writingdumpster-o

[writingdumpster-o]

¤¤¤¤¤

I leave and cry myself to sleep every night until the quarantine is over. Maria is of great help. When work starts again, I’ve already gone home to arrange everything. Give the cats away, take care of the ones that stay. Mom’s car, with which they had the accident, is totalled. Mom and aunt were sitting in front, so they got the full blast of the engine explosion, and my sister in the backseat got dashboard pieces in her skull, which meant she’d need a few months to recover. She’s been in a coma for six weeks when I visit her again with her car, that I had to learn to drive. And, to my surprise, he’s there. How was he allowed in?

He stands up, not knowing what to do with himself. “Hi, I uh… I didn’t know you’d be coming here.”

My expression is blank, as it has been since I stopped constantly crying. I blink twice. “What are you doing here?” I don’t mean it to sound like the accusation it sounds like.

“I uh… They say talking to patients helps them.” He manages to say, after fumbling with his words. This is so unlike him.

I frown, “You knew her?”

“No, but I know you.”

I blink and nod slowly. It occurs to me I should try to act nicer to him. “I see… Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk?” He suggests, as though we were still quarantined together.

I press my lips together and shake my head slowly. “No. Talking about it isn’t going to fix anything.”

He strides towards me and it takes all of my willpower not to flinch. “I want you to know that I’m still here for you.”

“Yes, I know, thank you. I’ll… be sure to call you if the need arises.” I don’t want to sound dismissive, but that is how it comes out.

His gaze is fleeting. “Well… I guess I’ll leave, then.”

I mean to thank him one last time, but my voice dies in my throat. It’s the most words I’ve spoken since the incident. He and I were always a pair of few words, and that was… the most awkward encounter we’d had since we met.

I go home and cry.

*Six Weeks Later*

I’ve resumed work about a month ago. The first few days were awkward, and everyone stepped on eggshells around me. I didn’t mind it, at first, since my closest friends distracted me from my pain and my other co-workers just altogether didn’t bother me.

I avoid him. I feel guilty about doing that, but I don’t want to have to address any of what happened. A conversation with Chakib is enough to make me realise that I’m just scared of admitting I have feelings for him. Not even scared of admitting it to him; scared of admitting it to myself.

I’m waiting in line at the cafeteria to order and someone bumps into me when reaching for napkins, making me lose balance. I reach for the nearest person to stay upright, and it’s Douaïb.

“Are you okay?” He asks blankly.

I give him a genuine smile. “Yeah, thank you.”

He nods. “Good.”

I watch him leave with nausea rising to my heart. This is a feeling that’s been pretty frequent these past few weeks. In fact, since… since… oh, shit!

I skip lunch break to go to the nearest pharmacy. I haven’t told anyone except Chakib what happened with Douaïb. I go directly to him after doing the test.

I tell him I’m pregnant. He says I need to tell Douaïb.

I keep hesitating, so Chakib takes me to his office.

It’s an awkward encounter, but I still don’t announce it.

I learn one thing, however.

“You—you’re _what_?” I feel dizzy, so I grab the back of a swivel chair. It doesn’t help.

“I’m being transferred to the Romanian headquarters for six months,” he announces, looking grim.

“I was supposed to be doing that, what changed?” Chakib asks, dumbfounded.

Douaïb rubs his eyes and lifts his eyebrows (he looks tired). “They thought you didn’t know the platform well enough to direct it from there.”

“I’ll go talk to them,” he announces and when he passes me, he adds in a hushed whisper, “and you two talk.”

I nod imperceptibly. “So… you’re leaving for sure?”

“Yes, what did you have to tell me when you got in?” He asks brutishly.

“I—I uh—”

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, if this isn’t work-related, I’d much rather you told me after I’m back from this hellhole,” he points to the door as I frown at him.

“At least listen to me, this is impo—”

“My job is important to me. And I’ve been negligent enough during the quarantine,” he eyes me up and down before bringing his gaze back to his screen.

I mean to speak but it dies in my throat. What I feared has happened. No matter, no matter. At least I knew what to expect. I leave his office, slamming the door on my way out.

*Six Months Later*

My sister has been awake for about two months. She can only see extremely blurry and has difficulty talking, but she’s alive, and that’s all that matters. She’s still at the hospital, so I visit her daily before coming to work. I’ve been living with Maria, due to my doctor telling me I needed someone with me at all times, since I’m prone to passing out and it could endanger both me and others around me, including my baby.

It’s in this order that I get to work on this last day.

I greet whichever acquaintance is in my way to the cafeteria. I sit outside for breakfast, drawing my blanket-shawl around my shoulders. I wear it in a way that it hides my belly when I sit. And it’s in that position, with a hot cocoa in my grasp, that I first see him. I smirk at his back humourlessly and take a sip. He’s talking to Chakib, who points me out. I give a sarcastic wave in their direction and put down my cup.

He walks over to me in cocky strides. I give him a smile I’d give an old foe as he sits down near me. Those six months away from him allowed me to seriously think about this whole situation. I kept the baby because I need a family aside from my sister. If he wants to be part of it, he’s welcome. I don’t feel as strongly towards him as I did when we made this baby, but I don’t hate him as much as when I slammed the door of his office. I see Chakib standing up, as though he just remembered something. I close my eyes and shake my head imperceptibly. He sits back down and nods, understanding that I want to be the one who delivers the news.

“You’re back.” I observe, lifting my chin as though holding a crown on my head. I keep myself from putting a hand on my belly, a habit I’ve acquired since I started showing.

“And you’re here,” he replies, cupping his hands around his cup of coffee, that I knew to be lightly sweetened and cold.

“Where else would you have me be?” I ask, a chuckle overcoming me.

He smirks. His beard looks more unkempt than I remember kissing it. “Nowhere else.” He lets silence stretch, during which I look at the sky –its blue gives me a breath of fresh air—and then he murmurs, “Where did we go wrong?”

I enjoy sunlight on my face a while longer before I turn to him. I still have sunlight in my eyes, so I can’t quite see him as I declare, “I haven’t gone wrong. Have you?”

He purses his lips and looks away fleetingly. “I wasn’t understanding…”

I shrug one shoulder. “I had some faults too. Loving you was one.”

He frowns at me. “Loving me was a mistake? So you lied?”

I poke out my bottom lip and shake my head slowly. “I don’t remember lying to you.”

“But you did,” he insists, “when I asked you if you had any regrets, that morning, you said you had none.”

I nod in concession. “I’ll admit that was equivocal. I didn’t regret what we did, and I still don’t. I regret having loved you so much that I didn’t even allow myself to accept the feelings. I regret being so afraid of loving you and getting hurt for it that I resorted to hating you once you were gone. Those are the things I regret.”

He blinks away his tears and squares up. “I see. But you don’t regret accepting my ride. You don’t regret making me love you. And that’s what hurts the most.”

I press my lips together, close my eyes and turn away. “I made you love me, did I?”

He places his elbows on the table and links his hands, making the sunlight dance on his… muscular arms? He’s been working out? Wait, focus. He nods, not looking as though he has anything else to say.

“Well then I apologise for any pain I’ve caused you.” He looks like I insulted him. “I will say, however, that I would never have hurt you if I knew you loved me. I just can’t take a hint, I need… I need to hear and see what’s true. Like you’re about to.”

Before he can question or object, I remove my shawl and place my hand on my belly. His facial expression does not change, but the tears in his eyes fall, one after the other. I reach over to wipe his tears away, but he stands up suddenly and rubs his eyes, running his hands across his skull. I drop my hand and cover myself with my shawl again. I’m about to reach for my hot cocoa when he comes to kneel next to my and slide his hands under my shawl. He’s sobbing silently, and I caress the side of his head. Inside, I feel movement, too. This baby moves only when it’s sleeping and changing positions, so when I feel it poke out, I take his hand and place it where he can feel it. He sobs harder, letting one sound emit. I keep caressing his head, probably giving him flashbacks to when I first gave him a massage.

“I sure didn’t know you’d react this way,” I murmur, lifting his chin and wiping away his tears.

He sniffles loudly as he goes to sit again. “We never talked about this, but I always wanted kids.”

I smile at him. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. We’ll start small, there’s only one baby here.”

“Is it a girl or a boy?”

I giggle. “I don’t know. But it’s healthy. And that’s all that matters.”

He smiles at me. “Will you marry me?”

I tear up. He is the only one with whom I seriously envisaged marriage. And this is ideal.

“Yes.”

[writingdumpster-o]

Day 1:

Kind of a quiet day, mostly me napping and him reading the books he'd ordered recently. It's a Saturday so he doesn't have to work from home.

Day 2:

We talk a bit over breakfast, and I self-isolate during the day to avoid sharing my leftover bad mood from the reasons of my leaving the family abode. I tend to isolate myself when I feel like shit to avoid spreading it to other people, (insert instances of doing it through flashbacks) and he tries to reach out at first but then keeps mostly to himself.

Day 3:

He's working from home. So after breakfast he sets up his computer in the living room on the coffee table.

Having cried myself to sleep on Day 2, I feel better about being in his presence today. So I grab my Arabian Nights book and read on the armchair while he's sitting on the couch, staring at his screen in concentration as he's used to doing at work. I sneak glances at him over my book, and he notices once. This makes a small smile creep under his beard and it makes me blush like a schoolgirl.

Other than that instance, nothing of import happened. I made soup for dinner while he still worked, and we ate and talked about lore and mythology. We smoked as dessert and he shared a writing project he had.

We go to our rooms at 02:45am and sleep right away.

Day 4:

I wake up to the sound of a shower running. As someone who gets anxiety from men's cologne/cosmetics, I'm glad I thought to bring my shower gels (a fruity sweet one and a flowery fresh one). Thankfully, his clothes bear my smell now (cause of the baby oil I rub on myself every night), even though I haven't smelled cologne on him yet.

As I exit my room (his guest bedroom, which I took to liking), I bump into him.

He's DEFINITELY only wearing a towel right now. I lower my eyes immediately, which lands me on the specific spot that the towel covers, but then I make eye contact again.

"Good morning." Great line, poor delivery.

An apathetic half-smile lifts his moustache (I'm accentuating cause his moustache hides his whole upper lip which isn't unattractive but would be kinda complicated to kiss???). "Morning." And he walks past me without another word.

I'm so taken aback i follow him with my eyes and notice his shoulders tense and his back muscles coiling under his skin. He's not that built, but he's lean enough that the tension is noticeable.

I shrug and go wash up for breakfast, which happens normally. Though I'd say he's a bit less talkative than usual. I even try to spark up a debate in one of our chosen fields, but he doesn't bite. He's usually very argumentative...

The day goes by in this fashion, with a silent dinner and no talk until bedtime.

I go to bed perplexed that night.

Days 5 and 6:

Thursday and Friday would be skipped cause it'd just be narrator introspection and giving him time to reach out cause we confined and I don't wanna stir up arguments with a dude I barely know and who hoarded Pastis like it was made of gold before quarantine

the particularity about these days is that each morning I heard the shower and found that there was no more hot water when I tried to wash up, and he skipped dinner altogether on Friday night.

Day 7:

I wake up and for the first time in three days, the shower isn't what wakes me up. Instead it's the TV, a bit louder than comfortable. (btw I'm picturing this in the second apartment I made cause it's what I pictured first)

I slept kind of... groggily last night, so I look for yoga exercises in my Instagram saved collections and stretch for five minutes.

As I grab my bag to retrieve my toiletries, it suddenly clicks: He's been grumpy and tense all of a sudden, a hot shower every morning, his muscles and shoulders coiled... He needs a massage. I let my fingertips linger on the baby oil bottle as I process my epiphany, seriously considering offering the massage right now.

I quickly shake off the idea as I gather my toiletries and go shower. I notice he uses a grunt as a greeting, so I use silence and proceed to the bathroom.

I notice he's watching a Netflix show, sitting on the carpet with his back to the couch, which is bad for his condition but... his loss, I guess.

See that sass? It all disappears when I rub myself with baby oil after my shower and exfoliation. I purse my lips and shake off the scorn from his attitude. He was like a wounded wolf who'd snarl at anyone approaching him with help, and I need to keep him happy just long enough to remove the bear trap.

As I get out, I'm met with his clothed chest, nearly colliding with him. I look up to face him.

"Did you use all of the hot water?" He asks, visibly trying to stay amicable.

I blink and frown. "How are you feeling? Physically?"

He frowns minutely. "I'm fine."

I shrug, maybe now's not the moment. "Yes, there's still hot water."

He turns around as I walk past him back to my room. "Why did you ask?"

I turn around, letting the daylight from the kitchen illuminate me, which is uncomfortable without my glasses. I squint at him and gesture towards his upper body.

"You've been tense these days, and it's affecting your mood," I observe, trying desperately not to spark an argument.

He purses his lips in a matter-of-fact way and shrugs. "It's not like anyone can do anything about it right now."

He enters the bathroom before I get a chance to reply and I imitate his last gesture as I go to my room.

I put back my toiletries and go to the kitchen to make tea for the pair of us. As I grab my mug, I go to the bookshelf to choose something to read. As I settle for the Van Gogh book that started it all and take place on the loveseat, he exits the bathroom and a wave of sauna emits from the open door.

"Maybe crack a window?" I suggest, making him smirk. He's still tense.

I roll my eyes at his stubbornness and keep reading until he comes back to the living room with his tea and presses play again on his TV show. I'm sitting facing the TV and can see from the corner of my eye that he's fidgeting.

I get up suddenly, put the book back in the shelf and place the mug on the coffee table. He notices my moves and follows me down the hall with his eyes. I put a drop of baby oil in the palm of my hand and rub it so that it doesn't leak on the carpet and go back to the living room.

I sit directly behind him, holding him down by the shoulder when he's about to move, and fold my legs behind his back. He's wearing a T-shirt, so it's easy to get access to his shoulders.

I spread the excess oil on his cervical spine and shoulders.

"You're aware this isn't going to do anything, right?" He asks with insulting disdain.

I stay silent as I start the real massage, which is deep tissue. He's startled at first, but then he complies and leans forward, bracing himself against the coffee table with his forearms and his forehead on them.

I apply pressure on his shoulders close to his neck, on the back of his neck, and his cervical spine. After a moment of hesitation, I start using my fingernails on his scalp, starting between his shoulder blades with my hands and finishing at the crease of his skull with my fingernails. At that moment, I hear a faint but very present guttural noise rumble in his chest.

I keep massaging him until his breathing deepens and his muscles feel like dough. At that point, my legs are both asleep and it feels like torture.

So I lean forward and I whisper (it's something I do when I just finished a massage so they don't get startled by noise after such relaxation), "Wake up, Little Wolf."

He rises so suddenly, my chest is pressed against his back and I have to hold on to him to avoid making him paraplegic by falling on his already damaged spine. He turns to me and our faces are an inch from one another's. It takes us a moment to recover from this, but he offers me his hand to help me get off the couch, and I accept it.

"That felt fucking great, thank you." He stated in a still sleepy voice.

I press my lips together and make a salute gesture. "Anytime!"

Before I can see his response, I back into the hallway and go to my room, closing my door as I get there.

I avoid him for the rest of the day to reflect on what never happened.

Day 8:

I stay in bed today. I scroll through end-of-the-world memes and turn over, keeping the blinds shut. I wake up at nine but let noon stroll by without leaving my room. It's Sunday, so I know he's not working. I hear bustling in the kitchen, it being adjacent to my bedroom. I hesitate to get out several times, but end up staying in bed until 2:30pm.

At that moment, a Messenger bubble pops up, still grey so I didn't know who was the sender, but the message said, "Come out, come out, little mouse."

When I scrolled down the notifications, it was his name above the message. I smiled despite myself and shuffled out of the room, dragging my feet.

I found an outside-dressed Douaïb waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the table.

He was drinking his beverage and scrolling through his phone as though he hadn't just texted me. I pressed my lips together, poured myself a tea, and sat down next to him. Just as I pulled out my phone, he put down his.

"I'm going out today, wanna join?"

I took a sip, considering it. "Where are you headed?"

"Just shopping, thought you might wanna join for... whatever you might need." He adds the latter eyeing the Silmiya T-shirt as though he were judging my fashion sense.

I look down instinctively and then back up. "I hope some clothing stores are open, then."

He downs the last of his drink and says, "Alright, we depart in ten minutes."

I nearly choke on my drink. "I haven't even washed up yet!"

"Too bad, guess you should've gotten up earlier." And he arrogantly strolls to his bedroom, leaving me to a nearly full mug of steamy tea and no hygiene whatsoever. I leave my tea and go get dressed in a top, jeans, and a hoodie. I wear my cap to hide the rebellious, unheated hair, and slip on my ankle boots before grabbing my wallet and empty travel mug. I pour the tea in it and meet a cockily ready Douaïb at the door, waiting for me while looking at his watch.

He pokes out his bottom lip. "Not bad, you've still got a minute."

I roll my eyes and push past him to the outside corridor.

We make it to the car and I plug in my phone to share my playlist, singing and rapping along to some of my tracks. This is a weirdly relaxing environment, where I insist that my songs are good while he goes on rants to prove that I only listen to commercial music.

When he parks in the Centre of Algiers, we separate as I go to Meissonnier and he goes to wherever he needs to.

It's only at that moment that we first exchange phone numbers.

"It's weird that we're only now exchanging phone numbers."

"There wasn't a need before now." He states, matter-of-factly. "Now, remember to wear the mask if the market is crowded."

Being in a cheerful mood, I grasp at the occasion. "Awww you care about me, don't you?"

He fights an amused smile. "I don't want my apartment contaminated because of you is all. Call me when you're done, and don't buy veggies, I will."

"Okay, guess I'll see you later." I avoid making a remark about how we sound like a married couple.

°°°

In the market, I look for any clothing stores that might still be open, and I get lucky with one that I'm used to visiting. I buy two pairs of pyjamas, both shorts, and three tops. I also stock up on underwear and a cute bra. The latter was only because the wire in my current bra was attempting to stab my boobs.

I also buy more toiletries, mainly wax, due to the fact that I had just bought shorts, and other necessities I felt I was lacking.

I seriously consider buying a hair straightener but the shop isn't open anyway, so the decision is quickly made.

After all of that, I decide on buying groceries to at least participate in my presence in his apartment.

When I'm done, I call him and we meet at the car again. My fat shopping bags earn raised eyebrows as he gets into the car.

That evening, I make pesto pasta (pre-made sauce, let's be real) while still wearing his PJs.

We have dinner in the living room in front of Colombo, which we both find out is each other's guilty pleasure. As I collect our now-dry plates, he stops me.

"I'll wash them, you go do you."

"Do me?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"I'm sure you're all excited about your new clothes, and whatnot."

I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "You'll get your T-shirt tomorrow, but you can still do the dishes," I offer cheerfully.

He rolls his eyes at me, "Sure thing, just leave them here."

"Thank you," I sing as I walk past him to my room.

It's about 11pm when I say that, and while he's busy dishing I take the advantage of sound to wax my winter legs the most that I can before choosing some light blue shorts and a burgundy T-shirt. I wear his sweatpants again and go have a bath to melt the sticky wax off my legs. As I walk by the kitchen, I see that he's cleaning up around the sink, so I fill up the bath and pour some essential oils that I bought from the market (for no particular reason).

I come out of the shower smelling like cinnamon with baby-soft legs and PJs on fleek around 1am, so he must be sleeping. Right... Tomorrow's Monday.

Day 9:

I wake up early Monday morning and stretch, noting how much good it did me Saturday morning. I make sense of my belongings and finally decide to place them under my bed as opposed to on the desk chair. I open the closet mirror and check my hair... Not catastrophic. Definitely preferable to whatever the boxer braids did to it. I then go to the kitchen to start on breakfast when a folded piece of paper catches my attention on the table.

"I went to the office today, I'll be back before 7. -- El Dib."

I raise my eyebrows slightly. This can only mean one thing: Original audio on my TV shows, baby!

I spend the day watching The Tudors, which was high up on my bucket list. And just when things were about to get real with Anne Boleyn, I hear the keys get inserted into the lock. I slump into the couch a bit deeper and grab a handful of popcorn (cliché, I know, but I spent the past three episodes munching on salted popcorn).

He's carrying a cardboard box which I can only guess contains his work computer. People have been carrying those around since working from home became an option at webhelp. Over the cardboard box was a pastry box, which was odd. I paused The Tudors and went to help him with the pastry box, placing it in the kitchen and, as per my habit, opening it immediately to assess its contents. At that moment, I can't quite say if it's his cologne or the cake but I quite feel like jumping him.

"Is it somebody's birthday?" I ask from the kitchen.

"It's my sweet tooth's birthday and you have to celebrate it with me," he announces from the living room as a sound of glass bottles echoes throughout the apartment.

I stick my head through the frame. "Got thirsty?"

He smirks and pulls out a bottle of Jack. "Very. Care to join?"

I shake my head and go back to face the cake. "Want a piece? And, more importantly, can _I_ get a piece?"

"What?" He asks from his bedroom.

I skip through the corridor and push his slightly ajar door, which takes us both by surprise. He's shirtless with a tank top in one hand and his button down in the other. His eyes travel down to my bare legs and my askew t-shirt with some surprise marring his gaze. Did he think I had hooves or something? I let my eyes skim across his chest and deem him attractive enough without being skeletal... Not that it's any of my business or anything.

"Cake." I state, raising my eyebrows at him, making him look up.

"Sure, I'll take a piece." He murmurs, malice creeping on his features. "The cake sounds nice too."

I was leaving but retreat a few steps to make eye contact with him. "I do hope you don't drink and drive."

"Never on duty," he winks as he wears his tank top and strolls past me, making sure we're both in the threshold at the same time.

My heart skips a beat but I would never admit to that ever happening. I hand him the knife I had brought. "I'll only have the cake, please."

He stays in the threshold, keeping eye contact. "Just the cake, huh?"

"Yeah, I don't drink." I murmur. He's close enough to hear me breathe.

Thankfully and unfortunately, he leaves and a breath I didn't know I was holding leaves me. For some reason, I go to my room and discreetly tap some of my lemon and jasmine perfume behind my ears, on my collar bone, and on my wrists.

When I go back to the living room, he's sat on the couch with a tumbler of Jack (probably) and a piece of cake. Another piece is on the coffee table with a mug of reheated red tea. I sit cross-legged and take the plate, trying desperately not to notice his fleeting looks at me.

"Let's see what you were watching, shall we?" He announces. Alcohol makes him more of a tease. "Ew, English."

I roll my eyes and finish chewing before answering. "I had to take advantage of your absence somehow, didn't I?"

He gives me the look that's specific to Douaïb, where it's a mix of exasperation and malice. As if I'd said exactly the aggravating thing he'd wanted me to say. I grin at him and he smiles back, taking a sip of his drink and smacking his lips frankly. He flips through shows and movies, trying to decide on what to watch.

After some time, I get antsy and groan. "Come _on_, just pick one, if it's bad we'll criticise it, how about that?"

He narrows his eyes at me and fights a grin. "I don't really feel like watching anything right now."

I press my lips together and my eyes fall on the chess set. "Teach me how to play chess, then."

He raises one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" I ask.

His malice is still present as he shakes his head and goes to sit at the chess table. "No reason, come over here."

He spends three quarters of an hour teaching me in a mock-game where he explains his moves and tells me how I can counter them. Having him explain something with pedagogy brings me back to when I first met him as my new product instructor at work, and that feels... nostalgic? The word doesn't really fit, but that's what comes to mind.

After nearly an hour of teaching and a second tumbler of Jack later, he locks gazes with me as though to connect our minds.

"What?" I ask, wary.

"I have a proposition for you." He announces, leaning back in his chair.

"I do not like this." I murmur over my mug of cold tea, making him bark a laugh.

"Not _that_ kind of proposition. Well... not _exactly_ that kind." He concedes, trying to throw an innocent look but failing crookedly.

I roll my eyes and exhale from my nose. "Alright, what's the proposition?"

"You know the rules of the game now, and I know you've got enough brains to string them together. So my proposition is, the winner of this game gets to ask for a favour, and the other one has to comply." He takes a sip of his tumbler to punctuate the end of his sentence.

I raise my eyebrows. "Sounds interesting."

"It's a deal then!" He exclaims, presenting me his hand to shake.

"No contact, coronavirus!" I exclaim before taking his germaphobe hand in mine, making him grimace some.

The game starts, and the beginning is hopeful for me. I haven't exactly thought of the favour I'd ask for if I won, mostly because I never like to be too optimistic. It looks like the end of the game for him, but with his four remaining pieces he decimates my side of the board. The smirk on his face is unmistakeable as he takes my king. He'd planned for this all along. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Spit it out."

"Are you upset?" He drawls, swirling and then downing the last of his drink.

"I'm upset at myself for accepting this disguised deal," I murmur, folding my arms over my chest.

He goes to the kitchen and starts washing his tumbler and plate. I notice he hasn't taken my plate so I join him there and wait for my turn to wash my dishes.

"My favour is so small, it's not even a favour to me, really," he slurs in his tipsy demeanour as he asks for my dishes without turning around.

"I do wonder what it entails," I sing as I hand him my plate and mug and lean back against the table, folding my arms over my chest.

He finishes washing the dishes silently, dries his hands, and turns around, leaning back against the kitchen sink. "A kiss is all I want."

I tilt my head to the side and give him an indulgent smile. "That's all? Child's play."

"Is this a yes?" He asks incredulously, momentarily losing his cool.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" I ask back, subconsciously biting my lip.

He advances on me, earning an adult version of his name, and stands a literal inch away from me. Our eyes are glued to one anothers. The kitchen is dark, so the only light comes from the corridor and the balcony. The sliding door is open, so why do I feel so warm?

Subconsciously, I lean back further against the table, making a chair groan as it slides into the table. It's at that moment that he places his hands on my hips, sliding them towards my back and up between my shoulder blades, making my t-shirt ride up slightly. My arms fall to my sides, and just as I was about to cup his face...

Ding, ding, ding!

He closes his eyes in frustration, and I feel his hands tighten, as though wanting to be fists, on my back.

Ding, ding, ding!

He leans back, and again I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. He answers his phone dryly as I go put the chess pieces back on the board for something to occupy my sweaty hands.

"Yeah, yeah, hold up a second," he mutes his microphone and turns to me, "this is going to take quite a while, don't wait on me, okay?"

I squint at him and nod. "Yeah sure, go ahead, take your time."

I quickly finish putting away the chess pieces and grab my phone to go to my bedroom.

That night, I can't fall asleep, even with ASMR. My heart is racing with what almost happened.

Did I _want_ it to happen or... No. I'd just lost a bet, was all. And he was tipsy. Probably not master of his actions.

Somehow, that did not convince me...

Day 10:

I oversleep. It's mostly because it took me so long to fall asleep last night, and for good reason. What reason, you ask? I have a crush on my host, that's the reason. I sit on my bed and find it is nearing 2pm. I shrug in no particular direction as I make my way towards the bathroom. I don't exactly think about the fact he's already working in the living-room as I shuffle lazily to go wash up. I vaguely notice he's not at the set-up computer, so I'm only half-surprised when he's in the shower as I get in and get hit in the face by the steam.

"Sorry, I didn't notice this was busy," I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Oh good, you're awake. I need you." He announces, shutting off the water.

I quickly close the bathroom door and go sit in the kitchen, waiting for whatever he needs from me. I only wait two minutes as he comes out of the bathroom... Only holding a towel to his waist. Is this a test?

"I think I knotted a muscle in my side, I stretched and did everything but it won't stop bothering me. Think you can do something about it?" He asks, as though yesterday had never happened. Maybe it hadn't, and I just imagined it... Or maybe he simply doesn't remember it or doesn't wanna address it.

"Sure thing, step 1: go wear pants." I muse, following his lead of not mentioning or acknowledging yesterday.

"Just pants?" He asks, a hint of yesterday's malice discernible in his tone.

"Do you want to feel better or not?" I ask, growing a teensy bit frustrated. I, myself, acknowledge that I may be overreacting, but there isn't a way to stop it.

"Alright, give me a second." He concedes, going to his room.

I try to remove from my mind that there was a bump on his towel as he left. I make myself tea and sit there, waiting. Five minutes pass... Then ten... Is he wearing pants or pantaloons? Just when I resolve myself to go knock on his door, he shows up in the kitchen and winces at his sudden whipping around.

"Well, aren't you coming?" He asks, as though I were supposed to know what he meant.

"Coming where?" I ask, setting down my untouched tea.

