Here I am, this is me.
There's no where else on earth
I'd rather be.
Here we are - we've just begun.
And after all this time - our time has come.
Ya here we are - still goin' strong
Right here in the place where we belong.
-Bryan Adams


For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Cedrella bent her knees into a curtsy. One, two, three, smile, rise, two, three, she counted inside her head, feeling her muscles tighten and listening for the gentle whispering of chiffon on velvet as her skirts brushed the carpet.

“Miss Black. A pleasure, as always.”

“And yourself, Mr. Selwyn,” Cedrella said courteously, dipping her head once more. She did not like Robert Selwyn�”he had oily hair and an equally oily look in his eyes whenever they were directed at her�”but it hardly mattered. He was the host, and at any rate his moronic son Rodney was already betrothed, so she had nothing to fear from him, as long as she kept out of dark corners when he was around.

“Mr. Selwyn, have you met my younger sister, Charis?” Cedrella gestured for Charis, who had been hovering behind her all the while, to come forward, and watched carefully as her sister swept Robert Selwyn a curtsey, counting in her head once again. One, two, three, smile, rise, two, three. She silently let out a breath she’d been holding, as Charis completed perhaps not as graceful a curtsey as her own, but certainly an acceptable one.

“Another young Black. Delighted, Miss Charis, delighted… so you must be fourteen now?” Cedrella watched Robert Selwyn’s eyes. He was still looking at her, even though he was speaking to her sister. Scumbag, Cedrella thought viciously, and then checked herself. She hitched a serene smile back onto her face.

Charis did not seem to have noticed the nonverbal exchange between her sister and the older man, or perhaps she had too much sense to comment on it. “Yes, sir, I turned fourteen last week,” she told him proudly. “You must have seen the notice in the papers, we had the most grand party…”

Cedrella took the opportunity to vanish into the crowd, though she kept an eye on her sister from a distance. It was, after all, Charis’ first formal party, and Cedrella would feel responsible if anything went wrong. Especially with the curtsey, the perfect curtsey that all Black women carried off with such elegance and ease. Cedrella herself had been taught the curtsey, right before her first formal party by her older sister Callidora. And she had understood, from the way her dark-haired and imposing sister had presented it, that she was learning a sacred bit of family lore, one of the many little things that set Black women apart in grace, style, and manners... Cedrella had tried to convey the same significance to bubbly, airheaded Charis when her turn came, but quite frankly she was glad that Charis was the youngest, because she wasn’t sure her sister had picked up on it.

For the next hour, she milled about the guests, greeting them when she had to, avoiding them when it wasn’t obvious, and sipping at a tiny glass of red wine that she plucked from one of the trays carried around like roving tables by the house elves. She kept an eye on Charis all the while, focusing all of her thoughts on her sister so that they wouldn’t stray down other paths, such as "my dress is so tight I can’t breathe" or "this is dead boring." If she was honest with herself, Cedrella knew that she disliked these parties, and she also knew that everyone else probably did too. However, Cedrella was rarely honest with herself. It tended to lead her thoughts down dangerous paths.

A string quartet, hired for the night, began to play, and the evening’s dancing began. Cedrella accepted the proffered arm of Edward Potter, and they danced a slow waltz around the ballroom, Cedrella maneuvering carefully she wouldn’t tread on the clumsy older boy’s shoes. As the evening went on, and Cedrella danced with Rodney Selwyn (idiot), Harfang Longbotton (Calidora’s husband), Robert Selwyn (slime ball), her father (an obligation), Caspar Crouch (tolerable) and several other faceless purebloods, Cedrella tried to fix her troublesome thoughts firmly on one thing: her departure for Hogwarts in two days time. She would start her sixth year, and sometimes Cedrella thought that it was the only thing keeping her going. She loved Hogwarts: it was peaceful, simple, a place where she was free to study whatever she liked, to stimulate her mind, to be outdoors, to see the owls… No, she mustn’t think of that now. She would not. By Salazar, why could she not keep her blasted thoughts in control? She was so good at everything else.

**

That night after the party was over at last, Cedrella, her sister, and her parents returned to their manor house in London. Her father headed straight to his study without changing out of his stiff, high-collared robes. Her mother, an aging woman with grey streaked hair and a large nose, told her daughters they had been good and swept quickly off to her rooms, calling for the house elf. Cedrella had a suspicion that her mother was quite eager to remove the extremely tight corset she wore. Cedrella herself climbed the two flights of stairs up to her bedroom. Charis followed without speaking.

“Well, how did it go?” Cedrella asked her sister, the moment they had closed the door.

Charis dropped onto Cedrella’s vanity chair with a dreamy expression. “It was wonderful.”

Cedrella raised her eyebrows. There many words she might use to describe the Selwyn’s annual Summer Ball�”stifling, boring, and exhausting were the kinder ones�”but wonderful was not one of them.

Charis laughed at Cedrella’s skeptical expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cedrella said, moving to help her sister removed her hairpins. “You always surprise me, that’s all. What was so particularly wonderful about it?”

Charis sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Well�”“

“Posture,” Cedrella interrupted, poking her sister between the shoulder blades. Charis pouted at her in the mirror and Cedrella smiled back reluctantly. Her sister was both endearing and naive.

“Anyway,” Charis continued, sitting up straight once more, “it was grand not to have to stay upstairs watching all the babies. Don’t you remember what it was like, stuck being the babysitter when you could hear all the fine music and dancing and smell the fine food from downstairs… its been even worse since you started going to parties because the only girls my age are boring old Dorea and that awful Roselyn Nott. Last time baby Lydia Prince barfed all over my gown and it was disgusting! But today I danced with Caspar Crouch, and Armand Rosier, and Roselyn and Miss I’m-just-going-to-read-a-fat-book-now-thanks Dorea were still stuck up there with all the babies. Ha!”

Cedrella burst out laughing; she could not help it. Charis managed to look offended for a moment, and then she started to giggle too. It took Cedrella two full minutes to stop laughing. She, too, remembered the thrill of her first party with the grown ups, showing off that she was a Black woman of note, not a kid. Of course things had changed since then, and the parties had lost all the fun. But looking at Charis’ flushed, happy face, Cedrella decided not to mention this.

“Well, your curtsies did me proud,” she said. “I was watching you the whole time. Your manners are impeccable�”second best, I’d say.”

“And who’s first best, sister mine?”

Cedrella flashed a rare, mischievous smile. “Me, of course. Need you ask?”

Charis giggled. “I suppose not,” she said. “I wasn’t the one with every boy’s eyes on me, after all.”

Cedrella paused in the methodical removal of her sister’s hairpins and frowned. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“Of course it’s a good thing, silly. They were all staring at you, even Rodney and Armand, and they’re betrothed! Why, even some of the fathers were looking at you�”“

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Cedrella begged.

Charis giggled. “But they were! Robert Selwyn couldn’t take his slimy little eyes off you�”“

“Charis,’ Cedrella said seriously. “You can’t talk like that. Go ahead and think it, that’s fine. I was thinking the same thing, about Mr. Selwyn. I have bad thoughts all the time. But Father would flay you alive for talking like that. It’s gossiping, Charis, and you can’t gossip. Do you want to end up the next Bernice Mulciber? It doesn’t matter what I look like, as long as I’ve got class and manners and pure blood! I’ll be married off to a rich pureblood man no matter what I look like, as long as I’ve got that!”

There was a silence, during which Charis looked cowed and scared and Cedrella cursed herself inwardly for taking her bitter thoughts out on her sister. Discipline was one thing, ranting at her was quite another.

“You’re right, Cedrella, I’m sorry,” Charis murmured at last. Her eyes were big and frightened.

Cedrella sighed, regretting her outburst. She stroked the kinks out of her sister’s hair. “You don’t have to apologize, Charis. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m just trying�”I just want us both to succeed. And I worry about you, with your friends and your gossip and your giggling. I know you have more fun than I do, but�”oh, Charis, I don’t know. I just don’t want you to end up like Bernice.” She did not say the other reason for her bitterness, that she hated the attention, hated being beautiful, and never wanted to get married.

“I know,” Charis said, still in the same small voice. Then she smiled. “At least I’ll never be as ugly as Bernice is.”

Cedrella bit her cheek to keep from laughing, but she smiled anyway. “Don’t congratulate yourself yet. Its not an incredible feat to be prettier than Bernice Mulciber.”

Two pairs of grey eyes met in the mirror, and they both burst into laughter once more, the tension forgotten. Cedrella felt happy, as she joked and talked with her sister. How she craved this, this camaraderie, closeness, and openness. Neither of them really had to explain anything, for they understood each other perfectly. Cedrella did not tell her sister everything, but all the same Charis Black knew her better than any other human on the planet. They looked out for one another�”or rather, Cedrella looked out for Charis. As for Cedrella, who followed the family rules (both spoken and unspoken) religiously and had never had a friend in her life, these times with her sister were happier than any other.

*
I’m sick of summer and this waiting around
Yeah it’s September and I’m skipping this town
Hey it’s no mystery, there’s nothing here for me now
I’ve got to get back to Hogwarts,
I’ve got to get back to school
I’ve got to get back to Hogwarts
Where everything is magicoooool
Back to witches and wizards and magical beasts
Goblins and ghosts and to magical feasts
It’s all that I love and all that I need
At Hogwarts, Hogwarts, I think I’m going back.
-A Very Potter Musical


The following two days leading up to her departure for Hogwarts dragged on for Cedrella. As bored as she was though, and as much as she longed for the castle on hot nights when she sat in her dark bedroom alone, staring out the window, she kept reminding herself that she was incredibly fortunate to be going to Hogwarts at all this year. Indeed, it was highly unusual for a girl of her blood (not to mention beauty) to attend school past her O.W.L. year. On these nights, Cedrella would close her eyes and remember back to her fourth year, when the murmurings about finding her a proper husband had begun. Cedrella had not caught on immediately, but it wasn’t long before she realized that the fine new clothes, the parties, the introductions to so many important people, and her mother’s careful questioning about the boys at school were all pointed towards one goal: finding her the richest purest eligible wizard possible to marry at the first opportunity.


As soon as fourteen-year-old Cedrella had drawn these conclusions, she fell into a minor panic. She remembered her older sister leaving Hogwarts after her fifth year, to spend sixth months around the house learning to be the perfect wife to Harfang Longbottom, who she married days after she turned seventeen. Cedrella had thought of the pureblood girls, especially the richest and prettiest ones, leaving Hogwarts in droves after their O.W.L. exams and never coming back. And she, Cedrella, was about to be one of them. She was a prime candidate.


Cedrella remembered clearly how suddenly, her good looks, her manners and reputation, and everything she had proudly and carefully cultivated to please the family name, felt like a curse. She couldn’t leave Hogwarts now, she just couldn’t. It was the place she was the happiest, and above all the freest. She wouldn’t leave.


And so, fourteen-year-old Cedrella had devised a plan. She first of all refused to let herself think of her eligibility as curse, for it was all she had, everything she could count on and be proud of outside of her schoolwork. (This rule, though the most important, was the one she most often broke. It was much easier said than done). Secondly, she withdrew herself as far as acceptable from all social circles and events. Cedrella had never been outgoing or chatty like Charis, for it wasn’t entirely proper, but now she grew distant and remote. Especially at Hogwarts, where she had mostly kept to herself anyway, she became practically invisible. At parties she was courteous and polite, but never made an attempt at conversation. Cedrella knew it was not realistic to be forgotten completely, just overlooked enough that her betrothal could be delayed a few years.


And then, at Christmastime during her fifth year, Cedrella approached her father. She had planned the encounter for weeks�”it had to be just right, a delicate balanced of strength, pleading, submissiveness, respect, and manipulation. She had gone up to his study about twenty minutes after a fairly pleasant family dinner, hoping to catch the tail end of her father’s good mood. Cedrella had knocked three times, her heart in her mouth.


“Yes?” came Arcturus Black’s gruff voice.


“Father, it’s Cedrella,” she had called softly. “I wondered if I might have a word.”


There had been a terribly suspended silence before he replied, “Very well, come in.”


Cedrella entered and curtsied. Her father sat at his desk, and he nodded as gestured for her to sit down. “What would you like to ask me, child? Are you wondering about your engagement?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll let you know in good time.”


Cedrella had gone ice cold at that, but she hid it well. Her face was an empty mask. “Actually, Father, it’s not about that. I’m sure you’ll make a good decision.” Any decision will be a bad decision, she thought desperately. But she pushed it out of her mind. This was not the time for that now; she had a job to do.


“I wanted to discuss my study at Hogwarts,” she finished.


He had raised his bushy eyebrows. “Your study at Hogwarts?”


“Yes, Father,” Cedrella had replied. “I wanted to ask�”I know it’s common for girls to leave the castle after their O.W.L studies, as Callidora did. As I’m sure you know, though, it’s becoming a little more common to continue on to higher qualifications, and I hope… I hope to do so. Stay and complete my N.E.W.Ts I mean.”


Another long silence greeted this speech. Finally Arcturus Black said in a frosty voice, “And why should I allow this, Cedrella?”


Cedrella said nothing. She looked at him, plaintive, waiting. “Soon you will be a wife,” Arcturus said sternly. “Such intellectual knowledge will serve no purpose for you.”


“I know, Father. I know there’s no use to it, really. But it’s not entirely uncommon these days. And Father, I command a lot of respect at Hogwarts. From the teachers and the students, and not just because I’m a Black but because I’m smart. Even students from other houses, even Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, Father, they respect me more than the other girls because I try hard in school, and get good marks, and don’t make a fool of myself. They know I have brains and cleverness, on top of my blood and my looks. It’s counting with more and more people these days, Father. I don’t want to lose that respect by abandoning my studies to get married. They think academics matter to me more than that. They think I’m worth more than that.”


Another silence. Cedrella’s heard was pounding in her chest as she tried to gage her father’s reaction to this pronouncement. But his expression was like her own: stoic and impassive as if it had been carved from marble. His eyes were expressionless, like two chips of blue ice. Cedrella took a steadying, silent breath. She had just been more honest with her father than she had ever been in her life, and while it wasn’t the whole truth�”far from it�”it was part of it. And that was terrifying. Her father could destroy her when he had her true feelings at his disposal.


“You have done well with your years at Hogwarts, Cedrella, “ he said finally, slowly. His tone had no emotion, just finality. “You have made use of your exposure to the Wizarding youth. I am glad to hear of how highly you are regarded there.” He paused. “You speak of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors. Keep in mind, Cedrella, that it is what your fellow Slytherins, your fellow purebloods, think of you that matters. Will they care, in the end, about your intellectual prowess? I think not.”


“Prehaps you are right,” she had replied carefully, feeling sick. “I know you will make the choice that is best for me. But please, Father. Please. I would be so thankful. And I won’t be the only one. Eleanor Selwyn is staying as well, and she doesn’t even particularly want to. She told me that her father wants her to because he’s trying to embrace they modern trend of empowerment of women, and move purebloods into the new century. I am at your disposal, Father. But I think something good might come of this.”


Cedrella raised her bowed head slightly and looked at her father pleadingly. This time she saw, not a softening exactly, but a shift in his stony eyes.


“I will consider it.” His voice was tight. “Please go now.”


Cedrella rose and curtsied once more. “Yes, Father. Thank you.”


She left the room as quickly as possible, her heart pounding with fear, relief, and hope. Yes, hope. That interview had gone as well as she could have expected. Cedrella touched her cheek, where she could sometimes still feel the shadow of a wand, slapping against it again and again. She traced the faint scars. Yes, it had gone very well.


Nearly a year later, Cedrella loved remembering that particular triumph. It wasn’t long before she’d been registered for her sixth year at Hogwarts and granted two more precious years of freedom.


**
The morning of September the first dawned bright and clear, without a cloud in the sky. Cedrella watched the sun rise above the rooftops and chimneys of London, turning the sky first pearly white, then gold, then a lovely morning blue.


She dressed in her school uniform, ironed, pressed, and laid out the night before, and tied her long brown hair back with a pair of combs and a black velvet hair ribbon, monogrammed with her initials, C.N.B. Cedrella Narcissa Black. The ribbons, a collection of ten, had been a Christmas gift. Cedrella loathed them.


She gave her room a quick once-over, even though her trunk was already packed and buckled shut by the door. Then she slipped out into the hall, three doors down to Charis’s room.


Her sister was still in her nightdress, cramming books and knickknacks into her trunk, which stood open in the middle of her rather messy room.


“Do you really need all those?” Cedrella asked, slightly exasperated, as she held up a pair of ornately carved bookends.


“Yes,” said Charis unflinchingly, taking them back and wedging them into the trunk again. Cedrella watched her pile a few more books on top of the mess within the trunk, close the lid and then, after a moment’s struggle, heard it snap. “There,” said Charis, slightly breathless, sitting back on her heels. She looked at Cedrella, who was fighting a smile. “I suppose you were packed days ago, and everything is folded and color coded?”


“The books are stacked by subject, too,” Cedrella replied, smirking. “Come along, messy one. Sit down and let me do your hair.” Charis obliged, settling herself onto her vanity stool, and Cedrella picked up the hairbrush. “How do you manage to get knots like this while you sleep?” she wondered aloud, coaxing the snarls out of Charis’ wavy brown mane. “Your hair is just like mine, and I never�”“


“That’s because you’re perfect.” Charis interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how it happens, I’m asleep.”


“Fair point,” Cedrella agreed. She held out a hand and Charis placed a comb in it. “Now, you’re going to work hard in class this year, right?”


“Yes.”


“Even Transfiguration and Runes? Your fourth year is an important one. O.W.L's are coming up.”


“Yes and yes, and yes I know.”


“And you aren’t gong to gossip or talk to unsuitable boys.”


“Right.” Charis’ reply was a little glum.


Cedrella raised her eyebrows. “Exactly. And you’re going to stay out of trouble?”


“Of course.”


“Why do I not believe you?”


“Because its your job to be suspicious, no matter what.”


“I’m not suspicious, I’m just looking out for you. That is my job.” Cedrella frowned at her sister in the mirror. “You know that.”


“Yes, I do,” Charis agreed. Then she flashed a smile. “I’ll tell you what, Cedrella. If you stay out of trouble this year, so will I.”


Cedrella laughed. “You have yourself a deal, little sister. Don’t go backing out of it.”


Charis smirked. “I won’t.”


***


Lysandra Black condescended to take her daughters to the train station, though it was clear that she thought such a Muggle-filled place below her. Since Charis was twelve, it had been Callidora’s job to deliver her sisters to the platform, and Cedrella knew that once she graduated, she would be the one sending Charis off. This year, however, (and Cedrella suspected that it was on purpose) Callidora happened to have a very important meeting with a jeweler regarding her one-year anniversary ring at exactly eleven o’clock. Of course in her mother’s eyes this was a more important errand that one at a Muggle train station, and so Lysandra, looking frosty and imperious in a high collared velvet cloak, apparated both Cedrella and Charis to the platform. Cedrella’s lighthearted mood from the morning has dissipated; she was both annoyed with Callidora for skiving off her duty to her sisters (something she, Cedrella, would never do both because of familial loyalty and the fact that she actually liked her younger sibling), and frustrated with her mother for being so uptight that she could not even kiss her daughters goodbye, but stood stiffly on the platform like a domineering statue. Cedrella could see the younger children eyeing her in fear.


Cedrella bade her mother goodbye, walked Charis to her carriage, where a few of her chatty friends were waiting, and proceeded to the prefect’s carriage. She endured a brief meeting about patrols, and then sank back into her favorite seat beside the window as the rest of the prefects left to find their friends. Cedrella could have gone and found the other Slytherins from her year�”that was who she had rode the train with her first four years at Hogwarts�”but she preferred to have this large, comfortable carriage to herself. She gazed out the window, watching the fields, hills, and tangled forests pass by. Her annoyance with her sister and mother slowly disappeared into nothingness. It did not matter. For now, she was headed off into another world where none of that truly mattered. A small smile crossed Cedrella’s face as she thought of her plans for this year. It has been too long, my feathered friends, she thought.


It was dark by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. Cedrella put on her cloak, cast a hover charm on her trunk, and joined the mass of students making the long walk up to the castle. It was a warm night, and the air felt fresh and unbelievably pleasant on her skin. Cedrella thought of her father’s many indignant letters to the school, one of which had demanded some kind of transportation from the station so that the students would not have to make the long walk to the castle, in “any kind of foul weather or gale.” She breathed the night air in deeply, thinking that she could not disagree more. It wasn’t often that she had such a good excuse to be out of doors.


Cedrella turned the bend in the road and got her first sight of the castle. It loomed ahead, its turrets and towers silhouetted black against the dusky sky. The windows gleamed like little fires. A real smile spread across her face this time. Oh, it was beautiful. She was back. She was home.

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out.
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now.
-Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

“Good morning, Cedrella.”

“Good morning, Charis. You’re up early.”

“Of course I am, you goon. Quidditch practice.”

“Since when can you play Quidditch?”

Charis actually laughed. “Since never. How would I learn? I’m watching the Slytherin practice. Didn’t you hear Captain Nott’s announcement last week? He wants students to come and watch, to give the team encouragement. Slytherin students, of course. Mattie and I are going.”

“Well, don’t expect me to keep up with your social life. Have a good time.” Cedrella watched slightly wistfully as her sister pocketed some toast, waved, and headed out of the hall. She had no interest in Quidditch, of course, except that Slytherin won. But it would have been nice to have somewhere to go, somewhere to be. The conversation she had just had with her sister, however brief, was the most use her vocal chords had had in four days. Four days ago, she and Charis ate lunch together and wrote a letter to Callidora, and the biggest plan Cedrella had for today was to go up to the Owlery that night to post it. Admittedly, she was excited about this. But she could not help but think that her lack of interaction with human beings was a little depressing (even if she did find most human beings completely intolerable). Cedrella rose from the table, reminding herself that she wanted to be invisible, and left the Great Hall.

It was a chilly Saturday morning in October, and Cedrella was very conscious of the fact that one of her precious months at school had already come and gone.

Time passed quickly at Hogwarts, and Cedrella knew it was because there was so much to do and so little time. Thinking about this, Cedrella quickened her step as the climbed first one staircase, then another, on her way to the library.

It was completely deserted�”nobody wanted to work on a Saturday morning�”except for the librarian, Madam Figg, who was so old that Cedrella often worried she might simply drop dead while shelving books. Most students thought Madam Figg had completely gone round the twist, and Cedrella tended to agree with them. However, she harbored a certain fondness for the librarian, who had helped her find so many books and obscure documents, especially this year, and never asked any questions.

“Back again, Miss Black?” she warbled now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can I help you get anything, dear?”

“No, thank you, I’m still working on those articles from last week.”

The librarian gave a watery chuckle that sounded more like a bleat. “You certainly are dedicated, my girl. Reminds me of a student I had several years ago, name of Dumdermore�”no, no it was Bumbledore… no…” She wandered off, muttering, and Cedrella settled herself at her table in the corner of the library for a productive Saturday of research.

