Úlfhéðinn: Milo Potter, age 10, Squib

A/N: Hi there, I'm back! :D The hopefully long anticipated second part of the trilogy, sequel to A Tale of Winter is here! I'm not going to comment much on canon for the sake of those who haven't read the book yet, (and what have you been doing that you haven't?) but I will tell you that I'm going to incorporate some elements of it into the story. Save for a few things, I really did enjoy the book, really.

Otherwise, things you need to know. I read over parts of the first book and cringed, I seriously should get a beta, and I have a feeling I may have some cringing here too, but nothing too bad. In that vein, all errors are mine. Also, school is reopening for me, so don't expect speedy updates, I'll try, but this is my third year at uni so don't hold out much hope. And last, today's my mum's birthday so I'm dedicating this entire fic to her. Heh... we'll see if that was a good idea.

Disclaimer: I gladly give props to JK Rowling, everything you recognise is hers. However, all original stuff is mine and I greedily lay claim to it. She can't have it, it's mine!

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Úlfhéðinn: Milo Potter, age 10, Squib

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“Oh you who are born of the blood of the gods, Trojan son of Anchises, easy is the descent to Hell; the door of dark Dis stands open day and night. But to retrace your steps and come out to the air above, that is work, that is labour!”- Virgil

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Chapter One

It was still amber. In the weeks and months since Connor had given me the mood ring, (on his birthday no less, and gift-wrapped, with a bright rainbow-coloured bow) it had changed colours numerous times so that I knew that it was working, but the predominant colour was amber. Amber, according to the guide booklet that had come with the Madam Astra's Magical Mood Ring (A Colour for Every Mood!), represented stress and strain, and was most noticeably present whenever I was with Connor for extended periods of time. No matter what he did or said or tried, it would not change, and we both knew why.

Rigel, who didn't, considered it karma and quite happily made a point of taking daily checks on its status. And the more time passed the worse he got, to the point that, as he, Connor, Aisling, Hortense and I made our way to Hogsmeade Station with our schoolmates to catch the Hogwarts Express at end of term, he said loudly, “I think it's about time you returned that ring, Magnolia, it's not working.”

Connor gave no visible reaction, though Aisling and Hortense exchanged a glance and Hortense rolled her eyes. I looked up at Connor, not fooled by the blank look on his face, and replied stiffly, “There's nothing wrong with the ring, it was green this morning.”

“Really?” asked Rigel, bending forward slightly so that he could look at my face and arching a brow. Had I seriously believed my tone would have put him in his place? This was Rigel Malfoy I was speaking to.

“Yes, really,” I replied, trying to stifle a surge of irritation. “And when I argued with Kimberly about a few of my books she'd taken, it turned black.”

As a matter of fact, it was already beginning to turn grey. Oblivious to this, Rigel shrugged and said, “I still say there's something wrong with it, it's always yellow.”

“It's not `yellow', it's `amber', and you would find fault with it, nothing you haven't purchased or is not on a first name basis with the creator of is good enough,” I said, with a hint of nastiness.

Unsurprisingly, he smiled brightly. “You know me so well.”

Oh yes I did, we'd practically grown up like siblings though he proudly laid claim to the name “Malfoy” and I was Harry Potter's daughter. The circumstances of his conception may have been unclear and the subject of intense rumours to this day (for it had come about while his mother, Ginny Weasley, had been Draco Malfoy's captive in a cave by the sea for eight days at the end of the Second War) but there was no doubt that he was Draco's son. He had his grey eyes, high forehead and pale complexion, and also the Weasley's fiery red hair, in addition to broad shoulders, high cheekbones and a somewhat imposing height. And since Draco's mother, Mrs Narcissa Malfoy had won visitation rights in a still-hotly contested custody decision when he was five, he'd been sorted into Slytherin when he got to Hogwarts and he acted like a tamer version of him, no one doubted it for a second.

I rolled my eyes and tried to escape him by walking a little ahead of him and the others. Bad idea in the heat, I'd last had breakfast hours ago and was fast sweating through my internal water reserves. Not to mention that with my hair becoming frizzier with each step, I was seriously regretting the decision not to put it into that single braid Kimberly had offered to do. While I'd managed to inherit my father's green eyes, slight build and hair colour, and looked a bit like his mother, my hair was just like my Mum's, meaning long, thick and bushy. My big black-haired head could probably be seen for miles in the humidity.

Oh, the humidity. Summer had only truly come to Scotland some weeks before, bringing with it long hot days of brilliant sunshine and startling, sudden thunderstorms, the end of heavy, itchy jumpers, long cloaks and smoky fireplaces, and the anticipation of two months of no school, but the humidity had been there long before. And as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry let out for the school year that morning, we were treated to the first taste of a predicted heat wave. Those who could had cast Cooling Charms on their clothing as soon as they were out the door, those who couldn't, which were basically most of the school, were forced to hurry down the path to the train station as quickly as they could without outright running.

Of course, I doubted anyone without humidity concerns were really worrying about it behind their sweat-drenched brows. There were a plethora of more important things to ponder, like no school for two months, actually going home after nearly nine, summer trips in the country or abroad, jobs they wanted or were forced to take, and yes, homework.

My family weren't going any further than the Burrow in Devon this year, but my grandparents were coming over from Nice for a fortnight in three weeks. The closest I'd come to vacation jobs so far were the odd paid chore around the house, baby-sitting my little brother and the younger Weasleys with Hortense and Aisling, and on one occasion, playing assistant to Aisling mother's, Luna Weasley, nee Lovegood, at The Quibbler on my father's birthday so my parents could spend it together. And apparently narrowly escaping death on numerous occasions during the winter did not exempt one from the need to complete one's syllabus before OWLS year.

Still, I had two whole months of relative freedom ahead of me, there was no rush.

“Hey, slow down!” called Rigel, realising that I was trying to escape him and attempting to catch up. “That's really childish, Potter. I was merely making an observation and giving you my opinion, you don't have to listen to me... I know you're not going to anyway.”

I barely looked over my shoulder to glare at him. “Connor's right here, you're being rude and I don't want to hear it. I told you to keep me out of your feud and you're not listening.”

Connor spoke up then. “You don't have to be offended on my behalf, just ignore him like I do.”

I turned to argue that I did not want to ignore him, and that I was fed up of having an amber ring too, and that we really needed to sit down and talk about why the ring was amber again and how it could be fixed, when I collided with a small boy who I hadn't realised was walking close behind me. He stumbled out of my path, muttering, “Sorry, sorry!” as I hastily apologised, but then he stopped, looked up and immediately jerked away from me as if burned. I froze, hands suspended where I'd been helping him right himself, in shock, but with a look of disgust he scurried away, steadfastly refusing to take a backward glance. And as soon as he was out of sight my rage at Connor transferred to him and I felt myself shaking as I tried to stifle the urge to scream in frustration.

Who'd said that the last day of school was not a day for Potter-baiting?

The first to do it were the Slytherin first and second years who weren't yet afraid of Rigel but were stupid enough to think that Potter-baiting—as Rigel called the act of employing various means and methods of getting a rise out of me, due to my little brother's condition—was the general rule among the non-Gryffindors of the school. This was hastily brought under control, and after one of them foolishly did it in front of him. But then it began to pick up among the others.

I went home for the Easter break, at Mum's insistence, and when I returned it was suddenly a daily occurrence. As I wandered through the corridors on my way to classes or the Great Hall or out of doors, I would encounter suspicious looks, loud whispering and outright aversion. My fellow Gryffindors took care not to do it, to show House solidarity, but I knew that many of them shared the view that I was not to be associated with. Harry Potter may have saved all their skins in the Second War against Voldemort, but now that his son was a werewolf his family was something to be shunned and avoided. Now I truly understood how awful it was to have Rigel take daily verbal swipes at Connor, whose father, Remus Lupin, was probably the most famous werewolf in all of Wizarding Britain. And it hurt just that much more too when I thought that Milo was already having to deal with it whenever Dad or Mum took him out in the Wizarding world.

Eventually there were too many of them to complain about, many of them had already been raised on stereotypical ideas of werewolves and wouldn't see differently even if it was staring them in the face. And when my dear vindictive Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape joined the fray, moving from simply ignoring me in class to making a show of doing so in class, I resigned myself to suffer in silence. Dad and Headmistress McGonagall could threaten or talk to them all they wanted and it would change nothing.

Of course, knowing this did not make enduring it any easier.

The others quickly formed a semi-circle round me, with Connor taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, but Rigel was the first to speak. “Did you see his face?”

I shook my head, and then realising what he'd asked, said, “You can't have him hunted down and beaten.”

“Whatever gave you the idea that I was planning something like that?” asked Rigel, feigning offence.

“I heard about Jeffrey Clark and Albus Horne,” I replied.

He scoffed. “I had nothing to do with that. Those two knew that Ravenclaws aren't allowed in the Slytherin dungeons outside of classes.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “They were going to see Professor Snape about homework.”

“He wasn't there and they knew that, they were intentionally invading our territory,” he replied, casually looking around us for sign of the boy. “To Slytherins that is considered an act of aggression and it must be treated as such.”

“You are impossible,” I replied, trying my best to suppress a smile. I couldn't help but like it when he acted chivalrously; it was a rare but wonderful sight.

He smiled broadly, but then it was replaced by a frown when Connor asked, “Maggie, where's Ophelia?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, slapping my forehead as I realised that I'd forgotten my owl again. For all that she'd done for me in the short time that I'd had her, I had been a rather awful owner to the little pygmy owl. She'd been my rescuer during the worst attack last winter, but since then I'd constantly forgotten her in the Owlery, instead choosing to use a school owl before remembering well after I'd sent it off that I had an owl of my own. Coincidentally I almost never visited her, or took her out about the castle like the other owners did. Just before I left home after the Easter break, Mum had joked that she didn't expect to see me at King's Cross with her in hand. Apparently, I was going to prove her right.

Rigel interrupted, scowling. “What is it with you, Lupin? Your girlfriend was just treated to a bit of werewolf bias—something I know you're more than familiar with—and you're busy talking about owls?”

Aisling swatted his arm, and he at once swatted her back. She made to attack him again, this time drawing her wand, but Connor arrested her movement by lifting free his arm over our heads and gently dangled Ophelia in her little gilt cage before me. “Don't worry, I've got her. But keep this up and the next time you'll remember her is when we're on the train and pulling into London.”

Rigel, glowering at Aisling, said, “Oh, your hero.”

I ignored him, deliberately choosing to turn to Connor to retrieve my owl. But he lifted her out of my reach just as my hands grazed the cage door, and said, “What do you say?”

I grinned. “Give me the owl or I'll hex you into next year?”

“No....” He shook his head, grinning as well. Out of the periphery of my gaze I saw Rigel rolling his eyes and miming retching. This continued until Aisling grabbed his arm and finally shoved him well ahead of us.

“Come on, idiot; let's go... nothing for us to see here....”

“Then is it, hand over the owl before I kick you in the gut?” I asked, struggling against a broad smile so that I could glare at him.

“No....” He shook his head again, then leaned forward and kissed me gently.

I pushed him away laughing. “It's too hot for that!”

He lifted both eyebrows at me, and when I scowled, at last surrendered Ophelia, saying, “Honestly, I swear you'll forget your head next. What will you do without me?”

I glared at him again and then made a show of checking her over before, satisfied, beginning to head off after the others. As he hurried to catch up, I called over my shoulder, “Carry on in blissful ignorance and forgetfulness. I'm looking forward to two months of doing nothing.”

The others had made it to the station and were now on the platform with their luggage, boarding the train one by one. Most of our schoolmates were already there, and I strongly suspected that if we didn't hurry there wouldn't be an empty cabin left. At the start and end of the school year there rarely was, but of course Aisling and Hortense would make sure that we got one. I wasn't really as close to them as Rigel, but technically we were family. This did not stop Rigel from standing on the platform staring back at Connor and me with an expression of utmost impatience and irritation though.

It was widely known that he didn't like my boyfriend, and not just because I had a boyfriend. He and Connor Lupin, though cousins through his father and Connor's mother, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, were bitter enemies and had been since childhood. Supposedly fed up of Rigel's harassment one night at the Burrow, Connor, a Metamorphmagus like his mother, had morphed some extra hair, longer nails and teeth and wearing a rug like a pelt, scared the living daylights out of him. As that night was the full moon and so Connor was over because of his father, (not to mention that Connor was a sturdier version of Uncle Lupin with grey-blue eyes and dimples) and Rigel did not yet know that werewolves were made and not born, it didn't take much to convince him that Connor was a werewolf too. The two had actively hated each other since, and nothing I could say or do would change that.

Just because I slowed a little, allowing Connor to catch up with me, and then asked, “Are you excited to see your new house?”

The Lupin home had had the unfortunate honour of being the stage for the final act of the attacks last winter and in the process had been burnt to the point that it could no longer be safely inhabited. Of course the way it was reported in the press to this day, one would think that I was the primary target. I wasn't; Arthur MacNicol, who was a werewolf and the mastermind behind them, was after Connor.

Allegedly under the orders of Fenrir Greyback, the most feared and hated werewolf in all of Wizarding Britain, and even before the Second War, he'd staged a series of increasingly violent attacks during the winter to get to Connor. I was merely a diversion. Greyback—who had bitten Uncle Lupin when he was a boy after his father, John, had offended him—had learned during the war that Uncle Lupin had been attempting to infiltrate his “pack” as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix against Voldemort. Greyback, who had assumed that Uncle Lupin had merely been taking his rightful place amongst his equals, and not fighting to the save the same society that often shunned and oppressed werewolves, took personal offence and ordered all able-bodied werewolves within the region to make him pay. Or as he calmly told the Wizengamot when he was brought before them to answer to the new charges: “Lupin calls himself our equal but did nothing to help his `brothers' after the war. He prefers to be treated like a dog by a society that knows he's no ordinary man and resents him for it. He tries to be their equal, to fit in with them, bowing to their scorn while his true equals are forced to steal or starve. And he is just like us, more than he knows, look at his wife... how young, how supple still.... He betrayed us, so I told them to find his son, and while his father watches, rend him limb from limb.”

Aunt Tonks, an experienced Auror and war hero, not known for frailty, fainted when she heard him. Uncle Lupin likes to say now, if I hadn't been there that night—MacNicol's own fault for using me as a diversion to get to them—he just might have succeeded.

Instead I'd saved Connor and his newborn baby sister, which had earned me a medal from the Ministry and an award for Special Services to the School, from Hogwarts. But I could not save my little brother. In a move that I knew she would always regret, my mother had decided to bring my younger and brother sister to Hogsmeade after they'd learned of the last attack at the Lupin house. She had thought at the time that it would have been good for me to see them and know that I was safe. But that was a terrible mistake. Milo was nearly killed by MacNicol, who'd found a way to transform into a full werewolf outside of the full moon and used this to advantage to escape the Aurors who'd come to our rescue, and so became one in turn. And then I, as well as my younger sister, mother, our friends, my parents' colleagues and half of Hogsmeade village got to see my father kill Arthur MacNicol.

He regretted that too, but only just a little.

In the weeks and months since that night a lot had changed for all of us, and my brother in particular, but for Connor's family at least, it was for the better.

With their house gone they needed to get a new one. No easy task given his father's condition, the need for security and peace of mind for all involved set a number of obstacles, and then there were the Ministry regulations to deal with. But then my father managed to get the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, to admit that there were no real legal restrictions on a werewolf buying a home. The “laws” were actually proposals that had never officially been passed in the Ministry and therefore, and he said this working his jaw in the manner of someone sucking on a lime, “Mr Lupin and his family could live wherever they want.” My Mum found them an agent, and then she and Aunt Tonks went house-hunting with Aunt Ginny and Grandma Molly and found them a new one not far from ours in Godric's Hollow.

Expectedly, this had displeased Rigel greatly.

Connor did not reply at once then, when I spoke, but as we got to the station at last and climbed the steps to the platform and steaming train, he replied, “I'm actually kind of nervous. I know—knew the old house inside out. All our memories were in it, the good and the bad, and everything from Dad's parents' marriage to our lives now. And now it's gone, and this new house is just... well, new.”

I snorted. “What did you expect? New house, new stuff—mostly—new memories to make. And especially with Zoe, who's new too.”

At this a smile formed on Connor's lips. His baby sister had been born some six months earlier during the height of the attacks, and though most people, including myself, often wondered why our parents had decided to provide us with siblings, he was of those who anxiously desired them. He spoke of almost nothing else when I asked after his family nowadays.

“I can't wait to see her,” he said, still smiling at the thought. “Mum's said that her hair's gotten longer, but it's still black. Of course, if she'd been like me it would have been changing the moment she was born. And Dad says they've started her on solids, but the change in diet means that she no longer has to cry when she needs her nappy changed. I just want her to start crawling. Then the real fun begins.”

Having been too young to remember this with Milo and Mackenzie, I merely nodded and said, “See, it won't be too bad.”

He conceded with a nod, and then apparently remembering something, leaned closer and whispered, “In fact, I've heard that I'm getting a studio to work in. I lost a lot of work in the fire, and thankfully some of it could be replaced, but my own studio.... It was really kind of cramped in my old bedroom.”

“There you go, lucky you,” I said, sincerely, but at the same time wondered what exactly he meant by the word “work”. Did he mean the work for his now internationally best-selling comic book, of which no one knew he was the author Romulus Kveld-Ulf, Úlfhéðinn, or his super secret and highly illegal attempts to find a cure for the werewolf curse?

I voiced neither thought in question though; posing it in that format was guaranteed to cause a row. And specifically the same row that meant my mood ring would always be amber. It could not be helped, I liked it better when my concerns were merely whether it was a good idea to put me into his comic book as a character (which he did, turning me into the white she-wolf, Thora) and not whether his own mother would one day have to arrest him for meddling in the Dark Arts. It was all well and good putting one's talent to good use, entertaining others and making money for one's future and family. And even finding a cure had its merits, for not only his family would benefit. But the method, using a form of magic which sole purpose was to harm, which often exacted terrible prices for those who dared to use it... that was something else entirely.

Connor Lupin was never the innocent, helpless victim Fenrir Greyback and Arthur MacNicol had assumed him to be.

Rigel jerked me from my thoughts then. “You know, we don't have all day. It's hot, we've got a long ride ahead of us, and the train does have a schedule. It's not going to wait on two slackers.”

I glared. “So why aren't you on it?”

“Because I don't feel like getting yelled at for leaving you behind,” he replied.

“Connor's with me.” I said pointedly.

As usual, he ignored this. “Get on the train, Potter. Aisling and Hortense have already found us a compartment and I paid Aisling five Galleons to make sure Camilla joins us.”

“That's a waste of money,” said Connor, smirking.

“To you, of course it would be,” said Rigel maliciously, and with that, he turned and boarded the train. You'd think he didn't know about the comic book. But then it was better this way, I guessed, to keep it all a secret.

I looked up at Connor, but he merely sighed and let me lead the way aboard.

An hour into the ride and we were seated, myself, Connor and Camilla Longbottom facing Hortense, Aisling and Rigel, intensely bored and wondering why no one had thought to bring a chess board of Exploding Snap cards. I know Aisling had a chess set, but it was locked up in her trunk and no one was willing to get out our trunks from the overhead compartments just for that. The snack trolley wasn't due for another hour at least, everyone was generally giving our cabin a wide berth since they'd learned I was in it, and since we'd all stopped reading the papers months ago there wasn't even the crossword to pass the time.

There had been a moment of fun though, when first we entered the cabin. To our surprise, (or maybe it was the money, Connor strongly suspected the money) Aisling had actually somehow persuaded Camilla, the very beautiful daughter of our Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom, to sit with us. A tall, slender girl of sixteen with sleek, waist-length black hair, bright grey-green eyes, dark red lips, and an aristocratically pale complexion, with a reputation for haughtiness, as well as academic excellence and ambition, Camilla out-did the part-Veela Hortense for the title of Hogwarts Head Beauty. And Rigel had been in love with her from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her.

Uncle Lupin described it as watching my grandfather, James Potter, chasing after my grandmother, Lily Evans, all over again, cute and hopelessly amusing; Connor, reeling from his father's use of the word “cute”, had described it as pathetic.

As soon as he realised that she was really there and not a trick of the heat, Rigel abandoned all pretence of the Malfoy snob he usually projected at school, and joyously pushed past all of us to slip into the seat beside her, grinning stupidly. When Connor and I entered though, Camilla got up and sat beside us, and immediately began a whispered conversation with Connor that made me slightly uncomfortable. I knew she didn't really care for Connor beyond friendship, and that the two had been close friends for years, but she was very, very beautiful.

Though, given the longing look in Rigel's eyes at that moment, I couldn't blame her. It was very disturbing.

In time though, the conversation ended, and we were all left in an uncomfortable silence, watching the sunlight stretch further and further across our laps in our thankfully air-conditioned cabin, and staring blankly at one another and out the window, as the Express travelled closer and closer to London. After a while I was quite surprised to discover that one could tune out the sound of a train running over its tracks altogether, that breathing could be quite noisy, and that though you spent years in close quarters with people to the extent that they were family, it was quite unnerving to be confined in a space with them. And with the door to the cabin closed, we didn't even have the excuse of other peoples' conversations for our silence. We really could not find one thing to say to each other.

At last, Camilla stood and announced, “I'm going to find Father.”

She left without a backward glance.

Rigel watched her go dejectedly, and then turned to the rest of us. “Why'd you let her leave?”

Hortense beat Connor to the punch. “She doesn't like you. Let it go.”

Rigel scowled. “Just for that you're not invited to the wedding.”

Now Connor laughed out loud. “What wedding? She wouldn't marry you if it was a choice between you and a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

Rigel looked up at him. “Speaking from experience?”