"Might I remind you that I'm on my supposed lunch break and that I need to start working again in less than 45 minutes? Come to my room." And he leaves without waiting for an answer.

I follow him, making a stop by my bedroom to retrieve the baby oil I'd first used on him. I find him laying on his stomach sideways in bed. I tilt my head to myself. Is this really happening? This looks like the beginning of a porno.

"Okay, which side is it and where?" I ask, oiling my hands.

"Left side, right above the kidney area, next to my shoulder blade."

I kneel at the end of the bed and start spreading the oil from my hands to the desired area, pressing occasionally to ask for directions. I massage his pain away, earning some guttural moans which only make my job more difficult (while it usually encourages me to keep massaging). Knowing he can't see me, I bite my lip when he moans and take glances at his hands. They're of the water type. Earth and fire hands are thick and usually have short-ish fingers, like mine. Water and air hands are thin, with long fingers and usually good nails, which was the case with him. As I undo the knots in his side, I decide fuck it, might as well do the whole back. I make his skin absorb all of the oil, and do his shoulders, the back of his head with my nails like last time, and when I work from his cervical spine to the small of his back, I hear his first snore. Really? I look at the alarm clock and it's 2:39pm. I keep massaging until it's 2:45 to give him time to freshen up before work, and maybe grab a bite.

When that time comes, I lean forward towards his ear and run my fingers through his hair, "Doudou, wake up. It's a quarter to three."

He groans and turns over on his side to face me. "I told you not to call me that."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Well I don't appreciate being an unpaid masseuse first thing in the morning, either."

He laughs out loud. "It's hardly morning, sleepy head."

I give him a scornful half-smile. "Oh, look who's talking, you've got pillow marks all over your cheek and it's only been twenty minutes."

"What can I say, you're a magician," he muses, throwing me a flirty glance. "Where did you learn that anyway?"

"It's intuitive, for the most part. And the rest is what I wish was done to me." I immediately regret the latter part.

"You need only ask," he sings as he surveys me, making eye contact with me in silence.

"And you need to get back to work," I change the subject because for some reason this is making me uncomfortable.

He gets up and gives me a hand to get up without falling, cause I was quite literally on the edge of the bed. Before I leave his bedroom, he grazes my arm with his finger, making me turn to him.

"Hey um..." For a moment it feels like he's going to mention yesterday. "Thanks... For fixing me."

"Physically," I intone, grinning at his confusion.

"Chess tonight?" He asks, winking when my eyebrows jump in surprise.

I smirk. "Sure."

We do indeed play chess that night, but no favour is mentioned. It's an easy day, and I couldn't be happier about that. I go to sleep with a smile on my face and a sense of relief.

Day 12: I wake up groggily, and the first thing I notice, before opening my eyes, is that my bed seems to be wider. As I open them, I bolt upright. I’m not in my room, I’m in his. What the hell? I don’t remember how I got in here, and, worst of all, I don’t remember anything that happened after the game of chess… I sit up; look at the alarm clock—only to find it turned off. Curious. I shuffle to my bedroom, only to find the chair turned over and my phone plugged and on the desk. What happened? What the HELL happened? I grab my phone and find it turned off. But it was plugged in, why’s it off? It’s even saying low battery. I make my way to the living-room and find an unexpected sight. Every electronic device is off, and I confirm by turning the light switch that the electricity’s been cut off. That is normal for Algiers, the unexpected sight is Douaïb sleeping in the couch, he hasn’t even bothered to set up the work computer. I’d venture to guess he’s already texted or called someone to signal it. As I walk by the kitchen, I notice a clump of broken glass in a bowl of newspaper. I frown. I really need to ask him what happened… after washing up. When I face the bathroom mirror, I understand a good deal of what I’m feeling. My eyes are red and puffy, my face is sticky, and my gaze is even a bit downturned despite the obvious confusion on my features. Last night comes to me in flashes…

Day 11: I wake up to find myself starving. I go directly to the kitchen, where I find the last piece of the birthday cake on a plate on the table and one missing chair. I instinctively look at the balcony and find it with its occupant smoking. This reminds me that I still have an untouched pack of cigarettes in my backpack. I go fetch it and join him on the balcony. I sit with my back to the railing on the floor and extend my legs before me. We’re silent for a while, gazing at the faraway harbour with grey clouds looming above it. He lives in La Grande Poste, a bit higher than the Poste, so the harbour is visible, as well as most of the Centre of Algiers. “Slept well?” He asks, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the floor. “Can’t say I didn’t,” I shrug before taking a long drag of my cigarette. “You?” “Like a drunk baby,” he chuckles as he gathers his belongings to go inside, probably to start working. “Need anything?” He asks, poking his head back from the kitchen. “That Van Gogh book you have,” I say, making eye contact. He smirks and brings it to me presently. Hours go by and I tear through the pages, not noticing when lunchtime comes and goes. It’s only when the evening prayer is called for that I notice I’ve been reading for five hours. And I somehow didn’t finish the book. I go to the bathroom to freshen up, since I went directly to the kitchen upon waking up. The evening comes as usual, when 8 chimes, he starts packing up the work computer while I serve dinner. Sautéed veggies, tonight. We go for a game of chess. I’m getting better at it. Not that I’m winning or anything, but games last longer and he frowns more. This time, we move the chess set on the couch as well as drinks (sparkling water, for me, Pastis for him). We sit side by side as he gets increasingly tipsy and I get increasingly flirtatious. Do I control it? I’d venture to guess that I do. I just don’t really care about the consequences. At some point during the game, I drop one of the defeated pawns from the coffee table onto the carpet, so he leans down to pick it up, instinctively placing a steadying hand on my bare knee. He places the pawn on the table but keeps his hand on my knee. I grab his hand softly and intertwine our fingers, making him look up at me. Our faces are inches apart as he breathes Pastis in the space separating us. I get up suddenly, too suddenly in fact, sending my empty glass crashing on the floor. I gasp and cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, so sorry—” I move to go pick up the pieces but he grabs my wrist firmly. “Stop this, you’re barefoot!” “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking!” I keep apologising, because I’m mortified. The logical part of my brain tells me it’s not a big deal, but the anxious part keeps apologising and being mortified. He grabs me by the shoulders, about to speak when he stops. “Are you… crying?” Am I? I instinctively bring my fingers to my cheek. I am indeed crying, but… why? I know this won’t matter in a few minutes. I have been feeling a bit cooped up, but nothing major, and I’ve definitely felt worse. Before I can control my actions, I burst into sobs and he pulls me into a tight hug. I cling to him and cry my eyes out while he feebly rubs my back. I calm down, but stay in the hug, and he doesn’t pull away. His caresses go from my back to my head. “Are you okay?” He whispers after some time. I nod against his chest, and he pulls away, first wiping away my tears and then locking eyes with me. “Do you want to talk? About it or about anything else?” I don’t answer. I simply lean up to his lips and kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s taken aback at first, and I remember faintly thinking that I should have asked first, but then he wraps his arms around me, walking and making me walk backwards towards the chess table (now barren, since the set is on the coffee table). When I feel the table poking the small of my back, I slide my right hand from his cheek to his chest. He breaks off the kiss and lifts me up swiftly, making me sit on the table. We make eye contact again and his eyes look hazy. He grabs my jaw and leans in for the most feral kiss yet. I faintly recall biting his bottom lip, making him chuckle through a kiss. I also faintly recall hearing the fridge turn off in the kitchen. As we slide our hands under each other’s tops, we break the kiss and… it’s still dark. I remember we don’t really care, and are about to kiss again when my phone rings from my bedroom. It’s dark but I know that, like me, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine. I caress his bearded jaw and drag my nails across the back of his neck and up his scalp. “I need to go check it,” I whisper, poking the tip of his nose with mine. “Fuck it,” his voice is raspy. “I’d rather not, it could be important,” I murmur, placing a soft kiss on his lips and extracting myself from the embrace. “Careful, there’s broken glass on the floor.” “At least I’m not barefoot!” He calls behind me. I poke my way around my bedroom and find my phone lit up. I was right. It was important. My sister called me. As high as my spirits got from that make out session, my heart dropped to my stomach. It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve last spoken to her, and I miss her the most. And if she calls me at this time of night… She must miss me too. At that moment, I feel so guilty and so angry with myself that I throw my phone across the room and kick the desk chair, making it fall over. The sound brings a flickering candle light and a concerned Douaïb to the room. I faintly remember him kneeling and cupping my face. He asks me a question but I don’t hear it, I just let tears roll down my cheeks, with the occasional whimper. He grabs my hand, making my focus on one thing at a time, and leads me to his bedroom. He sits me down and I remember him saying something about sleeping here tonight. He’s about to leave but I take his hand. “Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” My voice is lower than I remember it being. It takes him a full second to consider it before he blows out the candle and lies down in the middle of the bed. I curl up against him and he caresses my shoulder. I fall asleep in minutes.

Day 12:

I don’t know how to feel. On one hand, he seems to… care about me. On the other hand, I need electricity to come back as soon as possible to know why my sister tried to call. I only realise how hard I’m gripping the sink when it digs so hard into the heels of my hands that they feel numb. I remove them from there and wash them under warm water. I wash up and sit on the edge of the bathtub. Eventually, I slide on the floor and rest my back against the bathtub. I don’t cry, because I’ve dried out. But I still sit on the bathroom floor for a while before I hear rustling in the living-room. I still don’t move, even when I hear him calling for me.

After some time, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Hey… You in there?”

My voice gets lost in my throat, so I knock on the bathtub glass loud enough to hear from the other side of the door. Apparently, this worries him, because next thing I know the door flings open. Did he expect to find me in a pool of my own blood? I mean—yeah, he wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that. I can’t bring myself to alter my features in any way, so I kind of just… stare at him neutrally. His initial surprise and assessment of my situation fade, and he kneels in front of me, eventually sitting cross-legged.

“D’you wanna talk?” He asks finally, breaking the silence.

I shrug one shoulder. “Talking isn’t going to help when I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

He comes to sit to my left, right under the window. “We could just stay here, if you want. Or go somewhere more comfortable.”

I finally manage to twitch the corners of my lips into an attempt at a smile. “Can we go for a smoke?”

He stands up and extends his hand towards me. I accept it and rise too quickly. I find myself an inch from his chest. I look up and realise he’s got an arm around my shoulders, ready to support me in case I break.

I keep his hand in mine, and murmur, “Thank you… Thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

He places his hand on my cheek and kisses my forehead. I lean in to hug him, and he caresses my back. I take long, deep, steadying breaths. This feels right.

We stay in that embrace for a few minutes and then take warm drinks to the balcony and smoke, while talking about anything but the situation at hand. The situation being me. I go through five cigarettes of my pack before snuggling close to him. In fact, we’d only taken pillows and blankets to the balcony, meaning we were sat together in the comfiest setting I had ever experienced. The day is sunny, and we can see the differences in depth in the sea. At some point, I doze off against his chest, and he hums a tune.

I wake up at some point, I remember, and plant a soft kiss on his lips. I remember this because right after that his embrace on me tightened.

The evening goes by without electricity. We skip dinner and spend the evening playing chess to candle light. When bedtime comes, my heart skips a beat.

“Uh Douaïb?”

“Yeah?” He turns around in the middle of the corridor.

“Can I… Can I sleep with you tonight?” I ask, praying to God he won’t misunderstand me.

He squints and walks towards me. “Are you okay?”

I consider brushing it off. “I—I don’t want to stay alone. At all.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and we go to his bedroom. He goes to sit on one side of the bed and before I go sit on the other side, I consider another option for the end of our evening. I stand in front of him and cup his face, planting a deep kiss on his lips. He snakes his arms around my waist and I kneel on his lap—well, I sit on his lap and kneel on the bed on either side of him. We break the kiss and stare into each other’s eyes in the darkness. The only light comes from the full moon reflected on the harbour, and it only lights up the left side of his face.

In that moment I realise that I am not romantically attracted to him.

I certainly enjoy his presence and his aura. He’s a great kisser and an even greater friend. But I don’t feel romantically towards him. Maybe it is too early to decide on anything, but so far… that’s how I feel.

We go to sleep in each other’s embrace after a few minutes of cuddling.

Day 13:

I wake up and find a weight on my side. Opening my eyes, I see a familiar arm wrapped around me. I snuggle into the embrace, waking him up. He nestled a kiss in the crook of my neck. I turn over and straddle him, planting pecks all over his face, giggling. We stop after some time and he sits up. Our faces are inches from one another’s. He closes the space between us (or I close it, I can’t be sure) in our softest and slowest kiss yet. I unconsciously place my hand on his thigh as he draws his right arm around me, lying atop me. He kisses down my neck and my collarbone, revealing my shoulder as he slides the hem of my t-shirt, trailing kisses. I run my fingers through his hair, smelling peppermint. We are about to kiss again when the sound of the call for prayer stops us. It serves to wake me from this dream-like situation.

“We should check if the electricity’s back,” I murmur, caressing his hair.

He kisses the crook of my neck again. “What good’ll that do?”

“You could work.”

“I’m tired of working.”

I smile at him. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“How will they know my electricity’s back?”

I smirk at him. “I could rat you out.” I flip him over, straddle him, and fold my arms over my chest.

He smirks back at me and runs his hands over my thighs. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d report you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “What would you report me for?”

His hands lift the hem of my burgundy t-shirt. “Misbehaviour.”

“Does this include calling you Doudou?” I intone, lowering myself to hover over his face.

He reaches up to brush my hair out of my face. “And turning me into a sinner.”

I blink several times and bury my face in his collarbone as I snort and start laughing. I’m quite literally lying atop him and we spend the morning (well, afternoon) in bed, not doing much but physically enjoying each other’s presence. We don’t do much more than cuddling and kissing, before we’re both hungry and thirsty enough to go eat.

¤¤¤¤¤

Late at night, as we are playing another game of chess, the same sound that announced the cutting of the electricity alerts us of its coming back. I bolt to my bedroom and turn on my phone. I find the missed call, but no message aside from the occasional Messenger chatter.

I immediately call my sister. It rings three times before she picks up.

“Are you okay?” I ask at once.

“Where are you?’ She asks back.

“I’m safe and healthy. You?”

“I am too. I miss you. Please, come back,” she pleads.

“I love you.”

I hang up before hearing the rest. I don’t want to argue with her. I want to leave on good terms with her. I lie back on my bed and sigh deeply. There’s a soft knock on the door. I pick up the chair I hurled three days ago and admit him in. He sits on it and I sit back on my bed.

“Are you okay?” He asks. It sounds like he doesn’t want to prod.

I figure he has a right to know. “My sister called my three days ago. I miss her but I don’t wanna be home.”

He shrugs one shoulder and pokes out his bottom lip. “You can call this home, if you like.”

I exhale sharply and smirk humourlessly. “Thank you. I’ll have to leave after the quarantine, though. That’s what brought me here.”

“You could stay beyond that. I could have just driven you to Maria’s after a day,” he observes.

I take a deep breath, focusing on anything in the room but his eyes. “I figure we’ll find out in a while.”

He presses his lips together and stands up. “I guess this is good night. You’re free to join, if you like.”

I nod. “Thank you… I think I’ll stay here tonight. I need to think.”

His eyebrows jump and he smirks. “This is never good.”

I chuckle and go hug him. I plant a kiss on his cheek as I pull away. “Good night.”

He smirks. “Good night.”

Day 18:

I wake up in his arms, and gently extract myself. I go to the bathroom and take what I call a 360-shower. The kind where I remove all the hair and exfoliate all the skin. I get out in his bathrobe, feeling fresher than I have in days, and he’s setting up his work computer. I lean towards him and kiss him good morning, which he returns mechanically. We got used to each other’s presence and each other’s ministrations.

We spend a day that quite resembles our earlier ones, where we weren’t so focused on how much we wanted to give in to our sexual frustration. It’s still there, but it can be calmed down. And we calm it down at every opportunity. Might as well, considering we’re quarantined together and we have already established our mutual attraction to one another. What I fear the most in our current situation is developing feelings for him. That would ruin everything. I love him as a friend, and he’s an amazing kisser, but mix in romantic feelings, and everything goes to shit.

I’m not just saying this to sound edgy, I know myself and I know how he is at work. And, worst of all, I don’t know how he is outside of work. I would get extremely jealous. I’d be hurt at not knowing what he’s doing when he’s not working or away from me. I wouldn’t want him to know all of my doubts, so I’d hide them and it’d eat at me from the inside. Whereas now, I only care about hygiene, and he’s great at it.

As I was saying, we spend quite a normal day. It’s as if we were married, in my ideal image of marriage. Exempt of romantic feelings that would poison the mood and create needless arguments. I admit my view is unconventional, but it’s what suits my personality.

We silently enjoy each other’s company, him working, me reading. It takes me a few hours to finally go wear pyjamas. I wear the second set of PJs I bought when I went out. A sky-blue tank top that’s kind of flimsy, so I’d need a bra with it. I wear the cute one (black with lace coming down the sternum) that I bought on that same day. The shorts, because wearing pants to bed would be nothing short of suicide for me, that I bought are dark green with back pockets. I wear my hair in two tight buns, when though it’s already almost dry.

I go back to the living room on tiptoe and rub Douaïb’s shoulders, sliding my hands down his chest and nestling a kiss on the base of his neck, just above his collarbone. He places a kiss on my cheek as I pull away. I sit back where I was and pick up my book, but his typing stopped. I look up to see him looking at me and quickly bringing his gaze back to his screen, a smirk lifting his beard.

“What is it?” I ask, genuinely confounded.

He exhales sharply. “Cute.”

“And that’s funny?” I ask, letting a giggle overcome me.

He slides near me on the couch and slaps his knees. “Come here.”

I put the book back down and go straddle his lap slowly. He runs his hands across my thighs and gives me what I realise is his most genuine smile. It spreads a warmth within me I haven’t felt in years, and alarm bells go off in my mind, but I shush them. This is a good moment, and I don’t want to ruin it.

I smile back at him. “Are you okay?”

He brings his hand to the side of my face and brushes a loose curl from the back of my neck upwards. “I’m more than okay.”

I kneel up a bit higher and kiss his lips softly. “As am I.”

He gets up, lifting me with him. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”

“But work—” I object, making him chuckle.

“I guess they’ll have to spend the last hour without me,” he smirks, taking us down the hall.

I vaguely recall seeing pinkish and purplish hues reflected from the setting sky and the harbour.

That night is different from others we’ve spent together. It is slower, fuller, and more intense. We don’t ‘have sex’; we make love.

And that’s what terrifies me.

Day 19:

I wake up sore and groggy. I go run myself a warm bath first thing in the morning. I wake up earlier than usual, so it gives me time to think. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, however, because the first word that comes out of my mouth today is one that’s been repeated countless times yesterday.

“Fuck.”

What’s the most painful about last night is nothing physical. It’s the realisation that I developed feelings for him. I need out, I need—

“Hey, you in there?”

I whip around to face the closed bathroom door, making rippling water sounds. I don’t want to hurt him, especially not after all he’s done for me. He needs me, too. I can’t leave him… Not like that… Not after last night.

“Hello?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m having a bath. You woke early,” I remark as an afterthought.

“Bed got cold,” he muses. “May I come in?”

_Please don’t._ “Of course.”

He sits on the edge of the clear water bath in which I’m hugging my knees. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “You mean… am I sore or something?”

He nods. “Yeah… Any regrets?” He adds this bit as an attempt at humour, but I know he’s at least mostly serious.

I attempt to make my chuckle believable, but I can tell he’s hiding the fact that he doesn’t believe me. “Not a single one.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I’ll let you enjoy your bath. I’m in the balcony.”

“I’ll join you when I’m done.”

And I hoped that was true.

I remember that day in flashes.

Me about to join him in the balcony, interrupted by my phone ringing.

Crying immediately, drawing him to my bedroom.

Jumping in the car with wet hair, on my way to the hospital.

Trying to ask for their names…

Fainting. Waking up with an IV drip. Crying some more.

I cry a lot that day. And he’s there. Near me.

I see her bruised face, asleep, bandaged head, IV drip, heart rate monitors beeping.

The only one I’ve ever loved, in a comatose state.

The ones I’ve lived with, dead.

I’m truly alone now. Alone, and wishing my sister would wake up.

Alone, motherless, homeless… Involuntarily, this time.

I don’t want to go to my dad’s. I don’t want to go back to Douaïb’s.

That night, I join him home to pack up my things. I’d already called Maria to ask if I could move to her place. He doesn’t understand, I explain I need a sister. He says he understands.

[writingdumpster-o]

it all starts with me having an explosive fight with my family and going to work against their wishes

then at 8pm everyone's going home (I noticed irl that Douaïb tends to be last in his floor to leave) and I'm going to the bottom floor (just below Douaïb's) to grab my lunch box. And I'm kind of dragging my feet cause I've already resolved myself to not go home and I'm too proud to ask Maria (who lives alone with her brother) to crash at her place

so the bottom floor is the cafeteria and stuff and I'm like "huh maybe I could do with a cigarette before leaving" so I stay outside and light one and smoke it with a hot chocolate from the coffee machine

and he comes down and we have a conversation, it's 20:45 by now everyone's gone even the work transportation, and he's surprised to find me (as much as I'm surprised to find him) and we have an easy conversation that's of the normal type

he asks what I'm still doing there and I say my ride isn't here yet, hoping he'd leave and let me fend for myself on my damn own. I'm already planning on staying in the nap room for the night (there's a nap room that has plugs and a TV and ottomans you can press together to make a bed)

so the first night I spend in the nap room, normal, I somehow manage to avoid guards and maids but one thing i wasn't able to avoid was security cameras, so next morning HR tell me that they won't sanction it but they'll need me to find a place other than work to sleep. I hide the event from everyone and go pick up my bag (I brought my backpack and a duffel bag that's supposed to be for my workout gear but I put other outfits in it to not do a walk of shame every morning)

I see Chakib in the early morning cause he always comes to work first, which I love, and we have a lil talk about... not my homelessness cause I keep hiding it from the people who could help me cause I don't wanna feel indebted even though they'd do it for me like... out of kindness and their appreciation towards me. But you feel me, I don't wanna burden them even this I were in their shoes it wouldn't be like a burden at all. So then Douaïb gets to work and we talk until it's time for all of us to start working

so the day ends, and we get the news: Forced quarantine. Whoever's at work needs to get home STAT.

And since I didn't tell anyone about my predicament, I can't get a hold of them to ask to crash at their place. Chakib takes his car and leaves, Maria's already at the transportation, and I'm over there with a duffel bag and a backpack and nowhere to go.

I resolve myself to go to my dad's when I feel a hand on my arm.

I turn around and it's Douaïb handing me my charger.

"I thought you had headphones on, but you just weren't listening."

so I apologise and take the charger and start walking aimlessly, and from an outsider's perspective I am searching for a path I've never walked. I stop at intersections and look around, try to gauge where to go, start on a way and then cross the street for no reason. It's a poor sight to see.

so then a car pulls up next to me and I close my hand around my Swiss knife (I irl have a fakely Swiss knife that wouldn't hurt a fly) ready to defend myself. But then a familiar voice tells me to get in; Douaïb's. I do a double-take cause it doesn't make much sense since... he looks so homeless— then again I'm actually homeless so maybe appearances aren't everything. I frown and try to act independent, but he half-shrugs "If you wanna get arrested, that's your funeral, I only tried to help."

He's about to drive off when I open the back door to drop in my bags. It's a surprisingly nice car, it's a Peugeot but I wouldn't be able to tell you its ref, I'm bad at those.

So he turns up some music (he has great taste in music, the best of every genre) and I say I'm going to El Golf at first. But he asks "don't you live in Ouled Fayet?" And I shrug and am like "I moved"

He's sceptical but keeps driving.

And the closer we get to that destination, the more I realise I don't wanna go there. Maybe I should've just said Maria's place, it's not late yet. She lives in Sacré Cœur, we're not so close as to necessitate a change of paths.

"Actually, can you head for Sacré Cœur? I'm not staying at El Golf."

"Can I ask you something?"

"... yes?"

"Why are you lying to me?"

Crap. "I'm not ly— what would I lie about anyway?"

He throws a smirk at me with those intense eyes of his before gluing them to the surprisingly busy road.

"You said I was observant when you were trying to guess my star sign. And you were right. You slept at work last night, but you didn't tell anyone. Not even Maria knows."

I know it's a lost cause, but I still try. "I didn't sleep at work"

At that point he parallel parks his car pretty damn swiftly. I remember being out-of-place impressed with it before realising I was being put on the spot.

He locks eyes with me and just stays silent. And... slowly but surely I start realising my current situation. I don't have 20 things to call my own. I have nowhere to go. I'm in this (as of four weeks ago) stranger's car, and he's the only one who can save me from a potentially deadly virus and homelessness.

And I characteristically burst into tears.So he lets me cry until I calm down. He offers a tissue (those Cotex tissue boxes that every car has for some reason) and tries not to invade my personal space.

After I calm down and slump into my seat in the closest thing to a foetal position, he takes off again. I stay quiet for a while, letting the music fill up the silence that is surprisingly peaceful.

That is, until I notice we're not going to Sacré Cœur. I sit up straight and look around. Algiers is emptier than I ever remember it being, it's eerie at just 5pm.

"Where are we going?"

"You're staying at my place."

"No, I was going to crash at Maria's."

"Not to rain on your parade, but I don't think she can sustain more than her brother and herself."

He's got a point. She's the only one who works at home and even then maybe her brother will give her trouble cause... he wouldn't trust my health like she would...

"What will your family say?"

He frowns, amusement softening his features. "How would they know? I live alone."

Interesting. "And you wouldn't mind having an impromptu guest for this quarantine? It could last months."

He makes a compromise gesture. "We'll keep ourselves busy, I guess. Got any books in that bag of yours?"

I smirk. "Why'd you think it's so heavy?"

Skip to when we get to his SURPRISINGLY TIDY AND CUTE apartment, where a whole-ass wall is a giant bookshelf. It's not full but it's patiently waiting to be full of literature. As soon as I drop my duffel bag and he locks his door, there's a brief silence in which none of us moves.

I'm aware of his presence.

He's aware of my presence.

We can hear each other breathing.

It's at that moment that tension begins. Because we're acutely aware of the fact we'll be spending the quarantine together, when we've never even been alone together save for the cigarette and hot cocoa of yesterday.

He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, which sounds eerily like a cough, making me whip around to exchange a malicious glance.

Out of nowhere, he announces, "Alright shower time, down the hall."

"Wait what?"

"We've been outside all day, they announced quarantine today, that means we're fucking filthy right now. Go shower, quickly so I can go too and get dinner started."

I face him, trying to find a flaw in his argument that's weighed down by his ownership of me refuge and his willingness to have me in it.

"Alright, d'you have PJs I can borrow?"

He frowns, "You don't have PJs in there?"

I roll my eyes slightly, "I didn't know I wouldn't be able to go home in months."

He gives an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head as he disappears into the hallway. I get the urge to go to the bookshelf but I remember the virus and stay put. I try to read titles from afar... There it is. The Van Gogh book that started my interest in him.

He comes back almost immediately with sweatpants and a Silmiya T-shirt. I grimace at the latter and he gives me a condescending glance.

"Don't forget to wash your hair, it's a great environment for the virus."

I mean to object, but since we're going to be in each other's constant presence for a good amount of time, now wouldn't be the time to be snippy about him seeing my post-shower hair.

I go shower quickly, noting that the clothes he gave me smelled like cleanliness and... something I couldn't quite recognise but appreciated.

After the shower, I dry my hair as much as I can before braiding it in boxer braids and wearing his clothes. The pants are a tight fit, but I don't mind. The T-shirt is large enough to hide strategic places that would've otherwise made our stay together uncomfortable at first.

I exit the bathroom after making sure I left everything clean, and then go grab my bags and place them next to the couch, which I'll claim as my bed. I finally tiptoe to the bookshelf and explore titles, grab them individually and look at the pages. Not reading them, but feeling them. Feeling for the worn pages or the smooth, new ones. I vaguely hear him saying he's going to shower, but I only realise it when I hear the water running. At that moment, I try to find the kitchen, cause he said something about making dinner. What if he'd started making something but I didn't hear him when he said it was cooking? Did I have a mission I hadn't heard?