Charis came to drag her out of the library for dinner, as she sometimes did when she didn’t forget. Cedrella sat by her sister and her sister’s friends, eating a shepherd’s pie and ignoring their inane chatter, and then took her books back to the Slytherin common room. A fair number of people were working now, especially the older students, and Cedrella got out her potions notes and started that weekend’s essay. The common room was not her favorite place to work�”she had to be constantly on her guard, and the light was peculiar and green. But even in the common room, people left her alone, except for a pair of fifth years who approached her shyly and asked for help on their Arithmancy homework, and Cedrella didn’t mind helping them at all.

It was several hours before Cedrella straightened up at last from her work, working out a kink in her neck with one hand. It was very late; the greenish light that usually filtered into the common room had all but disappeared, and the only light came from a single blue lamp over the staircases and a few low burning candles belonging to her and a few other N.E.W.T students, still up and working.

Cedrella packed up her book bag neatly, looking around her carefully. Rodney Selwyn had fallen asleep on his Transfiguration book, his mouth open and snoring. She smirked slightly. He looked, for once, like the idiot he was. Over by the unlit fireplace, two sixth year boys bent over a single candle, immersed in their books. They weren’t paying any attention to her. Cedrella stretched her neck one last time, and tiptoed silently out of the door and into the dark castle.

Cedrella was not a rule breaker. She was a prefect, and a perfect daughter, Slytherin, and student. It was no secret that she prided herself on this fact. But Cedrella allowed herself one rare indulgence into the place in her thoughts she had labeled “wrong stuff,” and tonight was a night for it. Tonight she would see her friends.

It was with a strange resignation, then, that Cedrella climbed the steps to the Owlery. She knew what horrible trouble she would be in if she were found skulking about the castle at night, for even prefects had to be back in their common rooms by eleven. But no matter how well she knew it, or felt it heavy in her chest as she walked, neither could she stop and turn back. She had allowed herself the trip, now she was compelled to reach her goal. Each step was taken with equal excitement and dread. Excitement, because she had not spoken to the owls, or felt the night air on her cheeks, for two weeks. Dread, because if anyone found out… the night-time wanderings would only be half of it. If the news got out that Cedrella Black considered her closest friends to be owls, her spotless reputation would be ruined. She had never told anyone, not even Charis, about the owls. People were untrustworthy, she knew. It was just their nature.

But the birds could not tell her secret, could not be untrustworthy. The spoke only to her, in their subtle language of clicks, feathers, and large amber eyes. Besides for the camaraderie, that was what Cedrella loved most about the owls. They were safe. With them, all her secrets, all her woes, were kept with perfect confidence.

Cedrella opened the heavy wooden door at last, a rare smile gracing her porcelain face. Cold, fragrant night air met her nose, mixed with the scents of straw and feathers. She stood in the doorway, gazing around at them all. Browns, Barns, Tawnys, Eagles, Screech, and a few Snowys. Many of the perches were empty; the owls were out for nighttime hunting trips. The ones still here were alert, fluttering from perch to perch and picking at the remains of mice in the hay on the ground. Wings rustled, beaks clicked, and the owls called to one another with low hoots. Their eyes glittered in the moonlight, looking to Cedrella like precious jewels.

“Mila?” she called softly, spotting one of her favorite school owls, perched high up in the tower.

The bird replied with a low hoot, turning her head towards Cedrella. She cooed back in response, holding out an arm as an invitation. Mila’s golden wings were illuminated in a flash of moonlight streaming through the window, and Cedrella smiled. And then, as the owl’s soft weight landed on her wrist, she gasped.

There was someone sitting on the floor under the window, so immersed in shadow that she had not noticed him at first.

They stared at one another, Cedrella frantically trying to discern who he was through the dimness�”not a Slytherin who had spoiled her evening, surely not a Slytherin�”and then she realized with a start that he was crying, or had been. His eyes were puffy, and as he turned to look at her she saw a tear still glistening like a single diamond on his face.

Cedrella immediately felt regret mix with her alarm. This boy had not stolen her evening; she had intruded upon his. Mila, still perched on her arm, hooted inquiringly, clearly curious about Cedrella’s sudden anxiety.

“Hush,” she said as softly as she could, stroking the golden feathers. The owl called again, louder. Highly intelligent though they may be, owls weren’t keen on letting her order them around.

Cedrella still stared at the boy, and he at her. She wondered if he knew who she was. She wondered if she should just leave, now. Would he spread this odd story around the school, or would he just think the whole thing had been a strange dream? Her jaw tightened. Best not risk it. But how could she get him to keep silent?

Through her fear, Cedrella was ridiculously curious, though she knew the dangerous consequences of curiosity. Who was he? What was he doing here? And why was a grown boy, her age at least, crying alone? She felt an odd urge to comfort him, and urge she had never felt before except towards Charis. And this was a completely different situation�”Charis was family, not to mention young and sensitive�”whereas this was a grown boy, and a stranger, potentially dangerous.

And yet… “I’m sorry,” Cedrella murmured at last. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The boy did not move. He kept staring at her. Then in a very hoarse voice, he managed, “No�”no, not at all. Don’t worry.”

Cedrella nodded curtly. Leave! her brain screamed at her. Stay, stay, the owls seemed to call. Stay, please stay, something in the boy’s red-rimmed eyes seemed to call.

She stepped towards him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, hesitantly.

He turned his head, continuing to stare at her as walked. “Umm. Yes?”

Why was he staring at her? Was he sick? Come to think of it, at this angle with the moonlight on his face, he did look rather feverish. She did not know what made her do it, what strange influence was acting over her perfect self-control. Perhaps it was the owls�”was it her imagination, or had they all stopped their various pursuits to stare at her, just like the boy, calling her closer?

Cautiously, Cedrella knelt on the cold, straw strewn stone and pressed a hand to the boy’s forehead. She’d been wrong�”he wasn’t feverish, he was ice cold. She was puzzled for a moment. Why would that be? Was there an illness that lowered body temperature? Then there was a soft swoop of wings, a quiet screech, and an owl she recognized but did not know by name landed beside her, proffering a bit of parchment in his beak.

“What have you got for me, my friend?” she murmured, reaching to take the paper from the handsome tawny. But as her fingers touched it, the boy’s hand knocked it away.

“Merlin, Mathias, that’s mine,” he mumbled. His voice was raw, hardly intelligible.

The owl screech disapprovingly, then turned to look at Cedrella. She could read a plea in his yellow eyes.

Cedrella looked back at the boy. Her eyes had adjusted to the light and she could see now that his lips looked a little blue. Well, she didn’t want him to die of hypothermia or something. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. She drew off the heavy cloak she wore and wrapped it around his shoulders, tucking the fur hood around his head with shaking fingers.

He looked vaguely surprised. “Th-thanks,” he croaked. Then he shivered.

Cedrella frowned. “How long have you been up here?”

The boy shrugged. “Few hours.”

The owl, still nearby, gave a trilling cry. It reminded Cedrella of the shrieks of the post owls at breakfast. A greeting, she had always thought, to the sun.

She turned back to the crying boy. “Since this morning?”

He blinked confusedly. “I s-suppose…yes. How did you know?”

Cedrella didn’t know how she knew, and she didn’t want to think about it, either. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t matter. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I�”yeah, I’m f-fine…” but more tears trickled out of his eyes as he said it. He hid his face in his hands.

Cedrella traded a look with the owl. He seemed concerned. She reached into her pocket and pressed her handkerchief into the boy’s hands, sitting down beside him on the stone floor as she did so. He dabbed roughly at his eyes with the handkerchief, but the tears only came faster. Cedrella’s heart was pounding. She ought to leave, and she ought to leave now. But she just couldn’t, she couldn’t leave him here. Not now. Her chance was already past. It’s night, she told herself sternly. Nobody will know I was ever here.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” she pleaded. “You’ll be all right. It’s all right, I promise.”

He nodded, still weeping. Cedrella was the one staring now. She had never seen anyone but very small children cry like this, and certainly not a grown boy. The owl fluttered anxiously and perched on her knee. She reached up and let him nip her finger, assurance that she would not leave. For Cedrella felt suddenly reckless. She was already breaking curfew, out in the castle at night in the Owlery of all places. What was the harm in comforting a strange boy?

She continued patting his shoulder, gently, hoping her body heat and the cloak would warm him up. Up here since this morning! No wonder he was cold. He wore only a cotton shirt, and it was practically open air in the Owlery. And it was a particularly cold October, in the mountains no less. At last, the boy stopped crying.

They sat in silence for a while, and then the boy said, “thanks, Cedrella.”

Cedrella jumped. She had no idea who this boy was, and she had assumed it was mutual. This had been such a terrible idea. Why was she so reckless and stupid? He could tell any number of incriminating stories on her now. But she concealed her panic.

“I�”have we met before?” she asked carefully, dreading the answer.

“No,” he said. “You probably know of me though. Everyone has heard of the Weasleys, just like everyone has heard of the Blacks.”

Cedrella stiffened. This was what curiosity got her. A Weasely! Merlin and Salazar, this was not good. Blood traitors, that what her father always said.

One look at the boy’s face melted her. Was she really going to leave now, just because she knew his name? Why did it even matter at this point? As long as he never mentioned this…

“So, Septimus then, right?” she asked at last. She knew only the seventh Weasley brother was left at Hogwarts. He nodded. The owl hooted softly, and brushed Cedrella’s hand with his wing. She clucked softly. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, young man.” He twittered at her. She poked him.

“Mathias seems to like you,” the boy, Septimus Weasley, observed.

Cedrella turned back to him, stiff all over again. How could she have forgotten he was right there? This was getting riskier by the minute.

But for the first time, there was a hint of a smile on his lips. He did not look alarmed or even suspicious.

“I�”yes,” Cedrella said, slightly disarmed. “Yes, I like him too. He’s a very kind bird. Is he yours?” The boy nodded. “You’re lucky,” Cedrella told him. “I’ve hoped for a long time for an owl half as perceptive and intelligent as Mathias.”

He smiled bitterly. “I suppose.” It sounded like there was more he wanted to add. “Here,” he said, offering her the crumpled handkerchief. “Thanks.”

Cedrella hesitated. She didn’t really want to touch that. “You keep it,” she said. “You need it more than me.”

Septimus Weasely sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

Silence fell between them. Half of her mind, the responsible half, was wondering what the consequences of this rash encounter would be. The rest of her still burned with curiosity as to why the youngest Weasley had been sitting crying in the Owlery all day. She also wondered what he thought of her, what conclusions he was drawing as to why a Black would be sitting with him in the dark tower, talking to his owl. She couldn’t help but hope he was too miserable to think about that too much.

“You should get back to your dormitory,’ she said eventually. “Find a fireplace or something. It isn’t getting any warmer up here.”

He nodded slowly, then looked up at her. “Thanks again for the cloak. I am much warmer.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I should get back,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Got to pack.”

“Are you running away or something?” Cedrella asked in surprise. It seemed the sort of thing for a hotheaded Weasley to do.

He made a strange sound, like he was trying to laugh. “No. I’m going home for a while. I have to… There’s a… funeral.” He swallowed. “My father died last night.”

“Oh,” Cedrella said, very softly. “I’m so sorry.” It seemed like a completely inadequate thing to say.

“Yeah,” Septimus said, his voice a whisper. “Me, too.”

Now she understood why he had been crying, and yet she did not. Aside from the fact that Black women did not cry, she could not fathom the grief that spelled itself so plainly across the Weasley’s features. He was obviously devastated, for she could see the pain that flickered across his pale face when he spoke. But Cedrella herself could not imagine a death that would leave her so raw even on the inside… let alone letting it hang out for all to see. Perhaps if it were Charis, but definitely not her father. He was old and cold and, in Cedrella’s opinion, could spend all his time in his study, counting up his wealth. As long as she was nowhere near him.

So it was an odd thing, the way this blood traitor boy’s grief seemed to pierce Cedrella in the same way as the amber eyes of the owls. It was a different kind of feeling, less joyful and more sorrowful, but it had the same quality. Acute, almost uncomfortable because it certainly wasn’t allowed, this too-poignant ache in her chest. Cedrella bit her lip as the feeling filled her up, her heart pounding strangely as she looked at the boy. They sat there, the silence stretching on, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. It was companionable, each of them immersed in their own thoughts.

It was only when a faint bluish light, fuzzy but still definite, began creeping over the windowsill that Cedrella realized how long they had been sitting there. She rose, slightly stiffly, brushing off the skirt of her robes. “It’s nearly morning,” she told the crying boy, Septimus Weasley. “We ought to go.” Unthinkingly, she offered him her hand, which he took, and pulled himself to his feet. As soon as he was standing she recoiled from the contact, shocked at herself. They stood in the half-light, staring at one another for another long minute. Cedrella felt as though she were waking up from a long, strange dream. Wordlessly, Septimus Weasley unfastened her cloak from around his neck and handed it to her. She put it on.

“Good luck at home,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

Cedrella hesitated once more. She felt strange and punch-drunk; this night had completely drowned her common sense. But he mustn’t tell, he mustn’t…

“I won’t say anything,” he said hoarsely, correctly interpreting her frown.

She jumped. Was she so easy to read? She would have to work on that…

Septimus interrupted her train of thought by reaching out and brushing her hand with his for the tiniest of seconds. Then he turned and walked away.

Cedrella stood, rooted to the spot, watching his back retreat down the steps. Her hand where he had touched her burned, sending a strange feeling up here arm. After a moment she shook it firmly, jerked up her head, and marched out of the Owlery, her footsteps purposeful and measured, her face still and expressionless as if it had been carved from marble.

And the wind blows the leaves off the trees
another sign of spring bringing winter to its knees
and they say, the grass is greener on the other side
well I want to know all about the darkness that lights your eyes
cause it’s....


It’s breaking me down, it’s breaking me down,
it’s breaking me down, down, down, down, down....


And the change is so constant over me
take me and show me who I need to be
The asphalt a little bit darker
and it helps you to remember when
the rain fell, in sweet November
be careful who you fall in love with,
cause someone somewhere won’t approve…

-Tristan Prettyman

No one would have noticed the change in Cedrella Black over the next week. Certainly, in all concrete ways, there was none. To other’s eyes she appeared just as she always did: the middle Black sister, quiet, prideful, and beautifully impassive. No, the change was all mental, and even then it was small.

Yet still, it was there.

Cedrella could feel it: the small corner of her brain she allowed for the owls, for her errant or condemning thoughts, dusty from disuse, was stirring.

The nighttime encounter in the Owlery became more and more dreamlike in her memory, and as the little details like that strange ache in her chest slipped away, she found herself thinking about them more and more. She wondered about Septimus Weasley, hoping he was all right, and anticipating his return to school so she could see for herself. She wondered if he would remember her, or if he had been so delirious that the whole thing would seem to him, too, like a dream. Absurdly, she hoped not. She trusted his promise not to spread rumors, though she knew it was foolish to trust. He had been very coherent, recognizing her before she recognized him. “Thanks, Cedrella,” he had said. Would he keep tabs on her from now on? And why did she care?

It was at that point in her musings that Cedrella tried to simply switch her thoughts off�”it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. Over and over, she would decide to just get on with life.

But it was not so simple.

Five days after the incident, Cedrella went back to the Owlery. The school was buzzing about the Halloween feast and the Hogsmeade visit the next day, and Charis and her friends were even gigglier than usual at breakfast. Cedrella only had two classes, and spent most of the day in the courtyard enjoying the last of the year’s sunlight with a couple of thick books, wrapped in the cloak she had lent Septimus. It still smelled faintly like the night air, and also straw and something indefinable that she knew must be him.

Perhaps it was this that made her so particularly distracted that day, but she kept pausing in her reading, trying to remember, thinking, wondering…

At last, unable to shake the image of his tearful face from her mind’s eye, she stood up, tucked her books into her bag, and marched back into the castle. It was almost dinner, after which she had her prefect patrol. Nobody would be up in the Owlery right now. She could go, just for a few minutes. Perhaps seeing the familiar tower and smelling its comforting smells in the daylight without him there would make her stop, could cure her of going over every detail of their meeting again and again.

The castle was quiet�”most of the school had gathered in the Great Hall for dinner already. Cedrella slipped past the double doors, and headed up the staircase.

The Owlery was empty, as she had expected, except for her feathered friends. They called greetings to her, and she took a deep breath, gazing around, taking in the sights and smells. She glanced at the spot under the window where she and Septimus had sat. Was it her imagination, or was the straw there still a little mused up?

As she contemplated this, an owl gave a loud call and she drew a sharp intake of breath as Mathias landed on her arm. He was holding a piece of parchment in his beak.

Hesitantly, Cedrella took it, and unfolded it carefully. Her heart was pounding again. In an untidy script, she read:


October 29, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I wanted to say thank you again for keeping me company the other night. It was a very kind and decent thing to do. I knew it might look odd if Mathias brought this to you at regular post time, so I told him to give it to you when you returned to the Owelry alone. I knew you would, sooner or later.

I also want to apologize for being so incoherent. I wasn’t myself, as you probably noticed. I hope you did not draw any bad conclusions about me. I am usually rather cheerful company, and I hope you’ll give me another chance.

The funeral was this morning, Thursday.

(Here she could see that his hand had started to shake.)

It went as well as could be expected. My father died very suddenly, so we are all shocked. I will be back at Hogwarts in time for the Halloween feast on Saturday night. See you then?

Thanks again,

Septimus


Cedrella stared at the letter for a long time, tracing the words with her fingertip. She did not know what to think. He had written to her, on the same day as his father’s funeral. He was obviously thinking of that night, perhaps as much as she was. His tone was so casual, as though they were acquaintances, almost friends. Give him another chance? What could he mean? They could never be seen together. They could never be friends. He knew that, didn’t he?

“What does he think of me, Mathias?” she asked, looking at the owl. “What does he want?”

The owl’s answering hoot told her clearly that he thought she was missing the point.

“All right, then. What should I do?”

He blinked and fluttered off her wrist, landing on her bag, and plucked a quill out of the outside pocket.

“Write him back?” Cedrella laughed humorlessly. “Oh Mathias, what would I say? I can’t keep this up. It has got to stop.”

The owl hooted reproachfully.

“No?”

No, his eyes said plainly.

“What do you propose, then?”

The owl brandished the quill.

“You’re not going to let me alone, are you? Did he tell you to make me write him back?”

Mathias blinked. No.

“Does he want me to?”

Yes.

Cedrella sighed. She had already been up here too long. “I’ll be back tonight,” she promised. “I’ll think about it.”

Mathias seemed satisfied. He pecked her wrist gently and flew off to a perch on the wall. Cedrella gave the owls a parting wave and hurried down to dinner, pressing Septimus’ letter safely into her pocket as she walked.


October 30, 1933

Septimus,

Thank you for the note. I am glad to hear you are doing all right. Mathias convinced me to write you back; he is really the most intelligent bird I’ve ever met. I drew no conclusions about you, of course, except that you must love your family very much.

Best,

C


***

Cedrella spent Halloween in the library, wondering what Septimus Weasley had thought of her brief note, which she had sent with Mathias the night before. Watching the owl fly into the night, her letter clasped in his beak, had felt rather like she had just jumped from a great height. What have I done? she would wonder, falling back into her circular musings.

It was, predictably, Charis who brought her back to reality. He sister arrived in the library still wearing her cloak, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her eyes shining.

“Have you been in here all day?” she hissed, sliding into the chair across from Cedrella.

“Yes. How was Hogsmeade?”

“Lovely, but Cedrella, why didn’t you go? You spend all of yesterday out in the courtyard, when you could be in here studying, and all of today in here, when you could be in the village! Silly.”

Cedrella smiled. “I suppose so, yes. I can be silly sometimes.”

“Never thought I would hear you admit that. I thought I was the silly one.”

“Well, what did you do today in the village? You may win the contest, yet.”

Charis’ smile was not innocent. “All right, fair enough. I’ll tell you on the way down.”

“Down?”

“Are you coming to the feast or not? It’s about to start. Put those books away, now.”

Cedrella packed up her books, wondering if she should say anything about Septimus. She wouldn’t tell the whole story, of course, but if Charis could tell she was acting odd…

“So, what did you do today?” she asked.

“Well mostly, I just shopped with Mattie and the other girls.”

“But…?”

“But, we stopped at the Three Broomsticks and Lucifer Malfoy and some of the other boys sat down with us. Don’t look at me like that, Cedrella, it was a big group, it’s fine.”

“I’m just not particularly fond of Lucifer, that’s all.”

“Well, I think he’s positively gorgeous. Anyway, he and I got to talking, and then Mattie, Lucifer, Joseph Warrington and I all went for a walk up past Dervish and Bangs. We were talking about Quidditch, and Lucifer said his father is taking him and his brother Abraxas to France for the World Cup next summer, and he invited me to go along. I told him I would have to ask Father though,” she added quickly, catching sight of Cedrella’s expression.

Cedrella was cursing herself inwardly. This was just the sort of thing she was afraid of Charis getting mixed up in. She was too friendly. People weren’t supposed to like her as much as they did. She was too accessible, too easy to sway. And yet how could Cedrella reprimand her sister for talking to a respectable, albeit obnoxious, pureblood boy with two other people present when she, Cedrella, had been obsessing for a week about a midnight encounter with a blood traitor? Cedrella hated hypocrisy, and she knew she was dangerously close to it.

“Don’t look so grim, Cedrella. Say something!” Charis looked worried.

Cedrella sighed. “Well, you’ll have to be careful how you ask Father.”

Charis’ face broke into a relieved smile. “I will. Actually I was hoping… do you think you could help me with that? You’re much better at dealing with him than I am.” Her hand twitched, and Cedrella reached down to press a reassuring hand onto Charis’ scarred wrist.

“Of course. We’ll do it over Christmas. You know, you might try and find out if Lucifer is betrothed to anyone. If not, his father could have something to do with this. It would be easy then. The Malfoys are a very old family.”

Charis smiled happily. “I know. And if he is betrothed?”

“Then father will know, or he will find out. “

Charis nodded, her face tightening. “Right. I’ll look into that.”

“Good,” Cedrella said.

“You know,” Charis said after a moment, “I thought you might be terribly angry with me.”

“Well…” Cedrella chose her words carefully. “You didn’t do anything wrong, technically. You do need to try harder to be more proper and less friendly. But I can’t come down too hard on you. What if someday I needed you to forgive me for something, then where would I be?”

“You, Cedrella?” The laughter was back in Charis’ eyes as they reached the doors to the Great Hall. “What are you planning to do, get an E on an exam?” She giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be here to give you headaches.”

Cedrella smiled in spite of herself at her sister’s bubbly mood. “Reassuring.”

As she settled herself onto a bench at the Slytherin table near a few other sixth years, Cedrella looked around at the lavish Halloween decorations, feeling relieved. This was how things were supposed to be. Charis, having problems, needed Cedrella to be her mother, sister, and best friend all at once. That was what Cedrella had always been best at, the thing that made her feel not only good about being a proper Black but good about herself. Charis needed her. That was normal. And that was all that was important.

The feast was delicious, and Cedrella enjoyed the dance put on by the ghosts and a display of flying bats that the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Scamander, directed to great applause. She ate two slices of her favorite fruit crumble, smirking across the table at Charis who was giving her a look that said clearly two helpings of dessert? You? “I told you, you might need to forgive me for something,” she called. She felt like herself again.

That is, until Professor Dippet dismissed them, and as she joined the crowds streaming out of the Hall she glimpsed an unmistakable head of short red hair a little ways ahead of her, its owner’s gait notably without the typical Gryffindor bounce. Septimus, she thought, and it all came rushing back to her.

