time with Harry, finally placing him in Gryffindor. And as expected, her nemesis, Draco Malfoy, ended up in Slytherin after half a second of the hat being in his head.

“Marian Hawthorne!” Professor McGonagall called out, and if the mention of Harry's name had already caused a commotion, it only grew louder. Thousands of eyes, including those of the teachers, were fixed on the blonde girl, who, feeling very embarrassed and afraid, made her way to the large chair, looking around for Ron or George, but she was so nervous that she couldn't even concentrate on that, however, she could make sense of few of the murmurs that went around the hall.

“Clearly a Slytherin” “Maybe a Ravenclaw, I heard her sort has private tutors and everything” “Are you having a laugh? Her father is a dark wizard” “I wish less of her people would show up to Hogwarts” “Do you think she is that evil?”

Suddenly the Great Hall was unbearably hot, her skin felt thick and it was starting to itch. With a great deal of effort she managed to sit on the chair without being sick.

“Ah, well, well... A Hawthorne, but also a Scamander,” murmured the Sorting Hat as it was placed on his head. “You are kind, yes, loyal and extremely committed to hard work, just like your grandfather. Brave too, and very talented,” continued the talking hat. “But I also see cunning, intelligence and ambition. Just like your father, curious and inquisitive. Where shall I put you?”

The minutes passed and the hat took even longer than it had with Harry. Marian began to think that perhaps they would not be able to place her in a house and would expel her from Hogwarts, she thought in suggesting the hat to sort her to Slytherin like her father had said, but she couldn’t get herself to do it. Taking the easy path never ended well.

She dared to open her eyes and see all the expecting eyes focusing solely on her, inevitably her eyes landed on Draco, his annoyance from their previous encounter long gone, Marian didn’t know what kind of face she was making but it sure was a pathetic one, at least humiliating enough for Draco to nod and smile to her. The shock of seeing Draco smile at her was big enough that she barely felt anything when the sorting hat finally let his decision known.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

And once the word registered in her brain, the shock was even greater. Marian felt her blood run cold. She could feel her heart beating and hear her shallow breathing. It all felt unreal. She blinked a couple of times and saw the members of the badger’s house welcoming her with open arms and the impressed faces of some Slytherins who could have sworn she would be sorted into their house as soon as the hat was placed on her head. It wasn't that Marian was unhappy with the result of her house, there was nothing she wanted more than to be in the house her grandfather had been in, but she had come to terms with the fact that it was impossible, because she knew the consequences of tarnishing the Hawthorne legacy, and she didn't want to live through them. So before anything else happened, Marian prayed silently, “Slytherin, send me to Slytherin”. But it was too late, the professor had already removed her hat and directed her to her table, her fate sealed, and she felt deeply dismayed by it. 

With the world on her shoulders, Marian got up and went to sit at the Hufflepuff table next to a pretty girl with black hair and blue eyes like the sea. Her name was Lila Taylor, and she was quick to introduce herself. Like any average extrovert, she took Marian under her wing, who was so shy that no one would have ever guessed she was the daughter of such famous people.

All the first-year children were assigned to their houses and the banquet began, while they listened to the recommendations of the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and the introductions of the teachers, such as Professor Quirrell. Marian wasn't hungry, but even though this would end the privileges she had during the holidays, at least she wouldn't have to think about it for a few months. She began to chat animatedly with Lila, who turned out to be the daughter of two Muggles living in the United States. She had come to Hogwarts alone on the recommendation of her only relative in the area, an uncle whose wife was a witch. He treated her very well and they cared for her affectionately. They talked for a while until Marian noticed the strange signals George was making to her from his table.

She concentrated on trying to read the redhead's mind because she didn't understand anything at all. When she noticed him pointing upwards, she saw a paper bird that they often used to communicate with when she went to the burrow and George wasn't allowed to leave his room because he had probably played a prank with Fred. The bird flew down and unfolded from its original shape to reveal a note.

Well? You look like you've heard about my death. How do you feel?

Marian smiled at his note. She had always liked it when George wrote to her. She took a pen from her robe and wrote, sending the bird back.

I just found out about mine, it's not exactly what was expected of me.

George smiled and sent the bird back.

Look on the bright side, you'll have the kitchen nearby and you'll keep me as your friend forever, because I couldn't be your friend if you were a dark witch.

PS: This is a lie, if you were, I would be your first follower.

She closed the small piece of parchment and held it in the pocket next to her heart. She looked over the Gryffindor table again but George had disappeared as well as Fred, probably planning a welcome prank. Her eyes drifted to the Slytherin table where, curiously, Malfoy was already staring back.

Chapter Text

That was awkward. But getting to realise that Malfoy wasn’t even aware he was looking in the first place, was odd to say the least. When their eyes met, they quickly turned to face anything but them, Marian was starting to feel the heat creeping into her face.

“So…” Lila started with a cheeky grin, Marian liked the girl, she talked enough for the both of them, meaning, attention would be drawn immediately to her instead of the Hawthorne name. “Is that your boyfriend or something like that?”

“MERLIN! NO!” Marian said, faster and louder than she intended. But, she was 11, she knew most of the girls in her circle had crushes, said crushes being Malfoy which kind of gave her the ick. She understood the idea of liking someone but never saw any boys with those eyes, she could recognize that Theodore Nott had pretty eyes or that Blaise Zabini had a cute smile. But liking them? No. Absolutely not. Now, talking about George, a guy who was basically her brother, like if he was her boyfriend, that made her want to crawl into a hole. “Sorry” she apologized for her outburst. “He’s a friend, almost like a brother to me. So… no.”

“Really? As you show up with him in every photo together I’d thought you two would be closer than just friends.” Lila said, blue eyes piercing her core.

Oh. Oh. 

So they were not talking about George. That was even worse. Marian returned her sight to Malfoy who was mocking Crabbe for something as if he hadn’t been staring at her the last five minutes. She wanted to die of sheer mortification. Of course, she feigned insanity because the embarrassment was just that big.

“We have known each other since we were kids, it’s not that big of a deal.” she tried to opt out. “He’s a brat” her gaze inevitably going back to the Slytherin table.

That seemed to do the trick, so Lila was convinced enough to talk about her own crush who she had met a mere hour ago and seemed to be planning the wedding. Marian listened and fixed her gaze to her carrot soup, not wanting to lock eyes with anyone for the rest of the dinner. Once that finished, she allowed herself to breathe again.

All the students at the Hufflepuff table got up and began to walk slowly towards the exit of the Great Hall. Marian listened attentively to the instructions given by her house prefect, a boy who had introduced himself as Gabriel Truman who seemed trustworthy enough to be a prefect. When she was about to exit the Great Hall, she heard her name being called in a sentence. 

“Prefect Truman, I would ask you to make an exception and lend me Miss Hawthorne. I will escort her to her common room and show her in.” requested none other than the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

Marian froze. She had no idea what Dumbledore could want. Was she going to be expelled? But she had only been there a few hours! Maybe her father actually had eyes everywhere and was already informed that she had been seen talking to Ron or George. Maybe he was going to take her out of school and lock her in the old attic of their house. Maybe...

“Miss Scamander,” the man with a white beard as long as hair called her attention. “I see you have worries on that little head of yours. Don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong.”

Marian was a little afraid. Could the man read her mind? Or was she that transparent? George always seemed to know what she was thinking or feeling in any situation. Either way, she sighed with relief, just to replace her worrying looks with a frown. If she wasn’t in trouble, what could possibly the greatest wizard of all times want with her? Oh but wait, he had called her…

“Scamander, sir?” she asked. No one used her other last name, sometimes even she forgot it existed.

“I presumed you’d prefer it. Unless you would like me to call you Hawthorne?” the old man asked with a glint of mischief.

“No. No I don’t.” small mercies, if she could have one it was enough. “Am I in…-” 

“Trouble”’ interrupted the older man and chuckled. “Not at all, but I wanted to come and talk to you.” The man sat down on one of the benches in the dining room, offering the seat next to him to the girl, who sat down without protest. “You see, Miss Scamander, I have served Hogwarts for many years. As you surely know, I was a teacher and friend of your grandfather, for whom I offer my sincere condolences.” Marian swallowed hard. Talking about her grandfather's death upset her, and she preferred to avoid the subject at all costs. If she didn't talk about it, she wouldn't have to deal with the enormous pain of losing one of the people she loved most in the world. If she doesn’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist and if it doesn’t exist, it doesn’t hurt. “And a few years later, I was headmaster when your mother studied at this school.”

Marian wished the trip down memory lane would end soon. She couldn't spend too much time thinking about her mother or her grandfather; she would burst into tears if she thought about it for too long. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You three look very much alike.” Albus smiled and looked at the girl. “You are the spitting image of your mother, and from what I have heard, you have inherited more than just a last name from your grandfather.”

“I don't follow, sir” said the girl inquiringly.

“You see, Marian dear… Years ago I turned to your grandfather because I needed his help, and today I turn to you, knowing that, like him, you will not fail me.” The girl fell silent. How could a girl be useful to the most powerful wizard ever? “You see, I believe you know our groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. Among his many duties, he is responsible for caring for our magical creatures, and although he is very good at his job, I think he needs the help of an expert. You don't know anyone, do you?”

No. No. The speed with which Marian let down her usual guard and the way her eyes lit up was unusual. One of the things she was most excited about coming to Hogwarts was the fact that in her third year she would be able to take the Care of Magical Creatures class, her grandfather's favourite class and the subject of one of the most famous books in the wizarding world. Both of their passions boiled down to that class. She didn't think she would have the opportunity to get close to something like that before her third year.

“Are you serious?” the girl smiled with all her might, standing up from her seat and looking expectantly at the headmaster, who just looked at her affectionately.

“If you accept, Hagrid will be waiting for you tomorrow after class. He'll give you some tasks to get you started.”

“Of course I accept,” Marian practically shouted. “I'll take care of it, sir. Thank you, thank you. I promise I won't let you down.” The man smiled and stood up from his seat.

“As I said… More than just a lastname, Miss Scamander.” The elder set off. “Now come, it's late and you must be tired.”

They began walking towards the common room of their house, which was near the kitchens and made the corridors always smell of freshly baked biscuits. Marian couldn't imagine a nicer place to spend time. Dumbledore stopped when he came across a pile of barrels and showed Marian how to knock on the barrels to enter the common room, something she found completely magical. She did as she was told, and a passageway quickly opened up. Grateful and excited for the day ahead, she ventured into the newly opened passageway, but turned around when she heard her name.

“Miss Scamander,” called the teacher. “I almost forgot, try not to shake the gift too much, it might get hurt.” Dumbledore winked at her and continued on his way, leaving the blonde girl somewhat confused, what gift was he talking about?

She entered the passageway and arrived at her common room. It was beautiful, the yellow and black colours gave it a warm feel and the abundant plants made it cosy and comforting. In many ways, it reminded her of her grandmother's house; specifically the living room with its huge fireplace and soft burgundy armchair where she always fell asleep listening to her grandparents' wonderful adventures, the story of how they met, and how her grandfather's first compliment to her grandmother was that she had salamander eyes.

The common room felt like home, her home.

Lila saw her and jumped up to hug her and tell her that they were in the same dormitory. Marian still felt a little self-conscious about social interactions in front of so many people, but in this chapter of her life it was different; most of the students had welcomed her, no one had given her strange looks or asked uncomfortable questions, at least the people on her house dind’t speculate about her father's political inclinations or her mother's death, as they always did when she left home and reporters found her whereabouts. At Hogwarts, she was treated as she always wanted to be treated, like a normal girl.

The raven-haired girl took her hand and they walked through one of the round doors in the hall to her dormitory, which was one of the prettiest bedrooms she had ever seen. The walls, painted pastel yellow with black patterns, were adorned with various plants of all sizes that filled the room with a pleasant scent. The beds were made of dark wood and had canopies in the colours of the house, each with a modest desk beside it.

All her belongings were already there, but her gaze was quickly fixed on a box on her bed, wrapped as a gift.

“You didn't have to give me a present, Lila,” Marian said gratefully. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“Oh, I'd love to take the credit. But it's not mine,”  her friend confessed. “When I got to the dorm, it was already on your bed. Anyway, I'll leave you to settle in. Hannah Abbott and her roommates are having a pyjama party to celebrate our first night. Will I see you there?” Marian stared at the gift and then at the dark-haired girl. She wasn't keen on the idea of a pyjama party or being surrounded by strangers. It wasn't that she was rude, but she wasn't very good at social interactions. She was repressing the urges of saying no, she looked at her case where she knew the photo of his grandparents and mother was and a memory came to mind.

It was late autumn, the winter cold was starting to creep into the Scamanders house. Marian was in Newt’s study with a grazed knee and a whole amount of complaints about Parkinson, who had pushed her when Marian asked if she could play with her and Millicent, it was the first and last time she asked Pansy anything.

“Does it hurt?” Newt examined her knee which was pretty swollen.

“No.” Marian said with a frown and tears in her eyes, of course it hurt, actually, she was agonizing. But she wasn’t going to cry about it. Newt smiled.

“Those girls were awfully mean to you. Aren’t you upset about it?” he asked, looking at everything but at her.

“I don’t care. I don’t mind being alone.” she said, gripping the stool when Newt started to clean the wound. Merlin! It burned. Her grandpa turned around and began pouring the murtlap essence along with other ingredients to make a whole new batch of healing balm, he then began to apply it with gentle hands.

“Did you know I think unicorns are incredibly underrated?” he asked. Marian blinked, underrated? They were the most famous creatures in the wizarding world, how could something like that be underrated? “That's right.” he said as if reading her thoughts. “People think they are majestic beings, pure representations of magic. But people limit them to being alone.” Her grandfather paused, looking at the girl. “But do you know what's better than a unicorn?” The girl shook her head. “A herd of them. They are incredible alone, but together…” He sighed with joy. “There is nothing more beautiful in this world.” he padded her leg, wound long gone. “One day, you’ll find your herd, just wait and see.”

The memory resonated strongly within her, and she came to understand that the conversation she had had with her grandfather was not just about unicorns. She looked at Lila and replied.

“Sure, I'll get changed and catch up with you.” They both smiled.

Once alone, Marian looked at the package with great curiosity. She quickly removed the ribbon and when she opened it, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. How?

It was a briefcase. Newt’s briefcase. She could identify anywhere, even this way, completely refurbished and smaller than it actually was, the leather felt soft to the touch and in the corner where the N.S initials where supposed to be now was enrolled a clean M.S with a handwriting she could also identify anywhere. Upon the case was a card, in pale brown paper.

You are strong, you are kind, you are amazing, and we love you for everything that makes you you. We are so very proud of our little badger, take this as a reminder that before anything you are a Scamander. 

 

-Tina and Newt.

The sting in her eyes hit her before the realization that she was utterly sobbing did. There were things that she had to keep in control or the walls in her head would crumble and the pain would come all at once, all the grief, the despair and everything in between crushed her so hard that her chest physically ached, she didn’t even remember falling to her knees, all she could hear was her lack of breath and the whimpering in her voice, thick tears fell down her face and even if she tried to get a hold of herself she wasn’t able to.

Until something tickled her hand.

At first she thought she was hallucinating, it wouldn’t be the first time pain lead her to seeing things that weren’t actually there, but her doubts dissipated when the little things placed itself in the top of her hand that was gripping the bed cover so hard her knuckles were white.

“Well, hello there. Where did you come from?” whispered Marian, suddenly her breath was a little more stable. She looked at the little twig in her hand and back at the case which was now open. She peeked inside but there was nothing in it, it looked as ordinary as every briefcase in the world. She returned her gaze to the creature and when she looked at it, she could feel herself smile. Marian had always liked bowtrucles; she thought they were the most curious creatures, and she also thought they were incredibly cute. The little one looked at her suspiciously, not knowing whether to trust her or not. “You don't have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.” She said offering one of her fingers as a peace offering. “My grandfather had someone just like you. He loved living in his pocket more than in the trees with his family.” Marian laughed. “If you want, we can be friends. I promise I'll treat you well.” The little twig looked at her, softening his tiny gaze. He tentatively climbed her hand and kind of squeezed her finger. Looking comfortable, he stood on it and nodded. “Is that a yes?” The creature nodded. “If you ask me, owls and cats are overrated as companions.”

She then walked to the bathroom to wash her face off, red eyes filled with utter despair looked right back at her. She looked… tired, more tired than an 11-year-old should look like, she sighed and began to unpack under the gaze of her new friend.

“Well, don’t look at me like that. That wasn’t the first impression I wanted to give” Marian chuckled without humour at the worried look the creature was throwing at her. “If we are going to be friends, you’ll probably see more of whatever that was. So I hope your life is easier than mine.” The twig looked at her with eyes full of something she couldn’t place.

“Do you have a name?” Marian asked as she arranged her last belongings in the drawers. She hadn't brought much: letters from her grandmother, mostly, some muggle books that Krill had probably obtained illegally, and the photo of her grandparents, her mother, and herself when she turned three. The creature shook its head. “Would you like to have one?” It nodded. “Alright then. Let’s see… Thimbletwig? I've always liked that one.” The twig shook its head. “Thistlewink!” He gave a raspberry and a disdainful look. “Merlin alright, you really have a temper, just like Pickett.” Marian rolled her eyes and the twig nodded excitedly she looked at the twig. “Pickett? You want to be called Pickett?” The blonde smiled and reached out her hand to pick up her friend, who seemed ecstatic about his new name. “Well then, nice to meet you, Pickett… The Second.”