Arriving to the quiet and dark kitchen, I realise that he hadn't started making anything. I'm relieved but also stressed. I feel an urge to open the fridge, but what if he's territorial? He hasn't said "help yourself", like what most people do when you penetrate their space. But I want to start making dinner, first as thanks, and second because I haven't had time to have lunch with the quarantine news being delivered at 1pm and my lunch usually being at 2pm. And I don't really feel like grabbing my lunch— I still have enough spaghetti for two people in my lunch box (I'd packed days' worth of pasta before leaving home).

So as I went back to the living room to get my lunch box, our paths crossed. He wasn't in just a towel... but he wasn't completely dry, either. Tips of his hair were still wet, and he radiated a hamam-like glow. How was that possible in so quick a shower?

[writingdumpster-o]

Character Profile #1

First Name: Victoria Middle Name: Druella Family Name: Malfoy House: Slytherin Wand Core: Unicorn Hair Wand Wood: Ash Wand Length: 11½ Inches Wand Flexibility: Reasonably Supple Patronus: Adder Address: Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. (Formerly: Rosier Manor, Penderyn, Wales) Mother: Cassiopeia Malfoy (née Rosier) Father: Marcus Nicholas Malfoy • Born in St. Mungo’s hospital on April 25th, 1981. • Lived in Wiltshire (Malfoy ancestral Manor) until 1982. • Her parents moved to the Rosier estate in Penderyn, Wales, after her uncle Evan Rosier died, her mother being the last heir of Nathan Rosier after Evan. • Marcus Malfoy was rarely home, due to his position as an ambassador in Wizarding France. • Most of her summer holidays were spent in their villa on the Brittany shore, visiting distant Rosier relatives. • As a result, Victoria is fluent in French. • The summers that she spent in Wiltshire were her favourite. • Cassiopeia wanted her daughter to study at Beaubâtons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Marcus refused. • He always wanted his offspring to play for the Slytherin Quidditch team. • Marcus was a loving father despite his arranged marriage with Cassiopeia. • Cassiopeia was a strict mother and strived for perfection in every aspect of Victoria’s life. • Victoria’s first case of accidental magic happened when she was four: her mother had punished her by putting her favourite toy out of reach. Trying to climb the cupboard, Victoria tripped and instead of falling, floated in her room until Cassiopeia went to check on her. • Victoria learned to fly with Draco and Marcus, each time the latter found the time to Apparate to Britain; mostly on weekends. • Victoria’s life before puberty made her out to be a tomboy, mostly to protest her mother’s archaic teachings about being a lady, and due to the fact that she spent most of her childhood with Draco, Blaise Zabini, Marcus, or Edmund Zabini (Blaise’s grandfather). • Christmas was only spent amidst the Rosiers once before it was decided that Malfoy Christmases were more enjoyable. • Cassiopeia taught her daughter embroidery, crochet, piano, reading, writing, and mathematics. • The latter was only so that she was the one to handle the finances when she married. • Marcus taught his daughter Quidditch and ballroom dancing. • The Sorting Hat almost put her in Ravenclaw, but decided on Slytherin upon her request. • Her favourite subject, aside from flying, was Charms. • She made the Quidditch team in third year, having rightfully earned the spot instead of joining Draco the year before. • There were two reasons for that: ¹· She was too proud to tag along, despite Lucius’s best efforts to convince her. ²· Her father had spent too much time and effort training her for her to be judged on status rather than skill. • She was a Chaser and never lost her spot since. • She’s a prankster behind a poker face. Her usual accomplices in Hogwarts were Draco and Theo. She somehow never got caught. • She started acting girly in third year, when she astonished the assembly in the Malfoy Annual Ball for New Year’s Eve by not only attending, but looking every bit as attractive and distinguished as her mother. It was the only time Cassiopeia looked genuinely proud of Victoria. • Victoria inherited Abraxas Malfoy’s grey eyes, which skipped a generation with her blue-eyed father. • Her hair is neither as light as her father’s, nor is it as dark as her mother’s. She’s wheat blonde, though she had Malfoy hair growing up. • She never had a pet. • Her mother took the Dark Mark when she was in fifth year, convinced by Bellatrix. Victoria started hating her mother since then. • Bellatrix taught Victoria Occlumency at the same time as Draco. • Victoria met Bellatrix in December 1995, and always felt uneasy around her. • Marcus had warned her against Bellatrix by owling her as soon as she broke out of Azkaban. “She’s dangerous, even by Death Eater standards.” He had said. • Victoria was good moral support for Draco during his mission in sixth year. Draco would often go to the Rosier Manor to escape the tension that was in Malfoy Manor when the Dark Lord claimed it as headquarters. • Both Malfoys would often seek refuge in Zabini Manor, when things got tense during 1997 holidays. • Victoria spent 1998 Easter holidays in Zabini Manor, under the protection of Edmund who had the luxury of being left alone if he funded Voldemort’s projects. Edmund didn’t have a Mark. • Victoria spent the Battle of Hogwarts trying to find her father so they could run away. • When she did find him, he was an inch from death. • Trying to find her mother as a last resort, the battle ended too soon and Cassiopeia was sent to Azkaban before she could flee Hogwarts. • Victoria will try anything to regain some status in society, mostly by helping Magdalene in the Triwizard Tournament, befriending Harry Potter, and making Narcissa reconcile with Andromeda. • She ends up being friends with Magdalene and falling in love with Harry.

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Four:

Two Months Later

Magdalene was back in Diagon Alley with her list of Hogwarts supplies in one hand and her cat, Shyvana, sitting in her cauldron in the other. She cursed under her breath for the umpteenth time, swearing to herself to make that leech of a boy pay for it. Not only did he dare go to her potential employer’s house to ruin her interview, but he ended up taking her and his cousin down with him. This won’t go unpunished, she stated in her mind as she made her way towards Ollivander’s to, as she did every year, make him check her wand. The brass bell rang as she opened the door to the renovated store. She could not help but remember the first time she had entered that shop.

She was in awe. She had never thought, in her eleven years, that such wonders existed. Her parents were just as awestruck as she was, and they asked multiple questions to their guide: a most peculiar man, roughly Maggie’s height and who spoke in a squeaky voice. His name, Magdalene would later remember, was Filius Flitwick.

“Ah, now, the most important part!” Flitwick squeaked, making everyone jump. “The wand! And the best place for that has always been Ollivander's…”

Professor Flitwick rambled on about the history of Ollivander’s wand shop, which captivated her parents, but she was too busy marvelling at the visuals to pay him any heed. The shop smelled of old parchment and broomsticks—although the latter scent was still unfamiliar to her. Professor Flitwick had enthusiastically explained to her the rudiments of Quidditch, when they had first read the whole of the letter. Mr. Ollivander smiled down at Flitwick as the four of them penetrated the shop.

“Good to see you, Professor. Muggle-Born?” He inquired, tilting his head towards Magdalene, who was too busy looking at all the shelves and what they contained to notice.

“Most certainly, Mr. Ollivander! Come, Magdalene, now you’re going to have to get measured for your wand. Come on; let’s see what your wand is going to look like.”

Magdalene was measured and asked a couple of questions before Ollivander started pulling wands out of the shelves behind the front desk. Half a dozen wands later, Ollivander took almost a minute in staring at her, as though debating whether he ought to do what he had in mind or not. Finally, after forty-five seconds of agonising silence, he whooshed to the bottom of the aisle and crouched down to retrieve a rather long box, compared with the other ones she had tried. Even as he approached the quartet, he seemed hesitant.

He pulled out a wand and meant to extend it towards Maggie but he retrieved his arm before she could reach for it. “You must understand, Miss Middleton that I am reluctant to give you this wand to try out.” He informed her.

She looked up, squinting with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “Why?”

Mr. Ollivander pursed his lips and gave her the wand. As she took hold of it, she felt a warmth erupt from within the wand, extending from her hand to her arm, and spreading throughout the rest of her body. A light breeze ruffled her hair against her face, despite the weather being hot and still. She glanced back up at Ollivander who had a mixture of wonder and disappointment plastered all over his face. He took back the wand, and placed it back into the box gently, as though it might explode.

“Can’t I have that one, Sir?”

“I’m afraid this wand might be too demanding, Miss. You see, this wand is made of sycamore wood and a Phoenix feather core. These two, individually, are already a handful, but together, they constitute a hazard.” He paced up and down the aisles, probably looking for a better fit while toying with the box between his fingers. “The sycamore makes a questing wand, eager for new experience and losing brilliance if engaged in mundane activities. This is not the kind of wand that accepts to be treated as a third arm, and it will show this. If this wand is used in mundane ways for too long, it will burst into flames. The wand always chooses the wizard, Miss Middleton. Moreover, this wand wood chooses an owner who is vital, curious, and adventurous. When this wand and the right owner pair up, wonders will never cease. It will demonstrate a capacity to learn and adapt that earns it a rightful place among the world’s most highly-prized wand woods.” With a defeated sigh, he made his way back towards the Middletons and Professor Flitwick.

“So this wand gets bored easily? It won’t make coffee or do some of the simple Charms that Professor Flitwick showed me?” Magdalene inquired a hint of disappointment.

“Oh, it will… But if this becomes its primary purpose, then I’m afraid you’ll have to come back to me for a new wand…”

“What about the Phoenix feather? What does it do?” Magdalene asked, as her father took a seat on the chair next to her, and her mother stepped close behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“The Phoenix feather is the rarest of wand cores. You must understand that each wand has a magical animal part inside. Unicorn hair and dragon heartstring are commonly used. And then, there comes the Phoenix feather.” He began, but was interrupted by her gasp.

“Unicorns and dragons exist?” She marvelled, more to herself than for anyone’s interest.

“They are, yes. But not to worry, no dragons are allowed anywhere near Hogwarts.” Professor Flitwick added the latter part in order to quell the worry that had taken over the parents’ features.

Ollivander quickly hid his irritation at the interruption and continued. “Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the fussiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.”

“Will that mean that I’m going to have more difficulties than someone with a Unicorn hair wand?” Magdalene worried, biting her bottom lip.

“No. However, this wand puts pressure on you to accomplish great things, Miss Middleton. Great things indeed. I suggest you came back next year, when you’re next in Diagon Alley, for me to see if the wand is truly adequate or if it is a mere fluke.”

And she did. She went back to Ollivander’s every year since, making sure that her wand was nowhere near bursting into flames. Ollivander had been quite intrigued to know that she had been sorted into Slytherin, but she thought nothing of it. That day, there was already a client and Magdalene would recognise that mass of dirty blonde hair anywhere.

“Good morning, Luna. Mr. Ollivander,” she greeted, nodding at the old man.

“Oh, good morning Maggie,” Luna greeted her softly. “You’re coming back to Hogwarts for your N.E. ?”

“Yep!” She confirmed, making the ‘p’ pop.

“Did you lose your wand?” She inquired with a tilt of her head.

Mr. Ollivander beat Magdalene at answering. “No, it would never happen to little Miss Middleton, right here. Each start of year, she comes to my store to make me check her wand. She is very careful with it; the wand’s allegiance to her is unbreakable as I tell her each year.”

“Thank you for believing in me, the first time I came here. It has proven a stronger ally than I could have dreamed of,” she said and leaned back on the counter. “What about you, Luna? Any wand problems?”

“No, it’s just that the new one doesn’t work like my first wand, I need to test other wands. Wand lore seems like a fascinating subject,” she murmured as she examined the wand that she had in hand.

“I think so too, maybe I’ll open a Middleton’s,” Magdalene mused, “it would be the most gratifying work that exists, seeing all those fascinated eleven year olds trying out their first wands…”

“I think so too,” she muttered distractedly before flicking a new wand, making a clumsy Patronus of what might have looked like a bunny appear.

“Not this one, then?” Ollivander asked as he put down Magdalene’s wand on the counter.

Just then, the bell rang and three blond heads entered: a young man, a young woman, and a middle-aged woman. All of them were wearing chic, expensive clothing. Magdalene recognised them as the Malfoys, minus the father. She would have liked to express her discontent to the Malfoy son but his mother had always intimidated her, and his cousin might just tear out her throat or worse. She turned to Luna for them not to see her face.

“Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise!” Ollivander greeted them, abandoning his search for a potential wand for the blonde Ravenclaw. “How can I help you?”

Draco got closer to the counter and spoke before his mother. “I need a wand, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Do you, boy?” He muttered without further questioning it.

“Similar to my first one in shape, if possible.” His voice sounded strained.

“Of course, of course let me just…” he trailed off, disappearing behind newly stocked shelves.

“Hey, Loony,” Victoria chimed smugly, “wand problems?”

“Oh, not as big as Draco’s but, yes,” she absentmindedly replied, unaware of Malfoy’s sarcasm.

“Isn’t this dear Middleton, though?” She teased, poking the girl’s shoulder.

Maggie readied her forced smile and turned around —Narcissa was probably waiting for them outside— “Hello, Victoria,” she said sweetly, “how are you by this oh-so good morning?”

“Feeling just as murderous as you must be,” she fumed, earning a sneer from the boy.

Magdalene raised an eyebrow at Draco before speaking to Victoria. “I see he’s told you what his smart mouth brought on us.”

“Oh, yes,” she ranted, “I nearly killed him.”

“We’ve got business to attend to, Victoria, if you don’t mind.” Draco narrowed his eyes at his cousin

“So what?” She shrugged, earning a glare. “Don’t you glare at me, Draco Malfoy, I can use magic at Hogwarts and you won’t like what you’ll see.”

He merely blinked at her. “Really? What’s the worst that you can do? Stun me to death?”

“I can try,” she persisted with a decisive nod.

“Will you try these, sir?” Ollivander interrupted them, putting five long rectangular boxes on the counter.

Draco tried wand after wand and then examined every single one closely before lifting up the shortest.

“What is this made of?” Draco asked.

“Hawthorn and Dragon heartstring, sir.”

“How long does it take to make a wand?” Maggie interjected, making all eyes turn to her.

“About three weeks, Miss,” he responded.

“Make a wand identical to his first and send it to Hogwarts, he’ll try both and send the less effective back to you, if that’s all right with you,” she requested.

Ollivander nodded slowly. “This might work, though I’ll need to find a good enough unicorn for the hair. And I do believe the tree I got the wood from is still standing…” he trailed off, putting away the four other wands.

“How do you know so much about wands?” Victoria asked, while Draco fished for Galleons in his robes.

“I took wand lore in sixth year,” Magdalene explained. “Is my wand all right, sir?”

“Of course, of course young lady. You may have it back.”

“Thanks, I’m rather late; in fact I should be going.” She grabbed her wand. “Later, Luna. I’ll see you next year, Mr. Ollivander.” She turned to the other two and nodded “Malfoys.”

“Later, Middleton,” Victoria nodded her farewell.

She exited the shop and continued her shopping while the Malfoys went to look for new cloaks. Victoria, as usual, was easy to satisfy. Draco, on the other hand, acted like Draco Malfoy.

“This cloak is too wide,” he complained, widening his arms like a bat.

“For heaven’s sake, Draco, it’s a cloak!” Victoria whined.

“A cloak that makes me look half-giant,” he reiterated.

“Don’t be such a baby, come on we’ll miss the train now!” She hissed menacingly.

He ignored her pointedly. “It’s only nine forty-five.”

“We still have to go to Flourish & Blotts’ and get potions supplies, you insufferable—!”

“Language,” the warning came from both mother and son.

“Sorry, Aunt Cissy, but you’ll be okay with me saying that he’s making a fuss out of nothing.” she stated matter-of-factly.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you are being insufferable today, Draco.” Narcissa remarked, a half-apologetic glint in her eyes.

He pressed his lips together. “Fine, these are fine, then,” he surrendered.

“Thank Merlin it’s over!” Victoria gloated on their way out, earning a glare from Draco.

The rest of the morning went without further events, and the three Malfoys arrived at the platform at ten minutes to eleven. Draco scanned the crowd, looking for Blaise or Pansy, while Victoria looked for Daphne and Theo. When the time came to embark, and neither had found their peers, they settled on saying their farewells to Narcissa.

Narcissa took Victoria aside. “Be safe, all right? And please, be there for Draco. He will never admit it, but he needs all the support he can get.”

“I will, Aunt Cissy,” Victoria murmured, out of Draco’s earshot.

Narcissa placed a hand on her niece’s left cheek. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“We’ll miss you even more,” she replied before kissing the top of her head. “Try and visit Andromeda, please… You only have each other now, and there’s no reason to hold on to that old quarrel. Not to mention that if Uncle Lucius’s trial goes wrong, you’ll have somewhere to go if they decide to seize the Manor.”

Narcissa studied her niece before giving her a slow nod and a hug. She then approached her son with nearly the same instructions she had just given to Victoria.

“I love you,” he whispered finally.

“I love you too, I love you both,” she murmured. “Go now, you don’t want to be late.”

Draco held out his arm for Victoria. “It’s now or never, if you want to back out,” he challenged.

She grabbed the crease of his elbow determinedly. “You wish,” she retorted.

They hop into the train, Draco leading the way, looking for familiar faces. They end up settling on a seemingly empty compartment.

“Where do you think Blaise is?” Victoria asked.

Before Draco could answer, and as she sat down, a black cat hissed at the both of them, making Victoria give out a squeak and Draco curse under his breath. That cat, they recognised to be Magdalene’s, since it had spent most of its life in the Slytherin common room.

“What the bloody hell is this fleabag doing here?!” Victoria snapped, making the cat leave the compartment.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were the pacifist one?”

“Not when a cat surprises my behind, thank you very much,” she protested, dusting her white trousers of cat hair. Hearing a snort, she glared at Draco, “Help me, instead of mocking me, you useless twat!”

Just as he pulled out his wand, the compartment opened to reveal Blaise and Magdalene coming in, their arms charged with sweets. They stopped abruptly, making a liquorice wand and two Chocolate Frog boxes fall on the floor. For the Malfoys, that was a sight to behold: Blaise Zabini, the most poised and aristocratic Slytherin in their year, joking around with the Muggle-Born who was the most out-of-place in their common room, their arms overflowing with candy and the trace of laughter still on their faces. The latter pair was just as shocked to witness the Malfoys in their compartment, Victoria displaying her backside to Draco who had his wand out.

“Well… This could have gone much better.” Blaise stated, taking a seat near the window, facing Draco, and unloading his arms to his right.

“Where’s Shyvana?” Magdalene asked, looking around for her cat.

“Your fleabag almost ruined my designer robes. This vest is cashmere, Middleton, if I see one black hair on it, you’ll have to reimburse it,” Victoria thundered, pulling out her own wand and attempting to Scrougify her trousers.

Maggie raised her eyebrows at the statement and dropped her load atop Blaise’s, in the middle of the seat. She then tiptoed to retrieve her trunk and shouldered her bag.

“What exactly are you doing?” Blaise asked, glaring at Draco’s disapproving look.

“I’m going to look for Shyvana.” She stated simply, struggling to lift her trunk.

“And you need your luggage because..?” He trailed off, standing up.

“Because I’m going to settle wherever my cat went.”

“And why is that?” Victoria demanded, sitting next to Draco and helping herself to a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“Because it is easier to leave than to kick intruders out of the compartment that I found.” Magdalene snapped bitterly.

“You’ll do no such thing, Maggie.” Blaise stated calmly.

“Maggie?” Both Malfoys repeated, flummoxed.

“Magdalene found the compartment, invited me to stay with her, and suggested that we caught up with the trolley lady to have a sweet feast. We were on our way back when you lot started complaining about cat hair and cashmere.”

Blaise had never sounded so… emotional. The Zabini heir was always composed and passive, and this was uncharacteristic behaviour. He turned to Maggie, who was still trying to fit her trunk out the partially opened door and levitated the trunk out of her grasp and back into the compartment. She glared at him and he gave her a stern look, which made her sit down opposite Victoria, who looked completely unbothered, albeit confused by the situation. Draco hid his shock well, but questioned Blaise with his squinting eyes.

“Your cat will come back, it always does,” Blaise murmured reassuringly as he handed her a Chocolate Frog.

“You owe me, Zabini.” She pouted, but still accepted the sweet that she began munching on, like an upset toddler.

Blaise stifled a snort as he turned to Draco. “What?”

“Since when are you two so cosy with one another?” Victoria spoke the words out of Draco’s mind.

“Since… third year, was it?” Blaise frowned at Magdalene when she ignored him. He tsk'ed and nodded at the blond pair. “Yes, since third year.”

“And you never thought to mention it?” Draco spat bitterly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be so bitter, Draco, here have a liquorice wand,” Victoria cooed mockingly, dangling a wand under his nose.

Blaise snorted in amusement, knowing that Draco would die before he brought a liquorice wand anywhere near his taste buds again. It had become common knowledge one night, when they were seven that Draco and liquorice never matched.

October 31st, 1987

Blaise had always loved visiting his paternal grandfather, if for nothing else than he knew he’d always be welcome at the Zabini manor despite what his mother had most certainly done to his father. That year, young Blaise had managed to convince his grandfather to invite his friends over for Halloween, and so it was that the Malfoys, the Greengrass girls, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson were running around the Zabini estate, collecting as much sweets as they could. Since the estate was nowhere near having neighbours, the sweets had been hidden in the maze-like gardens by the house elves. With the last piece of candy in tow, they all retreated to Blaise’s room to compare and swap their findings.

“Hey, I have an idea!” Theo exclaimed as he removed a grass blade from yet another pack of Every Flavour Beans. “How about we put together all of our beans with weird colours, like grey, and stuff, and we dare each other to eat one?”

“But that would be stupid and disgusting,” Victoria remarked, opening a Chocolate Frog. “I got Merlin again, who wants to swap?”

“Me!” Astoria Greengrass chimed, “I got Salazar Slytherin again, I’ve got six of him already.”

“Done! I almost got all four founders, I’m only missing—”

Draco interrupted her. “What do we win if we can eat every weird bean we get?”

Theo pondered for a moment before his eyes snapped back to reality. “If you can’t swallow it whole, you have to put one of your sweets in the middle, and if you can, you can take whichever one you want from the middle until we finish them.”

And so the game began. Victoria and Daphne suffered the most losses, while Draco and Theo displayed their winnings proudly. The game went on until only two identical beans remained. They were black, glistening with challenge.

Theodore and Draco never left each other’s eyes as each one lifted a bean. “What’d you think?” Draco smirked. “I’d say sewer.”

“Rat fur.” Theo challenged.

“Three… Two… One… EAT!” The onlookers did the countdown and were astonished to see opposing reactions.

Theo looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed the taste. Draco, on the other hand, was all but scraping his tongue and nearly crying with disgust.

“What did he get? Was it sewer?”

“No, it was clearly rat’s fur, look at his face!”

Blaise took one of the empty boxes and read the taste guide. After scanning the paper briefly, he roared with laughter. Piqued by curiosity, Victoria tore the paper from his hand, and soon joined him, and they were both in tears by the time everyone learned that Draco had made a fool of himself for a liquorice-flavoured bean. Theo claimed that that had always been his sweetest victory, and Draco would resent anyone who brought back that memory.

September 1st, 1998

Blaise smirked at the memory before replying to Draco’s last question. “Had I mentioned it, you would have forfeited a lifetime of friendship over petty prejudices.”

Draco fumed in his corner, slouching in his seat and watching the landscapes fly by as the train sped to Scotland. Victoria noticed that tension that threatened to settle and quickly thought of an idea.

“Blaise,” she spoke. He turned to her and noticed the gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Want to play with beans?”

Blaise’s smirk grew into a wide grin. “Only if you manage to get Draco to play.”

The latter huffed, and Magdalene seemed suddenly interested. “How’d you play with beans?”

“We put all the suspicious-looking ones in the middle and take turns eating them. If we can’t swallow them whole, we have to relinquish one of our sweets, and if we can, we get to take one of the losses. It’s a game full of stories, and a good way to bond.” Blaise added the last fact eyeing Draco meaningfully.

“Draco, how about you played with us?” Victoria suggested mock-innocently.

He raised an eyebrow at her as though meaning to say “Really?” and turned back to the window.

“Malfoy is too scared to play,” Magdalene stated, as she opened a pack of beans and selected those for the game.

“Do you genuinely believe that this is going to work on me? You can challenge a Gryffindor that way, not me.” He huffed.

“Of course, because you’re much better, moping like a child.” Magdalene mused.

The three willing players took turns playing, Victoria relinquishing one good bean when she found herself eating an earwax-flavoured horror, and when Draco’s turn came, everyone turned to him expectantly.

“What?” He hissed.

“Come on, don’t be such a prick,” Victoria encouraged, handing him a white bean.

Draco eyed the bean suspiciously before surrendering and tearing it from Victoria’s hand. He chewed it tentatively before nodding. “Vanilla.”

“Now was that so hard?” Blaise teased.

“Sod off.”

And so, the unlikely friends played on until they arrived at Hogwarts, and the group split into two once they left the train.

A/N: About the wand stuff that Ollivander said in the first flashback, I took the information from my own wand in Pottermore, and some sentences I copied verbatim. So, yeah, I hope you enjoyed the long chapter.

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Five:

The train arrived at its destination at nightfall, as usual. Magdalene found her cat waiting for her on the platform. They followed Blaise to the carriages and found one waiting for them. Unsurprisingly, they could also see the Thestral pulling the carriage.

Magdalene’s eyes widened. “What in the name of Salazar is that?”

“That’s a Thestral.” A familiar voice chimed in. Luna approached them, and then went to pet the beast.

“Um excuse me, but aren’t they supposed to be dangerous?” Magdalene asked, trying to keep her composure.

“No. They’re feared because only people who have seen death can see them. But they’re harmless, otherwise.” Luna explained as she fed the Thestral a slice of raw meat.

Magdalene eyed the pair suspiciously. “Right. I’m hungry, though, so let’s head to Hogwarts.”

Blaise suppressed a grin at Magdalene’s nervousness and hopped into the carriage. They waited for five minutes until the last students, who happened to be Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, joined them. The conversations during the ride happened between Magdalene and Luna, and Blaise with his two childhood friends. They split with Luna when they got to the Great Hall and found empty spots on the Slytherin benches, not far from the Malfoys, who stayed at the back, away from the rest.

The Deputy Headmaster, Professor Slughorn, took the responsibility of the Sorting Ceremony, thus welcoming six new Slytherin students, ten Gryffindors, nine Ravenclaws, and fifteen Hufflepuffs. Theo made a snide remark about the high number of Hufflepuffs, making anyone within earshot roll their eyes. He grinned widely nonetheless, proud of his wit. As Professor Slughorn then announced, Hermione Granger was then named Head Girl, and, to his surprise, Blaise Zabini was named Head Boy.

“Why are you so surprised?” Magdalene asked, after the cheers died down at the Slytherin table.

“It should be Draco, he’s always behind Granger and I’m always behind him, in our studies.” Blaise murmured, eyeing Draco over Maggie’s head.

“Maybe he declined the offer?” Magdalene offered, unsure.

Blaise pursed his lips and nodded stiffly. “Maybe… I’ll have to ask him.”

Magdalene nodded and turned to the front of the room to find Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, giving a speech.

“And now, the master of ceremony and previous winner of the Triwizard Tournament is going to tell all the newcomers about the Tournament.”

Just then, Harry Potter walked from Gryffindor table to stand next to McGonagall. Cheers erupted from Gryffindor table. He introduced the Triwizard Tournament in quite the same way as Dumbledore had, years ago, and he told the students about the same age restriction. A plan began forming in Magdalene’s head, which would help her financially once she was out of Hogwarts. She had zoned out, her gaze trained on Potter, when she felt a nudge on her right arm. She turned to see Theo, leaning down to whisper to her.

“We need to have a talk before going back to the common room.”

“Will you explain to me why you’ve been acting weirdly since I got back to Hogwarts last year?” She asked challengingly.

He swallowed hard. “Something like that.”

***

Theodore Nott had a secret, one he was hoping to keep for as long as he could. Ever since receiving an owl from his father upon Middleton’s return to Hogwarts in the year that had Snape as headmaster. It was January 1998 and Hogwarts had never felt so unwelcoming. Theo, though he tried to hide it, had never wanted to be farther away from the castle. He had been at the breakfast table, Slytherin table being the fullest of all four, just like the Slytherin hourglass. Anything was an opportunity to dock points from Gryffindor, mostly. Suddenly, a dark-feathered owl swooped right over Slytherin table and dropped a folded piece of parchment destined for Theo. He opened it, and upon reading its contents, his life changed. What was written about Magdalene Middleton made him treat her differently.