That night she lay in bed and imagined his response to her letter in a thousand different ways.

**

November 1, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I’m back at Hogwarts now, and I am feeling better. No more hypothermic shock, I promise. When I got home my mum thought I still looked clammy and sick so she had my aunt who works as a healer examine me, and then I got quite a bit of grief from my brothers for trying to freeze myself. The point is, I have learned my lesson and I am feeling better. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them anything about you.

You were right, I did hope you would write me back, but I never told Mathias that. I guess he knows me well. The little feathery git seems very wiling to share my feelings with you, though. The paper he tried to give you the other night was the letter from my mum, telling me about Dad’s accident. Please take no offense, but I didn’t really feel like sharing that.

Do I need to get Mathias to convince you to write me back again?

Please?

Septimus


November 5, 1933

Septimus,

As a matter of fact, you do. I find it much harder to say no to a persistent owl than strange Gryffindor boys.

As for the letter, don’t worry about that. That is private, I would not have wanted to read it. Owls can be impertinent sometimes.

I am glad to hear you are feeling better. Your brothers sound like wise boys.

Best,

C


November 7, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I’ll keep that in mind. Anything I ever want from you, I’ll just get Mathias to ask for it.

No, I’m joking. You’ve already done more than enough for me.

I would like to ask you something, though don’t feel pressure to answer it. How is it that you can understand him? I know owls are highly intelligent birds, but I have never seen someone communicate with them the way you do, or describe them so… humanly, for want of a better word. I have heard of Parselmouths, wizards who can speak to snakes, but you were using English, at least most of the time. I can’t help but be curious, so do forgive my own impertinence. I am taking an N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures, if it makes any difference at all.

Yes, my brothers are wise�” and wise asses, come to think of it. It took me a while to work out your comment, but thank you for what (I think) seems to be genuine concern for my safety. My brothers do, despite all their teasing, care for me very much. I’m sure you know how it is; you have two sisters, right?

Curiously,

Septimus


Please stop smiling at me and being so ridiculous in the halls.

Thank you,

C


November 12, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I stand corrected. I asked my brother Rudy if he thought smiling at Slytherins would be considered impolite and all he said was “don’t get hexed, little bro.” I’m eager to apologize before that happens, or worse, I hurt your feelings.

Sorry,

Septimus

P.S. I asked Professor Scamander if it is possible for wizards to communicate with other animals besides for snakes and he said “yes, good question, Weasley. Here’s a big list of long books to read and learn about it.” Bloody N.E.W.T level class. Then all of the books were checked out of the library already. It would be an awful lot easier if you could just tell me.

P.P.S. I hope you can tell I’m being sarcastic.


November 14, 1933

Septimus,

Yes, I can recognize sarcasm, thank you.

I can tell you exactly where the library books on wizard-animal communication are. Six of them are currently in my trunk, another three are in my book bag, and I am using the tenth as a hard surface to write this letter on. I am planning to keep them a rather long time, but if in my research I discover anything particularly enlightening perhaps I will pass it on to you.

Your brother doesn’t know anything about Slytherins. It’s not manners, or feelings, that I am worried about. You have not offended me; I cannot speak for my fellow classmates.

Best,

C


November 16, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

Yes, I can see that you can recognize sarcasm quite well, not to mention put it to use.

Since you are so determined to be mysterious, I wrote my to brother Demetrius and his wife Vivery to ask them about wizard-animal communication. (I told them it was for a class research project, don’t worry). Vivery is a sort of magical naturalist, and Demetrius is an anthropologist. He’s writing a book about the magical practices of indigenous tribes around the world, and she’s studying the wildlife wherever they go and getting herself in all sorts of dangerous situations in the process. (She actually went hunting for a lethifold once). They’ve been traveling for about two years, and they are in Africa right now. I figured if anyone would know, they would, for they’ve seen all kinds of mad stuff and weird magic in their travels. Anyway, Vivery wrote me back yesterday, and she had some pretty interesting things to say. She also said that Demetrius is on a hunting trip with some locals right now, but when he gets back she expects he’ll write and tell me a story about an Egyptian family he met who could talk to cats.

It’s pretty fascinating, isn’t it?

Sincerely,

Septimus

P.S. I’m glad I didn’t hurt your feelings.


November 17, 1933

Septimus,

Your brother and sister-in-law’s work sounds absolutely fascinating. How did they come to be a naturalist and anthropologist? I hope I can read your brother’s book when it is published. Where else have they traveled?

So, what did they tell you? Are you an expert on speaking to animals now? Somehow I doubt it�”I’m sure I could still set all the owls in the Owlery on you if I wanted to, possibly excluding Mathias.

Best,

C


November 18, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

It was actually kind of an accident how Demetrius became an anthropologist. He took N.E.W.T.’s in Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, and Magical Creatures (the usual I suppose) and then he and his twin, my brother Julius, went on a world tour after they graduated from Hogwarts. While they were in Australia, they got separated hiking, and some Aborigines took him in for the night. He ended up staying with them for a few weeks, and he learned all this weird wandless magic and was generally really fascinated by them. So when they got back to England, Demetrius decided to write a book about it, and then he just decided to keep traveling and writing about the people he meets. He called himself a writer for a while, but he really wasn’t. So now he’s an anthropologist. It’s a Muggle term that means someone who studies mankind. He has been all over Eastern Europe, and parts of Asia, and now he’s tackling Africa. It’s a big job. There hasn’t been a lot of research done about African magic.

Anyway, in answer to your question, no, I cannot speak to animals now. Apparently it isn’t something you can learn. In answer to your other question, will you give me those books if I tell you what Vivery said?

As for the owls… I am going to try very hard not to get on your bad side.

Do we have a deal?

Septimus

P.S. I know I don’t need to point out to you that that last bit was sarcastic.


November 21, 1933

Dear Septimus,

Who is being mysterious now?

I, however, give up. The lure of knowledge trumps caution, as usual. No, I cannot give you those books, because I need them for my research project. I have wondered for many years why I am so drawn to owls and why I can communicate with them, and since I only have two years left with the Hogwarts library at my disposal I finally decided to do something about it. I have learned a few things, but on the whole there is frustratingly little printed about the topic. So I would really appreciate it, actually, if you could tell me what your sister-in-law explained to you.

And I would like to read your brother’s books. Are there copies in the Hogwarts Library?

As for the Postscript: no, you certainly did not.

Best,

Cedrella


November 22, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

All right, I confess: I was being mysterious on purpose. I have to get things out of you somehow! You’re a person of few words. Anyway, yes, I am enclosing a copy of Viv’s letter. I still haven’t gotten a reply from Demetrius, but I promise that when I do, I will forward that one to you as well. I am actually quite glad to help you with your research project, now that you’ve condescended to tell me about it. (Note: sarcasm). I didn’t think there was anything I could do in return for your help last month.

Contrary to what you said, I don’t think you’ve given up being enigmatic at all. “The lure of knowledge trumps caution, as usual”? Now what, may I ask, are the conclusions I can draw from that statement? You get more mysterious every day, Cedrella Black. Don’t try to deny it.

I have no idea if Demetrius’ books have made it into the Hogwarts library yet, but I left my copy of the Aborigine book in the Owlery for you; Mathias will show you where it s. I don’t have his second book here with me at Hogwarts, but I can bring it back for you after the Christmas holidays. I have to admit I only read the first one once, several years ago, and have just skimmed the second, but you will probably find them interesting. Besides, I get to hear all of his stories first hand. Family dinners when Demetrius is in town are always fascinating.

Speaking of the holidays, are you staying at Hogwarts or going home to your family? I have done both in the past, but this year I’m headed back home to Tinsworth. Demetrius and Viv won’t be back yet, and Julius is in America, so it’ll be quieter than usual, and I know Mum wants as many of us as possible to be there, with Dad being gone and all. It will be rather odd, I think. I’m not sure that I am looking forward to it, though I normally love Christmas. What about you? Do you have any fun family traditions?

Cheers,

Septimus


November 26, 1933

Dear Septimus,

Though I’m not sure about the ethics behind your ploy to get me to tell you about my project, I have to thank you for the information. Vivery’s insights were extremely interesting. I think I may have been looking in the wrong places, if the ability to communicate with animals is a hereditary gift determined by ethnicity. I think it is fascinating that people seem to communicate best with animals they consider divinities of some kind. I have spent the last few days buried in Wizarding genealogies and I think I may be on to something, though why owls I’m not yet sure.

I have also been reading your brother’s book. Thank you for that as well. He is a good writer, and it is a nice break from all of the old historical records and things I have been reading this term.

Don’t even try to figure out what I meant about the lure of knowledge, it won’t work.

I am going to London to visit my family for the holidays, as I do every year. I expect we will be attending a great deal of holiday Teas and Parties and Balls. I have never enjoyed Christmas very much. I hope your holidays turn out to be better than you expect.

Best,

Cedrella


November 27, 1933

Dear Drell,

I am glad I (or rather, Vivery) could be so helpful. It sounds like you are progressing on your not-so-secret-anymore project. I have to admit I was worried you had finished writing to me after you got the information you wanted from me, but I am glad I was mistaken.

As you can see from the address, I have decided that your name, being long and three syllables and full of ample opportunities for nicknames, needs to be shortened. “Drell” is my personal favorite, but I also came up with “Ceddie,” “Ella,” or “Drella.” What do you think? Or, perhaps you already have a nickname, and you are laughing at me right now?

I hope your Christmas turns out better than you expect, as well. What do you not like about it? I usually love the season: snow, lots of good food, sleigh rides, and my family’s other mad traditions make it great fun. My brothers and I have a huge snow fight in our field every Boxing Day, for example. And we all cook potato pancakes on Christmas Eve. This year will be different, though, without Dad.

Sending cheer your way,

Sep (nickname to nickname, you see).


November 29, 1933

Dear Septimus,

Perhaps I should have stopped writing to you, while I had the chance.

I do not have a nickname, nor do I want one. My family and sisters have called me Cedrella for nearly seventeen years without feeling that it is too long, and just because you are lazy I feel no need to change that. Of course, if you would like me to call you Sep, I will. Somehow it seems to fit you better than “Drell” or the rest of that nonsense fits me.

On another topic, you really must stop walking by my library table five times in an hour. It’s rather obvious, not to mention distracting.

Your Christmas traditions sound lovely. What are potato pancakes?

Best,

Cedrella (no nicknames, you see).


November 30, 1933

Dear Drell,

You need to try new things more often. No nicknames and no potato pancakes? (Which are, by the way, just what they sound like�”patties of shredded potato. We eat them with onions and sour cream, and they’re absolutely delicious). I think Drell suits you quite well, actually. It’s unusual, it has an air of mystery to it, it’s original, and it is not stuffy or stuck up, which despite what you might say, I know you aren’t.

You don’t have to call me Sep, but if you want to that is fine with me. My brothers and I all have nicknames, except for Julius. Alexander is Alex, Demetrius is Demetri, Rudolph (that’s strange to call him that) is Rudy, Quintus is Quint, and Sixtus is Tusy. (As you can see my parents got rather uncreative with the names for their last three children). I simply cannot believe that you and your sisters have never shortened your names. Don’t worry about your nickname being embarrassing. I’ll never tell. Besides, I already know your biggest secret. What’s one more?

All right, I’ll stop visiting you in the library. Sorry. It does seem like you are in there an awful lot; don’t you ever stay in your common room?

Only two weeks of term left! I look forward to going home more every day. Rudy wrote to tell me that it snowed in Tinsworth. They’ve been taking the horses and sleigh out and everything.

I hope I’ll still be able to write you over the holidays. I have a very good idea for your Christmas present. I also wanted to say, Cedrella, that I have really enjoyed getting to know you this month. It was on November 1st that I replied to your first letter. Really, in the face of everything that’s been going on, it means more than you could know.

Always my best,

Septimus


November 30, 1933

Dear Sep,

I got your letter this morning and I wanted to reply while it was still November. Though I may refuse to read the next one if you address it to “Drell.”

I just wanted to say this: I do know.

As for writing to me over the break, I think it will be all right. I will give Mathias some very specific instructions.

Happy Yule, my friend.

Cedrella

I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In this world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now, be with me now.
-Amy Grant

Hogwarts’ first snowfall of the season was heavy�”it blanketed the grounds with thick drifts of white powder and covered the trees with a layer of white. The lake froze, and festive decorations started to go up all over the castle. Cedrella loved the twelve grand Christmas trees in the Great Hall and the greens and holly festooned on the banisters. These weeks in December before the holidays started were her favorite part of the season. Nothing was more beautiful than Hogwarts at Christmastime.

The owls did not agree. After the first snow there were wild, blowing storms almost twice a week, often catching the birds in the middle of a delivery. It was a season of ruffled feathers, frozen feet, and broken wings.

“Hold still, Donnie, I’ve not finished with you yet. Mathias, pass me that bandage please.”

Mathias offered her a roll of gauze and she wrapped it gently but firmly around Donovan the screech owl’s set wing. He hooted in pain.

“Shhhh,” Cedrella said, looking the owl straight in the eyes, and hooting right back. “It’s for your own good, and you know it.”

His splint finished, the owl hobbled off, looking rather lopsided. Cedrella sat back on her heels. “Anyone else?” No owls came forward, and so Mathias hopped onto her wrist. Cedrella had thought that the other birds might be jealous of how much time she spent with Mathias these days, but it had been an unfounded worry. They could see how happy he and his letters made her, and that was enough for them. Cedrella settled back against the wall of the Owlery, Septimus’ latest letter in her hand.

“What is he going to throw at me this time, Mathias?”

The owl looked amused. He cooed. How should I know?

“Ah, but you do know. You know everything.”

The owl tittered. He was laughing at her.

“I don’t know what to do sometimes, Mat. I don’t even know who he thinks I am. Sometimes when I’m writing to him I don’t know who either of us think I am.”

But it makes you happy.

“Writing to him? Yes. But I don’t know why. It scares me, Mathias. And…he scares me sometimes. Yes, don’t look at me like that. I know he’s not scary. But I just don’t understand. Why does he keep writing me? Why is he interested?”

He cares.

“I can see that. I just don’t know why.”

You don’t have to have a reason to care.

“No, but I wish I did!”

It doesn’t work like that.

“I know.” Cedrella sighed. Mathias never had solutions for her, but he was sympathetic. He understood the strange friendship that was growing between her and Septimus Weasley better than anyone�”better, she was sure, than either she or Septimus did. “You’re not going to tell me anymore?”

Mathias did not answer, he had become engaged with a bit of a dead mouse on the stone floor beside them.

“All right,” she sighed, stroking his feathery back. “Goodnight, dear one. I’ll leave a letter for you to take to him at the base of the tower tomorrow, all right?”

He hooted his agreement to this arrangement, and Cedrella kissed the top of his head, bade the rest of the owls goodnight, and slipped out the door.

**

The night before the term ended it snowed again. Cedrella packed her trunk neatly with a few clothes and schoolbooks. She was putting several rolls of parchment into the trunk when her hand brushed Septimus’ letters, stacked in the bottom of her nightstand drawer. Each had the flattened yet crinkled look of a paper that has been unfolded, read, and folded once more, over and over again. She hesitated, then lifted the stack from the drawer and tucked them inside a book, which she placed in the trunk. Packing finished, she locked it and rose for a last visit to the owls.

As she walked silently down the halls, keeping to the shadows, Cedrella contemplated the fact that though she had always disliked going home for Christmas, this year she was positively dreading it. Two torturous weeks of perfect composure and socializing, two weeks without the owls, two weeks without a letter from Septimus… no, that last part wasn’t true. He had promised�”begged her really�”to write over the holidays. And she had agreed, instructing Mathias which window to come to, in the dead of night only, to deliver the letters. Cedrella disliked how happy this one bright spot in her holiday made her. Had she come to rely so much on his letters in just over a month? She had always gotten along all right before Septimus. She still could. So why did the fact that he would write to her over Christmas feel like a lifeline? I’m just used to it now, she told herself. I’m used to it making me happy. But I can live without it. I can be happy without it. And these thoughts pressed firmly into her mind, Cedrella turned her mind to Charis, the other thing that made her happy, for the rest of the walk. Family, she knew, was more enduring than anything else. She would always have her sister.

Mathias swooped to greet her the moment she entered the freezing, snow dusted Owlery, and dropped a letter into her hands. Despite her earlier thoughts, Cedrella grasped the parchment as though it were precious metal. “Another one? Thank you, Mat. You are so good to us. Do you ever get to go out and hunt anymore?”

She thought that if owls could roll their eyes, he would have. In that? he asked, looking out at the snowstorm.

“Fair point,” Cedrella agreed. “We don’t want any more broken wings. It’s convenient that you give all the letters to me here, isn’t it?”

Mathias nodded.

“Speaking of which, you have to be careful over the holidays. Don’t go out in a snowstorm to deliver a letter to me. I’ll survive.”

Will you?

“Yes,” Cedrella said softly, stroking his head. “Somehow.”

**

December 12, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I hope you get this before we leave for the holidays tomorrow, Drell. (Ha!) If not, Mathias will just have to follow you to London. Don’t go telling him not to fly in the snow; I have a feeling he will go to any lengths to keep up communication between us. Have you ever met a more dedicated owl? Besides, friends should be together at Christmas. Letters are the only way for me to be near to you.

Anyway, I have something for you: I finally got the reply from Demetrius. He tells some amusing and interesting stories that I am sure you will draw more conclusions from than I can (seeing as you still refuse to share your books). So, think of this as an early Christmas present. Your real one is still coming.

Are you excited to go home tomorrow? I expect not. I would say that we should sit together on the train, but you would probably tell me that is a very bad idea. I suppose only you would know.

Expect to hear from me soon. I’m going to tell you everything about our Christmas in the hope to improve yours.

Your friend,

Sep

Cedrella read the letter over again, for the third or fourth time, as she sat alone once again in the Prefect’s carriage, this time speeding in the other direction. She traced the words with the tips of her fingers. Friends should be together at Christmas… be near you….I’m going to tell you everything… your friend, Septimus. His sincerity and kindness, something she was not accustomed to, always hit her just when she thought she was getting used to it. Septimus said what he meant and meant what he said. He honestly wanted to spend time with her, and honestly wanted to help her have a better holiday. And he was not ashamed to admit that he knew hearing about his Christmas would make her happy. In fact he was not ashamed or shy about anything. Perhaps that was why she trusted him so much, and so irrationally. Why, in some ways she had told Septimus more of her personal thoughts, especially about the owls, than she had ever told Charis. Which should have been frightening. But somehow, it wasn’t. Try as she might to be wary or skeptical or any of the things she should have been, she couldn’t. She just felt…happy. Really happy, that elusive, warm feeling in her stomach that visited her on rare occasions when she was alone with Charis or the owls. But with Septimus it came so much easier. Every letter, every grin in the halls (as much as she told him not to) warmed her. She had never know anything like this before.

At last, Cedrella re-folded the letter and tucked it into her trunk with the rest of them. She sat for a while staring out the window, trying to think about the upcoming holiday, or her Transfiguration project on Animagi. But Septimus kept worming back into her thoughts. She thought about his invitation to sit with him on the train. She couldn’t, of course. Their friendship could never be anything but secret. And yet…I’ll just look, she thought to herself. And she stepped into the corridor.

Cedrella pretended that she was just on patrol. She told off a few noisy third years and peered into every carriage, checking for misbehavers. And then, about two thirds of the way down the train, she saw him, sitting in a compartment with a few other Gryffindors. They were talking about Quidditch. Septimus played, she knew. He was a Chaser. She usually only went to Slytherin matches to keep up appearances, as she found Quidditch both boring and immature, but this year she had gone to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match to see him play. He was very good.

She hesitated for only a moment outside the compartment, then walked by. But she saw his head turn, and his blue eyes widen, as she turned away. A moment later she heard her name.

“Cedrella?

She kept walking, though she slowed down. She could hear him following her. At the end of the train, she stopped and turned around, her heart pounding. He was grinning. The smile was so joyful, so unlike his tears the last time they had really spoken, that her excuse about being on patrol died in her throat. She simply stared at him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.”

“Are you thinking about reconsidering my invitation? I bet we could find an empty compartment.”

“No, no, I was just… patrolling. Actually I wasn’t. I just wanted to walk by your compartment and say Happy Christmas in person, but then there were other people there and I decided it wasn’t a very good idea.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “All right. Well, thanks. Happy Christmas to you too. Did you get my letter last night?”

“Yes,” she said. “I went up to the Owlery to say goodbye to Mathias and the others. Although I suppose I’ll be seeing Mat soon enough.”

“You definitely will. But what did you think of Demetrius’ stories?”

“They were fascinating, of course.”

Another grin. “Oh good. So, any leads?”

“Some.” Cedrella hesitated. As pleasant as it was, she knew it was dangerous to keep talking to him like this. Anyone could walk by. “I’m going to work on it over the holidays. I’ll write to you if I find anything groundbreaking. But I should go. Happy Christmas, Septimus.” She turned to walk away.

“Cedrella?” His hand was on her elbow.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for coming to say hi.” She stared up into his earnest expression. He looked like he wanted to say something else, like he wished his thank-you meant a million more things. His hand still rested on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” she said at last, at a loss for any other reply. They stood there for another second, the silence stretching, the sound of the train loud in her ears. Cedrella’s heart was pounding oddly again. “Well�”goodbye,” she said eventually, in a faint voice.

He nodded. “See you in two weeks, Drell.”

“Don’t call me Drell.”

“Sorry.” He grinned, clearly not very sorry at all. “See you in two weeks, Cedrella.”

She smiled briefly in response and walked away, striding briskly down the corridor. She heard him mutter “Drell,” under his breath at her retreating back, but she did not turn around.

Septimus couldn’t see, but a wide smile had spread across Cedrella Black’s face.

***

Callidora met Cedrella and Charis at the station, dressed in a long green cloak and clearly very displeased to be there. She quickly shepherded her sisters out of the station and down the Muggle street, disdain evident across her face as they proceeded towards the Leaky Cauldron. Charis, who rarely got to see her oldest sister, trotted alongside Callidora delightedly while Cedrella trailed just behind, gazing around Muggle London in idle interest. It wasn’t often she got to go out in the Muggle world, and recently she had been wondering if the world she had so long believed to be inferior might have some information that the Wizarding world lacked. Information from Vivery and Demetrius’ letters, not to mention his books, had opened her up to whole new vistas of possibilities. After all, she had been taught to think that tribal, wandless magic was inferior too. Clearly, it wasn’t. Might there be some hidden truths in the Muggle world, as well?

They Flooed to the family manor house from the Leaky Cauldron, and Cedrella and Charis were shepherded upstairs by the house elf to clean up and change before meeting their parents for dinner. As Cedrella changed out of her simple black robes into a more elegant grey set that she had not worn since leaving for Hogwarts, she noted that it felt odd to be back in her old room. Everything looked exactly the same, and it was spotlessly clean. Yet Cedrella herself felt different. She always did, coming back from school. But this year was worse than ever. She was used to casual robes, to owls and hay and fresh air and books and letters. Already, standing in her dark bedroom staring at her reflection in her grey silk fastened tightly at her throat, she felt stifled. I can do this for two weeks, she thought desperately. I can even do it for a summer. But I can’t do this for the rest of my life. “You must,” she said out loud, but very quietly. “You’ll get used to it. You must.” There was a knock on the door, and Cedrella jumped. “Yes?”