Connor just sighed, rolled his eyes and looked out the window again. I looked down at my feet, trying desperately to avoid blurting out: “You can't marry her because she's your cousin. Granted she's your second cousin and this kind of thing doesn't seem to matter to old pureblood families like the Malfoys, it matters to her... and Hortense's right, Camilla doesn't like you....”

Well, Nike Slytherin, the secret daughter of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his most faithful lieutenant, the very married Bellatrix Lestrange, really, but the adoption papers and birth certificate in Uncle Neville Longbottom's possession said she was `Camilla Longbottom' and so she was. As it so happened, the only ones who did know the truth were Uncle Neville, my parents, Uncle Ron, Connor's parents, the Order of the Phoenix, a few members of the Wizengamot, Severus Snape, and me. And I only found out by perfect accident and was immediately sworn to secrecy.

Aisling spoke up then. “Say Connor, now that you're in Godric's Hollow, does that mean we'll be seeing you at the Burrow more often?”

Rigel, who just happened to live there with Aunt Ginny and Grandma Weasley, snapped round to look at her. “What?”

Hortense rolled her eyes. “Grand-mére told his Maman that she'd be more than willing to take him and Zoe when it's the full moon, now that they're closer and all that. And since Milo's... well, she expects Lillie and Mackenzie to be over too. She wants to turn it into a monthly event during the holidays, have everyone over so that we don't have to think and worry....”

She trailed off looking at Connor and me, and I asked at once, “What did Aunt Tonks say?”

“That she was very grateful, as she already sends Zoe, but that Grand-mére would have to ask Connor,” she replied.

I at once turned to him. “Are you going to come then?”

To my surprise, he asked, “Are you going to go?”

I looked at him, puzzled. “If Mum and Dad want to send me to the Burrow I'll have to go. Mackenzie definitely has to, and they don't like separating us now so.... How can you ask that?”

“I just thought that you would have wanted to see for once what your brother has to go through every month,” he replied, simply.

In my peripheral vision I saw the others look at him in open astonishment, three pairs of eyebrows vanishing into their matching fringes. I too was stunned, but said, firmly, “Of course I'd want to be there for him, but your Dad is the only one with him those nights and when they can Dad and Aunt Tonks spend most of the night patrolling, making sure they don't get out and hurt anyone accidentally. It makes no sense for me to stick around... for what? Just to see my little brother suffering? Mackenzie told me how Mum looked last month.”

“Suffering? With Wolfsbane?” interrupted Rigel then, cutting across Connor's response.

I turned away from Connor to him. “Mum says he's been having a hard time of it, everything was fine until his first transformation. They stayed with him all day and then before moonrise Dad carried him out to the shed that Uncle Lupin usually transformed in....” I clenched my jaw at the sudden tightening in my throat, and found that my eyes were already burning with the beginnings of tears. My voice broke as I continued, “And then Uncle Lupin had to hold him back as he pounded on the door after Dad locked him in. He was hoarse and catatonic for nearly a weak afterwards.”

Scepticism was quickly replaced with horror, unusual for Rigel to display but there nonetheless.

Connor went further. “Wolfsbane might preserve your mind, but it doesn't stop the pain of the transformation nor the frightful reality that you're a little boy becoming a wolf and your Dad's outside and can't come in to help you unless he wants to risk becoming like you as well. Dad says that it's also very dark and cold in there sometimes, and then there are the old chains his parents used to lock him in.... (I snapped back to Connor at the mention of chains.) I'd not be surprised if Milo has nightmares about it, Dad did, and so I don't think he'd mind too much if his brave big sister came by and watched over him too.”

I asked, “Is that why you don't visit the Burrow often, because you're helping your Mum watch over your Dad?”

At this he flashed a sheepish grin. “It's not so much `helping', because legally I'm not supposed to be there, as it is keeping her company.”

“If you're not supposed to be there, how could Magnolia be?” asked Rigel. “Cousin Nymphadora's an Auror and no one really cares what she does, but her Dad's kind of hard to hide. He'd probably lose his job if anyone found out.”

Connor looked at him. “Please do not call my mother by her given name, I know she's an adult and it's kind of silly, but she detests it and has kindly asked to be called `Tonks'. Besides, no one's going to tell, and it's not like she's going to be there every month. I'm not usually, outside of school.”

Though he did not say it, both Rigel and I knew what he meant. Those times when Connor was not with his parents he was usually in the company of Professor Snape, former Death Eater-turned-Hogwarts prisoner, and my aforementioned nemesis, the most hated Potions Master in all of Hogwarts' history. (Rigel and I called him the OGB, or Old Greasy Bat, and he definitely deserved it.) And the subject of those visits, learning to brew the Wolfsbane potion, had unwittingly spawned Connor's more dangerous clandestine extra-curricular activity with the Dark Arts. The man was vile, and though he had risked his life to save my father, and then my little brother that night last winter, I would probably always hate him.

He only helped my father because he had been in love with my grandmother Lily.

Aisling's confused question then, “Where do you go when you're not at your parents' or at school? I didn't know the Tonkses were still alive...?” was lost in the cacophony that rushed into our cabin when Camilla unexpectedly returned and quietly resumed her seat beside me. Not expecting an explanation for this though, Aisling began again, “Connor? Are your grandparents still alive?” But just then Rigel spoke again, and her question was lost.
“Say Camilla, since I hear the cubs may be coming to the Burrow for the holidays, should I expect to see you too?” He gave her his sweetest smile.

She rolled her eyes and looked back out into the corridor. Aisling turned to him then. “Didn't I hear that Bijou Zabini might be coming over to meet the family?”

“What?” he asked, at once distracted.

We all looked back at him at this, including Camilla, and Aisling said, “While I was going down to see Professor Patil this morning, I overheard Bijou telling a few of her friends that `I don't really want to but Mother insists that I visit at the Burrow after I visit Mrs Malfoy this summer. You know you have to get to know the family, all of them if you want this to work out.'”

Rigel suddenly looked rather ill.

*****

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross station in London was packed, what with school out and all the students back and their parents trying to get to them. But it was more so today because Harry Potter's daughter was finally coming home, “months after a series of violent attacks that culminated in the destruction of a family's friend home and the discovery that she was not the intended target. Tragically, also months after her younger brother, Mr Potter's only son, Milo Harry, had been bitten by a werewolf, becoming one as well.”

The reporters jostled with the other parents and students for position to get the best shots of me and the others as we greeted our parents. The temperature in London, though, was several degrees higher than that in Hogsmeade, and I was not surprised to feel a trickle of sweat race down my back as I struggled through the crowd to my parents. One had to be insane to be here without a good reason.

Mum, (the bushy brown-haired, brown-eyed Hermione Potter nee Granger), Dad, (the messy-black haired, bright green-eyed, bespectacled and scarred Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Triumphed, Harry Potter), Uncle Ron, (freakishly tall and broad, freckled, fiery red-haired and blue-eyed), and Aunt Luna, (waist-length, straggly dirty blonde hair, wide pale blue eyes that seemed to eternally hold a dreamy, faraway expression), Aunt Ginny Weasley, (shoulder-length fiery red hair, brown eyes, and short but sturdy build), Uncle Bill, (tall, fang tooth-earring wearing, red hair in a ponytail, face deeply scarred from werewolf attack during the war, and blue-eyed) and Aunt Fleur Weasley nee Delacour, (also tall, slender, waist-length silvery blonde hair and dark blue eyes), and Aunt Tonks, (today, cropped white-blonde hair dusted powder blue, honey brown eyes, same heart-shaped face and looking surprisingly tame in her crimson Auror robes) were all standing on the platform just a little way from them awaiting us. Ignoring the reporters, and pushing and shoving our way through our classmates, we hurried to their side, and, taking care to dangle the Ophelia's cage before her first, I shamelessly threw myself into my mother's arms and cried happily, “Mum! I missed you!”

She squeezed me tight against her chest and kissed my hair, while Dad grumbled beside us, “I'm standing right here, you know....” I smiled, let her go and hugged him at once. “That's more like it; let's remember who the important one here is.”

Uncle Ron beat Mum to it. “Yes, me.”

We all laughed, though Aisling and Rigel both rolled their eyes first, and then I said, “Let's go home, I've been dying to see my own room again. No roommates, no other peoples' messes or snoring or talking, and most important of all... no Kimberly stealing my books!”

Somewhere in the crowd I thought I heard someone call out, “Hey!” But then with all the pushing it could have been anyone, and Mum said, looking to Dad, “Oh, but we've got to make a stop first.”

Dad frowned. “Yes, I suppose we do. But Hermione....”

She gave him a pointed look and his protest died. The others all exchanged glances, and then turned to their respective children and said: “Come on, come on, get your trunk, we have to go.”

“We're taking the Floo home and dinner's waiting. Oi! Watch those sprogs, I'm coming through!”

“Come on Connor, we've got a surprise for you.”

“Bye Harry, Hermione, Lillie!”

Connor dared to kiss me in front of my parents, and then gave my hand a last, firm squeeze before he following his mother off the platform. Aisling and Hortense waved, but Rigel hurried back to say, “If you're going to be visiting the c-Connor, you know you have to come with me to Grandmother's house for once, right?”

“What?” I asked, confused, and then realising what he meant, said, “That'll never happen. Again, my parents won't agree to it, and neither will Grandmother. However, I'm sure Bijou will be lots of fun.”

“Just make sure when you pack your overnight bag you bring a gift, Grandmother is a stickler for etiquette,” he replied, and then vanished into the crowd after his mother before I could respond.

I remained staring after him for a while, barely noticing the people bumping into me, or the reporters calling questions, and then rolled my eyes and turned back to my parents. Dad had been watching us, and asked, “What's this I hear about you going to Malfoy Manor?”

Mum spared me having to answer by saying, “Harry, remember we have a stop to make?”

“Oh right,” he said and at once took my trunk and began to head off the platform. “We better make this quick, we're having dinner with Tonks and Lupin so they can show everyone the house.”

Mum's voice was filled with exasperation as she replied, “We discussed this. This is important, Harry.”

He did not turn back to her, but I knew that he was annoyed when he said, “I know, I know... but I think you're overreacting, Hermione, all we need to do is give it time and you'll see that.”

My mother said nothing more all the way off the platform, out of King's Cross and to our car, but my mind was spinning. What were my parents talking about? I knew that it had brought them to argument in fact, their tones spoke volumes, but what was so important that it would make them argue?

Ah, I didn't need to know. I'd spent much of my winter break fighting for my life; I probably needed my summer break to be more silent and stress-free than anyone else. Parents argued all the time; it was a fact of life.

Fate, as usual, and my little brother had other plans.

On the bright side, my ring was now streaked with green.

-->

A/N: I won't deny that this chapter gave me trouble, and I'm not entirely sure why. The good news, though, is that I'm sure that I've got my point across just the way I wanted to. I didn't say this before but I strongly encourage reading A Tale of Winter for anyone now joining me, for though it is not entirely necessary, it would be useful in getting to know the characters and stuff. Also, unfortunately, all errors are mine. I've had an offer for beta services but am currently not in a position to take it up, (not going to have stable Internet for a while) unfortunately, and wanted to get this chapter out. Bad idea to post it, probably, but the way things are shaping up, I'll have no choice for a while. Hope you do like the chapter though.

Disclaimer: Not mine, all JK Rowling's, and yet it is taking up more of my time and interest than it should.

*****

Chapter Two

Of all the things I could've imagined my parents to be arguing about, I would've never thought it to be a cat. A year old calico half-Kneazle named Hugo to be specific, which stared disinterestedly out at us from his cage in what appeared a place of honour directly behind the proprietor of Diagon Alley's Magical Menagerie at the main counter.

“Just got 'im three weeks ago, the little darlin', and 'e's been a good 'elp. Caught a smuggler tryin' to sell me Snitches 'e did, 'is first week 'ere. I named him Hugo after my 'usband, 'e was an Auror, you know. Died in the war,” she said with more than a hint of pride—and reluctance—in her eyes when Mum selected the cat. But she rang him up anyway and once he was out of his cage, he purred sweetly at me and sprang into my arms to snuggle against my chest.

Mum smiled. “Well that's always a good sign.”

Said the woman not holding him, with the shop's non-existent Cooling Charm in full effect, which added unpleasantly to the stench of the cages and pens stacked high, I was well on my way to sweating my way through my top. I would also soon need a very hot, very long bath.

Dad grunted as I began to stroke Hugo's fur, (more in an attempt to put some airspace between its warm body and myself than a show of affection) and then asked, “Do you need any treats for Ophelia, Lillie?”

I shook my head. “No, but I think we should get some stuff for Hugo here.”

“Oh, right,” he said, and turned back to the proprietor who had already brought two large bags to the counter, and was looking after me and the cat with an expression of open longing again. If it was breaking her heart so much to sell it why was it up for sale? Rigel would have had fun pointing this out to her while smugly petting Hugo and extolling how much he would spoil him.

Mum smiled, and then asked me, “Do you think Milo will like him?”

“Milo?” I asked, surprised.

“Well you didn't think we'd got the cat for you, did you?” asked Dad, without turning around. “You just got your own owl for Christmas.”

“No,” I said hastily. “I thought it was for everybody, like Crookshanks used to be.”

Mum shook her head. “Nope, this one's for Milo, he's been so sad lately and no one's been able to talk him round that... well, I think this is just the thing to cheer him up.”

Now I was really surprised. “What happened to the Four Terrors, what about Carl, Guillaume and Francois?”

“Oh nothing,” said Mum, a little too quickly for my liking. “They're still friends; nothing could break those four up. Not even a Pettigrew-like incident, because the only Voldemort around is one of us parents. And of course he's still friends with that little Muggle girl, Sophie, so he's always got somebody... I just thought that it would be nice to give him a pet. He's got to be responsible now so....”

Something about what she said disquieted me, for almost no reason at all. I could understand giving Milo a pet to teach him responsibility, he had to maintain a strict potion regimen for the rest of his life, and to be careful around other people and whatnot, so he had to learn from now. But something wasn't right. That was no reason for her and Dad to argue; frankly I was surprised Dad had even thought to protest it. Still, probably none of my business, I just nodded with her and turned to Dad just as he came away from the counter with two large shopping bags of pet supplies.

“Now, can we go?” he asked.

Mum turned without a word and led the way out of the Magical Menagerie. And right into a throng of reporters who'd apparently followed us from King's Cross.

Dad at once barked, “Back off! Let them through, back off!”

It was in his commanding Auror voice, the one that supposedly instilled fear in the hearts of many an unruly suspect. The reporters merely pressed closer, shoving me into Mum and then her into the door of the shop and Dad away from us, shouting all at once:

“Lillie, how did you spend the rest of your school year?”

“Lillie, is Connor Lupin your boyfriend?”

“Harry, how do you feel about your daughter having a boyfriend?”

“Mrs Potter, don't you think your daughter is a little young for dating?”

Oh no, they'd seen Connor kiss me on the platform. I was sure the ring was completely amber again, or worse, grey on my finger. I didn't have to look, I just knew it. Of course, a few months ago I probably would've been blushing and it would have been a brilliant navy blue.

Dad was eventually pushed clear of Mum and me, and that was when, at last, Hugo began hissing and spitting in my arms. When he scratched one of the many hands thrusting towards me as their owners yelled questions, there was a break in the crush, and Mum took advantage of it to grasp me by the shoulders and firmly propel us both through them to Dad, who'd also been trying to fight his way back to us.

“What on earth is their problem today? They know we never answer questions about our children,” said Mum, when we were finally reunited.

Dad lifted an arm with a heavy bag of pet supplies and began to clear a path for us back to the Leaky Cauldron, and said grimly, “They saw Connor kiss Lillie, and I know I saw a flash or two.”

Mum looked down at me then and smiled. “Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that. My daughter has a boyfriend.”

I gave her a smile, and as soon as she looked away it disappeared. Hugo hadn't calmed again since we'd got back to Dad and struggling with him and against the press of the crowd in the unrelentingly late evening heat was making me irritable. Why hadn't they collected this cat before they came to pick me up at King's Cross? Surely they could have done that so we wouldn't have to be going through this now.

And then Dad stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, causing me and Mum to walk and stumble into him, and the reporters around us to pass and then double back, surrounding us completely. Mum put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and I was forced to grab onto her, as she hissed angrily at him, “What are you doing, Harry? Harry? W-what is it?”

He did not answer, just kept staring straight ahead, and she eventually followed his gaze and froze as well. I heard what they were looking at before I saw it, for when it spoke with a sickeningly saccharine voice over the calls of the reporters, “Well, well... what do we have here? The Potters!” they all stopped and parted to look too.

The voice belonged to a witch with lightly greying blonde hair kept in tight ringlets about her heavy-jawed face, wearing bejewelled burgundy glasses to match her silk robes, far too much make-up, heavily pencilled eyebrows and long, talon-like nails. She carried a large black crocodile skin bag, from which she was now drawing a quill and parchment, and was accompanied by a slightly embarrassed Dean Thomas. Though “accompanied” may not have been the correct word, for Uncle Dean gave Dad a look and immediately tried to slip away.

The witch stopped him with a word. “Don't stray, Mr Thomas. You and I were having a pleasant conversation; we don't wish to be rude, do we?”

He stopped and looked down at his feet. Then the witch took a step forward, and said to Dad, “Mr Potter, what a wonderful surprise. Here I was, Rita Skeeter, published biographer, renowned journalist—”

“—unregistered Animagus,” whispered my mother.

“—and stately matron, (Dad whispered something that made Mum pinch him, hard) taking a stroll through Diagon Alley with Mr Dean Thomas, agent of that elusive Romulus Kveld-Ulf, when who do I walk into but none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Triumphed, and his lovely partner... (Mum bristled, but Rita Skeeter suddenly stopped stock still and stared directly at me) and, my goodness... is that... is she...? Step aside, let me through, I want to see... Magnolia Potter!”

She at once began marching towards me, but Dad shifted the pet supplies bag before my face and growled, “Back off!”

I couldn't see her, but I knew she didn't. In fact, she only came to a stop just behind the bag and said, “Now, Mr Potter... Harry... you can't go around hiding the child forever. And from what I've already seen, you haven't done a very good job. What a beautiful little girl, she is.”

She moved the bag aside as if his hand wasn't there, and bent towards me. Mum's grip tightened on my shoulder and Hugo reared up in my arms. But she just smiled, a heavily red-lipped smile, and said, “You see, I was right. Very beautiful... and she has a boyfriend I hear, Connor Lupin is it?”

I frowned at her. “You're late, everybody knows that.”

Her smile vanished. “Just like her mother, I see.”

“And quite proud of it,” I replied boldly.

I couldn't see her, but I knew Mum was smiling. And then Rita added, “Of course, if everyone didn't know that his father was a dangerous beast, I wouldn't mean it as a compliment. No one would want to enchant the son of a werewolf.”

I heard Mum gasp in shock and I snapped immediately, “Get away from me, you cow! My brother's a werewolf and don't you dare insult him! Only a monster would insult someone with a condition they didn't ask for and can't do much about!”

She blinked and stepped back as if slapped. Dad took immediate advantage of this to push us all forward through the reporters towards the Leaky Cauldron again. The reporters did not hesitate to give chase, but Rita Skeeter didn't, and I was quite happy to see that while she had been distracted with us, Uncle Dean had taken the opportunity to slip away. He was nowhere to be seen on the street.

We swept through the Leaky Cauldron, barely acknowledging anyone within, and did not stop moving until we stood at the other side of the wall in Muggle London with our car. And once we were there, Dad turned to me and said, “That was a good one, Lillie, very good. But don't ever talk to an adult like that again, not without a very good reason.”

I nodded, and Mum added. “And especially that one, she'll probably have that as front page news in her paper tomorrow, `Little Potter's Potty Mouth!' or something like that. That... witch!”

Dad, in the process of putting the shopping bags into the trunk, turned back to her and arched a brow. “Swearing, Mrs Potter, and in front of the child?”

“I'm not a child,” I said.

Mum walked past him to get into the car. “I did not swear, but that woman... she's not afraid of being exposed anymore, or she wouldn't have dared approach us just now.” Dad closed the trunk and went round to the driver's door, Mum, opened the door for him and the back for me. And as I got in I heard her continue, “She has nothing to gain from this, nothing, but I'm sure she feels she's sniffed out a story somewhere. What was she talking to Dean about?”

“The comic book?” I offered, helpfully, setting Hugo down on the seat and moving Ophelia's cage up into the back so that he couldn't get to her. “I've heard that she's been desperately trying to find out who he was since they published The White Wolf. She's sure he's a Hogwarts student, a werewolf like Uncle Lupin that Professor McGonagall's been harbouring for years. Didn't the Daily Prophet report that she's been stalking Uncle Dean for months?”

“Oh, I doubt she really cares about that,” said Mum, dismissively. “Knowing her it's just misdirection for what she really wants. She was in the Ministry last week, asking questions, and then the next thing I know she's down in the Department of Mysteries chatting up my boss and colleagues. And just yesterday I'm sure I saw her in the supermarket talking to Sophie's mother! As if she would know anything about Milo, they're Muggles!”

At last Dad asked, “You think she's trying to find out about Milo? What's there to know, he's a werewolf, he becomes one every month on the full moon and otherwise he's a pretty normal little boy. Or is that the Wizarding world is really interested in finding out that my son does more or less the same things their sons do?”

Mum muttered something in response to this that I did not hear for just at that moment we were passed by an old Jaguar, the driver honking his horn loudly. But I did hear Dad's response to it.

“Hermione, I don't think—”

Mum cut him off. “Harry, just listen, I'm not asking you to agree or telling you that.... There are certain facts that you have to consider. I'm telling you what I've observed.”

I decided to interject, not wanting to see them argue. “Is something wrong with Milo?”