Pickett clung to Marian's hand, affectionately stroking it, and then slipped into her pocket, she smiled at the familiar gesture. With a sigh, the girl took out the last thing in her suitcase, pyjamas, which she looked at as if they had personally insulted her, trying not to think about it, to hide it all deep in her mind, she reprised her mantra that if she didn't think about it, it didn't exist, and if it didn't exist, it couldn't hurt.

Moments later, Pick was in the pocket of her pajamas and the blonde girl was standing in front of Hannah's bedroom door. She had been there for at least five minutes, deciding whether or not to knock. Pick peeked out when he realised they weren't doing anything, looking at her questioningly.

“Have you ever felt like no matter how hard you try, you don't fit in anywhere?” Marian asked quietly so that no one but her new friend could hear her. “That's how it is for me, everywhere, always.” Pick shook his tiny head and, jumping up and down, opened the bedroom door, hanging from the door handle. “PICK!” Marian whispered loudly and picked him up the moment the door opened.

“Marian!” exclaimed Lila. “We were wondering if you had fallen asleep. I was just about to come and look for you.” Marian managed only a half-hearted smile as her friend pulled her by the hand and introduced her to the other four girls, one of whom was her roommate, whom she recognised because her father worked with Mikkelsen at the ministry, Eloise Leroy, whose family had recently moved from France. Her father had never hidden his disdain for the Leroys, whom he always called bloodtraitors. Excellent, if her father found out about that too, Marian would have no peace for the next 6 years.

With all her strength, she tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the conversation with her new classmates, about how Hannah wanted to be a healer when she grew up, or how Eloise planned to return to France and be an auror in the local Ministry, or how Lila wanted to become a professional Quidditch player, or how Susan Bones had fallen in love at first sight with Cedric Diggory, one of the fourth-year students. 

“What about you, Marian?” asked Lila, who tried to involve her in the conversation whenever she could, bless her. But unfortunately Marian didn't have much to contribute. What could she say anyway? That she couldn't become a magizoologist because her father wanted her to marry a pureblood in an arranged marriage and devote herself entirely to being a good, traditional wife? Guess not. That would only depress them.

“Me?” she asked, pulling herself out of her thoughts.

“Yes, don't you have someone you like?” asked Susan, after Lila with red tinged cheeks declared her undying love for Alexander Molliere, a skinny boy with a half-dead look in his eyes who, like Lila, was the son of Muggles. Marian thought it was sweet that she was already planning her life at the ripe age of 11.

“Um... no. I've never met anyone I liked that way.” For some reason, that felt like a lie, but as far as Marian knew, she was telling the truth.

“What about Draco Malfoy? I've seen that you two are very close.” Eloise asked, raising and lowering her eyebrows suggestively. Of course she had seen them together, at press conferences, in newspapers, at events where both Lucius and Mikkelsen had to bring the family, Marian and Draco always appeared together. Just hearing that made Marian want to laugh. Her and Malfoy? It would be easier to change the colour of the sky to bright green.

“I already asked her and she denied it. But he stared at her for at least the whole dinner.” Lila declared with a grin. Malfoy did what now?

“He… What?” she asked, confused. But was silenced by the rest of the girls squawking about how handsome Malfoy was, something she couldn’t relate to, all she saw when she stared at Malfoy was a brat that looked like a ferret. She couldn’t even explain that she didn’t think of the boy like that, the girls were long gone with a made up story about how they were going to end up together. But apparently, that was enough to break the ice with the girls because after that they didn't stop laughing and teasing her with their ‘love’. It had been nice not to have to jump through hoops to get someone to like her. Marian didn't think that just being herself would be enough.

Once everyone was asleep and the lights had been turned off, Marian couldn't stop tossing and turning in the spot where Eloise had put up a small mattress for each of them. Even Pick had grown tired of her keeping him awake. She groped her way out of Hannah, Susan, and Megan's bedroom and into her own, where she was finally able to breathe more easily.

She noticed that on the right side of her bed there was a carved alcove, large enough to sit in and hide from the world. Sunk into it was an oval frame that, if Marian hadn't known that the Hufflepuff common room was in the basement, she would have sworn was a window. She touched it delicately, feeling the carved wood and the branches of the vine that surrounded it. Suddenly, the amber inside the frame slowly changed colour, like a drop of honey melting, and the image of the night sky appeared, clear and vibrant. It was like looking up at the surface from inside a very calm lake: the stars twinkled, large and close, and the moon cast silver glints over a forest that looked real. Could it be enchanted to show the outside? Marian wondered. Her eyes quickly found the star that, after many explanations, her mother had taught her to always find anywhere. It was her favourite. She didn't remember much about Olivia, but this particular memory was as clear as day.

“And there…” her mother pointed to one particular star. “If you look at it, it's as if you're looking at me all the time. I'll always be watching over you from there. It's not the brightest star in the sky, but to me it always is,” her mother had said as she hugged her and they looked up at the night sky from the mansion's garden, one night when her father was away, the night before… Before everything went to hell.

Gazing at the star and with Pick in her hand, she fell asleep, longing to fly among the stars, to find her mother between them.

A tickling sensation on her nose woke her up. With some difficulty, she opened her eyes to find Pick.

“Good morning to you too.” Marian smiled, looking towards the magical oval or window. She had no idea what it was. The sky was beginning to turn a beautiful pink and some birds were flying over the landscape. It couldn't be more than six in the morning. Marian wasn't exactly an early riser, but today was different. Today she wanted to start her day as soon as possible.

She glanced around the bedroom. Her friends hadn't returned yet, and she sighed with relief. At least she wouldn't have to worry about anything else. She headed to the bathroom with her clothes in hand, as usual. It was a habit of hers, and one that, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't break.

The bathroom in the bedroom was beautiful, spacious and bright. Marian found it a little funny that even a bathroom could excite her. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her braid had resisted her night-time antics as best it could, and although her face looked sleepy, her honey-coloured eyes looked more alive than they had in years. She sighed, took a deep breath as she always did when she took off her clothes to bathe, and looked at herself in the mirror. 

Most of them were whitish, others had a slight pink colour, but that was because they were recent. They extended from below her neck to her wrists, to her heels, everywhere that wasn't visible, if she had to wear clothes that revealed them, her nanny would use a glamour to cover them up. The scars looked like lightning bolts, as if one had struck her and that was the result. Marian lived in hell at home, but unfortunately, no one knew the real reason why. Marian was not so affected by punishments such as being left without food, or being sent to the attic as a reprimand, or even all the times her father told her she was a failure, a disappointment. 

It was the torture, never enough to kill her, but enough for the cruelty to be marked on her skin. The scars had begun to appear when she was 8, just like the punishments. Her father could have healed them, but he said they were a reminder of all the times Marian had failed her family, that she should remember it.

She probably couldn't even comprehend the horror of it all; she was just a child.

Her eyes scanned her body, and giving up, she took a shower. Trying to pretend she was fine, remembering that if she didn't think about it, it didn't exist, and if it didn't exist, it didn't have to hurt.

Once she was dressed and combed, her friends were already returning to the dormitory.

“Good morning, Mar” Lila greeted her warmly. “You're an early bird, I see.”

“Probably just today, I’m excited” Marian smiled, eager to explore Hogwarts, a task she preferred to do alone.

“See you at lunch?” Eloise asked. 

“Would you mind if eat with other friends? I kind of promised to.” she asked.

“Sure. See you at class then.” Eloise smiled, squeezing into the bathroom ahead of Lila, earning a grumble from her.

Marian left the common room with Pick in her pocket and the briefcase in hand. It was still early, and the sun had not yet risen high enough. The surrounding corridors already smelled of freshly baked bread and pumpkin juice. It was like a dream, one in which she was so lost that she bumped shoulders with someone.

“Sorry!” “Watch where you're going.” They both exclaimed at the same time, each in their own particular tone of voice.

Marian looked to her right to find herself face to face with Draco Malfoy's blond hair, Marian wondered what he was doing so far from his own common room.

“You know what? I'm not sorry. As far as I'm concerned, you could be run over by a train.” She rolled her eyes once Draco stared at her. The blond tilted his head, without erasing that sly smile that only appeared when he knew he could annoy someone without consequences. He smoothed his robe theatrically, as if Marian's touch had left an indelible mark on him.

“Weird you say that... I thought you were already the train. Slow, noisy, and quite annoying when it shows up unannounced.” Draco narrowed his eyes with the same expression one might have when seeing a mud stain on a new robe.

“Charming as always. Now if you excuse me…” Marian was about to turn away, even if she didn't really hate Draco, the blond had a special talent for getting on her nerves, something she didn't want to happen today.

“Eager, are we?” Draco asked. “Are you going to have a little meeting with those blood…-” He was cut by Marian’s wand on his neck, not that she was going to use it.

“Don’t you dare.” Marian looked at him, without losing her composure. There was a calmness in her expression that did not correspond to their age, but was already part of her.

“Ah, there it is. The characteristic sweetness of the Hawthornes.” The surname came out of her mouth as if it left a bitter taste, Marian cringed. “I was wondering how long it would take you to remind me how much you hate me before breakfast.”

“I don’t hate you,” she let him go at the mention of her last name, the last thing she wanted was to be what her father wanted to be. “But you are not quite the sight to see, and honestly? You could use a little sense of empathy.” she rolled her eyes.

The blond rolled his eyes with his typical gesture of annoyance, although it was obvious that he was looking for a much more intelligent response. His arguments with Marian were now inevitable. And then, as if the words escaped him before he could measure them, he blurted out:

“Sure. Although you've had quite a bit of practice with that lately, haven't you?” Marian looked at him questioningly, and Draco smiled, feeling victorious in his usual tug-of-war with the blonde. “I wonder what your father would say if he knew you were hanging out with such lowlifes as the Weasleys.”

Marian blinked, not responding immediately. She examined him. She had forgotten that small detail, the fact that Draco could forget the pact and tell his father, who would tell her father, anything he wanted, including the close relationship she had with all redheads. Still, summoning all her courage, she did not let herself be shaken.

“Good thing you are not opening your mouth,” she said coldly. “And so what? Does it bother you that I get along with decent people?" she asked. Draco looked away, but only for a fraction of a second. 

Draco pressed his lips together when he heard her, and that small pause gave away more than he wanted it to.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But the deal stands only if you don't meddle in my affairs.” Marian tilted her head and laughed.

“Your affairs have never been my concern, Malfoy.” She turned to finally go explore as she had planned since waking up, but her nemesis's voice followed her down the corridor.

“I won't say anything. But he will inevitably find out about your friendship with those blood traitors, and I will love to be there to see it.” Marian tensed, how she hated that term. But she couldn't let Draco catch her off guard; letting Draco Malfoy think that something was important to her would be like hammering nails into her coffin.

“You know, Malfoy,” she began, her tone low, almost friendly as she retraced her steps to come face to face with the blond. “I don't know if it bothers you more that I get along with the Weasleys... or that they actually want me around.” Draco's smile fell. She didn't say it cruelly. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. It was that sweetness of hers, that almost gentle way of saying things that burned. “Tell me, how many people can say the same about you? Aside from the fact that you're the Malfoy heir, aside from influence and power, how many people truly want you around?”

Draco blinked, and instantly, his expression of superiority faded. Marian had hit the exact spot of his insecurities. They had known each other way too long to know where to hit and make it hurt. 

She didn’t add anything else, Draco didn’t follow with any smart remark, and even then, for the first time, Marian didn’t feel like celebrating her new gained point. She just walked away.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was everything she thought it would be, from the halls filled with magic to the open spaces where everyone seemed to be enjoying their lives to the fullest. Marian had never had a first day of school, so impressing her required very little work, each passing class left something in her, even the utterly boring class with professor Binns seemed so out of the ordinary it made her happy, even when Lila didn’t stop complaining the whole way to the Great Hall about how she was gonna fail due to her inability to stay awake at the ghost’s words. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Eloise asked once she saw how Marian stopped at the entrance.

“I’ll wait for my friends, but you go ahead.” She smiled and both of the girls entered the hall. She kept staring at all the students who were calmly enjoying their food, even if it seemed something so… normal, it was kind of magical to her. Her gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table, hoping to catch a red head or maybe a face with glasses in it, but neither were there, instead she felt two presences at her sides.

“Looking for someone, blonde?” asked a voice she would recognise anywhere in the world. She turned to find both twins smiling at her. When Marian saw them side by side, it was a little harder to tell them apart; they looked like reflections, but George had a special sparkle in his eyes. The girl didn't know why; it was more instinct than anything else how she could tell which was which. “What will the royalty of the wizarding world have for breakfast? Pancakes or eggs, perhaps?” asked the older one with a charming smile.

“Or maybe you're tired of all the attention and want to skip a couple of classes with your favourite twins,” Fred quickly added. The twins spoke as if their minds were synchronised, which sometimes frightened Marian, but most of the time it was really fun.

“You're the only twins I know,” she said graciously. “And I want to have a sandwich for breakfast and not miss my first day of class. You two really are a bad influence,” she replied amusedly.

“And that's why we're your favourites,” George quickly retorted, taking the girl's hand to turn her around and hug her.

“Ah, the bitter pain of rejection. I'll go sit down while you talk about whatever you have to talk about, which I’m certain it doesn't include me,” Fred declared dramatically.

They both laughed.

“Well?” George looked at her sweetly, and Marian realised that he always looked at her that way, as if she were something delicate, something beautiful. 

“Well?” asked the girl with a smile, not knowing what the redhead was referring to. He laughed.

“I saw that Dumbledore spoke to you last night. What did he say?” he asked curiously.

“You saw what?” she asked, confused. “You left in the middle of dinner. I checked!” 

“Ah, so you were looking for me. That much you missed me?” George said with a grin, leaning on the open door of the hall. Oh crap, Marian could feel the heat in her cheeks, she didn’t mean it like that. “No need of looking embarrassed, sunshine, I already knew you couldn’t live without me,” his smugness was palpable. Marian smiled.

“That 's true. But don’t let it get to your head,” Marian punched his upper arm, which was a little harder than she remembered, probably because of quidditch, George played an awful lot on that broom. “But seriously, how did you see that?”

“I have my ways,” he took her hand and started to play with her knuckles. It started as a way to distract him when he was nervous, after a while it became a bit of a habit. “But also, what else is there to see if not you?’ He smiled. Marian felt a flutter, probably hunger, and before her stomach betrayed her, she entered the dining room, followed by the boy. She took a biscuit to calm her hunger while she waited for Ron and Harry.

“He asked me to go with Hagrid after class to help him look after the creatures,” she said proudly. “I'll be able to look after them, it'll be like…” Like if my grandfather hadn't left. She quickly dismissed the thought from her mind. “Like if I was in third year.”

“Really? That's wonderful! Blondie, I'm so happy for you. We could play some great pranks if you…” George stopped when he saw Marian's serious face. “No pranks with the creatures, noted. What else did he tell you?”

“You can't tell anyone about this,” she whispered and looked around the great hall, no one was paying them any mind, everybody focused on their own meals or conversations. “I mean it, George, no one,” she declared.

“You know I'm a grave for you, sunshine.” Marian was glad to hear that, and yes, Ron was her best friend in the whole world, but he was a big mouth who couldn't keep secrets. George didn't even tell Fred, he was her confidant for every little thing, if she blindly trusted someone on this earth, it was him. So looking around one more time she reached into her pockets and cupped her hands so Pickett wasn’t visible to anyone else.

“Pickett, George. George, Pickett.” Marian pulled Pick out of his hiding place, and he looked inquiringly at George before extending one of his twigs to George's finger in greeting.

“Wow! It's a pleasure to meet you... What are you?” asked the boy with genuine amazement and a smile.

“Pick is a bowtrucle, a little friend who came to me just last night,” Marian explained. “Although I don't know why or how.”

“That's incredible,” said George as he played with Pick in his hands. They seemed to get along famously.

Marian didn’t mean to, but she stared. Suddenly remembering that Lila said she was obsessed with Alex’s hands, how they were pale and really soft (how she knew that when she met the boy for only two hours by that point, beats her), so naturally, she looked at George’s hands.

They were abnormally long, because he was abnormally long. But his hands looked… cute. They were calloused, probably because of the Quidditch training or helping his mother with the garden and refusing to put on gloves, he also had freckles in his hands which was another level of beauty if you asked her. Her gaze drifted to his head which was low, his eyes mesmerized with Pick, his fringe covering a little of his eyebrows that were a shade darker than his hair; and for a moment, time stopped and she could only focus on how really beautiful George was, not just handsome, she knew that already. But beautiful, he was like looking at the sky at 7 p.m. when the sun was barely in view and the sky was all orange and pink, bright and gorgeous. 

George was the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen.

A snap in her face took her out of her reverie, followed by a pression that she recognized as one of Ron’s hugs.

“I’ve been calling your name for an eternity!” He said while squeezing her more than necessary. “Are you alright? Do you feel ill?”

“No. I’m fine,” she said, pulling apart and gazing at her friend and Harry. “Why?”

“Your face is all red,” Harry put a hand on her forehead, Marian flinched a little. “And you’re quite warm, maybe it’s a fever?” 