“Ready?” asked Charis’ voice.

Never, she thought rebelliously. “Yes, I’m coming.”

Cedrella joined her sister and the two of them went down the steps together. They shared one nervous look at the foot of the stairs, then Cedrella stepped forward and pushed open the door to the dining room. “Hello, Father.”

He sat at the head of the long table, the candlelight glimmering ominously on his silver beard. Their mother sat beside him on the side of the table, with Callidora beside her. “Cedrella, Charis,” said Arcturus Black. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Father,” they said quietly. Cedrella swept a quick curtsey and, a moment later, Charis did the same. He nodded and gestured for them to sit down.

As the house-elf brought out the first course, a beet salad and French onion soup, Cedrella and Charis sat and listened to their parents and Callidora (who was married and therefore granted adult status) discuss the various deaths, engagements, births, and gatherings that had happened in the pureblood community in the last few months. Cedrella knew her sister beside her was listening for anything concerning the Malfoys, especially Lucifer and his possible betrothal. As usual, Cedrella herself made sure that there was no mention, however slight, of her own engagement. There wasn’t.


Cedrella could feel Charis tense beside her as Kiko the house-elf brought out the second course, a cut of lamb and roasted vegetables. It was time for the conversation to turn, and now they would be grilled on their time away: their studies, their grades, their friends, their fellow Slytherins…everything their father could think of that they could have possibly done wrong.

As usual, Charis let Cedrella do most of the talking. Cedrella was very good at managing these conversations, though she loathed them. She had observed the way her mother and then Callidora spoke for years: the careful evasions, the delicate balance of flattery and manipulation. Charis was in many ways more honest than Cedrella, but she had no finesse. She had not yet learned how to not lie, but not tell the truth either. Far from her personal dread at the idea of marriage, Cedrella was afraid that she would be forced to leave home before she could teach her clueless little sister the lessons that were so important in their world.

At last, the plates were cleared, the unfinished bowls of chocolate mousse had been cleaned away (for it was very bad manners to finish your desert, even Charis knew that), the post-dinner coffee had been drunk, and Cedrella and Charis were dismissed. Cedrella walked up to her room as quickly as was permissible and collapsed on her bed, feeling as if she had just been taking a very long exam, or perhaps running a race. She unpinned the opal brooch on her collar and began to undo the buttons on her uncomfortable robes, taking long, deep breaths. Then she curled up onto her bed and fell asleep, exhausted. Family dinners were often unpleasant, but she had never before had a conversation where she had so much to hide.

She was awakened by a tapping on the window. Disoriented and confused, she lit a candle and clambered out of bed, peering into the darkness.

And then with a jolt she was wide awake. “Mathias!” Cedrella hissed, fumbling with the latch on the window. As it opened, the owl, and a rush of freezing night air, swept into her room. “Remember, shhhhh!” she whispered, holding a finger to her lips and looking the owl in the eyes.

He blinked. I know.

“All right, all right,” she whispered back.

Mathias held out his leg, and Cedrella untied the scroll there. Then she closed the window, carried the owl over to her bed, and by the light of her single candle she read Septimus’ letter. She felt that she should have known he would write to her tonight. He was always impatient.


December 13, 1933

Dear Drell,

I know you are going to read this anyway.

It was so nice to talk to you today on the train. I was surprised that you came to find me�”“Don’t talk to me in public! Don’t smile so much! Stop walking by my table!” Sound familiar?�”but I was very glad. Don’t you think it’s nicer to speak in person?

I do hope you’re planning on explaining to me why that Egyptian man thought he could speak to dung beetles. You may not believe me, but I’m quite interested in your project.

Mum, Rudy, Quint, and Tusy all turned up to fetch me from the station. You might have seen them on the platform. I don’t think I’ve had that many people there to greet me since I was about thirteen. It was nice, but all the same it was odd. Have you heard the saying that grief can bring families together? Well the problem is that mine doesn’t need to be brought together. We’re already quite close. I feel like if this keeps up we’re going to suffocate each other. I talked to Rudy about it tonight while we were feeding the horses and he agrees. But he said that he always comes to get me from the station, so why would he stop just because Quint and Tusy decided to tag along? I agreed that he had a point, and we laughed it off. Rudy and I like to blame everything on Quint and Tusy, and they blame everything on us. So it’s fair.

Suffocation aside, it is wonderful to see everyone even if it is a bit odd around here. Mum is holding up well. Tomorrow, Alex, his wife Rebecca, and their two boys are arriving, and we’re all going to cut down a Christmas tree. We would do it without them, but Mum likes to pretend to wait for the children rather than�”and I quote�”“watch her grown sons go romping into the forest like a bunch of wild hooligans.” Dad never cared. I’m excited, though. The tree outing is always great fun.

I hope you are all right at home. Have fun with your sisters, and write back soon.

Your friend,

Sep

P.S. We have another family owl, named Cleo. She’s quite clever. I have a feeling Mathias might get tiered from all these trips from Tinsworth to London and back, and I don’t want to overexert him. I was wondering if I could send Cleo along with Mat next time so you could give her the instructions for delivering the letters? I don’t know about these sorts of things, remember (and who’s fault is that?) so if that doesn’t work just let me know.

P.P.S Can I tell Rudy about you? Please? He can keep a secret.


Cedrella let out a breath she had been holding as she read the letter, then settled back against her pillows to read it again. She smiled. He knew how to make her smile, which she found funny in itself, because she considered herself a person who it was hard to get a smile out of. Charis could do it, the owls could do it… and Septimus could do it. Often.

She reconsidered the letter. As usual his blatant show of emotions confused her. Weren’t men supposed to be even more removed than women? How could he say, so plainly what he was feeling all the time? And to her, a girl he barely knew? The letter was cheerful and teasing, but also raw�”and very, very honest. Cedrella knew her own letters were never like that. She agonized over each word. She wondered if he found them dry because of it.

Cedrella reached for paper and quill, and began to write by the light of her guttering candle.


December 14, 1933

Dear Septimus,

Please, please stop calling me Drell. It sounds silly.

I surprised myself on the train yesterday. I shouldn’t have done it, but nothing happened so I suppose I don’t regret it. Yet. You make me too impulsive, you know. I’m not normally that way.

Please do send Cleo. I don’t want to exhaust Mathias by any means. But I can tell Mat what to tell Cleo, so don’t worry about sending them both. That won’t be a problem. I look forward to meeting her.

I am glad your holiday is going all right. How old are your nephews? However odd your family seems right now, you should know that you are very, very lucky to have them.

My holiday so far has consisted of an awkward family dinner. Tomorrow the events start. Mother is even more eager than usual for me to come along to everything. I cannot help but think that this does not bode well for my “vacation.”

Your friend,

Cedrella


She hesitated over the page, eyeing his second postscript. She was beginning to understand that Septimus’ brother Rudy was like Charis for her. They did everything together. They told each other everything. (Almost everything). Septimus hated keeping a secret from Rudy, just like she loathed keeping a secret from Charis. Reluctantly, she lowered her quill to the page.

P.S. I suppose you can tell your brother Rudy that we’ve been exchanging letters. I know how it is to have secrets you don’t want to keep. Please don’t tell him about the owls, though. I’d like to keep that anomaly to myself. You only found out by accident, remember.

There. That would do. Cedrella sealed the letter and held it out for Mathias, who had been drinking out of her water glass. “There’s a tree down the block you can rest in if you need to, Mat. I’m sorry I can’t keep you here,” she whispered.

That’s all right. His coo of consent was so low and quiet that she had to strain to hear.

She kissed his head, and opened the window once more. “See you soon.”

He pecked her hand lovingly and flew out into the night.

Cedrella sighed, watching him till he was out of sight. Then she slipped Septimus’ letter under her pillow and lay down to sleep once more.

**

“I must say, Ruby, your cakes are simply divine. Did your house-elf make these?”

“Why, thank you Lysandra. But no, I made them. We… it’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“I see,” Lysandra Black said evenly, her eyes narrowing vindictively as Ruby Macmillan and the other women present looked uncomfortable.

Cedrella tightened her grip on her teacup, imagining that her mother could feel the annoyance radiating across the room from her daughter. They all knew the Macmillans did not have a house-elf. There was no need for Lysandra to point it out so obviously. Cedrella had seen her mother do this for years�”putting down those who she felt were below her and insinuating herself with those she thought might be better, all with a few shrewd compliments. It was the way these social gatherings worked, she supposed, but Cedrella couldn’t help but feel sorry for Mrs. Macmillan. She was so nice. And the cakes were good. Delicious, in fact.

“I agree, they’re delicious,” she said aloud. “I wish we had food like this at home! Perhaps you should get the recipe, Mother. They would definitely improve our holiday dinner.” She suppressed a smirk as her mother’s lips tightened. Two could play at this game.

Mrs. Macmillan looked grateful. She might not be very good at this, but she could appreciate a master. “That’s very kind of you, Cedrella dear. My grandmother was a genius in the kitchen�”she wrote rolls and rolls of parchment of her own recipes.” The plump woman smiled reminiscently. “Perhaps you would like to learn some of them? I�”“

“How kind of you, Ruby,” Lysandra said tightly. “But we wouldn’t want to take your family secrets. We all have things that are uniquely ours.” She hesitated. “Cedrella, why don’t you go check on Charis?”

Cedrella rose without speaking and strode from the room. She stopped to check her reflection in a mirror in the hall, making sure her anger did not show on her face. She could hear the women’s voices in the sitting room�”the soft murmers of Mrs. Macmillan and Mrs. Abbot, the louder one of Mrs. Smith, and the sharp tone that was her mother’s. She was glad to escape. Her mother was making it blatantly obvious that she did not want to be there. Cedrella knew that the only reason they had been invited (and had accepted) was because her father and Mr. Macmillan were working on some sort of business deal that involved a lot of gold. The pretense that they were “family” (Cedrella’s cousin Arcturus had married Mr. Macmillan’s little sister a few years ago) was transparent. She scowled at her reflection. It was a shame that the Blacks had intruded on what could have actually been a pleasant afternoon for the three Hufflepuff families.

Charis, Melinda Abbot, and Arnold Macmillan were sitting in a circle on the rug in the second sitting room, playing gobstones. It was a pleasant room, clearly the one the Macmillans actually used when they weren’t entertaining judgmental company. A Christmas tree stood in a corner beside the fireplace, pictures of the family hung on the walls, and the furniture looked comfortable and well used. But it was bright and clean and warm, and Cedrella sank gratefully onto the couch. Charis glanced up from her game. “Have you been evicted?”

“In a manner of speaking. Mother told me to “check” on you, Charis.”

“Well, I’m clearly getting up to all sorts of trouble.” She rolled her eyes and shot a well-aimed gobstone at one of Arnold’s, knocking it out of the circle. “Aha! Three points.”

Cedrella sat and watched them. Charis and Arnold were neck and neck, while Melinda, who had dreadful aim and was two years younger than her cousin and his classmate, was trailing behind, but she didn’t seem to mind. Charis, though she was sitting neatly and was dressed perfectly in green silk robes, looked nonetheless like a part of the family. They laughed and teased one another, and, watching them, Cedrella found herself hoping against hope that Charis could, by some miracle, marry Arnold instead of Lucifer. Her sister’s cheerful, talkative nature was so well suited to this Hufflepuff way of being.

Her eyes strayed to the Christmas tree, and she thought of Septimus. He and his family would perhaps be out in the snow and the woods right now, hunting for a tree to cut down. It sounded fun, if a bit cold. If the Macmillans’ house felt relaxed, though, she could not imagine the mayhem of the Weasleys’. She wondered what his father had been like, why they were all so devastated. She knew all she had to do to find out was ask him. He was completely open with her, unless he wanted something, and even then he was hopelessly transparent. Septimus clearly had no experience with the quiet skills of manipulation and evasion. He was an open book. Once again she wondered why he found her, a book closed with a lock and key, interesting at all. Mathias had said he cared. But about what?

“Cedrella! Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, Charis. What?”

Charis rolled her eyes. “I said, Mother’s coming. I can hear them in the hall.”

Cedrella stood up quickly, shaking off her troubling musings, and pulled Charis to her feet as well, just as Lysandra Black swept into the room, trailed by Mrs. Macmillan. “We’re going now, girls,” she said.

Cedrella and Charis bade quick, polite farewells to Arnold, Melinda, and Mrs. Macmillan, then stepped into the Floo. Cedrella gave their host a quick, sympathetic smile before she called, “Chateau Noir!” and the pleasant sitting room vanished from sight, replaced by the dark, polished wood of her own home.

**

December 15, 1933

Dear Drell,

It was good to hear from you! I think Mathias must have told Cleo about you, because she’s much more excited than usual to deliver this letter. She’s practically hovering around me while I write.

The tree outing was a success. Jonathan (who is five) and Joey (who is three) actually wanted to get a reasonably sized tree, but we beat them down. The tree is positively bursting out of the living room, as usual. Rudy had to hack about three feet off the top to get it through the door. We decorated it tonight, and now there are bits of silver tinsel all over the house. Mum is furious, or pretending to be. We got more fresh snow, so today we went on a sleigh ride. Rudy and Quint hitched up all the best horses with the bell harnesses and everything, though it took them about an hour longer together than it usually took Dad by himself. We all pretended we didn’t notice, and had a good time. I know you would have loved it, and I’m enclosing a bell from my favorite mare so you have bit of holiday cheer. It sounds like it’s a little thin on the ground at your place.

I haven’t mentioned you to Rudy yet, but I will. Thanks for trusting me with that. You are right, I do tell him everything. Thank you for reminding me about my family, as well. You are right. I am lucky, whatever has happened.

I also put a few of Mum’s peanut butter cookies into this package. They are another Christmas tradition, and quite tasty. Tusy caught me smuggling them into my room, so you better appreciate that I bore a lot of teasing to get these to you.

Yours,

Sep



December 18th, 1933

Dear Septimus,

The bell is so charming! I do envy those sleigh rides, they sound lovely. I’ve tucked the bell into my worst pair of socks, and I intend to take it out whenever I’m feeling particularly in need of some holiday spirit. The cookies, too, were scrumptious. Thank you. I’ve enclosed a bit of holly from our banister�”I don’t expect you to enjoy it, but I think that it accurately represents Christmastime at my house.

How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Drell? It sounds ridiculous.

It was lovely to meet Cleo. She is a sweet bird. The feathers on her left wing got a bit tweaked during her flight so I fixed that and had her hide under my bed for a few hours to keep an eye on her before I let her fly off again.

We went to the Macmillan’s for tea a few days ago, and today there was a dinner party at Malfoy Manor. Both were unpleasant. I suppose it was worse at the Macmillans, because they are so nice. It was just us, the Abbots, and the Smith there for tea, and Mother was acting ridiculously superior to everyone and everything because she thought she was the highest class there. Which she was, of course, but sometimes it is nice to have some Selwyns or Malfoys around just to keep Mother in check. Charis got to spend the whole time playing gobstones with Arnold Macmillan (such a sweet boy) and had a fine time, but Mother kept me in with the other women almost the whole afternoon. When we got home I told Charis that I sometimes think it would be nice to be a Macmillan because there would be more room to make mistakes. She said she would still rather be a Black. We talked about that for a while, and I finally told her I didn’t care what I was, as long as she is my little sister. I miss Hogwarts terribly, but it is nice to have this time with Charis. Other than that, I have been studying and reading quite a bit. Father has a huge library, though I haven’t found anything useful for my research project there yet. More social functions are sure to come, not to mention the lavish and torturous Christmas Eve Ball at the Yaxleys’. My mother’s side of the family has never done things halfway.

I hope you aren’t bored by these silly details, but I have a feeling you find my life just as fascinating as I find yours.

Looking forward to your next letter,

Cedrella

**

It was two in the morning on Christmas Day, and Cedrella lay awake in her bed, her eyes wide open despite the long, exhausting day she had had. Christmas Eve had begun with family breakfast, then a few hours of coaching a worried Charis on how to approach their father about attending the World Cup with the Malfoys in the summer. After that, Cedrella had tried to study, and then dressed herself and her sister painstakingly for dinner at Callidora’s. That lengthy bout of torture was followed by the Yaxleys’ annual Christmas Eve Ball, where Cedrella was forced to dance with what felt like every male at the party, all the while keeping an eye on Charis and avoiding her Yaxley relatives who kept asking probing questions about why she was still at Hogwarts. When the bells had tolled announcing that Christmas Day had arrived and champagne was passed around to celebrate, Cedrella had thought bitterly that there was nothing happy about this Christmas. No joy of the season, no peace on earth or goodwill to all. She had bit her cheek to keep back the tears she felt burning inside her eyes and spat the bitter champagne back into the glass at the first opportunity. When Robert Selwyn, (who had asked her to dance a few more times that night than Cedrella thought was strictly polite) asked her if he could finish her glass, she had handed it over to him with vindictive pleasure. I hope you choke on my spit, she thought furiously. They departed soon after than, and Cedrella undid Charis’ hair and listened dutifully to her sister’s happy chatter about the party and her giggly retelling of every single time she had danced with Lucifer. It was wasn’t until about one-thirty that Cedrella at last escaped to her own room, where she had wept bitterly and silently into her pillow until her eyes were dry and her throat raw. She thought of Septimus then, and his close happy family, and imagined them all, sleeping peacefully, thinking only of good food and trees and snow and sleigh rides. She thought of Charis, and how in her own misery she had hardly listened to her sister this night.

Cedrella was still lying there, feeling drained, jealous, and guilty, when the soft tap on the window that she had been subconsciously waiting for roused her from her dark thoughts. She leapt out of bed, pushing the window open, and ushering the two owls into her bedroom. Mathias and Cleo settled on the baseboard of her bed, fluffing their wings and brushing off snow. Cleo had a package wrapped in damp brown paper tied to one leg, and Mathias held a letter in his beak.

“Both of you!” Cedrella whispered in delight, stroking their wings. “Mat, you’re supposed to be resting, what are you doing here? Oh don’t look at me like that, of course I’m happy to see you.”

She accepted the letter and untied the package carefully from Cleo’s leg, a bubble of warmth blooming in her chest. Septimus had sent her a gift, but more importantly he had sent her her friends, right when she needed them most. The owls leaned forward to watch as Cedrella unwrapped the package as silently as possible. A note from Septimus sat on top.


Cedrella�”

I know falconers wear guards like these on their arms to protect them from the bird’s talons, and while owl claws aren’t nearly as lethal as falcon ones, I thought you might find is useful. I couldn’t help noticing you had a few scars on your wrists. Plus, it’s lovely and warm. Anyway, Merry Christmas and enjoy!

Sep


Cedrella peered into the package. A knitted sweater, pale turquoise in color, lay folded there. She removed it carefully and saw that, from the elbows down, the material was not wool but thick brown leather. Cedrella pressed her face into the soft wool, smelling it, and then pulled the sweater over her head. “Mat,” she whispered, and the owl fluttered from the baseboard to perch on her outstretched, leather-clad arm. Cedrella smiled. Although the old scars on her wrist were not from owl talons but a more sinister source, she could hardly think of a more thoughtful, personal gift than this.

She looked back at the wrapping paper and saw a smaller parcel, tied with tissue, still lying there. She took it out, unwrapping it carefully, and two wooden figurines fell out onto her lap. Cedrella lifted them up in wonder. The first was an owl, his head cocked, eyes inquisitive. The second was a girl, standing with her arms outstretched and her eyes closed, a rapturous expression on her tiny, exquisitely carved face. Her hair streamed loose down her back, her feet were bare, and she wore a nightdress and thick knitted sweater. Cedrella looked at Mathias, who was watching her closely. “Is this me?” she whispered.

Mathias cooed softly. Yes.

“He made them? Septimus?”

Of course, Cleo said.

Cedrella set the figures down tenderly on her pillow, stunned. She carefully cleaned away the wrapping paper, then got out a handkerchief full of dried cherries that she had stolen from the refreshments table at the Ball to feed to the owls. As they pecked at the fruit, she opened the letter and began to read.


December 24, 1933

Dear Cedrella,

I am only calling you Cedrella because it’s Christmas and I feel like being nice. After today, it is back to business as usual.

We made the famous potato pancakes this morning, and it was great fun. Once again, we all pretended Dad wasn’t missing, which worked fairly well. They were delicious and I wish I could have sent some along to you. Unfortunately, we ate every last scrap, but I don’t think they would have mailed very well anyway.

Rudy and I went for a long walk today, and I told him about you. Then we ended up talking about Dad. It was good, I guess, to get it out there and not pretend like nothing is wrong. But it’s Christmas. I don’t want to be angry and upset. Is that so wrong?

It’s snowing now, and I hope the owls can get through. I wish�”well, I wish so many things. I wish you were here.

Merry Christmas, Cedrella. Write me soon.

Septimus

P.S. I hope you like your gift.


Cedrella smiled at the last line. If only you knew,, she thought.

An hour later, after the owls had finished the cherries and flown off with her reply, Cedrella lay in her bed once more. She wore the new sweater over her nightgown, and held the precious figurines in her hands. Septimus’ letter was tucked under her pillow, and the taste of a peanut butter cookie was still melting on her tongue. As she drifted off to sleep at last, she once more heard bells in the distance, tolling Christmas Day. Rejoice, they chimed. Sing and rejoice, for a savior has come unto thee.

Cedrella Black fell asleep with a smile on her face.

I had it all
But not what I wanted
Cause home for me
Was a place uncharted
And overgrown

You'd make your way in
I resist you just like this

You can't tell me to feel
The truth never set me free
So, I did it myself

You can't be too careful anymore
When all that is waiting for you
Won't come any closer
You've got to reach out a little more
More
More
More, more
-Paramore


The scarlet steam engine was once more speeding towards its destination, leaving behind ordered fields for the wild forests of Northern Scotland. And Cedrella once more sat by herself beside the window, a letter clutched in her hand. It was a short letter, more of a note, written on a scrap of parchment that was crumpled from the number of times she had read and reread it.


Drell,

Meet me in the Owlery at midnight the night after we get back to Hogwarts. Please?

�”Sep


Cedrella had a bad feeling about this, but it could not quite overshadow the thrill of excitement and anticipation she got in her stomach every time she read those words. The sensible side of her demanded that this friendship, this association, this�”whatever it was�”had to stop here. She had already had so many chances to turn back: that first night, when she spotted him in the Owlery, that first letter, which she needn’t have replied to�”and she hadn’t taken them. Now was the time. She could not let this go on. It was insanity, it was dangerous, and it was absolutely unlike her.

The non-sensible side of her, which seemed to be gaining more and more clout in her head these days, imagined sitting in the dark tower with Septimus once more. There would be no tears this time. They would just sit together, talking and laughing, their shoulders brushing, with nothing but air (and certainly no secrets) between them.

Cedrella pressed her eyes shut so tightly that stars erupted there, breaking up the image in her mind. No, she thought fiercely. I can’t. It isn’t right.

“Black?”