As Filch singlehandedly led all of Slytherin House to the dungeons, Theodore kept his eyes trained on Middleton’s back. He never broke eye contact with her dark hair until he felt a smaller hand slip into his, and he looked to his right at Nancy Burke, his 6th year on and off girlfriend, who looked terrified. He squeezed her hand once and looked back up only to find that Middleton had disappeared. His head whipped left, right, and back. She was nowhere to be seen, and a lump had begun to form in Theodore’s throat.

He spent their entire forty-five minutes of being locked looking for her without arousing suspicion among his housemates, but to no avail. When the gate of their cell blew up, he wasted no time in running out, leaving Nancy with her friends to deal with her. He had to find her.

He dodged spells and hexes and just as he tried looking in the greenhouses, he collided violently with the most familiar person he could: Draco Malfoy. And he just so happened to be with Magdalene Middleton.

“What’s going on with you lot?” Theo asked, panting.

“What’s it look like?” Middleton retorted, already meaning to escape their company.

“We’re going to check on Blaise, he was Stunned before we had time to run away.” Draco explained, and the three of them marched towards the corridor in which Blaise was still unconscious.

Magdalene ran towards Zabini and knelt at his side, hyperventilating. She fussed over his pulse and breathing, and Theo would never be able to place the feeling that knotted his stomach at the sight. He knelt beside her and pulled out her wand.

“Rennervate!”

“What the bloody hell happened?” Blaise sputtered, blinking several times before rubbing his eyelids hard.

“You got Stunned.” Magdalene declared simply. She fixed the collar of his white shirt and the knot of his tie.

“Oh. Okay.” He replied sheepishly.

“Come on; let’s get you out of here.” Magdalene helped Zabini up.

“We all need out,” Theo remarked, eyeing Magdalene meaningfully.

“I need to find Victoria,” Draco spoke urgently, “we need to get to Zabini Manor, it’s the only place where we’ll be safe, we need to find them all and take them there.”

“And I’m the only one who can get you through the wards.”

“I’ll help you—”

Theo interrupted Middleton’s volunteering. “No, you need to leave. You’re Muggle-Born, they’ll let you out easier than us, we need to find Slughorn to be able to leave.”

“I need to find him too, not everyone knows I’m Muggle-Born—”

Theodore’s temper got the better of him and he grabbed her roughly by the arm. He dragged her off to the seventh floor where they found Ginny Weasley and Tonks, the Auror.

“She needs to get out of here.” He announced, finally releasing the struggling teen.

“Why? Afraid her relatives might find her?” Weasley sneered, eyeing Magdalene distastefully.

“She’s Muggle-Born, you little—”

“Hey, cool it, you two. Okay, we’ll take her to Aberforth.” Tonks pacified, opening the closet she had just come out from. “Climb through the portrait and continue until the end, you’ll meet Aberforth Dumbledore.”

“I need—”

“For Salazar’s sake, Middleton, just get the hell out of here!” Theo bellowed, making Tonks raise an eyebrow.

“I want an explanation, Nott.” She said decisively before surrendering and penetrating the Room of Requirement.

Even then, Theo knew that the explanation would take months, if not years, to come. How could he possibly tell Middleton about the contents of that letter? He took Middleton aside.

“You don’t know everything about your ancestry.”

“Could you be any more vague?” She asked sarcastically.

“Just don’t think you know everything about your parents.” He hissed, his breathing hitting her face.

The mention of his parents made her face light up with grief. “Don’t talk about my parents, ever again.” She hissed venomously, earning her green tie stereotype.

His features softened, just like his grip on her arm. “I’m sorry… I… I know what happened, I just… There’s stuff that you need to know, and your mum didn’t have time to tell you.”

“How would you know the first thing about my mum and what she needed to tell me?” Magdalene hissed, holding his gaze.

“I know more than you, and more than you can even imagine. Just be careful whom you meddle with.” Theodore warned before stomping to his dormitory.

                                                         ***

Meanwhile, Victoria stuck to Draco who had been earning glares ever since they had gotten inside the castle. She knew that everyone secretly despised him for her uncle’s actions, and what Draco had been forced to do for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. At some point, they walked into Goyle, but even he, their childhood friend, was acting odd toward Draco. A glare from Victoria made him flee their company as the blonde sympathetically tightened her grip on her cousin’s arm. She looked up at him as he glared into space, his expression overly mysterious. She frowned but decided to let him sleep on it before asking her questions, she knew not to overwhelm him with questions. He said the password to the Slytherin common room, and got inside still holding his cousin’s hand tightly to his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked nonetheless.

He gave her a tired look. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

She gave it a thought as other Slytherins squeezed past her. “I guess most of it can,” she muttered finally.

He smirked feebly. “Most?” He repeated.

“I actually have a scheme of questions for you, but one of them can’t wait until tomorrow. Can I?” She asked, giving him a rare toothy grin.

He chuckled. “Of course”

She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”

His slight grin disappeared for confusion to settle. “Of course I am, why would you ask?”

“I have eyes, Draco. I see how everyone is looking at you,” she murmured, putting a hand over his arm.

He eyed her hand curiously; she almost never made physical contact. “And may I know how they’re looking at me?”

She noticed his glance and withdrew her hand before muttering almost silently, “They’re looking at you like you’re the Dark Lord…”

To her greatest surprise, he snorted. “That’s it? The contrary would have surprised me greatly, Vicky. I’ve been preparing for this the entire summer, it doesn’t bother me the tiniest bit, I swear,” he reassured her, putting both hands on her slumped shoulders, a peaceful smile on his face. “Will you stop worrying so much, now?”

She shrugged his hands off her and straightened her composure before draining her face of emotion. “Who said I was worrying? I’m just curious, don’t overestimate yourself,” she walked away from him toward the girls’ dormitory.

He smiled and muttered, “So very true, Miss Malfoy,” before going to the boys’ dormitory himself.

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Six:

One Month Later

The next few weeks, everybody kept talking about the Tournament and who they thought was going to put in their name, or whose name would come out. That morning, Magdalene sat alone at Slytherin table. It was the first day of October and she had had trouble sleeping ever since coming back to Hogwarts. Consequently, she was always the first Slytherin at the table. That morning, she was spreading butter on toast with Shyvana purring by her side. She was just about to get a first bite when someone tapped on her right shoulder, stopping her in mid-chunk to her great frustration.

“Malfoy.” Magdalene greeted, her mouth full.

The blonde grunted in response. "Just hand me some of that,” she snatched the bit toast from the aggravated redhead as she was preparing to bite in it again.

Magdalene’s mouth gaping, with her hand still placed as if she were holding an invisible toast, learned that Victoria was not a morning person. Not before breakfast, at least, for she started talking after a few mouthfuls of toast and coffee.

“What’s in our schedule?” She asked.

“A month in, and you still don’t know that we don’t have the same specifics. I have wand lore and you have Herbology.” Magdalene spoke, unused to being so casual with the female Malfoy.

“Swell,” Victoria drawled. “It’s today, you know.”

“What’s today?” Magdalene asked, buttering another toast she was hoping to eat.

“Don’t act silly, it doesn’t suit you.” Victoria scoffed. “The French and the Bulgarians are coming today. And so will the Goblet of Fire.”

Magdalene nodded slowly. “All right, what does it have to do with me?”

Victoria raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You need to learn Occlumency, Middleton.”

“You used Legilimency on me?!” Magdalene thundered, the butter knife she was holding piercing the innocent toast.

“Taking lessons from your Death Eater relatives, Malfoy?” Michael Corner sneered from Ravenclaw table, where he overheard Magdalene’s bellow.

Victoria fought the urge to turn around, but new veins appeared on the back of the hand that held her fork.

“Eavesdropping, Corner?” Magdalene asked as Pansy and Daphne sat on either side of Victoria.

“Don’t talk so loudly if you don’t wanna be overheard, and I just defended your Muggle-Born arse.” He retorted coldly, turning his eyes back to his Daily Prophet as though nothing had happened.

Magdalene looked around for teachers. Satisfied she would not be spotted; she pulled out her wand and sent a wordless spell in his direction. After five minutes of wordless breakfast, the four Slytherins heard a thud from Ravenclaw table and those who weren’t facing the sound turned around to watch Corner struggling to get off of the bench. He cast an alarmed glance at the green-clad group of girls, the blonde of whom had a slight smirk.

“You did that!” He sneered.

Magdalene raised her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall asked, noticing the struggling Ravenclaw and the smirking Slytherins.

“Professor, she used a Sticking Charm on me.”

“He made rude and unwelcome remarks about my housemate.” Magdalene explained calmly as she ran the butter knife over the previously-stabbed toast.

McGonagall pursed her lips as she regarded Corner and then the quiet Slytherins. “I see.” She flicked her wand at Corner, who was struggling to reach his wand, which was too far to his right. The momentum of his pull made him fling himself over the table, knocking his cup of juice over in the process.

Magdalene stifled a snort at the sight, but straightened her features as the headmistress turned to look at her. “You won’t get points for this, Miss Middleton.”

She swallowed. “Yes, Professor.”

McGonagall gave one, distasteful glance towards Corner before forging ahead to her seat. Parkinson, who had never felt particularly warmly towards Magdalene, raised her eyebrows with what seemed to be surprise. Victoria’s smirk was revived at hearing Corner curse behind her and storm out of the Great Hall, shouldering Draco on his way out. Magdalene cringed at the inevitable confrontation, but Malfoy merely tightened his jaw, earning a new vein on his temple. He sat a little ways from the Slytherin girls, grabbing a cup and drinking.

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Victoria asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Don’t mention it. And stay out of my mind, that’ll be enough.” Magdalene requested, though it sounded more like instructions.

Victoria gave one nod as she went to join her cousin. Magdalene listened to Pansy and Daphne’s small talk as she continued to have breakfast.

Victoria sat to Draco’s right and made him turn to face her, so that she could fix his tie.

“I’d like it if you told me before depriving me from breakfast for this,” he grunted, rather annoyed.

“You are not going to go about this castle looking like a homeless Muggle,” she declared before attacking his hair. “By the way, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students will be coming tonight.”

He nodded absently as Theo came to sit across from them. “I need coffee, where’s coffee?”

“Do you mind?” Victoria asked, fuming.

Theo rolled his eyes and left the table for a more welcoming spot. They ate and drank silently for the most part; he then grabbed a muffin and started spreading fig jam on its surface. He was nearly done when Victoria snatched it from him as well and, before he could protest, put a plump yellow apple in front of him. He gave her a disdainful look.

“What?” She objected, “You wouldn’t want to get fat, now would you?”

“Would you?” He retorted challengingly, still eyeing his muffin.

She shrugged, taking a generous mouthful, chewing patiently, and swallowing. “It’s like you live on another planet, sometimes,” she remarked. “You haven’t noticed that no matter how I eat this is how I will always look.”

“No I haven’t, you spend so much time buying new clothes that I started believing that you have weight problems,” he sassed, earning an elbow in the ribs, which made him wince.

“How’s that for weight problems?” She said emotionlessly.

“What’s our first class?” He asked before biting into his apple.

“Herbology,” she said, “your favourite.”

“Oh yeah,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Come on, now. You don’t want to be late for your first class, I understand you’re so fond of studies and such,” she sassed, reminding him whose fault it was that she was at Hogwarts.

“You do like Quidditch,” he supplied with a hopeful grin.

“There’s the Tournament this year, genius. No Quidditch.” She reminded him, regarding her cousin with disdain.

“Oops.” His interjection was completely unaffected whatsoever.

                                                    ***

That evening, at the feast, McGonagall introduced the two guest schools. Much like in their fourth year, the entrances were laced in theatrics. The Beauxbatons students sat at Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables while their Durmstrang counterparts joined the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Magdalene noticed Corner trying, and failing, to flirt with an attractive Swedish-looking girl who looked part-Veela. Blaise chose to sit beside Magdalene, with little conversation between them. When Potter, McGonagall, Madame Maxime, and Professor Gregorovitch (the late wand maker’s brother and the replacement for Karkaroff) introduced the Goblet of Fire and the Triwizard Cup (which was the same that Potter had won four years prior), they reminded the Hogwarts students of the age restriction. This was met with heated objections all over again, but McGonagall silenced them and allowed Potter to remind every eligible student that the names would be retrieved from the Goblet a month from then, on Halloween.

Back in the Slytherin common room, and after showing the Durmstrang students to their guest dormitories, Blaise sat at the fireplace near Magdalene. She was playing with Shyvana, who had elected to lie down on her chest.

“How are things, Head Boy?” She teased.

“I’m exhausted. Thank Salazar no one gets to sleep in Crabbe’s old bed. It would’ve been awkward to have someone else in the room instead of him.”

“Yeah, it would feel inappropriate.” She sympathised, running her forefinger around Shyvana’s jaw from her ear.

“Maggie?” His call sounded hesitant.

“Hm?”

“Is it true you want to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Blaise asked, making Magdalene stop mid-stroke.

“Where did you hear that?” She asked suspiciously.

“Victoria’s right, you need to learn Occlumency.”

“Salazar’s saggy bollocks, Blaise!” She exclaimed, making a second year boy snort back his tea.

Blaise tried and failed to fight the smile that won over his lips. “This is one I’ve never heard.”

“Don’t make me throw the cat at you; you had no right to use Legilimency on me. It’s illegal.”

“That’s not what you told Victoria this morning,” he observed, reaching for a book that Magdalene Accio’d out of sheer spite. He scowled.

“I would have had time to tell her if that Corner arse didn’t think it ever so wise to interfere.” She assured him.

He stood up from his couch and walked over to hers, calmly retrieving the book from her hand, and she giving in with no protest. He let a few minutes stretch in silence, listening to the fire crackle, before drawing in a deep breath.

“Please don’t do it.”

“If you spent so much time in my mind, you’d know my reasons. The least you could do is to be supportive. We’re not even sure it’s going to spit out my name.” She spoke rapidly, hoping to convince him not to oppose her. He was the only friendship she was sure of, since she had grown distant from Luna.

“Oh, you vant to put yor name in ze Goblet?” A Durmstrang student asked, interest lacing his thickly accentuated voice. He sat in the armchair between the couches and facing the fireplace; either completely unaware or uncaring that he had interrupted their conversation. “I am Sven Malkovitch. I come from Bulgaria.”

“Never would’ve guessed,” Blaise muttered, taking his book to his dormitory and leaving Magdalene to deal with the tourist on her own.

She decided to play the childish card and lifted up Shyvana. “This is Shyvana and she doesn’t like strangers.”

With that, she stood up and took her cat to her dormitory, which was thankfully full and admitted no Durmstrang student. She flopped on her bed and rolled her spare Slytherin scarf into a bed for Shyvana, under her own. Parkinson was working on an essay for what Magdalene guessed was Potions while Victoria, whose bed was directly to Magdalene’s right, was reading.

“I know that book.” She stated, looking at the book cover that showed a house in stormy countryside.

Victoria took a brief glance at the cover of the book she was reading and eyed Middleton suspiciously. “All right?”

“My mother likes it.” She stated simply, unbuttoning her cardigan.

“Good for you.”

“Isn’t your mum a Muggle, Middleton?” Parkinson asked, looking up from her flattened scroll of parchment.

“She is, and so is the book.”

Parkinson peered at Victoria over her reading glasses. “Interesting.”

“The war is over, Parkinson, get over yourself.” Victoria snapped, closing her book noisily and Banishing it with her wand.

Parkinson shrugged. “All I’m saying…” she trailed off, as she got back to her homework.

Magdalene noticed Daphne Greengrass, who was always (along with Tracy Davis) the most pacific presence in the dormitory, was playing with Shyvana. For all the years that Magdalene had owned the cat, she concluded that her pet was an excellent judge of character. If Shyvana liked someone, then the person was good company; end of.

Magdalene shut her curtains and cast a Silencing Charm, but sleep never came. It never did, in Hogwarts, ever since she was forced to come back after that fateful December of 1997.

                                                      ***

Magdalene’s hand was shaking as she struggled to fit the key in the keyhole of the place she had called home until then. Pushing the door, she could swear that creaking had never been there before. She fought back the knots forming in her throat as she made her way to the living room. She shed her Hogwarts cloak on the couch, not caring the least bit that it slid off to the paved floor. Nothing mattered anymore. She went to her room where Shyvana slept peacefully; blissfully unaware of how tragic a turn her mistress’s life had taken in the last forty-eight hours.

Two days prior, she was on the run from Death Eaters and Snatchers, then working with the Ministry in the Muggle-Born Registration Offices. She had stuck to Dean Thomas, a Gryffindor, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff she had had a few pleasant interactions with before the war forced them into hiding. Their only source of news was a clandestine radio channel called Potterwatch, which communicated news on the Potter-side of the war, rather than ratting out Muggle-Borns to Snatchers. That night, the password for the radio was Padfoot, and Justin had just tapped his wand against the radio that the list of names started pouring out of the speaker. All three of them waited, dreaded, in anxious silence for names they recognised.

And then it happened.

“And lastly, two Muggles named John and Ivy Middleton were found dead in their apartment in Grays, Muggle authorities spoke of heart attacks and poisoning, but the proofs are apparent: They were murdered by Death Eaters, because their daughter is Muggle-Born. Her whereabouts remain unknown—”

A strangled sob tore through her throat as her attention left the radio. She spent the next hour alternating between crying heart-wrenching sobs to ricking back and forth, hugging her knees, trying to convince herself what she had just heard was a trick of her imagination. Dean and Justin knew better than to interfere or try to calm her down. They were fairly confident the wards they had set around their encampment were strong enough that she could let her emotions fly safely.

However, they protested when she started gathering her things.

“It’s too dangerous, they did it to taunt you into coming out, Maggie!” Justin insisted, holding her wand high, out of her reach.

“Give me my bloody wand!” She screeched, burning her throat, uncaring of the sob that mixed in with her scream. She jumped, but he was much taller than she was.

“They’re doing this to round up Muggle-Borns, please understand I’m keeping you here for your safety!”

“He’s right; you’d be doing them a favour by returning.” Dean reasoned, but she shook her head.

“If I don’t claim their bodies, they’re going to be buried where I can’t find them. Or— Or worse, they’ll be incinerated and I won’t be able to—I have to, you’d do the same if it were your mum, Dean! Please, let me go, I’ll be fine on my own!” She gave up resisting his grip on her arm and threw herself in his arms to sob until her heart felt numb. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to comfort her and hopefully rub away any more ideas of going into Muggle London.

He had obviously failed, as Magdalene changed from her funeral clothes. She had arrived the day before, and found that her parents’ friends had claimed the bodies in her absence. They said that they had tried to telephone to her boarding school but they did not find a number to there. She nodded absently, numbly. Her mother’s high school friend had brought her food, but they both knew it was going to go to waste. Eating was the last thing on her mind.

Magdalene realised with a cynical snort that her parents were murdered on December 24th and proceeded to tear away at the Christmas tree that stood, arrogantly festive in the living room. Her hands were webbed with cuts from the needles and garlands, and she was certain a shard of glass was embedded in her palm. She glided like a ghost to her parents’ bedroom and lied, facedown, on their bed. She inhaled the remains of their scent from their pillows, but it was faint. As though her mother had changed the beddings the day before she died. For the first time in days, Magdalene gave in to sleep, hugging a pillow with both arms and legs.

That was, until she heard the sordidly familiar ‘snap’ of Apparition coming from the corridor. She gasped and jumped from her parents’ bed. She looked around for her wand frantically, before remembering that it was in her bedroom. Thankfully, it was adjacent. She grabbed a photo of her parents as children, in case she needed to flee her apartment, and ran to her bedroom. She grabbed Shyvana and unceremoniously threw her into the duffel bag that she had not unpacked from her days with Justin and Dean. She located her wand on her bedside table and waited anxiously in her room. She mentally cursed herself for forgetting to set up wards.

“I thought you said they were Muggles, Scabior?” A male voice demanded.

“That’s what Avery told me. You wanna take it out on someone, well, choose him. I follow orders, Nott.”

Avery.

Nott.

Familiar names. Magdalene cursed the Sorting Hat for putting her in such a House. She held her wand at the ready when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She eyed her broomstick, leaning against the wall, behind her door. She briefly considered taking it but all projects flew away as the door banged open. She refused to take in the features of the people who were most likely responsible for the murder of her parents.

“Well, well.” Scabior murmured as he saw the Slytherin articles of clothing littering the floor. “I told you there were Mudbloods in Slytherin. They just know not to advertise it.”

The other man (Nott, she figured) remained silent. He looked shocked at her sight. He looked as though he’d seen her die before and met her again in that messy room.

“Ivy.” He muttered, unintelligibly to Scabior and clear as day to Magdalene.

Instinctively, her gaze fell to the framed photo she still had in hand. Nott walked over to her, paying her no heed as she raised her wand threateningly, and snatched the photo from her hand. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the frame with what seemed like all his might.

“Impossible.” He breathed, his eyes going back and forth between the frame and her terrified face. “Impossible.”

“Come on, Nott, if Lestrange—”

“I don’t give a damn about Lestrange! This witch is Half-Blood and she’s returning to Hogwarts.” Nott stated, and from his tone and Scabior’s surrender, she knew that he was the one in charge..

“All right, all right! If they give me shite, I’ll say it was your doing!”

“Of course you will, you coward.” He muttered sarcastically.

Magdalene fought back the urge to say “Like father like son.”

When Scabior went back to the living room, or the kitchen (as she heard him open the refrigerator), Nott grabbed her arm roughly. “Mention this to anyone, and you’ll meet a fate worse than death.” He raised the frame. “I’m keeping this. I expect you back in Hogwarts by the end of Christmas holidays, or I’ll finish the job myself. Understood?”

She nodded, unsure that she could trust her voice. She wanted to ask why he’d spared her, and why her parents’ photo qualified as ‘impossible’, but she thought it wise not to speak.

He kept her gaze firmly before muttering with what sounded like disappointment. “You have your father’s eyes.”

Then she wondered how he knew her father’s eye colour. The photo he held was in black and white and taken from too far away for any eye colour to be discerned. She, at that specific moment, was only glad that she got to live.

“We’re leaving, Scabior. And tell Lestrange that you murdered perfectly good wizards because of your lack of discernment.”

‘Snap’!

“Of course, it’s the Death Eater that gets all the praise.” Scabior muttered, slamming a door.

‘Snap’!

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Seven

Days passed after the official release of the Goblet of Fire in one usually empty classroom, in which there were benches for onlookers. Theo sat with Blaise and Victoria, both of whom had their noses in a book. He was watching the potential Champions, making comments he knew his friends only half-heard but nodded to anyway.

“D’you think that bulky lad is going to put in his name?” He asked, his hands gripping the bench on either side of his thighs.

Blaise nodded silently and Victoria hummed. By then, Theo wanted legitimate responses, so he started throwing familiar names for the sake of a reaction.

“D’you reckon Pansy will sign up?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah.”

“D’you think Potter will put in his name?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” Blaise asked, attempting to make Theo stop and think before speaking again.

“What about Astoria?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“Middleton?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Draco?”

“Hm.”

“Ye—wait what?” Victoria looked up from her Astronomy textbook as though snapping awake from a trance.

“Will Draco put in his name?” Theo asked again, genuinely interested in the answer following her reaction.

“No, he won’t. We promised Narcissa that we wouldn’t. So that answers your question about me.” She stated firmly, turning (and nearly tearing) a page.

“What about Middleton?” Theo asked, hoping for a genuine answer again.

“She will.” Blaise answered this time, looking more than annoyed with the prospect.

Theo’s blood ran cold at that. He straightened up. “How do you know?”

“Read her mind.” Blaise stated simply. “She needs to learn Occlumency.”

“That’s exactly what I told her.” Victoria added, glad for a change of subject as opposed to Theo who was fuming.

“Are you actually serious?”

Victoria shrugged and nodded towards the Goblet. “See for yourself.”

Theo’s eyes flew to where Victoria nodded and, to his horror; Magdalene was within the age line drawn by McGonagall and Granger, with her hand extended towards the blue fire. Without thinking, he drew his wand and muttered an ‘Expelliarmus’ under his breath, sending the paper slip flying across the room. Her puzzled look did not have time to travel around the room for the culprit as he jumped over the level that Blaise and Victoria sat on, not stopping once as he stormed over to her and past the age line. He gripped her arm, perhaps more tightly than he’d intended, and dragged her out of the room unintentionally shouldering Draco on his way in. He frowned at the pair and scoured the benches for his cousin.

He sat in the spot Theo previously occupied, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his hands. “What’s up with Theo?”

“Go figure.” Blaise muttered, turning a page of his Muggle Studies textbook.

“He lost his marbles when he learned that Middleton intended to put her name in the Goblet of Fire,” Victoria explained, her eyes not leaving the page she had to re-read for lack of concentration.

“Is she?” Draco asked, his brow furrowing.

“You sound surprised.” Blaise observed, turning his attention to his friend.

“Doesn’t sound like her style.” He shrugged.

“She’s doing it for the money. Someone ruined her chances at a job interview, a while ago.” Victoria spat, side-eyeing her cousin with contempt.

“Will you never let it go, Victoria?” Draco growled, scowling at the white-clad Slytherin.

She shut her book and stood up. “Not for as long as I am in Hogwarts.”

“You’re skipping classes anyway, so why’d you complain?” Draco pointed out, leaning back against the bench higher than the one he sat on.

“I’m not—” She started to object but cut herself off at the last second.

“Flitwick still doesn’t know you’re back for your N.E.W.Ts,” Blaise remarked.

“Charms is superfluous anyway,” she tried sounding nonchalant and failed.

“It’s always been your favourite subject, Victoria.” Blaise observed, closing his book after marking the page.

“And you’ve always had the disgusting habit of dog-earing pages of your books.” She spat, making her leave.

“What’s onto her?” Draco wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, mate, she’s your cousin not mine.” Blaise snapped, involuntarily sending his negativity towards Draco as Sven, the Durmstrang student who had interrupted his conversation with Magdalene the night before, slipped his name in the Fire.

Draco frowned minutely at Blaise and wondered what was up with his entourage. As an after-thought, he wondered if that was how he was perceived in sixth year. He shook his head as he, too, stood up and left the Goblet room.

Victoria was glad to find her dormitory empty as she slammed the door and cast a Silencing Charm. Who the hell cares about Charms anyway? She pondered as she threw her book across the room as hard as she could. She heard the binding break and went to retrieve the book to repair it. She gave a humourless snort as her ‘Reparo’ worked beautifully. She did not need to attend Charms class, and for more reasons than the memory that would forever haunt that classroom.

The past two years had been nothing but bad surprises for the blonde. First: her parents and Uncle were Death Eaters again. Second: Lucius was in prison, and it had a taken its toll on Narcissa’s mood and health. Third: Draco was assigned a suicide mission by Lord Voldemort as punishment for Lucius’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. Now, who would be as insane as to ask Draco to murder the greatest wizard of all time? The Dark Lord must have known that Draco would be incapable of doing it; had he really hoped for him to succeed he would have ordered Victoria instead. She knew that the remaining Malfoys were informed of Draco’s mission, as she knew that they thought she did not. But she noticed that something was wrong the very day after he had visited the Dark Lord, a week later she made Draco speak. She swore to help him, keep the secret and be his right-hand. In the end, Snape was who carried the deed. Vicky stayed out of everything, refusing to go with Bellatrix, Greyback and the Carrows when they were fleeing the castle.

The next school year was chaotic. The headmistress was McGonagall at first, then she was replaced by Snape who put the Carrows in charge of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s discipline. Needless to say, she was constantly worried about Draco’s and her parents who were to attend each of the meetings with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. She had made it clear to her parents that she did not want to be linked to the Death Eaters in any way, because unlike the Averys, the Parkinsons, the Crabbes, the Goyles and the like, they (her father, really) did ask before submitting her to the Dark Lord, and she had refused.

The biggest hit of her last year of studies had been the Battle of Hogwarts. She not only saw many of her friends die but she also had to witness her own father’s death…

The blonde Slytherin had chosen to stick with the Order when Professor McGonagall presented her with her options. She knew that her family would be among the Death Eaters and she would do her best to protect the ones she loved. The battle was raging on when she was attacked by Greyback in front of the grand staircase.

“Well, well,” he crooned, “look what we have here? Looks like a defected Malfoy to me.”

“Rectu—!” She cursed.

But he was too fast. “Expelliarmus!”