Oh, so she wasn’t as smooth as she thought. She looked at George out of the corner of her eye and the boy was already smirking, the brat. But he was concealing Pick with his hands so Marian couldn’t punch him, she glared at him and his smirk grew wider.

“I don’t think so, I’m just a little hot,” she waved her hand as if it were a fan and Fred snorted, oh, she was so going to murder them both. Harry was going to comment about it but Ron seemed to let it go easily. 

“How’s your first day going? We've got loads to tell you,” said Ron, “We've flight together! Can you imagine? I can't wait to have breakfast together every day, and we can have pyjama parties like at home, and if you stay for Christmas... Merlin, it'll be amazing!” Marian looked tenderly at her friend. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited, that she didn't feel at home when surrounded by the people she loved.

“Yes. I'm excited too, but don’t think you’ll have me flying on that bloody broom outside of class,” she smiled. “ And, as for my first day, it's going well, but history of magic is boring as hell,” said the girl. They proceeded to talk about everything that had happened during the night and what had happened today.

And then, the owls started to arrive, papers, letters and gifts were dropped to most of the students in the hall. Harry himself started to read the Daily Prophet where it said that a vault at Gringotts had been robbed, which was extremely unusual, but even more unusual was that it had been robbed on the same day that Harry had been there, and the vault that had been robbed was the one Hagrid had entered when he accompanied Harry to withdraw money from his own. The three of them began to speculate about what might have been stolen and whether it was really a robbery. Both Harry and Ron agreed to go and talk to Hagrid after class, and that was when Marian remembered everything she had to tell.

“That's amazing, I've never seen the creatures up close like that,” said Ron as he took a big bite of his turkey sandwich. “And although I'm happy for you, why do you think Dumbledore asked a first year instead of an upper class?” 

“I have no idea. I attribute it to my family history. I also noticed that he called me by my grandfather's lastname, not my father's,” the girl reflected.

“Maybe he thinks you have the same potential,” said Harry. “By the way, aren't you afraid of them? The creatures?” asked Harry, since for him, many things about the magical world were still uncertain.

Marian was going to start to talk about how she wasn’t afraid, that in fact, being near an animal that could easily crush her felt more like home than her actual house, when she realized that everything that goes up, eventually has to come down. 

Her father’s owl was completely black, the creature itself was really pretty and Marian sometimes stroked his wings and fed him cookies, but if Viggo was there, it only was a omen of bad news, he flew to her place and Marian offered her arm, he landed graciously.

“Viggo.” Marian whispered while taking the letter from his beak and giving him a cookie for the ride. Her friends went quiet.

“Is it from home?” Harry asked, probably already filled in with the details by Ron.

“You could say that,” because Hawthorne Manor was everything but a home. Marian gripped and looked at the envelope like it had personally insulted her, and knowing her father, it probably was going to. 

“You don’t have to open it, Mar,” Ron said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s going to be worse if I don’t open it.”

So she did. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of white parchment with Mikkelsen’s handwriting.

Endure the consequences of your choices.

Marian swallowed hard. There was nothing worse than being left in uncertainty. Was she expected to come back on Christmas? To leave Hogwarts? What exactly did her father know? How much? Anxiety started to pour out of every each of her pores and she could feel herself starting to tremble, the room began to spin and her sweat was cold.

A hand in her fist took her back to reality. A calloused hand, a hand with freckles, a pretty hand. George forced her to lock eyes with him by cupping her cheeks and looking directly into her soul, his mouth moved but Marian couldn't hear a thing but the ringing in her ears. She tried to read his lips instead: breathe. Right, so she wasn’t breathing, that explained a lot.

She began with the basics, inhale, exhale, over and over again until she felt like she wasn’t going to pass out. 

“There sunshine, again, you’re doing it great,” ah, so that was George, she could hear him now so that seemed normal. Fred was looking at her like she was about to die and he was witnessing her last moments, she couldn’t see Ron or Harry, but she could guess both their faces were something like that; she started to feel the really soft caresses of George in her cheeks, lingering like traces of magic, his eyes had a little of fear in them, but a whole bunch of determination was above it. 

After a while, Marian remembered how to breathe again. She wasn’t trembling anymore and all she could see were the tiny spects of golden in George’s eyes, his smile soft and caring, like everything in him.

“That bad?” he asked in barely a whisper, his hands not leaving her face. She just nodded, suddenly speaking seemed a very hard job.

Marian had grown accustomed to the Weasley’s physical demonstration of love, she didn’t enjoy anything physical, only her grandma’s hugs or her aunt Queenie’s occasional pinch of cheeks were ok with her, even his uncle Theseus’s head rubs were something she liked. But apart from that, she didn’t like to be touched, it was uncomfortable and made her skin feel like it wasn’t hers. 

First, she grew accustomed to Ron’s hugs, they were loud, strong and heavier than any other hug she ever had, but they were nice because it was Ron and he wasn’t that much of a hugger, unlike Fred or Molly who insisted on being on her the second she showed up at the burrow, but it had taken a lot of work. And the first time someone touched her and didn’t feel like pushing away had been when George grabbed her hand to sneak her into his room and show her a shining stone he had found at the garden that morning, the stone was now in her drawer next to her bed. It had always been like that with George, the exception to everything, always the first to notice when something was wrong, always the first to do something about it. 

She felt the weight of Ron in her back. “Nothing’s going to happen to you in here, that’s a promise,” he whispered. “We should go, the class begins in a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” she smiled. Ron didn’t believe it for a minute, but he knew her, it was better to let her be for a while. Harry gave her an understanding look and left her with George.

“Do you want to talk about it?” George asked, even if he already knew the answer.

“Not really.” Marian said and tenderly smiled when she saw the boy’s smirk. “How do you know me so well?”

“It’s easy to pay attention,” he put a strand of her hair behind her ear, treating her like she was porcelain. Marian smiled, her stomach warm, George suddenly seemed the brightest thing in her life, probably he was. “Go to class, I know that if I offer you to skip it you’ll say no.”

She wanted to scream, the same feeling since she saw George yesterday was being quite obnoxious. But it was a good kind of obnoxious.

“I’ll see you later?” she asked with an even tender smile.

“Always.” George said and passed Pickett to her pocket, the little twig absolutely compliant. “Good luck.”

Marian caressed his hands and gave him a knowing nod, she said goodbye to Fred and left. He watched as the blonde calmly walked to her class, watching her until she disappeared down the corridor and there was nothing else to look at, a dopey smile in his face that vanished when he saw his brother’s taunting face.

“Blimey, if you keep staring at her like that, she might disappear,” said Fred, indifferently looking at the piece of bacon in his hands and leaning against the table as if he wasn’t interested in the slightest.

“Oh, shut up. It's not like that,” George snapped.

“Yeah? I remember it's been like that since we were nine, but sure, say what you want,” the other twin said, teasing his brother. “Even, I just know you were about to ask me for the map just to make sure she gets safely to class.” 

“Shut up.” George covered his pink stained cheeks but looked at his brother. “Pass me the map.” 

Fred roared with laughter but did anyway.

After being called out by McGonagall for being late Marian and Lila sat next to Ron and Harry for the class, transfiguration wasn’t one of her favorite things in the world but it was fun, even more when she saw how Malfoy was utterly struggling with the spell and turned around to glare at her more than usual when she snorted after his umpteenth try. So he was still mad about what happened in the morning, Marian might not like him but even she could recognize she had said something that went deep, she could apologize, she would, just when the timing was right.

After the class, Ron and Harry had potions with the slytherins and she had one free hour, so they went to class and Marian asked Lila and Eloise to wait for her, they had a plan to hang out in the garden with Hannah and her roommates. Everyone started to exit the classroom but Malfoy and Nott were one of the last students remaining, so Marian swallowed her pride and approached the boys.

“Hawthorne! I swear, I haven't seen you in forever!” Nott greeted. Theodore was actually one of the few slytherins Marian didn’t hate, he was funny from time to time and less obnoxious than the rest of them. If she had been sorted into slytherin maybe they could have been friends.

“Nott,” she greeted. “Wish I could say the same, but it’s been like 2 weeks.” Malfoy saw the exchange out of the corner of his eye, with a lifted brow and a face that screamed hit me.

“Ah, you know how it is. I do rather like you, Hawthorne, so time flies when we are apart.” Theo said with a smirk and Marian rolled her eyes.

“Nott. Let’s go, we’ve got places to be and it stinks over here anyways” Draco said, giving Marian a disgusted look. Oh, so he was actually mad. Theo raised his hands pleading innocence and was leaving while saying another time would be. Still rolling her eyes Marian raised her voice and called for Malfoy, but he seemed far too interested in ignoring her.

She walked faster and grabbed him by the hood of his robes and stopped him to a halt, almost making him trip. 

“What on Salazar’s grave do you want Hawthorne?” he turned around, flustered and angrier. “I am late for class and I swear that if you make me late my father will-

“I want to apologize,” she interrupted him. “It wasn’t nice what I said in the morning, and even if you are the most obnoxious person I know you still deserve to hear nice things. So I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

They both stayed quiet, looking at the other. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and his gray eyes studied her as if she had grown a third eye in the forehead.

“What are you aiming for?” Draco finally asked. Marian was seconds ago of losing her patience. 

“I already said I’m sorry, what else do you want?”

“To know why you are apologizing. You have an ulterior motive so I want to know what you want.”

“There’s no ulterior motive, you dumbass,” Marian rolled her eyes and picked up her suitcase to leave the classroom, she was already late to meet her friends. “What I said was… awful, and it wasn’t true, so I’m sorry,” she stared and turned around to leave. “I’ll see you around.”

And she left. She left and Draco Malfoy was having a mental breakdown over Marian Hawthorne apologizing just because she was mean; not that she wasn’t mean to him on a daily basis, but she knew she had crossed an unwritten line and she apologized, like if Draco was her friend or something. So naturally, he was repeating the whole scene in his head like it was something he would never see again. So, safe to say that Draco Malfoy hated Marian Hawthorne even more, because how dare she be decent with him out of nowhere. 

He hated Marian Hawthorne, how she was a little goody two shoes, her moral compass and the way she knew she was in the wrong and actually did something to fix it. He hated how Marian Hawthorne was an actual better person than him and most of all, how she would continue to be.

“Oh, you’re toast,” Theo commented with a smirk once he got out of the classroom. Draco punched him, his now only problem was annoyingly blonde and too self-righteous for her own good. Oh, and that he was in fact, late for potions. 

Bloody Marian Hawthorne.

Marian had been listening to Eloise and Lila talk for about an hour while she just took her dose of people watching. Marian looked at everyone from the little corner in which the three of them had guarded, even when the day was almost over, the school was buzzing with life.

She liked people watching, it gave her something to think of, maybe how that girl playing magic snap was someone’s sister, how the boy looking at some brunette girl had always been in love with her. She liked making stories in her head of how each person who surrounded her had a life; that was important to her. There in her little corner of the world she could feel herself smile, yearning for a life so simple it would put her own to shame. Her friends were kind, so even if she didn’t talk that much it was nice to be accepted as she was. 

“We’ve got flight with everyone in a minute, Merlin, I wish the day was already over.” Lila said, throwing herself into the grass. That seemed to take Marian down to reality once again, she agreed, she hated to fly. It was bloody unsafe, the highs were terrifying and she would rather be safely on the ground where she was supposed to be all along. 

“Stop the moaning, come, get up or we’ll be late.” Eloise stood up and offered Marian and Lila a hand, slowly they made their way to the class, it was the only class they shared with the rest of the first years, meaning, her friends were there but Malfoy also was. To say he ignored her was an understatement, but Marian could live with that.

They arrived just in time, and Madame Hooch began to give instructions about how they should not fly without supervision and other rules to avoid ending up in the infirmary, they got lined up and she got in the middle of Ron and Lila, it was nice to be alongside a familiar face. Ron took her hand and kindly squeezed, he knew how terrified of heights she was, plus, she had never been very skilled at sports, and it showed when her broomstick refused to lift off the ground, scratch that, the thing didn’t even move.

“Damn it,” she cursed after the tenth attempt. And she would have kept trying if it hadn't been for the number of disasters that followed.

Neville had not only managed to lift his broomstick, but also to fly on it. What he couldn't do was land or at least graciously; he crashed multiple times into the castle structure amid the taunts of most of those present. In the middle of all the banging, he dropped the Remembrall he had received at breakfast, so Madam Hooch took him to the infirmary, that was when the drama began.

Malfoy took the Remembrall, threatening to hide it from Neville, and in a heroic move, Harry took flight, seeking to make the blond boy return what did not belong to him. Although this resulted in Malfoy throwing the Remembrall and Harry skilfully catching it and recovering it, Professor McGonagall went to find Potter, little knowing that instead of a scolding, she would offer him a place on the Quidditch team.

Turns out, it wasn’t a bad class, at least she didn’t actually fly the damn thing. Ron and Harry disappeared with Hermione, who said she had something to show Harry. Marian was also invited, but she stayed. Yes, she didn’t want to fly on a broom in any near future, but one thing was not wanting to and the other was not being able to.

And Marian was as stubborn as she could be.

“By Merlin's beard! Move, that's all I ask!” she exclaimed in frustration as she hit the broomstick. It had been at least half an hour and the damn broom didn’t even flinch. That had been her last try before she had to go to Hagrid so she could forget how good she was at anything but at flying. She sat down in frustration, staring at the sky like it held all the answers.

“Wow, calm down. You don't know the consequences of declaring war on broomsticks.” George was coming through the door leading to the courtyard where they practised flying. He had a big smile on his face as he teased her. “You know what? I know someone who can help you with your flying problem. He is a hell of a flyer, a great quidditch player and if you are interested in those kinds of things, incredibly good looking.”

Marian looked at him amused and raised an eyebrow.

“Great, so at what time is Wood showing up?” If she loved anything in this world was to take George smugness to an earth down level. George clutched his chest in mock offence.

“Wood? Ouch, that’s cold, sunshine. And here I was, offering my first-class expertise.”

Marian bit back a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, please. Last time you tried to help someone, you crashed into your mum’s garden and nearly broke your nose.”

“That was Fred’s fault,” George said indignantly. “He switched my broom midair. Tragic sabotage, really. You’d think my own twin would have my back.”

“Sure, that was absolutely what happened.”

He stepped closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re mocking your instructor before the first lesson even starts? Brave, blondie.”

“Lesson? I thought you were just here to make fun of me.” Marian laughed.

“I can multitask,” he said, his grin widening.

“So chivalrous of you to tell me I suck at flying,” she rolled her eyes. “But it’s getting intriguing that you always seem to know where I am.”

George froze for half a second, then quickly masked it with a grin. “Coincidence. I just happen to be everywhere exciting, and you’re… well, you’re usually there causing trouble.”

Marian tilted her head, unconvinced. “Right. Because I’m the troublemaker.”

“You said it, not me,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. He picked up a fallen little flower and spun it between his fingers, eyes flicking toward her with that familiar spark of mischief. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’re easier to spot than a snitch on a clear day.”

She narrowed her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Flattery in quidditch terms won’t make me fly better and is also just… awful.” They both laughed.

“Didn’t say it would,” George replied softly, almost to himself. Then, louder, “But maybe it’ll make you smile more often and that it’s quite a sight to see.” He placed the flower in her hair and smiled.

“Really?” Marian blinked, caught off guard, that seemed to be happening a lot lately.

“Really,” he stared for a brief moment and snapped out of the moment. He cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Right then! Let’s fix that flying of yours before Wood hears you slander his name again.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she shook her head, amused. 

“And yet you keep laughing at my jokes. Come on.”

Marian reluctantly got up and clearly followed George's instructions, such as her posture and voice level. This time, when Marian said the word ‘up,’ her broomstick came into her right hand.

Marian stared at the broom in her hand, wide-eyed. “Oh, finally,” she muttered, as if the broom had personally offended her.

“Called it. I’m brilliant as a teacher.” George beamed, looking far too proud of himself.

“You’re impossible,” she gave him a sidelong glance, but a fond smile was already put in place.

“Impossible and talented,” he corrected with a grin. “Don’t forget that part.”

Marian shook her head, but there was a small, reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “Alright, Professor Weasley, what’s next?”

George opened his mouth, then hesitated for half a second caught off guard by how pretty her smile looked when she wasn’t trying to hide it. “Er—right. Posture’s good, broom’s behaving… now you just need confidence.”

“Confidence?” she echoed. “That’s your incredible life—changing advice?”

“Hey, don’t mock it. And yes that’s it,” he said, stepping closer. “Flying’s all about trust. You trust your broom, and it trusts you back. Like…” He trailed off, suddenly aware of how close they were standing, her honey like eyes watching his very soul. “Er—like teammates. On the pitch.”

“You’re very poetic today.” Marian raised an eyebrow. 

George rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

She chuckled softly, gripping the broom a little tighter. “Alright then, if I fall and die it’s on you.”

“You won’t die. Maybe a few broken bones but that’s it,” he laughed at her face, twisted in terror. “I’m kidding blondie, I’ll catch you if that happens. Always will.”

Marian sighted, determined that if she was going to do this it was better to do it with George on her side. She trusted him and if George said he would catch her, she knew he would. So she climbed on her broom, and even when that felt like dying already she pushed off the ground with closed eyes and could already tell she was no longer as close to the ground as she’d like. With a mix of fear and thrill she opened her eyes, she was about five metres above the courtyard, it was a safe distance and seemed enough for today, so she came down slowly and was met by George’s proud smile. 