Cedrella jerked her head up, stuffing the letter into the pocket of her robes. Rodney Selwyn was standing in the door of the prefect carriage. “Selwyn,” she said in what she hoped was a cool, dismissive voice.

“What are you still doing in here? Come and sit with us.” He leered at her.

“Who is ‘us’?” Cedrella asked, buying time.

“Nott, Burke, Bulstrode, my sister… the usual people. Come on, Cedrella.” He dropped down onto the seat next to her, leaning in. “You spend to much time on your own. You’re like a bloody Ravenclaw, always shut up in the library. You know we all want your company.” He grinned.

Cedrella stood up, suppressing a shiver. “All right, I’m coming.” It was not worth arguing. And at least she wouldn’t be alone with Rodney anymore. Creep is taking lessons from his father, she thought. “Lead the way, Selwyn. By the way, I heard about your engagement to Rosalyn. Congratulations.”

He glared at her. They both knew she had known he was promised to Rosalyn Smith long before the formal announcement over Christmas. “Thanks,” he snapped finally, and stalked out of the compartment and down the corridor. Cedrella followed, smirking to herself.

In the Slytherin compartment, Rodney’s sister Eleanor and her friend Veronica Bulstrode were discussing the Yaxleys’ Ball, while Raymond Nott read the Daily Prophet and Marvin Burke lay stretched out across three seats, watching the girls. Cedrella sat down gingerly on the seat nearest to the door, acknowledging them with only a curt nod. The boys both grinned back, while Veronica smiled falsely. Eleanor didn’t even bother to look up. She was the only other girl sixth year Slytherin girl left at Hogwarts, and she had given up on engaging Cedrella in anything long ago.

“So, Black, how was your Christmas?”

“Fine. And yours, Burke?”

“It was good. Went to a nice party at the Potters’. I didn’t see you there, Black.”

“I was at a dinner at the Malfoys’ that night,” Cedrella said dismissively, effectively ending the exchange. Burke struck up a hurried conversation with Rodney, trying to cover up the fact that Cedrella had just revealed that his family had not been invited by the Malfoys, and Cedrella pulled her potions book out of her bag and began to read. As her classmates continued with their inane, meaningless conversations and gossip, she eased a bit of parchment and quill out of her bag as well, and began to write.

Sep�”

I will be there.

C

There was nothing like a good dose of adolescent Slytherins to make her do something drastic.

**

Cedrella had Prefect patrol the following evening, so she left the Common Room where she was sitting near the fire with one eye on a book and the other on Charis, who was playing chess with Lucifer Malfoy, at seven-thirty. She was a bit reluctant to leave, because her sister was being entirely too giggly and Cedrella had a feeling it would only get worse once Charis knew her sister was no longer there to supervise. But nonetheless she gathered up her books and departed, catching her sister’s eye with a last stern look as she did so.

It was a very quiet night in the corridors�”it was only the second night back, and everyone was in their common rooms catching up with their friends. With nothing else to do, Cedrella's thoughts drifted to Septimus and their planned meeting in just a few hours. She could not help feeling guilty for keeping such a close eye on her sister when, in truth, it was Cedrella herself who needed someone to keep her in check. She wondered if, had Callidora still been at Hogwarts, her older sister would have noticed her preoccupation. Perhaps�”but probably not. Cedrella knew that she was not only the most perceptive of her sisters, but also the best liar and the best at keeping secrets. She knew this talent would serve her in her life, but Cedrella almost wished, in this moment, that she had an older sister who could take care of her and tell her what to do. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so reckless.

Cedrella went straight to the Owlery after her patrol was over and took her Christmas gift from her bag, pulling the sweater over her head.

“Hello darlings,” she called to the owls, looking around and feeling calmer already. ‘It’s me. I’m back. I’ve missed you!” A few owls called back in reply, but they were unusually quiet. “What?” Cedrella asked. “What is it?” The birds unanimously turned their heads to the dark corner by the window, and as Cedrella did so as well she felt color rush to her cheeks. “Sep. You’re… early too?”

He chuckled, moving into the light of her lit wand. Mathias was perched on his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you like your present.”

Cedrella blushed again, which was most unlike her. “Of course I do, I’ve already told you that.”

“You could have just been trying to be polite.” He raised his eyebrows and she was pretty sure he was teasing.

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“I can see that now.” He grinned.

“Speaking of being polite,” Cedrella said, “I feel rather bad that I didn’t give you anything for Christmas, especially since your gift was so generous and thoughtful. I’m sorry.” Cedrella was sorry, though she had no idea what she would have gotten him or how she could have procured it.

“Don’t worry about that at all,” Septimus said, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t need more stuff. And you’ve given me enough already.”

“Such as what?” Cedrella asked skeptically. She never knew what he meant when he said (or wrote) things like that.

“Such as your time, a listening ear, a few smiles here and there.”

“Well yes, but�”“

“Drell, we’re friends. It’s all right if we do things for one another without paying the other back.”

“Please stop calling me Drell, Septimus,” Cedrella said, sitting down underneath the window.

“I don’t see what is so bad about a nickname,” he countered, coming over to join her on the floor. “I think it suits you.”

“Even if that were true, I think it should be my choice what you call me, don’t you think?”

“But that isn’t the way nicknames work,” Septimus said, as though he were explaining something very complicated to a small child. “Look�”oh, don’t roll you eyes at me�”“

“I wasn’t!”

“You definitely were, Drell.”

“What if I started calling you “Musy” or something equally ridiculous like that? Would you like it?”

“Of course I would.” Septimus looked like he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “It would mean you liked me enough to give me a silly little pet name, so�”“

“Oh, never mind.”

Now he really did laugh. “Really, though, I am curious. Why are you so against a nickname?


Cedrella considered the question. “I suppose… because it sounds… undignified. There is nothing classy or elegant about “Drell,” it just sounds rather…common.”

“Fair enough,” Septimus said thoughtfully. “Then will you tell me something else?”


“What?”

“What is so dignified and elegant about sitting here on a pile of owl pellets and straw?”

Cedrella stared at him. He was pressing his lips together, barely containing a smile, and his eyes were dancing with laughter. “You�”you’re impossible!” she exclaimed, but a smile was threatening on her own face as well.

“I consider that a compliment, thank you,” he replied.

Cedrella shook her head, a warm bubble expanding in her chest. It was exactly what she had imagined, exactly what she had craved�”cheerful banter, smiles, laughter. Exactly what was not allowed. She looked up at Septimus, a wide smile on her face. He was already looking at her, his expression sill amused but his eyes serious. Cedrella pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, not breaking eye contact with the boy next to her. His blue eyes had unusual depth to them.

“Can I ask you something?” she said at last, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Of course.”

“It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious�”what was your father like?”

Septimus looked surprised, and there was definitely a shadow on his face where there hadn’t been before. But he didn’t hesitate. “He was the youngest of four brothers,” he began. “Two of his older brothers went into the Ministry, but dad wasn’t into that kind of thing. He was big and strong, and he liked animals and the outdoors, so after he left Hogwarts he started raising winged horses. He had all kinds�”Granians and Thestrals and everything. We have a huge barn of them on our property… Dad rented them out to people for pulling carriages and shows and things. He was funny, and he had this great big laugh that was distinguishable from pretty much anyone else’s. He liked to laugh at his own jokes.” Septimus paused, his eyes faraway, seeing things that Cedrella couldn’t quite imagine. “He was always teaching us how to do things: how to care for the horses, and ride them, and fix things, and play chess and quidditch, and indentify plants and animal tracks, and that sort of thing in the forest. He was always patient with us, except when we disobeyed him directly�”such as going somewhere he expressly told us not to�”and then he was so angry it was scary. He made a lot of noise all the time, whether he was laughing, or singing (he had this big opera voice), or shouting at us. He was… we all sort of revolved around him, you know? The house feels so empty without him. We all make twice as much noise as usual, trying to fill the silence I suppose, and even though technically we probably made more noise than he ever did, it still is… not right.” He turned his eyes slowly back to Cedrella. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just�”“ she hesitated, taken aback at the sudden change of topic. “I wanted to understand better,” she said honestly. “Everything about your family is so very different from mine, and I have a hard time imagining the sort of person that would leave such a hole. I just…” she wasn’t even sure what was spilling out of her mouth. “I want to understand,” she repeated eventually. Which was true. In some ways, the Weasley family was another anomaly that she wanted to investigate, another culture she wanted to read about, another way of life that she found fascinating and peculiar.

Septimus’ eyes were strangely soft. “You never cease to surprise me, Drell.”

“Don’t�”“

“Cedrella,” he amended, rolling his own eyes.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“If you want it to be.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Septimus smiled, and then (her breath caught in her throat) reached out and took a lock of her hair between his fingers, smoothing it and twisting it. “Will you tell me more about your family?”

Cedrella swallowed, not trusting herself to speak, staring at her hair in his hands. “P-prehaps another time. It’s late. I should go.”

He dropped her hair quickly. “Are you sure? I�”“

“No,” Cedrella said, for she felt suddenly like another moment alone with Septimus was going to ruin was left of her self control and make the hot feeling in her chest explode. She brushed his knee with one hand and sprang to her feet, her pulse rushing. “Goodnight. Well, good morning I suppose, but�”“ She was hurrying towards the door.

“Cedrella!” Septimus looked pained. “Are you all right? Did I�”“

Across the room from him, Cedrella already felt calmer. She gave him a small smile. “No really, Sep, I’m perfectly all right. It’s quite late; I should really get to sleep.” And then, just because he looked so sad, she added impulsively, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

“I’ll leave you a note, shall I?” he called as she turned away. “Goodnight!”

She ran down the steps and plunged into the dark castle, yearning to clear her head.

**

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Cedrella restrained from screaming at the very last second, staring up into the snarling face of Apollyon Pringle, the young caretaker, who was gripping her upper arm so hard that it hurt. “I�”to bed?” she gasped, her brain searching furiously for an excuse, any excuse, as to why so was out of the dungeons at this hour. She could not believe she had let herself get caught. How many times had she slipped through the castle in the dark, completely unnoticed?

“I see,” he growled, tightening his grip on her arm as she tried to pull away. “Care to explain why you weren’t there four hours ago, missy? Or should I just take you straight to your Head of House?”

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, Cedrella chanted to herself. “Sir, I had Prefect duty until ten tonight. I sat down to rest for just a moment after I was done and I must have dozed off, so I was just heading back to the dormitories.” She stared up at him with wide eyes, taking deep, silent breaths to calm the pounding of her heart.

Pringle stared back at her for a moment. Then he snorted. “Prefects sleeping on the job! “ he turned and started marching her down the corridor. “Listen, Miss�”?”

“Black,” Cedrella supplied, a tiny part of her amused that he did not know her name. She had never spoken to the caretaker before except at Prefect meetings; the idea of him actually punishing her would have been absurd as well as funny if it wasn’t currently happening. The errant thought that Pringle undoubtedly knew Septimus by name crossed her mind, but she quashed it.

Pringle flinched. Accusing Wizarding royalty like the Blacks, even of something minor like being in the castle after hours, was serious business. “Well, Miss Black, even if you did fall asleep after your patrol, you are breaking curfew. That is worth a week of detentions.”

“Yes, sir, I know,” Cedrella said meekly. “But do you think you could speak to Professor Slughorn about it first? He needs me to do my Prefect duties, he might not be able to spare me for a week.”

“Don’t try to negotiate, Miss Black.” Pringle stopped outside the door that Cedrella knew led to his office, and unlocked it. He pushed her inside and she perched reluctantly on one of the peeling stools. Pringle turned to face her, arms folding, frowning. Cedrella knew his love for giving detentions was battling with dislike at the idea of crossing Professor Slughorn and, worse, the Blacks. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him, but if Pringle gave Cedrella detention he would not be the one facing their wrath. She wondered with a chill what her father would do to her.

Finally, Pringle broke the tense silence. “Miss Black, I am going to write you up for two nights of detention for being in the castle after hours and breaking curfew. You should consider yourself very lucky that it’s not m�”“ There was a knock on the door.

Cedrella, whose heart had sunk horribly at the verdict of detention, sat up straighter, wondering with dread who else was going to see her like this, held like some common Gryffindor troublemaker in the caretaker’s office.

Pringle opened the door. There stood Professor Dewitt, the strict and unctuous Astronomy teacher, in a black velvet dressing gown. But that was not what made Cedrella’s mouth fall open in horror, for skulking behind him was none other than Septimus.

“I found this boy in the seventh floor corridor, Mr. Pringle,” Dewitt said smoothly. “He saw me coming and was trying to hide from me behind a statue. I have already given him detention every night this week, but I thought you might appreciate the chance to write him up and report him to Dumbledore.” He smirked. “I know the two of you go way back.”

“Oh yes, sir, Weasley has become quite familiar with my office in the last three years, haven’t you, you guileless boy? Well, it’s been quite the night for detentions. Thank you, Professor.” Pringle sounded satisfied.

“I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight, Pringle.” He smiled thinly and closed the door.

Cedrella and Septimus stared at one another as Pringle rummaged in his files, extracting two blank pieces of parchment, a bottle of ink , and a bent quill. Septimus opened his mouth to speak and Cedrella shook her head furiously. ”Why?” he mouthed. Cedrella pointed to the prefect badge pinned to her robes, then rested her head on her hands for a moment, miming sleep. Septimus grinned. Good one,” he mouthed.

Pringle straightened up, ending the silent exchange. “Well, boy, what’s your excuse this time?”

“I was up in the North Tower doing my Astronomy homework, Sir. See, Professor Dewitt is just such a great teacher, I hate doing anything halfway for his class. So I was looking at the stars making sure I had done just the right calculations on my star chart. It’s a great night for it, the clouds have finally cleared. Hopefully it’ll hold, that way you won’t have to shovel so much snow this weekend.”

Cedrella had to bite her cheek very hard to stop herself from laughing at Septimus’ cheeky smile. Pringle, however, was not amused. “You never cease to amaze me, boy,” he growled, marking Septimus’s name on his parchment with a vicious swipe of the quill. “You’re lucky Dewitt caught you, I would have hung you by your thumbs in the dungeons for the rest of the day. It’ll be a happy day when I’ve seen the last of you Weasleys' lying, stealing backs.” He shoved a piece of parchment into Septimus’ hand. “Report to me for detention at six o’clock every night this week. We’ll see how you like shoveling snow, without magic. And make sure you pay a visit to your Head of House tomorrow, or that’ll be every night next week as well. I’ll sending Dumbledore another report on you, boy.”

Septimus accepted his sentence, tucked it into his cloak, and gave Pringle a jaunty salute. “Of course, Sir.” He stood up, heading for the door, and then paused. “I certainly hope you’re not going to make Black here shovel snow as well. I saw her asleep in the Charms corridor, she really looked quite exhausted. The things we students get punished for these days, sleeping in and actually trying to do our homework!”

“You can expect Miss Black to join you in detention, Weasley. No one is allowed to wander the corridors at night for any reason, as you should know. Now get out, both of you!”

Cedrella jumped to her feet and hurried to the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Pringle.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” Septimus called over his shoulder. “See you in detention, Black.” He winked, and as Pringle slammed the door behind them so hard that is rattled the nearby windows, they both burst out laughing.

Welcome back winter once again
And put on your warm fuzzy sweater
Cause you'll feel much better when

The snowflakes fall
Gently to the ground
The temperature drops
And your shivers freeze all the rivers around
But I keep you warm…

-Owl City


“You what?”

“I can’t keep an eye on your tonight, I have detention,” Cedrella repeated. “So please don’t do anything immature or�”“

“Cedrella, I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to babysit me every minute. And you know that’s not what I was talking about, anyway. Since when do you get detention? Father is going to kill you!”

Cedrella bit her lip. “You’ve had detention before, and you’re still alive.”

“Yes, but that was two years ago, and I wasn’t a prefect. Somehow I think it’s different,” Charis said. “Cedrella, what did you do? I can’t imagine you doing anything that would even get the teachers to take points from you, much less give you detention.”

“It was an accident, Charis. I sat down for a moment to rest after my patrol was over on Monday night and I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew it was one in the morning, and I was sitting in the Charms corridor. I tried to come back to the dungeons, but Pringle caught me. There was nothing I could do about it.”

Cedrella knew she sounded convincing, but she also knew that Charis was the person least likely to believe her lies. Sure enough, her sister was squinting suspiciously at her now. “You don’t know how odd it is to hear you making excuses,” she said.

“I’m not planning on making a habit of it,” Cedrella said. She took a bite of her potatoes and eggs, hiding her face from her sister. Nothing made her feel guiltier than deceiving Charis, especially since she was the one who was supposed to be setting a good example. If her sister only knew how many times, in the last year alone, that she had snuck out into the castle after hours! What would Charis think of her then?

“What are you going to have to do?”

“Shovel snow, Mr. Pringle said.”

Charis made a face. “That’s servant work. How disgraceful. He should have you do lines or something.”

“I think the point is for the detention to be useful, Charis, not to disgrace us. I don’t mind doing it, I am just worried about what Father will say.”

“Us?”

Cedrella winced inwardly. Charis was shrewder than she gave her credit for, sometimes. “I mean people who get detention. Rule-breakers.”

“Don’t put yourself in their category, Cedrella, it isn’t like you,” Charis said.

Cedrella smiled, covering up a second wince. “Listen to you, Charis. You’re right, of course. I’ve taught you well.” Compliments always distracted her sister.

Sure enough, Charis smiled back. “One would hope so, with you on my case every minute of the day. Tonight will be a nice break.” She paused, taking a big sip of pumpkin juice. “So what are we going to do about Father?”

“Don't slurp," Cedrella said automatically, and Charis made a face. "I’ll have to tell him I got detention, if he doesn’t write me first. I know Slughorn notifies parents of those kinds of things," she continued.

“Does he tell them what kind of work you are doing?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll assure Father it was just lines, of course, but�”“

“Charis!” It was some of her sister’s friends, Mattie among them. “Are you coming to watch Lucifer’s practice before class?”

“Yes,” Charis said, jumping up immediately. “I’m sure you will think of something, Cedrella, you always do.” And then her friends had borne her away, and she was gone.

Cedrella finished her breakfast in silence, feeling guilty and, though she would never admit it to herself, a little lonely. She made a mental note to tell Charis it was rude to interrupt important conversations like that, even though she knew it really wasn’t her sister’s fault. In Charis’ eyes, Cedrella had all the answers. Of course, Cedrella thought as she headed for the library, nothing was farther from the truth.

**

Cedrella spent most of the day in the library, her study broken up only by Arithmancy at ten and a quick lunch. She was quite eager to get back to her research after the break, armed with Demtrius’ new information, and she spent several hours that morning searching through the dusty shelves for books of old legends and ancient Wizarding history from places like Egypt, Africa, and America. According to Septimus’ well-traveled brother, all of the native peoples in these places had legends about people who could speak to certain animals, and that still there were certain families who seemed to posses the talent. And so Cedrella had set out to identify them, trace their lineage, and hope that this led her somehow towards the reason for her own mysterious gift.

It was slow work, especially since family trees of Egyptian tribes were difficult to come by in a British Wizarding library. And Cedrella, sitting at a table with dozens of old histories, legends, and geneaologies spread across her library table, kept getting distracted. She was frustrated with her own mind. It was usually so focused, so calm, and so easy to compartmentalize. But now Cedrella felt like her thoughts were constantly being pulled in four directions at once�”Septimus, her research, the concern and guilt she about for Charis, and what was proper and right�”everything that used to matter so much to her and seemed to lose it’s hold a little more every day. And try as she might to quiet her thoughts, to focus on her reading, she was also afraid. Cedrella was afraid of what her father was going to do when he found out about her detention, but she was more afraid of the fact that she almost didn’t care. She was actually excited to spend two evenings alone with Septimus, in detention or no. And admitting that to herself was terrifying. How far was she going to let this go on? When she heard the distant bell ringing for six o’clock, Cedrella gathered up her books with a sense of relief. It was exhausting, struggling with herself all day like that, alone. She hurried out of the library to get some dinner before reporting to Pringle’s office at half past.

**

Septimus was already waiting outside the caretaker’s door when she got there, having given Charis another warning and getting a doubtful “well, behave yourself in detention then,” back. He grinned happily at her as she approached. “Why hello, Drell. How are things?”

“How can you be so cheerful about going to detention?” she demanded, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. She frowned to keep the smile off her face that was threatening at the mere sight of him.

“Oh, detention,” he said dismissively, waving a hand. “I’ve had my share of it. It’s not too bad. But this time you’ll be with me, so�”“

Pringle’s office door opened, and Septimus fell silent as the caretaker glared at them both. “Wipe that smile off your face, Weasley, it’s not going to be an easy night. Follow me, both of you, and give me your wands.”

Septimus and Cedrella did so, and fell into step behind the caretaker as he stalked along the corridor, down a few flights of stairs, through the entrance hall, and down the front steps. As they passed to doors to the Great Hall, which was still full of students finishing dinner, Cedrella ducked her head and hung back, her heart beating rather hard at the idea of other students seeing her walking with Septimus. He grabbed her elbow as soon as they were out of sight of the doors. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” she lied, looking pointedly at Pringle’s back. We will have plenty of time to talk later, she thought. Although he should know what that was about. He knew their friendship had to be a secret.

Pringle led them all the way down the path to the gates flanked by the statues of the winged boars where the gamekeeper, a burly man called Pepper, was waiting for them with two large shovels. “I’ll come for them at midnight,” Pringle told him, looking around the dark, frozen grounds with a nasty grin. He glanced up at the stars. “Looks like some clouds are coming in, Weasley. Should be enough snow to keep you busy all week!” And with that, the caretaker turned and walked away, chuckling to himself.

“Nasty little bloke, eh?” said Pepper, the moment he was out of earshot. “What’s he got against you now, Septimus?”

“I just made an innocent comment about how much snow there’s been this winter, and he seems to have taken it personally,” Septimus protested, and Pepper grinned.

“Ah, there’s no reason to antagonize him, lad, he’s miserable enough already. Now,” he added, looking at Cedrella, “who’s yer friend? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in detention before.”

“This is Cedrella Black,” Septimus told him, before Cedrella could say anything. “It’s her first detention.”

Pepper raised his eyebrows. “That so? Well, I hope for yer sake it’s the last, though hangin’ around this lad pro’ly won’t help.” He cuffed Septimus on the shoulder affectionately.

Cedrella said nothing, she just nodded. She had never spoken to the gruff gamekeeper before�”with his long sandy ponytail, his big dirty boots, and the fact that he often had some sort of dead animal slung over his shoulder, she had always thought he was unfit to associate with. But here he was, making fun of Pringle, and obviously very fond of Septimus, and he hadn’t even reacted to hearing that she was a Black. For some reason, she liked him almost immediately.

“All right,” Pepper was saying. “Well, for tonight you kids just try to shovel the path from here to the greenhouses. S’not too far, but Pringle’s the slowest shoveler I’ve ever met, he won’t know the diff’rence. Mind you make the edges nice and straight, he’ll have yer hides if you don’t.” He handed them the shovels and clapped them on the shoulders. “’Night.”

“Sir, aren’t you staying? Mr. Pringle said you were going to supervise the detention�”“

“Just call me Pepper, Miz Black, ‘sir’ makes me feel old. And nah, Septimus here knows what to do, you’ll be fine. I’ve been at this school much longer than ol’ Pringle, I don’t care what he says.” He winked as he strode away, waving.