They both flinched slightly as if only just remembering that I was there, and Dad replied, with an air of finality that also ended the conversation between them, “There's nothing wrong with Milo, he's not taking the transformations well and with the full moon in a few days... well, everyone's on edge.”

“Then he's not okay,” I replied. “But I already knew that.”

They exchanged a look in the front seat, and Dad said, “You'll see when you get home. Actually, I think you coming home might be just the thing Milo needs, he hasn't seen his brave big sister in months.”

There he went eerily echoing Connor earlier on the Express, as if I were some kind of lucky charm or walking Pepper-Up Potion. If Milo was taking a bad turn, the last thing he needed was to see me. I was currently at odds with someone desperately seeking a way to end his suffering, regardless of the risks and consequences. And though I had and would not breathe a word of it to anyone, I could not bring myself past the reality of his involvement in the Dark Arts.

Oh wonderful, the ring was amber again.

*****

Almost three full hours later, we would at last drive past the war memorial to my grandparents and Dad in Godric's Hollow village centre. The sun had only just gone down an hour before and so the night sky was lanced lavender and navy blue from the western horizon, and the air was still warm. Fireflies floated and twinkled like fairy lights in the bushes we passed, and crickets sang loudly through the dusk. I could just see myself sleeping with the window open in the coming weeks, and counting down the days until we'd visit the Weasleys and go to the sea. The seaside was my and Rigel's favourite place in the summer, but no matter how Grandma Molly cajoled, pleaded and outright ordered her to go, his mother never joined us.

I looked up at the memorial, gently lit by the yellow-white light of a nearby streetlamp and said, as I did every year, “You know everyone who sees this is going to think you're still a baby somewhere.”

Mum looked across to Dad and said, “Don't be silly, you're fourteen years old, not four. No one is going to think that.”

“No,” I conceded. “But the Muggles sure think you're crazy if you ask them why there's a monument to a little family in the village square.”

Dad, laughed at that, remembering the incident when I was four, and replied, “Well I'll see about getting it updated and made visible to the Muggles then. And also make sure that I look five years old with a complete explanation that I am no longer a baby, but in fact now a father of three, myself.”

I grinned at him in the rear-view mirror, and then looked out the window again as we turned off Main Street into the road that led to our home.

The new Potter house in Godric's Hollow was just a street down from the old one, still standing as a decadent monument to my grandparents' sacrifice and Dad's first victory against Voldemort. Dad had told us all of the Christmas he and Mum had first seen it and our grandparents' graves during the Second War, how he'd felt like he'd come home at last and knew, just knew that he had to come back there with his family some day. And he had, Milo, Mackenzie and I had all been born in the village hospital, attended its small Muggle primary school and discovered our own favourite little haunts all over where we'd play for hours with our cousins and friends. He and Mum had married in the same church his parents had been buried nearby, chose a home that was walking distance from his old one so he could go back every once in a while “just to be close to them”, and had settled into the often quiet village life with ease Uncle Ron still marvelled at.

Of course, he was one to talk. He lived in Ottery St Catchpole, a village just like our own, walking distance from his old family home and if ever there was a quieter place, I'd certainly never seen it. The most exciting things to happen there were when Uncle Bill's wedding was attacked and Aunt Luna's family home blew up during the war, the latter a subject that always brought an embarrassed flush to Grandpa Xenophilius' face if ever it was mentioned in his company. I often wondered why.

Every light was on within as we pulled into the drive before the large, two-storey mock Tudor cottage that Mum just had to have when she saw it. Dad had supposedly not gone along with her when they decided to find a home, but had asked only that it be close to his parents' house. Aunt Ginny and Uncle Ron still both thought he was mad. And with five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a large kitchen, dining and living rooms, and private office as part of a library and den, it wasn't exactly a cottage, more of a miniature manor in need of a name. In fact, the Daily Prophet, most of the Wizarding world and a few of our Muggle neighbour's actually did call it Potter's Rest.

Before the car's engine shut off, the front door swung open and my younger brother and sister came running out to meet us, singing together happily: “Lillie's home! Lillie's home! Lillie's home!”

Or rather, Mackenzie was running while Milo was hobbling over as fast as he could, on a cane that looked very much like the one Uncle Lupin sometimes used around the full moon. The sight pinned me to my seat. Mackenzie had apparently become slightly plump in recent weeks, and now wore her dark red hair in a bowl cut, but the tinted glasses over her bright hazel eyes were probably not real. Milo, though, had shrunk where Mackenzie had expanded, and now looked rather wan and thin, (not to mention hairier for his sideburns were clearly visible along his face, as well as the hair on his hands, legs and chest.) But his flyaway brown hair and smiling green eyes were reassuringly familiar as he and Mackenzie hurried over to greet us at the car.

Dad groaned. “What did I say about them just running out of the house... where is that Emily?”

The babysitter, a tall, broad blonde Muggle teenager, the niece of the village vicar, appeared as if summoned immediately after that, and called, “Mr and Mrs Potter, you're back! Thank goodness! Hey Lillie!”

I smiled at her, and she continued to Mum and Dad as they got out of the car, “They were no trouble at all, even Mackenzie.”

“That's good to hear,” said Dad, without looking up to her as he went around to the trunk to get the pet supplies and my trunk. “We have to go to dinner in half an hour and I'd hate to have to deprive one or the other that.”

Mackenzie and Milo both looked up from my door to flash him bright grins, then proceeded to wrench it open and try to drag me out.

“You're going to dinner?” asked Emily, now out on the path and coming over to us. I finally surrendered to my siblings, but regretted it the moment I was out of the car for they both decided to crush me between them in a greeting hug and Milo's cane poked me sharply in the thigh.

“Yes, you've heard of our new neighbours, the Lupins?” asked Mum, on her way into the house dragging my trunk behind her.

“Yes, they took that house on the other side of town. I watched their baby last month, Zoe—she has the most beautiful eyes, don't you think? Like Elizabeth Taylor's. I wish I had eyes like that—I'm planning to be a professional nanny so it was good to get the experience with an infant. She wasn't much fuss but she would not be quiet, she just babbled on and on all night until she fell asleep. And Mrs Lupin is really cool, she has the best music I've never heard of and her hair... if I dyed my hair Auntie would have a fit. She says she'll be praying for Milo, by the way, we're all thinking of him.”

“Thank you, that's good to hear,” replied Dad. “And if you need a recommendation I would be happy to write one.”

I finally wrestled myself from the two and holding them both at arms length, said, “Hey, calm down! You saw me at Easter.”

“They have a son too, about your age,” Dad continued. I looked up at him sharply, and he hastily added, “Of course, he's Lillie's boyfriend so I wouldn't get too close....”

Emily meanwhile, was goggling at me. “You've got a boyfriend, I couldn't have one until I was sixteen. Is he cute?”

Mackenzie grinned like a Cheshire cat and said, “He's very cute, and he and Lillie are always kissy-kissy.” She puckered up her lips and mimed kissing me, and when Milo joined in I realised, with a sigh, that they were just fine. What on earth had I been worried about?

Mum reappeared in the doorway then and said, “Well come on, you all, we're going to be late, you can catch up with Lillie later.”

“Oh right,” said Dad then, and reached for his wallet to pay Emily for the night.

I turned back to Milo and Mackenzie, still miming kissing, and now hugging themselves in a manner that was going to get them both hit if they didn't stop soon, and said, “Hey, Milo, I've got a surprise for you.”

“What about me?” Mackenzie asked, frowning.

I smiled at her, and turned back to the car and climbed in to retrieve Ophelia and Hugo. The cat was fast asleep but my owl was happily flitting about her cage, and even tried to nip at my fingers as I grasped it by the bars. When I came out of the car again, I handed the cage to Mackenzie and the cat to a very surprised Milo. “Here, Mackenzie, you can take Ophelia to my room, and Milo, this is Hugo, your cat.”

Mackenzie nearly dropped my owl in shock, but Milo looked between me and the cat a few times before exclaiming, in wide-eyed astonishment, “I've got a cat?”

Mum, Dad and Emily, who was now walking down the drive to the street, all turned to look at us. Then Mum smiled, “Yes, you've got a cat. You've been very brave so I think you've earned him. But you've got to be responsible and remember to feed and take care of him. Cats don't need a lot of work but they do sometimes need a lot of attention.”

Milo turned to Mackenzie—who had moved from shock to scowling—and said, “I've got a cat!”

Emily smiled and said, “Yeah, you've got a cat. A tortoiseshell-and-white... I hear they're really lucky, something with the Chinese... later!” And with a wave she continued out the gates, then down the street to her house.

Milo hobbled over to Mum as fast as he could carrying Hugo now, and hugged her around her waist. “Thanks a lot!”

She bent and kissed his head. “You're very welcome. But don't forget to thank your father, it was his idea too.”

He quickly released her to hug Dad, and after he ruffled his hair a moment, Dad turned to us and said, “Remember, dinner? We're going to be late?”

Mum gasped and started, “Right, come on, everyone into the house. You have ten minutes each to freshen up and change. Your best clothes, you three, and that includes being clean. Unfortunately you can't bring Hugo along, Milo, because of the baby. Until we take him to the vet we can't risk exposing her to anything.”

Milo looked as if he hadn't heard her, still staring in awe at the little cat in his arms, absently stroking its fur, but Mackenzie was smiling again and happily marched off into the house with her head held high. I sighed, smiled to myself and followed them.

.

It took us all over forty-five minutes to actually be off, by which time the night sky had blackened completely and Mum was muttering angrily under her breath about irresponsible fathers and our lack of housewarming gift, which someone was supposed to get but couldn't be bothered because he got distracted by more interesting ads for a new racing broom for himself. Dad gave her a lopsided grin, she smiled beside herself and when we all were seated in the car, scrubbed, brushed, zipped and buttoned into freshly pressed clothes and smelling faintly of roses, she turned to us in the backseat and said, “Best behaviour people, Mackenzie this means you—buckle your seatbelt, I know you don't like it but we can't leave unless you're wearing it—don't wake Zoe again because you `just want to play with her'. She's a baby; she needs all the sleep she can get. And Milo, don't try to break into Connor's bedroom again either.”

I looked over to my siblings in amazement, and was greeted by two broad, angelic grins. Though one of them was mildly incapacitated, the little buggers got around.

Despite the fuss Mum had made about us being late, it was a relatively short drive over to the Lupins. All of fifteen minutes, and we were parked before a cottage, noticeably smaller than our own, but still looking like home with its rust-red brick walls, thatched roof and windowsill plant boxes. The lights from within cast a soft glow on the rhododendrons without and flowering ivy that climbed the sides, a wordless invitation to visitors that offered a tantalising peek at what appeared to be a neon green living room. It was beautiful and I imagined quite comfortable for a family of four, but my first thought was that I'd liked the old house better. That one had looked lived in, this was slightly greeting card.

As if reading my thoughts as he shut off the engine, Dad replied, “It was the best they could afford, and since Remus goes back up to the old property at the full moon, perfect really. Tonks likes it too, surprisingly, says no Dark Wizard in their right mind would think she lived in there. And she's already redecorated the interior, the kitchen's orange and elephants.”

“Elephants?” I asked, getting out of the car.

“Yep, elephants,” said Mum. “Cookie jars, ornaments, the kitchen clock, the print on the mugs, kitchen counter, place mats... you name it, there's a Victorian print of an elephant on it. I have no idea why, but she says the baby made her do it.”

“How's that Zoe's fault?” I asked, turning to help Milo out with his cane which had gotten stuck between the front seat and his door.

Mum shrugged. “I don't know. Everyone already knows she's... well, Tonks, she doesn't need to excuse her behaviour. Of course, given where we're living now she probably felt the need to explain it to our neighbours, I've heard more than a few whispers about her hair. Honestly, you'd think that it didn't matter what someone looked like, Tonks is a strong, brave woman with a difficult, demanding career. It's great that she allows her personality to shine through; Zoe's a very lucky little girl to have her really. And even luckier to grow up here, there's so much magical history connected to this place that she already has an advantage over her future schoolmates.”

Dad shook his head at her. “Why am I not surprised that Hermione Potter sees the educational benefit above all else? But how can she neglect the benefit of knowing all the colours on the spectrum before you can talk, and all the exotic animals on the planet you've never heard of and may never see in real life before your first day at school? She and Connor have had an unfair advantage over our children before they were even conceived.” Then he stopped, paled, and said as if ill, “Oh... Merlin... I just thought of Professor Lupin and Tonks... together....”

My exclamation of “Ugh!” was thankfully lost under my Mum's, “Oh, you!” She then playfully swatted his arm, just as the door opened and Connor appeared in a neatly pressed shirt and trousers, his hair brushed into submission, holding a chubby and fidgeting Zoe, dressed in a bright yellow sundress with a matching sunflower bandeau on her head.

She let out a delighted squeal when she realised there were visitors, and turned up to Connor, babbling excitedly, as if to inform him of this fact. He smiled, and said, “Good evening, Uncle Harry, Aunt Hermione, hi Milo, Mackenzie... Maggie....”

Dad cleared his throat loudly when Connor gave me a lopsided grin, and asked, “Where's Remus and Tonks?”

Connor looked back to him and adjusted Zoe, who had just stuffed a tiny fat fist in her mouth causing a string of saliva to form, and toppled forward, before replying, “Inside, well Dad's inside, Mum just got a summons and had to rush out.”

Dad, leading the way into the house after Connor, stopped in his tracks and asked, “Did she say what it was about?”

Mum inhaled sharply, but said nothing, and I saw Milo's and Mackenzie's faces fall. If Aunt Tonks got a summons, it was only a matter of time before Dad got one too. Though she had seniority on Dad in the Ministry, having been an Auror long before the war began; the war against Voldemort had done a lot to get Dad into a position where he was almost at the same level as Aunt Tonks. And since their shifts had both ended earlier that day, if they had recalled her to help it was only a matter of time before they called him.

“No, but Kingsley Shacklebolt personally delivered it,” said Connor. “And he didn't have to say a word. Is this about Lady Voldemort's War?”

The owl sailed in the door just as Connor made to shut it after us, and Dad took advantage of this to ignore Connor's question.

Though we all knew the official report on the thwarted attempt by Dark wizards in Eastern Europe to revive Lord Voldemort's “movement” last winter, there were details our parents refused to discuss. This was most surprising for mine in particular, who hadn't had such reservations when recounting the Second War. But something about this was different, and not just because the man who'd led it had marched under the promise of the Dark Lord's Heir rising up to help him. Of particular concern was exactly how much he had known of Camilla, when I'd just thought that no one beyond her belated parents, the Order, some of the higher officials of the Ministry and I did or could find out anything.

Dad read the letter the owl had brought in silence, then turned to Mum and said, “Give my apologies to Remus, I have to go, I'm sorry.”

Long accustomed to him having to rush out at odd hours, she just nodded and gave him a quick kiss. Then he treated the rest of us to warning glares, including Connor, stepped back out of the house, walked around to the backyard and Disapparated. Then Mum turned to Connor and said, with levity I doubt she really felt, “Well, as Ron would say, the less to dinner the merrier, is your Dad in the kitchen?” Connor nodded. “Take us to him, then, I'm starved.”

Uncle Lupin looked up with a smile from the stove when we entered the kitchen, which was as bright orange and elephant-themed as described, and said, “Mrs Potter and family, welcome to our humble abode. By the notable absence in the room, am I to assume that Harry just received his summons?”

Being a werewolf had prematurely aged him, a terrifying thought for Milo's sake, but under the greying brown hair and wrinkles, Uncle Lupin was a rather sprightly, if not surprisingly cheeky fifty-four year old. Fourteen years his junior, Aunt Tonks claimed it as one of the main reasons she fell in love with him. At which point Uncle Lupin would state that “fell” was a literal description of the matter, and she would roll her eyes and hit him.

Mum nodded, sighed and then said with a bright smile, “Hello Professor Lupin, look who I've brought.”

I was grabbed and shoved forward, just as he came away from the stove admonishing lightly, “Hermione, it's no longer `Professor', I haven't been a teacher for many, many years now. Call me Remus, or as my darling wife likes to say, Mr Tonks. Now, hello Magnolia, welcome home.”

“`Mr Tonks'?” asked Connor, surprised.

Uncle Lupin suddenly seemed to be doing his best to suppress a smile. “That's what your mother has been telling the neighbours since we moved in. When a few of them came over bearing gifts last week and stayed for dinner, she explained that I was the most effeminate, sickly and helpless man she'd ever met and she'd only married me out of pity and her naive feminine desire to change my ways. And since I couldn't be trusted to work outside the house, for I'd just embarrass myself, she thought it was best that she be the breadwinner while I stayed home and raised the children. Consequently she had not taken my name but I had taken hers. Of course, if I was such an effeminate, sickly and helpless man, should one really trust me to raise children... or having them for that matter?”

We all laughed and Connor asked, “What did they say to that?”

Uncle Lupin went to the cupboards to start setting out the dishes, and for the first time I saw that he too was leaning heavily on a cane and had thick curling hair along his arms and going down his back. “While I was out for groceries with Zoe two days later I was approached by no fewer than four different women, each empathising with my situation and inviting me for tea. Zoe and I ended up having quite the afternoon. She got a tour of the town, I had more tea than I could stand, exchanged gardening, child-rearing and cleaning tips and, if I'm not mistaken, found five girls who would be just wonderful for you.” With a flick of his wand the dishes, cutlery and glasses left the cupboards and arranged themselves in six places at the table. Another, and Zoe's highchair was brought alongside the head of the table where he was to sit. Then he turned to me and said, “Of course, I unfortunately had to dash their hopes and inform them that he was already taken.”

Connor glanced at me, blushed and looked away while I did my best to keep my expression neutral. Having your family know about your relationship was much worse than having your schoolmates, I was discovering.

Mum asked, “What about the wizards, met any among them here?”

He suddenly looked aghast. “Why Mrs Potter, what are you implying? I happen to be very much in love with Dora.” Then, with a hint of mischief, causing my mother to roll her eyes: “Has anyone said anything? Was it Severus? I know he's had a thing for me since Hogwarts. Obsessed with my secret since childhood, brewing my potion without much of a fuss, mentioning that adding flavour would render it useless....”

Mum folded her arms and glared. “I meant have you met any of the other wizards in town, like you've been visiting with the Muggles?”

At this his light expression dimmed slightly. “Yes, I met a few. None too thrilled that there's a werewolf in the village but I don't expect they'll be stirring up trouble. Statute of Secrecy and all that.”

“I'm sorry, Remus,” said Mum, her expression softening and going over to put her hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head at her. “It's all right, Hermione. We had no delusions of anything better, I'm still a werewolf, and they still don't trust me.”

“But it's not right,” said Mum. “You're a good man, and a good father. What you become once a month should not define you.”

Uncle Lupin offered her a half smile, and then cleared his throat and said, “Well then, let's eat before the food gets cold. This is a house-warming dinner, and though not everyone's around, it should be light and cheery. See, Zoe got all dressed up in her light and cheery clothes.”

We all turned to look at her in Connor's arms and after a moment of warily staring back, she raised an arm in the air and began to babble excitedly, clearly happy at being acknowledged.

Mum smiled. “She's very talkative.”

“Oh yes,” said Uncle Lupin, turning back to the stove to get the pots to the table. “While we were having tea she carried on most of the conversations. She's just like her mother, since she discovered she's got limbs and a voice she hasn't been able to sit still or quietly. I'll put her down for a nap and she'll just lie there talking to herself until she falls asleep.”

“So we've heard, sounds like Mackenzie” said Mum, beaming at her. “The other two were always very quiet, half the time you'd forget they were even there.”

Milo, Mackenzie and I exchanged a glance and then sat down together at the table. Dad and Aunt Tonks weren't here and so without them as buffers, it was guaranteed to be an evening of literary discussion on books of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds and the merits thereof. Connor caught my look with an arched brow, and then stifled a snort as I gave an exasperated sigh.

“It won't be that bad,” he mouthed.

Mum asked, “Did you read Cate Shaughnessy's Quidditch Season?”

“Ah, the wonderful and ultimately shallow memoirs of the husband of a star Quidditch player? Intentionally written so by the author in response to hearing the complaints of one such individual? How could I not? I empathise with the gentleman completely,” replied Uncle Lupin. “But do you hear that Taliesin Rhys-Hussey is planning a children's series with his daughter, Aderyn? Something for Mackenzie.”

Mum gave an exaggerated sigh. “That one does not read, like her father and Uncle Ron she prefers to have the story related to her by other people. Has he finished with DEATH EATER yet?”

Connor turned back to me with a pained grimace.

“See?” I mouthed. He silently laughed.

.

While our respective parents washed up after dinner, and Milo and Mackenzie attempted to fight post-dinner drowsiness with a fierce round of Exploding Snap in the living room, Connor gave me the official tour of his family's new home as we went up to put the finally sleeping Zoe to bed.

It truly was as small as it looked from the outside. Just three bedrooms, two bathrooms, the kitchen, the living and dining room were one, and the attic was really a crawl space. Yet all had been undeniably treated to Aunt Tonks' touch, though with a hint of conservatism that once again had me staring in wonder. Clearly Uncle Lupin had rubbed off on her, or she was really trying not to scare off the neighbours like Mum thought. Though the colours were loud and some of the ornamentation would surely raise an eyebrow or two, it all matched. But there was only one room that I wanted to see.

As we stood on the stairs looking into the attic where they'd stuffed most of what they'd salvaged from the fire, I asked, “So, where's this famous studio of yours?”

Connor, still holding Zoe, so long asleep in his arms that she was snoring quietly, replied, “In the basement, but we have to be quiet.”

I glared at him. “What do you think I am, stupid? Milo and Mackenzie couldn't keep a secret if you threatened to drown them.”