“See? No falls,” he smiled and took her hand to help her out of the broom.

“No falls, ” she smiled. “I have to get to Hagrid, would you like to come with me?”

George looked into her eyes like he had been doing all day long, like if he was yearning for something, pleading but also knowing he couldn’t have it. “Not today sunshine, I promised Fred I’d help him with his part of a prank, I am a busy guy,” he smiled but it didn’t seem sincere, not like always. She knew something was up, but that could wait for tomorrow, then she would interrogate the life out of him.

“Alright. Any heads up?” she asked and began to walk to the hallway. 

“I would skip the pumpkin juice in the morning if I were you,” he winked and took the opposite side of the hall. “Don’t get crushed by anything blondie!”

And as George left and she laughed she made her way to Hagrid’s. The man was already expecting her.

“Hello, Hagrid!” the girl greeted him cheerfully.

“Oh, Marian. Dumbledore told me I had a new caretaker, but I never suspected she would be such an expert. I’m honoured,” the man complimented her, making Marian blush. “So let's put you to the test, mate. Follow me.’

Hagrid led her to a small reserve in the forest where there was a small hippogriff, one of her favourite animals. The little creature seemed injured and was still young, but it appeared to have a difficult temperament.

“This little one is injured under his right wing, and no matter how hard I try, I can't examine him. Do you think you can help me with that?” Hagrid asked doubtfully, Marian examined the situation. “If it's too much, Marian, don't do it. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Marian finished her little assessment and shook her head. “No, it 's fine. I can do it.”

Marian smiled and leaned her grandfather's bag against a tree and took off her robe while tying her braid into a bun. The girl approached the hippogriff and bowed, then held out her hand, and although the animal was defensive at first, it willingly approached the girl and began to nuzzle her.

“That 's it. Good boy.” Marian moved a little closer, inspecting the wing, which had bloodstains on it, probably from a minor flying accident. She tried to lift the animal's wing, but it jumped away at her touch, ready to attack.

“Marian!” Hagrid exclaimed with concern. But Marian looked very calm.

“It's okay, don't worry. It just hurts, right?” she asked to the animal who seemed to nod, she stroked him. “Does it have a name?”

“Buckbeak,” replied Hagrid, fearing greatly for the girl's safety. She's one of a kind, Dumbledore had said when Hagrid asked if it was reasonable for an 11-year-old girl to approach magical beasts. That answer had not put him at ease.

“Nice name,” she smiled. “Hey, calm down, Buck. Come on,” she calmed the animal, which after a moment seemed less aggressive. “Listen, you may not like this, but I need to heal that little wound under your wing. Would you let me?” And as if he understood, he lowered his head meekly.

This time, Marian stroked the wing very carefully and inspected the wound. It wasn't very deep and wasn't infected.

“I see. I guess you weren't being very careful when you were flying, were you?” The hippogriff tilted its head, as if Marian was right and it didn't want to answer. The girl smiled. “With a little poisonous tentacle ointment, you'll be as good as new, but no flying for a few days, eh? Hagrid? The ointment, please.” Marian asked, and Hagrid handed her a small jar of purple paste.

“Pick, open the jar, please,” the blonde asked discreetly, taking advantage of the fact that the hippogriff's wing almost completely hid her. Pickett obeyed and opened the ointment, which Marian gently applied to the wound. After a few strokes, she returned to Hagrid, handing him the ointment, and he looked at her with wide eyes. “Well? Did I pass the test?” she said with some haughtiness. From that, Hagrid knew he would not have to battle the stubborn creatures again.

Chapter Text

The days merged into weeks and before anyone could tell, Halloween had passed on a blink of an eye, a troll had entered Hogwarts out of nowhere and both her friends and Hermione kicked his ass, but that was average magic school student behaviour for you. Still, it was really impressive. 

Marian thought that she had never felt time move so fast, probably those who said that time flew when you were having fun were up to something. She grew accustomed to her little routine of starting the day as early as she could, that way Lila or Eloise couldn’t see her sneaking her clothes into the bathroom; when they woke up Marian was as ready as one could be for the day, she was the last one to get into bed so they couldn’t see her change. The classes were entertaining, her afternoon assignments with Hagrid made her happy, she had participated as an assistant to the Care of Magical Creatures professor a couple of times, and she had saved him from losing limbs more than a few times. Everything was going well, even in flying, although Marian couldn't fly higher than five metres without feeling like she was going to faint, she often seeked excuses to be dismissed for the class of Madame Hooch, and most of the times it didn’t work. 

After two weeks, she managed to escape flying lessons and became the official water carrier of the group, thanks to her ‘fainting’ after flying a little more than 10 metres. Truth was, she wasn’t even that scared but Ron was keeping an eye on her after the incident of the letter on the first day, so was Harry, but that was because they were completely paranoid about the vault and troll incident. She knew she couldn’t risk anything that could expose the marks, she had enough with everyone watching her every single move at breakfast. George had been weird too, often enough they were having the time of their lives and suddenly he remembered he had places to be or had an excuse for not spending time with her, still, he watched her like a hawk, so any step out of the line and she would have to face consequences bigger than a letter that had a threat in it.

So she wasn’t exactly at top of her game but she was doing fine. 

Potions was another matter.

She had never been very fond of the exact sciences; they bored her more than anything else. Although the only thing she liked about potions was that as long as it was done correctly, the result was the same every time. She liked control and order; she had probably taken after her father in that regard. However, control was something she lacked in Snape's class. If Marian had thought that because she was Mikkelsen's daughter, who was close to the professor, she would receive less deplorable treatment from him, she realised she couldn't have been more wrong. Snape only gave her empty stares or looks that screamed that she was as stupid as could be, her grades weren't the best and she was sure that the results of her last exam would make even her grandmother have an attack. It was too much pressure, adding to that, the blonde didn’t receive more letters from home, not from her father, not from Mrs. Kingsley, and more importantly, not from Tina. Each passing day her anxiety grew, what if something happened? What if she wasn’t able to know? What if her father…?

“Marian? Alright there?” Hagrid asked when instead of cleaning the abraxan’s stalls she was staring at the void. 

Marian snapped out of her spiraling and looked at the horse in front of her, she patted his head and sighted. “My grandmother hasn’t written to me in almost two months,” she felt the tiny squeeze of Pick’s twigs in her fingers, the two of them had grown extremely close. “She promised she would and she always keeps her promises. If something had happened, do you think I would know?”

“I think Dumbledore would tell you, yes.” Hagrid said, stepping closer and looking at the child. “Why don’t you write to her? Make sure everything’s okay.”

Well, of course she had thought of that, it seemed the most obvious thing in the world. But she didn’t have an owl since her father had forbidden it, she couldn’t ask Ron or any other of her friends because she would put them in danger, Malfoy seemed the better option but if Lucius found out, that was it for Marian. So, she was unable to communicate and being completely miserable about it, but she wasn’t going to take it on Hagrid, not when he had been so nice with her and even let her help with more things than he should. 

“Yeah, I guess I could do that,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. Hagrid smiled and she continued on the task she was assigned to keep her mind out of horrible looking thoughts. She started to come and help Hagrid even in the mornings, she asked and he said yes, so she was taking care of the creatures even when Hagrid wasn’t there to keep an eye on her, not that she needed it. It was one of her favorite things before school, however, this day looked set to be a terrible one, and everything began with the first class. Of course it did.

“Congratulations, Hawthorne. This milkweed balm is almost mediocre,” Snape reproached her when he saw the result in the blonde's cauldron. Marian tensed. “I wonder what someone like Mikkelsen Hawthorne would say about such clumsiness, although knowing him, I suspect he would rather have raised a doxy than a daughter who cannot tell the difference between aconite and riverweed. Not that there is much difference, both are pests,” Snape muttered but loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Marian didn't even react to the comment; it wasn't the worst she'd ever heard, not even close. But she did have to bite her tongue to keep from saying too much. It was one thing to make snide comments to Malfoy, quite another to make them to Snape. So, with the most serene look she could muster, she turned her honey-coloured eyes to the professor.

“I'll do better, sir,” she said. How was she supposed to do that when the man spent the entire class breathing down her neck? She didn't know. But she could think of something, maybe Percy had room in his schedule for her.

It wasn't that she had any desire to become an expert in potions, but it was one thing to lose the privilege of being able to leave the mansion for a while during the holidays because she didn't stay in the house her father wanted her to, and quite another to be punished for failing in class or behaving badly; such acts made being locked in the attic seem like paradise and even an act of benevolence.

“I highly doubt it.” He looked at her with something close to mockery, then turned to the rest of the class. “What about you? I can tell from here that your work is just as bad or worse, so get to work.” He then went to his desk and scribbled something on a small piece of parchment. At least the whole class had stopped looking at Marian as if she had grown a second head. “Abbott, take this to Professor McGonagall, and hurry up.”

Hannah left the classroom and returned five minutes later, and everything went back to normal after that. Lila had fallen ill, so Marian was alone in class, with no one to tell her that everything would be all right. Eloise just gave her a pitying look. Great.

At the end of class, Marian was gathering her things, trying with all the calm she could muster not to simply run off to Hagrid's hut to take care of a baby graphorn that the man had bought from a trafficker at the Leaky Cauldron, which was Marian and Hagrid's little secret. A few weeks ago, they had begun their little project of buying trafficked animals and setting them free. Hagrid was in charge of buying them and then going out to release them, while Marian took care of the funds and the care, at least for the most part. As she was about to leave the classroom with her mind racing, Snape called her.

“Hawthorne.” Even the way he pronounced her last name gave her headaches. Snape had instilled in Marian a need to defend her name that her father would admire.

“Professor?” She tried to make her expression as blank as possible. Showing emotion in front of Snape was always the wrong move.

“Is your father aware of your performance in potions?” he asked, his gaze cold, as if he were a corpse. Marian tensed again. Of course he didn't know, at least not yet. “Because I would be very interested to see the reaction of the Minister of Magic's right-hand man to this disgrace.” He said as he slid the monthly exam Marian had taken yesterday across his desk, failed, of course. If her father found out, Merlin, not only would she be punished, her father would probably force her to study at home.

Marian had the courage to look him in the eye, defiantly. He was threatening her. And Marian didn't like it one bit.

“No, Professor. He isn’t.” She bit the inside of her cheek again. She was in a precarious position; she couldn't just threaten a professor back. “As I said in class, I will improve.”

“And I wonder how you'll do that.”

“I'll study. I'll work twice as hard if necessary,” Marian said. She was so firm that anyone would believe her, except for Snape.

“If you do it alone, your second attempt will be as futile as this one.” Marian could hear the mockery in his voice. “And I don't give third chances, Hawthorne. You'd do well to keep that in mind.”

Marian fell silent. He was giving her a chance to... what exactly?

“We'll make a deal. Your work is moderately less disastrous than the rest. And of course, you couldn't even pass the year on your own.” Marian clenched her fists. They should give her an award for how calm she was. “Ah, there it is.” The blonde turned in the direction the professor was looking.

Oh no. No, of course not. She preferred punishment, she preferred studying at home, she preferred living in Denmark in the cold houses where her distant relatives lived.

“Mr. Malfoy here will help you with your potions. He is the best student in my class who is in the same year as you,” Snape said, while Draco looked like he knew everything. Marian swallowed her emotions as she usually did. “He will be your tutor for the rest of the term, and at the end, you will take an exam that I will administer. If you pass, there will be no howler for your father.”

Although, if she was expelled from Hogwarts, she wouldn't be able to see Ron or Harry, she wouldn't be able to joke around with Fred or get to know Lila and Eloise better, she wouldn't be able to see George, talk to him or have breakfast with him. There was no room for discussion then.

“Yes, Professor. Thank you for the opportunity.” She nodded, her voice somewhat rougher than she had expected.

“Well, both of you, get out of my classroom.” Ordered the greasy-haired professor.

Both children left the classroom, the door closed, and they stood staring at each other. Draco had an unbearably mocking smile, and Marian needed no further reason to want to hit someone.

“Go ahead,” Marian said resignedly.

“What are you talking about?” asked the blond boy, clearly confused.

“Revel in it. It's obvious you're dying to do so.” She crossed her arms.

“I have nothing to say about it.” And the confusion that had settled over Marian lasted only a moment. “I just find it curious how it seems you can't live without my help, can you?” Malfoy sneered and Marian controlled every urge she had to pull out his blond hair one by one. She hated that Malfoy had the upper hand in their now routine arguments. “I cover for you so your father doesn't find out about your lowly friends, I'm your potions tutor, I'll save your skin so you don't fail, and on top of that, I won't be the one to say that the brilliant Marian Hawthorne needs help to pass potions. It would be humiliating,” he continued to mock her.

She kept looking at him, arms crossed, frowning. He, of course, seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

“How kind. I didn't expect such compassion from you,” she said sarcastically.

Draco tilted his head, that crooked half-smile playing on his lips. “It's not compassion. It's strategy. If you fail, Snape will waste my time with some other moron who can't tell a cauldron from a toilet. At least you can read.”

“Forget it. I'm not doing this, I’m against violence and looking at you makes me want to punch your smug little face.” Marian said after a moment and started walking in the opposite direction. Draco caught up with her without much effort.

“I wonder what your father will do when he finds out.” Marian stopped. “I wonder, will you miss seeing Potter and the poor Weasleys? Because if I were as pathetic as you, I probably would.” Again, there was no arguing about it. Marian narrowed her eyes at Draco, his smile triumphant. Another point for him then.

“Send me your timetable by owl, I'll try to adapt as best I can so as not to take up any more of your time. I'm late for herbology,” she said in a calm and serene voice, she was furious but if she looked at it from another angle, Draco could also have refused to be her tutor and condemned her to utter failure. It really could be worse.

She liked Professor Sprout’s class best. The thing came naturally to her; her nanny had worked for a time as a nurse at St Mungo's and was a real whizz with potions and herbal remedies. Since childhood, Marian had been a very restless girl, interested in learning everything about, well, basically everything. That's why her grandfather had spent most of his time with her teaching her everything he knew about magical creatures, but when the girl had learned enough and there was less left to memorise, she began to look for other topics of interest. 

Mrs. Kingsley began teaching her herbology so that she wouldn't get bored with all the free time she had at home. It was true that she had a private tutor to learn from, but Mr. Atkinson was boring to death, at least she could laugh at Malfoy being awful at herbology. The child's almost non-existent tolerance for frustration had always been amusing to Marian; but when there weren't such interesting things to learn, or even Malfoy's presence wasn't enough to distract her, the girl was bored. She acquired such a taste for the subject that she read the five herbology books her nanny still owned from cover to cover, and learned how to make all the necessary remedies for trivial things like a cold or a scraped knee, so Professor Sprout's class was a piece of cake. But of course, nothing could be so majestic. Even the things closer to perfection had their flaws. 

Even though she was a little late, professor Sprout hadn’t arrived yet and the classroom was still somewhat empty, so she leaned on the wall next to the green house and began to look at the horizon, thinking. That’s all she seemed to do these days. Think about her grandma, about George, about her own future and what came when she’d returned home, she braced herself and could feel a tweak in her skin at the mere thought of returning to the manor. 

She wished now more than ever that her life could change, that she could be anyone, a simple person with a loving parent, who could have the friends she wanted, that could pursue the dreams that clinged to her soul. That would be nice, living that life would be nice.

“Daydreaming?” a soft voice whispered near her ear. She could recognize it anywhere, not just his voice, but his smell. George Weasley smelled like maple, leather and gunpowder, when had she picked out the habit of smelling the boy? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t able to recognize any other smell like George’s. 

She turned around to look at him, he already had a grin placed in his mouth, his freckles looked particularly lovely that day, he didn’t comb his hair that morning, or barely tried to, Marian knew him too well to realize it. 

“I don’t daydream” she said with no bite to it.

“Of course you do. You have that look in your eyes.” He said, sitting in front of her, Marian frowned. “Don’t frown at me, blondie. You look at one point in particular and that pretty little crease disappears.” He said, smoothing her frown with his thumb. “Sometimes you even smile a little, like when I’m telling you something that makes me happy.”

“A lot of things make you happy.” She said smiling because George was too. It was one of her favorite sights.

“Not as happy as you make me,” the boy said and quickly opened his eyes at their full capacity, red creeping to his cheeks and neck. Marian just stared, words barely registering in her brain. “I mean, you really are a funny girl, yeah, that’s totally what I meant, you’re funny and it’s… cool being around you. Yeah.”

Marian didn’t say a word, she couldn’t even make sense of the first part of the sentence. Did she… make George happy? But now that she thought about it, George also made her happy, they were pretty close and he was such a nice person to be around, suddenly his embarrassment, because that’s what it was, Marian was not that dense, didn’t make any sense. Well, maybe she was a bit dense.

“Anyways, do you have plans for breakfast?” George asked, loosening his tie.

“I do…” she said hesitatingly. “I’m planning to eat with Ron and Harry as usual. Why are you so nervous?” she asked.

“Well! Look at the time, I have places to be sunshine, like class, yeah, classes. But I’ll see you… When I see you. Mhuaw!” he kissed Marian's cheek in a millisecond and bolted, like actually bolted.