Cedrella turned to Septimus, who was waving back. “What was that all about?”

“I went to see him earlier today,” he told her, digging his shovel into the snow and leaning on it. “I used to be in detention every other week when my brothers were still at school, so Pepper and I got to be great friends. I just asked him if, this once, it would be all right if he gave me and my detention partner some time alone.”

Cedrella stared at him. “You had this all planned out, didn’t you? Getting caught, goading Pringle about shoveling snow, asking him to let me off�”“

Septimus shrugged, laughing, Cedrella was sure, at the flummoxed look on her face. “I saw Pringle dragging you to his office last night, so I ran to the first place I knew for sure that a teacher would be. Dewitt has a third year Astronomy class on Mondays that he has to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, so I knew he wouldn’t be far. Oh, don’t look so scandalized,” he added. “Are you honestly saying you’d rather be out here alone? Besides, it was fun, I haven’t had a good Pringle-bashing adventure like this all year. I feel like my old self again.”

Cedrella wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but she said, honestly, “I’m not so much scandalized as impressed, Sep. And honored, in a funny sort of way. No one has ever done something quite like… that…. for me.”

His smile was less teasing and more genuine now. Cedrella had never met anyone who smiled as much as Septimus did. “That’s quite a compliment, Drell, coming from you. Shall we get started?” He gestured at the snowy path.

“As long as you stop calling me ‘Drell,’” she retorted, and dug her shovel into the snow.

“Sorry,” Septimus said cheerfully, also scooping up a shovelful of snow and tossing it over his shoulder. “You haven’t given me a good enough reason to stop yet.”

“How does ‘I don’t like it’ sound?”

“Perfect, except that I’m almost positive it’s not true.”

“How many times have I told you�”“

“Oh, I know you think you don’t like it,” Septimus interrupted. “But deep down, you really do.”

“What would you know about what I think deep down?” she asked sarcastically.

“A lot more than most people, I reckon,” Septimus said.

Cedrella frowned and leaned on her shovel, ending the lighthearted exchange. He was quite right, and that was more than a little troubling.

Septimus looked over at her curiously. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just�”well I… never mind. Let’s get this done.” She bent down and resumed her shoveling, throwing the snow a little more viscously that before.

Septimus sighed, and went back to his shovel as well. “Someday you’re going to tell me what’s really going on inside that head of yours, Drell.”

Cedrella did not reply, for this was exactly what she was afraid of. They worked quietly for a few minutes, no sound breaking the silence but the steady scrape of their shovels against the stone. It was a bitterly cold night, and Cedrella had dressed for it, wearing Septimus’ Christmas gift under her cloak, and wrapping up in a hat, scarf, and gloves in Slytherin colors. But as worked, she grew warm quickly�”she wasn’t used to such hard physical labor like this, and her face was soon flushed and her arms aching. Eventually, Cedrella untied her scarf and laid it and her hat on the snow, breathing rather hard. Septimus looked over at her and grinned. “Hot?”

“At bit,” Cedrella admitted. “I don’t usually�”well, I actually neverd do work like this. It’s quite tiring.”

Septimus laughed, but not unkindly. “Spoiled.”

“You could say that,” Cedrella said. “But it depends on your definition. My family is strict. Just because I don’t have to do chores doesn’t mean I have any freedom.”

“That’s a good point,” he conceded, his tone matching her serious mood immediately. “What do you do all the time, then?”

“Study,” Cedrella said. “And read. And care for Charis, and wrangle my parents, and go to endless parties and teas and things like that. Mostly I daydream.”

“About what?”

“Owls, and Hogwarts. Things I want to learn about. Sometimes the future.” And you, she added silently. These days, always you.

“What do you want to happen, in the future? Are you going to be a brilliant historian?” Septimus was leaning on his shovel again, looking at her intently.

“No,” Cedrella said, uncertainly. “No, I can’t�”I mean, I don’t know what I want. I might not have much of a choice.” She looked away from his eyes. “Anyway, speaking of history, I’ve come up with a new plan for my research, thanks to your brother’s letter.”

Septimus looked like he didn’t want to let the previous subject drop, but after a moment he conceded and looked away from her, going back to his shovel. “Really? What is it?”

Cedrella launched into a description of the legends she was investigating, and the ways in which they did and didn’t line up with the history and geneaologies she had compiled so far. She forgot the previous troubling conversation and the aching of her shoulders as they talked, debating the likelihood of several of Cedrella’s current theories about lineage. Septimus was so very easy to talk to, and despite his troublemaking tendencies he was quite smart. She forgot the cold and the fact that she was in detention. She forgot her fears about her father and Charis. They laughed and teased one another, the discussion drifting from intellectual to serious to joking and back again effortlessly.

And then (and Cedrella was never quite sure how it happened) their shovels reached the greenhouses and Septimus threw a snowball at her and suddenly they were chasing one another about in the snow, flinging it at one another, slipping, sliding, and gasping. Cedrella was cold, and wet, and warm, and dirty, and her hair had come loose and was getting tangled and snowy, and her hands were numb from scooping up so many snowballs. At last, she collapsed against the wall of one of the greenhouses, utterly out of breath and yet still laughing. Septimus shook the snow of out his hair from her last, well-placed snowball, and dropped on the ground beside her. He was soaking wet and the smile on his face was bigger than Cedrella had ever seen.

“Who,” he gasped, “taught you how to throw snowballs? I never would have started that if I knew what I was in for!”

“Rubbish,” she retorted. “You have absolutely no sense�”“ She stopped, laughing again as Septimus once more shook out his hair like a dog. “�”Of self preservation. Stop it, you’re getting me wet!”

“Oh, don’t be silly, you’re already soaked. Really, tell me, where does this secret talent for snow battle come from?”

“I haven’t a clue, although I wouldn’t really call it a talent�”if we were actually competing, you would have beat me quite soundly.”

“Well of course I would have, I’m a Weasley! I’ve been trained by my brothers and my father since I could walk, it’s a matter of family pride that we never loose a snowball fight.”

“What a legacy.”

“Exactly.” He cocked his head, still beaming at her.

They were seated very close together, and as their laughter died down Cedrella felt the air between them shift. Like it had last night in the Owlery, her pulse quickened once more, though for very different reasons than being out of breath. Cedrella had just opened her mouth to say something, anything, to make the feeling of hot, out of control energy go away when Septimus reached out and turned her head towards his with his wet hand, caressing her face.

And then he leaned forward and kissed her.

I could write my name by the age of three
and I don't need anyone to cut my meat for me.
I'm a big girl now, see my big girl shoes.
It'll take more than just a breeze to make me

Fall over, fall over, fall overboard, overboard.
Fall overboard just so you can catch me.

But as strong as I seem to think I am, my distressing damsel
She comes out at night when the moon's filled up
and your eyes are bright,
then I think I simply ought to

Fall over, fall over, fall overboard, overboard.
Fall overboard just so you can catch me.
You can catch me
And I never thought I'd be the type to fall, to fall.

To fall, to fall, to fall...
-Ingrid Michaelson

Cedrella had never worked as hard as she did that day to pay attention in class. She felt as if the compartments of her mind had bypassed disobedience and simply imploded. Class was mingling with owls, which was mixing with family, which was blending with research, and over everything thoughts of Septimus hung like a curtain, obscuring and distorting anything else she tried to focus on.

She wondered, as she sat at lunch, if anyone else could notice the difference in her, or if they still saw the stony, collected, perfect Cedrella she had always presented to the world. Luckily, Charis was busy talking to Lucifer Malfoy and some of her other friends whenever Cedrella saw her that day. Charis would have noticed something, Cedrella was sure. She could certainly see it herself�”her grey eyes looked wider and wilder than usual, as though shutters behind them had been thrown open.

She picked at her stew, cursing the fact that even the white of the milk in her goblet reminded her of Septimus, of the snow… the scene played behind her eyelids once more and she watched, in agony, as he came nearer and nearer, before kissing her firmly on the lips. And then after a moment she had pulled away, again, and ignoring his excuses and calls she had sprinted away, up the path, back to the castle, and hadn’t stopped running until she reached her dormitory. Cedrella hated the fact that she had run away, but she had yet to come up with another solution. She couldn’t bear the idea of ending her friendship with Septimus, especially not after Christmas and the previous two nights. But she was terrified of how uncontrolled she felt around him sometimes. And she couldn’t kiss him. She couldn’t. It was wrong. She had to draw the line somewhere, didn’t she? Didn’t she?

Cedrella felt vaguely panicky by the time her last class of the day, Potions, arrived and the same thoughts were still chasing each other around her head. You can’t go to detention tonight. Lie. Say you’re sick�”or actually make yourself sick... No! If you don’t go tonight when will you ever see him again? She pressed a hand to her forehead as she headed across the Entrance Hall to the dungeons, trying to clear it of images of snow and red hair.

“Are you feeling all right, Black?”

She opened her eyes. It was Rodney Selwyn, leaning against the wall and leering at her. “I’m fine,” she snapped, without thinking. Then she realized how angry she probably looked, and tried to smooth over her features into their usual calm. “Really, Selwyn,” she added in a much quieter voice, as he raised one eyebrow. “I just have a bit of a headache, is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class…” She turned to go.

He grabbed her wrist. “Fine, Black, brush me off, but maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing and get something for that headache, if it’s so painful it’s making you rude.”

Cedrella took a deep breath, yanking her hand away from him. She had never wanted to hex someone so badly in her life. Why did Rodney have to choose today, of all days, to antagonize her? “If it’s the cure for rudeness you’re recommending, Selwyn, you need twice the dose that I do.”

“Now, Cedrella, that’s not nice,” he said, his voice still teasing but his eyes glittering angrily. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked away from him again.

“When have I ever been given a reason to be nice to you, Selwyn? Just because your father has impressed upon you that everyone should be kissing your feet? You are a spoiled bully, and you have to be civil towards me because there are seven generations of purebloods in my family before yours was even recorded. Fortunately, I have no such obligation.”

Selwyn’s face had become an ugly scowl as she spoke. “Even if that were true, Black, it doesn’t excuse a girl from her manners. Taking a crack at my father and speaking like that will get you nowhere but disgrace and a marriage to blood traitor, half-blood trash, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

“Such as yourself, you mean? Then it’s a good thing no one would ever take your word over mine.”

In a flash, Rodney Selwyn had grabbed her by the hair and hit her in the face. Cedrella found herself jerking away, trying to duck under his outstretched arm. Her long hair slipped halfway through his hand before he tightened his grip and swung her around, striking her again. Cedrella slammed her hand into his windpipe as hard as she could and he released her, falling back, gasping.

Cedrella spit blood out of her mouth and drew her wand. “Petrificus Totalus!” she gasped, and Rodney’s limbs locked together, immobilized. As he fell, someone yelled “leave her alone!” and as if she had summoned him out of her imagination, Septimus came charging into view, wand drawn. A moment later Rodney Selwyn had crumpled at their feet, knocked out by the combination of Septimus’ stunning spell and her own body bind.

Septimus’ wand and book bag clattered to the stone floor and he turned to Cedrella, looking furious and frightened and unsure of what to do with his hands. “Are you all right?”

She simply stared at him for a moment, allowing her brain to catch up with her senses. She had lost her temper. Rodney had hit her. She had hit him back and cursed him and won. And now it was all over in a matter of seconds and Septimus was here and Selwyn lay unconscious on the ground. Cedrella licked some more blood off of her lips and blinked rapidly, not comprehending the wetness in her eyes. Feeling rushed back and her legs felt weak and her face hurt.

Septimus did not wait for her to answer his question. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood away from her mouth. His hands were so gentle that it felt to Cedrella as though she were made of porcelain and he was afraid of breaking her.

“That bastard,” he was murmuring. “I can’t believe he would hit you like that. I should�”“

“Please don’t. Please just leave him alone. I can deal with him. Just don’t get involved, Sep. I don’t need you to help me, I’m fine, I…”

Septimus was shaking his head at her babbling. “Has he ever done that to you before? Cedrella, I should report him, that was absolutely�”“

“No, he hasn’t.” She cut him off. “But it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given his history, and who his father is. The Selwyns are scum, all of them, and I’m not talking about blood.” She licked a bit of it off the corner of her mouth. “Or maybe I am. I don’t know.” Cedrella didn’t even know what she was talking about. She gave a little half laugh that turned into a sob midway through, and Septimus wrapped his arms around her and held her carefully to his chest. He was shaking.

“I thought you said you didn’t cry,” he said softly.

“I don’t.” More tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Oh, Drell. Drell, Drell.”

Cedrella stood there for a long time, letting him hold her, until her legs felt strong again and her breathing had returned to normal and her eyes stopped streaming. And as she drew away at last, her mind felt clearer than it had all day. She was afraid still�”of what was going to happen next, of Rodney�”but mostly she was grateful.

They looked at one another, and Cedrella slowly offered him the bloody handkerchief back. “Here,” she said quietly.

A hint of a smile crossed Septimus’ face. “You can keep it. I think you need it more than me.”

The phrase struck Cedrella as familiar, and as she looked back at the cloth in her hand she realized it was the same handkerchief she had offered Septimus that night in the Owlery, two very long months ago. She smiled too, and it hurt. “Repaid in full, I suppose.”

“Well if you’re going to talk like that,” he said gently, “You still owe me a kiss.”

She blinked. It was an awfully brash thing to say, just the sort of cockiness she might have once expected from a Gryffindor like Septimus. But for some unfathomable reason, Cedrella didn’t care. “Later,” she said. “You’ve dealt with enough of my blood as it is.”

Septimus looked bemused. “I thought�”“

“I have to go to class now, Sep,” Cedrella interrupted. Her head was oddly clear, an almost disconcerting contrast from earlier that day. She took a deep breath. “Actually, I have to go tell Professor Slughorn why I am late, which is because I got into an argument and Rodney hit me, so I stunned him in self defense. And then I’m going to bring Slughorn up here so wake up Rodney and give him detention, and then go to the Hospital Wing and get Madam Prince to fix my face. And I expect she’ll have them reschedule my detention, so then I have to go tell Charis what happened, and make up the Potions work that I am missing right now.”

Septimus took both of her hands in one of his and held them against his chest. “I wasn’t there?”

“You weren’t.”

He sighed, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumb. “How come you’re so brave? You don’t have to do every thing on your own.”

Cedrella shook her head. “You’re right. And I don’t. But I have to look like I do.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair has nothing to do with it, Septimus. It’s just the way it is.” She dabbed at her still bleeding lip with the handkerchief.

“Listen to us,” he said, wincing. “Practically having a philosophical discussion. You should go get that healed. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I will be.”

Septimus swallowed. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yes.”

“Cedrella?”

“What?”

“Why the change of heart? You are going to�”to kiss me? Later? And tell me why…I mean last night you�”“

Cedrella knew she must be going mad, because all she could do was nod and say “Yes.”

“Still determined to be enigmatic, I see.”

Cedrella looked at him, wondering if she had ever been more fond of a human being than she was of him in that moment. “I’ll try to explain, Sep. I think it’s going to be difficult . But I’ll try.”

He smiled. “You’re sure you’re all right, Drell?” he asked again.

“As long as you don’t call me ‘Drell’, I’ll be fine.”

**

Whatever she had told Septimus, Cedrella was quite glad to lay curled up in the clean, quiet Hospital Wing for the rest of the day, wrapped in soft white sheets and allowing Madam Prince to bring her tea every hour and dab slave on her swollen lips. The nurse had immediately told Professor Slughorn to have the caretaker reschedule Cedrella’s second detention for later in the week, fussing and hovering. Cedrella didn’t mind at all. It was nice just to let Madam Prince baby her, to be taken care of, to let someone else have control.

As the sun set behind the hospital windows, Cedrella thought about her promise to Septimus. It was an impulsive thing she had done, she knew, but somehow she felt much calmer about it then she had earlier. That Septimus cared about her a great deal was obvious. And Cedrella knew that he was probably one of about three people in the world who did. Even Callidora was distant these days, and Cedrella was lonely. She knew it. It was partly by choice, but it was still true. Why shouldn’t I have a friend? she thought. I’m only here at Hogwarts for this year and next. That will be the last of my freedom. I may as well enjoy it.

“Miss Black?”

Cedrella rolled over and opened her eyes, looking up at the nurse. “Yes, Madam Prince?”

“Your sister is here to see you.”

Cedrella sat up, smoothing down her hair, as Charis came in and sat down on the chair beside her bed. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Then Charis said, “Rodney Selwyn was sent to the Headmaster’s office an hour ago. Professor Slughorn came into the Common Room to collect him. And I heard he got three weeks of detention.”

“Serves him right,” Cedrella said.

“Does it? Cedrella, what happened?”

“What have you heard?”

“A few things. Mostly that he attacked you.”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“I want to hear what people are saying happened, Charis.”

“They’re saying�”well, that you came into Professor Slughorn’s Potions class bleeding and covered in bruises and told him that Rodney had attacked you and that you hexed him. They’re saying that you were screaming at each other in the corridor. They’re saying that Septimus Weasley went to Professor Slughorn and told him he saw the whole thing, and that he hoped Professor Slughorn wasn’t going to listen to Rodney‘s side of the story.”

“Which is?” Cedrella ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach at the news that Septimus had involved himself after all. She wasn’t really surprised.

“That you must have hurt yourself some other way and that you just hexed him and blamed him to get him back for marrying Rosalyn instead of you. According to Eleanor, anyway.”

“That’s rubbish,” Cedrella said. “She just made that up to try to save his image.”

“I know you never wanted to marry him,” Charis said. “But I also know that you hate him.”

“And for good reason, it turns out.”

“What happened?” Charis said again.

“He stopped me on the way to Potions,” Cedrella said. “And started harassing me, as usual. I had a headache and I wasn’t in the mood. I lost my temper with him and, had it been a solely verbal disagreement, I would have destroyed him. He’s not particularly bright, you know. I said something about… his father, and bloodlines, and I think I might have called him half-blood trash�”indirectly!” she added, as Charis opened her mouth, looking scandalized. “He said that, and I threw it back in his face, and I said nobody would take his word over mine.”

“Oh Cedrella, you didn’t.”

“I did. And it turns out I was right, doesn’t it?”

“Why would you lose your temper like that? It’s just Rodney,” Charis said.

Cedrella grimaced. “I don’t know. I was in a pretty bad mood to begin with, and he kept trying to touch me. I suppose I just snapped.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“Well, you learn something new every day.”

“So then he just hit you?”

“Yes, he grabbed me by the hair as if he’d been doing it all his life, and hit me in the mouth like a Muggle. Twice. And then I pulled away a bit and hit him in the throat, and he let me go and I pulled out my wand and Stunned him.” Cedrella said the last bit very quickly. She wanted to lie as little as possible to Charis.

But her sister was still looking at her with a skeptical expression. “Really.”

“Yes. What is it? You can’t believe that I hit him back? He’s not Father, Charis. He doesn’t have any authority over me. He was just being a bully.”

Her sister bit her lip. “I know.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I suppose, I’m just, well�”I’m worried about you, Cedrella!”

“Worried? About me? Charis, I’m going to be all right, it was just a little cut. And I know to steer far clear of Rodney Selwyn from now on.” She offered her sister a half-smile.

“It’s not that,” Charis said, looking at her lap. Cedrella looked at her expectantly, waiting, but dreading her sister’s words. If Charis had noticed something… “You get your first detention ever not three days ago, and on a day when you’re supposed to serve it you get in a fistfight with a boy,” Charis said at last. “I’m not saying any of it was really your fault, but it’s not like you, Cedrella. It’s not like you at all.” She looked up at last, and her eyes were bright. “We’re supposed to look after each other,” she said. “You’ve always taken that seriously. I have never had a reason to worry about you before, but I do now. So I am.”

Cedrella felt guilt bubbling up inside her chest, a terrible, burning shame at the fact that she was deceiving her sister and causing her to worry. And at the same time she felt pride: here it was, proof that Charis took her instruction to heart, proof that her sister was growing up. She opened her mouth to say something, though she didn’t know what�”that she was sorry?�”but the hospital wing door burst open again and Cedrella saw Septimus standing in the doorway, looking at her.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley? What can I do for you?’ Madam Prince had come out from her office again.

“Oh nothing, ma’am, I was just coming to check on�”on Miss Black.”

“Well she’s quite all right, as you can see, Mr. Weasley. She just needs to rest. But one visitor at a time, I’m afraid. You can come back later.” The nurse eyed him sternly.

“Right,” Septimus said. “I…I will. Thank you.” He gave Cedrella the tiniest of waves and disappeared through the door again.

Madam Prince turned back toward Cedrella and Charis, frowning slightly. “Fifteen minutes, Miss Black,” she said, and went back into her office.

Charis turned sharp eyes on Cedrella once more. Cedrella met her gaze, though she felt like melting into the floor. She was touched that Septimus had come to check on her, but really… he knew she was all right, and he had already involved himself enough. He was too reckless for his own good, or hers.

“What is going on, Cedrella.” It wasn’t a question.

“He saw my fight with Selwyn. I think he ran for a teacher after I stunned him, but Slughorn and I got back faster. I can’t imagine why he would visit me�”but he’s a Gryffindor, you know, they’re always trying to do grand and noble deeds. Maybe he feels guilty for not intervening or something silly like that.” Cedrella’s lie stuck in her throat. The casual slight on Gryffindors that once would have slid off of her tongue without a thought felt like poison.

“It’s not his business,” Charis said, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know why he should be so interested in this. I told you, he’s already gone to Dumbledore and Slughorn about it.” She paused. “Weasley is in detention this week too. Mattie heard Professor Dumbledore telling Mr. Pringle not to put Weasely and Rodney on the same task, or they might kill each other.”

“Mattie’s been known to gossip, Charis,” Cedrella said.

“And you’ve been known to be a very good liar,” Charis said. He chin was trembling, and Cedrella knew how hard it was for her sister to stick up to her like this. But she looked quite determined.

Cedrella closed her eyes for a moment. She was not sure she had ever felt so guilty in her life. Cedrella and Charis did not lie to each other. They did not. And now here she was, found out and humiliated by her younger sister. She was tempted, for a fleeting second, to tell Charis everything. But knowledge of what would happen then froze the words in her mouth. “Not to you,” she said instead. She felt small, being told off, and rightly so, by a fourteen year old. Everything was backwards.

“That’s true, usually,” Charis said. They looked at one another.

“He was in detention with me last night,” Cedrella conceded. “We were shoveling snow on the front path. We had a very long conversation; he’s much more mature than he appears. He wants to be my friend, or...more.” She paused. Charis looked like her suspicions had been confirmed. If only you knew, Cedrella though sadly. “I know I shouldn’t have done it,” she continued. “Spoken to him, I mean. I was leading him on. We can’t be friends. But I was already in detention, we were alone, and nobody was there to see. I will just have to tell him tonight that it can’t continue.” I will probably end up kissing him tonight.

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” Cedrella said, looking down at her lap. Tears were leaking out of her eyes for the second time that day. She could hardly bear it�”her sister finally taking her advice to heart just in time to catch Cedrella lying to her, using the half-truth technique that worked so flawlessly on well-meaning Charis, getting hit by Rodney, getting kissed by Septimus… she felt weak and silly, but she couldn’t help it. She swiped angrily at the tears.