She quickly Accio’d her wand and Apparated out of the place, the wards long gone. She found herself in the corridor near Charms classroom, so she decided to take refuge there while catching her breath, as it seemed a quiet area. She slammed the door behind her and slid down its length in a long sigh of her no-longer-white outfit against the ancient wood. She was nearly sitting on the floor when she heard a slow, weak, wheezing breath. She scrambled to grab her wand again, falling gracelessly before she was able to stand up properly. She went to the source of the sound, behind Flitwick’s desk. Her hand, previously closed tightly around her wand, slackened and the wand fell to the stone floor in a pathetic clatter. Her father was lying on the floor, his hand raised above his head, his fingers barely grazing those of a woman in a Death Eater mask that she could only guess was her mother. He gave a sickly wheezing gasp when his eyes met her.

“Vic— Victoria,” he groaned.

She ran and knelt at his side. “Papa, what happened, who did this? Is that Maman?”

“Do-Doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “I need… I need to t-tell you one thing…”

“I’m listening,” she breathed during his pause, tears pooling over her dirty cheeks.

“I don’t have much time left,” he sighed noisily, “but—”

“No, we can find some help, I can steal some healing potions, I can—” she stammered as she reached for her wand. “Vul—Vulnera Sanentur—wait, I can do it—”

“Shush,” he hissed in pain “I am no child; I know when I am g-going to die… You need to know, V-Victoria, that your mother and I love y-you—”

“—I know—” she reassured him, pain and sobs splattering her voice.

“N-No you don’t,” he hissed again, “we never showed you, and we never showed one another that we love you… Not unt-til Voldemort came back, d-did we realise that— you’re our greatest treasure,” he took some time to breathe properly. “I love you, daughter… Brother… Wife… B-Be safe, Victoria Malfoy…”

“I will,” she squeezed out through sobs. “I promise I will, Pa—” she stopped speaking when she noticed that his gaze wasn’t focused anymore. “Papa?” She called shaking him a bit. “Papa, please answer me!”

She carried on calling for him, pleading and begging him to come back to life. But he didn’t. His upper body felt limp in her arms as she hugged him while crying her eyes out, throat burning from her repetitive sobs and choking on air. She cried for a half-hour, long enough to witness Voldemort’s message about his forces retreating and Harry Potter joining him to the Forbidden Forest. She laid her father’s body on the floor; eyelids closed, and joined the others in the Great Hall. There, she found Draco sitting with Blaise and Theo. Her face was still swollen from crying when she sat down next to him and snatched his coffee cup from his hands.

He looked at her “Glad to know you’re safe,” he said matter-of-factly yet it still sounded bitter in his mouth.

“How did they let you in? Didn’t Lord Voldemort tell you to retreat?” She spat, unable to hide her disgust for Death Eaters even though she knew it was never Draco’s choice or his fault.

Her comment seemed to have hurt him as his face fell. “They let me in because I had defected and had enough witnesses to prove so, so have Blaise and Theo…”

“Crabbe and Goyle still following orders, eh?” She asked before sipping on the warm beverage and closing her eyes with delight.

He stared at her gravely “Crabbe’s dead, Victoria.”

Her eyes nearly fell out of their sockets “Are you serious?” She was still able to maintain her composure.

“More than serious, I saw him die with my own eyes.” Draco said, not bothering to get into detail.

“Who else?” She asked, not daring to show the concern in her eyes.

“One of the Weasley kids,” he said evasively “Lupin… And Tonks” he added for emphasis.

Her mouth was an indefinite ‘o’ before she spoke “Tonks? Are you sure?” She had always wanted to get to know her, if for nothing else than to defy her mother’s prejudices.

He nodded slowly before adding “Apparently it was Bellatrix… We’re not sure though.”

“Anyone else?” She asked.

“Brown, Weasley’s ex-girlfriend. I saw her body when I came in here… Who do you know of?” He asked.

She nearly choked on his former drink, making Theo and Blaise who were having a conversation of their own glance at her, before saying, “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen anyone's… Passing away?” He asked, avoiding the word 'death’.

She stared at him intensely before saying “Cassiopeia… and Marcus.” letting a prolonged awkward silence settle as all three of the Slytherin boys stared at her in shock.

Draco put a hand on her shoulder “Vicky, I—”

“Stop it,” she warned, not wanting her crying to resume in front of so many people.

Blaise stood up to face her, he put his hands on her knees “It’s all right to cry, he was your dad and—”

“Yes but I don’t cry, I just… Don’t,” she forced out, removing his hands from her legs.

Theo glanced at her “Want to kill some more Death Eaters? I’m sure there’s going to be a Round Two,” he offered most casually.

She smirked before giving him her clenched fist, which he bumped against his own. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she said making the other two gape.

“Leave me some, alright?”

“No guarantee there, Nott,” she said before sipping back her now-cold coffee.

Theo had always been her favourite friend, but she got further confirmation that day. She removed the Silencing Charm as she set to fixing everything she had knocked over in her fit of rage and belated grief. However, before she could raise her wand, she heard commotion in the corridor that split into dormitories, and she would have paid it no heed had it not been familiar voices.

“Leave me alone, Nott!” Middleton bellowed, obviously unaware of how scared she sounded.

“Not until you listen to me—” He sounded more furious than Victoria had ever heard him. Theo never raised his voice for other than laughter or calling someone over and meaning to embarrass them in the process.

“On what grounds, huh? What kind of authority do you think you have over me that I should listen to you?” Victoria stuck out her bottom lip. Maybe the Muggle-Born was not as weak as she’d thought.

“On the grounds that people die in the Tournament, and what’re you gonna do it for? Money? Fame? Are you really that shallow?” He demanded, sounding awfully close, as though he were yelling at the door on the other side of which Victoria stood.

“You have no right over me or my safety, you did your due during the Battle, but you’re not the boss of me, Nott. Not even because your father spared me.” Victoria frowned. Cantankarus Nott, the author of a book about the Sacred Twenty-Eight, had spared the life of a Muggle-Born? Slytherin she might have been, Middleton was still a Muggle-Born no matter how much green she wore.

Theo’s voice sounded cold and decisive as it cut through the eerily silent common room. “I have every right over your safety; you’re my last living relative.”

The air chilled, even through the door as Victoria’s heartbeat stopped. She immediately stepped over to the door and opened it, facing Middleton pressed against the wall of their dormitory and Nott standing uncomfortably close to her, his breathing stilled as though he never meant to reveal what he’d just revealed. When he turned to look at Victoria, who had released a tiny gasp at their sight, he tightened his jaw and stepped away from Middleton (or was it Nott by now?). He snarled like an angry werewolf and punched the wall opposing them, making both girls flinch. He then stormed away and the girls took a shocked look at one another, agreeing not to reach for him until he calmed down, and never to mention that exchange to anyone.

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Eight

“Are you sure you don’t know what he meant?” Victoria asked, once the dormitory was clean and closed.

Middleton swallowed and shook her head. “I’m Muggle-Born as far as I know, but my parents met at the orphanage they grew up in, so I don’t really know, I guess.”

“Do you or do you not know?” Victoria asked with genuine curiosity.

“I don’t know what I know anymore!” Middleton bellowed, making Victoria jump with the suddenness of her yell. “I’m sorry, I just… This is weird, and I don’t even know if he’s right or not or if it’s just a misunderstanding…”

“What’s that thing about Cantankarus sparing you?” Victoria asked timidly, never having been a fan of eavesdropping.

“Who’s Cantankarus?”

“Theo’s father.”

Magdalene told her about the raid Cantankarus and Scabior did on her Grays apartment, which was the reason for her return to Hogwarts the previous year. Victoria nodded slowly, considering all the information thrust upon her and subconsciously glad for distraction from the thought of her father’s death. After some time, they heard snarls and crashing furniture in the room adjacent to theirs.

Victoria sighed. “That’ll be Theo.”

Magdalene’s eyes followed her as she stood up. “Isn’t it dangerous to interact with him when he’s so… explosive?”

“I know how to calm him down,” she stated simply. “By the way, I think you might really be his relative, though I don’t know yet how.”

“I’ll try to find out, but I don’t have much to go on.” Magdalene admitted.

“I’ll ask him to explain it to me when he’s calmed down, but it’d be nice if you kept this to yourself for the moment.” Victoria instructed, retrieving her wand from her nightstand drawer. After a thought, she also took a bag of Sugar Quills.

Magdalene frowned at the bag of candy. “You know, he’s not six anymore?”

“Theo is a nervous eater. If I hand him this, devouring it will calm him down more quickly and I can hopefully get an answer before his roommates come ba—” she cut herself off as she heard voices in the common room. “Shit! I guess it’s gonna have to wait. I’ll try to take him for a walk.”

Magdalene nodded absently as, when Victoria opened the door, Daphne and Shyvana both came in. The cat jumped on her mistress’s bed immediately and Daphne acknowledged Magdalene with a tight smile. Soon came in Parkinson and Bulstrode, talking animatedly about their potential dates for the Yule Ball.

“I think I’m going to get asked by that lad from Beauxbatons, Stéphane. He keeps eyeing me in History of Magic, and he smiled at me the other day.” Bulstrode ranted with a Scottish accent that Magdalene secretly found endearing.

“Eye contact and a smile do not equal interest, Millicent; you have to think outside the fourth year spectrum.” Parkinson advised her, sounding much softer and gentler than when she interacted with non-Slytherins.

Her reputation as Draco’s female counterpart as a bully was well founded, but Parkinson was more loyal than a Hufflepuff to Slytherin students. Granted, she never defended Magdalene against Draco’s jeers and comments about how she had been Sorted into the wrong House, but she never directly harmed Magdalene, be it physically or emotionally. She did, however, avoid having to speak to the Muggle-Born directly as other than complaining about cat hair or asking about living practicalities when no Pure Blood was responsive or present, (although the former was directed at Millicent and her tabby as well). Parkinson would defend Bulstrode, Davis, and the younger Greengrass whenever some bully (Slytherin and others alike) thought they looked like easy prey. Not every Pure Blood female had as much personality as Parkinson, Daphne, and Victoria; and some cowards would grapple at that occasion. But the childhood friends, as Magdalene learned in her seven years of living with them, took it upon themselves to right some wrongs.

“Then who’s going to ask me?” Bulstrode pouted as she patted the end of her bed for her cat to hop up and join her.

“How about you asked Gregory?” Daphne suggested.

“Don’t be ridi—” Parkinson was going to dismiss her with a wave of her hand but Daphne shushed her.

“They like each other, Pans’; just because he doesn’t fit yourstandards, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be good for her.” Daphne reasoned, conjuring the embroidery she had been working on for a few weeks. Out of the six of them, half of the Slytherins had to wear reading glasses: Parkinson, Daphne, and Magdalene.

“Perhaps, but I’m looking out for her. Greg may fancy her but he doesn’t bring much to the table. Plus, he has to ask her.”

“Well then, it might be time to shake up tradition a bit, might it not?” Daphne remarked, pulling her needle in the air as punctuation.

Parkinson was going to speak but was interrupted by a peculiar knock on their door.

Knock kno-knock!

“Did Theo offend you in any way, Daphne?” Parkinson asked and, noticing Magdalene’s frown, she explained, “This is his ‘I have apologies to present’ knock.”

Daphne shrugged without looking up from her work and Bulstrode shook her head as she glanced at the door. Parkinson was going to answer it when the door opened to Victoria’s head poking in.

“Middleton, bring your arse over here.” Her tone became firm as she noted the presence of their roommates.

Magdalene, who had spent her roommates’ interaction rummaging through her trunk for her parents’ old photo album, got up and left as soon as she found it, though she didn’t take it with her. She could feel the tense interrogation in the air as they all fell silent until she got out, but decided it was a matter she could deal with later. When she got to the corridor, Theodore was nibbling on a Sugar Quill while Victoria looked anxious.

“Go on,” she nudged Theo on his side. He did nothing. “We haven’t got all day, go on.”

“I apologise for yelling at you.” He muttered dejectedly.

Magdalene frowned and glanced at Victoria who indicated she returned the apology. “I accept your apology.” Seeing Victoria still unsatisfied, she added, “And I apologise for not hearing your arguments.”

Victoria then nudged Theo again, who sighed heavily. “I obviously accept your apology. Are we done, Mum?” He whined.

“Most certainly not, now you’re going to explain yourself about the declaration.” Victoria’s tone was firm and instigated another sigh from him.

“Fine!” He made his way to his dormitory and, seeing Victoria about to object, he added, “I have something to retrieve from my trunk, I’ll be here in a second.”

Once he was alone with Goyle in their room, he sighed, more deeply this time. Ignoring Goyle’s question about what was going on; he opened his trunk and knew exactly where to look for the letter that changed his views on the notorious Slytherin Muggle-Born. He went to join the girls in the common room and found them talking to Blaise and Draco. He gritted his teeth, unready to deal with their pressing questions. He thanked Salazar that the common room was empty during his outburst; otherwise, he’d be in for a Spanish Inquisition.

“Theo, what was it about, earlier?” Blaise asked, worry tinting his voice more than curiosity. Theo briefly wondered whom Blaise’s worry aimed at.

“He has a crush on her, obviously,” Victoria drawled sarcastically as she pulled a shaken Magdalene to her feet. “Now he’s going to propose, and I have to be his wing woman, if you’ll excuse us.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Draco objected.

“And you’d be thick to think I was serious,” she retorted before they disappeared behind the door.

“What’s up with them?” Draco wondered aloud.

“Still not my cousin,” Blaise observed, this time with a hint of malice as he retreated to their dormitory, making Draco chuckle.

***

As they walked towards the Black Lake, which was the consensus for a quiet place to talk, the three Slytherins heard screaming in one classroom.

“You act like I’m still eleven, that’s ridiculous!” Ginny Weasley bellowed, exiting the scene of what might have been a similar argument that had occurred between Theo and Magdalene earlier.

“You’re not putting in your name, and that’s final!” Potter’s voice retorted firmly, following her into the hall.

“You’re not my father!”

“I don’t believe his opinion would differ from mine, Ginny, don’t make me owl your mother with your intentions!”

She faltered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me,” he challenged calmly.

With no retort, Weasley stomped away from Potter, who gave an uneasy glance towards the only spectators of what might seem like his break up scene.

Theo whistled. “Trouble in paradise, Potter?”

“Shut up, Nott,” he grumbled, leaving their presence.

“Well,” Theo grinned at the girls, “that was pleasant.”

“And time-consuming. Let’s get to the docks.” Victoria ordered, and the procession was solemnly quiet.

They sat at the tip of the docks, Theo between the girls as they dangled their feet over the water. He gulped hard and stared at the mountainous horizon.

“Well? We don’t have much time before dinner, so start spilling.” Victoria bade.

“Magdalene is my cousin,” Theo announced grimly. “Her mother was a Squib and Grandmother Nott feared for her life when, at eight, she still showed no sign of accidental magic. She was afraid her husband would find out and take it out on their daughter, Cassiopeia.”

Victoria let out a quick gasp at the similarity with her own mother’s name. She seemed to be doing quick thinking, adding things up in her mind to make all the information make sense to her. Magdalene’s mouth gaped then, realising that her whole life and her mother’s had been a lie.

“But then, how come my mum doesn’t remember anything about the Wizarding World?” She asked, breaking the long silence that had settled.

“He didn’t say, but he gave me two old photos with his letter. His instructions were clear: I have to protect you, whether you like it or not.” Theo admitted grimly.

“Lovely,” she sighed. “Can I see the photos?”

He extended them to her and she gasped, recognising the photo that Cantankarus had taken from her when he saved her life. Her mother stood next to her father, both ten years old at the time, and both wearing the white and grey uniform of the orphanage they grew up in. Her mum was grinning widely, one hand behind her back and the other holding her father’s. They looked like best friends. Her mother’s hair was dark, almost black; and her father had flaming red hair that was neatly combed though it was obvious he’d normally spike it up.

The second, Magdalene was not surprised to see, was not a Muggle photograph. It showed the same little girl, two years younger and dressed in fancy lace. Though taken at different times, and in different circumstances, not to mention that one of them was static, the girl in both photos was undoubtedly the same. Her dark hair caught the sunlight in a brown halo as she whipped around to run after a boy who looked no older than twelve who had pulled her hair in the first second of the photograph. They were in a nicely-decorated winter garden, with undulated metal chairs and a tea set steaming. It looked like spring, or summer, and her mother looked happy as she chased whom Magdalene guessed to be Theo’s father, her uncle.

“That’s… That’s really weird,” she muttered finally. “So… we’re cousins?”

“So it would seem,” he agreed seriously before grinning. “Lucky you.”

“This garden is it… Do you live in that house?” Magdalene asked awkwardly.

Before Theo could speak, Victoria snatched up the photos, intending to see for herself. She frowned at the photographs, trying to give a new eye to the situation and to satisfy her own curiosity.

“Yes. He still lives there, why?” Victoria answered, but as she extended her hands over Theo’s lap to give back the photos, Magdalene had lurched forward to get the photos back, making the Muggle photograph fall in the water.

“No!” She gasped and extended her hand downwards, but her weight overpowered her and she fell in the freezing October water of the Lake.

The end of the dock was placed far enough in the lake that she could not stand and breathe at the same time. She swam back to the surface, holding out the photo, which Victoria accepted. Theo then held out his hand for her to grab, but as soon as she extended her arm, she felt something like a rope tighten around one of her ankles. She only had a second to gasp for air as she was dragged along to the depths of the Lake. She saw seaweed flashing past her and heard the faint crash of someone diving into the water. As air got scarce, she focused on making the tentacle of what she could only guess was the giant squid release her. She used her nails to scratch the rough skin but it only resulted in a tighter grip.

Theo swam as fast as he could when he saw that Magdalene’s wand had stayed on the dock. He needed to get close to her enough not to curse her accidentally. When he got close enough, the squid having lost speed, he saw that she had lost consciousness. He sped ahead and sent a ‘Reducto’ at the squid, who released her to fall to the bottom of the lake, which extended to a hundred yards below the surface by then. He went to grab her and sent a silent spell to shoot them to the surface. He took her to the dock where Victoria was anxiously awaiting their return.

She accepted the unconscious Magdalene and helped Theo up. “What was it?”

“The blasted squid won’t let her go until I cursed it!” He snarled as he got to his knees at her side and pointed his wand at the base of her throat. “Anapneo!”

She regained consciousness sputtering water out of her mouth and coughing until her breathing stilled. She had tears in her eyes from the stinging in her throat and lungs and she looked frantically around her.

“My wand! Where’s my wand?” She demanded panic overtaking her.

“It’s right here, come on we have to see Madam Pomfrey,” Theo sighed, pulling her to her feet.

“I need to dry the photo or it’s going to be ruined,” she protested as Victoria handed her the dry photograph.

“You were in there for more than ten minutes; I couldn’t wait while doing nothing.” She explained with a sympathetic smile.

“That was a nice thing to do.” Magdalene remarked, taken aback.

“I’m nice, sometimes.” She shrugged as they made their way up to the Hospital Wing.

“This, right here, is why I don’t want you putting your name in the Goblet of Fire,” Theo declared, putting the jumper he had discarded before diving on Magdalene’s shoulders.

“That is neither here nor there,” she objected calmly. “I was taken by surprise and wandless, Theo.” He smirked. “What?”

“This is the first time you used my first name.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised. Aside from Blaise, I’m not on first-name-basis with anyone in Slytherin House.”

“A pity, really.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets as they rounded a corner in the entrance hall.

They came face to face with McGonagall and Sprout, whose eyes reflected shock at the sight of the cousins.

“What the devil have you two been doing?” McGonagall demanded commandingly.

“A precious photograph fell in the water and long story short; the giant squid almost drowned me. Mr. Nott saved me and we’re on our way to the Hospital Wing,” Magdalene explained casually, fighting back the clatter of her teeth.

“You need some Warmth Potion, both of you.” McGonagall stated before considering Theo, who had spiked his wet hair up in various directions on their way to the castle. “And ten points for Slytherin.”

Victoria smirked at Theo whose grin reached his ears. He flung his arm around Magdalene’s shoulders. “What can I say, it’s in my nature.”

“Now go along, before you catch something.” Sprout instructed with a chuckle that shook her upper body. “Now, as I was saying, Professor, I don’t believe that Devil’s…” Her voice trailed off as both parties reached their respective goals.

Pomfrey fussed over them, drying their clothes with her wand before giving them both a potion that made steam come out of their ears. She instructed them to go to her if they felt anything like cold symptoms, and gave a slave to Magdalene to apply on her ankle, where the squid had gripped her.

“If it’s still purple in two days, come back to me and I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, eat soup at dinner and dry your hair before going to the Great Hall.”

They both agreed and made their way to the Slytherin common room with a flawless-looking Victoria Malfoy. A French student wolf-whistled at Magdalene, whose white shirt had become see-through and showed her cleavage. Theo sent a glare towards the blue-clad boy and wrapped her in his dark jumper again. Victoria snorted at the sight.

“Something funny, Malfoy?” He asked, irritated.

“It’s weird, seeing the most inappropriate person I know acting so appropriately.” She giggled, Magdalene’s puzzled gaze feeling suddenly heavy. She huffed, “I know how to laugh, Middleton.”

“I never would’ve thought.” She bit back sarcastically.

“Calm it, you two.” Theo chuckled.

“Yeah, now she’s one of us. I can’t wait to see the girls’ reaction,” Victoria smirked.

“You’re gonna have to wait before advertising it, Malfoy.” Magdalene murmured as a group of Slytherin fifth years walked past them.

“Why?” Both Theo and Victoria asked, stopping their pace.

“I want to earn my place.” She said simply. “Both in your little group and in society. I don’t want my place in a Pure Blood family to bring me everything, ready to grab.”

Theo pursed his lips and Victoria considered her. “There could be a way,” she said finally, tapping her chin.

“I’m listening,” Magdalene replied, leaning her shoulder against the wall and folding her arms over her chest.

“You put your name in the Goblet of Fire and win the Tournament.” She stated simply, earning a glare from Theo. “You hold your horses; she won’t be alone in that. We have a whole year of Slytherins, and probably even all of Hogwarts to back us up. We’ll know how to exploit our resources. Not only will this help her financially, as Draco went and ruined her job interview at the Zabinis’, but it will also restore the status of Slytherin House in Hogwarts. Imagine this: a Slytherin Champion of Hogwarts, and Triwizard Champion, Theo! She’d shield all of us who have been misjudged because of the Second Wizarding War,” she goaded, knowing just how to pull the right strings to make him agree with her. She fixed the collar of his wrung shirt. “Not to mention that soon after she wins, people will know she’s related to you and you’ll get to share the spotlight.”

Magdalene’s eyebrows shot up at Victoria’s compelling arguments and she could see Theo’s resolve crumble physically as he snarled playfully at Victoria.

“You’ll be the death of me, and I’ll say ‘Yes, please!’ D’you know that?”

“Um I’m new to all of this, so, what just happened?” Magdalene asked as they entered the common room.

“You can now put your name in the Goblet of Fire.” Victoria answered, avoiding the crowd in the common room and answering in the corridor.

“Oh.” She said simply.

“But can’t we tell anyone about the news?” Victoria whined.

“Only those you’ve known the longest.” Magdalene conceded.

“I agree with this,” Theo nodded.

When they penetrated the common room, every gaze (local and foreign) turned to them for at least a second. Blaise and Draco were nowhere to be seen, so Magdalene guessed that they were in their dormitory, since it was approaching dinner and they usually chose to change their clothes before then. Theo and Victoria both made their way to the boys’ dormitory, but Magdalene stopped them, an idea popping into her head.

“Don’t tell them yet, we will after dinner and I’ll give details as to how right after I change. I’ll come into the boys’ dormitory, and it’d be good to tell Pansy and Daphne what I’m going to propose.”

Theo narrowed his eyes at her. “You have something in mind, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

She got inside the girls’ dormitory. She changed into comfortable clothes and dried her hair using her wand. She did that wordlessly until Daphne entered the room and saw her.

“Did you shower?” She asked, trying to fit the shower into the tight timeline of when she saw Magdalene leave.

“I fell in the Lake.” She stated simply, folding her clothes. She gave Daphne a warm smile.

Daphne’s face asked Magdalene dozens of questions as the latter left, her cat trailing behind with her tail straight up

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Nine

Magdalene made her way directly to the boys’ dormitory where she found Victoria, Theo, Blaise, and Draco, sitting patiently on their beds. Eyebrows raised at her entrance.

“I feel like I stepped on a stage,” Magdalene mused, taking some of the tension off her shoulders.

“You most certainly did, Middleton.” Blaise replied, patting his bed next to where he was sitting.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I’d love to, but I’m starving. I’m just here to tell you to gather your childhood friends and take them to the Room of Requirement after dinner.”

“Why?” Theo asked.

“Shush, all in good time, Nott,” she chided.

“Will we get to know why you two have been acting mental?” Draco asked, eyeing her up and down.

“That and much more,” she announced before making a big deal of looking at her watch. “I’m hungry, let’s get dinner.”

During dinner, the childhood friends all sat huddled together while Magdalene and Theo chose to eat together. She face him as they ate chicken soup and shared seemingly insignificant facts about one another. When they got to dessert, Magdalene scowled at Theo.

“Really?”

“What?” Theo asked, feigning innocence as he scooped ice cream into his bowl once more.

“Madam Pomfrey said to eat warm things,” she explained.

“I ate the soup, what more do you want?” He groaned, digging into his bowl as though it would attack him.

Magdalene snatched his bowl from him and slid a steaming mug in front of him. “You won’t have the ice cream, but I’ll compromise. You can have this extra sweet hot chocolate.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know I have a sweet tooth?”

She shrugged. “Victoria. Which was further confirmed by your calming down when Sugar Quills were involved.”

He smirked at her. “I see you inherited our grandmother’s clairvoyance.”

Magdalene’s dawning smile vanished at his mention of their common ancestor. “Theo, there’s something I haven’t told anyone, and that I’d like you to keep secret.”

He furrowed his brow and extended his arm over the table to rest his hand over hers. “Tell me.”

“I haven’t told anyone, not even Blaise, about my parents dying.” She murmured, so only he could hear.

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

She fidgeted, retrieving her hand from his hold, looking away. “I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

He gave a humourless smirk. “Pity isn’t a Slytherin thing. But I respect your decision.”

She smiled at him warmly. “Thank you.”

He was going to reply when Blaise, Victoria, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria sat all around the pair. They had brought their desserts with them, mostly pudding and pumpkin pies. Their chatter was idle at first, until Victoria turned to Magdalene from where she sat next to Theo.

“Well, Middleton. What did you have in mind for tonight?” She asked implicitly.

Magdalene grinned. “We should all go to the Room of Requirement now.”

“Why?” Parkinson asked.

“To play a game. In truth, I don’t know if this is a Muggle game or a universal one, but it’s going to be good. Especially considering tomorrow is Saturday, we can make it last however long we want.”

“I say let’s do it!” Theo cheered, standing up and taking his mug with him.

They all followed him to the seventh floor. When they found the portrait of the trolls, Magdalene conjured a Room that resembled a smaller, cosier version of their common room. The only difference was that the tall windows overlooked the night sky instead of the Black Lake. There were two round, leather couches facing each other, in their midst a round coffee table upon which rested an empty glass bottle. The stone walls were hidden by drapes over drapes of dark green satin, and the fireplace crackled joyfully, spreading pleasant warmth. Two doors, to the far right, led to separate loos.

“Well, that’s pleasant.” Theo commented, flopping onto a couch.

“So, what’s the game?” Parkinson asked as she sat on the couch opposite Theo, crossing her legs.

She wore a dark green, sleeveless muslin shirt and black trousers, with black flats at her feet. She twirled her wand between her fingers as she regarded Magdalene, who was wearing a grey hoodie and black sweat pants. Magdalene sat next to Theo while everyone else took their seats. Draco was on Theo’s right, with Astoria to his own right. Immediately to Magdalene’s left, and at the right end of the opposing couch, sat Blaise, with Daphne to his left. Parkinson was next, with Victoria closing the circle.

“It’s called Truth or Dare.” Magdalene announced. Seeing their frowns, she elaborated. “One player spins the bottle, and asks whoever it lands on ‘Truth or Dare’. If the second player chooses ‘Truth’, then they have to answer a question truthfully. It’s usually something personal, or challenging. However, if they choose ‘Dare’, then they have to perform an equally as challenging action.”

Theo’s smirk split his face in half. “That’s a nice Muggle game there, Magdalene.”

“So, who starts?” Parkinson asked, a hint of excitement barely discernible in her tone.