Marian didn’t even register that George Weasley of all people wanted to get to class, because nobody had ever kissed her cheek apart from her grandparents or her Nanny. George had never kissed her before, and it felt… nice. Still, this kind of thing with George had been going on for far too long, and she wanted answers, but that could wait till dinner.

On the other side of the hall, Fred spoke after watching his brother almost throw up his own lungs.

“Real smooth that was.” Fred chuckled. “Any other ideas?”

“Shut up.” George said, looking at the tiny smile clinging to the girl’s mouth.

“Marian! We have been looking for you.” Lila said with Eloise alongside her, when they arrived at the greenhouse. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Oh no, I was just…” she remembered with a tiny smile the kiss. “Distracted.” She cleared her throat. “Shall we?”

The class started with the usual instructions, it was quite relaxing to do things she was good at. It calmed her nerves, made her forget about how things could or would be outside of the four walls she was in.

“Very good, Marian! But if you tilt the knife a little more, you could get a better cut,” explained the teacher as the girl cut a stem of a bouncing bulb, she did as told and it was in fact a better cut, the professor smiled pleased. “I think we are looking at our next herbology award winner.” 

Marian didn’t know such thing existed, apparently every year they made a contest for students that stood out in one of the central areas of magic, Hufflepuff had not had a representative in years and even if Marian wanted to avoid it, the glint in professor’s Sprout was an indicator that she wasn’t going to be able to, she had been mentioning every single week. 

“You can leave early today, your classmates still have some... problems,” said the teacher as she ducked when a bulb flew towards her head. “Alex, don't hit it, just cut it. Go on, and don't forget your homework.” Said the teacher before going to help Mr. Molliere with his bouncing problem.

“Ugh, I wish I could be in your place. I hate these things.” Lila said with a groan, after failing for the fifth time to cut the bloody stem. Marian chuckled and went to fix the angle in her hands so she could cut it properly. She did.

“Oh, don’t be mad about it Lila. Not everyone can pay a private tutor for each subject.” Ernie McMillan snorted, some of his friends laughed at the comment, taking advantage of professor Sprout distraction with Alex’s now purple eye, Lila stopped smiling.

Ernie McMillan had taken Marian’s existence as a personal offence. She didn’t talk to him, because he had made very clear that he hated her, and not in a Malfoy i hate you but I still got your back way, but in a I hope you die, or get expelled, whatever comes first way. So she didn’t try to be friends with him. But even Marian had a limit to McMillan’s snarky and annoying comments and he was pushing it. She turned her hand into a fist and pressed hard, the boy was at her right quickly becoming aware of the effect he was having on her, the brat. She had to give it to her father, he was quite right when he said that the worst mistake you could make was showing weakness to your enemy. 

“Shut up, McMillan.” Eloise said with a frown. “It’s not Marian’s or her parents' fault you’re rubbish at school.”

“Oh no, but I’m sure her father is at fault for many things more than just her daughter being top of her class. Being a loyal supporter of you know who, for example.” Ernie directed his gaze to Marian, who didn’t say anything at all. “Tell me Eloise, how can you aim to be an auror one day when you share a room with a death eat-” McMillan fell silent. 

Professor Sprout was nowhere to be seen, probably Alex’s eye was worse than it looked and she had taken him to the infirmary. They shared their class with ravenclaws, probably if they had shared it with gryffindors Ron or Harry could’ve stopped Marian from breaking Ernie McMillan’s nose.

Don’t get her wrong, Marian wasn’t a violent person. In fact, she was as calm as a lake almost everyday of her life, but there were times when even she was impressed by how easy she could go from being stern to… well, breaking a boy’s nose.

“WHAT THE HELL, HAWTHORNE?!” Ernie shouted. Everyone freaked out by the scene or laughed, because frankly, Ernie was a pain in the ass and they had only been together for barely two months.

“Go on. You looked quite pleased with what you were going to say,” she said, hiding the fact that her hand was swollen and hurt. She knew how to hit, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “Share room with a death eater? Or perhaps with a daughter of one?” she asked, Ernie looking at her with hate, but Marian was long gone to even care. “If you ever so much as imply again that I’m part of the monsters that killed my mother I’ll be doing a lot more than breaking your nose.”

She didn’t stay to hear any more, nor the questions of her two friends nor the whole gossip sipping through every corner of the castle. She ran as fast as she could, like running could slow down the world or just take that awful word from her head. Death eater.

It had been implied multiple times that her father was a Voldemort supporter, after all, he ticked every box of an average follower. He was a pureblood, rich and had an aggravating repulse towards anything that was non-magical, it was so obvious that the ministry did a whole investigation, they found nothing. He had a clear arm and apparently, he was just a victim of the circumstances, of course, no one believed that and the rumour spread like gun powder. Rita Skeeter didn’t help, it seemed like her favourite hobby was linking Mikkelsen with everything that could prove he was what everyone suspected him to be.

Death eater.

She remembers looking at one article written about Olivia’s death, daughter of famous magizoologist killed by a deatheater, corpse found at Hawthorne Manor. Every time she heard the word she could picture her mother’s casket going down on the ground, slowly, robbing her of the life she should have had. She ran until her chest felt heavy and her mouth tasted like iron; it was foolish of her to think the world would be locked up outside of Hogwarts, that people here wouldn’t be mean or nosy, her mouth tasted bitter and she was holding onto everything so she wouldn’t cry about it, she looked around, she didn’t realize when she got to the owlry.

Pickett appeared out of nowhere from her pocket. Right. She forgot about the little thing. He climbed her robes to stand face to face with her once she picked him up, disapproval in his tiny eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said with exhaustion. “He was being an awful person and a punch in the nose was… well, maybe it was too much, but who hasn’t broken their nose at least once?” Pickett crossed his arms and stared. “Yeah, maybe it was too much. That’s okay, I’ll take the detention or whatever they want to give me and that’s that, now quit with the terrifying looks.”

Pick seemed to understand and clung to her fingers instead. She took a moment to sit on the bridge near her, calming down her thoughts and getting a grip of her own emotions. But of course, that couldn’t last longer.

“For someone who is so much against violence, you are a really violent person yourself.” 

Marian didn’t even have to open her eyes to know the source of the voice. She had been stuck with that bloody boy since she had her first breath into this world. “Not now, Malfoy.” Get a hold of yourself, calm down, breathe. She chanted over and over again in her head, 

“I have to say so, I would have never thought you had it in you,” Draco snorted and she could hear his footsteps getting louder, don’t you dare cry right now, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt. But her hand, in fact, hurt. “But furthermore, I didn't know McMillan was as dumb as he looked.” That made Marian turn around and stare at Malfoy, she expected to find him with a mocking grin or that look in his face who read ‘it’s hilarious you did something so stupid’. But no, he was dead serious. “To think of insulting you and getting unharmed? That’s a privilege just a few of us have.”

“I’ve punched you more times than I can think of,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“None of them actually hurt. I… I was about to send you my schedule for the potions thing.” he said getting in front of the girl. “How’s your hand?”

Marian looked at her knuckles, they were swollen and her hand was beginning to look more purplish than red, it had a little cut and it hurt, like actually really hurt. “It hurts. But it 's fine. How did you find out about it?”

“You’re about to cry.” Malfoy stated, unimpressed. “People talk, quicker than you’d think.”

“I’m not!” Of course, Hawthorne punching an innocent boy was first page gossip. “He had it coming anyways.”

And one of the weirdest things in the world happened, Draco laughed, like chuckled. Marian thinks he has never laughed like that with her, hell, the boy doesn’t laugh. Period.

“You…” she swallowed, afraid the boy who she has known her entire life had been switched by a clone or something. “You’re laughing.” And he continued to, so that was scary. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean who am I? You’ve known me my entire life,” he said in the aftermath of his laughter, still giggling and still something quite disturbing to watch.

“And you have never laughed. Not a single time!” Marian put her good hand on her chin, as if she was thinking. “I know! How did I get the scar on my chin?”

With still a bit of a giggle Draco looked at her as if she was crazy but willing to participate in it. He leaned on the edge of the bridge where the blonde was and non chalantly put his hands in the pockets of his robes while he answered. “That’s a trick question. You don’t have a scar on your chin, it’s behind your left ear and you got it when you fell off a tree during my 9th birthday dinner trying to prove that you were, and I quote, ‘as agile as a cat.’ Really funny that one.” He made the quotation marks with his fingers.

So he was Malfoy. No one would remember that incident better than him, he loved to rub it in her face.

“I was as agile as a cat, I climbed that oak in record time!”

“And you got down in even a better record time,” he snorted. “Let me see your hand.” So Marian extended and like if Draco had any idea of what he was doing he exclaimed. “It’s serious, it could be broken.”

“And how would you even know?” Marian said with a grimace, Draco pressed a little on the top of her hand. “MERLIN’S BLOODY BOLLOCKS, MALFOY!” Marian shouted. 

Draco blinked, startled. “Salazar. Language, Hawthorne,” he muttered, though his ears went slightly pink. “Come on. Let’s go to the infirmary before you faint or something.”

“I don’t faint.”

“Of course you don’t. Care to remind me what happened during that flying lesson two weeks ago?” he said with a diabolical smirk, guiding her towards the castle.

“Shut up.”

They didn’t talk much after that. The corridor was quiet except for the echo of their steps and the occasional hiss from Marian when her hand throbbed again.

She didn’t even realize Draco hadn’t any parchment or letters in hand to send.

“It’s broken,” Madame Pomfrey confirmed briskly after a flick of her wand.

Draco’s mouth curved into a triumphant smirk. “Told you.”

Marian glared at him from the bed, her good hand clutching the sheets. “You pressed on it like an idiot.”

“I diagnosed you,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that somehow excused it.

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Madame Pomfrey gave a weary sigh. “If you’re both quite done, some of us are trying to heal people.”

Draco stepped back, smugness restored. Marian narrowed her eyes and left Madame Pomfrey do her thing, it was something minor, nothing a quick spell wouldn't solve. Once that was done, the matron went to look for potions to help the quick recovery, at least it was her left hand.

“The punch to McMillan…” Draco began after a few minutes, it all happened so fast Marian could barely register he was still there. “That was mental.”

Marian blinked, half expecting another insult. “You mean stupid?”

“No,” Draco said, and to her surprise, there was no sneer in his voice. “I mean… Good mental. No one ever shuts him up. I didn’t think you’d actually do it, you are way too soft for that.”

Marian stared at him, unsure of how the dynamic in their usual bickering had changed. “You sound impressed.”

He shrugged, pretending not to care. “Maybe I am. Doesn’t mean I like you.”

“That’s fine,” she said dryly, “the feeling’s mutual. Always has been.”

Draco looked at her, gray eyes piercing her soul, like if she had said something worthy of his attention. “What do you mean always has been?”

“Well, you hate me, I hate you. That’s how it has always been,” she frowned, confused. “Did I hit my hand and you hit your head? Or what’s wrong with you today?”

Draco sighted, staying silent for a moment to then close his eyes and say with low voice, “I don’t actually hate you.”

Marian froze. “What?”

“I said I don’t—”

The infirmary door banged open.

“Marian!” George’s voice filled the room like sunlight bursting through the window. He was breathless, his hair a bit wild, his eyes wide as they landed on her, relieve washing over the preoccupation on his face, he came closer and examined her to make sure she was still in one piece; and then narrowed his gaze when they found Draco standing a little too close to her bed.

“What are you doing here?” George asked sharply.

Draco straightened, tone immediately icy. “Making sure she doesn’t faint before her escort arrived, apparently.”

Draco and George didn’t actually know each other. They heard about the other through their only connection in this world which was Marian.

Draco knew about her relationship with the Weasley’s, they had known each other their entire lives to have secrets between them, it was also quite hard to keep things from someone that was with you almost every single day. That was one of the reasons why Draco hated Marian, or better said, one of the reasons why Draco pretended to hate Marian; her acquaintances.  One thing was having completely different morals, but when she had a relationship with the lowest people on the wizarding world hierarchy that was different, it disgusted him. So, Draco hated the guy’s guts, and not in a I hate Marian kind of way, it was complete and absolute loathing. 

George knew Draco. Not in person, he hadn’t talked with the kid, but he knew about Lucius Malfoy, who was a complete scum with his father, and he didn’t even think for a second that his child was any different. He hated to see him next to Marian in all the front pages, like if he had the right to breathe her same air, how could anyone that was so vile could be next to someone so pure? It made George feel sick. He was disgusted by him.

At least the feelings were mutual.

George sat down next to the girl and held her hands, carefully examining the bandage on her left hand. “What happened? I saw you were in the infirmary and I got worried-”

“Calm down, Weasel, she’s alive.” Draco said in a cold tone, suddenly very irritated. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” George snapped but never leaving Marian’s eyes. “You alright, sunshine?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her mind still in a blur.

George glanced at the bandage, then back at Draco, suspicion darkening his expression. “Did he do that?”

Draco scoffed. “Please. She managed that all on her own. Broke McMillan’s nose too, by the way. Brilliant aim.”

George blinked, then grinned despite himself. “You what?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Madame Pomfrey muttered from her office door, walking to the kids and handing Marian some doses of Merlin’s know what. “These ones in the morning and those by night for 3 days, come to see me if it keeps hurting alright?” Marian nodded and they were escorted out of the infirmary. 

“Well, you’ve got a breakfast to attend to if I’m not mistaken.” George smirked but shot Draco another glance, the playful warmth in his eyes sharpening into something unmistakable. “You can go now, Malfoy. I’ll take it from here.”

Draco’s mouth curved, not a smirk this time, but something closer to challenge. “Sure you will.” he said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hawthorne,” then turned and walked out, his shoes echoing against the stone floor.

“Why are you seeing him tomorrow?” George clenched his jaw.

“Long story short, I’m rubbish at potions. Got a new tutor and a warning from Snape,” she laughed without humour.

George watched him go, jaw tight, before turning back to Marian. “You shouldn’t let him hang around you, you know. Looks like trouble.”

Marian raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m a good kind of trouble.” George smiled and walked with her with his arm around her shoulders. “Care to explain why you are punching people?”

“Maybe. Care to explain how you saw I was at the infirmary and at the greenhouse?”

“Clever girl,” he mumbled. “I have my ways, that’s all I will say for now.”

“Alright, keep your secrets,” she smiled. They kept walking in a comfortable silence, George arm was warm against her and it all felt so homely she wanted to keep it like that forever.

When they arrived to the Great Hall George looked at her and with a tiny blush in his cheeks he held her injured hand.

“So, about tomorrow…” he started.

Marian raised an eyebrow. “What happens tomorrow?”

“You wound me.” George held his chest in a theatrical motion. “Does the word match rings any bells to you? We are absolutely destroying slytherin and I need you there.”

“You know I hate quidditch,” she said, spotting Ron and Harry talking amicably at the Gryffindor table. “Also, why would you need me there?”

“So I have a reason to win. Will you come?”

Marian was tired of the weird feeling in her stomach every time George did something as simple as looking at her, but it was even worse when he said things like that. Ron made similar comments every time and it didn’t feel the same, like at all. Marian knew she wouldn’t accept going to a quidditch match, it was pointless, boring, dangerous and-

“Yes. Yes I will.” She smiled. Well, it was nice knowing she had so strong ideals.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” George beamed and left her at the entrance, confused but utterly happy.

She sat with Ron and Harry, more people excited about tomorrow’s match since it was Harry’s first match as a seeker.

“I can't believe you're going to play, how exciting! We could finally win the House Cup against Slytherin,” Ron exclaimed cheerfully as he ate a turkey leg. “I can't wait to see Malfoy's face when they lose. I can’t believe you are missing it.” The redhead said to his friend.

“I’m not missing it, I’m going. George invited me.” Marian smiled.

“Of course he did.” Ron mumbled with humour, looking Harry at the corner of his eye like sharing a secret. “We heard about your little incident with McMillan today, bloody brilliant Mar.” 

Marian got serious. “I didn’t mean to,” she caressed her injured hand. “He was referring to me as someone who had to do with death eat-” she swallowed the word, even saying it made her guts twist. “That.”

“That’s just cruel.” Ron said with a stern face, leaving the turkey leg he was munching in peace. “You know you’re not, we know you’re not. The people who love you most in this world, we know. Who cares what McMillan thinks?”

“I don’t want to be perceived as that. I’m not my father, I can't act like I’m above anyone who thinks differently than me.”

“Then don’t.” Harry spoke this time. “Don’t talk about it, people will realize that you are a good person with only your actions, I did and we are friends now, aren’t we?” 

“We are.” Marian smiled. 

“Problem solved then, how was potions?”  Harry asked after.

Maybe the magic in Hogwarts rested in the fact that she had people who cared about her, beyond her last name or even the rumours about her, people who would listen about how she was stuck with her nemesis as a tutor or that she was a tiny bit excited for tomorrow’s match. Maybe, Marian thought, the magic in Hogwarts was the fact that the things that made her the happiest weren’t magical at all.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy knew exactly who he was the moment a drop of self awareness entered his body. 

When he was a small kid he really didn’t get anything of what his father talked about, even less anything that came out of Mr. Hawthorne’s mouth. For him, it was all adult talk that he didn’t understand and things that weren’t important to him. Merlin knows how economics were important for the world, but honestly? He was happy just knowing he had whatever he wanted for Christmas and annoying the life out of whoever came his way.