He smiled the patient smile he'd taken to using whenever he deemed I was being irrational or we'd strayed into forbidden conversational territory, and said, “I meant, I don't think your Mum would like the idea of us going down to the basement alone, or that she couldn't have the door open to see what's going on.”

“Oh, right,” I replied, mildly embarrassed. Then Zoe stirred in her sleep and I said, “You should put her down. Mum says that if you take babies up every time they cry or carry them around all the time, you'll spoil them. They won't behave when they get older.”

He shook his head. “Mum and Dad have all of nine months to undo the damage... and I've just got home today. One day's not going to ruin her forever.”

“You should still put her down, she's sleeping,” I pointed out.

“Come on, let's get to the basement before they realise that we've stopped walking about,” he said and turned to go down. With an exasperated sigh and as quietly as I could manage, I crept down to the basement with him.

There was a moment of panic when Mackenzie looked up and saw us passing in the hall, but then Milo distracted her by winning and she had to jump away in her seat to prevent her eyebrows from being singed off in the resulting explosion. Zoe flinched, but did not wake at the sound, and as soon as she had settled again, Connor opened the door to the basement, at the back of the stairs in the narrow hallway, and led us down.

It was a wide open space, the entire ground floor of the house, with small casements high up on the clinically-cream walls and dark brown carpeting. For the most part it appeared to be a storage space like the attic, and we walked past more boxes, old furniture and other stuff that took up half the floor that were slightly charred and smelling faintly of smoke. When we were in the centre of the room though, Connor drew his wand and tapped the air before us about his waist, which caused me to draw a sharp breath and protest in a loud whisper, “We can't do magic out of school, we're underage!”

He shook his head. “Technically I haven't done anything. It's wand activated, and with my Dad and your Mum here the Ministry would believe it was one of them.”

“Have you never heard of the Trace?” I began to ask, when suddenly a door and wall appeared, and the door opened to reveal the studio.

I gasped, looking in. What would Rita Skeeter give to see this?

The walls in here were dark blue plaid and ivory and plastered with prints of his old drawings, framed posters, sketches and copies of the comic books. On cedar shelves there were the various awards he'd won, prototypes and samples of merchandising products, and, of course, art supplies. Free-standing shelves contained what looked literal thousands of books—possible research material as most appeared to be academic publications, on wolves, runes and Norse, Ancient British and Scandinavian mythology—and notebooks that were undoubtedly stuffed with his own plot ideas and plans. He had three large desks, on which were mounted three large lamps and a series of brightly coloured souvenir mugs in which were his pencils, paintbrushes and markers. But most wonderful, and curious, nowhere was there evidence of a clandestine Potions laboratory or ritualistic use of the Dark Arts. It truly was an artist's studio.

When he noticed that I was staring at the mugs, which had drawn my attention only because of their number, (I counted at least twenty-seven) he replied, “They used to be my Dad's. While his family travelled the world for a cure when he was younger they used to collect them, and when I got my first art kit, he gave them to me to use as pencil holders. I like them, you see, and considering that we could never afford to travel abroad for vacation, and won't be able to without suspicion until well after I'm of age, the souvenirs make me feel like I've been there, and it's something to work to.”

Unable to think of something better to say, I said, “Uncle Lupin's parents travelled the world, didn't they?”

Connor smiled and shook his head. “They'd certainly tried, but no. I had told Stanislav and Svetlana about it once, the souvenir mugs, and ever since whenever they travel with their Dad they send me a few. I've gotten even more than my Dad's parents did; at last count I had two hundred and nineteen. The rest are in this cupboard by the door.”

I looked down to a small glass cupboard on the opposite side of the door, well away from the reach of it in the event that the door was thrown open carelessly, and sure enough it was stacked full of mugs. The benefits of having the children of international Quidditch star Viktor Krum as pen-pals just kept on coming. Best friends in a society heavily prejudiced against werewolves, enablers of secret Dark Arts-research, and now hobby aids.

I turned back to Connor with a sincere smile. “Pre-emptive action, nice one.”

At first he gave me a puzzled look, and then said, “No, actually it's for me.”

When I lifted both eyebrows at him, he explained, “Being a Metamorphmagus has an unfortunate downside. Though you can change your appearance at will, the price is that it messes with your control of your motor functions. I can be as dead clumsy as Mum. You should have seen me when I was younger... or maybe not, I was a mess. I couldn't control my morphing and therefore I couldn't control my movements. Not morphing means that I have control, less accidents, less humiliating moments and of course, a less distracting appearance overall. Professor Snape couldn't stand it when I got embarrassed and my hair turned magenta.”

I smiled at the thought, and then Connor leaned forward and quickly kissed me. I drew back, surprised, and he said, “I like it when you smile; you're very beautiful when you do.” Then he blushed, bright magenta, and his hair shortened and turned it too.

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you again?” I challenged, folding my arms. “You happen to be holding an innocent but very impressionable person in your arms. She shouldn't be exposed to this kind of behaviour.”

He grinned and I thought I felt my insides melting.

“Am I that obvious?” he asked.

I pretended to think about it, and then replied, “Yes.”

He leaned to kiss me again, and intentionally, it felt, stumbling into me a bit. “Well in that case....”

.

We would finally leave the Lupin house well after midnight, with Milo and Mackenzie at last losing their battle with sleep and having to be carried into the house by Mum. Dad and Aunt Tonks had not returned, and were unlikely to until well into the next day, but no matter, they had the rest of the vacation to catch up with us still. I myself had begun to think of all the wonderful things I could get up to in the next two months, most major of which appeared to be sleeping.

But then there was also the possibility of Connor and me working through our problems for the better. As I at last climbed into bed, turning away from the open window where the light of the waxing moon shined silver-blue over the slumbering village and the night air at last flowed refreshingly cool, I realised that we'd just had the best evening together in weeks. And even when Zoe awoke and we had to run up to her room to put her to bed before the others came hurrying down to investigate.

To prove it too, just before I removed my ring as I changed for bed I noticed that it was at last a brilliant light blue.

-->

A/N: I don't know, I think this story is going much slower than I intended. I know where I'm going, mostly, so I'm not too worried, but I really feel I need to pick up the pace. Good, how's the next chapter for you? By the way, something else I forgot, though officially this is classified under books one to six spoilers, there are spoilers for book seven here, from the major to the minor. Read with caution. Again errors all mine, same situation, I suspect loads of cringing at the reread of this story. Loads.

Disclaimer: Sometimes I wish this was mine, but then, nah! JK Rowling and company own and will keep everything you can recognise. Anything you don't is mine.

*****

Chapter Three

It would be the understatement of the century to say that the last person I expected to see the next morning was the OGB, it would probably also be the understatement of the millennium. But sure enough when I answered the door there stood my Potions professor, for once not in his characteristic black robes as he was out in a town where Wizards lived amongst Muggles, but still dressed in black nevertheless, wearing a trench-coat over heavily starched shirt and pants. The daylight was unkind to him too; it enhanced his pallid complexion so that he looked like the walking dead, and sharpened his features so that his hooked nose, crooked, yellowing teeth and greasy black hair made him even uglier than usual. For nearly a full minute I stood in the doorway staring at him, and then he greeted me with a terse, “Miss Potter, I believe that it is well past nine in the morning, why do you look like you've just left your bed?”

I was snapped back to the present but could only manage, “P-professor Snape?”

He sighed. “Is your mother at home?”

I nodded.

Not attempting to disguise the impatience and irritation in his voice, he said, “May I come in then?”

“Oh, right,” I replied and stepped back from the doorway. “Come in, I'll go get her.” Then without waiting to shut the door behind him, I turned and raced off to the kitchen where Mum sat with Mackenzie making pancakes.

She greeted me happily. “Good morning, Lillie. I see you're back to your usual holiday pattern.”

“Professor Snape's in the living room to see you,” I said.

At once she began to remove the apron she was wearing, saying, “Come, watch these, don't let them burn.” I took her place at the stove, she handed over the spatula and left. Moments later I heard her greeting the OGB, “Professor Snape, good morning, and how are you today?”

When Mackenzie did not slip off her seat and run after her, I asked, “Why is he here?”

“Fine, but your family has been making headlines I see, and Magnolia's been home only a matter of hours?”

“You know full well that Rita Skeeter is a right obnoxious cow who lives to stir up trouble.”

“He's come to drop off Milo's potion. He brings it himself,” she replied, forking a mouthful of pancakes into her mouth. “Dad doesn't like it but he has no choice.”

“Nevertheless, it would do you all well if you deterred your children from following in their father's strut. Miss Skeeter can make your life very miserable, she has done it before.”

I flipped a pancake a little too early and watched the mix splatter over the stove top. I hated having to do things without magic now, after months of school and extra lessons with the OGB and Camilla during the attacks to improve my defensive duelling skills it was strange to go back to doing things “the Muggle way.” Rigel didn't have such a problem; Grandma Molly spoiled him at the Burrow almost as much as Grandmother Narcissa did. His breakfast would be waiting for him at the table.

Connor, though, with his father was ill now and his mother always at work would probably have to do it himself like me. That reassured me only slightly.

“Mr Dean Thomas? Mr Thomas, though an artist of some talent is no one of consequence to anyone, especially Ms Skeeter. He was fortunate to survive the war as he did, and to find this Romulus Kveld-Ulf, but you are right to treat her interest in him with suspicion. The true identity of a reclusive comic book author is nothing compared to the material to be gleaned from a child's suffering, and especially the Chosen One's child.”

I took the pancake over to the platter Mum had been stacking them in and poured another. Mackenzie said, “Milo's cat spent the whole night guarding the door to his room and wouldn't let anyone come in.”

I turned back to her. “What were you trying to do going into his room?”

She did not answer. I asked, “Were you trying to steal his cat?”

She still did not answer. I shook my head at her. “Mackenzie, Hugo is Milo's cat. You've had fish, rabbits, a turtle and a toad. You've had more pets than the rest of us, and even some of ours. It's his turn now.”

Mum suddenly reappeared in the kitchen and said, “I'll take this over, why don't you go help Professor Snape deliver Milo his potion?”

When I looked at her surprised, and none too pleased, she said, “He specifically asked that you accompany him, I guess he wants to talk to you. Be nice.”

I lamely protested, “But I'm still in my pyjamas.”

“So? You answered the door in them, and I seriously doubt he cares. Just take him up to Milo. If he asks you to help him with anything, help, and then when he's finished you can see him out,” she replied, flipping over a perfectly round pancake that made me want to scowl at the one I'd done. “And he's going to be back tomorrow, so I suggest you be on your best behaviour.”

“But why does he bring it himself, couldn't he send an owl?” I asked, knowing full well that I was whinging but not caring.

Mum looked up at me. “It's not a good idea, and this way he gets to stretch his legs a bit out of the castle. He has to deliver to Remus too, you know. He doesn't like it, I'm sure you've noticed, but it's the only way for him to get out. Professor Snape did a lot for us at the risk of his own life during and after the war, and it would do you well to remember that.”

“He nearly got me killed last winter!” I protested again.

“I know!” she very nearly snapped at me then, which startled both Mackenzie and I. And then, expression softening, she said, “I'm sorry, but please, be nice. He is an unpleasant man, but it does you no good to aggravate the situation. And besides, for all the horrible things he's had to do, and the mistakes he's made, he's been an immeasurable help, so please?”

“Dad doesn't care,” I grumbled with the hint of a smile, a weak parting shot, I knew, as I began to walk away.

“Magnolia, go!” she said and flicked a pot cloth behind me so that I scurried from the kitchen.

The OGB was at the bottom of the stairs down the hall waiting for me, and as I appeared he said, “Unlike you I do have a number of important matters to attend to today, so if it is not too much trouble....”

I smiled sweetly. “This way, professor.”

Milo's bedroom was the second door on the right as we got upstairs and slightly ajar. I knocked gently first, and then pushed it open to find my younger brother still fast asleep and tightly wound up in the bed-sheets. His messy brown hair appeared to peek out everywhere, and with his short pyjamas I saw, to my horror, that it had grown out everywhere, all along his legs, arms and back. I froze in the doorway staring at him in shock; the OGB pushed past me and said, “We've been through this before, Miss Potter. You are well aware of the fact that when it is near the full moon the werewolf changes.”

“I did... I am, but... I never saw him like this before... when I came home for the Easter break it wasn't the full moon,” I stammered.

He paused beside the head of Milo's bed and looked back at me. He made a rather incongruous sight. Milo's bedroom, painted olive green and plastered with Muggle football, magical Quidditch and various video game and comic book posters, including a large autographed one from Romulus Kveld-Ulf, (which Connor had done months earlier once the papers had printed Milo's request to be in the comic book) and then seemingly hundreds of family photographs, was too lively for him. The shelves stacked high with schoolbooks, novels, comics, old broken toys, sports equipment he never used and CDs seemed to mock him. The radio and television played softly to no one. The clothes, trainers, and random bits of candy wrapper that littered the floor, workstation by the window and bed outright offended him. And the smell, of sweat, dirty clothes and old paper—undoubtedly from the library books lost somewhere in the room that Milo constantly forgot to return on time—combined with that of the air rushing through the window and air fresheners in the hall, set his nose twitching every so often that it was a wonder he didn't rush out again at this slight lack of control. But he stood his ground, instead far more interested in a sheet of paper Milo had pinned to the wall above his bed.

I stepped away from the door, folded my arms and waited. He said, “Come, wake him. He must take this potion now and then promptly at seven this evening. He must not miss one dose, and no matter what he says or does he must take it. This is your responsibility; you can ask your mother for corroboration. Now, wake him.”

I hesitated, and he continued, only barely lifting an eyebrow, “Your mother has to work, does she not? And in both your parents' absence, you are the eldest and therefore the one in charge... unless I'm mistaken?”

I shook my head and marched over to Milo's bed and shook him, gently. Unsurprisingly he did not stir, and the OGB noisily cleared his throat. Sighing, I gripped the covers around Milo's head, unwound them as best I could to expose his face to the daylight and shook him harder. This time he groaned and turned away from the window.

“He has to take this potion or his transformation will be much worse, wake him up,” said the OGB.

I shook Milo once again, and this time he protested, “Le'e me own!”

I looked back up at the OGB a moment, then gave Milo another fierce shake, ripped the covers from around his little warm body and called, “Wake up, Milo! Wake up! You have to get up now, wake up Milo!”

Milo did not take kindly to this of course, and especially given his warning for my previous attempts. The moment the covers left his body he began to fight me, pushing back and yelling, “Geroff Lillie! Leave me alone! Go away; I don't have to wake up now! Geroff Lillie!”

It then quickly degenerated into a minor scrapping before at last the OGB said, “Mr Potter, it is time for your potion. Get. Up!”

Milo stopped fighting immediately and pushed himself up from the bed, looking up at the OGB in surprise. “Professor Snape?” he asked.

The OGB crouched beside him and produced, with an elaborate twist of his wrist, the small bottle of Wolfsbane Potion. “Drink this quickly.”

Slightly bruised, and sweaty from the effort, I sat back on the bed and watched as Milo, hands suddenly trembling, took the bottle from him and twisted it open. The OGB stared back at him, waiting, and in a manner of surprising patience and gentleness that I had to wonder if this was how he and Connor had interacted when they had their lessons. Of course, Milo was usually one on whom brute force did nothing. And then Milo put the bottle to his lips and drank it down in one go, grimaced, gagged and thrust the bottle back to the OGB. He took it, stood at once, and straightening his coat, said, “Miss Potter, if you will see me out.”

I looked at Milo, who was now glaring down at his bed-sheet as if stubbornly fighting tears, and the OGB barked, “Miss Potter!”

I stood at once and he led the way out and down the stairs to the door. Mum and Mackenzie were still in the kitchen, and as we walked through the front hall she called, “Milo, come down for breakfast! It'll cut the taste of the potion!”

I wondered then why she had decided to let me go up to attend to Milo rather than going herself. I knew that if I were in his position I would definitely want her with me for every unpleasant moment I was going to have to go through, and especially those in which she could. It was bad enough to see him struggling about with a cane, but his hands were shaking just to take his potion. She and Dad could not have been with me when I needed them last winter, but I was thirteen and my monster was someone else, not me.

I opened the door to find our street awash in sunlight, the sky clear and deep blue, the temperature already high, and some of our Muggle neighbours out and about, waving at me in the door or staring curiously at the OGB. Their summer was apparently going swimmingly; mine was suddenly not looking so bright. The OGB ignored the more-than-casual glances he was getting to turn back to me and say, “In addition to ensuring that your brother takes his potion this evening”—he produced another bottle and pressed it into my hands—“I would like you to keep an eye on him for another reason.”

I did not like the sound of this at all. I began, “I do have to look after Mackenzie too while Mum and Dad are at work like you pointed out. And I've got homework and my own life to live. If something is wrong with Milo I will do everything I can to help him, but you—”

He looked up at me with a glare that killed all further protests in my throat and repeated, “You are to observe your younger brother very closely in the coming weeks. Not every moment of the day, of course, but at those times when you are together pay special attention to him, to the things he does and how he reacts to things that happen to him. In time I will ask you for a report on what you have observed and I expect you to answer all my questions truthfully and thoroughly. There is no need to ask anyone else for help, and it is in your best interest, and his, that you be very discreet. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But why should I spy on my little brother for you?” I demanded. “What's going on with Milo that everyone seems to be talking about but no one wants to explain? I can see that he's not enjoying being a werewolf, and I didn't expect him to but obviously something else is wrong and I'd like to know what it is!”

He said slowly and evenly. “I believe you are not to visit with the Weasleys for some time, so until then this should not be so difficult. I want you to look out for any display of accidental magic, any manipulation of magic or magical objects to his advantage when possible and report it to me. Do not lie, do not omit anything to spare anyone's feelings, and do not exaggerate. This is a serious matter, and I expect you to treat it as such.”

“You're not on that thing about him being a Squib again, are you?” I asked, rudely. Then I bit my lip and looked away from him again, remembering my parents' warnings and knowing that his rebuke was not going to be pleasant.

To my surprise though, he just looked at me for a moment and replied, “I'll be back tomorrow morning, and I expect that you shall be more appropriately attired. Good day, Miss Potter.”

I closed the door in his face without an ounce of remorse. I hope he enjoyed his walk to the Lupins, black and a trench-coat were not suited to this weather, and for someone with a Muggle father he should have known that.

*****

Sophie Lola Rees Taylor was eleven years old, the daughter of the Blasian doctor who was the village midwife, and a Welsh Royal Naval officer. Their only child, the small girl with the pale brown skin, light brown eyes and thick, curly chocolate hair, had grown into a stubborn, strong-willed tomboy. Her parents had done their best to get her into skirts and dresses to thwart her attempts to become a real boy, but still she managed to wear a pair of ripped, old jeans, a Welsh national football team jersey, one of her Dad's old jackets and the mangiest pair of trainers I'd ever seen like a uniform while riding through Godric's Hollow on a bicycle that must have been first sold in 1923. It was so rusted and treacherous-looking that everyone firmly believed the sole reason that she still had it was because she hid it somewhere about the town where her parents couldn't find it every night.

And Sophie was Milo's best friend apart from the Weasley boys, so I was not at all surprised to hear her husky-voiced call just after noon, hailing, “Milo! 'Lo Milo! You better not be having a kip now! Milo!”

With no plans for the day, Dad still out and Mum having to go into the Ministry after breakfast I was in charge of my siblings and our entertainment. This basically translated to us being left to our own recognisance while I loosely supervised, and was probably why, until Sophie's arrival, we had been practically bored out of our minds. Mackenzie had not left the kitchen since breakfast, save to have a bath and change, and Milo had returned to bed just before Mum left. I had preferred to occupy my time with the telly, feeding Ophelia and chasing Hugo back up into Milo's room when he went out into the backyard and brought back a dead bird.

So far, my great summer of relaxation wasn't going too well.

I went to answer the door then, silently thanking Merlin for the interruption and with some measure of trepidation, Sophie Taylor could be quite a handful at times. When I opened the door for her, she casually pushed past me into the house with a “'Lo Lillie, how was school?”

I stopped her with a hand and turned her back to face me. “Good day, Sophie. Milo's sleeping, so if you would like to come back later—”

“—Again?” she asked, cutting me off. “He didn't come to school just yesterday because his Mum said he was sick, this is going to be the sixth straight month like this. Are you lot sure he's a boy? I thought only girls had a problem once a month?” Then, as if remembering something, she reddened and said, “I'm sorry, I forgot about Milo's... I didn't mean anything by that.”

What exactly had my parents told everyone to explain Milo's condition? I halted her apologies quickly. “I know you didn't mean anything, I know you didn't. Milo is still sleeping though, so you may have to check back later... or you can wait with Mackenzie and me in the kitchen. I was just thinking about going round to the Lupins later today so we're waiting for Milo to get up to see if he's up to it... you can come too if you like...?”

“The Lupins? Oh I saw their son today; he was walking the baby with his Dad and Mrs Smith through Main Street. And Mrs Smith was trying to get him to visit her and Eugenie this afternoon,” she replied.

“Oh really,” I asked, failing to suppress the annoyance in my voice in time.

Sophie suddenly looked conspiratorial. “I was just letting you know, advance warning and all that.”

“Was Eugenie there?” I asked, heading back into the kitchen and wondering how she had found out about Connor and me. But then the little show of anxiety could have gone a long way.

“No, they met her at Miss Havisham's,” she said. “And she just started giggling with Olivia. I think she likes that he has green hair.”

Mackenzie was at the kitchen table painstakingly putting together a fifteen hundred piece puzzle that apparently she and Dad had been building since last week. As they had only managed to get the outline and lower portion of the image of a wizened Muggle astrologer I guessed that it wasn't as easy as it must have appeared. She looked up as we entered the kitchen, said “Hi” and then went back to the puzzle.

I slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter where I'd been absently flipping through the channels for half an hour now and asked, “Green hair?”