“Someone should spin the bottle once, and whoever it points at will be the first to play.” She answered, folding her legs on the couch.

Blaise did the honours, making the bottle point at Victoria. She regarded Magdalene with interest.

“Truth or dare?” She asked, anticipating Magdalene’s answer.

The latter smirked maliciously. “Dare.”

Victoria’s brow furrowed deeply at her answer. “Uhm… I dare you to exchange clothes with Theo.”

Astoria’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “Is that allowed?”

“Most certainly,” Magdalene assured her, standing up and offering her hand to Theo. “My good sir, if you will follow me.”

As requested by Magdalene, changing rooms appeared next to the bathrooms on the right of the room. Ten minutes later, both emerged with different-sized hoodies and sweatpants, seeing as they were wearing similar outfits. They sat back down and Magdalene spun the bottle, which landed on Astoria.

“Truth or dare?” Magdalene asked maliciously, glancing at Astoria past Theo and Draco.

“Truth,” she chose, pressing her lips together.

“Safety, huh? Let’s see… Have you ever let someone take the blame for something that you did?”

Astoria blushed hard and linked her fingers over her knee as her legs were crossed. “Once, I—I broke a glass case and when Mother confronted me, I blamed the house elf.”

Magdalene frowned. “What happened to the elf after that?”

“She was freed.” Daphne answered softly. “Mother is not cruel.”

“I heard that.” Victoria snapped, making Daphne roll her eyes.

“Anyway, your turn to spin, Astoria.” Theo diffused the tension between the girls before it became serious.

“Truth or dare, Blaise?”

He leaned back against the couch. “Truth.”

She readjusted her position. “What are you most self-conscious about?”

He sat straighter. “My intellectual abilities.”

“Ever the modest lad, am I right?” Parkinson teased, earning a light kick, and making Daphne sink between them.

He span the bottle, and it conveniently pointed at Parkinson. He smirked. “Well, well, well. Truth or dare, Parkinson?”

“Truth. I don’t trust you.” She declared.

“Have you ever cheated or been cheated on?” Blaise asked, making Draco readjust his position on the couch and Parkinson scowl.

“Really, Zabini?” He shrugged. “The answer to both assumptions is no, of course. Neither am I a harlot, nor will I date one.”

“Beautifully put,” Victoria commented, eyeing Draco meaningfully.

“Truth or dare, Draco?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Dare.”

“Lick the floor.” She smirked at her quick thinking.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her. “Carpeted or stone?”

She gave it a brief thought. “Stone.”

He stood and reached his hand to the stone floor beyond the area rug. He ran his hand across the stone floor and licked his hand. He repressed a grimace and span the bottle, before resuming his seat.

It aimed at Victoria. “Truth or dare, cousin?”

“Dare. You know too much, you’d ask me a question you already the answer to just for me to oust myself.”

“Very clever, that was indeed my intention.” He smirked as he regarded her, sitting in her white clothes and her hair in a braid down her back. “Do four cartwheels in a row.”

She blinked several times. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

She rolled her eyes at him and went to the changing room. She came out wearing what could define as Muggle gym clothes. She had tight shorts and a tank top, both bearing the Slytherin colours. She positioned herself at the end of the table and, to Magdalene’s surprise, jumped back, executing four flawless backflips and landing perfectly.

Blaise slow-clapped and Theo wolf-whistled while Draco merely smiled. “I said cartwheels, not backflips.”

“They’re the same bloody thing, you slimy piece of—”

“Technically, they’re not.” Blaise conceded, chuckling when she hit his shoulder.

“Technically, you can shut up. This is between me and Malfoy.”

“Backflips are on your back and cartwheels are on your side, Victoria. Go again.” He explained coolly.

“You’re paying for that, Malfoy.” She seethed and took position again.

She struggled with that move, only succeeding in pairs until she threw a cupcake (which had been conjured by Theo, along with a dessert cart) at him and exhaled from her nose, hard. She executed four cartwheels in a row, just as her dare instructed, and gave a foul gesture to her cousin out of spite. A thin sheen of sweat marred her collarbone as she retreated to the shower in the bathroom. Meanwhile, the rest of the players enjoyed the sweets and tea, and after fifteen minutes, she was back to her seat, looking regal. She span the bottle and it landed on Theo.

“Truth,” he chose.

She thought while she sipped on her own cup of tea. “What would you do if you turned into a woman for a month?”

“That’s an interesting one,” he mused, tapping his chin. “I think I’d try to get pregnant and see what happened when I turned back into a man.”

“That would be an interesting experience to say the least,” Daphne commented.

“Alright, next one is…” Theo created anticipation as he span the bottle. It chose Daphne, incidentally. “Truth or dare, beautiful?”

“Dare.” She chose, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

He gave her a warm half-smile. Everyone in the room knew about his soft spot for the elder Greengrass. “You need a classy one.”

“Unfair, just because you have a crush on her, doesn’t mean she can evade the crude dares!” Parkinson jeered.

Magdalene raised her eyebrows slowly. “She does have a point, Theo.”

Theo disregarded both of their comments. “Imitate McGonagall for the next three minutes.”

Her face split in a beautiful grin. “That’s going to be easy.”

She asked the room to provide her with square glasses identical to those of the headmistress and fastened her hair into a tight bun. She stood up and pulled out her wand, which was 10”, which was half an inch longer than their headmistress’s. She waved it at the group and began her imitation.

“I should hope,” she began in a commanding tone and a Scottish accent, “that you know that you are in serious trouble, young ladies and gentlemen. Ten points will be taken from each of you for using the Room of Requirement to such a frivolous effect!”

She continued delivering “McGonagall’s” severe punishment, looking over her glasses at them and waving her wand, holding its tip in her left hand occasionally to glare at a snickering Parkinson.

“And I should hope, Miss Malfoy, that you will have the decency of wearing other colours than white at the Yule Ball this year.”

She took a few seconds to regard the younger Malfoy and her time was up. She span the bottle, absentmindedly still wearing the faux glasses, and the bottle landed on Magdalene. Victoria gave a discreet, annoyed sigh.

“Truth.” She chose before Daphne even asked the question, which had lost all meaning to the players from hearing it too many times.

“Tell us about your first kiss.” She asked, her eyes sparkling in mischief. Magdalene’s distance from the group until that day made it so that no one knew much about her personal life, much less her romantic relations.

“She never had a boyfriend… did you?” Theo declared, lacking the confidence to sound believable, even to himself.

Magdalene scoffed. “I was fourteen—”

“Was it a lad from Durmstrang?” Pansy asked eagerly, that being their first amicable interaction despite the game having gone on for over an hour.

Magdalene shook her head. “It’s a Muggle.” Everyone turned to her, then. “We went to the same primary school but had to stop seeing each other so often as I started coming here. Then, the summer between fourth and fifth year, we had a little something going on. That’s when he kissed me, at the swings in the park in our apartment complex.”

“Cute.” A smirk played at Blaise’s lips as he commented.

“So you never had a relationship in Hogwarts?” Pansy asked, leaning forward.

Magdalene shook her head. “Nope. For some reason the occasion never presented itself.”

“Draco, you anarchist,” Pansy jeered playfully, making him scowl.

“Just play, Middleton.” He grumbled, which made the bottle aim at him to add injury to the insult. The Room probably sensed that Magdalene had a question she burned to ask Draco. “Truth.” He said.

She sat so that she faced him fully. “What’s the meanest you’ve been to someone who did not deserve it?”

He blanched at her words. He swallowed hard and met her eyes. “Why ask a question everyone knows the answer to, Middleton?”

“For the sadistic pleasure of hearing you say it.” She smirked.

“You really are a Slytherin,” Blaise commented.

“You.” He said simply before adding. “Granger. Longbottom.”

The silence that followed was solemn. No one knew where to look until Draco span the bottle again, landing on Astoria.

She hesitated. “Dare?”

He smirked. Four turns succeeded themselves, leaving Theo’s usually spiked hair neatly combed to the side (courtesy of Pansy), Blaise’s face as though a child with eyeliner found him sleeping (courtesy of Daphne), and Pansy with no makeup, having been dared to wash it off. Victoria had just confessed to owning a large collection of Muggle literature in her Malfoy Manor study when the bottle landed on Blaise again.

“Truth.” He said again.

“Have you had a crush on a person in this room before?”

“Nope.” He replied simply, spinning the bottle to land on Magdalene.

“Dare.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smile dawning on his features. “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

Magdalene’s eyes travelled across the room, precisely at the people occupying it save herself, and smiled a shy smile as her eyes met Pansy’s. She surprised everyone present by standing up and walking over to her and kissing her on the cheek. She girl blinked several times and glanced around her to see everyone else’s reactions to her unintended participation in Magdalene’s dare.

“Well, that was unexpected to say the least.” Theo muttered, blinking several times.

“I—thanks?” Pansy stammered.

Magdalene chuckled. “It’s merely a compliment about your physical appearance, though I have nothing against you as a person, naturally.”

Pansy eyed her suspiciously. “Naturally.”

Magdalene span the bottle before sitting back down and it pointed at Theo, “Truth.”

Magdalene thought that the deception had lasted long enough as she asked, “Theodore, are you the last remaining descendant of the Nott family?”

“Um what kind of a question is this?” Pansy asked as Victoria smirked, her gaze flying from one player to the other to watch their reactions carefully.

Theodore smirked at his cousin and stood up. “Last January, my father owled me and told me that he used to have a sister. His sister turned out to be a Squib and, to save her from Grandfather Nott’s wrath, my Grandmother sent her to the Muggle world under a new alias. That would make her my aunt.” He paused dramatically, letting the information sink in. “My aunt had a daughter who, thankfully, turned out to be a witch.”

“Wait, so you have a cousin in Hogwarts? And Middleton knows about her?” Draco asked, sounding more offended than shocked.

“I know about her too, and she’s the reason why we’re all gathered here today,” Victoria said, eyeing Theo and then Magdalene meaningfully.

Daphne’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

“My aunt had a daughter, whom she named Magdalene. And this girl is present in this room.” Theo announced, making Magdalene grin sheepishly and send a messy wave at the group.

“No way,” Pansy breathed.

Blaise stared at the pair intently and nodded in agreement when Draco asked, “How long have you known?”

Magdalene looked at her watch. “I’ve known for about six and a half hours, and so has Victoria.”

“I’ve known for nine months.” Theo answered.

“Which leads us to our second announcement.” Victoria stood up as well, making Theo sit down with a pointed look. “Magdalene is going to put her name in the Goblet of Fire.”

“Really? Again?” Blaise asked, annoyed.

“For those who weren’t interested until now, can we have a quick recap?” Pansy asked, her hand in the air.

“Magdalene wanted to put in her name, but Blaise was against it for friendship reasons. Theo was against it as well, but more fervently, which made us all wonder why the hell he was acting the way he was.” Victoria explained. “Then, in a fit, he yelled that she was his only living relative, which begged the question. Seeing as he chose to yell at her right behind the door I was facing, I could very well not spend my days with no answer. That’s how I learned about it at the same time as Magdalene.”

“Okay, what does the Tournament have to do with all this?” Daphne asked slowly.

“I decided to let her put her name in the Goblet and, should the Goblet choose her, we will make her a Triwizard Champion. This will not only make her gain money, seeing as Draco went and ruined her job interview at Zabini’s house—”

“Salazar almighty, Victoria, will you drop it?” He groaned.

“How many times, exactly, did you mention this to Draco since we’ve been in Hogwarts?” Magdalene asked innocently.

“About six times,” Draco grumbled, making Magdalene beam at Victoria.

“And counting,” the latter added with a glare. “As I was saying, since Draco Lucius Malfoy ruined Magda’s interview with Zabini Senior, she needs the money. So it’ll be a gain for her, obviously. The other gain would be that the Hogwarts Champion is a Slytherin. Tell me, how many times have we won the House Cup since Potter and friends came?”

“Technically, we came at the same year as they did, so we never did.” Daphne put in.

“Technically, Dumbledore and McGonagall favoured Potter so much that Gryffindor, sometimes without valid reason, kept winning the House Cup instead of us. We are Slytherins. The Hat itself said it, we use any means to achieve our ends, and had it not been for Dumbledore and McGonagall, we wouldn’t have lost the House Cup six times in a row. The only time the Great Hall flew Slytherin colours was when Snape was headmaster, which is worse for our reputation—”

“You seem to have been doing a lot of thinking about this,” Theo muttered.

“—the point is: having a Slytherin Hogwarts Champion, and TriwizardChampion will redeem the lost years, and the fact that she’s Muggle-Born will make them say she’s not really a Slytherin. Not the way they think they know us anyway. But when it comes out that she’s Theo’s cousin, not only will Slytherin regain its former glory, but Pure Blood folk won’t be judged on blood status anymore. Just because we come from Pure Blood families, doesn’t mean we are Death Eaters or evil. Oh, that reminds me, Magda, please be a dear and don’t kill the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons Champion.”

“First, I don’t kill, not unless I’m being had a go at,” she stated firmly. “Second, Magda? That’s twice already and I don’t know how to take the fact that we’ve only been on friendly terms for six hours, yet you already came up with a new nickname for me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she dismissed. “So, with all of Slytherin House to help, she will become a Triwizard Champion. You’re either with us, on this plan, or you can watch from the side-lines.”

“I’m in!” Pansy cheered.

One by one, they agreed, until there was only Draco left. “Fine. I agree to help.”

Victoria gave him a winning smile. “You’d better.”

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter One: On the morning of May 2nd, 1998, in the seventh year's girls' dormitory at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic; a horrified cry was heard. Rose DeChavanne, as well as her roommates, stared at her reflection in bewilderment by the change in her hair and eye colour. For the seventeen year old girl no longer had jet black locks and deep blue hues: her hair had turned into a completely different yet magnificent reddish brown, and her eyes were green-ish hazel. Her French friends started interrogating her... "What do you think happened?" Isabelle asked.  "I-- I don't know," Rose admitted, running a hand through her newly red hair.  "You should go see Madame Dumont," Annabelle said, referring to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.  Just then, a fifth year named Gabrielle De La Cour came in the dorm and didn't look surprised by Rose's change in appearance as she announced, "Madame Maxime asks to see you, Rose. I think she can explain that..." "Always one step ahead, that woman," Isabelle commented as she brushed her Veela blonde hair.      Rose nodded at Gabrielle and followed her outside of the dorm, not bothering to change into her uniform. She had always hated that skirt and found it too formal to be an everyday outfit. She marched down the familiar hallways, silently following the younger witch to the headmistress's office.        The Half-Giant, strict-looking woman had always given Rose sympathetic looks yet she still treated her with the same severity as the other students. Rose never particularly liked the headmistress, but she didn't hate her either which was better than half the Academy's witches and wizards. Gabrielle knocked on the door and they entered when allowed to do so.  "You may wait outside, Mademoiselle De La Cour, while I speak with Mademoiselle DeChavanne," said Madame Maxime dismissively.  "Yes, Madame," Gabrielle said before closing the door on her way out.  "Please have a seat, Mademoiselle," she said to Rose who obeyed hesitantly, immediately feeling ashamed of her nightgown that the headmistress eyed disdainfully.  "Good morning, Madame," Rose said timidly.  "Fair morning, isn't it?" She replied, summoning coffee and croissants on her otherwise clear desk.  Rose blinked at the meal before saying, "I uh... I guess so." Maxime then looked at Rose's hair and eye colour curiously, "Surely, you must be wondering why your hair colour has changed overnight." "'Wondering' is an understatement, Madame," Rose said, "why do you think this happened?" Maxime sighed, "I'm not sure that I should be the one to tell you, Rose." Rose froze, it was the first time that the headmistress had uttered her nickname instead of her last name or her full name, Rosanna.  "Tell me what, Madame?" She asked, trying not to sound too worried.  "Do you remember, last year, when you had to take the 'Coming of Age' potion and you were classified as a Half-Blood instead of Part Veela?" Madame Maxime started.  Rose nodded, of course she remembered it. The Beauxbatons Academy had a sort of ritual, which was that when witches and wizards turned sixteen they should take a potion to prevent another plague. It had started since the late 1700s, due to the horrifying events that had happened in France, and the French Wizarding World had suffered it most for only Squibs were born at that time, almost causing the extinction of French wizards and witches.  The Coming of Age potion had to be modified, following the Blood-Status of the drinker or their ancestry. When it came to Rose, she thought that she was a Half-Blood who was Part Veela; but an owl from Penelope and she was classified simply as a Half-Blood. Rose had always wondered why she was not allowed the Part Veela title, perhaps Madame Maxime had the answer to that, too? "Well, there is a reason behind this." Maxime said simply before resuming her speech. "You see, three years ago, I was going to take you with us to England. You were talented enough and had excellent skills to be a Triwizard Champion, that was before I knew of the age restriction of course. I had owled your parents in hopes of them accepting that I took you, but they refused. Your mother, especially, was more than against you going to England.  "When I asked her why she did not want you there, she told me that there were people that she did not want you to meet. That England was dangerous for you. I insisted for weeks by owling your mother and she finally told me the truth.  "Rose," she said standing up to rub her student's shoulder, "you were born in England." Rose looked up at the headmistress, "What?" She breathed out in shock.  "Please do not interrupt me as I speak, alright?" She asked gently, and with Rose's nod, she carried on, "You were born in England, but your parents had to bring you here for your safety. Your mother has put a spell on your physical appearance ever since you were three years old, and she has asked me to give you an address should you ever regain your real appearance. "I trust that, by now, you know when a spell stops doing what it's supposed to do?" She asked.  Rose's mind was racing, she reflected on the headmistress's words before saying slowly, "A spell stops working... When its creator dies, doesn't it?" Madame Maxime looked at her compassionately, "My child, you do realize what this implies, don't you?" "My mother... My mother has died?" Rose's strangled voice asked.  "I want you to know that every teacher and myself are available if you want to talk or--" Maxime started but Rose cut her off.  "What's the address that she gave you? Will I find all the answers that I need, when I'm there?"  Maxime went back behind her desk and extracted a folded piece of parchment from a drawer, and handed it to the younger witch saying. "This is the address. I have been careful to write the person's name and their full address as she requested." Rose accepted the parchment shakily and unfolded it to read, "Remus J. Lupin..." she looked up at Maxime, "This is my Godfather's address." "Then I think that he can provide you with the answers to your questions," she replied softly.  "Can I leave the Academy to go and see him?" Rose asked.  "You have the permission to do this, have you performed all of your NEWTs?" She asked.  "Yes, all of them," Rose replied while standing up.  "Then I will owl you your results wherever you are staying, all I need is for you to owl me your address." Maxime said as she accompanied Rose to the door, "By the way, if you are travelling to England then wait a few days for Gabrielle for she is visiting her sister." "Fleur?" Rose asked, "She lives in England?" "Yes, she got married a few months ago to an English wizard," Maxime explained as Gabrielle came in, "is that right, Gabrielle?" "Yes," the fifth year replied, "she is with the Order of the Phoenix, she will owl me news about the war very soon." "Very well then, off you go, Mademoiselle DeChavanne," Maxime said, "I still have some arrangements with Mademoiselle De La Cour." Rose nodded numbly and made her way back toward her dorm, already intending on starting to pack for Remus's. She was mounting the stairs to the seventh years' dormitories when she felt something soft against her calf, she looked down to find Padfoot who was already at a quarter of his adult size. She lifted him up and continued to make her way upstairs.  Rose sighed as she found the room empty, at least she would have some privacy. Or not... "You've received a letter." Isabelle said as she appeared from the hall, "Apparently it's from England." Rose looked up, "What makes you say so?" Isabelle shrugged as she walked back inside the dorm, "The owl that's waiting for you to open the letter. It nearly bit me when I tried to get close, no wonder we use pigeons!" "They're much less beautiful, though," Annabelle added, on Isabelle's heels. "Who cares about their appearance?" She shrugged.  Rose didn't follow the rest of the conversation, for a tawny grey owl had come into the dorm and it was holding a letter whose envelope had Rose's full name on. She plucked the letter from the bird's beak and opened the folded letter inside the envelope.  ~Dear Rose,  You must be wondering what has happened to your physical appearance by now. I would like you to Floo to Remus's as I am waiting for you there. Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora's mother.~ Rose stared at the letter. What did this imply? Why did Remus not send the letter himself? Was that a trap? Rose had so many unanswered questions...  "What's wrong, Rose?" Annabelle asked concernedly.  "Who's that from?" Isabelle asked.  Rose did not answer neither question, but she said, "It looks like I am finally going to England."

[writingdumpster-o]