It was until he was 7 or 8 when he knew his parents were up to something with them being part of the people who were above the lot of the Wizarding World. He remembers it well, it was the final of the International Quidditch Cup, Draco was thrilled knowing he would be able to go even if he had to share air with Hawthorne who only rolled her eyes and looked like she would like to be in literal hell than in an innocent display of competition. God, Draco hated her with so much passion. But anyways, he was thrilled, he could feel his hands shaking with anticipation knowing his father and Mr. Hawthorne had secured the best seats possible, oh he felt like he was floating; until they got to the stairs to get to their seats.

It seemed that the whole world was there, there wasn’t even room to breathe. Lucius was beginning to ramble about how this wouldn’t be happening if they had arrived with Mikkelsen, which he didn’t exactly get but he was starting to get antsy. If they lost the first part of the match with the firework show he would be furious. That was when his father showed him what the Malfoy name truly meant, his eyes followed a wizard a few steps above them, a man with ink-stained sleeves and patched robes, holding a small girl by the hand. They were moving slowly, apologizing as they squeezed past a group of people.

Lucius’s lips curled in disgust. “Standards really have slipped, any oik’s allowed in now,” he said almost to himself.

But somehow in between the whole noise, the man must’ve heard, because he turned, frowning slightly. “Excuse me?”

Lucius smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes and was an anticipation of something cruel. “You are excused,” he said softly. “In fact, I insist.” He tilted his head toward the narrow gap beside the railing and his face turned completely serious, an even more disgusted look fixed in his eyes. “Now, take your prole and move aside. You’re blocking the way.”

The man hesitated, colour rising in his cheeks. “We have the same tickets as everyone else-”

The tip of Lucius’s cane struck the ground with a sharp crack. “Everyone else?” he repeated, with mock surprise. “How… amusing of you, but I doubt you’d be seeing anything from the top of the stadium, which by the looks of you, is all you can afford. Now. Move.”

Around them, the murmur of the crowd shifted. Someone snickered. Others quickly looked away. The man’s daughter tugged at his sleeve, frightened. Finally, he stepped back, pulling her close, letting the Malfoys pass.

Draco glanced over his shoulder as they ascended the man’s face was red, humiliated. The little girl stared at the ground. “See, Draco,” Lucius said quietly, not bothering to lower his voice. “Some people must be reminded of their place. It’s a kindness, really. Prevents confusion.”

“How?” Draco asked.

“Some people still believe they can stand as equals,” he said. “But blood will always tell, Draco. It always does.”

They got into the places with Mikkelsen in record time. Some people who had seen the little scene between his father and the man who was in fact going to the highest point of the stadium, moved instantly when they saw him. Opening so they could pass.

And just like that, Draco understood, or thought he did. The world had an order, and he was born near the top. It made him feel proud, powerful… and for reasons he couldn’t name yet, strangely cold.

After that, when his father talked about the importance of respecting the Malfoy name he listened, when his father instructed to act a certain way because he was a Malfoy, he did. Thing Lucius said, thing it stuck in Draco’s mind because he had seen it with his very own eyes, and did even more when he noticed what Mikkelsen Hawthorne could do. That put everything his father did to shame. And he wanted a piece of that, without even realizing, greed and ambition started to bloom in his chest when he was barely able to fly in his broom under the supervision of his mother. 

So, Draco knew who he was. A pureblood, a rich kid, the Malfoy heir, the best of the best, deserving of all the things and powerful enough to take them if they weren’t handed to him. And because of this knowledge he was starting to have an identity crisis. Because Draco Malfoy had problems.

He didn’t think so, he knew so. Don’t get him wrong, since he learned the subtle art of making fun of those who were clearly below him it had always amused him. Teasing Crabbe and Goyle was entertaining and in general, being as obnoxious as he could with people he didn’t like was his favourite hobby. But he didn’t know Ernie McMillan, he had seen the dumb face of the kid sometimes at dinner when he was looking at the Hufflepuff table, not that it happened often, mind you. But when in the rarest of occasions he would happen to make eye contact with the spot Marian usually took at dinner, he would see the boy. Again, on very weird occasions.

So, he didn’t know why he was making such a fuss about a boy he barely knew insulting his sworn nemesis. But there Draco was, hexing the boy that had a broken nose, courtesy of said sworn nemesis.

He was passing through the greenhouse when he heard the unmistakable voice of Hawthorne, yes he recognized her voice, have you all forgotten that they were raised practically as one individual? No? Well you should remember it because Draco has reasons to identify Marian’s voice, even more because he hates it. But yes, she was practically shouting, he heard something cracking and then she ran off, so, with curiosity Draco peeked inside and saw the little display of Hawthorne’s tantrum, he had to admit it was hilarious.

“Let’s go to the infirmary, Ernie. Madame Pomfrey will have you fixed in a second.” Said his friend, Draco presumed he was his friend. He didn’t actually care enough to know. McMillan shoved him to a side, radiating fury.

“What I want is that snake to go where she belongs,” he shouted. Well that was a way of getting Draco’s attention. “I don’t know how you can stand to be next to her, she is not one of us, no matter how much she wants to be. Hawthorne is rotted inside out as any of her kind is.”

Oh. 

“Mark my words, if there were sides to pick she wouldn’t mind stepping over any of us. That’s how she is, a vile, evil bitc-”.

Oh no. No, no. Marian was a lot of things, she was infuriating, annoying and so very cynical for an 11-year-old. She was sarcastic and stubborn, oh, Draco could recite any day all of the things that made him want to never see Hawthorne’s face again. But rotted? Evil? Vile? And over that, insulting her? No. Not when he could do something about it.

“Muscaecus mucosa.” he whispered from his little corner where no one was paying him any mind, watching how his spell turned out perfectly. He wished Marian was there to see bats coming out of McMillan’s nose, she would’ve laughed.

Well damn it. 

That was another thing in Draco’s list that he didn’t know why he did. But let’s talk about how he realised he was acting like a replacement of himself, a more pathetic and downgraded version of himself.

He had been gathering courage since he realised. After Hawthorne’s little show of human decency, Draco had found himself in a crossroad, because suddenly he didn’t know how to act around the girl, not that they hang out much, but when they were in the same place he had no clue. So he avoided her, as much as it was humanly possible, but he still felt that weird need of returning whatever Hawthorne had given him with her apology on the first day of school, maybe that way he would feel more at peace. And he saw his shot when Snape had asked him to grade exams as punishment for conjuring spiders in the common room when the girls were there. (Ha. That had been a good one.) He was no stranger to people being rubbish at potions, he even smirked at some exams because for Salazar, these people were borderline idiotic, how have they even achieved getting to Hogwarts? But he swallowed his words when a very familiar handwriting stumbled upon his mockery.

It’s not that the answers were wrong, it was that most of the exam was blank. Yes, he knew Marian wasn’t very good at potions, but her worst case scenario was an 80 over 100 at most, this was a 20. If Mikkelsen found out, well, Draco already knew how things worked out in the Hawthorne manor, he wasn’t stupid.

So, a few days later, there he was. In Snape's office, which smelled of potion smoke and old leather. Candles cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. He stood firmly, his hands behind his back, chanting that this was for the mere objective of paying back whatever Marian had given him when she apologized, it was just that.

“Well?” Snape said in a low voice, not looking at the boy as he stirred the contents of a greenish jar.

“I saw her exam. Hawthorne's.” Draco spoke like he had rehearsed in his head.

Snape turned slowly, one eyebrow arched. “And?” Snape asked, unperturbed.

“It was a disaster.”

“Your observations are as keen as ever, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape returned to his work, disdainful.

“I want to help her.”

Well, that was something he never thought he would say, even if that’s what he had been doing for as long as he could remember. Damn it. 

That stopped Snape. His hand, still on the cauldron, froze for a moment. Then he turned completely to face him. “And why would you do that, Malfoy? A noble cause? Compassion for the weak?” He said it with a hint of mockery. Draco kept his face impassive, a smile trying to escape his lips, because Marian Hawthorne wasn’t weak, still, it was funny that people thought that; but he suddenly realized that he didn’t really plan a motive for all of this.

He and Snape were close, as close as an obnoxious boy and a snarky professor could be. Still, they had developed a certain dynamic in their student and teacher relationship. And this request didn’t quite fit in said dynamic. So he said something his father would’ve said. “She’s a really close friend of mine. We were practically raised together.” 

Snape stared at him for a long time, those black eyes probing deeper than Draco wanted. “Really? Because I don't think she feels the same towards you.” Oh, that stung. Why did it stung? Snape moved closer, his words almost slithering between them. “In fact, I have a feeling she'd rather swallow a whole bottle of fever curse than ask you for help.”

“Both of our parents told me to keep an eye on her. A Malfoy keeps his word.” Yes. That seemed more believable and it was also true, not him keeping his word but doing what his father wanted. He was a good son. “So she doesn’t need to ask for anything, you can assign me as her tutor.” There was a heavy silence. 

Then Snape smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile of someone who had just discovered a new weakness in someone he thought had none. “Interesting,” he said, removing the potion he had been making since the blond boy arrived from the heat. “Very well, Malfoy. I will ensure that your very respectable word remains a secret.” Draco nodded once, turned on his heel, and was starting to leave when the professor spoke again. 

Staring at Snape in that moment was like staring at a wolf that could eat you whole, but was still planning when and how to do it. “You’d do well to remember, Malfoy… Not everyone you rush to impress would spare a thought for you.”

“I don’t rush to impress anyone, sir. Least of all her.” Draco straighted his shoulders like that had settled it, but Snape’s faint smirk said otherwise.

“I’ll call for you this week. Now get out of my office.”

Outside in the hallway, he exhaled the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

It was after facing Snape that he actually didn't know why he cared so much. But he did, as previously stated, Draco wasn’t stupid. And that was his problem. The same problem that led him to run after Hawthorne when she bolted from the greenhouse and of course hexing a lad he didn’t know, the same that made him take her to the infirmary, the same that urged him to turn George Weasley to ashes. He had a problem, but he refused to acknowledge it for what it was, so he just jumped to the conclusion that he didn’t actually hate Marian Hawthorne, he even tolerated her. Yes, that was it.

And even with that conclusion, which couldn’t do much harm, he realized Theodore was right. He was toast.

The rest of the day was a blur between classes, actually sending Hawthorne his schedule, pranks on Goyle and avoiding Pansy who had made her life mission to get him to dance with her at the christmas dinner in Hawthorne Manor, he couldn’t refuse more. 

So, when it was finally the next day, in the free period he and his headache had (headache as in Hawthorne) he was strangely anxious. He tripped like five times in the morning, he almost choked on a pancake and couldn’t even tell Theo to shut up because it had been humiliating, he found himself not even remembering that today was the match versus Gryffindor. Merlin, he had even forgotten Potter’s existence. If this was what happened when he and Marian voluntarily spend time with each other he wouldn’t be doing it again.

When he arrived at the potion’s classroom which was empty in favour of their tutoring, she was already there. Her usual braid in place and her usual frown too, Merlin, this girl would look like a raisin by the time she turned 20. She didn’t notice him, she was far too gone in whatever mental reverie she was on; sometimes Draco could catch her in moments like these one, contemplating, he wondered what she was thinking, knowing her she would probably be thinking about having another life, one where the burden of being good wouldn’t be a burden at all. 

Draco had to admit something, and it was that Marian Hawthorne was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, he wouldn’t admit it to absolutely no one, but in the privacy of his own head he could. He admits that the Greengrass sisters were cute, even Pansy was actually a pretty girl, but Marian was something else, she looked like she had been taken right out of a dream, her hair, something Draco had always used to mock her, was actually one of his favorite things about her, it shined and seemed to be soft, her eyes were full of things he knew he would never get the chance to feel, to understand but when he looked at her he longed to. Watching Marian Hawthorne was to yearn everything about her, and oh how Draco yearned, even if he doesn’t know that yet.

She turned around and saw him, weirdly, she smiled and greeted. “Malfoy.”

“Hawthorne.” He said in correspondence.

Well. Maybe this couldn’t be so bad.

Turns out, as everyone in that room already knew, Draco was excellent in potions. He was less excellent in maintaining decent amounts of patience.

“I can't believe you know all the species of those beasts you love so much and you can't remember how many branches of valerian go into a single potion.” Draco was on the verge of despair, and they had been at it for just over an hour.

“I'm doing my best! But I can't concentrate, whenever I get nervous I forget everything,” she stared helplessly at her burnt cauldron. “And your yelling gets on my nerves,” the blonde girl sighed.

Draco tried to calm down. Maybe, just maybe, he was being a little too hard on her. He stared at her, her forehead on the desk, looking at the verge of throwing herself out of the astronomy tower and let out a little laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me!” she exclaimed. “I’m doing my best here.”

“I know you are,” he stated. “It’s probably not your fault you’re rubbish at potions, some people are born with talents and others… Ow!” he said when Marian punched his arm.

“I swear to Merlin, Malfoy…” she said but surprisingly there was no bite to it. She even had a little smirk on.

“Fine,” the boy sighed. “Let's do something, remember that winter where Mr. Atkinson had us studying the whole bloody encyclopedia to take a quiz?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, when I got too overwhelmed with it I thought about how I would be flying in a couple of hours or in a match I saw the other day.”

“So basically I have to rather faint or die of boredom,” she stated with a flat stare. Draco rolled his eyes.

“No, dumbass. Think about something you like if you get nervous,” he said. “A good thing. Start again, I promise I won’t yell this time.”

Marian took a deep breath and started making the potion from scratch, concentrating on what she was doing and nothing else. Little by little, the quantities came to mind, and although there was a moment when Snape and his judgmental gaze, or the consequences of failing potions came to mind, she did what Draco had said. Think of something good, something you like. 

She remembered the afternoons with her grandfather on the magical swing he had installed in the backyard of their house on Essex which her grandmother would push whenever she asked to go higher, the smell of the grass and the butter cookies she baked whenever she came to visit. Her mind rested and she could focus, she could breathe. 

After a while, the liquid in the cauldron seemed more like a potion and less than a burned mess like the previous ones. “Well. I'm no Snape, but I think it's pretty decent,” the blond gave his approval when he examined the finished potion. “I don't think you need a tutor, but rather a break from your own head.”

Marian turned to look at him, he didn’t have his usual cocky smirk on, he wasn’t blunt, in fact he was being really nice to her. Maybe she would regret it later and would blame it on the happiness of actually making a potion, but Marian hugged him. It was an awkward and rather stiff hug, so the blonde ended it quickly. “I’ll go to the game now, but, same time tomorrow?” 

“Sure.”

She left and Draco could only stare at the door in utter disbelief. Marian Hawthorne had hugged him.

Marian. Hawthorne. Had. Hugged. Him.

He swallowed everything. Every single thing he felt, and took his scarf and wool hat to go and watch the game, he sat next to Crabbe and Goyle trying to focus on their bickering instead of how soft Marian was, not her skin, but the way of how she hugged. He focused on the new broom of Marcus Flint and absolutely not on how she smelled like oranges and a tiny bit of jasmine. He laughed at the fact the Potter almost fell from his broom and not on how Marian always bit her tongue when she was concentrating. 

When Gryffindor won it sure felt like a punch in the chest, didn’t matter though, he was already skimming so he could be seeker next year and he would be making sure to beat Potter in his own game. So, no worries, Slytherin didn’t win because they didn’t have him yet, next year would be different; but he had to blame his awful mood on the match, because he was sure as hell he wouldn’t be telling a soul that what had set him off was Marian bloody Hawthorne running to George Weasley’s arms as soon as the match ended. Everyone went off to congratulate Potter, in the end it was him who had catched the snitch, the youngest seeker and the novelty. But Marian was hugging Weasley, and he was spinning her around and giggling and Draco was going to be sick.

Safe to say, Draco Malfoy knew he had a lot of problems. It was nice knowing he also had a solution to every one of them.

Chapter Text

The days continued to pass and things were quiet, calm. If Marian were another girl this would be normal, boring even, but when things were so calm for so long it only meant trouble, and as per usual, she wasn’t wrong.

It had all started at breakfast, as always, she was sat with Ron and Harry, even now Hermione joined their little get togethers before classes started, she was thankful for that, Mione was a nice girl to have around and sticked some sense into the boys when they were plotting a little too hard.

She has to say, she wasn’t listening that much to her friend’s conversation. Lately she was like that, never listening and with her mind elsewhere, even Lila and Eleanor got tired of asking what was wrong and let her zoomed out in peace. Today she was more focused on the treatment of a mooncalf she and Hagrid had rescued a week ago, the poor thing had a nasty infection in its eyes and nothing she did was helping. In her desperation she had even asked about it to the care of magical creatures teacher, with lots of “in the really weird case” and “if I were to deal with”, but it did nothing, the bloke didn’t have a clue. All she could think of was that if Newt was alive she wouldn’t be struggling so much. 

That was another thing she had on her plate, she was struggling. Not that taking care of the creatures bothered her, but even if she loved it, it was pressure. The tutoring with Malfoy was nice, sometimes the boy really couldn’t get a hold of his temper and Marian was sure he was going to abandon her to fail, but everytime he was about to lose his cool, magically (she is aware of the irony) he would calm down and start to teach her from scratch. Still, the extra assignments, the late night studying… Even if it was going well it was too much.