“Well it's not entirely green; it's white and short like his Mum's and just the tips are green. I thought it was a wig at first, but it's too short and I've never seen a wig look like that. At least not one that wasn't in a movie,” she replied, taking the stool beside me and picking up the remote.

Mackenzie looked up again, but this time at me. I said, “It's not a wig, that's his hair.”

“He's allowed to go to school with it like that?” asked Sophie. She stared at the cartoon I'd been watching a moment and then changed the channel.

“No, he must have done it this morning,” I replied. Then before she could find something odd with that, I asked, “Did Eugenie speak to him?”

“Yep, but she just said `hi', giggled, flipped her hair and walked out like so”—she hopped off the stool and began to strut about the kitchen sashaying her hips, looking over her shoulder every now and then to giggle—“and then came back to tell her Mum, and the entire shop, that she's going to be at Marie Antoinette's getting a new pair of Doc Martens. `You know the one I told you about, I hope they still have them, I'm thinking of wearing them to the garden party in three weeks.'”

Her nasal impression of Eugenie Smith was nowhere near the real thing, but at the moment hilarious. As Mackenzie and I laughed, Sophie ended her strut and resumed her place at the counter with the remote, then continued, “When she left, Mr Lupin told Connor that if he went shoe-shopping he wouldn't be able to take Zoe to Maggie's house later, because it would be Zoe's kipping time. Well Mrs Smith she asks, `Who's Maggie?' You know, instead of minding her own business, and Mr Lupin told her, `I'm sorry, I meant Lillie, Connor calls her Maggie, no idea why.' And Mrs Smith, you could have pushed her over with a feather, she asks, `Isn't Lillie dating that red-haired boy, Richard Wesley?' And Mr Lupin tells her, `No, Rigel Weasley, no, they're just friends.' And then Connor kind of went red and said that he wasn't planning to go shoe-shopping, that he already had shoes and that they had better go or they'd never get around to here before Zoe has to sleep.”

Well that explained how she knew, and alerted me to the fact that most of the village now did too. But I had other concerns. “He's coming over here... why didn't you tell me before?”

“Well he's not coming yet,” she replied, with a hint of annoyance. “His Dad reminded him that he doesn't know where the house is, and that he wants to give him the grand tour of the town before he disappears. And then you should have seen Mrs Smith's face, I don't think she likes you very much now. But he's fifteen, and Eugenie's eighteen, and ugly, isn't that illegal?”

I smiled. “She's not ugly.”

Sophie gave me a look. I continued, “She's not ugly, and it's probably not illegal, but he's my boyfriend so I might have a problem with Eugenie trying to date him.”

Sophie turned away from me to the telly and said, “And he's kind of clumsy, so she wouldn't want him around their antique shop anyway. He kept knocking things over and tripped three times on their way to Tesco. Then his Dad told him something, bought him a cap and they met Mrs Murray and left with her,” she replied.

I had a feeling I knew why Uncle Lupin had bought him a cap. I asked, “Aren't there any teenaged boys in Godric's Hollow left for them to set their daughters up with?”

I had actually just been thinking aloud, but Sophie shrugged and replied anyway, “Everybody knows them. They don't know Connor but they know his Dad and they probably think he's just like him,” she replied. “I don't think he is, not really. I mean, he looks like him, except for the scars, but he's more... something not much like Mr Lupin. Anyway, you don't have to worry about where Mrs Murray took them because they met this really white man in a black trench-coat and had to go back home.”

That would have been the OGB. I made to ask her if she overheard anything else, but just then Mackenzie looked up and said, “Hey Milo.”

Sophie and I both turned back to the kitchen door and there he was, nervously peering round the doorway at us so that only his head was visible while his mop of hair flopped down over his eyes. Sophie started towards him at once.

“'Lo Milo, I've got your comic books. Mr Fields returned them yesterday but since you didn't come to school I took them for you,” she said, reaching into her jacket for them. But then I saw the look on Milo's face and stepped ahead of her.

“Hold on there a bit, Sophie. I think Milo wants something,” I replied. And before she could make a significant protest, I continued out to the hall where he was already ambling back to the stairs on his cane.

Shortly after, I heard Mackenzie intercept her, asking, “Wait a minute, what were you doing in Miss Havisham's? That's a bookstore, and it sells mostly Lillie's kind of books.”

There was no way Sophie could resist that kind of challenge, and Milo and I easily made it to the stairs where I finally stopped him when I asked, “Okay, Milo, what's wrong?”

He turned and looked up at me with an expression of pure terror, then swallowed and replied in a very quiet voice. “I had a nightmare. I wet my bed.”

I felt my mouth open in surprise, but knew there was nothing I could do for it. What did he just say? What was happening to my little brother? This was worse than I thought.... Hugo quickly jerked me from my dark musings by hopping onto the balustrade and mewing loudly. Then I said, “Did you change your—”

I looked down; he wasn't wearing any pants, which was probably why he hadn't come all the way into the kitchen. “Okay, alright... let's go back upstairs.” He turned and at once began to head back up. I asked, following him and looking back to the kitchen and hoping that Mackenzie could keep Sophie occupied a little longer, “What did you do with your bed-sheets?”

Again he replied in a very low voice, “I took my cover off the bed and put it in the bathroom with my pants. I didn't know what to do—”

He was cut off by a very familiar voice calling, “Lillie, Mackenzie, Milo...? I'm back!”

We both stopped in the middle of the hall before the door to his room, and listened as Dad continued, “Oh hello, Sophie. Mackenzie, where's your brother and sister?”

“They're upstairs, Milo just woke up.”

I looked back at Milo and asked, “I think you should go to the bathroom and finish cleaning yourself up. I'll get you some clean clothes... or do you want me to go get Dad?” He instantly paled, and shook his head fiercely. “Fine, go to the bathroom and I'll try to clean up before Dad gets here.”

He was halfway down the hall to the bathroom and I had just stepped into his bedroom when Dad said, “Where are you going, Milo? And why aren't you wearing any pants?” I heard him loud and clear and knew that he was at the top of the stairs.

I instantly ducked back out of Milo's room to find my little brother staring at Dad with an expression of pure terror and Dad looking understandably confused. Not wanting to worsen the situation, thinking quickly, I slipped back into the room and called, “Milo, are you in the bath yet? There are other people in the house, you know!”

He pattered off immediately and slammed the door. Then Dad continued on to his room and found me in the doorway. From the look on his face I could see that he hadn't been fooled for an instant, and he confirmed it when he asked, “What happened?”

“He had a nightmare and wet himself,” I replied.

Dad pushed past me into the room, and at once began ripping the sheets up from the bed. I remained in the doorway, staring in and asked, “Has he done this before?”

“Like you informed your mother and me, you already know that he hasn't been doing well,” said Dad a little too roughly for my liking as he deposited the sheets in a pile on the floor and went for the mattress. This he pulled halfway off the bed, then drawing his wand, banished the urine from and cast a few charms to refresh. Then he summoned fresh ones from the hallway closet and set about remaking the bed.

I moved to help him, but he stopped me with a look. “Get his clean clothes.”

I changed direction and went to Milo's dresser instead, but asked on the way, “Has he seen anyone in Werewolf Support Services... I thought they provided counsellors for children who are werewolves now?”

Dad gave a mocking laugh and replied, “Their counsellors have either been raised on a steady diet of biases and prejudices or are the bitter results of those who have not been helped. The best help he has is Remus... but Remus isn't there when he goes to sleep. Your mother and I thought that getting him the cat to keep him company would make him feel better, but clearly it isn't working.”

“He's only had Hugo for less than a day, he needs time to get used to him,” I pointed out.

“Says the young lady who's had her own owl for months and can't seem to remember it,” he shot back. I brazenly glared at him, but he continued, “I forgot you were also raised by a cat-lover. Milo's scared, terrified, simply speaking, and there is nothing that we can do about it but make him comfortable and hope he gets used to his situation. It doesn't make it any easier but he has to or he won't....” He stopped, shook his head and said, “Go check on your brother, see if he's finished cleaning up.”

I reluctantly turned and went off to the bathroom.

Milo was drying himself off when I entered with his clothes, wisps of steam still floating about the room and the mirror completely fogged up. He looked up as I came in though, and asked, still in that worryingly quiet voice, “Is Dad angry with me?”

I looked at him puzzled, and shook my head. “No, he knows you didn't do it on purpose. Milo, you just had a nightmare and wet the bed, that's probably happened to everyone.”

“Not everyone is like me,” he replied, defiantly.

“No,” I admitted. “But it's okay, it's going to be alright. No one in this house is going to punish you for something you can't control. I vomited on Dad's dress robes at that Ministry ball two years ago and the only thing I got was to stay in bed for three days. We're not going to like you any less because your sick, we don't care you're a werewolf and we—”

“I know that!” he snapped suddenly, cutting me off.

I blinked, and then demanded, “Then what's your problem?”

I had a feeling it was his now his embarrassment over wetting his bed that was getting to him but I would not be spoken to like that by my younger brother. When he did not answer, just stared down at his toes, I handed over his clothes and left him to get dressed in silence.

*****

Thanks to Sophie's warning I was not surprised when, in the mid-afternoon, Connor arrived at the door with his baby sister and a broad grin. As I suspected his hair was brown again beneath his cap and he looked both thirsty and tired so that I hastened to usher them into the house. But I was very surprised when, just as I was letting them in, there was the sound of the Floo in the living room and Rigel called, “Magnolia, are you home?”

Connor stopped and looked at me with an arched brow. I offered him a shrug and called back, “Yes... are-are you in the living room? What are you doing here?”

Rigel stepped out into the hall. “Whatever happened to `Good afternoon, would you like some tea?' It's that kind of thing that's going to make your visit with Grandmother very awkward, you know. The woman holds proper etiquette in high regard.” Then he noticed Connor still standing in the doorway beside me, with Zoe's pram halfway through, and added, “Oh, he's here too.”

Connor looked down at me and asked, “You're going to Malfoy Manor?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No, but Rigel here insists that I am.”

“Because you are,” said Rigel. “I just came over to tell you, you're expected at the manor next weekend.”

I turned back to him now and said, “Did I not tell you repeatedly that not only am I not interested in going to Malfoy Manor with you but that my parents will never allow it?”

“Yes, well, we'll see about that shortly. I know Cousin N—Tonks is back so I suppose your father is too, where's Uncle Harry?” he asked, turning to look to the kitchen now.

“How did you know my mother was back?” asked Connor.

Rigel began to walk off in the direction of the kitchen and replied without looking back, “My mother returned some time ago. She just happens to be an Auror as well so I deduced that the others must be back too. Now Magnolia, where's your father?”

Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway and asked, “You called, Mr Weasley?” But before Rigel could say a word he looked up and noticing Connor, said, “Hello Connor. And you've brought Zoe.... Is something wrong?”

Connor shook his head and smiled. “Just thought that I'd return the visit, and since my parents are kipping I decided to bring Zoe along. I hope you don't mind, she's half out herself so she shouldn't be too noisy for Milo.”

“That's okay, Milo's out in the backyard with his friend, Sophie. Why don't we all gather in the kitchen for tea?” This was said in the manner of an order and not a suggestion so that when he turned back into the kitchen we all immediately and dutifully obeyed.

In the kitchen, where Dad had been helping Mackenzie put together their puzzle since he returned and once he was sure that Milo was all right again, he had us all take seats around the dinette set with them. Rigel and Connor made a point of sitting on opposite sides of the table, and as far away from each other as they could manage with places for six. Then, once he'd asked Rigel and Connor if they wanted anything, and warned Mackenzie off waking Zoe, so that she scowled and ran off to the living room to watch the telly, Dad turned to Rigel and asked, “Okay, what was it you wished to speak to me about?”

Rigel replied, “Grandmother has invited Magnolia to spend the weekend at Malfoy Manor with us and I came to find out if you'd let her go.”

Dad lifted an eyebrow at him and turned to me. I shrugged and he turned back to Rigel. “Your grandmother did something for me during the war for which I will forever be grateful; in fact, it is a debt that I cannot easily repay. However, your father did something else during the war—and I'm not talking about Professor Dumbledore's death—that I cannot easily forgive. It is not my place to forgive him, and if your mother heard me now she would not be happy, but as it stands let's just say he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms if he turned up on that doorstep. And before that, her family, which is by default also yours, did even more terrible things which resulted in your grandfather Lucius' imprisonment in Azkaban. Now I know that you have done nothing wrong, and I am not holding anything against you, but I have to know whatever gave you the idea that I would allow my eldest daughter to walk into Malfoy Manor merely because your grandmother extended an invitation.”

Rigel appeared to think about it for a moment, and then replied, “She's invited Connor too.”

Connor looked up at him sharply. Rigel was clearly annoyed himself, and with no small amount of displeasure, clarified, “Grandmother said that it wouldn't be fair that she invited friends over family and said that he could come too.”

“What else?” Dad asked.

Now Rigel was really looking for an answer. But after just a moment, he seemed to remember something and replied, “Camilla.”

All three of us said at once, “What?”

Rigel smirked. “Camilla's going to be coming too.”

I couldn't help it, I had to look at Dad to gauge his reaction, but he didn't appear to be at all affected by this revelation. I guess it had to be his training, for at the moment I was desperately wondering if Narcissa Malfoy realised that Camilla Longbottom was her niece, and if she did, how did she? As far as anyone was concerned the only sister of hers to have a child was Andromeda Tonks, whose daughter Nymphadora was Connor's mother. But Rigel's explanation quickly set me straight.

“It's all part of this plan of Grandmother's to make amends for past wrongs, extending the olive branch to those her family hurt. So her idea was to have us, the next generation, over to the Manor for the weekend to show goodwill and possibly for her to get to know us. I know Camilla's not related to us... yet, but since Bellatrix Lestrange is responsible for her adoptive grandparents' condition, and technically the Longbottoms are distant cousins of the Malfoys, she's been invited as well. And it's not just going to be me, Magnolia and Connor, but Camilla too... and Bijou Zabini, Matthias Flint, Homer Goyle, Aurelia McDougal, Jo—”

My father put his hand up and he stopped, and then Dad said, “You're not necessarily helping your case with the list of other teenagers at this sleepover.”

“I know,” admitted Rigel. “But Grandmother organised the list and said that it would help inter-House relations when we returned to school. Clearly she's pretending not to know the rivalries, but I don't think those two Gryffindors have anything to worry about. Flint and Goyle are Ravenclaws and McDougal's a Hufflepuff, and if Grandmother invited her you know they're not going to attack them. Besides, they're probably not going to show up, their invitations are being lost in the mail as we speak. It will just be me, Camilla, those two, and Grandmother. Oh, and Professor Snape, so you know those two won't be up to anything.”

Connor rolled his eyes, but Dad replied after another minute's contemplation, “I'll have to speak to Hermione, though I can't really see a problem.”

My jaw dropped, and beside me I was sure that Connor's had done the same. Then I asked, “Dad?”

He turned to look at me and asked in return, “Yes?”

“You're allowing me to go?”

“Rigel's not going to bite and Mrs Malfoy wouldn't dare try anything, so I don't see a problem. It'll be good for you to get to know those who have turned up their noses at us for years and rub their faces in it, and I could use a status report on activity within the Manor. You could be my little spy.”

“Hey, I happen to be sitting right here,” said Rigel. “And if you wanted me to spy for you, all you had to do was ask.”

I just stared at Dad, until Connor interrupted, saying, “Well in that case, if Maggie can go to Malfoy Manor, can she come up with us on the full moon?”

Dad looked over to him. “Who said you're going to be there?”

Rigel at once began snickering into his hands. Connor replied, “Mum always lets me go. One day it's going to be my responsibility to watch over Dad, and especially if anything happens to her, so shouldn't Maggie know how to look over Milo?”

Once again Dad lifted an eyebrow and turned to me. Once again I shrugged and he looked back to Connor. “Well if Tonks lets you be there... which is news to me, and somewhat alarming, I don't think there will be a problem. Lupin and Milo are going to be locked away in your family's old shed anyway, with at least a hundred different protective spells around that so... well I'll have to speak to Hermione. Mrs Potter may not be an Auror like Mrs Lupin, but she is a force to be reckoned with if you get her mad.”

I finally found my voice again. “Okay, who are you and where is my father? And for that matter, isn't anyone going to ask my opinion here? I don't want to go to Malfoy Manor, really, I don't. Let's not forget that I nearly died numerous times during the winter and like you said, the Malfoys had tried to do you in for years before the war. In addition to this, there's also fact that I don't want to go up with you when Milo transforms either. Milo may not want me there, even if Mum says yes. And I seriously doubt she will.”

“Not necessarily,” said Dad. “I banned your mother from being with us after an unfortunate incident Milo's second full moon, so I think she'll feel much better knowing that you're there with your aunt and me to give your little brother support.”

Rigel asked before I could, “What unfortunate incident?”

Dad looked distinctly uncomfortable. “She tried to go into the shed when Milo started screaming. Hexed me too, when I went to stop her....”

The silence that descended after this was so acute that we could hear Milo and Sophie discussing video games clearly over the telly Mackenzie was watching rather loudly in the living room. I suspected that the volume was masking her eavesdropping at the kitchen door. But suddenly my mother's actions that morning and possibly the tension I'd noticed on the platform, which everyone knew about but us, made sense. Oh Merlin....

Then Connor asked, “So can Maggie come?”

Rigel looked up at him, glaring, and began, “What is—”

“—I'll have to ask Hermione... and Milo,” said Dad, thankfully cutting him off. Then he turned to me and added, “Believe me when I tell you, Mrs Malfoy will not harm you. I owe her, big, and she will want that debt repaid somehow someday, the last thing she would want is to jeopardise that. And then there's the matter of her never being allowed to see Rigel again, something which no amount of personal revenge is worth. As for Milo... it actually would be a pretty good idea for you to come if you're allowed. You'd be helping more than you know just by sitting around in the tent.”

I looked away from him to Connor who smiled, to Rigel who glared, and then back to Dad who was looking between the two with a slightly amused glint in his eyes, and exhaled heavily. Oh what the heck, it's not like I had anything better to do. I said, “Why not, it's not the only thing I've got to do for the summer that I don't want to.”

All three of them looked at me curiously, but I refused to elaborate, choosing instead to reflect that I was right this morning when I thought that the appearance of the OGB was a bad sign for my summer.

Of course, I couldn't have begun to imagine then exactly how bad it was going to get.

-->

A/N: Okay I know that I haven't been here since last year but I have a really good excuse: I fell out of love with the fandom. I forgot how magical and wonderful Ms Rowling's world is and how much I'd enjoyed writing about it. Of course, I've also been busy with school and trying to create my own original work. That's stalled for the moment and I may be getting a job soon so I'm not going to promise being regular on this, but I have every intention of seeing this through to the last word in the third book of this little trilogy. All errors are mine, so without further ado....

Disclaimer: Not mine, all JK Rowling's and the good folks at the WB. If you happen to be JK Rowling or the WB though, would you mind selling?

*****

Chapter Four

As promised the OGB arrived the next morning to deliver Milo's next dose of Wolfsbane, but having overslept after staying up late with Mum watching a horror movie and talking about my school year and Connor, I was spared having to see him in. Instead the honour was Dad's and, as usual with anything involving his former Potions professor, he did not like it one bit. It was the sound of their raised voices in the foyer that woke me, jerking me from a strange but wonderful dream of dragons over an area I knew to be Uncle Charlie's reserve in Romania. That I'd never been to the reserve or Romania had no bearing on the sequence of events.

It turned out to be a bit of good timing for shortly after I awoke, blinking at the brilliant sunshine filtering into my bedroom and grumbling about unnecessary arguments, a large, elegant eagle owl delivered my invitation to Malfoy Manor the next weekend. And it chose to do so by landing on the brass bed-head right above my head with an ear-piercing shriek.

I was so alarmed I nearly tumbled to the floor in a wild attempt to escape it, my heart seizing painfully, limbs flailing, but it merely screeched again and dropped a small white card onto my pillow. When I finally managed to stabilise myself on the very edge of the bed, gasping for breath, I glared up at the bird and repeated some of Uncle Ron's more colourful phrases at it. Not offended in the slightest, it just gave me what I interpreted as an impatient stare. It was Lucius, Narcissa Malfoy's owl that Rigel had secretly renamed.

I let my feet drop to the floor, stood and took up the card.

Written in silver in elegant and therefore barely legible calligraphy, it read:

Miss Magnolia Ingrid Potter

Is hereby invited to the Residence

Malfoy Manor

Home of Mistress Narcissa Malfoy

At the behest of the young Master Rigel Malfoy (Weasley)

From the Eleventh to the Fourteenth of July

In the year Two Thousand and Fourteen

(Guests are expected to arrive at four in the afternoon on the Eleventh and will depart promptly at ten on the morning of the Fourteenth.)

R.S.V.P.

I spent the next five minutes waiting for it to explode, burn my hands by some unseen layer of poison powder or turn into a large white box that would trap me in it until I suffocated, for surely anything that came from that Manor to the Potters would, before going down to show it to my parents. (Snape had been on his way out when the raised voices woke me which meant I wouldn't have to worry about prying eyes.) As expected my mother greeted it with surprise, but not in the manner I'd been expecting.

After reading the note twice and tapping it with her wand three or four times to make sure that it wasn't a joke or jinxed, she asked, “You've been invited to Malfoy Manor?”

“Dad didn't tell you that Rigel invited me yesterday?” I asked.

We looked over to my father sitting with Mackenzie, both still in their pyjamas working on their jigsaw puzzle. It was becoming clearer daily that my parents had really had no plans for us this vacation and were just winging it until Mum's parents' visit in a few weeks time. Apart from when we were invited out as a family or someone visited they had nothing for us to do when they were home from work. This time last summer we were already on the beach in Nice building a sand castle, not wondering why we couldn't find that one crucial piece that would bring the puzzle together. Of course, when I thought about it, last summer Milo hadn't been a werewolf with the ever-impending full moon to put a damper on our plans. I had a feeling too, that if we attempted to take him out of the country now, Man-Who-Triumphed or no there was going to be trouble.