Charis, who had seen Cedrella cry maybe four times in her life, softened. “Nobody has to know,” she said. “You should have told me, but it doesn’t matter, I won’t say anything. What’s done is done. It’s over. It’s all right.” She put a hand on Cedrella’s shoulder and patted it gently. “Merlin, enticing a Weasley! It’s nice to know you aren’t perfect, either.”

“Thanks,” Cedrella sniffed, wiping away a few last stray tears.

Charis offered her a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Cedrella. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wasn’t you,” Cedrella said. “Well, partly. But I’m sorry too, Charis, I really am. I’m just a bit of a wreck today.” She felt immensely relieved that the interrogation was apparently over, so relieved that it overshadowed a bit of her guilt.

“You sort of have an excuse,” Charis said. She leaned over and kissed Cedrella’s head. “So. What are we going to do about Father?”

Cedrella wiped her eyes one last time and set down the handkerchief. “What do we ever do? We’re going to lie.”

**

Madam Prince brought her dinner after Charis left, and Cedrella ate the soup and rolls in bed and then lay there thinking until she drifted off to sleep. The multitude of emotions she had experienced that day had left her completely exhausted, but her last thoughts before she fell asleep were not ones of guilt, fear, or confusion. I’ll figure this out, she assured herself. It will be all right, somehow.

She woke up early the next morning and got the nurse to release her so that she could go back to her dormitory before breakfast and clean up. She washed her face and pinned back her hair as usual, and then went down to the Great Hall to eat. Cedrella was sure it was not her imagination that more people than usual were looking at her. She enjoyed being mostly invisible the majority of the time, and it was slightly unnerving to know that all the Slytherins and people from other Houses, as well, were staring at her looking for cuts, bruises, or other visible signs of her fight with Rodney Selwyn. Cedrella ignored them completely, knowing they would not find any fault in her complexion or her calm. She spoke to no one that morning and went to Transfiguration early as usual, where she sat taking copious notes in her tiny, perfect handwriting on Professor Dumbledore’s lecture as usual. She felt vastly different from the day before�”drained, yes, but also cleansed, as if all that crying had sucked any ability to feel emotion out of her, for a while at least. It was almost normal. Lurking in the back of her mind, however, she had a funny feeling that it wasn’t going to last past her next encounter with a certain, red-headed someone.

Cedrella did not speak to any of her fellow Slytherins all day. She did not see Rodney Selwyn anywhere, either, and had a feeling that the rumors saying he was suspended might be true. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the about the whole matter�”she wasn’t really afraid of Rodney, and she didn’t want the incident to become any more public than it already was, for if it did Arcturus Black was bound to find out somehow. But she did like the idea of the look Robert Selwyn must have had on his face when he heard his perfect son was suspended from Hogwarts. It served both of them right. At six-thirty, she reported to Professor Slughorn’s office to serve her second and final detention. It was vastly less eventful than the first, and as Cedrella skinned shrivelfigs, sorted aconite leaves into boxes according to size, and half-listened to Slughorn’s cheerful prattle about his past and present students and their seemingly endless connections and achievements, she formed a plan.

Several things were quite clear to Cedrella. One was that she could not bear to hurt or lie to Charis. Another was that she must, at all costs, never let her father find out what had happened in the past week. And the third thing was that she could not stop seeing Septimus�”not right now, not anymore. She cared too much and he cared too much, and she was not going to lose the only friendship she had ever known while she still had the power to maintain it. And however confusing it was, however wrong it was, she would meet those challenges when they came. I already don’t want to get married, despise parties, and wish that I could spend my life surrounded by owls and books, she thought. What kind of a Black does that make me, anyway? Why shouldn’t I be with Septimus, while I can? And so Cedrella decided, as she put away the potions ingredients and bid Professor Slughorn goodnight, that nothing was going to change. She just had to be more careful.

Cedrella almost convinced herself that the feeling this resolution gave her�”a feeling of falling, falling, faster and faster, a feeling of happiness�”was unimportant. But as she left the dungeon, she wasn’t quite able to silence the little voice in the back of her head. There’s a reason they call it falling in love.

I will sleep the day away, your sweet self holding court in my brain,
my prince of mischief, bringer of exquisite pain.
You'll be headed halfway round the world, your best-laid plans unbroken
and here I'll stay, soon be on my way to weightless.
You have me well on my way to weightless.

So much for all my suits of armor, baby, you got through.
Loved what you found, set up camp, and it's a good thing, too.
Now you spin around me, like the wondrous tales you tell,
and I find happiness is changing almost everything I do.
-S.J. Tucker



January 9, 1934

Dear Drell�”

I came up to the Hospital Wing to visit you on Wednesday night before detention, but you were already asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up. I just stood there for a few minutes looking at you until Madam Prince made me leave.

I was hoping to be in detention with Selwyn so I could hex him into the next century, but it seems now that he’s been suspended, which I fully support. So I suppose I can’t complain. I still am so angry with him, though I know you’ll tell me not to be. How can I help myself? I used to think it was just an expression, but when I saw him hit you I actually saw red, I was so angry. Anyway, I admire the way you seem to have put it behind you, but don’t expect me to be as successful.

Will you meet me in the Owlery at one a.m. tomorrow night (or, technically, Saturday morning), after my detention? I know you don’t want to get caught again, so if you would like me to I could find a way to distract Pringle. Whenever I’m not thinking about revenge on Selwyn, I’m wondering what you are going to try to explain to me, and wanting to see you again. I hope you are feeling all right and that I haven’t done anything to upset you by talking to the Professors about what happened.

Yours,

Sep


January 10, 1934

Dear Sep,

I will be there tonight. I looked up a useful charm in the library today and I have been practicing, so some sort of diversion (I don’t even want to know what you were planning) won’t be necessary.

I want to tell you to stop being angry at Selwyn, but I feel that this is a vain hope. So I will settle for pleading you to leave him alone. Drawing any more attention to the situation would be very bad for me, I assure you.

I am feeling quite well. Wednesday was a bad day for me, but I’ve been much better since then. Enjoy detention tonight. (Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did).

See you soon,

Cedrella

**

“So…what’s your favorite childhood memory?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“You told me I could ask you anything!”

“No, I told you I would try to explain anything you wanted to know.”

“Well, I want to know about you childhood.”

“Fine, fine! Let me think.” Cedrella paused, looking up at the owls, perched and circling above their heads. She and Septimus were once more seated under the window in the Owlery, Mathias poking around in the straw for scraps nearby. It was another cold night, but Cedrella’s sweater and Septimus’ closeness more than made up for it, even though they had been sitting there on the stones for over an hour already. “I suppose my best memory is of Christmas when I was… eight, I believe,” Cedrella said finally. “None of us were old enough to go to parties yet, so my parents left my sisters and I at my Uncle Cygnus’ house while they went to the Christmas Eve Ball. My aunt and uncle and my cousin Pollux all went, too, so my cousins’ grandmother was supposed to be minding us, along with the house-elves, but she fell asleep in the drawing room while we were playing gobstones, and so it was just the five of us, all night. Callidora and Cassiopeia were ten, and they were terribly excited to be going to Hogwarts in the fall. So we all played that we were at Hogwarts, and it was Christmas. Callidora got to be the Head of Slytherin, because she was oldest, and Cassiopeia pretended she was Head of Ravenclaw, and the rest of us were students. We pretended we were at a feast, and made the house-elves give us all the sweets in the house. And then we opened all the gifts under their Christmas tree early, and built a fort and pretended it was the Slytherin Common Room.” Cedrella looked back at Septimus, smiling reminiscently. “We weren’t allowed to play imaginary games usually, you see. Callidora and I used to, though, before she left for Hogwarts. This was probably one of the last times. But we got in terrible trouble afterwards. Father wouldn’t let us play with our cousins for months, and we all…” She trailed off, touching one of the thin, faint scars on her wrist.

“What?” Septimus asked, looking at her wrist too.

“Never mind. It was a grand Christmas, though.”

“It sounds like it,” Septimus said. “You all sound almost human.” But his joking tone was halfhearted, and he had taken her arm and was examining her wrist, tracing the thin, criss-crossing, identical scars. There were six of them. Cedrella held her breath, waiting. Finally Septimus looked up at her. “These aren’t from owl talons, are they?” he asked slowly.

“No,” she said.

“You told me you were going to explain, Drell,” he reminded her, when she did not elaborate.

Cedrella sighed. “I know. I’m just worried you won’t understand. Your family is so different from mine. Some things…some things just are the way they are with the Blacks. There are rules, and a code of conduct.” She was stalling, and she knew it. She had decided to be friends with Septimus, she had decided to tell him about herself, to open up. But it was still strange, and about some things it was still hard. She knew quite well that the ways he understood things like family were vastly different from her own.

“I know it’s different. It doesn’t mean I like it, but�”“

“And you won’t. Like it, I mean.” Cedrella looked up at him. “That Christmas, my Father took my sisters and I into his study and punished us for what we had done,” she said. “He hit Callidora the most times, because she was the oldest and was supposed to be responsible for us. He hit me twice. There, and there,” she pointed out the scars. “He only hit Charis once, because she was only six and she started crying so hard when she saw his wand. That was the only time we’ve ever all been punished at once, I think Mother told him not to do that again.”

“But he’s done it individually? Again?” Septimus said, aghast.

“Yes,” Cedrella said. She pulled up her other sleeve to show Septimus four more scars, and then turned her head so that the moonlight fell across the two, even thinner lines on her cheek. “Only a few times, but yes.”

“Only a few�”Drell, how can you even say that? This is worse than Selwyn, this is a hundred times worse, it’s�”“

“No, Septimus, it’s not. You don’t understand. Rodney Selwyn hit me like a Muggle because I made him angry, and even my father would say he deserved punishment for doing that to a girl his own age, who isn’t part of his family. It isn’t the same thing at all. My father�”it’s not unusual, what he does. I hate it, and I’m afraid of him, but that’s just the way it is. It’s my family.”

Septimus had taken both of her hands and kissed each scar as she spoke. Now he leaned forward and pressed him lips to her cheek, twice. Cedrella looked down, her pulse fluttering. “Listen,” he said then. “Anything that makes you afraid for your safety around your own family is not all right. I don’t care what “Pureblood society” or whatever rubbish you all subscribe to says is normal, it’s wrong.”

Cedrella bit her lip. He was reacting exactly as she had expected. How was she supposed to explain this to a chivalrous Gryffindor with a family like Septimus’? How could she ever tell someone like that that he was the exception, not the rule? “I told you you wouldn’t understand.”

“If you want me to say that that’s okay, then maybe not.” He stared at her. “How can you be so normal?” he asked wonderingly. “After growing up with people who think like that?”

Cedrella laughed bitterly. “Normal? I’m not normal, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Septimus said. He put an arm around her. “But I don’t see any problems.”

Cedrella leaned into his shoulder, ignoring the part of her that told her not to, that part of her that still feebly cried for her to Obliviate him and run away as fast as she could. She was getting good at ignoring that part. “I see them,” she told Septimus. “But I don’t care about them, not for now.”

“That’s the spirit.” He smoothed her hair, caressed her hands. Cedrella closed her eyes and held still, feeling warm despite the winter chill, wishing they could sit like this forever. The soft sounds of owls and the smells of straw and crisp night air surrounded her, and though she had just revealed her dark secret to a Gryffindor boy who could never understand it, she felt happy. Her pulse was still thrumming in her chest, but it was pleasant, not frightening.

Eventually, Septimus sat up straighter. “Will you tell me something else?”

“Maybe,” Cedrella said.

“What made you change your mind?”

“About what?”

“Me. In detention the other night, you ran away, and I thought you didn’t want to…“ he paused awkwardly. “You know, see me. Like that.”

“I didn’t change my mind,” Cedrella said. “I just made it up, that’s all.” She smiled at him. “I was afraid of... being abnormal, I suppose. But I decided that while I’m still at Hogwarts, I should do what I want. That’s the point, right? And I want…I want to be friends with you.”

“Just friends?”

“Well…” Cedrella looked down bashfully, unsure of exactly how to respond.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“I thought you said it was my turn,” she said, looking up again and marveling that her voice was so steady when her heart was racing so fast.

“I was sort of joking,” Septimus muttered. “But if, you know, you want to…”

They looked at one another, unsure, giddy. And then, very hesitantly, Cedrella leaned in and, slowly, touched her mouth to his. It was a soft kiss, a shy kiss. She pulled away slightly, their noses still brushing, and looked questioningly at Septimus. He grinned a boyish smile, as if he’d just won a game or perhaps laid eyes on an especially large slice of birthday cake. And that, combined with the warm swelling of her own heart, was all the answer Cedrella needed. I adore you, she thought, and leaned forward once more.

The third kiss was the best yet.

**

January snow soon melted into February slush and rain. Slytherin beat Ravenclaw in their next Quidditch match and Ravenclaw defeated Hufflepuff, putting Gryffindor and Slytherin in the top two spots. Rodney Selwyn returned to Hogwarts to commence his weeks of detention, studiously ignoring Cedrella whenever their paths crossed. And though Cedrella herself felt rather as though she was constantly balancing on the tip of a knife, she was happy. Happier, in fact, than she had ever been in her life. All the half-lies, the sneaking around, the loss of sleep, the avoidances and the silences and the extra work that being with Septimus required�”they all seemed insignificant most of the time. They paled in comparison to the time she spent with him. Late night meetings in the Owlery, whispered conversations in the library, notes and letters tucked into her cloak pockets and textbooks, fleeting, secretive smiles in the corridors… all of it was worth it. Or so Cedrella felt, at least most of the time. It was only when she was with Charis that she was overcome with that sickening guilt at her deception and betrayal of everything she had ever tried to teach her sister. She can’t find out, Cedrella thought at these times. She would never trust me again, and anyway she could never understand.

Sometimes, Cedrella was almost able to justify the lying. Charis, she reasoned, was already happy with her life and her friends. She wasn’t dreading marriage and she wasn’t clinging to her last year and a half of freedom. And everything was so much simpler to Charis, black or white. Charis could never do what Cedrella was doing. She could never understand why, or how. And if she lost respect for her sister, if she stopped listening to Cedrella, it would be worse for her. It was much better that she didn’t know.

Cedrella had, after all, spent most of her life training herself what to think and how to think it. She could come up with things like that if she had to. But it didn’t make any of it true. And it also didn’t help that she had become so very good at ignoring things. How hedonistic I’ve become, she sometimes thought. Happiness now, consequences later?

Cedrella had tried discussing this problem with Septimus a few times, but they always ended up talking in circles, both refusing to budge. Septimus was stubborn and opinionated when it came to Cedrella’s family, though he was always interested in hearing about them. “That’s just wrong, Drell,” was a favorite saying of his when the topic came up, to which she would shake her head and say “you just don’t understand.” The argument had become so rehearsed that it was almost a joke, and usually ended in laughter.

Septimus might have been unhelpful, but he did understand the way Cedrella agonized over her relationship with her sister. They talked endlessly of their siblings; Cedrella almost felt like she knew Alex, Julius, Demetri, Rudy, Quint, and Tusy personally, and she was sure Septimus felt the same way about Charis and Callidora. Family wasn’t the only thing they discussed�”Cedrella finally gave in, after much teasing, and showed Septimus the progress she had made on her research project, and they spent happy hours pouring over books and notes, Septimus making amusing commentary all the while and Cedrella periodically swatting him with her quill to make him be quiet. They spoke of school, owls, Quidditch (Septimus was scandalized to learn that Cedrella had never flown a broom before), travel, and a vast selection of other things. Half the time Cedrella had no idea how a topic came up, or how they could spend hours conversing about it. Most of the time they could never agree on anything, and most of the time neither of them cared.

Then, of course, there were the times when they didn’t speak at all�”the times when Septimus would slip into Cedrella’s corner of the library and kiss her fleetingly before dashing off again, or when they would simply sit in the Owlery, her head on his shoulder and his hand in her hair, wrapped up in one another to keep warm.

Even the post Cedrella received halfway through February, a letter from her father, did not damped her spirits. As usual, it had taken him weeks to respond to her last letter, which had “explained” the detentions and the fight with Rodney Selwyn, but Cedrella didn’t mind at all. It clearly was not on her father’s list of top priorities, which was exactly what she had hoped for. The letter was written on her father’s heavy, personalized stationary, stamped with the Black family crest, and it was very short.

February 12, 1934

Cedrella,

Your mother and I were displeased to hear about your detention. You must be more careful in the future and not allow it to happen again or your studies at Hogwarts may be at stake.

I have spoken to Robert Selwyn about the behavior of his son. Do not let it concern you further.

I have arranged for you and your sister to spend the Easter holidays at school while your mother and I vacation in France with the Malfoys.

Until June,

Your Father

Arcturus S. Black

Though Septimus was predictably enraged at her father’s cold manner when she showed him the letter that morning (“How can he speak to you like that? It’s as if he doesn’t even know you!”), it lifted a great weight off of Cedrella’s mind. Not only did her father seem to have dropped the Selwyn matter altogether, but he was allowing her to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays�”a rare treat. The silent threat of what was to come when she got home in June almost didn’t matter, for she had been expecting something of the like and at any rate, she didn’t have to worry about it for four months.

Charis, too, was pleased with the outcome�”not that she seemed to spare it much thought. The only part of the letter she took note of was the news that their parents were vacationing with the Malfoys�”for Lucifer Malfoy had invited her to accompany him to Hogsmeade on Valentines Day and it seemed to Cedrella that her sister couldn’t discuss any other topic for more than a minute. She merely said “Oh, see, Cedrella, I knew it was all going to work out all right,” and then peered at her reflection in the back of her coffee spoon. “Will you do my hair on Friday? You’re the only one who can make it go just right�”like that.” She gestured sweepingly with one hand and looked up at Cedrella expectantly.

Cedrella had sighed. “Of course I will, Charis. As long as you promise to�”“

“Behave myself, I know, we’ve been over this. It’s a perfectly respectable date, Cedrella.”

“I know,” Cedrella said, glancing wistfully across the Great Hall to where Septimus sat with his Gryffindor friends.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Cedrella replied, returning to her breakfast.

“Oh, don’t sound so sad. You know perfectly well you could go to Hogsmeade with anyone at all if you wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t want to,” Cedrella said crossly, wishing she had never started this conversation in the first place. Charis was impossible these days, and nearly always made her feel guilty as well.

“You’ll wish you had, when Father promises you to someone you’ve never spoken to,” Charis taunted cheerfully.

“Don’t sound so happy about it,” Cedrella snapped. “And you know Charis, you might not get to marry Lucifer anyway. There hasn’t been any formal offer and he still has three years at Hogwarts after this. Things could change, or Father could get a better offer. Just because they’re going to France together does not mean that�””

“Don’t be so cheerful, Black, you’ll ruin everyone’s morning.” It was Septimus, passing by the Slytherin table on his way out of the hall. He waved jovially and disappeared, still grinning.

Charis stared after him suspiciously. “Does he still talk to you?”

“He tries,” Cedrella murmured, looking down at her toast. She could feel something in her cloak pocket that Septimus had obviously just put there�”though thankfully, Charis didn’t seem to have noticed that part. He was too reckless, he couldn’t do things like that…

“Well, I don’t like him.” Charis looked as though that settled the matter. “He ought to leave you alone.”

“Prehaps,” Cedrella agreed noncommittally. “Listen, Charis, I really do hope you have a good time with Lucifer. I’ll try not to be so pessimistic about it, I just don’t like him very much, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Which hair combs do you want me to use?”

I know her too well, Cedrella thought, as Charis dropped her suspicious and cross manner instantly and began chattering on about her plans for her hair, her jewelry, and her shoes. When Charis’ friends turned up a few minutes later and whisked her away, her sister once again seemed cheerful and blissfully ignorant. Cedrella reached into her pocket the moment they had gone, wondering if it was a curse or a blessing that she could deceive her sister so easily.


February 13th

Drell�”

I had a brainwave in detention last night�”we haven’t asked Pepper if he knows anything about human-animal communication! He is just the type to know things like that, too. Will you meet me behind his cabin this afternoon at five? I will nick some food from the kitchens so we can have a picnic.

Have a great day, see you tonight, and happy early Valentines.

xx Sep

p.s. Mum sent a package of homemade truffles, and they are delicious. I have enclosed one�”enjoy!

Though it was early in the morning, Cedrella put the entire truffle in her mouth right away, letting it melt. Septimus was right, it was delicious and creamy. She looked back at the hastily scrawled note, slightly smeared with chocolate. Blessing, she thought with a smile, and pocketed the paper once more.

Fortuitously, Cedrella had Herbology that afternoon, so after the class had finished pruning their Snargaluffs she hung back, slowly hanging up her clippers and apron, and then slipped off to Pepper’s cabin. The rest of the class, Ravenclaws and her fellow Slytherins, were hurrying up to the castle for dinner, and she was fairly sure that no one had seen her running across the lawn. She supposed that she could have cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself as an extra precaution�”one of the most useful things she had ever discovered in the Hogwarts Library�”but she made it to the edge of the forest without incident and stopped to look around, slightly breathless.

Septimus sat on the gamekeeper’s back steps, Mathias on his wrist and a bright Gryffindor scarf tossed carelessly over his shoulders. He was looking up, talking to someone, and Cedrella realized that Pepper was up on his roof with a basket of straw, mending the thatch. Mathias spotted her first and gave a trilling call, flapping over to her. She held out her arm for him to land on and stroked his feathered back. “Hi, Mat.”

He cooed back.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I see how it is, you’re just here for the owl,” Septimus said, grinning.

Cedrella made a show of ignoring him, kissing Mathias’ head, but she could not keep the smile off of her face. Trying to tease Septimus was hopeless, especially when he had had so much more practice.

Mathias seemed to agree. He pecked her wrist affectionately and flew off in the direction of the forest. I will leave you to it, his departing screech said clearly.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was going to leave us alone.”

“Clever bird.”

Cedrella laughed and walked over to join Septimus on the steps. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dancing; as he often did he had the delighted air of a small child at a birthday party. It never failed to make her smile, and as she reached out to squeeze his hand he caught hers and held it.

Pepper’s head appeared above them. “Well hullo, Miz Black. Nice to see you again. Sep here said you’ve got some questions for me?”

“I do,” she said, watching the big, ponytailed man maneuvering deftly around his roof and wondering how much she could trust him. It has seemed a brilliant idea that morning, but it now occurred to her that not only did the coarse gamekeeper know about her friendship with Septimus, but he would also soon know her other secret�”the owls. She liked him, it was true, but did she really have any basis to believe that he wouldn’t, over a tankard of ale, reveal her to the wrong people?

Septimus noticed the hesitation on her face. “Don’t worry, Drell, he’s not going to say anything. He keeps his promises, Pepper.”

“Such as promising to leave you unsupervised in detention?” Cedrella asked, raising her eyebrows.

Septimus grinned. “Precisely. Come on, he has our best interests at heart.”

Cedrella believed him. Looking into Septimus’ earnest face, she could not imagine not trusting his judgment. Such a realization should have terrified her�”and would have, only a few months ago. But she simply brushed her unease away and smiled back. She wanted to trust Pepper. And wasn’t that the point of all this? Doing what she wanted, for a change?