She hadn’t had news from home, not an owl, not a single letter. She still had zero chances to contact her grandmother and the anxiety was eating her alive. She was frightened, the feeling of something being wrong that she first got with the only letter her father had sent didn’t vanish, it only grew stronger. 

Then, there was the thing that had her the most upset. George was being weird.

The attitude began after the match, everything before it was completely normal, fine. They talked, ate breakfast together, threw affectionate comments at each other and their usual teasing was intact, but things changed. After everyone was gone celebrating Harry and putting together a party for him, Marian waited outside the changing rooms for George, with everything they had going on they barely spent time together and she missed her favorite guy.

“Waiting for someone, sunshine?” George asked with a smile, her hair sticking a little to his forehead, he smelled like soap.

“Maybe. Heard a certain beater had a pretty good match.” She grinned. His hair looked really good today.

“Pretty good?” he scoffed, pretending to be offended as he grabbed a towel from his shoulder and tossed it at her. “I’ll have you know I nearly saved Potter’s neck from a Bludger. Twice.”

“Right. What would anyone in this team do without you?” she teased, but there wasn’t a bite to it. She had actually enjoyed the match, watching him play, running to him when it was over. It was something she could get used to. “You really think you’ll fit that ego through the common room door? The party is about to start.”

George chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her just a bit too long. “Guess I’ll have to try.” He licked his lips and tried to tear his gaze from her, distracting himself with a cloud in the sky. “Am I seeing you there?”

“Oh. Inviting the first year plebeians to the party are we?”

“Please. You think I’d survive a party without you? You’re the only one who keeps me sane around that lot,” he smirked and took her hand, spinning her as if they were dancing and hugging her at the end. “We could even dance, that would be fun.”

“You know I have two left feet.”

“Good thing I have two rights,” he said. “We can match.”

She could feel the colors reaching her face. Lately, in the rare occasions she was alone with George, that tended to happen an awful lot, even Lila in her eternal conviction of getting her and Malfoy together (for whatever bizarre reason) started to make more comments about George, like “has George ever had a girlfriend?” “For how long have you two been friends?” “Are you really just friends?” and it was starting to get to Marian’s head. Of course she liked George, he was her friend, an almost brother, her favorite person even. But there was nothing else, she knew that, so why was she even thinking about it?

He threw some comments about the match during their walk to the Gryffindor tower, it was her very first time trespassing a common room that wasn’t hers, and it wasn’t that difficult, which was kind of funny. The room was filled with yellows and reds, warmth and something she could link only to gryffindors. Harry was very busy being cheered on and carried by the older members of the team. Ron was stuffing his face with whatever was on the food table while Hermione rolled her eyes. And just like that, there were so many people and she wanted to leave, she had never been good with parties.

“I’ll be with you the entire time.” George whispered in her ear. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

And that’s why he was her favorite. She didn’t have to speak, or give more than needed. Somehow, George would always know when things were wrong. So they stayed together the whole night, at the couch when he was arguing with Lee about the best quidditch team, at the staircase where he and Wood were discussing strategies for the next match and on the floor while laying with Fred. He never left her alone.

Later that night, the party was winding down. Fred was asleep under a banner, Lee was still singing off-key, and Marian was trying to teach George a dance she’d seen her grandmother do at a gala for a new book Newt had published.

“You’re hopeless,” she laughed, nearly tripping over his foot.

“I told you I had two right feet,” he chuckled. “I’m better with brooms than dances,” he grinned, catching her by the waist before she fell. She looked up, laughing  but then she realized how close they were.

Neither of them moved.

The music and laughter around them seemed to fade into a quiet hum, just their breathing between them. Her smile faltered first, uncertain.

“George…” she whispered, but he stood both of them and dropped his hands quickly, stepping back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry. Just… Didn’t want you to faceplant,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He grabbed an empty glass off the table, avoiding her eyes. “Guess I should leave the dancing to someone who actually knows how.”

She tilted her head, confused. “It’s fine, I didn’t—”

But in an instant he was already heading for Fred even though the poor guy was still asleep, muttering something about checking the score sheets for next practice. Marian stood there for a moment, watching him go. She didn’t understand what had just happened, but she could feel it. Something between them had changed, even if she couldn’t name it yet. Time only proved her right.

The next weeks he started avoiding her, not talking to her, avoiding her eyes when they casually met with his. Putting up excuses every time she tried to reach out, she was being left out and Marian could only wonder what she had done wrong for her favorite person in the world to hate her, and on top of everything, Ron and Harry were snooping on a conspiracy theory about Snape and the thing that had been robbed from Gringott’s when they first entered Hogwarts.

So, if you by any chance looked now at Marian Hawthorne, she would look normal, probably more dull than other days but nothing to worry about. But if you truly knew Marian Hawthorne you would realize she lost a few pounds, she was pale and had baggy eyes, she looked tired and was not eating enough. And you would probably only notice this if you were Ron Weasley, but right now he is mesmerized with the idea of Severus Snape almost killing his best friend in the middle of a quidditch match and apparently being the reincarnation of evil. Luckily, the other person who could tell without blinking was now approaching the Gryffindor table and sitting next to the girl who was still centered on solving whatever she could solve.

“Well, hello there blondie.” George greeted and sat next to the girl, he stared at her plate and then to the animated trio. “You haven’t touched your food. You love blueberry pancakes.”

Marian didn’t even answer. She knew she was tired, she didn’t feel like talking or even moving, and she was mad, mad at her father, at Snape for imposing the stupid tutorings, at George for ignoring her, mad at the world. Finally, she lifted her gaze from the floor to the boy at her right and stood up, she had to get out of there, it was suffocating. 

She couldn’t deal with the rage she was feeling, and she knew it was stupid. She didn’t have a reason to be mad, still, she was. For being left on the uncertainty, for things changing, Merlin knows what for but she was about to crack.

“Marian! Wait!”George was on his feet before he even knew what he was doing. He caught her wrist just before she left the Great Hall.

“Let go,” she said, not even looking at him.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

She turned sharply, eyes blazing, that kind of fire he’d only ever seen on the most rare occasions. Marian wasn’t an angry person, not around him at least. “What’s going on? You tell me, George. You’ve barely looked at me in weeks, and now you suddenly care if I eat my breakfast?”

He blinked, stunned. “That’s not— I just thought you needed space.”

“Space?” She let out a dry laugh that didn’t sound like her. “From what? From you deciding I’m suddenly invisible?”

The words hit him in the chest. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“You were fine,” she went on, voice shaking. “We were fine, and then— I don’t even know what I did! One day you’re dancing with me, and the next, you can’t even look me in the eye!” She was hyperventilating. She knew it.

People were starting to stare, but she didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice.

“Marian, please,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“To what? Make me feel like I did something wrong? Leave me out of your life?” she cut in. “Because if that was the plan, congratulations. You did it.”

George ran a hand through his hair, clearly panicking. “It’s not you, alright? It’s me. I just—”

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice breaking for the first time. “Don’t give me that. You don’t get to disappear and then act like you care when it’s convenient.”

He swallowed hard. “Sunshine, please—”

“Don’t call me that.” That hurt more than anything else. She didn’t shout it, but the weight behind it made his chest tighten painfully.

“Marian—”

But he couldn’t finish his sentence. A wing sound stopped anything he could say, it was the Hawthorne’s owl.

“Viggo.” Marian whispered, and for the first time in her whole life Marian didn’t feel like petting him, she only wanted for it to go away. The bird probably felt it because he left the letter on the ground and flew away. Marian stared at it like it would bite her. 

She hadn’t realized that not being able to know anything from home was better than actually receiving something. 

“Marian…” George whispered but she didn’t listen. She picked up the letter and read.

As I’ve already said, actions have consequences. Return to Hawthorne Manor for the holidays.
And do tell me, Aneka, how is your grandmother faring these days?

She could feel something wet under her clenched fist. That was actually the only thing she could feel, she could only see the words on the parchment, stained and mocking her. She could only hear the sound of her own breathing, anger, anxiety, everything was mixing in her chest and twisting her guts in the most horrible way. 

The face of her grandma started to cloud her mind, her beautiful gray hair and her bright big eyes, how she smelled like the most gorgeous rose and the little apron she always used when she baked. Cold and hard ground was on her knees, she had probably scraped them, she didn’t care. She was spiraling and this time she didn’t know how to stop, it was too much, too hard at the same time.

Marian, Marian.

She kept hearing her name but she couldn’t see past her tears, she couldn't hear a thing that wasn’t her own mind chanting his father's threats. She knew, she knew every rule, every step and she broke it anyway, and for what? What was she doing? 

Sunshine, look at me. Marian

If Tina was dead, if she was hurt. Everything would be her fault. Her scars began to ache, to burn as if they were recent, as if they were being created by the same hand who had written the letter. Was she yelling? Was she silent? She didn’t know. Was this a heart attack? Was she about to die? It pretty much seemed like it because it all faded to black after that.

It was cold, she was never cold because she had always liked winter better. She couldn’t stand the sun or anything too warm because it suffocated her. But this, this was cold. As cold as the floor of the basement in Hawthorne manor, where she always ended after a discipline session. Cold as the attic where her father locked her up and starved her after she did something wrong. Cold as a life without the people who she loved the most, her arms were stiff and she couldn’t move, she recognized a white ceiling, was she home again? Had she ever left? 

“Go back to sleep, dear. You’ll be better after a nap.” 

She heard a woman, probably her nanny. Yes, a nap sounded good.

“We should take this to the ministry, Albus. The poor girl is covered in them.”

“They won’t do anything. You know how the system is,” a woman whispered. “Our best shot is not letting her go back.”

“Enough. She is awake.”

Marian blinked a couple times. Her whole body ached, it was awful. She glanced at the curtain in front of her bed, so she wasn’t home, she was at Hogwarts. Bits and pieces of everything came to her mind.

She was arguing with George and then Viggo… The letter, her grandmother.

The fabric screen moved and Professor Sprout, Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore came in.

“Marian, dear, how are you? How are you feeling, little one?” Professor Sprout asked, putting her hand on her cheek. “I was so worried about you.”

“What happened?” Marian asked.

“You fainted outside the Great Hall.” Pomfrey said. “Mr. Weasley brought you in, he was quite alarmed, hectic even. He said you crumbled to the floor and lost sense.”

Oh, she remembers that.

“My body aches, feels like—” she cut herself when she took a look at her arms. They were bare. She was wearing a nightgown, her legs were also bare, little parts of her chest. No, no, no. The scars were out in the open, looking as if her veins had turned white, as if struck by lightning, they looked awful. She also had a bandage across her left hand, she dug her nails and bled, Merlin’s sake, she was insane.

“Miss Hawthorne. We must have a little talk about those, and we need you to be honest.” Madame Pomfrey said.

No. No. No. Think Marian, think. They couldn’t know, her father had made very clear that the consequences of someone finding out would be monstrous. 

“Even if I go to Azkaban, Aneka, there are other people to take care of my business. And you would do good to keep in mind that the consequences won’t land directly on you.” Mikkelsen said while cleaning his hand with a towel. Marian was too hurt to talk, but she understood. She wouldn’t pay for the broken plates, her loved ones would.

“We know that for children that live in an abusive household it’s difficult to confess. But you can count on our support, we’ll do anything to keep you safe, love.” Her professor said.

Breathe Marian. It isn’t the first time you lie about the same thing. Breathe and you’ll be okay. 

“My scars are not that.” Marian said, her voice a little hoarse from sleep. “I had an accident some months ago.”

Yes. Keep going, like that.

“I climbed a tree, I’ve always liked that even if I’m terrified of heights,” she swallowed. “I misstepped on a branch and fell, the branches and some thorns cut me really bad and my father and nanny weren’t home, my house elves tried to heal me but their magic wasn’t strong enough, so they brought a healer but the spell he used made them look like this.” She lifted her gaze to the adults who only gave her horrified looks. “It’s pretty recent so even now some of them look… new.”

“Marian.” Madame Pomfrey said with a severe tone and she was nauseous.

“I know about my father’s image to the world. But he would never do something like this.” Marian stated. “He loves me, in his own way.” Oh, she was going to be sick.

“Who are you trying to protect, Miss Scamander?” This time it was Dumbledore. His gaze a little playful.

“No one,” she said. “If you don’t believe it, you can watch the memory. I still have it very clear.”

Marian had learned at a very young age that to lie without flaws you had to give away a little truth. She had, in fact, fallen off a tree months ago, it was a nasty fall with cuts. Dima and Kril actually tried to heal her but couldn’t, and they called for a healer. So if they saw the memory they would see she wasn’t entirely lying. She had it covered.

Albus smiled. “No, Miss Scamander. That won’t be necessary,” he stood up and walked away. “Just be sure that there will always be help to give to those who ask.”

She was then bombarded with way too many potions for her own good and she fell asleep, not before asking for a change in her pajamas. She woke up again at the sight of a white ceiling, but with a little spot of orange in it.

“You smell like sandwiches,” she mumbled.

“MARIAN!”

“MERLIN! Ronald, you are going to make me deaf.”

“I was so worried about you!” He hugged her and Marian hugged back, that made her feel better. “George has been acting crazy, and I just noticed at the end of it that you weren’t feeling well and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ron almost never cried, and when he did, Marian could feel her heart squeezing. “I thought something had happened to you and I wasn’t even aware of it and I’m sorry. You’re my best friend in the whole entire world, you know that? Please tell me you know that.”

“I do know that,” she smiled and caressed his back. “And you are my best friend too.”

“I swear I’ll never leave you out of my sight again. I swear it.”

“It’s okay, Ron.” Marian smiled once her friend let her breathe. “I am okay.”

“Luckily. But I mean it. I got your back and you got mine, isn’t that right?” 

“That’s quite right.”

They smiled and started to talk about everything that had happened while she had been in the infirmary and before it, her fight with George and  how they made huge discoveries regarding their Snape investigation, Marian thought they were delusional, how Harry’s father was apparently also involved in quidditch and a certain encounter he had with Malfoy the day before.

“And get this, he wasn’t even mocking his little clique as usual, he just seemed pissed about something. Godric knows what,” Ron stuffed another piece of chocolate frog while Marian listened. “When he made eye contact with Harry and me he didn’t say anything, like no insults or snarky comments, he just turned and left.”

“Maybe he is maturing?” Marian asked while whipping Ron’s chin with a tissue.

“Malfoy? Please. He is up to something, I can feel it.”

Marian chuckled. “You feel a lot these days.” He smiled but stayed silent, and if Marian was reading his mind, she said, “go ahead, ask.”

“He wants to know if he can come and see you. He is worried, Mar and he feels awful.” Ron said. “I know you are mad and you have your reasons to be. But hear him out, if I have to listen to him mope about how pathetic his life is without you I’m going to die.”

“Dramatic much?” Marian rolled her eyes.

“Please. Only you know that if he is making me beg it won’t take long for Fred to be here,” he paused and whispered. “And you don’t want Fred begging.”

They were a menace, that’s what they were and Marian loved them because of that. “Alright then. But I am still mad at him.”

“Lovely to hear. He is outside, so I’ll see you tomorrow!” Ron fled as quickly as he could. 

“RON!” Marian shouted but the little orange spot was already being replaced by another one.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His always bright red hair was dull, he was pale and looked absolutely demolished, his eyes were so sad that Marian wanted to cry at the sight of them. Damn that boy, damn the feelings she was having and how they made her bend her hands only because of him. 

They stared at each other for a moment, none of them having enough bravery to take the first step. Ironically, she took it first. 

“You look scared.” She commented.

“I am.” George sighted and approached her bed. “I am scared. Because I made you feel guilty of something you didn’t even do, hell, just with the fact of knowing I made you feel like that it scares me to death,” he sat at her feet. “I’m so sorry Marian. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, I have been dealing with some personal things and I wasn’t able to pull them apart from you, I am so, so sorry. I swear over Fred’s life that won’t happen ever again.”

She didn’t speak.

“I’ve been terrified because what if something had happened to you? You would die thinking that I didn’t want anything to do with you, that I didn’t care. That I didn’t…—” his throat closed and lowered his gaze, when his eyes found hers again they were pleading, begging for something. “You are my favorite person in the whole world, if I knew I did something to damage you... I’m sorry sunshine, I—”

Marian could count with her fingers the amount of times she had seen George Weasley cry; he was such a stereotypical gryffindor, always brave, proud and a little cocky. He was the first to raise his voice when something was wrong, the first to solve things that didn’t have a solution, he didn’t cry, he held his head high and acted like everything was fine. So the first time she saw him cry it was a little funny. Scabbers, the family rat, had been missing for a whole week and he cared more for the animal than he could admit, so in the privacy of their secret hiding (under his bed at the burrow) George told her he was worried, that he missed the little guy, they were small tears, and Marian found it adorable. The second time was awful, on their 9th birthday party, the twins were given a broom, courtesy of the Scamander’s, but they were impulsive and not being careful enough, so Fred flew a little too high and lost control of the broom, he landed badly and fell unconscious, George thought he would never wake up, he had a proper panic attack, he went back to normal once he saw Fred fully awake and with only a broken bone as a consequence. The third one was this one, and it was so different from the tears of missing a pet or almost losing his brother, it was raw, open. 

His eyes were bright, red and full of something Marian couldn’t exactly put her finger on, but for the first time in months, she thought that the things she had been feeling every time George said something slightly more affectionate, weren’t so crazy after all. 