Battle Fic

Hello there, so this oneshot tells about Andromeda and Sirius's last Christmas in 12 Grimmauld Place. Prompts: (total 39) Dialogue: We could always dump the body in the lake and tell them the Giant Squid ate it. 4 When I said use your head I didn't mean to literally use your head! 3 Character:  Sirius Black!done 2 Bellatrix Black!done 4  Andromeda Tonks!done 3 Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa!done 8 Word: 7 Resuscitate!done - Vomit!done - Knickers!done - Grasshopper!done - Autumn - Name of foreign country!done - Fixate!done.  Spell: Accio 2 Protego 6  *Bellatrix is twenty years old, has been married to Rodolphus for nearly a year and hasn't joined the Death Eaters yet. *Andromeda is seventeen years old, and secretly dating Ted Tonks.  *Narcissa is fifteen years old, is dating Lucius, and plays Beater for the Slytherin Quidditch team. *Lucius is sixteen years old.  *Sirius is fifteen years old as well, single, and plays Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.  *Regulus is fourteen years old, single, and has only recently been admitted to the Slug-Club. *Alphard is thirty-six years old and lives abroad. ___ -Andromeda- sighed for the umpteenth time before leaving the kitchen of 12, Grimmauld Place. Aunt Walburga's Christmas receptions had always been a bore, but every Pure Blood family always looked forward to the event. And so it was that the black haired witch returned to the sitting-room where the guests were to arrive by Apparition or the Floo Network if they had underage wizards and witches along. She had arrived earlier that morning, with her sister -Narcissa- and her parents to help Walburga prepare the ancestral House of Black.         The first to arrive were the Lestranges: Rabastan, Rodolphus, their parents and aunt, and the newest addition who was no one other than -Bellatrix-, née Black. The latter politely greeted her parents, aunt and uncle before going to see her sisters.  "Evening, sisters," she said, failing to hide her smug attitude.  Andromeda scowled at her, "You're so lucky to have escaped Aunt Walburga's screaming!" "This is why you should hurry up and find your match, that way you are no longer a Black and do not have to be here and endure it all," she said, no longer trying to hide her smug smile.  "Yeah, rather you than me. How is your marital life going?" Narcissa asked, obviously trying to conceal a blush.  Bellatrix smirked, "My marital life is doing just fine, Cissy. What about -Lucius- Malfoy?" Narcissa smiled softly before saying, "We've been dating for a month now." "About time, too," said Andromeda with a smug smile that ressembled Bellatrix's.  "Meaning?" Narcissa asked.  "He's been after you for more than a year, poor boy," Andromeda said sympathetically.  "'Poor boy'?" Bellatrix asked, sarcasm oozing out of her voice.  "He fancies her," Andromeda said with a shrug.  "And..?" Bellatrix asked, "It's not like she's dating him just because her -knickers- are in a twist, you know?"  Narcissa's eyes widened at her statement while Andromeda stiffled a giggle. Just then, they were joined by their cousins: -Sirius- and Regulus.  "What's the laughing about?" Sirius asked, casually sliding his hands in his trousers' pockets.  Bellatrix snickered, "I was just stating the fact that our baby sister was too young to have her knickers in a twist." Sirius's booming laugh startled the three sisters and made Regulus, who was in his dawning teens, blush. At that moment, green flames bursted from the black marble fireplace to show Alphard Black, the youngest-- and coolest uncle of the five cousins. He greeted his brothers and their wives, did the same for the Lestranges and walked toward his nieces and nephews.  He grinned at them before saying, "I heard you laugh, Sirius. Something funny?" "Bellatrix's tongue is funny, Alfie," Sirius replied, smirking.  Narcissa's eyes widened again, "~Uncle~ Alfie, Sirius!" Alphard put a hand on her shoulder, "Cissy, dear, this is alright. You can call me Alfie too, if you like, I don't particularly mind." She blushed before asking, "How have you been? How is -Bosnia-?" "Same as always," he said dismissively, "how is school? You still play for the Quidditch team, right?" She nodded but Sirius spoke first, "Yeah right, my arm and right side can tell you that!" he said sourly.  "It's not my fault that you were in the way of our Seeker," she said haughtily, "you know the rules Sirius. And besides, we did not even win that game so stop complaining!" "The fact that the Gryffindor Seeker is the best of the century is beside the point, my injuries are still healing from that Bludger you sent toward me," Sirius complained.  "Quit whining, Gryffindork," Bellatrix said in a scolding tone, "I still can't believe that a Black was Sorted into the red House, it's..." Alphard filled her loss of words with, "Unprecedented?" She scoffed, "I may -vomit- even thinking about it. A Black in Gryffindor, pff..." "At least Regulus got into Slytherin," Andromeda complied with a sympathetic look aimed at Sirius who winked at her. "What are you all doing here?!" Walburga yelled suddenly, startling the younger girls and boy. "Talking?" Sirius said sarcastically.  "Do not use that tone with me, you filthy Gryffindor, or I swear to Salazar that I will kill you!" She growled, making Narcissa stare in fear, for she was not used to hear the mother-son interactions.  "Then you'd have to -resuscitate- me for your dinner, if you don't want the Aurors showing up," he said smugly.  She waved her wand and a brush flew to hit Sirius square in the chest, he winced as she said, "Brush the tapestry in the drawing room, you useless filth!" she turned to his brother and cousins, probably even their uncle, and yelled, "I WANT THIS TAPESTRY SPOTLESS IN TEN MINUTES!" "See you later, youngsters," Bellatrix sang as she was about to sit on the couch.  "What are you doing?" Walburga asked, a bit calmer by then.  "I am going to talk to my husband and his parents. We haven't heard much of them lately," Bellatrix replied, hoping to get away with that excuse.  Walburga raised a black brow at her before saying, "You will bring your beloved husband to the drawing room and clean like the rest of those." Bellatrix's eyes widened in shock as she heard Alphard and Sirius stiffle a snort, "Excuse me?" The oldest Black cousin had a temper that was not to mess with, but Walburga Black's wrath was to be feared from every person who crossed her path. The two most frightening Blacks stared at each other until the younger gave in.  She sighed heavily before saying, "I'll bring his brother as well." Walburga smirked with satisfaction as the cloud of bushy black hair disappeared into the hall, she then turned to the onlookers and raised her eyebrows, "What are you looking at? BACK TO WORK!" Alphard and Andromeda quickly summoned brushes for Regulus and Narcissa, respectively, and themselves. And so the cousins and uncle begrudgingly set to work on the already spotless family tree tapestry. They were joined by the younger Lestranges a few minutes later and all set to work, fearing Walburga's wrath if anything was out of place. Bellatrix sat on the sofa and lazily waved her wand while levitating her brush which barely even touched the tapestry.  Sirius glared at her, "What if you ~really~ set to work, Bellatrix?" She cackled, "Look at you brats, trying to clean that rag like little Squibs!" "Shit!" Regulus hissed suddenly. "Language, Reg'," Rodolphus said.  "What happened?" Narcissa asked concernedly.  "I messed up this thread, mother is going to kill me!" He hissed again. "Oh, I'll -fixate- it, Regulus, don't worry," Andromeda said calmly as she drew her wand whence a golden thread started coming out and replacing what he had messed up. Regulus sighed as she repared his mistake, "Thank you, 'Dromeda." She smiled at him, "Of course, Reg'." "Who was Cassiopeia?" Narcissa asked Alphard.  "She was our aunt, quite the -grasshopper-, really, you never knew who she was dating. Grandpa nearly disinherited her because she never wanted to settle with one man," Alphard explained.  "Reminds me of someone," Sirius said, pointedly staring at Bellatrix from over his shoulder.  "What are you looking at, Gryffindork?" She asked harshly. "How come you got married?" Sirius asked boldly.  "Sirius, this is unbecoming," Andromeda said patiently.  He shrugged and stopped brushing his part of the tapestry, "Well?" he asked Bellatrix who glared at him.  "I wonder what happens when you summon only parts of a person's body," she said dreamily before pointing her wand at Sirius who paled, "-Accio- right arm!" "-Protego!-" Andromeda squealed, making a shield appear between her sister and her cousin, "Bella, honestly!" "He asked for it," she said dismissively before resuming the levitation of her brush.  "Sirius, don't talk to her anymore," Andromeda said, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, knowing that he was burning to use his wand on his older cousin, "you're underage anyway, it's not worth getting expelled." His glare softened as he looked at his favourite cousin and sighed, "You're right." The group worked silently for a few more minutes before Regulus spoke up, "What was Regulus I like, Alfie?" "He was my favourite uncle," Alphard said with a sigh, "I remember he used to take us to Quidditch games every -autumn- before we started attending Hogwarts, and he gave us the best Christmas gifts, too..."  "But he never got married," Narcissa, who had shifted slightly to inspect her great-uncle's name. "He never liked committment," Alphard said, "for instance, you never knew his address. He always moved out of every house he bought before it was a year. Father always said that it was because he had committment issues so I think he didn't settle for that reason. Though I suspect he had one or two kids with his conquests." "That means that you might've had cousins you don't know about?" Regulus asked.  "Less talkie, more workie people!" Bellatrix ordered, "This tapestry won't clean itself." "It would if you legal witches and wizards put a spell on these bloody brushes," Rabastan complained, "I don't even know why I'm doing this, I'm not even a Black!" "You're related to the Blacks by marriage," Bellatrix replied, "and I won't put a spell on the brushes because then you wouldn't know the value of hard work." "Like you would," Sirius muttered under his breath.  "I heard that, brat," she said dryly.  "'Course you did," he muttered again. "Stop it, you two," Andromeda warned.  "Was that the fireplace I heard?" Narcissa said hopefully.  "Waiting for someone to show up, Cissy?" Sirius teased.  Her cheeks flushed bright pink as she brushed the tapestry a bit harder, "No..." Andromeda smiled at Sirius knowingly, "A certain blond Malfoy, perhaps?" "All Malfoys are blonds," Rabastan remarked.  "True," Regulus added.  At that moment, they heard Walburga's voice from the hall and everyone had the same reaction: brush the tapestry harder. But to their relief, she was not at the door; instead was a nicely groomed Lucius Malfoy who held a brush in his gloved hand and whose face was distorted with shock.  "There he is," Sirius said, "set to work as well, eh Malfoy?" Lucius raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor before saying, "I think not. I asked whether Narcissa was here and was sent in this room with a brush." "My words exactly," Sirius said as he slid down the wall and let his brush fall on the floor next to him.  "Stand back up and brush," Bellatrix ordered.  "This rag is cleaner than it'll ever be," he said, lazily waving his hand at the 'rag'. Meanwhile, Lucius and Narcissa were greeting one another on the couch opposite Bellatrix.  "I have missed you, Cissy," he crooned, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. "And I more," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.  He kissed the top of her head, "How have you been?" he whispered.  "Rather good, dear. What about you?" "I've been counting the days separating me from you," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders lovingly.  "Rodolphus, why do you never do things like these to me?" Bellatrix complained, making him look at the blond couple.  He raised an eyebrow at her, "Would you let me?" She contemplated the thought before shaking her head, "Never mind..." "Is there not a chessboard, in this house?" Rabastan asked boredly.  "I know a game that's better than chess," Sirius said excitedly.  "What is it?" Andromeda asked as they all sat around the round ebony table.  "It's called Truth or Dare," he said, taking a seat next to her, "who would like to play?" "How is it played?" Rabastan asked.  "We take turns in asking whoever the wand points at if they want to answer to a question truthfully or if they want to be assigned a dare," Sirius explained.  "Huh?" Regulus said, confused.  "We'll do a round and you'll understand," Sirius said drawing his wand.  "You're underage, kid," Alphard remarked.  "I'm not going to use magic," he said, "aye, Malfoys, will you play?" "'Malfoys'?" Narcissa asked.  Sirius winked at her before saying, "A matter of time, Cissy." "I don't think I will play," she replied.  "What about Luci'?" Rabastan asked.  "Some people need to take a hint," Bellatrix said nodding at the couple.  "Oh," he said slowly.  "Will you Lestranges play?" Sirius asked dryly.  "Yes," Bellatrix said and Rodolphus soon joined in.  Sirius placed his wand on the center of the table and used his thumb and forefinger to spin it, it pointed at Alphard, "Truth or dare, Alfie?" Alphard eyed him suspiciously before saying, "Truth." "What was the name of the first girl you kissed in Hogwarts?" Sirius asked with a smirk.  "Wait, ~these~ are the questions?" Andromeda asked, her face turning pale a little.  "You can't ask the same question twice," Sirius said. "Alba," Alphard said after taking a minute to think about it. "Now you spin the wand and ask whoever it points at." Alphard did so and the wand pointed at Bellatrix, "Truth or dare, Bella?" She paused for a second before saying, "Dare." "I dare you to... Kiss Rodolphus in the most loving way you can," he said.  "What?" both Lestranges asked, one with shock and the other with utter disgust.  Rodolphus looked at his wife sideways, "Thanks a lot, Bella." She ignored him and glared at her uncle, "'Lovingly'? You know as well as I that love is a myth!" "Hey!" Narcissa shrieked.  "I never thought of it that way," Alphard said, "it's your dare, you have to do it." "If you don't, you'll have to give us your wand for as long as the game lasts," Sirius lied warningly, trying to hide his smirk.  She glared at her cousin, and then her husband before saying, "Whatever you try to slide in my mouth, you will lose." Rodolphus gulped hard before nodding and she leaned in, trying as hard as she could to perform her dare. She was about to kiss him on the lips when he derived it to her cheekbone. She blinked at him.  "What was that?" She asked.  "The most loving kiss I can give you without it leading to shagging," he replied with a smirk.  "Hey!" Regulus and Rabastan yelled, disgusted expressions on their faces.  "Kreacher," Alphard called, making the elf Apparate next to him, "bring a pot of tea and cakes for everyone here." "But Mistress said--"  "That's an order, Kreacher!"  The elf bowed, "Whatever Master desires." He disappeared to the kitchen and Bellatrix spun the wand, it pointed at Sirius, "Truth or dare, Gryffindork?" "Truth, I don't trust your dares," he replied.  She thought for a minute before saying, "Who would you kill in Hogwarts and how?" "I would kill Snivellus Snape," he said without an ounce of hesitation, "I would probably poison him or something." "What about the body?" Andromeda asked.  "We could always dump it in the lake and tell them the Giant Squid ate it," Sirius said with a shrug.  "You really do scare me, sometimes," Andromeda said with a shiver.  "That only proves that behind the red tie, he really is a Black," Bellatrix said.  "I think that's the nicest thing that you'll ever tell me, Bellatrix," he said surprised.  "Don't get used to it," she said curtly.  He spun the wand and it pointed at Rabastan, but before he could speak Kreacher was back with the tea, cakes and an assortment of dried fruit. He served the Blacks, Lestranges and Lucius and disappeared again. They ate and drank, the discussion turning into small talk as they forgot about the game completely.  Rabastan took a walnut and tried to open it, he looked at Alphard who was already eating some and asked, "How'd you open it?" "Use your head, son," Alphard replied.  Rabastan stared at Alphard incredulously before hitting the walnut straight on his forehead. Everyone in the room laughed out loud at the sight of the sixteen year old's bruised forehead.  Alphard managed to regain composure first as he said, "-When I said use your head I didn't mean to literally use your head!-" then he took two walnuts that he crushed in his palm, and said, "Here, you Muggle." Rabastan's mouth fell open at the insult, he was about to retort when everyone jumped in fear at Walburga's yelling.  "WHAT ARE YOU ALL USELESS SQUIBS DOING?! DID I SAY YOU COULD HAVE A TEA PARTY?! CLEAN THIS ROOM AT ONCE!" Sirius grabbed his wand from the middle of the table while Andromeda used spells to clean up the mess on the table while the others all busied themselves to avoid Walburga from assigning them any harder tasks.  Andromeda smiled at Sirius before whispering, "Happy Christmas, Sirius." He winked at her, "Happy Christmas, 'Dromeda." And that was the very last time that they would get to say it to each other's face. The next year, Andromeda had run away to Ted Tonks's and Sirius to James Potter's. Though neither really did like the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, that Christmas remained their favourite memory of 12 Grimmauld Place.

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Two: Mew

Around the afternoon, I was proofreading a chapter of one of my stories when my phone rang. I tilted my head over my bed to see the name but I was too far from it. I groaned as I stood up from my desk and frowned, for even the screen did not give much information about who was trying to reach me, only that they were using an Algerian phone.

I answered. “Hello?”

"Iman?" Said a voice that I knew a tad too well.

     My cousin, who I haven’t heard from since two birthdays ago as well, that I considered my best friend for so many years. Immediately, my thoughts went to my father but I chased him away and instead focused on my granddad who has Alzheimers.

"What is it, Myriam?" I asked, instead of answering her question.

"It’s true, then. You ran away," she replied sternly.

"I didn’t run away," I exclaimed, feeling my temper flare, "I’m here to study, instead of just getting married and popping kids like you did!"

She gasped lightly. “That’s low… That’s a very low blow, Iman.”

"As is judging an action whose motives you have no idea of," I retorted, no longer aware of how harsh my tone was.

"You sued your own father," she claimed, "who does that? Whatever the reason behind this, it’s—"

I cut in, not wanting to listen to any more of her speech, “Okay, so, first of all, I didn’t sue my father, and nor did my sister. It was mum. Second of all, regardless of who did it, you have absolutely no idea of what he let us go through without lifting a finger.

"And when he try to help, he only made us regret it in the end by saying that he did no favour to mum. She threatened to drop us at his doorstep and guess what he said?" I asked, not letting her answer as I went on, "He said he’d take us to a fucking orphanage! An orphanage Myriam! Who says that, huh?!"

"It’s still not reason enough to—"

"Excuse me! I forgot that you have absolutely no notion of misery, even after being married and having a child, you still live at your parents’ home. You still act like you’re more a child than a mother. You never knew anything worse than what you inflicted on yourself!"

Wanting to hear no more, I hung up and held my phone tightly in my hand, my knuckles going white from the tightness of my grip. Not a minute later, as I was still seething about the memories that she brought up, I felt my phone vibrating. I took a brief look at the screen and hung up before it could start ringing again.

 I sat back at my desk, put my phone next to my keyboard, and tried to focus on my chapter. Just when I started forgetting about the phone call, it rang again. This time, the caller ID was unknown. I replied, for my mum often forgot to show her ID to me, but it wasn’t her voice. Speaking in low Arabic, was my dad’s voice. I hung up without even trying to understand his words, I threw the phone away as if touching it was physically painful. I stood in the middle of my room, a shocked look having taken over my features.

It rang again.

I felt tears burning at the back of my eyes but I bit them back. I gathered my strength and slowly went to pick it up. I made sure to avoid looking at the screen as I slowly opened the door.

In the living-room, Moony and Shane are watching TV while eating, and drinking beer. I stood there for a moment, wondering why I left my room in the first place, then it clicked. I’d just give them my phone and tell them to only bring it to me when it was my mum or my sister.

I tried to utter a word but I realized that my voice was raspy. I cleared my throat making them glance toward me. “A-Are you guys busy?”

Moony didn’t answer, instead she asked, “Are you alright? Your eyes are glassy and you look like you just saw a ghost.”

"Yeah, yeah I’m fine," I lied quickly, "just some movie I watched, must be it."

She frowned, “You’re sure?”

"No," I said, truthfully this time, "are you busy?"

"Not really, no," she replied, and glanced toward Shane, "are you?"

He stuck out his bottom lip and said, “Nah, why?”

"Could you keep an eye on—" I started but my phone started vibrating again, I  hung up and cussed in Arabic before continuing, "— my phone?"

"Why?" Shane asked again before taking a sip of his drink.

"I don’t want to reply, just call me if it says ‘Mum’, okay?" I asked, praying for him not to press on the issue.

He raised an eyebrow, “Is something wrong?”

"No, why do you keep asking me this?" I asked, starting to sound frustrated.

"Because you don’t want to tell the truth," he said simply.

"Exactly," I said, "I don’t want to say it, because then you’ll want to know why; and I didn’t want to sound like the bitch I’m trying not to be around you guys. Obviously, I failed. So will you keep the sodding phone or do I have to fucking drown it?"

I was screaming at him by the end of my words and they were both looking meaningfully at me. Moony looked like she was half scared, half worried; while Shane looked like he was thinking along the lines of: ’She finally revealed her true self to us…’

      What part of me wanted to do, in that very second, was to cry and beg for forgiveness. That was a small part of me. The other part, the much bigger part, wanted to throw my goddamn phone —which had started vibrating again— as hard as I could against a wall, or on the floor and stomp on it several times.

      Instead of doing any of these, I tried hard to stay composed as I put my phone on the glass coffee table and made my way toward my room. However, when I got to my door, my headphones got tangled on the makeshift curtain. I clenched my jaw and fists as hard as I could to avoid doing anything that would make me look too enraged.

      That didn’t keep me from slamming my door really hard, once I untangled the headphones from the curtain.

         I locked the door and stared at my room. My computer was still on (Ps: I’m writing this while listening to The Butterbeer Experience’s The Peverell Story & Helena’s Story) but I felt nothing like writing, reading or anything on the same note. I grabbed my iPod, listened to some loud Wrock and curled back on my bed, not caring if anyone wanted to contact me.

         I woke up some time after, be it an hour or a day, to have something to eat. I glanced toward the window and noticed that it was night, and that the light I thought came from outside was in fact my computer. I pushed its screen shut, muttered unintelligibly and made my way to the kitchen. It was quiet, save for the TV’s sound and Shane’s fingers skating over his computer’s keyboard. I took a quick glance toward the couch and noticed that Moony was on her phone and Arty --who had claimed the armchair-- was hugging her knees and reading a book. Strange, I thought, they weren’t so… tame, last night…

          My gaze went toward the fridge, what would I find? I opened it and stared: an open can of ravioli, coke, beer, yesterday’s leftover pasta. I closed the fridge and looked inside the cupboards: chips, nachos, other types of canned food --veggies, sausage, etc…--, and a packet of macaroni. I debated whether I should actually cook something or if a bag of chips would suffice to satisfy my depression-imbued hunger. I also wondered whether I should ask my roommates if they wanted to eat anything, but I knew that weakness would be heard in my voice. It was one thing to be angry, but another to show that I actually had feelings even more so that they weren’t in a good state.

         I finally made my choice, I took the half-can of ravioli and put it to warm. Meanwhile, I went to fetch a packet of flavourless nachos to break into bits over the ravioli. I stirred the ravioli to avoid getting it stuck on the saucepan, went to grab a bowl and didn’t wait for food to be completely warm to pour it in the bowl. I opened the packet of nachos and grabbed a handful that I crushed over the ravioli. I used a fork to turn it over so as to have everything homogenous.

          I was about to go inside my room again when I heard it. My phone was vibrating again, next to Shane’s computer. I instinctively turned toward the noise and saw him checking the caller ID. I was going to ask who it was before I saw him hang up on whoever was calling. I smiled inwardly and went to eat.

          It was midday, a few days after we all settled in our nice, clean flat --and after the start of my depression-- that I started customizing the lightbulb garland I had bought with Arty and tried to make it look like a flower that I would hang lext to my desk. I was on the couch, over the coffee table, linking two split ends with plastic scissors when the entry door cracked open. I lifted my head and saw Arty with shopping bags and she was talking fast Japanese on the phone, which she held to her ear thanks to her shoulder… Strange that I had never asked her what language she spoke with her family… I knew Moony spoke Spanish but Shane and Arty remained a mystery. She looked kind of pissed off, as well. She acknowledged my presence with a brief nod as she let her bags fall on the floor and gripped her phone tightly in her hand. I blinked twice and waited for her to finish, she did and came to sit to my right with a tired sigh.

"Everything alright?" I asked conversationally.

"You’ve no idea!" She said tiredly.

I lifted a dark brown brow at her, “Really?” I chuckled, going back to my wires.

"Oh, that thing on the phone? It’s no problem, really, just a telemarketer whom I wanted to scare by pretending not to speak English," she said dismissively, "I found one of the greatest Harry Potter themed shops down the shopping center’s street!"

My attention shifted instantly as I said, “Seriously? Take me there when I’m done with this!”

"Not to worry, love," she said going to one of the bags, "I got you—"

My eyes started sparkling as I said guiltily, “You shouldn’t have…”

She looked at me in a strange way before throwing one paper bag at my face, “That’s called a gift, beautiful. And I’ve already got those for me anyway.”

"Really, you shouldn’t have," I said as I caught the bag.

She sat by me again and nudged my thigh with her forefinger, “Open it.” she whispered, not trying to conceal her excitement.

I did so, and to my astonishment the bag did not contain just one item but many. The first was a Slytherin scarf, the second a cloak of the same house, the third was a Marauders’ Map, and the last was a wand box. I examined it closely, and saw the name of its owner in the movies and books: Bellatrix Lestrange. My mouth fell open without me noticing as I took the lid off carefully and placed it on the glass coffee table, I took the wand in my hands and inspected it in awe while Arty was watching me intently.

          It was the first time that I spoke to anyone without having to, and I think that she noticed that fact. I looked at her, somehow forgetting the wand in my hands, and tried to smile but it looked more like a spasm.

  “Thank you, ‘Chita,” I said before placing the wand back into its box.

[writingdumpster-o]

TLF Random Scene: I was proofreading a chapter of one of my stories when my phone rang. I tilted my head over my bed to see the name but I was too far from it. I groaned as I stood up from my desk and frowned, for even the screen did not give much information about who was trying to reach me, only that they were using an Algerian phone.  I answered, "Hello?" "Iman?" Said a voice that I knew a tad too much. My cousin, who I haven't heard of since two birthdays ago as well, that I considered my best friend for so many years. Immediately, my thoughts go to my father but I chase him away, and instead focus on my granddad who has Alzheimer. "What is it, Myriam?" I asked, instead of answering her question.  "It's true, then. You ran away," she replied sternly. "I didn't 'run away'," I exclaimed, feeling my temper flare bit by bit, "I'm here to study, instead of just getting married and popping kids like you did!" She gasped lightly, "That's low... That's a very low blow, Iman." "As is judging an action whose motives you have no idea of," I retorted, no longer aware of how harsh my tone was.  "You sued your own father," she claimed, "who does that? Whatever the reason behind this, it's--" I cut in, not wanting to listen to any more of her speech, "Okay, so first of all, ~I~ didn't sue my father, and nor did my sister. It was mum. Second of all, regardless of who did it, you have absolutely ~no idea~ of what he let us go through without lifting a finger.  "And when he tried to help, he only made us regret it in the end by saying that he did mo favour to mum. She threatened to drop us at his doorstep and guess what he said?" I asked, not letting her answer as I went on, "He said he'd take us to a fucking orphanage, and orphanage Myriam! Who says that, huh?!" "It's still not reason enough to--" "~Excuse me~! I forgot that you have absolutely no notion of misery, even after being married and having a child you still live at your parents' home. You still act like you're more a child than a mother. You never knew anything worse than what you inflicted on yourself!" Wanting to hear no more, I hung up on her and held my phone tightly in my hand, whitening my knuckles. Not a minute later, as I was still seething about the memories that she brought up, I felt my phone vibrating. I took a brief look at the screen and hung up before it could start ringing again.    I sat back at my desk, put my phone next to my keyboard, and tried to focus on my chapter. Just when I started forgetting about the phone call, it rang again. This time, the caller ID was unknown. I replied, for my mum often forgot to show her ID to me, but it wasn't her voice. Speaking in low Arabic, was my dad's voice. I hung up without even trying to understand his words, I threw the phone away as if touching it was physically painful. I stood in the middle of my room, a shocked look having taken over my features.  It rang again. I felt tears burning at the back of my eyes but I bit them back. I gathered my strengths and slowly went to pick it up. I made sure to avoid making my eyes meet the screen as I slowly opened the door.  In the living-room, Moony and Shane are watching TV while eating and drinking beer. I stood there for a moment, wondering why I left my room in the first place, then it clicked. I'd just give them my phone and tell them to only bring it to me when it was my mum or my sister.  I tried to utter a word but I realized that my voice was raspy, I cleared my throat making them glance toward me, "A-Are you guys busy?" Moony didn't answer, instead she asked, "Are you alright? Your eyes are glassy and you look like you just saw a ghost." "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I lied quickly, "just some movie I watched, must be it." She frowned, "You're sure?" "No," I said, truthfully this time, "are you busy?" "Not really, no," she replied, and glanced toward Shane, "are you?" He stuck out his bottom lip and said, "Nah, why?" "Could you keep an eye on--" I started but my phone started vibrating again, I  hung up and cussed in Arabic before continuing, "-- my phone?" "Why?" Shane asked again before taking a sip of his drink.  "I don't want to reply, just call me if it says 'Mum', okay?" I asked, praying for him not to press on the issue. He raised an eyebrow, "Is something wrong?" "No, why do you keep asking me this?" I asked, starting to sound frustrated.  "Because you don't want to tell the truth," he said simply.  "Exactly," I said, "I don't ~want~ to say it, because then you'll want to know why; and I didn't want to sound like the bitch I'm trying not to be around you guys. Obviously, I failed. So will you keep the sodding phone or do I have to fucking drown it?" I was screaming at him by the end of my words and they were both looking meaningfully at me. Moony looked like she was half scared, half worried; while Shane just seemed to think: ~'She finally revealed her true self to us...'~ What part of me wanted to do, in that very second, was to cry and beg for forgiveness. That was a small part of me. The other part, the much bigger part, wanted to throw my goddamn phone --which had started vibrating again-- as hard as I could against a wall, or on the floor and stomp on it several times.   Instead of doing any of these, I tried hard to stay composed as I put my phone on the glass coffee table and made my way toward my room. However, when I got to my door, my headphones got tangled on the makeshift curtain. I clenched my jaw and fists as hard as I could to avoid doing anything that would make me look too enraged.  That didn't keep me from slamming my door shut really hard, once I untangled the headphones from the curtain. 

[writingdumpster-o]