Dad said without looking up, “Our godsons came over yesterday and the obnoxious one invited Lillie to Malfoy Manor while the nice one who happens to be dating her asked whether you will allow her to accompany us to Lupin's old house on the full moon.”

Mum looked back at me. “Do you want to go?”

After the way she'd gone over the invitation I had to goggle at her, but one look told that she was serious and I replied honestly, “Not really, but I will if I have to. Rigel can be very annoying when he wants to be, and Connor... well, he's right, it would be good if Mackenzie and I know how to deal with Milo. He's going to need all of us, right? Someday we're going to have to watch over him.”

Dad looked up then and said, “Don't think I'm not going to put a Tracing Spell on all your clothes or give you permission to use magic while you're at the Manor. I may have agreed to let you go but I'm not stupid. Merlin knows what kind of traps they have in that place.”

I turned to him. “So why are you letting me go? Even if I get a chance to spy for you it would be kind of useless if I get caught up in a trap.”

“Like I said yesterday, I know she won't try anything to risk losing Rigel, but one can't be too cautious. I've had a night to sleep on it and think about how to proceed,” he replied.

Mum deadpanned, “You thought about it overnight? That can't be good.” Then she turned back to me while he scowled at her back, and said, “Okay, you can go. Owl your response and come back for breakfast, your father's made omelettes.”

I took a quick glance to the stove and said, “I'll wake Milo, he'll never forgive me if he doesn't get any.”

Dad said, “Don't, let him sleep. He's really tired.”

At this Mum began, “You know, Remus said that Milo's sleeping all the time is just an escape mechanism. That we should wake him up and keep him up with us as much as possible to show him that he's still part of the family and needed and loved. Plus, there's the bonus that he'll be so tired he'll sleep through the full moon and it'll be less traumatic until he gets used to it.”

Dad looked up again. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Mum. “And I was reading a book last week that recommended including children who've been through traumatic experiences like Milo's in family activities as much as possible so that they know they're not loved less because of it.”

Dad looked back at me. “You heard your mother, go wake the boy.”

I turned at once and went back up to my room, quickly scrawled what I thought was an appropriate reply, and sent it off with the eagle owl. In my absence it had not moved from its perch on my bed-head but it had apparently decided to sharpen its claws on it and left an interesting set of marks where it had rested. Rigel was going to pay for that, literally.

Then I made another quick note and sent it to Connor with Ophelia, who, despite the time of day, greeted her task with enthusiasm and even gently nipped at my fingers before hopping out the window and flying off. I really needed to treat that owl better; her hyperactivity—which I'd previously associated with too much of some caffeine-like substance in her treats—was beginning to look like desperate pleas for attention.

That done, I headed out to wake Milo. The first sign that something was wrong: the door was open and Hugo was in the hall, looking up at me like Professor Patil sometimes did if I was late for class. When I stopped and stared back, he turned and padded into Milo's bedroom. I followed and was surprised to find it empty and the bed unmade. Given the general state of Milo's room usually, finding the bed unmade would not surprise others, but if nothing else Milo made sure to make his bed when he left it in the morning, even before going to the bathroom with a bladder that was near bursting.

Alarmed, I at once looked around the room to make sure that he was really gone and not just stuck in a corner, lost amidst the clutter, crying to himself. There was no denying the vacancy of the room though, I just knew that he wasn't in there and the fact that his bathrobe and cane were missing, which I noticed moments later, just confirmed it. My priority changed straightaway, and with a sense of rising panic, I began to look around for clues as to where he might have gone.

If he were wearing his bathrobe, and bedroom slippers, for these were gone, the ones that Sophie had given him for his birthday last year, then he couldn't have gone far. Of course, if he was carried out that would not be a problem....

I dismissed that idea almost as soon as I thought it though, for if anyone had taken him out of the house there was no way they'd get out without Dad noticing. Then I looked up from the floor and noticed the sheet of paper pinned to the wall above his bed that the OGB had been staring at yesterday. I went to have a closer look and read:

Names of the Full Moon:

January- Old Moon July- Hay Moon

February- Wolf Moon August- Grain Moon

March- Lenten Moon September- Fruit Moon

April- Egg Moon October- Harvest Moon

May- Milk Moon November- Hunter's Moon

June- Flower Moon December- Oak Moon

The Fabled and Famed “Blue Moon” is the title used on the second full moon within a month.

For a time I just stood looking at the list confused. What was Milo doing with a list of the old names of the full moon? Almost no one used them anymore; save for that one romance novelist whose books I could only read at the Burrow for Mum would never let me given some questionable content. And in Úlfhéðnar when I thought of it, for just that last winter when it had been arranged into a single volume of the first year's issues Connor had had them include mini-dividers on which they'd written the names of each moon. But they were not necessary for werewolves; with or without Wolfsbane no moon was particularly worse or easier than the other.

Then Hugo hopped onto Milo's bookshelf and knocked off a book onto the bed. I took one look at the title, and raced back out into the hall, down the stairs and out into the street heading anxiously to our grandparents' old house. Absently I thought I heard my father call out, “Lillie, Lillie where are you going?”

I ignored him. I had to find Milo, and fast.

Before I was out of our street I was sweating, and yet regretting that I'd chosen to rush out of the house without grabbing a cloak. My pyjama bottoms were really boy shorts, and not my usual attire outside of the house. As I ran I noticed more than a few curtains being pushed aside, and knew that by the end of the day half of the village was going to know that I'd been out “jogging without any clothes on”. Worse still, the lack of slippers meant that I felt every loose pebble, crack and uneven rest of the bitumen, scratching at the soft undersides of my feet already being slowly scorched by the heated ground. And then it was all for nothing, for when I got to the head of the street that led to my grandparents' house I could clearly see that Milo had not gone there.

The front gate and overgrown path was as undisturbed as it had been since the last time my father had been there. Thankfully I knew that Milo much preferred to go to their graves rather than the house, which was Dad's favourite when he needed to be alone. When I asked him about it once, he'd said, “They're not here, which is why I like to come here. Their graves are too tangible... too real... I don't get any comfort from that place. But you all should, meet them, talk to them, tell them how I'm going and you too. It might help when you can't talk to us....”

I strongly suspected that it was more of a warning to keep us from hurting ourselves or furthering the ruin's decline, but wouldn't have voiced that thought for Veritaserum. I turned at once then, and dashed off to the cemetery, imagining the thrashing I was going to give Milo with his own cane to keep me going.

Milo, as predicted, was standing before our grandparents graves, and as I cleared the kissing gate and crept along, still fuming for the fact that I had just run through the village practically half-naked, I heard him saying, “... that? Dad's the most famous wizard in the world, Mum's the brightest witch of her generation, Magnolia saved an entire family last winter with a broken arm and someone else's wand, and me? Do you know what I've done? I got bit by a werewolf and turned into one. I wasn't even protecting Mum and Kenzie; I was just standing there and was the easiest target. Me, not Mackenzie who's smaller than me, but me!”

I at once slowed my advance, feeling immensely awkward about stumbling across his private conversation. It almost made me forget that I was mad at him for slipping out of the house without telling anyone where he was going. But only almost so I prepared to alert him to my presence and then he said, “But that's not the worst part. I'm a Squib.”

I was so shocked I stopped completely. He didn't just say what I thought he did, did he? I wasn't hearing this coming from Milo instead of the OGB, was I? But I had to be for as he said it all the sound seemed to have been sucked from the day and replaced with his small, rasping voice.

“I know I'm a Squib, I just know it. I'm going to be eleven on Hallowe'en and about the only thing magical that's happened with me is that no one else has noticed yet.

“Guillaume Weasley's going to Hogwarts this September, but even though he hasn't got his letter yet, he blew off the door to the closet when we locked him in at Easter. He's made his toys move and used his father's wand and he can hypnotise people, I'm sure of it. But me, when they locked me in the closet, Mackenzie had to get me out. The most I've done with Dad's wand is make sparks come out of the end when I hit it against the table top, and I can't make anyone do anything I want, because if I did that werewolf couldn't have bit me.”

It was horrifying; listening to Milo speaking that way, speaking at all. I wanted to run away, I wanted to go get Mum or Dad to talk him out of it, but most of all I wanted him to stop. I did not move though, and he continued, “I'm never going to get a Hogwarts letter. I know that. I was never going to get it anyway, unlike Uncle Lupin everybody knows what I am and they wouldn't want me around their children. They barely like Connor, and though Rigel is mean he's not the only one who calls Connor those names. And the other people mean them.”

Arguably, so did Rigel.

“But being a Squib's no better. I've heard the way Dad talks about that Filch person, and Mrs Figg. People hate werewolves, but nobody cares about Squibs. In every wizard book that I've read they're always responsible for the bad things, or they're servants to the famous hero wizard, or other wizards are making fun of them. They always make fun of them, that's how they treat people like me. But imagine being a Squib and a werewolf. I'll be the villain, always, and there's nothing Dad's name is going to do for me. I don't deserve his name, yours, I should just go away with Grandpa and Granny when they come....”

I'd heard enough. It was this last statement that finally jerked me out of my daze and I started angrily, “What did I tell you about Mum and Dad and Mackenzie and me? We don't care what you are, we love you still! No one's going to chase you away because you're a werewolf, what do you think is going to happen to Mum if you went away?”

He snapped without turning, “She'd still have you and Kenzie!”

“Without you she wouldn't be happy with me and Kenzie! We're a family, the five of us!” I snapped back.

Still refusing to look at me, he yelled now, “She can have another; Grandma Molly says so all the time!”

My blood ran cold. “What?”

He started pacing before the graves like a little madman. “Grandma Molly tells Mum all the time that I should have a little brother, so if I go away she can have another!”

I could barely believe what I was hearing. I demanded then, “And what will he have? Mackenzie has me, but he'll have no one!”

He yelled, near hysterical, “HE'LL HAVE DAD!”

I wouldn't believe what I was hearing, I wouldn't. “Dad? Dad's Dad! He can't be a big brother, he's a father, he's our father, and worse than Mum if anything happens to you, to any one of us he won't stand it!”

He finally turned to me, tears streaming down his face and still more brimming in his eyes. “But something already has happened to me, Lillie, and it's only going to get worse. I'm a werewolf, and that's bad enough, but I'm also a Squib and that's dangerous. I'll be the easiest one to get to, you and Kenzie can protect yourselves, but me... do you know anything about Squibs? Do you know that we can't see Dementors? Do you know that we can't see half of the things that can hurt us in the magical world and we won't be able to defend ourselves against those we can?”

“YOU'RE NOT A SQUIB, MILO!” I yelled.

“I AM! I know I am!” he yelled back. “I'm a Squib and there's nothing you can say to change that! There's nothing anyone can do! I'm a werewolf, and I'm a Squib and if anybody who wants to hurt Dad catches me I'm dead!”

I stared at him, and was surprised to feel my face wet when the wind changed and blew against us. I didn't even know when I started crying, but now that I did I could feel the salt burning my eyes. I also noticed that we were being watched from inside the little church next to the graveyard and I hoped that they couldn't hear us. The statute preventing the revealing of the magical world to Muggles was still up.

Milo must have noticed this too, because he continued in a low voice after a moment, “So it's better that I leave. If I go away with Grandpa and Granny they can't use me to hurt anybody, and they can't hurt me if they can't find me. Mum could tell them what to do when it's the full moon, or I could find Aunt Fleur's family so I'll have my potion.”

Somehow this was beginning to sound familiar, not at all like something Milo would say more than anything else I'd heard for the morning. In fact it made me think of Snape, and then all the way back to winter when Connor had explained their relationship to me. Who else would have given him that book?

I insisted. “No, it won't be better at all. Do you want to know something? All last winter while I was being attacked the one good thing I knew was that you and Kenzie were together and fine. That no one could hurt you. And Dad says about the same thing when he has to go out to work. If you're not here we won't know that, Milo. You can't leave.”

“I'll have to grow up someday,” he said.

“We've got seven more years for that,” I told him.

He said nothing for a long while, hopefully thinking carefully about what I'd said. I studied his face carefully, hairy like a grown man's as it had become, hoping that he'd listened carefully. Milo wasn't Connor who'd managed to mask what I was sure was a deep hatred of the OGB under the veneer of docility and obedience; he'd never had reason to. I wondered then if I could get Connor to talk to him, and then thought of having a sit-down with the OGB and going over the finer points of why he couldn't say those things to my little brother. And then Milo sighed and said, “Okay.”

I looked into his eyes, wanting to be sure of his answer. “Okay?”

“I'll stay,” he said.

As if he had any choice in the matter. I said, “Good, now let's go home before Dad thinks otherwise.”

We turned to leave and saw Dad coming up the path towards us, looking livid. I whispered to Milo, “Not a word. Wipe your face.”

By the time I looked up again, Dad was with us and demanding, “What are you two doing out here? You can't just leave the house without telling anyone where you're going! And you definitely can't in your pyjamas! Those better be pyjamas, young lady.”

I frowned at him. “They are. Mum bought them.”

He didn't look convinced of this, but said, “Why are you two out here?”

Milo went deathly pale, so I had to speak for the both of us. “I didn't see Milo in his room when I went to owl my reply to Mrs Malfoy, so I went looking for him. It turns out he was just here, talking to Grandpa and Granny.”

Dad looked to Milo suspiciously, but did not question it. Instead he replied, “Let's go back before the neighbours come out and see you.”

I took hold of Milo's shoulder and dragged him alongside me as I made to follow Dad, teasing, “What, afraid that people are going to notice my great legs?”

Dad coughed and sputtered, “W-what? Magnolia... Hermione... make haste, young lady!”

Milo and I laughed loudly behind him all the way out of the cemetery.

*****

An hour before lunch, Grandma Weasley, along with Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, Uncles Fred and George, Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna, and Aunt Ginny, and their respective children—Hortense, Guillaume, Francois, Aisling, Carl and Rigel—arrived with lunch. Mum was thrilled; it meant that she didn't have to cook. Dad was thrilled; it meant that he didn't have to partake in the setting up. But that was not the only thing they brought.

As Mrs Weasley bustled into the kitchen with the others, each carrying a tray of some sort, calling us all to help set things up in the backyard where we were to eat, Rigel broke from the pack and said loudly to be heard over the bustling, “Hey Uncle Harry, have you seen Rita Skeeter's newest column for the Daily Prophet?”

His mother glared at him from behind a large tray of sweet potatoes, but he pretended not to see her and continued, “She's doing a series expose on Romulus Kveld-Ulf, and her first bit's on Dean Thomas.”

That stopped everyone stock still. Dad froze half-way out the backdoor with the dining table he and Uncle Ron were taking out the Muggle way to avoid attention and asked, “What?”

Rigel, happy at finally drawing attention, deposited a large heavy tray with the roast on a nearby counter and dug into his pockets for the paper. His mother exhaled heavily and went ahead to the living room to go out into the back from there, muttering under her breath about “bad children” and “correctional schooling.” Rigel pretended not to hear her as he unfolded the paper and held it up for us all to read the headline: “Úlfhéðnar Exposed! Who is Romulus Kveld-Ulf? What makes his work so popular? Is there a Dark secret behind his writing? In this five-part exposé on the man behind the world's most famous wolf, find out! Part One: Dean Thomas, War Hero or War Deserter?”

For a moment time seemed to have stopped in the kitchen, and then three ornate vases that had been wedding gifts from Mum's parents exploded. Aunt Ginny came running back into the kitchen at the noise while we tried to duck and scatter from the flying shards, Mum screamed. “Harry! The children!”

Clearly furious, Dad shook himself as if it would calm him and asked Rigel, “What paper is that?”
“The Daily Prophet,” Rigel replied, straightening up and shaking splinters from his shirt.

Dad came away from the table, which Uncle Ron nearly dropped, took the paper from Rigel and read:

Dean Thomas, thirty-four, is known throughout the Wizarding world as a war hero, a Muggle-born wizard, former dorm-mate of Harry Potter, who went on the run during the Second War to escape the dreaded Muggle-born Registration Act, then fought against You-Know-Who's Army in the Battle of Hogwarts. In the time since Mr Thomas has become an artist of some renown, a cartoonist for The Quibbler, and more famously, the agent of Romulus Kveld-Ulf.

But, like his client, much is not known about Mr Thomas. Well, I, Rita Skeeter, have some answers.

For one, Mr Thomas is not in fact Muggle-born, but a Half-Blood wizard, born of a Muggle mother and a wizard father who was killed during the first war after he refused to join the Death Eaters.

However, one should not take this revelation at face value. Mr Thomas' claim of ignorance as regarding his blood status worked to his advantage in the war, placing him in a position to receive not only sympathy, but aid from the Man-Who-Triumphed. He spent many months in the company of Mr Potter and friends, particularly Luna Lovegood, now Luna Weasley, wife of Harry Potter's best friend Ronald Weasley, at the secluded and heavily warded residence of Bill and Fleur Weasley, Shell Cottage. Accounts of the battle more often than not single out for praise Neville Longbottom, now Hogwarts' Herbology professor, rather than the considerably more talented Mr Thomas. And, of course, his association with Mr Potter and family has gone a long way in securing him access to the benefits of surviving the Second War. It appears that someone has certainly not suffered from his situation.

Dad stopped reading, rolled the paper up and began twisting it in his hands until it crumpled and began to fray and tear. Uncle Ron, though, was the first to speak.

“I didn't just hear her imply something between my wife and Dean, did I? That was just my overactive imagination, right?”

Everyone looked round to him, and Mum shook her head. “No, of course not.”

Uncle Ron's ears were already quite red, but he spoke calmly. “Good. I thought not.”

Aunt Ginny was considerably calmer, presumably because she'd heard this before, and said, “You know that cow's just trying to stir up trouble. She doesn't give a—she doesn't care for some comic book author, she just wants to take stabs at us and get herself some publicity. No one's buying into her latest tell-all book so she had to do something. What better than to attack war heroes? Dean earned and deserves every award he got for the war, and everything he's received since. Just ignore her.”

Uncle Fred tried to joke. “You're just saying that because he took you down to the pub last weekend.”

Rigel snapped around to his mother. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not allowed to date?”

He back-pedalled, quickly. “N-no, it-it's not that... it's just... Dean Thomas...? Didn't Uncle Ron say that you had to dump him?”

She glared at the offending party and Dad when he went slightly red-faced, and replied, “So? I can change my mind... I was fifteen and being silly. I'm thirty-three now and have a career and an almost grown son. Is there something wrong with me hoping to find a companion while I still can, and having more children?”

Rigel and Uncle Ron at once put their hands over their ears and began to sing loudly, “La-la-la, I can't hear you, la-la-la-la, I can't hear you!”

She grabbed Rigel's hands, for he was closer, and pulled them away. “Rigel, I'm going out with him again next week.”

At once Rigel wrenched himself away from her. “I'm moving in with the Potters.”

“Oh no, you don't,” said Dad. “I already have three children of my own, if we wanted more we would have had them by now.”

“I'll save you the trouble, I'm almost of age so I'll be out of your house in no time anyway,” Rigel replied.

I laughed. “I don't want you here; you're rude, arrogant and annoying.”

Rigel lifted an eyebrow at me. “You just don't want me here because you know I would easily woo you from the cu—Connor.”

His correction did not come fast enough. Almost everyone could guess what he was going to say, and if not, had approximations that made them goggle at him, stunned. His mother beside him asked at once, her voice dangerously low, “Rigel, what were you going to call him?”

Milo sold him out. “The cub, he calls him the cub.”

Rigel ducked out of her reach, then side-stepped me to go to him. “Hey you, no one likes a snitch... as a matter of fact, they have remarkably short life spans.”

Aunt Ginny was hot on his heels though, and seizing his collar, jerked him away. Then she almost yelled, “Rigel Weasley, how dare you call your cousin that?”

“It's not like he's my brother,” he tried. Unfortunately, that was the wrong thing to say.

“That doesn't matter, that's your blood and you do not treat your blood like that. What if some day down the road you need help and he is the only one who can help you? We are not the Blacks or the Malfoys, we don't hunt down our relatives and try to kill them. And I know how close you are to Lupin, how would he feel if he heard what you call his son? And Milo, don't you care how Milo feels now?” Aunt Ginny demanded.

“I'll have you know that Cousin Tonks calls Connor and Zoe the `werepups',” said Rigel, indignantly.

“That's her prerogative, not yours. His name is Connor, call him that!” she snapped.

Rigel merely mumbled his agreement, and silence reigned in the kitchen until Dad said, “You know... the food is getting cold.”

And then there was suddenly a flurry of activity as we prepared for lunch again. Hortense, Aisling Mackenzie and I were in charge of setting the table while our mothers attended to the food. Dad, Uncles Bill, Fred, George and Ron did the heavy lifting, bringing out the chairs and two large umbrellas to cover us while we ate. As for Milo, Carl, Guilluame, not trusted with anything, Rigel was left to watch them, which he did by announcing a game of Hide-and-Seek and once they were sufficiently far enough away, coming out to chat with us while we worked. But when his mother noticed he had to make a hasty retreat to find them.

Eventually all was ready and we gathered around the table for Dad to say “Thanks”, which he did hilariously. “Thank goodness you came here today Molly, I was about to announce a trip into town to avoid Hermione's cooking.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Mum, clearly offended.

He just grinned and blew her a kiss and we settled in to eat. Rita Skeeter's article on Uncle Dean was completely forgotten.