“I am sorry too,” she said after a while, swallowing the feelings, all the things that she hadn’t figured out about them yet. “I’m sorry I shouted and for hurting you. You are my favorite person too.” This time it was her who took his hand and caressed his knuckles. “It’s just that I got scared, I thought you didn’t want to be my friend anymore, that you wanted me out of your life. Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit anywhere, I’m tired of being an outcast and an outsider. I feel like people don’t actually like me and I try so hard and nothing is ever enough and—” Her breath cot caught up in her throat. 

“Listen to me, Marian.” George said while caressing her cheek. “You are, without a doubt, the most amazing, brilliant and lovable person out there. You are a great friend, a great human being. Caring for you, being around you is as easy as breathing, why would I give that up? I’m not that dumb, sunshine,” George smiled through his own tears. “I promise. I would never want you out of my life, unless you didn't want me in yours.”

“I would never—” Marian started and George smiled, interrupting her. 

“My point exactly, blondie,” he took her hand with the bandage on it and kissed her softly. She had heard Lila talking about butterflies in one's stomach when you were in love, but that simple gesture made her feel as if  a herd of centaurs stumbled upon her stomach. “As long as you want me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh, well. Marian had been in denial her whole entire life. That she had never liked anyone? Rubbish. That she saw George as only her friend? An almost brother? Hogwash. It was the third time she had seen him cry, and that was when Marian Hawthorne discovered that loving someone must feel just like looking into George Weasley's eyes and finding a home there.

“I…” Marian whispered, almost as silent as if she hadn’t said anything. “George… I—”

But fate had something with her not being able to get what she wanted, probably a warning that perhaps she shouldn’t be confessing to her best friend’s brother, her almost brother.

“Miss Hawthorne, if I see you again in my infirmary in the lapse of a month we’ll be having a serious conversation,” Madame Pomfrey interrupted probably the most life changing event of her life. “This will help with the body ache, you have to eat enough Marian, and get some sleep.” She handed her a potion with a stoic face, but a glimmer of worry betrayed her. “And be safe, we are always here if you need us.”

Marian wanted to tell her to shut up, even if Poppy was being the most caring person alive, George tended to go frantic if he suspected she was in danger. When they were escorted out he didn’t bomb her with questions, he just looked at her. “Is there something you are not telling me, sunshine?”

Marian stayed quiet for a couple of seconds. It’s not like she could hide it from him, they would all know eventually.

“I have to go back home for the holidays,” she mumbled. “Also… Dumbledore, Sprout and Poppy saw my scars and went insane about it, thought I was being…” She paused when she locked eyes with George, he didn’t say anything inviting her to continue. “They thought my father did them.”

“The ones from your accident with the thunderbird?” he asked. Stiff, almost like if he was containing himself.

“Yes.” As she said, it wasn’t the first time lying about them, the only people who didn’t know a thing about the scars were her family, she could get away from them not knowing since she saw her grandmother a couple of times a month, her aunt Queenie was on New York most of the time still taking care of Jacob’s pastry shop and her uncle Theseus rarely came home since he refused to retire, even if he could barely walk. But with the Weasley’s was more difficult, the sleepovers, the closeness, it was difficult to hide something like that from them, so she told plausible stories about the scars, an accident with a magical creature, a fall from a tree, a spell that went bad. If she could, she would hide them at all times, but when she was discovered she always had a way out. 

Little did she know that most of the people didn’t believe a thing, George was one of them, but starting to bomb questions to Marian would only cage her and that would be a mistake; so he just nodded and continued with the talk. “When are you going back?”

“In a couple days. Before the banquet.”

“Well, I still have you for a week then.” George smiled and held her hand, once again, kissing it as if it were something precious. 

Marian was so screwed. 

“You are doing it again.” Draco muttered. Marian blinked. “You are thinking a little too hard, Hawthorne, I can hear the gears turning in your head.”

It had been 5 days since the little incident, her mental breakdown if you want to see it that way. Since then, she had been asked every single day if she was okay, by Professor Sprout, Lila, Harry and even Malfoy, although it had been just once. Ron and George watched her like a hawk even if they tried (poorly) to hide it, Ron was the most obvious one. She couldn’t stop thinking, wondering and also, and kind of inevitably, she spiralled a lot. She was jumpy, antsy and utterly scared. 

She would’ve rolled her eyes if she’d had the energy. Instead, she gave him a small shrug and stared at the steam rising from her cauldron. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

He hummed, not unsympathetic, but too proud to admit it. The classroom was quiet except for the bubbling potion between them. They were supposed to be brewing a simple Draught of Peace, something ironic, considering neither of them looked remotely peaceful.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said finally, so softly he almost missed it.

Draco glanced up. “Back where?”

“The manor.” Her fingers twisted in her robes. “Father wrote. I’m expected for Christmas.”

“Oh.” He understood, at least he thought he did, there was something in the way she said expected that made his stomach twist. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“You don’t look like someone who should be afraid of anything,” he said suddenly, almost defensively. “You’re a Hawthorne. People don’t… People don’t make you afraid, that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Marian gave a small, humorless smile. “People don’t make me afraid, no. Expectations do.”

That stung him in a place he didn’t know he could be hurt. He looked away, tracing a quill mark with his finger. “Well, maybe if you actually made an effort, things wouldn’t be so bad.” It was like a reflex, the words were outside his mouth before he could even get to comprehend them, he knew it was too late when Marian stopped stirring the potion.

Her head turned sharply. “What does that mean?”

He hesitated. The words were out before he could stop them, again. “You know what I mean. You’re always defying him, as if you were better than all of us, you are too much of a goody two-shoes for your own good. And that’s not mentioning your… acquaintances."

Marian frowned. “They’re my friends.”

“Friends,” he repeated, like it was a foreign word. “You think they’ll still be your friends when they realize who you truly are? When their parents remind them what your family’s done, where your name comes from?” Marian opened her mouth but Draco didn’t let her talk. “Don’t think you are like them, Hawthorne, you are smarter than that. Those “friends” are going to get you killed one day.”

Her jaw tightened. “You sound like your father.”

That landed cleanly. His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away this time. “Maybe he’s right.”

The cauldron hissed softly between them.

Marian leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know what’s the worst part, Malfoy? You don’t even believe that.”

Draco bristled. “You don’t know what I believe.”

“I think I do,” she said quietly. “You say awful things, but you never look like you mean them.”

He hated that she could see through him like that. Hated that she could say it so simply, like it wasn’t something he’d been trying to hide his whole life. And for a heartbeat, he thought about telling her the truth, that he didn’t know what he believed, that everything he’d been told made less sense when she looked at him like that. But instead he scoffed, because that was easier.

“You don’t know anything, Hawthorne.”

“Neither do you.”

Silence again. The kind that pressed against the ribs.

Draco stared at his parchment until the words blurred, his throat tight with something he didn’t have a name for. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost tired. And he was, he was exhausted from pretending, from understanding what those damn feelings meant, he was sick of the constant worrying about her, of seeking for her in the crowds, of her making him doubt every single thing he believed in. This had to come to an end. “I can’t be your tutor anymore,” he swallowed. “I think you’ll manage just fine with Atkinson during the break.” Draco didn’t want to look at her because he knew what he would find, disappointment, and he was correct. When he looked at her he hadn’t seen a more gut wrenching expression in Marian Hawthorne’s face, he was about to retract himself when she spoke. 

“I think I was the only fool who thought we were on our way to being friends,” she picked up her things and walked to the exit of the classroom. “See you at the dinner. Malfoy.”

7 days after the incident.

She was going back tomorrow and she could feel herself growing more and more terrified. At least she had managed to cure the infection in the mooncalf’s eyes. It had taken lots of reading and experimenting, maybe a little lying to get through the greenhouse to steal some ingredients she lacked, but she did it. 

After Malfoy absolutely ditched her, she had begged Percy to complete her tutoring, she was more confident, ready to face whatever Snape threw at her face. She had sneaked to the gryffindor tower the last two days and she would study there with Percy while Ron was next to her just keeping her company (or taking care of her, as he would say) the twins and Harry were almost never there since they had practice on the afternoons, even Hermione helped her with potions so she had a great studying system. She would nail that exam, Malfoy be damned. 

She had been working on an essay Percy had asked for the last two hours. Ron gave up on helping her and went to see Harry’s practice instead after she insisted a hundred times that nothing would happen to her in the Gryffindor common room.

“I really don’t see the point in writing this amount of words.” She started when Percy entered the common room again. “My hand is killing me.”

“Writing is a great way of studying, it helps your brain to remember important things.” Percy smiled, which was always a rare sight. The boy was really different to his siblings, always so polite and trying so very hard to be at the top of everything, he was a good boy, at least when Marian asked for things he never refused. “Don’t worry, blondie, that exam won’t know what hit it.” He petted her head which always made her laugh. Fred and George pushed through the portrait hole mid-laughter, still wearing their practice robes and smelling faintly of grass and broom polish, Marian didn’t mean to but she stared, George hair was a mess, sticking up in every possible direction, his cheeks were flushed probably from the exercise, she noticed how his grin reached his eyes, the way his laughter filled the room, loud and easy. Her heart gave that annoying little jump she was starting to recognize all too well.

“Oi, Percy!” Fred called, grinning. “Knew we’d find you corrupting innocent first-years with your thrilling study habits.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Some of us have responsibilities, Fred.”

Marian chuckled, still scribbling notes. “He’s actually helping me. You could learn a thing or two from him.” George froze mid-step. His grin faltered the moment he saw Percy leaning slightly over her shoulder, pointing at her parchment, his hand still resting absently atop her head like a brother’s gesture, but to George, it looked different. Too close. Too easy.

“Blimey,” he muttered, his tone a little sharper than intended. “Didn’t know you’d traded me for my brother.” Fred almost choked on his own laugh.

Marian looked up, brow furrowing at his tone. “What are you talking about? Percy’s just helping me study. We are actually having a good time.”

“Oh, having a good time,” George echoed, tossing his gloves down with a forced laugh. “Sure. Because nothing says ‘fun evening’ like essay writing with old perfect Percy here.”

Fred smirked, sensing the tone immediately. “Jealous, Georgie?” he whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” George snapped, which only made Fred grin wider.

Percy stood, clearly irritated but somewhat amused. “Honestly, George, if you spent half the time studying that you do at practice, you might actually pass your exams, or even better, help Marian study.” Percy stood up. “Now, if you’re quite done with your commentary, some of us are trying to keep her from failing.”

Fred looked up from rummaging through a basket of chocolate frogs. “Blimey, George, you’re acting like Percy just proposed or something.”

“Shut it, Fred.” George didn’t even glance his way. His eyes were still on Marian, who was now shifting uncomfortably under his stare.

“George,” she said quietly, “you’re being ridiculous.”

Fred, thankfully, or not, decided to intervene. “Right, well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to sort this out,” he said, slinging an arm around Percy and dragging him away toward the dorms. Percy protested weakly, but one look at George’s expression made him go. Once they were outside the common room they looked at each other and with a mischievous tone the youngest said. “I'll bet you 20 sickles they'll be a couple before their fifth year.”

“It offends me that you think I would bet on something like that.” Percy said and Fred smirked. “I'll bet you 40 they'll end up married.”

“We have a bet, brother.” They both sealed the deal with a handshake.

When they were gone, silence settled between them.

“Care to explain?” Marian asked with a raised brow. She was no stranger to George's jealousy, she secretly enjoyed it a bit, it was funny. 

“No. I don’t,” he crossed his arms as if he were utterly offended. Marian chuckled and went to hug him, he returned immediately, caressing her hair. “You’re a bit harsh with your brother, whose only trying to teach me potions so I don’t fail, by the way.”

He gave her a weak grin. “Maybe. But you don’t make it easy, you know that?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Me? What did I do?”

“You exist,” he said simply, then laughed as if trying to make it sound like a joke. “That’s plenty.”

Her heart did that annoying little skip again, but she tried to hide it. “You’re impossible, Weasley.”

“Takes one to know one, sunshine.”

She sighed but smiled, pulling sapart. “Good thing I planned for that. I got you something.”

That made him blink. “You got me a gift?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, of course I would get you a christmas gift,” she laughed at his excited eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… sit.” 

George hesitated before sitting, his curiosity barely masking the excitement that clouded his face. Marian stood in front of him, fidgeting slightly, her fingers brushing against the back of an old bookshelf. The common room had quieted. The fire crackled low, bathing them both in a soft, gold light. Somewhere above, faint laughter echoed from the dormitories where the others had gone, but down here, it was only them.

Marian took a deep breath and took out the large package from the back of the bookshelf and extended towards him. “I wanted to give it to you before I went back. Happy Christmas, Georgie,” she said softly, eyes fixed on the floor.

George blinked, uncertain. The wrapping shimmered faintly, a subtle gleam of charmed paper that whispered expensive even before he touched it. He peeled it back slowly, reverently until the faint gold lettering caught the firelight.

Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

For a second, he didn’t breathe. His hand hovered just above the handle, tracing the curve of the broom’s polished surface. It was sleek, perfect, unreal. The kind of broom you only saw in glossy catalogues or the hands of players on the professional circuit.

“Marian,” he managed at last, but his voice was hoarse, part disbelief, part something else entirely.

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I know it’s not on sale yet. But I heard the owner of the shop in Diagon Alley talking about the prototypes in summer and… I thought, maybe you'd like it. ” She bit her lip. “Before coming here it was hidden in one of the rooms at the manor.”

He was silent. Completely, utterly silent.

Marian risked a glance upward. George was still staring at the broom, but something in his expression had shifted. Not joy, not quite gratitude either, but a kind of ache she didn’t recognize. He looked at her as if she’d just handed him something he could never repay.

And maybe she had.

“I can’t accept it, blondie,” he said finally, but there was no anger in it, only disbelief. His thumb brushed over the engraved name again. “Merlin, Marian, this thing costs—”

“You will accept it,” she interrupted, too quickly. “You’re… you’re brilliant on a broom, George. You deserve to fly something that matches that.”

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. The firelight flickered across his face, softening the sharpness in his eyes, the exhaustion from practice, the quiet jealousy that had burned there moments before.He wanted to say something clever, something to deflect how much this meant to him, but all that came out was a quiet, unsteady breath.

George reached out, closing the space between them, and hugged the life out of her. His touch was warm, grounding. “I love it, sunshine. Thank you, I mean it,” he murmured, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. “Now every won match will be for you.”

Marian smiled faintly, finally meeting his gaze. “I’ll be in the front row.”

George’s hand lingered on her braid a second too long before he drew it back, clearing his throat as though that could undo the warmth that had passed between them. He set the broom gently against the arm of the sofa, as if afraid to break the silence now hanging in the air.

Marian folded her hands behind her back, suddenly too aware of every heartbeat. The air between them shimmered with something unsaid, fragile, uncertain, but undeniably there.

“You know,” George began, his tone light but his voice quieter than usual, “you really didn’t have to do this. I mean, I’m not exactly one for fancy things.” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing under his breath. “Can’t even imagine what Fred will say when he sees me flying this.”

Her lips curved. “Probably that you’re showing off. Which will be true.”

“Probably,” he said, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked at her then, really looked, and Marian felt it like a weight pressing into her ribs. That boyish mischief of his softened into something else, something careful and unguarded.

“I mean it, Marian,” he said after a pause. “No one’s ever… done something like this for me before.” He started to get nervous, the package in his pocket went from weighing nothing to weighing a ton in just seconds.

“Are you okay, George? You are sweating.” Marian said with a curious face.

“I, uh… I got you something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not… well, it’s not a Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One.” His grin flickered, self-deprecating, but there was warmth in it. “But it’s something.”

He held out his hand. Resting on his palm was a small wooden box, the girl opened it with a smile and there she found a small silver ring, its band slightly imperfect, like it had been worked by hand rather than charmed into shape. The metal caught the firelight faintly, showing the tiny engraving of the sun uneven, almost clumsy, but undeniably sincere.

“I picked up some work over the summer,” he explained quickly, his voice softer now, as if afraid of breaking the moment. “Odd jobs for a few Galleons here and there. Fred said it was daft, but… I wanted to get you something that was just well, yours. I know it’s not much and you are used to other things, better things. But I—”

Marian stared at it, her throat tightening. It wasn’t grand or glittering, nothing anyone in her family would ever consider worthy. But it was perfect. And because it came from him, because it was so him, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. They both fell to the ground when Marian hugged him. “I love it, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever owned,” she smiled and slid the ring on her finger. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Happy Christmas, sunshine.”

“Happy Christmas, Georgie.”

For a heartbeat, the truth hovered on his lips. That he thought about her more than he should. That she’d somehow slipped past every line he’d drawn between them, the teasing, the distance, the safety of pretending it was nothing. That he didn’t know what to do with how much he cared.

But he couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so calm, so gentle, so entirely out of reach. So when the clock above the mantel ticked softly, marking the end of their day together, George escorted her to her own common room and she mumbled a “goodnight, Georgie” he stared at the circular door, thinking in her, in how much the girl mattered to him, and only then, with no one in sight he dared to whisper what had been sitting in his chest all evening, the entirety of the last months, his whole life, barely audible, even to himself.

“Goodnight, Marian,” he said softly. “I love you.”