Prologue:  In the outskirts of the Lorraine, France, an engine was heard in the dead of the night as a flying motorbike approached the farmhouse. Its rider, a man wearing a black leather jacket, looked at the sleeping baby in the sidecar, muffled with countless covers. He parked the motorbike a little farther from the farmhouse, took off his helmet and picked the baby up carefully.        The bearded, black haired man hammered incessantly at the young couple's door. He held a one year old baby in the crease of his left arm while his right hand, which was clenching his wand, kept on knocking loudly at the door. A blond man wearing his nightclothes opened the door and looked confused.  "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ce bordel?! Venir cogner à la porte des gens en pleine nuit, comme ça?! Vous croyez que c'est un moulin ici?!" The man yelled.  The black haired wizard only replied with, "Penelope, I need to speak to Penelope." Only then did the blond man notice that the man at the door was holding a baby and couldn't possibly be, as he had imagined, a drunk who were looking for somewhere to stay the night.  He relaxed his shoulders as he called over his shoulder, "Penelope! Quelqu'un avec un bébé veut te voir... Il est Anglais apparemment..." ~("Penelope! Someone holding a baby wants to see you... He's obviously English...")~ Just then, a jet black haired woman fastening her robe de chambre appeared next to her husband, and said, "Good evening." "Penelope Potter?" The black haired man asked.  She took a brief look at her husband beore saying, "DeChavanne now." "My name is Sirius Black, and this is your cousin, James's daughter," he said making her blink twice.  She widened the opening of her door and said, "Come in." The man named Sirius did so and, seeing the husband frown, Penelope said, "C'est la fille de mon cousin d'Angleterre, André." ~("She's my English cousin's daughter, André.")~ The frown on André's face disappeared just as soon as he heard her and he lead Sirius and the baby toward the living-room. As soon as the English guests were seated, Penelope went to the kitchen to make coffee while André started a fire. A few minutes later, Sirius was sipping on a warm coffee, the fire was cackling in the fireplace and Penelope was holding the baby.  She waited for her guest to feel at ease before asking, "Did something happen to James?" Sirius's face tightened as he heard his best friend's name, "It's better that you knew the whole truth anyway... "Rosanna here has a twin brother, Harry. When they were born, a prophecy was made and it bore Harry's name... And Voldemort's," Penelope gasped slightly while André's eyes widened at the mention of the Dark wizard, Sirius carried on, "and, knowing that it contained something about Harry being able to destroy him, Voldemort has since last July 31st tried to find Harry. What he doesn't know is Rosanna's existence, so after some convincing James and Lily have finally accepted to send her away for her own safety." "You mean to say that she is going to... She is going to live here, with us?" Penelope asked as she rocked Rosanna back and forth slowly. Sirius took a sip of his coffe before nodding, "Yes, this is what I mean. It may be temporary as it may be permanent. You are the only safe family that she has, and most importantly, you are the person that James and Lily trust most for this task." Penelope nodded slowly before muttering, "You were the best man at James's wedding, weren't you?" Sirius smiles at the memory before saying, "Yeah, I was. I am also Harry's Godfather, and Rosanna's is Remus Lupin. He was the best man as well, I don't know if you remember him..." "I remember three men whistling and making wolf noises when James and Lily kissed," she said with an amused frown, before asking, "who was the third man?" "That was Peter Pettigrew, or as we like to call him, Wormtail," Sirius said, "I passed the Secret Keeping of James and Lily's to him before coming, in order not to be followed here." "Alright," Penelope said with a slow nod, "would you mind waiting for a bit while I explain all this to my husband?" "Not at all," Sirius said before taking Rosanna in his arms.  André listened to his wife, nodding and asking questions from time to time, and when she was done he asked one more, "Comment on sait qu'on la garde définitivement?" Penelope turned to Sirius, "My husband wants to know how we're going to figure out if we will raise her as our own or return her to James and Lily." "You are not to return her unless Remus, James, Lily or I come here to pick her up," Sirius said, seriousness making his face an impenetrable mask.  "What are we to say to her, in case we raise her and she starts asking questions?" Penelope asked.  "In that case," Sirius said, as if he feared he would be asked that very question, "she must never know who her true parents are. Make something up, change her appearance to match yours and your husband's. She must never know that she has a twin brother, I insist on this.  "Remus will be visiting as her Godfather to check on her, you will make sure to ask him what his nickname is and if he's answer is 'Mooney' he is safe to approach." "Why isn't it him that brought Rosanna here, tonight?" Penelope asked curiously.  "His..." Sirius hesitated, "His condition does not allow him to do so. He will explain this when he comes here." "'His condition'?" She repeated.  "It is not my place to tell you about it." Sirius said before standing up, "Her birthday is on July 31st, 1980. Her Godfather is Remus Lupin, nicknamed Mooney. She is a Half-Blood witch. These what she needs to know about herself. If her Hogwarts letter comes, transfer her to a school in this country. She must never know about her life in Godric's Hollow or her biological family. From now on, if her parents, Remus or I do not come back for her, she is your daughter." Penelope gulped, "Understood." Sirius stood up and so did the married couple, "I must go back now, make sure that James, Lily and Harry are still safe." Penelope nodded, "Alright. We will be awaiting your visit, and her Godfather's nickname is Mooney, right?" "Right." Sirius said, making his way toward the front door.  Penelope followed him and held the door open for him, "I hope, for Rosanna, that I will not have to raise her." He stared at her and nodded, the look on his face grave, "I hope so too," he bent over the sleeping baby and kissed her forehead before murmuring, "be safe, Rosanna Lily Potter." "I hope that I'll see you soon, Mr. Black," Penelope said.  "Before I forget," he said fetching something from the inner pocket of his black leather vest, "this ring belonged to Lily. She'd like Rosanna to have it on her seventeenth birthday." Penelope took the ring, "Of course." Sirius nodded and handed Rosanna over to Penelope. As soon as the woman was holding the baby, Sirius took a step back, mounted his bike and flew to Godric's Hollow where he was hoping to find the Potters safe. Little did he know that while his one day's time journey, the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had paid a visit to the house and it was now a wreck.      Sirius could not think straight anymore, he pushed through the wreck and looked for his friends' bodies, hoping as strongly as he could that they would not be there. Unfortunately, he found his oldest friend's lifeless body in what used to be the Potters' living-room and his wife's in the nursery. Only one Potter was alive, and Sirius was astonished to discover that it was young Harry that survived the Dark Lord's attack on the family. He took Harry in his arms and flew to his apartment in London, where he could Floo to Hogwarts from. He panted as he appeared with Harry in the headmaster's office, luckily Dumbledore was on a late night work when Sirius appeared.  "Professor Dumbledore," Sirius gasped, "Voldemort has found where James and Lily lived and he-- he..." "Calm down, Sirius. Tell me what you know from the beginning," Dumbledore pried calmly.  Sirius relaxed and told Dumbledore the whole story before saying, "You must take Harry to a safe house, I have to go and look for Wormtail. He was Secret Keeper and I'm afraid something might've happened to him." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms, "I will send Professor McGonagall to look for a home for young Harry," he said, "come back as soon as you can, Sirius." "I'll try, Professor. In case something happens to me, Hagrid can have my motorbike. It's parked outside my apartment in London." Dumbledore nodded in agreement before saying, "You be safe, Sirius." "Just make sure that Harry's safe." Was Sirius's response as he went back to the fireplace and Floo'ed to Pettigrew's.  The events that followed on that night were, in short, unfortunate. Sirius was imprisoned for Pettigrew's murder, Harry was taken to the Dursleys', and Remus visited the DeChavanne couple a few weeks later to tell the events that had happened.  Sixteen Years Later:        Remus and Nymphadora Lupin Apparated in front of the DeChavanne farmhouse in which two black haired witches were having a birthday dinner. He knocked on the door thrice and, almost as soon as he did, it opened to reveal a seventeen year old girl. She had wavy, jet black hair and deep blue eyes.  She smiled broadly at him, not noticing the woman who accompanied him, before flinging her arms around his neck, "Remus!" she exclaimed, "Mum! Remus is here, can you believe it?" "Happy birthday, Rose," Remus said before walking in.  "Thank you," she said before starting to close the door.  "Wait," Remus said, stopping her move and letting Nymphadora in, "this is Tonks, Rose." Rose frowned before greeting her with a peck on each cheek, "Good evening, Tonks. I'm Rose, Remus's Goddaughter." Tonks smiled, "And I'm Tonks, Remus's wife." They were entering the dining-room when Rose gasped, "Remus's ~what~?" Remus laughed, "We got married a few weeks ago, sorry I couldn't invite you it was a very intimate ceremony with just her parents, yours, and some friends who lived close." She lifted an eyebrow at him, "Does this excuse the fact that you for-- Wait, you said ~my~ parents?" She turned to them, "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you would've wanted to come along," Penelope replied simply, "and England is too dangerous for you, you know this." "And you're immune to the war, or something?" She asked, taking a seat back next to her mother.  "Manners, Rosanna," Penelope scolded.  "Ugh! Not this name again, it's either Rose or Anna." She complained.  "Rosanna is better than Nymphadora," Tonks stated, "your mother didn't hate you as much as mine, trust me." "Nympha-what?" Rose asked making the woman laugh as her hair turned from light brown to bubblegum pink, "How'd you do that?" "Tonks is a Metamorphagus, Rose," Remus explained, "she can change her appearance at will." She sighed, "Wish I could do that... By the way, how come Remus calls you Tonks?" "I go by my last name-- Maiden name, I mean," she said catching herself at the last second.  He chuckles, and, before leaving for the kitchen, he says,"You always forget it, don't you?" "It's been four weeks but I still can't get used to it," Tonks replied, resting her head on his shoulder.  Rose smirked before saying, "Careful with him, Tonks. I'm overly jealous..." Tonks smiled tenderly at Rose, "As am I, Rosie..." "Rozee?" Rose asked with a thick French accent.  "I think it suits you," Tonks said before extending her plate toward Penelope.  "Want me to start calling you Nymphee?" Rose teased.  Remus chuckled again as he came back, "I see you two are getting along well." "More than well," Penelope said, "they are behaving like sisters." Rose winked at Remus, "Sisters, right?" He blushed hard and Tonks laughed lightly, "Better than a mean step-mum, right?" Rose half-smiled at that, "Way better, indeed." The rest of the dinner went smoothly, Rose and Tonks forming a beginning of a friendship all the while. After the meal, Penelope and Remus went to the kitchen, leaving Rose and Tonks to talk about Quidditch in the dining room.  "She seems to be doing just fine," Remus stated once they were out of hearing range.  Penelope leaned back on the sink, "She's coping well with the divorce. She went to his house for three weeks, she said she liked living in a Muggle town." Remus sat at the kitchen table and said, "Probably would be a good idea for her to spend most holidays with him, don't you think? Especially in these times, they're tracking everyone who is Half-Blood or less... Same for Half-Breeds," he added with a sigh.  Penelope, aware of his condition, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Oh, Remus..." "Tonks is Half-Blood, as is Rose," he carried on as she drew her wand.  She summoned the birthday cake on the table and said, "I am aware of this, but have you ever wondered about André's Blood Status?" Remus frowned at her, "He's not a Muggle-Born, is he?" Penelope shook her head briefly as she was placing seventeen candles on top of the cake, "No, his mother was a Veela and his father was born of a Squib and a Muggle-Born..." "So," Remus said after a minute of thinking, "he's a Half-Blood Veela?" "Pretty much," she said as she was going to light the candles, she stopped herself, "do you want to do it?" "Do what?" Remus asked, confused.  "André and I always had a habit of me putting the candles and him lighting them," Penelope said awkwardly.  He blinked twice and drew his wand, he asked, "Did he come to see her today?" From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod and say, "He got her a Potions book and another broomstick, a Nimbus 3000." Remus snorted, "Sirius had gotten Harry a Firebolt when he was only thirteen. Always got a head on, Padfoot." Penelope giggled slightly, "I've only met him twice, but I knew he was a good Godfather right away." Remus nodded, "He was..." "So are you," Rose's voice said, making the pair jump.  "Rose, what are you doing here?" Penelope asked, struggling to keep her composure.  "Tonks sent me to see what was taking so long," she said matter-of-factly.  "Will you levitate your cake to the dining-room? We won't be much longer, we're discussing birthday presents," Remus said with a wink.  Rose drew her wand and did as she was told before saying, "Birthday presents had better include a trip to England..." Remus waited for her to be out of the kitchen, and said, "We should be more careful with her... I also have something very important to ask from you, Penelope." She was levitating plates from the cupboard to the table as she said, "What is it?" "Do you think it safe to tell Tonks's mother about who Rose really is?" ~CRASH!~ The levitating plates fell on the floor as Penelope lost focus on her spell. She stared at him as if he'd just confessed being the Dark Lord's hidden son.  Remus pointed his wand at the mess and murmured, "~Reparo~." The dismantled pieces of glass fixed themselves and turned into a neat pile again, Penelope tossed her wand on the table and crouched down to take the plates by hand.  "Who died?" Asked Rose's voice from the hall.  "I lost focus," Penelope answered.  Remus whispered, "We'll talk about that later, just consider it." "Okay," she replied as they arrived at the dining-room.  "Well that took you guys long enough," said Rose as she used her wand to slice the cake, "happy birthday to me!" she sang excitedly.  "You just turned seventeen, didn't you?" Tonks asked.  Rose frowns at her, "Yes, how did you know?" "You mean, besides the seventeen candles on your cake?" She asked, smirking.  Rose shook her head dismissively, "Yes, besides that." "You use your wand to slice a piece of cake instead of the knife right next to your left hand," Tonks snickered.  Penelope and Remus started laughing and Rose blushed, she said, "Don't tell me that you didn't do that too, Tonks." "No I didn't, I just Apparated from my room to the kitchen when my mother called for me. Or some other things on the same note," she replied, making a piece float to her plate.  "Magic is brilliant," Rose said as she sent Remus's cake to his plate.  "So is this cake!" Tonks exclaimed after swallowing her first mouthful, "Did you make this, Penelope?" Remus beat her at answering, "Penelope here always makes Rose's birthday cakes, they're always just as good." "I hope I'll be able to make the same, one day." Rose said dreamily before having a mouthful.  "I keep record of every cake I create, Rose," Penelope said, "one day you will inherit my book of Potions and recipes.” Remus smiled at Rose and she smiled back, “It is time for presents, I presume?” He said, standing up. Rose unconsciously clapped her hands while whispering, “Gifts!” He went to his jacket, which was in the living-room couch, and came back with a beige rectangular box. He handed it to Rose who kissed him on the cheek before undoing the red ribbon that held the box closed. She gasped slightly as she took the white gold necklace between her slender fingers, it had a silver pendent in the shape of the Beauxbatons Academy blazonry. "Thank you, Remus," she said in a breath, "I love it." Remus smiled at her as he sat back next to Tonks, “Point your wand at it and say Alohomora.” She did so and, to her astonishment, the pendant opened itself to reveal two moving pictures. One of her 12 year old self with Remus, she remembered that day for it was her birthday of that year. The second picture was of her 16 year old self with both of her parents, on the first day of summer after she passed her OWLs successfully. She smiled broadly at the pictures and went over to hug her Godfather from where he was sitting. Rose fought happy tears as she held tight onto him, but then she felt him wince. She stood back immediately, “What’s wrong?” Tonks didn’t wait for him to answer, “Is it your shoulder again, sweetheart?" Remus gave Penelope a look before saying, “It’s nothing, really. I’m glad you love your necklace, Rose. Tonks, show her your present.” Tonks stood up, her hair turning into a fluorescent purple, and said excitedly, “You’re going to love it, I’m sure!” She got out of the house and came back inside the dining-room in a little more than four strides, when she appeared again she was holding a little black fur ball which was apparently sleeping. Tonks handed it to Rose who put the necklace on the table before carefully holding her latest present in her cupped hands. The black fur ball, which was apparently sleeping, started waking up and separating its head from the rest of its body.  Rose's eyes glimmered, "A puppy? You're offering me a puppy? I can't believe it, Mum she got me a puppy!" Penelope couldn't help but smile broadly as she said, "It's too much, Tonks. Really, you shouldn't have..." "It's self-gratifying, Penelope," Tonks said, "look at how happy she is!" Indeed, Rose had forgotten everyone else's presence as her dog yawned, showing its pink padded feet to her.  She turned to Tonks again, "Thank you so much, Tonks. I love it... Is it a female or male?" "Male," Tonks replied with a smile, "you're allowed pets at your school, aren't you?" Rose nodded, her thoughts racing for a name, when finally she said, "I'm going to call him Padfoot!" Remus choked on his tea before saying, "Did you just say... Padfoot?" "Yeah, why?" She asked, frowning.  "Where did that come from?" He asked.  "I had this name in the back of my mind for a while, I just can't remember when I heard it or from whom. I think it's suiting, look at his feet." Remus nodded slowly before muttering under his breath, "You do take after your father..." "Huh?" She asked. "I think it's time for your mother's present, isn't it Penelope?" Tonks said suddenly.  Rose walked over to her and singlehandedly hugged her Godfather's wife tight, "Thank you so much." Tonks hugged her back while Penelope went to her room, "It's not every day that young Miss DeChavanne turns seventeen, now is it?" "Close your eyes," instructed Penelope as she came back. Rose handed her puppy over to Tonks and closed her eyes. She cupped her hands together and felt a little round, velvet object on her hands. She opened her eyes and saw a deep blue ring box. She took a brief look at her mother and Godfather, who both looked at her encouragingly, and lifted the box's lid to find a beautiful white gold ring. It was thin, and bore a heart-shaped ruby stone. "Mum..." Rose murmured, not daring to touch the jewel.  "Try it on," Penelope bellowed.  Rose took the ring and slipped it in her left ring finger. It fit perfectly, and made her hand look most gracious.  "It's too sumptuous, mum. I can't possibly wear this--" Rose started, but Penelope cut her off.  "You will wear this until you get married and replace it with your wedding ring," she said, "it's the Potter women's tradition." "I'm a DeChavanne, mum," Rose replied.  "I'm a Potter, therefore you are too," Penelope said with a wink.  Rose hugged her mother for a couple of minutes, silently. Remus and Tonks exchanged a tender look while Tonks caressed Padfoot's head. The mother and daughter ended the hug, and each went back to her seat. The rest of the dinner went uneventfully, Rose asked Remus to help her wear the necklace and she spoke to Tonks for the rest of the evening.       Two days later, the newly married couple was leaving the farmhouse to go back to England where, as Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, they had duties in those times of war. While Rose was bidding Tonks 'Bon Voyage', Remus gave Penelope a meaningfully questioning look. She paused for a moment before nodding briefly. Remus then nodded at Tonks's back pointedly, and again looked at Penelope. She nodded for the second time and made a point of going to talk to the girls, signalling to Remus that she was not to accept that he confided anyone else on the sixteen year old secret.  Remus needed no more, his wife and mother-in-law were going to know what no one but Dumbledore, Penelope and himself knew. Harry James Potter was born with a twin sister: Rosanna Lily Potter.

[writingdumpster-o]

one day you will inherit my book of Potions and recipes."

Remus smiled at Rose and she smiled back, "It is time for presents, I presume?" He said, standing up.

Rose unconsciously clapped her hands while whispering, "Gifts!"

He went to his jacket, which was in the living-room couch, and came back with a beige rectangular box. He handed it to Rose who kissed him on the cheek before undoing the red ribbon that held the box closed. She gasped slightly as she took the white gold necklace between her slender fingers, it had a silver pendent in the shape of the Beauxbatons Academy blazonry.

"Thank you, Remus," she said in a breath, "I love it."

Remus smiled at her as he sat back next to Tonks, "Point your wand at it and say Alohomora."

She did so and, to her astonishment, the pendant opened itself to reveal two moving pictures. One of her 12 year old self with Remus, she remembered that day for it was her birthday of that year. The second picture was of her 16 year old self with both of her parents, on the first day of summer after she passed her OWLs successfully. She smiled broadly at the pictures and went over to hug her Godfather from where he was sitting. Rose fought happy tears as she held tight onto him, but then she felt him wince.

She stood back immediately, "What's wrong?"

Tonks didn't wait for him to answer, "Is it your shoulder again, sweetheart?"

Remus gave Penelope a look before saying, "It's nothing, really. I'm glad you love your necklace, Rose. Tonks, show her your present."

Tonks stood up, her hair turning into a fluorescent purple, and said excitedly, "You're going to love it, I'm sure!"

She got out of the house and came back inside the dining-room in a little more than four strides, when she appeared again she was holding a little black fur ball which was apparently sleeping. Tonks handed it to Rose who put the necklace on the table before carefully holding her

[writingdumpster-o]

Prologue:  In the outskirts of the Lorraine, France, an engine was heard in the dead of the night as a flying motorbike approached the farmhouse. Its rider, a man wearing a black leather jacket, looked at the sleeping baby in the sidecar, muffled with countless covers. He parked the motorbike a little farther from the farmhouse, took off his helmet and picked the baby up carefully.        The bearded, black haired man hammered incessantly at the young couple's door. He held a one year old baby in the crease of his left arm while his right hand, which was clenching his wand, kept on knocking loudly at the door. A blond man wearing his nightclothes opened the door and looked confused.  "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ce bordel?! Venir cogner à la porte des gens en pleine nuit, comme ça?! Vous croyez que c'est un moulin ici?!" The man yelled.  The black haired wizard only replied with, "Penelope, I need to speak to Penelope." Only then did the blond man notice that the man at the door was holding a baby and couldn't possibly be, as he had imagined, a drunk who were looking for somewhere to stay the night.  He relaxed his shoulders as he called over his shoulder, "Penelope! Quelqu'un avec un bébé veut te voir... Il est Anglais apparemment..." ~("Penelope! Someone holding a baby wants to see you... He's obviously English...")~ Just then, a jet black haired woman fastening her robe de chambre appeared next to her husband, and said, "Good evening." "Penelope Potter?" The black haired man asked.  She took a brief look at her husband beore saying, "DeChavanne now." "My name is Sirius Black, and this is your cousin, James's daughter," he said making her blink twice.  She widened the opening of her door and said, "Come in." The man named Sirius did so and, seeing the husband frown, Penelope said, "C'est la fille de mon cousin d'Angleterre, André." ~("She's my English cousin's daughter, André.")~ The frown on André's face disappeared just as soon as he heard her and he lead Sirius and the baby toward the living-room. As soon as the English guests were seated, Penelope went to the kitchen to make coffee while André started a fire. A few minutes later, Sirius was sipping on a warm coffee, the fire was cackling in the fireplace and Penelope was holding the baby.  She waited for her guest to feel at ease before asking, "Did something happen to James?" Sirius's face tightened as he heard his best friend's name, "It's better that you knew the whole truth anyway... "Rosanna here has a twin brother, Harry. When they were born, a prophecy was made and it bore Harry's name... And Voldemort's," Penelope gasped slightly while André's eyes widened at the mention of the Dark wizard, Sirius carried on, "and, knowing that it contained something about Harry being able to destroy him, Voldemort has since last July 31st tried to find Harry. What he doesn't know is Rosanna's existence, so after some convincing James and Lily have finally accepted to send her away for her own safety." "You mean to say that she is going to... She is going to live here, with us?" Penelope asked as she rocked Rosanna back and forth slowly. Sirius took a sip of his coffe before nodding, "Yes, this is what I mean. It may be temporary as it may be permanent. You are the only safe family that she has, and most importantly, you are the person that James and Lily trust most for this task." Penelope nodded slowly before muttering, "You were the best man at James's wedding, weren't you?" Sirius smiles at the memory before saying, "Yeah, I was. I am also Harry's Godfather, and Rosanna's is Remus Lupin. He was the best man as well, I don't know if you remember him..." "I remember three men whistling and making wolf noises when James and Lily kissed," she said with an amused frown, before asking, "who was the third man?" "That was Peter Pettigrew, or as we like to call him, Wormtail," Sirius said, "I passed the Secret Keeping of James and Lily's to him before coming, in order not to be followed here." "Alright," Penelope said with a slow nod, "would you mind waiting for a bit while I explain all this to my husband?" "Not at all," Sirius said before taking Rosanna in his arms.  André listened to his wife, nodding and asking questions from time to time, and when she was done he asked one more, "Comment on sait qu'on la garde définitivement?" Penelope turned to Sirius, "My husband wants to know how we're going to figure out if we will raise her as our own or return her to James and Lily." "You are not to return her unless Remus, James, Lily or I come here to pick her up," Sirius said, seriousness making his face an impenetrable mask.  "What are we to say to her, in case we raise her and she starts asking questions?" Penelope asked.  "In that case," Sirius said, as if he feared he would be asked that very question, "she must never know who her true parents are. Make something up, change her appearance to match yours and your husband's. She must never know that she has a twin brother, I insist on this.  "Remus will be visiting as her Godfather to check on her, you will make sure to ask him what his nickname is and if he's answer is 'Mooney' he is safe to approach." "Why isn't it him that brought Rosanna here, tonight?" Penelope asked curiously.  "His..." Sirius hesitated, "His condition does not allow him to do so. He will explain this when he comes here." "'His condition'?" She repeated.  "It is not my place to tell you about it." Sirius said before standing up, "Her birthday is on July 31st, 1980. Her Godfather is Remus Lupin, nicknamed Mooney. She is a Half-Blood witch. These what she needs to know about herself. If her Hogwarts letter comes, transfer her to a school in this country. She must never know about her life in Godric's Hollow or her biological family. From now on, if her parents, Remus or I do not come back for her, she is your daughter." Penelope gulped, "Understood." Sirius stood up and so did the married couple, "I must go back now, make sure that James, Lily and Harry are still safe." Penelope nodded, "Alright. We will be awaiting your visit, and her Godfather's nickname is Mooney, right?" "Right." Sirius said, making his way toward the front door.  Penelope followed him and held the door open for him, "I hope, for Rosanna, that I will not have to raise her." He stared at her and nodded, the look on his face grave, "I hope so too," he bent over the sleeping baby and kissed her forehead before murmuring, "be safe, Rosanna Lily Potter." "I hope that I'll see you soon, Mr. Black," Penelope said.  "Before I forget," he said fetching something from the inner pocket of his black leather vest, "this ring belonged to Lily. She'd like Rosanna to have it on her seventeenth birthday." Penelope took the ring, "Of course." Sirius nodded and handed Rosanna over to Penelope. As soon as the woman was holding the baby, Sirius took a step back, mounted his bike and flew to Godric's Hollow where he was hoping to find the Potters safe. Little did he know that while his one day's time journey, the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had paid a visit to the house and it was now a wreck.      Sirius could not think straight anymore, he pushed through the wreck and looked for his friends' bodies, hoping as strongly as he could that they would not be there. Unfortunately, he found his oldest friend's lifeless body in what used to be the Potters' living-room and his wife's in the nursery. Only one Potter was alive, and Sirius was astonished to discover that it was young Harry that survived the Dark Lord's attack on the family. He took Harry in his arms and flew to his apartment in London, where he could Floo to Hogwarts from. He panted as he appeared with Harry in the headmaster's office, luckily Dumbledore was on a late night work when Sirius appeared.  "Professor Dumbledore," Sirius gasped, "Voldemort has found where James and Lily lived and he-- he..." "Calm down, Sirius. Tell me what you know from the beginning," Dumbledore pried calmly.  Sirius relaxed and told Dumbledore the whole story before saying, "You must take Harry to a safe house, I have to go and look for Wormtail. He was Secret Keeper and I'm afraid something might've happened to him." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms, "I will send Professor McGonagall to look for a home for young Harry," he said, "come back as soon as you can, Sirius." "I'll try, Professor. In case something happens to me, Hagrid can have my motorbike. It's parked outside my apartment in London." Dumbledore nodded in agreement before saying, "You be safe, Sirius." "Just make sure that Harry's safe." Was Sirius's response as he went back to the fireplace and Floo'ed to Pettigrew's.  The events that followed on that night were, in short, unfortunate. Sirius was imprisoned for Pettigrew's murder, Harry was taken to the Dursleys', and Remus visited the DeChavanne couple a few weeks later to tell the events that had happened.  Sixteen Years Later:        Remus and Nymphadora Lupin Apparated in front of the DeChavanne farmhouse in which two black haired witches were having a birthday dinner. He knocked on the door thrice and, almost as soon as he did, it opened to reveal a seventeen year old girl. She had wavy, jet black hair and deep blue eyes.  She smiled broadly at him, not noticing the woman who accompanied him, before flinging her arms around his neck, "Remus!" she exclaimed, "Mum! Remus is here, can you believe it?" "Happy birthday, Rose," Remus said before walking in.  "Thank you," she said before starting to close the door.  "Wait," Remus said, stopping her move and letting Nymphadora in, "this is Tonks, Rose." Rose frowned before greeting her with a peck on each cheek, "Good evening, Tonks. I'm Rose, Remus's Goddaughter." Tonks smiled, "And I'm Tonks, Remus's wife." They were entering the dining-room when Rose gasped, "Remus's ~what~?" Remus laughed, "We got married a few weeks ago, sorry I couldn't invite you it was a very intimate ceremony with just her parents, yours, and some friends who lived close." She lifted an eyebrow at him, "Does this excuse the fact that you for-- Wait, you said ~my~ parents?" She turned to them, "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you would've wanted to come along," Penelope replied simply, "and England is too dangerous for you, you know this." "And you're immune to the war, or something?" She asked, taking a seat back next to her mother.  "Manners, Rosanna," Penelope scolded.  "Ugh! Not this name again, it's either Rose or Anna." She complained.  "Rosanna is better than Nymphadora," Tonks stated, "your mother didn't hate you as much as mine, trust me." "Nympha-what?" Rose asked making the woman laugh as her hair turned from light brown to bubblegum pink, "How'd you do that?" "Tonks is a Metamorphagus, Rose," Remus explained, "she can change her appearance at will." She sighed, "Wish I could do that... By the way, how come Remus calls you Tonks?" "I go by my last name-- Maiden name, I mean," she said catching herself at the last second.  He chuckles, and, before leaving for the kitchen, he says,"You always forget it, don't you?" "It's been four weeks but I still can't get used to it," Tonks replied, resting her head on his shoulder.  Rose smirked before saying, "Careful with him, Tonks. I'm overly jealous..." Tonks smiled tenderly at Rose, "As am I, Rosie..." "Rozee?" Rose asked with a thick French accent.  "I think it suits you," Tonks said before extending her plate toward Penelope.  "Want me to start calling you Nymphee?" Rose teased.  Remus chuckled again as he came back, "I see you two are getting along well." "More than well," Penelope said, "they are behaving like sisters." Rose winked at Remus, "Sisters, right?" He blushed hard and Tonks laughed lightly, "Better than a mean step-mum, right?" Rose half-smiled at that, "Way better, indeed." The rest of the dinner went smoothly, Rose and Tonks forming a beginning of a friendship all the while. After the meal, Penelope and Remus went to the kitchen, leaving Rose and Tonks to talk about Quidditch in the dining room.  "She seems to be doing just fine," Remus stated once they were out of hearing range.  Penelope leaned back on the sink, "She's coping well with the divorce. She went to his house for three weeks, she said she liked living in a Muggle town." Remus sat at the kitchen table and said, "Probably would be a good idea for her to spend most holidays with him, don't you think? Especially in these times, they're tracking everyone who is Half-Blood or less... Same for Half-Breeds," he added with a sigh.  Penelope, aware of his condition, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Oh, Remus..." "Tonks is Half-Blood, as is Rose," he carried on as she drew her wand.  She summoned the birthday cake on the table and said, "I am aware of this, but have you ever wondered about André's Blood Status?" Remus frowned at her, "He's not a Muggle-Born, is he?" Penelope shook her head briefly as she was placing seventeen candles on top of the cake, "No, his mother was a Veela and his father was born of a Squib and a Muggle-Born..." "So," Remus said after a minute of thinking, "he's a Half-Blood Veela?" "Pretty much," she said as she was going to light the candles, she stopped herself, "do you want to do it?" "Do what?" Remus asked, confused.  "André and I always had a habit of me putting the candles and him lighting them," Penelope said awkwardly.  He blinked twice and drew his wand, he asked, "Did he come to see her today?" From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod and say, "He got her a Potions book and another broomstick, a Nimbus 3000." Remus snorted, "Sirius had gotten Harry a Firebolt when he was only thirteen. Always got a head on, Padfoot." Penelope giggled slightly, "I've only met him twice, but I knew he was a good Godfather right away." Remus nodded, "He was..." "So are you," Rose's voice said, making the pair jump.  "Rose, what are you doing here?" Penelope asked, struggling to keep her composure.  "Tonks sent me to see what was taking so long," she said matter-of-factly.  "Will you levitate your cake to the dining-room? We won't be much longer, we're discussing birthday presents," Remus said with a wink.  Rose drew her wand and did as she was told before saying, "Birthday presents had better include a trip to England..." Remus waited for her to be out of the kitchen, and said, "We should be more careful with her... I also have something very important to ask from you, Penelope." She was levitating plates from the cupboard to the table as she said, "What is it?" "Do you think it safe to tell Tonks's mother about who Rose really is?" ~CRASH!~ The levitating plates fell on the floor as Penelope lost focus on her spell. She stared at him as if he'd just confessed being the Dark Lord's hidden son.  Remus pointed his wand at the mess and murmured, "~Reparo~." The dismantled pieces of glass fixed themselves and turned into a neat pile again, Penelope tossed her wand on the table and crouched down to take the plates by hand.  "Who died?" Asked Rose's voice from the hall.  "I lost focus," Penelope answered.  Remus whispered, "We'll talk about that later, just consider it." "Okay," she replied as they arrived at the dining-room.  "Well that took you guys long enough," said Rose as she used her wand to slice the cake, "happy birthday to me!" she sang excitedly.  "You just turned seventeen, didn't you?" Tonks asked.  Rose frowns at her, "Yes, how did you know?" "You mean, besides the seventeen candles on your cake?" She asked, smirking.  Rose shook her head dismissively, "Yes, besides that." "You use your wand to slice a piece of cake instead of the knife right next to your left hand," Tonks snickered.  Penelope and Remus started laughing and Rose blushed, she said, "Don't tell me that you didn't do that too, Tonks." "No I didn't, I just Apparated from my room to the kitchen when my mother called for me. Or some other things on the same note," she replied, making a piece float to her plate.  "Magic is brilliant," Rose said as she sent Remus's cake to his plate.  "So is this cake!" Tonks exclaimed after swallowing her first mouthful, "Did you make this, Penelope?" Remus beat her at answering, "Penelope here always makes Rose's birthday cakes, they're always just as good." "I hope I'll be able to make the same, one day." Rose said dreamily before having a mouthful.  "I keep record of every cake I create, Rose," Penelope said, "