But half an hour later, we were reminded when Connor arrived with his parents and baby sister. As soon as he was through the screen door into the sun-washed backyard, Milo was before him with the remnants of the paper asking, “Did you see the paper, this reporter woman is writing a story about Romulus Kveld-Ulf. She did the first part on Uncle Dean—Dad read it—I think she's trying to slander him.”

“Libel,” corrected Mum.

“Yeah, that,” said Milo.

Aunt Tonks, carrying Zoe after what must have surely been an epic battle with Connor, asked confusedly, “Which reporter woman?”

“Rita Skeeter,” said Dad.

Uncle Lupin gave a wearied sigh, and asked, “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. In this case it's that Dean's not really Muggle-born, took advantage of his connection to me to hide during the war and then to get benefits after, and a list of other things I was too disgusted by her first few paragraphs to read more of. She may even have implied some impropriety between him and Luna,” explained Mum.

Aunt Tonks turned to Aunt Luna. Aunt Luna smiled serenely back, and said, “Dean Thomas is a very nice person, but he's not Ronald.”

Uncle Ron went red again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

Rigel spoke up then, “So Connor, your favourite author's in trouble... what is it that you fans do at these times? Flood the editorials section of the paper with your outraged complaints while extolling the virtues of the god that is the author? Start a petition to have the person penalised? Threaten violence?”

I glared at Rigel. “Milo's a fan of the comic book too, so it's just as upsetting to him.”

He turned to me. “Is this some kind of veiled attempt at getting me to mind what I say? I'll have you know it won't work.”

I turned to Aunt Ginny and wailed, “Auntie, Rigel's being bad!”

His mother did not look up. “Rigel, behave yourself. What did we talk about earlier?”

Rigel glared at me. “You called my mother on me? How could you...? That's-that's so low!”

I rolled my eyes.

By this time the Lupins were seated and were being doled out large helpings by Mrs Weasley and Mum. As Connor had managed a seat beside me—after pushing aside Mackenzie's chair while my father glowered at him and every other female at the table cooed delightedly—I leaned closer to him and whispered, “What are you guys going to do?”

He whispered back, “Not here.” Then straightened up in his seat and asked louder. “Is Maggie coming with us tomorrow then?”

“This is not the t—” began Dad.

Mum cut across him. “Yes, and Milo doesn't mind, does he?”

Everyone turned to Milo, and he nodded, albeit with a mildly confused expression on his face.

“Good,” said Connor, and he smiled brightly. I could not see what he had to smile about; going up there was anything but a reason to smile. Then again, he hadn't seen and heard what I had this morning. In fact that was something I was going to have to talk to him about.

Then Rigel spoke again. “And is she coming to the Manor this weekend?”

While everyone else stopped eating again in astonishment, Mum replied, “Yes. I'm quite surprised and a little wary of this invitation, but you're there so I don't expect trouble. I never thought I'd see the day she'd invite a Potter to her home, to say a half-blood.”

Rigel turned to Connor, beaming. “She's reassured because I'll be there.”

I put my hand on Connor's arm to stop his retort and said, “She's reassured because she knows I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I can safely say that after those lessons with Camilla and Professor Snape.”

At this Grandma Weasley interrupted. “I'm sorry... did you say that Magnolia was going to that-that house? It's bad enough that Rigel has to, but why are you sending Magnolia? Is that wise, Harry?”

She turned to Dad, who already looked uncomfortable with discussing the idea and even more so that he was going to have to face Grandma Weasley's displeasure. Mum's mouth formed a thin line and it was clear that she wasn't going to help him. Sometimes I thought that Mum didn't like Grandma Weasley very much.

Dad said eventually, “I'm going to allow her to use magic while she's there and as Hermione said, Rigel is going to be there too.”

“But he's a just a boy,” said Mrs Weasley.

Connor covered a snort with a cough and I kicked him under the table.

Rigel made to reply but Dad beat him to it, “She won't try anything, Molly. She knows that if anything happens to Magnolia she's never going to see Rigel again and she might just end up in prison. Frankly I'm surprised she extended the invitation but seeing as everyone's looking to us for examples on how to deal with former foes, it's a good move. We're setting an example.”

“And what if she tries to make an example of Magnolia?” asked Grandma Weasley, though it sounded more like a demand.

“She won't,” Dad insisted, firmly. “The last person she'd want to harm is my daughter. Hermione and I are looking at it as a fun weekend for school-friends and that's all.”

This statement had an air of finality about it that suggested that he would accept no more discussion of the matter with anyone. It surprised me, and I was sure, everyone else around the table, I'd never heard any one of them contradict Grandma Weasley's advice openly... or semi-openly as it was.

Then Connor spoke up, as if hoping to dispel the sudden tension, asking, “Speaking of Camilla, will she be joining you?”

“I don't know,” said Rigel, still looking anxiously between Dad and Mrs Weasley as if waiting for an angry outburst or explosion. “Are you coming too?”

Aunt Tonks suddenly looked away with a scowl, but Uncle Lupin replied, “Of course. An entire weekend to ourselves.”

Connor remained silent, but Rigel asked, in a tone that concealed none of his disappointment, “Really?” Then sensing a rebuke from his mother, he amended, “You two plan a romantic weekend? What about the baby?”

“I'll be taking her, and Milo and Mackenzie,” said Grandma Weasley.

Rigel looked at my parents and Aunt Tonks and Uncle Lupin and shook his head, and then he said, “Well at least Mum's not going anywhere.”

“If everything goes well with Dean, we might be having the weekend to ourselves too,” said Aunt Ginny.

This was too much. Rigel sprang to his feet to protest this, loudly, and Grandma Weasley scolded, “Ginny, there are children present!”

Aunt Ginny, looking very much as if she were restraining herself from rolling her eyes, said, “They're not babies, and they're not stupid. Magnolia and Connor surely know what I'm talking about.”

My jaw dropped and Connor went an interesting shade of magenta, but Dad was best, a lovely puce shortly before he exploded, “WHAT? CONNOR LUPIN YOU MIGHT BE MY—”

Mum silenced him with a flick of her wrist just as Zoe started wailing in the living room and Aunt Tonks hurriedly left the table to calm her. Uncle Ron, simultaneously trying to force Dad back into his seat while restraining him, turned to me and demanded, “Is that true?”

“No!” I said. “We've done nothing like that.”

“Haven't done it yet?” asked Uncle Ron, seconds before Mum swatted his arm.

I was surely entirely red in the face, but shook my head and said firmly, “No, we haven't... done anything, oh my... you guys are awful and embarrassing. I'm fourteen!”

“That hasn't stopped others,” said Uncle Ron.

Now everyone else at the table began to protest, until Aunt Tonks returned and said, “Unless anyone here would like to volunteer to quiet her, I don't think you really want to wake Zoe, do you?”

We sat quietly after that for a time, eating and listening to the birdsong in the air. It really was a lovely afternoon to be outdoors. It was warm but not too hot, helped along by the shade of the giant umbrellas. Every now and then a gentle breeze blew through the backyard and stirred the leaves on the trees, spreading the scent of bark and our food. I wondered then if anyone had risked a Cooling Charm, the weatherman had insisted last night that there was a heat wave, but I doubted it. For some reason our backyard always felt cool.

And then Uncle Lupin said, “Oh, well as everyone's making their requests of Magnolia, I wonder if we could have her for the weekend too, the next, before her grandparents come? It's just that Connor's pen pal will be paying us a visit and I thought that it would be nice for them to get together. Camilla will be there as well, if you're wondering about supervision when we can't be around....”

Curiously, a flash of what could only be irritation flashed across Connor's face before his father turned to him and his expression became blank. I wondered what that was about. I'd met Stanislav and Svetlana before and though they were a bit standoffish, they didn't give any indication that they'd hated me. Even he hadn't suggested it. And then I guessed why.

Mum and Dad immediately replied, “Of course she can visit with you. You didn't have to ask; you could have just come and collected her.”

Dad said the latter, which earned him a laugh from Mum, but a scowl from Rigel. Mum continued too, “Would you look at that, we had no plans for the summer but Lillie's is going to be rather busy. Going up with us tomorrow, visiting Malfoy Manor on the weekend, then the Lupins next weekend and after that your grandparents are coming.... You're going to need a vacation just to recover from this one.”

It was an old joke, but we all smiled, oblivious as we were to how right she was going to be.

-->

A/N: Yeah, so this chapter was written one way and then in revision turned out another. Go figure. And I even got a surprise while I was writing it. Writing is weird like that, not only the reader gets shocks.

Disclaimer: Yeah, no, not mine. JK Rowling and WB have the copyright, I'm just playing with this stuff until I get my own toys.

*****

Chapter Five

It might have been a humid early July afternoon, but Milo was shivering uncontrollably beside me on what remained of the back steps of the old Lupin house. I could hear his teeth chattering in his closed mouth and over the conversation in the kitchen—one of the few rooms that had been left behind after the fire—between Dad and Aunt Tonks. But he was not the only one who had become significantly subdued, so had Connor. Seated at my feet he had not said a word since we arrived and was unlikely to for some time yet. Torn between trepidation and excitement, I couldn't bring myself to attempt conversation, so that, for once, my ring was justifiably amber-grey.

The shed that Milo and Uncle Lupin were to transform in lay straight ahead at the end of the backyard and appeared at once much too far away and then not close enough. My mind was flooded with questions: how was Milo to know that we were there? What if one of them got out? Why did Milo have to go in there, couldn't he be out like Uncle Lupin sometimes was?

But these were unhelpful thoughts to have, just serving to increase my anxiety and would surely get Dad to send me away like Mum if I voiced any of them. From the moment I saw the shed when we arrived I had decided that if Mum couldn't be there I was going to do everything I could to lessen the pain of her absence. And I had been extraordinarily good to Milo so far too. I made sure that he ate, I helped him get changed, I didn't complain when he threw up and Dad made me clean it. I even tried to get him to talk about the latest issue of Úlfhéðnar, which I hadn't read so I had no clue about, to distract him for a bit. It didn't work for long.

Looking at the little shed now, with its heavy stone walls and old but sturdy oak door, reinforced by silver-coated steel bracings and a heavy padlock, I couldn't help but wonder if he would have noticed had I offered him all the candy he could eat for a month. The sun dipped ever lower in the sky as time passed, it was almost time for them to go in and that more than anything preoccupied his thoughts. At this I put my arm around his shoulders and drew him into a hug. It was just another sign of how terribly he was taking this that he didn't push me away.

In a stark contrast, Uncle Lupin was the liveliest person present. Though he was now at his weakest, unable to walk without the support of the cane, he was inspecting the property and shed to ensure that all was in place, and now most important, that there was no possibility of us being spied. Should the headline tomorrow morning read: “Harry Potter Risks Life of Second Child at Full Moon!” there would be hell to pay. I was just grateful for Uncle Lupin as a distraction. Every time he came into my line of sight I was temporarily able to dispel my worries about Milo with wonder at how cheerful he appeared. He actually whistled as he hobbled, and made me think of when Milo had first been bitten, how excited he'd been at the prospect of becoming a part of the comic book.

But of course Uncle Lupin had had years to adjust to the transformation from a little boy human into a mindless beast. Every time I tried to imagine watching my hands become paws with claws and my face elongated and grow a double bridge of sharp teeth I had to suppress a shiver. Add to that that this would happen every month for the rest of my life and I was sure that I would have found a way to kill myself by now. More than ever I could fully appreciate Milo's rant in the graveyard. The sheer horror of it, unless you embraced the change like Fenrir Greyback, would drive anyone to madness or suicide. I could even understand why Connor had wanted me along.

At this I looked down at Connor, sitting with his elbows on his knees, propping his head up with his hands while he stared blankly out at his father walking by. His expression was for all intents and purposes serene, but I was sure that I could see a tension at his brow and in his eyes. It was almost as if he too were willing himself to be calm, trying not to think of the horror to unfold. For a moment I pondered putting my hand on his shoulder, letting him know that I understood, that I was there for him too, and then I decided against it when I remembered his cure. I myself would give anything for a cure to this torture if I could have back the jolly, happy-go-lucky little brother I'd had for the past ten years. But the danger of what could be lost in the process, not the least of which was my humanity, was not worth it. The Dark Arts made monsters of men.

Of course he was not the only potential problem.

That morning when the OGB delivered Milo's final dose for the month and had seen to it that he had drunk it all up, he had remained for a time speaking with him. I was sent out of the room and then when he emerged he'd more or less commanded me to take him to my parents, to whom he said without preamble, “I'd like to begin instructing your younger daughter, Mackenzie, in the preparation of the Wolfsbane Potion.”

My mother stared at him wide-eyed but my father said, “Two questions: why not Magnolia? And two, just why?”

“I am your daughter's teacher, and as such am in the best position to determine your child's capacity to appreciate a subject. Magnolia is good at Potions, will most likely pass well in her OWLS, but she has displayed no special talent for the subject. Your younger daughter, by contrast, has shown some interest and after some observation, has certain precision and attention to detail that is especially useful to a Potions Master,” he replied.

“Observation? When have you been observing my daughter?” asked Dad, gaze narrowed.

The OGB, as expected, ignored this. Then Mum said, “No.”

This seemed to surprise the OGB, and he asked, “Why not?”

Dad looked at her surprised too. “Yeah, why not?”

She replied, “Mackenzie's eight and will probably change her mind next week. I'm not going to saddle her with so great a responsibility when she has an older sister who can handle it.”

Dad accepted this and turned to the OGB. “Yeah, what she said.”

The OGB did not. “I want Mackenzie.”

Mum continued to surprise by snapping then. “We're not the Lupins; you can't just walk in here and demand one of our children! I said, `no' and that's final!”

We all stared at her completely stunned, but then I remembered what I'd been told about her reactions to Milo's transformations and sussed the cause. Tonight was the full moon and she wasn't allowed to go the shed.

But I was not the only one who remembered this. After staring at her for a time with the closest thing he could come to astonishment, the OGB cleared his throat and said, “I see I've caught you on a bad day. I'll return when you're more rational. Good day Mrs Potter, Miss Potter.”

He left quietly after and as soon as we heard the door shut behind him, Dad turned to her and said gently, “Hermione... honey... you can't go around snapping at people, even Snape.” When she looked up at him angrily he hastily added, “I whole-heartedly agree with you of course, but he didn't bite Milo. The girls need to know how to take care of their brother, we won't be here forever and we need him to teach them how.”

“I'm not letting Mackenzie study to brew the Wolfsbane, he can teach Magnolia, but not Mackenzie,” she insisted.

“Yes, yes, of course, he'll teach Lillie, (I gave him a horrified look at this, which he ignored) but I need you to be more... diplomatic in your approach. I really don't care about how you to talk to him, but I do care if this turns into something where people can't speak to you for fear you'll bite their head off,” he said.

It was weird to hear Dad being the rational one, but I was still seething over the fact that I was being saddled with a responsibility I could happily do without to pay much mind to it.

Mum in response just waved him away and went back to the paper she was reading. I left them in the kitchen at that, but in spite of Dad's chat she was still quite irritable hours later. She did not like not being able to be around Milo and she was not going to let anyone forget it. It was so unlike her that I spent the rest of the day in my room. I didn't like to see Mum like that. What she wouldn't give to be here now, I knew, but Dad was not going to risk her life by allowing her back.

And then, quite suddenly it felt, Dad and Aunt Tonks came to the door behind us and Aunt Tonks said, “It's time for you to be getting in, the moon is coming.”

I at once looked over to the horizon I could see just over the tree tops across the backyard but saw nothing. The sun had gone, leaving a pastel orange and soft violet sky in its wake, but as far as I could see there was no moon. That was good, I was pretty sure that the last thing Milo would have wanted was to transform in front of the rest of us. Uncle Lupin stopped his inspection then and came to the front steps.

Smiling brightly, an odd, heartbreaking sight with his otherwise fatigued and scarred appearance; he extended a hand to Milo and asked, “Ready to go, comrade?”

Milo, unable to conceal his terror, nodded meekly and ducked out from beneath my arm, allowing his blanket to fall away at the same time. The long brown hairs that covered his body made him look like some kind of circus act, but the body beneath was so small and frail-looking that it was clear that something wasn't right with him. I moved to help him to his feet but then Uncle Lupin said, “It's okay, Lillie, I've got him.”

I felt my heart tearing itself to pieces.

Connor stood up swiftly, partly to get out of their way, and asked Uncle Lupin, “Do you need me to get you anything?”

His father, still smiling reassuringly at Milo, replied, “No, I've got my partner-in-crime here, I'm good for the night.” Then he looked up at his son and said, almost wistfully, “My God, you're almost a man....”

I could hear the smile in Aunt Tonks' voice as she said, “You did good.”

Dad gagged, she hit him, and then Uncle Lupin cleared his throat and said to Connor, “Actually, and I'm sure that Harry will appreciate this as well, I'd just like to watch over Lillie for the evening. Let her know how this works and keep her out of trouble.” Then he added to Milo, “While I watch over Milo here.”

Milo, standing on shaky legs smiled bravely back at Uncle Lupin and asked, “Are you going to tell me the rest of that story you started the last time?”

“As long as the moon doesn't reach us tonight, I'll you all the rest of that and start another,” Uncle Lupin replied.

Just a little, my heart began to mend. It wasn't going to be that bad, maybe.... Well, as long as Connor didn't decide to take his father's instructions too literally, I already had to deal with enough of that overprotective nonsense from Rigel and my father.

Dad spoke up then, “Well now, Connor, why don't you get Lillie into the house and start locking doors and windows. I want those blinds drawn and very little light; remember you're not supposed to be here. If anything happens you are not to come out under any circumstances, not even if you hear anyone screaming.”

I blanched, but nodded along with Connor. Then we remained with them on the steps as Milo and Uncle Lupin started off towards the shed. Aunt Tonks followed to lock the door behind them and I felt my heart breaking again, this wasn't going to be easy to watch. How could Connor want me to see this? How could Dad have agreed? I empathised fully with Mum; it wasn't right that Milo was going to be locked up in there, Uncle Lupin or no.

But just as they got to the door, as if he had read my mind, Dad grabbed Connor's sleeve and said, “I told you two to get into the house, go! Now!”

Then, without waiting for compliance, he pushed us both in and locked the door behind us. All sound from without vanished, no doubt Dad's doing, though I was sure he and Aunt Tonks could hear everything that was going on within. I immediately turned to Connor and said, “I want to see what's going on.”

He walked to the kitchen window, lifted the heavy blind that had been nailed over it with his wand and looked out. “They're in the shed, I think, I don't see them but my Mum's casting charms.”

I went to his side and peered out. He was right, Aunt Tonks was locking the door and Dad was setting up wards that would obscure view, render cameras useless and outright expose anyone who had trespassed.

That wasn't quite what I meant. I said, “No, I want to know what's going on in that shed. I want to know that Milo's not scared.”

He looked down at me. “They won't let you, but Milo's fine, he's with my Dad.”

Stubbornly, I insisted, “I want to see that for myself. You heard his teeth, you saw him shaking.”

He put a hand on my shoulder and said softly, but firmly, “He's with my Dad.”

I turned away from his touch and walked away to the living room, still fire-blackened and smelling of smoke. Most of the house's walls were actually gone, in fact there wasn't even a second floor anymore, but Dad and Aunt Tonks had magically rebuilt some of the structure from the charred remains of the original. What they couldn't, today they'd used heavy, wool blankets, tarpaulin and magic to take of. It looked like a shanty-town shack in some Third World nation.

For a while I just stood in the doorway looking around the room trying to re-imagine the way it looked before, and then I asked, “How are things between you and Snape? Lessons going well?”

I could hear his surprise as he asked, “What?”

Without turning round, I elaborated. “He came by this morning and asked, or rather demanded that my parents allow him to start teaching Mackenzie how to brew Wolfsbane Potion. What, has he gotten tired of you?”

He came up behind me and leaned against the opposite door frame, and then replied, “I don't know. Why doesn't he start teaching you?”

“He said I don't have the `capacity to appreciate the subject',” I replied. “Of course, since Mum refused to hand over Mackenzie I've been informed that I will have to do the honours. What is it with my parents; didn't they humiliate me enough last winter when I had to take duelling lessons with Camilla?”

Connor smiled. “Don't worry about it; I don't have the capacity to appreciate Transfiguration no matter what I do.”

“I'm not,” I said, truthfully. “I'm more concerned about the fact that he wants to take Mackenzie under his wing. No offence, but I don't want her to become like you.”

“None taken,” said Connor.

I continued as if I hadn't heard him, “You're a good person and I know you would never do it, but I don't want him putting the idea into her head that she'll one day have to kill Milo. Or that she should come up with a way to stop that and go off to Durmstrang to read up on the Dark Arts to find out about werewolves and—”

He shushed me with a hand over my mouth and an alarmed expression on his face. I looked up at him as defiantly as I could muster, so that he held his hand there as he began, “I can see that your Mum's not the only one being negatively affected by Milo's transformations.... Maggie, I've told you, I know what I'm doing. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't and I certainly wouldn't do something that could hurt someone else.”

I shrugged out of his grasp and replied, “Have you ever heard anything about the abyss that looks back into you?”

He turned away from me, knocked his head back against the door frame and exhaled heavily. “Maggie....”

It would have been so easy to ignore that plea, but what would be the point? We would begin arguing, my Dad would overhear and there'd be trouble. So instead I took a deep breath and asked, “Have you had any breakthroughs?”

As usual, he refused to reply. I rolled my eyes and asked instead, “What's the latest in comic book-land?”

This time he spoke. “Faolán's about to learn something Dark about Thora.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You're playing a dangerous game, Mr Kveld-Ulf.”

He didn't smile, just replied, “Sometimes life imitates art, but not too closely. This particular plot line had been planned a long time ago.”

I stared at him for a long while, and then walked back into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, a plastic rental from a Muggle shop in the area. After a while he came over and joined me, hands folded across his chest, staring at me while I stared down at the table. The silence of the house with the charm my father had cast was slightly unnerving. I could clearly hear our breathing, odd creaks and groans of the house whenever the wind blew, the incessant ticking of a clock someone had brought and, almost, the tension that had descended and would not go away. When I looked my ring was grey. Rigel was right about returning this thing; I didn't need a constant reminder of my emotions on display for all to see.

Connor, apparently not noticing it, reached across the table for my hand. Feeling like yielding for once—it was going to be a long night in this place—I let him take it, he turned it palm up and began tracing the lines with his other hand. A familiar and welcome thrill flowed from my hand to my heart at his touch.

I asked, “So what am I doing in here with you? I thought I was supposed to come along to offer Milo moral support, and instead we're both locked up in the house with nothing to do but stare at the table. We can't even hear what's going on outside. No offence, but if this is what your Dad meant by showing me what you do here, it isn't much. Don't you bring a game usually? Or do you just sit here playing with your wand?”

I nearly blushed at that unintentional innuendo, and he had the grace to ignore it when he replied without looking up, still tracing the lines in my palm, “You ask a lot of questions. When they come out in the morning... you'll see.”

“This is boring,” I said, taking back my hand to fold my arms across my chest.

He gave an odd smile. “You're more like my cousin than I thought.”

I said nothing to this and he offered nothing himself so that we soon lapsed into an awkward silence.

Within ten minutes I was going stir crazy. I started tapping my leg on the floor and drumming my fingers on the tabletop until Connor said, “That's very annoying.”

I didn't stop, instead I asked, “Hey, what do you think about going to Malfoy Manor? I see that your Mum's not too happy.”

He replied, “Not much, until we had lunch with your parents and the Weasleys' I'd been actively under the impression that I wasn't going. It was news to me that I was, and especially considering that Mrs Malfoy still refuses to acknowledge my parents. As I recall though, I don't remember your father being too pleased either.”

“He isn't, but he's letting me use magic while I'm there in case of trouble,” I said.

“I'm not allowed,” he said.

I was so surprised by this announcement that I actually stopped moving so that he had to explain, “They don't want me to do anything to provoke her.”

I said, “I doubt that there's anything you can do that wouldn't provoke her.”

He shrugged. “They just don't want to take any chances.”

I started tapping again, and then Connor said, “If I asked nicely, would you please stop doing that?”

I shook my head and then asked, “So why don't you want me at the house with you when Stanislav and Svetlana come over?”

He looked at me understandably confused. I explained, “I saw that look you gave when your Dad asked for me to come over when they're in town. What, afraid that Stanislav may steal me away? The answer to that is if he tries it he's going to win, you're cute but he's hot. Or is it Svetlana? Does Lana know that I'm your girlfriend? Have you been secretly two-timing me? Or her...?”

He rolled his eyes, exhaled loudly and said, “I love you. There's no one else. Yes, Svetlana is a beautiful girl, but so is Camilla and I'm not interested in her either. It's just you, it's always been you.”

I stared at him open-mouthed. My brain had disengaged somewhere after he said the opening three words and I barely heard anything else. My heart was racing wildly in my chest, I was sure that at any given moment it was going to give out. So I stuttered stupidly, “Y-you... wh-wait what did....” I stopped and started over, “You love me?”

He looked down at the tabletop, suddenly shy. But I was grinning, and said, “You love me... I-I never thought I'd hear you say that... I never thought that I'd hear anyone say that.... Wait, was that just a ploy to distract me from the fact that Camilla's your cousin so fancying her is just ick? Or that you haven't really answered my first question?”

He grinned and looked up through his fringe. “No, I-I do, I do love you. As annoying, unrelenting and amazing as you are, I do.”

He still hadn't answered my question, but my thoughts had gone elsewhere. I knew that I was supposed to say something then, that was the way it usually went, but I couldn't. I was still in shock, and then as I went over it in my mind, I found that I just couldn't say it back. And I didn't even know why.

Connor though, didn't seem to notice. He went ahead to answer my first question, “And believe me, the last place I'd want to discuss out-loud something that top secret is at my house. My father's a werewolf; the Aurors must have had that place bugged since we first moved in. I'm sorry if you think I don't want you there, it's just that, if you show up, if there's anyone around to spying for you they're going to get the report of a career when they see Stan and Lana.”

“Okay,” I said. “I'll see what I can come up wit—”

He cut in quickly, “No-no-no, I don't mean don't come... I was just saying that if they notice you or Stan and Lana then we'll have a problem. I didn't say don't come over, I like when you're over.”

I laughed and said, “You're so easy to love, you know that?” It was the closest I was going to get to responding in kind to his declaration. When, no how, did we get to this point?

He seemed to accept my answer as such anyway, smiling broadly for a moment. And then his eyes widened and he said, “Oh no... if my Mum or your Dad heard that....”

I grinned. “I doubt it, they'd be through the door by now... or at least my Dad would. And I don't want to think about that because he's ruining the moment.”

Connor said, “Yeah, that would ruin the moment.”

Curiously, neither he nor I attempted to move any closer to each other, even just to hold each other's hands. We instead just sat staring across the tabletop at each other and smiling. That was good, my heartbeat hadn't slowed and I needed the time to recover. And then I felt his foot hook my ankle and pull so that I slipped slightly in my seat. I yelped and grabbed the tabletop to stop myself from sliding off my chair.

“Oh funny,” I said, and using both feet, pulled back on him.

He didn't budge much, but he did start a little and exclaim, “You're stronger than you look.”

“Well you don't have to sound so surprised,” I grumbled half-heartedly.

He tried to make a straight face. “No, it's just... you don't look that strong. But I should have known, you pulled my deadweight up onto your broom and flew with me unconscious on your back all the way from my house to Hogsmeade village on one of the coldest nights of last winter. With you appearances can be very deceiving.”

I thought, but did not say, as with you. Aloud I said instead, “Well... I don't like to toot my own horn but... you know.”

Then he said, “You're the coolest girlfriend I've ever met... my hero-ine.”

I don't know what made me ask then, “You've ever...? You had a girlfriend before me? I thought I was the first?”

And I don't know what made him respond, “Yes, but she—” Then he realised what he had said and fell silent. Of course it was much too late.

I sat staring at him stunned, floored and completely shocked. Connor had had a girlfriend before me? Well, of course, he was in Hogwarts a whole year before I was and I didn't really interact with him before we started talking last winter.... But still the impromptu confession was very surprising, and so my next question was quite logical.

“Who was she?”

He made to respond, and from the stammering he began with I could tell that he wasn't planning on talking about it, when the door opened and my father walked in. Connor fell silent at once and I groaned at Dad. When he shot me a surprised and suspicious look, I amended, “Hi Dad... I thought you guys couldn't come in unless we let you?”

Turning to look at Connor, he replied, “Oh no, we could come in if we want to, it's just Lupin, Milo and intruders who can't.... What are you two up to?”

Under the table I felt Connor surreptitiously disentangle his foot from mine and slide them beneath his chair. I replied, “Nothing, just talking.”

“Just talking?” asked Dad, turning to me now with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah... you know it's what people do when they want to catch up... have nothing else to do?” I replied.

He said nothing to this, seeming to take the time instead to assess my answer, and then he said, “I just came in to check in on you, wanted to make sure that everything was alright.”

I felt mischievous. “Or you were hoping to come in and catch us snogging so you could send me home and yell at Connor?”

He didn't answer. He just glared at me and Connor both and then turned around and walked out, locking and sealing the door again behind him. And as soon as he was gone we burst out laughing.

Between chuckles I managed, “He trusts to send me all the way to Malfoy Manor, the home of a known Death Eater and Dark Arts-lover, friends and loyal supporters of the belated Tom Riddle, but he's afraid to leave me alone with you when he's right outside the door? Can someone explain that logic?”

Connor said, “He's your Dad. And I've got hands... legs... raging hormones.... Besides, Mrs Malfoy would be scandalised at the thought of her precious grandson fraternising with the enemy more than is necessary.”

I laughed, and Connor, sensing weakness, continued to take the mickey on Rigel until I began to protest that he was my friend and I shouldn't hear it. Then he began to do impressions and I laughed some more and almost completely forgot about his former girlfriend, my intruding father and Milo and Uncle Lupin....

Connor and I spent most of the rest of the night in the kitchen, while Dad and Aunt Tonks took turns coming in to check up on us at regular intervals. When we realised a pattern we turned it into a game, trying to come up with new and interesting compromising situations for them to stumble in on. Aunt Tonks mostly just laughed it off, and especially if she was coming in for a snack or something to eat, but Dad seemed to get increasingly angry, until, on his last visit, he ordered us to separate sleeping bags on opposite ends of the living room.

We heard nothing whatsoever from the shed whenever the door was opened for them to go in or out, and as neither offered updates even when I demanded them outright, I could only speculate that things were going well and allow Connor to distract me with jokes or mindless conversation. It was the most fun evening we'd had together in a long time, even surpassing that first dinner at his house when we got home for the vacation. When Dad sent us to bed, Connor made a new game of creating floating balls of light like fairy-lights and setting them to dance around the room above us, forming different shapes and stories until at last he was too tired to continue and it stopped. And as soon as he did reality came flooding back as the room was drenched in darkness and thin slivers of the silver-blue moonlight without seeped in through tiny unseen crevices and cracks. Milo was out there in the shed, with Uncle Lupin, yes, but transformed and scared and barely able to cope.

I tried not to think of it, shutting my eyes tight and trying to imagine the balls of light under the ceiling again, but I couldn't escape the thoughts. I didn't even know when I fell asleep. But no sooner than had I that I was being shaken awake again by Connor, saying anxiously, “Come on, wake up, Maggie! It's morning! Wake up; it's time to get Dad and Milo out of the shed!”

He was trying to be gentle but firm at the same time. Evidently he didn't know anything about waking me up, I ignored him and tried to recapture the cool, warm place I had been so blissfully in when I began to hear that tree speaking in his voice.

But he wasn't going to give up either. He continued, “Wake up! Wake up, Maggie! It's time to go! It's morning again! The moon's set!”

I yawned, rolled over and blearily looked up at him. Sure enough the room seemed to be brighter than I remembered it, last night when we playing with the lights, but my sleep-addled brain refused to register what he was saying. My voice was hoarse and cracked when I asked, “What?”

He smiled. “It's morning; it's time to get Milo and Dad out of the shed.”

I sat up at once and tried to get out of my sleeping bag, but couldn't. I was quite aware that I smelled like sleep though, dried sweat and the sleeping bag's fabric and just a little bit of drool. Oh I hoped that I hadn't been drooling.

Connor, standing at my side, asked, “What's wrong?”

I tried to get up again, succeeded, and replied when I was standing before him, said, “Sorry, tired.”

Connor didn't look it, though I doubted very much that he'd slept longer than me, and replied brightly, “That's okay, we're going home now. You'll be much more comfortable in your own bed.”

I thought of Milo the evening before and doubted that.

The door opened in the kitchen and my father entered with Milo, wrapped up in a blanket, once again nearly hairless and said, “Connor, your parents want you. Tell them Lillie and I have gone home with Milo.”

I looked at my little brother asleep in his arms. The blanket covered his body so I could see no damage, but on the cheek exposed to view there was a scratch, light, but bleeding slightly. I was wide awake in an instant.

“Okay,” said Connor behind me, but I barely heard him. I was thinking about the other scratches that could be spread across Milo's skin under that blanket.

Dad said, “Good, go on. We're taking the Floo.” Then I noticed that there was something odd about his voice, and the way that he held Milo.

Connor, noticing nothing, gave my hand a gentle squeeze before heading out. I obediently followed Dad to the fireplace where he quickly got the Floo up and working and said, “Go in first, tell your mother I'm coming in so get ready.”

“It's bad isn't it?” I asked, still staring at Milo in his arms.

He replied with pain, “Yes.”

I stepped into the fireplace with a fistful of Floo Powder and called clearly, “Potter House, Godric's Hollow!”

When I emerged on the other side my mother sat up on the sofa and asked anxiously, “How's Milo?”

“Dad said to get ready,” I replied.

She stumbled out of her seat at once to come to the fireplace, saying absently to me, “Go upstairs, have a bath and go to bed. And take Mackenzie with you.”

I looked over her shoulder in surprise to find my very sleepy-looking sister on the sofa she'd been seated on.

“Okay,” I replied, anything not to see his injuries and feel terrible at the memory that Connor and I had been playing games while he was suffering. I walked at once to the chair. “C'mon Kenzie, bedtime.”

She protested, “No, I'm staying here until Milo comes back.”

The fireplace roared behind me and we heard Dad say, “I hope you have a bathtub-full of Murtlap Essence.”

Mum replied, “Upstairs. How's Remus?”

I couldn't help myself, I turned around to look, but Mum had thrown another blanket across Milo and they were already past the sofa heading for the stairs.

Dad replied, “He's tired, but okay. I think he spent most of the night trying to stop Milo from—”

He stopped himself, but not soon enough. I demanded, “He was trying to stop Milo from doing what?”

He did not answer, but Mum was curious too. She arrested his movement with a firm hand on his arm. “Harry...?”

He stopped, swallowed and then said, “Not here.”

She looked back over at Mackenzie and me at the sofa and then nodded. Without another word, but the unspoken command that we were not to follow, they hurried upstairs to attend to Milo's wounds. They didn't need to tell me though, I could guess: Milo had probably been attacking himself. But the Wolfsbane Potion was supposed to prevent that, you're supposed to be in control of your mind.... For him to attack himself he would have had to know full well what he was doing.

I stopped and tried to suppress the thought, horrified. To think that Connor and I had been laughing and joking and playing games.... I quickly stomped on that thought too.

Mackenzie meanwhile, was oblivious. After hopelessly looking between me and our parents as they disappeared up the stairs for a few minutes, she asked, “What happened to Milo?”

I couldn't tell her, so I half-lied, “He had a bad night. H-he got hurt in the shed.”

I looked down at her and saw that she knew that I had lied, but, surprising for her, she did not press me on it. Instead, she just slipped off the chair and started to head upstairs.

I watched her go and hoped she would go to her room and not try to eavesdrop, though this was Mackenzie so that was unlikely. I started to follow then, but barely saw where I was going, deeply distracted by my thoughts.

There was no other explanation. A werewolf without Wolfsbane, without someone else to attack, would attack himself, which was Uncle Lupin had told us when he first explained what had happened to him. A werewolf on Wolfsbane would, according to Uncle Lupin, sit around idly waiting for moonset. If Milo had attacked himself, for Uncle Lupin would have committed suicide before going after my little brother, then he did so knowing full well what he was doing. Like I'd been thinking on the steps that afternoon, that if it was me I would have found a way to kill myself already at just the thought of undergoing that transformation....

The blood flowing through my veins then felt loaded with sharp chips of ice.

*****

I surprised myself by falling asleep as soon as I'd finally gotten the chance to get into bed. It took ten minutes of intense whispered arguing to get Mackenzie away from our parents' bedroom and an hour to be sure that she was in bed and asleep before I could have a bath. I took one last check-in to find her peaceful, another to see that my parents were still locked up in their room with Milo and then went back to my room, steadfastly trying not to think of what I'd sussed.

I yawned all through feeding Ophelia and reading the message she'd brought overnight: it was Rigel reminding me to bring a gift and protesting furiously that his mother was actually going out with Dean Thomas that weekend. It took all of four seconds for me to decide that it was not worthy of response and I went to bed. I was prepared to sit there for the rest of the day, listening intently for any sound that indicated my little brother had taken a turn for the worse and I was going to lose him, and then trying to distract myself with thoughts on how much fun it was to spend time with Connor, given the circumstances, last night, but that didn't happen. The sky without was clouded over pale grey and the air was refreshingly cool as it blew through my bedroom window. Resistance was futile, hours later my mother woke me to come down for a late lunch.

I sat up with a start and asked, “Did Milo tell you why he hurt himself?”

I didn't even think about the question. I didn't even know I was thinking it. My mother stopped half-way out the door but said nothing, and then she stepped back into the room and closed it. When she turned around she asked in reply, “What did you see last night?”

“Nothing,” I replied, honestly. “Dad and Aunt Tonks had us locked up in the house and we couldn't hear a thing. I saw the scratch and I heard what Dad said though.”

For a moment I was going to elaborate, but I remembered my promise to Milo that I would never reveal what I'd overheard in the graveyard. I desperately wished I hadn't made that promise though.

Unaware of this, Mum said, “No, he didn't say anything. He refused to talk. Do you know anything about this?”

I wanted to say yes and spill the beans right there, but I knew that would do nothing for Mum's nerves. I shook my head and asked, “What are you and Dad going to do about it?”

“We're going to take him to Werewolf Support Services and then find a counsellor,” Mum replied. “He needs somebody to talk to about this... that isn't me... that isn't us....”

She suddenly looked much older than her thirty-four years and then more than a little lost and helpless. I could see the pain etched in every line that appeared and when I thought of what I knew it made me feel terribly guilty. When I thought of how last night had gone I felt even worse.

I don't know where it came from but I suddenly couldn't help it. My eyes began to sting and well up with tears, I clenched my throat to block a sob but then had to put a shaking hand to my mouth to try to stop myself from crying. The tears spilled over anyway, and then were wiped away by Mum's shirt as she embraced me.

“Oh no, no Lillie, no don't cry. Milo's going to be fine; we're not going to let this destroy him. Voldemort couldn't take your father away from me, this isn't going to take my son,” she replied defiantly. Then she kissed my hair and continued, “You have to be brave, Milo's stronger than he looks.”

I said into her shirt, “But he's just like you, and Dad said you used to get flustered.” It was the closest I could get to letting on what Milo had said.

She didn't seem to catch it. Instead she pinched me in playful retaliation, then squeezed me tightly for a moment and replied, “Everybody gets scared, even your father, but it just makes him fight. As much of me there is in Milo, there's of his father too, this is not going to destroy him.”

“But he's just a little boy!” I wailed. “He's little and scared and shouldn't have to face all this....”

“Oh don't worry Lillie, please... he'll be fine...” she said, still concentrating on trying to comfort me and not picking up what I meant. I resigned myself to accepting that she wouldn't get it like this, that I would just have to tell Dad and break my promise to Milo there, and just held onto her for a while trying to convince myself of what she was saying. Then she said, “Now c'mon, your food is cold.”

She waited while I dried my face and then helped me off my bed and we walked together to the stairs, where she left me to go eat while she talked to Dad again. I took a few moments more to compose myself in case Mackenzie or Milo was down there, not wanting them to worry or giveaway anything, and then headed down. But when I got downstairs it was to discover Milo and Sophie in the living room deep in conversation, and he bore almost no evidence of the violence of the night before. It was so surprising that I remained in the living room staring at him for so long that he looked up at me confused. I gave myself a mental shake and said, “Lo Sophie, what's up?”

She looked up at me too and replied, “Not much, but Eugenie's friends have been stalking Connor. I heard them telling her that he wasn't home yesterday and then discussing you. It wasn't pretty.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but he still doesn't care about her.”

She grinned and I left for the kitchen, marvelling now at Milo's almost complete turnaround from yesterday. I was even more amazed that Sophie hadn't begun to suss out that something wasn't quite right with us. But as I walked into the kitchen it was to find Rigel there eating my lunch. And he said when I entered, “I forgot you weren't here last night.”

Forgoing the question of how he got here and hoping there really wasn't any trace of how upset I was moments before, I pulled out a chair, dropped into it and said, “So let me guess, you've decided to come complain about your Mum and Dean in person.”

He took a large bite out of my sandwich, chewed slowly, swallowed, drank some of my apple juice and then replied, “No, I just wanted to make sure that you and Milo were okay.”

I was impressed, but not by much. “And my lunch had what to do with that?”

“It was getting cold, you shouldn't eat cold food,” he replied casually and then took another bite.

“I was going to reheat it,” I said.

“You shouldn't do that either,” he said.

Same old Rigel. I got up to go make myself something while he polished off what was left. As I dug through the fridge, he asked, “What happened with you and the cub last night?”

I turned to look at him. “You know I'm not going to answer that. And didn't your mother talk to you about calling him that? I'm going to start taking offence.”

He shrugged. “She's not here, and you won't.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the fridge. Then I said, “Actually we just sat around waiting for the moon set. There was almost nothing else to do; I didn't think to bring a game or anything. But then I guess I wasn't expecting my Dad to just lock us up in the house all night.”

I didn't have to look at him to know that Rigel was goggling at my back, his next question confirmed it.

“Your Dad locked you two up in the house, alone?” he asked, clearly stunned.

I sighed. “Waiting out the moon for my little brother and his Dad to turn back into human beings didn't exactly make for a romantic setting.”

He was back at his usual feigned indifference with his next question. “I know, but Uncle Harry actually locked the two of you up in that house alone for the night?”

As I selected the bread, ham and cheese for my sandwich I replied, “Yes, he did. You could have been there, it was quite boring seeing as we couldn't hear anything that was going on outside.”

“Grandmother would have never allowed it,” he said. “But don't worry; our weekend is going to be anything but dull. Unfortunately Bijou managed to confirm her invitation but I've got a few things arranged to make sure that she regrets it.”

I turned back to him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he replied, patting his mouth with a napkin. “But I have to say, it is so easy to get lost in Malfoy Manor it's a wonder your parents could have found their way around in it when they did.”

I turned to my sandwich again. “Rigel Weasley, my goodness you're a terrible person. Are you sure Ginny Weasley is your mother?”

“Yes, you don't know my mother as well as you should,” he replied. “Besides, Bijou Zabini is annoying and boring. How could Grandmother want me to be friends with someone like that? You on the other hand, you're not boring or annoying at all. No matter how much you protest, at the end of the day you still join in.”

I don't know why, but somehow that sounded like a condemnation.

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