She raised her voice once more. “Well, sir�”I mean, Pepper, it’s about owls.”

Pepper’s head appeared over the edge of the roof again. “This don’t have to do with the little talk you were havin’ with ol’ Mat a minute ago, do it?”

“As a matter of fact it does,” Cedrella replied, giving him a small smile.

“Cedrella has a bit of a way with owls,” Septimus added.

“Hmph. Thought so.” Pepper tugged a bit of straw through the edge of the roof, weaving it with nimble fingers as he spoke. “Tell you what, Miz Black, I’ve got to go check some traps in the forest in just a minute, but I can tell you this. The way you were talkin’ to Mat, reminds me of my ol’ aunt. My Ma’s sister. She used to teach here, Care of Magical Creatures, you know. She’s the one who got me this job. Anyway, she had loads of birds�”this falcon, used it for huntin’, and lots of owls, and snidgets too�”her Pa used to breed ‘em before it was outlawed. The way she used to talk to ‘em�”well, Miz Black, I never saw nothing like it before or since, ‘cept you just now with Mathias.”

Cedrella’s heart was beating rather fast. “And it was all birds, not just owls?”

“S’far as I know,” Pepper answered.

“Do you know�”do you perhaps have a family tree, Pepper? Do you know what your aunt’s bloodlines were?”

The gamekeeper frowned. “We don’t keep track of those things much in my family,” he said. “But my Ma and my aunt were half-bloods, I think…yeah, their Ma was from one of them old wealthy families. Flints, I think…do that ring a bell?”

“Yes!” Cedrella exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “I think that’s�”well, that makes sense�”I‘ll have to look it up somehow to be sure, but�”“

“I think Pepper and I are missing something, here, Drell.”

Cedrella gave Septimus the requisite nasty look for using the nickname and said “My grandmother’s maiden name is Flint, Ursula Flint. And I know she had at least one sister, and perhaps some cousins on her father’s side. One of them could be related to your aunt!” She looked up at Pepper, who was regarding her interestedly. “I have been researching human-animal communication all year,” she said, the words spilling out of her in her excitement. “I have plenty of reason to believe that the ability is passed down though a complicated hereditary pattern�”and if the Flints could communicate with birds, then that may be the link to me! I had already run into a dead end with the Blacks, and…” she trailed off at the sight of Septimus’ expression of barely contained laughter and swatted him on the arm with her free hand. “Stop laughing, Sep, you know this is a breakthrough!”

He ignored this and chuckled, squeezing her hand he still held. “You’re quite funny when you’re excited, Drell.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Pepper swung himself off the roof, landing neatly at their feet. “Well, I’m glad I could help, Miz Black.”

“Oh yes, thank you so much,” Cedrella said earnestly, ingorning Septimus who was now mouthing ”Drell, Drell, Drell…” under his breath at her. “If you ever did come across a Flint family tree or record of any sort, I would be quite interested to see it, but you’ve done enough as it is. Truly, thank you.”

Pepper shrugged off her praise, picking up his bow, a few traps, and a great canvas sack from the side of the cabin and swinging them over his shoulder. “Well if you ever want to hear more stories about my ol’ Aunt Gloria, just come by, Miz Black. S’ fascinatin’ stuff. And I’ll keep an eye out for them family trees.” He looked amused at the thought. “You two have a nice picnic, now. See you tonight, Sep.” Pepper waved one large hand and strode away into the forest.

“What’s tonight?” Cedrella asked, turning to Septimus.

“Detention.”

“Again? I thought they were over!”

Septimus had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “They were, until Pringle found out that I was the one sneaking Bubotuber puss into his evening tea.”

“Sep�””

“Skip the lecture, Drell, it was hilarious and perfectly harmless. Somebody had to wish him a not-so-happy Valentines Day. Besides, it was Quint’s idea, he still wants to get back at Pringle for catching him and a girl kissing behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered in his seventh year. I was just carrying out orders!”

He looked at her with such big, innocent eyes that Cedrella had to shake her head and laugh. “You know, anybody would think that you actually enjoy detention.”

“Sometimes I do,” he reminded her, and Cedrella felt herself flush.

“Oh, right.”

Septimus laughed happily and turned to his school bag, which Cedrella now saw was full of food. “Dinner, my lovely friend?”

“Please.”

The sun went down behind the trees of the Forbidden Forest as they sat there on Pepper’s back steps, sharing the chicken sandwiches, olives, cherry pie, and pumpkin juice that Septimus had brought from the kitchens and talking, first about some of the Weasley brothers’ many run-ins with Pringle, and then about Pepper’s information and the next steps in Cedrella’s research project. It was chilly, especially after the sun went down and the moon appeared over the lake, but they sat close together, and the air was sharp and fresh, and Cedrella didn’t mind at all. Eventually, after the last bit of pie had been licked from their fingers, Septimus sighed contentedly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Cedrella leaned her head against his warm shoulder, closing her eyes. She had rarely ever felt so happy, which was something she’d been thinking a lot in the past month, but somehow each day seemed to be better than the last. Cedrella wondered idly how much longer it could continue before she simply imploded with the sheer wonderfulness of it all.

“So, I would ask you to come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow afternoon for Valentine’s Day,” Septimus said eventually, “but I have a feeling that would be overly optimistic of me.”

“And you would be quite correct.”

“Thought so. So then I was thinking we could just, you know, do something tomorrow night instead�”but then I, er, got three days of detention.”

“Wonderful planning on your part,” Cedrella said, smiling into his shoulder.

“I know. So, would you mind if we did it Sunday night instead?”

“Did what?”

“Well, it’s a surprise.” His fingers combed through her hair.

“Everything with you is a surprise,” Cedrella said, which was quite true. It was one of the reasons she loved spending time with Septimus�”everything he said, everything they did, everything she felt, was unexpected. She could predict and control almost everything else about her life, but not him.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of course,” she said. “I would be awfully bored without you.”

She could tell Septimus was smiling. He seemed to teeter on the edge of saying something else, but then he said “So you’re up for another surprise, then? A planned one, this time?”

“Perhaps,” Cedrella agreed.

“Will you meet me in the Owlery at eleven on Sunday night, then?”

It was remarkable to Cedrella how unsure he still sounded. Didn’t he know that she would�”no, could never ever say no? She pulled away a little and met his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Oh good.” They look at one another for a moment in the half-light of dusk, hesitating, and then Septimus leaned in and kissed her. Cedrella closed her eyes for a brief second, allowing that thrill in her stomach that definitely wasn’t allowed to fill her up.

‘I should go,” Septimus said at last. “I still have to report to Pringle’s office for detention.”

“All right,” Cedrella agreed, thinking regretfully that it was probably better that he left now before she let this out of control, soaring feeling get the better of her. “You go up first, I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

He stood up and gathered up the remains of their picnic into his school bag. Then he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight.”

She smiled up at him from her perch on the steps. It was so easy to smile now. “Goodnight.”

**

Cedrella was roused the next morning by Charis, who came into the dormitory she shared with the other sixth and seventh year Slytherin girls at seven in the morning wearing a silk dressing gown, a towel on her head, and a diamond necklace, in a state of tremendous excitement. Sleepily, Cedrella followed her sister down the hallway to the fourth years’ bathroom where she sat Charis down in front of the mirror and dried and combed her long brown hair. Charis’ roommates drifted in and out, some of them primping themselves for their own dates, others wistfully listening to Charis’ prattle about Lucifer Malfoy. None of them said anything to Cedrella, who got the impression that she made the younger girls rather nervous. She was thankful, for the last thing she wanted was Charis’ gossipy friends to interrogate her about her own lack of a date to Hogsmeade. But, as she carefully curled and pinned her sister’s hair, she could not help wondering what her life might be like if she, like Charis, had a proper Valentine’s Day date and proper friends to talk about it with. Cedrella knew she would choose Septimus and the owls over Lucifer and Mattie any day, but in that moment the necessary secrecy of it all was frustrating.

Cedrella finished pinning Charis’ hair back in a half-up, elegant bun and secured it with a pair of emerald studded combs. Then she talked her sister out of wearing lipstick, cleaned a tiny smear of mascara off the corner of her eye, straightened her stockings, told her not to eat anything messy such as pasta or soup and once more to behave herself, and, satisfied, sent her off to breakfast. Then she returned to her dormitory to get ready herself. She planned to spend most of the day in the library looking up Flint family history, but there was a nagging thought in the back of her head: did she need to get Septimus something for Valentine’s Day? He had already given her such a beautiful, thoughtful Christmas present, and obviously had planned something for her once more. But what could she give him? Cedrella was not even sure what Septimus was�”her friend, yes, but obviously a bit more than that. But they weren’t dating, for they had never been on a proper date, and nobody knew they even spoke to one another except the gamekeeper and a few owls. Cedrella knew that it was proper courtship etiquette for the man to give the woman presents, not the other way around. But did any of that really apply in this situation, anyway? What was so proper about her relationship with Septimus?

Unable to come to any decision, Cedrella ate a long breakfast in the Great Hall, read the Daily Prophet cover to cover, and then proceeded up to the library where she once again delved into the old records and the thick, dusty genealogies, this time looking for Flints rather than Blacks or Yaxleys. She had hoped to find Pepper’s birth announcement, or perhaps his parents’ wedding announcement, as a place to start, but after an hour of looking through old files, she was forced to conclude that the Peppers, who certainly were not one of the old pureblood families, were simply not important enough to have anything announced in the Society section of the Prophet, especially upwards of fifty years ago, and that if a Flint had married a Pepper it would have been something for the family to conceal, not brag about. Cedrella found this interesting in itself, and decided that she was going to have to go back to Pepper’s and ask the gamekeeper more specific questions about his family. In the meantime, however, she abandoned the crumbling, dusty newspapers and turned back to the books of pureblood history, looking for any mention of a Gloria Flint.

She was still fully absorbed, her quill scratching down names and dates onto her sheaf of notes, when she felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped, looking around. It was Septimus.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, rubbing a kink in her neck. “I thought you were going to Hogsmeade!”

“Haven’t left yet,” he said. “I had Quidditch practice this morning, so I told my mates to go on without me. Sorry I startled you.”

“That’s all right,” Cedrella said, glancing around the library, which appeared completely deserted. She wasn’t surprised�”it was a Hogsmeade weekend, after all.

Septimus grinned, watching her. “Coast clear?”

“Hush,” she said, pulling out the chair beside her.

He sat down. “What have you found?”

“Not much,” she admitted, paging through her notes. “Pepper’s family isn’t in the old newspapers at all, I will need to talk to him again and get a bit more information. The Flints on the other hand….” She gestured at all the old genealogies. “Plenty, though not much of it is useful yet. It’s all right, though, I’m sure I’ll find it now.”

“I never had any doubt that you would.” He glanced down at the books. “Nature’s Nobility…. Urgh. Are the Weasleys in there?”

“Yes,” Cedrella said, surprised that he had asked. Septimus usually avoided talking about blood status unless it related to her research project. “In the beginning, anyway. It stops following them about seventy years ago, though, because they became blood traitors.” She smiled apologetically.

“That would probably be because my Granddad joined the Muggle Navy and than sent his youngest son to Muggle primary school,” Septimus said, grinning. “He was a bit of a rebel, Granddad. He loved the ocean, that’s why he wanted to be a sailor and get paid for it. Dad told me Granddad was hardly ever home when they were kids, he was always off at sea. And after his older brothers were all at Hogwarts, Granddad didn’t want my dad to be lonely, so he sent him to Muggle school for a few years. Caused quite a scandal, apparently.”

Cedrella laughed. “They should put that story in the book, it’s so much more entertaining than…” she picked up the book in question and turned to the page in question. “’This line was hence contaminated due to association with Muggles and shall henceforth be called Traitors of the Blood, and this Noble Volume shall no longer be concerned or aware of it.’”

“Wow, ouch,” Septimus said, and they both laughed. “I’m so offended.”

“Be quiet, Traitor of the Blood,” Cedrella said, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face. She wasn’t exactly sure what was so funny, or how she was able to sit here and make fun of the usually very serious topic of blood status, but it was funny, and she could, and Septimus’ answering laugh was absolutely infectious.

He caught her hand on top of the table. “Listen,” he said, his eyes lighting up with sudden excitement. “Forget about Sunday night, let’s go now. I don’t need to go to Hogsmeade, and the library isn’t going anywhere, and nobody is around. Let’s go.”

“Go where, Sep? And what about your detention?”

He waved a hand carelessly. “Go to… have my surprise! And it doesn’t matter about detention, it will only infuriate Pringle more if I skip, which is a good thing, right?” he looked at her eagerly.

“Well I can’t argue with that logic,” Cedrella said.

“Exactly!” Septimus seemed to have missed (or decided to disregard) the sarcasm. He jumped to his feet. “Will you meet me in the Owlery in fifteen minutes? I have to get something.”

Cedrella looked at him�”impulsive, carefree, grinning with excitement. She glanced back at her books and notes. And then she nodded. “Oh, all right then.”

“Excellent. It’s the perfect day for it, too, and you’ll�”well, I’ll see you in fifteen minutes then, Drell!” he bent over and kissed her lips for a fleeting second before turning away and dashing out of the library, his robes flying behind him.

Cedrella watched him go, smiling, not sure what had just happened but positive that her day was about to get a lot more interesting.

I can open your eyes
Take you wonder by wonder
Over, sideways and under
On a magic carpet ride

A whole new world
A dazzling place I never knew
But when I'm way up here
It's crystal clear
that now I'm in a whole new world with you.

Unbelievable sights
Indescribable feeling
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling
Through an endless diamond sky.

A whole new world
Don't you dare close your eyes
A hundred thousand things to see
Hold your breath - it gets better
I'm like a shooting star
I've come so far
I can't go back to where I used to be.

A whole new world
That's where we'll be
A thrilling chase
A wondrous place
For you and me.
-Aladdin


Cedrella put her books away rather more haphazardly than usual, gathered up her notes, and hurried out of the library after Septimus, not even stopping to speak to the venerable old librarian, Madam Figg, on her way out as she normally might have done. In fact, she was in such a hurry that, coming around the corner of the corridor outside the library, she nearly ran headlong into someone.

It was Rodney Selwyn, who was leaning against the wall and surveying her darkly with a curious expression on his face. They stared at each other for a moment, and Cedrella remembered that he had lost privileges to all future Hogsmeade visits as a result of his suspension. She could not fathom why he was looking at her like that, especially in her flustered state. She could almost feel her mind working hard to think about anything, in that moment, other than Septimus.

Then Rodney extended a hand as if to let her pass. “Go ahead, Black.” His eyes were boring into her.

She threw him a withering look and walked by silently. She could feel him watching her all the way down the hallway, and was relieved when she turned onto a staircase and was out of his line of sight. And yet, as Cedrella hurried on towards the Owlery, it was surprisingly easy to put Rodney Selwyn and his unsettling stare out of her mind. He doesn’t matter, she thought. He’s just an attention-seeking jerk. He can’t do anything to you now.

She threw open the heavy wooden door of the Owlery, breathing in the familiar bird smell, looking eagerly around for something out of the ordinary that might indicate what Septimus’ surprise was. She saw nothing, however, so she sat down in their favorite spot under the window to wait. A few owls fluttered down from their perches to rest on her arms and shoulders, and she spoke to them quietly, trying to find out if they knew what Septimus was planning.

Only a few minutes had passed before the door creaked open again and there Septimus stood, looking rather out of breath but quite pleased with himself. He was wearing a cloak, had another one thrown over his arm, and carried nothing else�”except his broomstick. He grinned at her. “Ready?”

“If you are expecting me to fly that,” Cedrella said, eying the broom warily, “then no, I am certainly not.“

Septimus tossed her the second cloak, looking undeterred. “Go on, put that on, it’s not so warm out there, though it’s really a fairly nice day for February!” He looked positively exuberant, and Cedrella could not quite keep a smile off of her face, even as she was threatened whith the terrifying prospect of flying.

She put on the cloak, which was too large, and looked up at him, shaking her head. “Sep, I’ve never flown before, I told you that. Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous?”

“Only a little�”and where’s the fun without a risk?” He laughed at the appalled look on Cedrella’s face. “I’m joking, Drell. Well, mostly. You’ll be fine, I’m going to steer and hold onto you the whole time. This is just our method of transportation today�”we’ll save the lessons for another time.”

“Right. Lessons.” Cedrella rolled her eyes. She slowly fastened the buttons on her borrowed cloak, feeling slightly dizzy from the sensation of being so surrounded by Septimus’ smell.

He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet, and Cedrella was reminded for a moment of that first night in the Owlery when she had unthinkingly helped him up. Who could have predicted what she was starting, what she had set in motion that night? Who could have guessed that four months later would find them here?

Septimus had mounted the broomstick and was looking at her expectantly. “Drell! Come on. Are you really so afraid?”

Cedrella shook her contemplative thoughts away and regarded him for a moment. “No,” she said suddenly, and she wasn’t. Septimus wasn’t going to hurt her. He would never let that happen. She climbed carefully onto the broom behind him, settling herself. It was surprisingly comfortable.

“Hold tight,” Septimus said, and Cedrella wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling slightly shy at how close they were. But before she had time to even fully formulate the thought, Septimus had kicked off the stone floor of the Owlery and they shot out of the window and all shyness flew from her mind as the castle fell away and they soared, bullet-like, into the open air. She clutched him for dear life as the broom swerved to the left.

“Open your eyes!” Septimus yelled after a few frightening minutes, the wind whipping his voice back to her.

Very, very cautiously, Cedrella raised her head off of his back and cracked one eye open.

They were soaring over a lake, barely ten feet over the water. All around them were the snow-capped peaks that surrounded Hogwarts, tall and craggy and glittering. Septimus turned the broom right, nearly skimming the water, and then shot upwards again, hurtling through the edge of a forest for a moment, dodging trees, and then soaring upwards along the side of the nearest mountain. They flew over the side of a cliff and dove into a tiny valley, brushing the tops of several pines before swerving again in a heart-stopping loop and rising, faster and faster, up the side of the next mountain. The wind whipped her hair and stung her face and made her eyes water, and yet Cedrella kept looking, rendered utterly speechless by the beauty of the scenery, the speed with which it was flying past her, and the sensation of being utterly weightless.

All of a sudden Septimus dove again and spun the broom around�”Cedrella shrieked, more with sheer exhilaration than anything else, as they hung upside down for a fleeting moment before Septimus righted the broom and wove expertly though a copse of trees.

“Having fun?” he yelled, as they rounded another curve.

“Yes!”

Septimus just laughed, and they went on like that, laughing and whooping and shrieking as they flew through the mountains until Cedrella could hardly breathe. And then Septimus dove once more and Cedrella toppled harmlessly into the grass, lightheaded and gasping, and Septimus fell beside her.

“You�”should have�”warned me!” she exclaimed.

Septimus was so out breath he could hardly laugh. “I told you, Drell�”it was a surprise! Wasn’t it fun?”

“The most,” Cedrella admitted, burying her cold face in his shoulder.

“Wasn’t I right? As always?” Septimus said delightedly.

“Oh, don’t be so smug.”

They lay there, catching their breath, for another few minutes, and then Septimus stood up, pulling Cedrella to her feet as he did so. “Look.”

She did. They had not landed on a random riverbank, as Cedrella had supposed. They mountain meadow where they stood was perched on the edge of a cliff, a cliff that looked out on more peaks in the distance and a deep green river, still with bits of ice floating in it, shimmering with pink and orange shadows from the setting sun. “Wow.” She gazed at the scene, drinking it up. “Where are we? How did you find this place?”

“Rudy found it in his third year, just exploring. He didn’t pay attention to how he had gotten here, and after that he could never find it again, but he was always looking. When I came to Hogwarts he took me along, and we found it. After that we always came here when we went flying�”when I was trying to get onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team in third year, I brought Quint here to help me train�”in secret, you know, so the other new chasers wouldn’t know what they were up against.” He laughed.

“Well,” Cedrella said, looking at him, “I’m quite honored that you’ve brought me to such a special, secret place.”

Septimus shrugged. “I wanted to take you out on the broom�”I knew you would love it�”and I also thought you would probably appreciate this place more than me an my brothers put together. It’s a girl thing, I think.”

“What a compliment,” Cedrella said dryly. Septimus chuckled.

“I brought us something else,” he said, drawing two bottles of butterbeer out of the pocket of his cloak. “Would you like a drink?”

“That sounds lovely,” Cedrella said, smiling, as Septimus removed each cork rather ceremoniously and handed her one of the bottles. “Shall we have a toast?”

Septimus held up his bottle. “To flying,” he said, “and to me being right.”

“And to Valentine’s Day,” Cedrella added reproachfully, before he could take a sip. “The best one I’ve ever had.”

“And to Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup,” Septimus continued solemnly. “May we beat Slytherin to smithereens.”

“And to Slytherin winning the House Cup,” Cedrella countered. “As we rightfully will.”

“And to me passing Potions.”

“And to me completing my research.”

“And to Pepper, who helped you!”

“And to you, Septimus,” Cedrella said, “who have helped me even more.”

“And to you, Cedrella Black, because you’ve made this year great when it should have been terrible and because I… Because.”

Cedrella laughed and they clinked their butterbeers together, and she took a long, warming drink.

**

They stayed in the meadow, sipping the drinks and eating more truffles Septimus had brought, watching the sun disappear behind one of the mountains as the light become purple and dusky and then velvety black.

“Look,” Cedrella said, after a lapse in conversation, pointing up at the sky. “The stars are all out.”

Septimus looked up too. “Yeah,” he said. “Those, there�”it’s the Giant Dipper, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cedrella said. “And there…” she traced with her finger. “There’s the North Star, and the Little Dipper. I’ve always thought it was odd that Ursa Major�”“

“Ursa what?”

“Ursa Major, the bear. Do you not know your constellations, Sep?”

“I know a few! I didn’t fail my Astronomy O.W. L.”

Cedrella lay back in the grass, so she could see the starts more clearly. It was a crystal clear night, and the familiar heavens were spread over her like a blanket. “I’ve been taught the constellations for as long as I can remember,” she said softly. “When I was small, I remember Mother telling Callidora and I stories about them. Our favorite was about Perseus and Pegasus�” they slayed the evil gorgon Medusa together. Pegasus is there, do you see the square? That’s his body. My favorite part of the story was after that, though, when Perseus saved the princess Andromeda from where she was chained to a rock and guarded by a sea monster at the order of Posiden. He married her, even though she was already promised to someone else, and their children ruled Greece for hundreds of years. Andromeda is there,” she said, pointing to the north. “Right next to Perseus. The gods couldn’t bear to separate them, even in death, they loved one another too much.”

Septimus had lay down on the grass beside her, his eyes following her pointing finger as she spoke. “Are there more?”

“More what?”

“More stories.”

“Oh,” Cedrella said, laughing a little. “Of course there are, Sep. There are hundreds, I don’t know all of them. Some of the stories are practically part of family lore, though�”for example, that’s Sirius, the Dog Star. It’s an old family name, so that was one of the stories Mother told us a often when we were little. Or Arcturus�”that’s my father’s name, another family tradition�”he’s right there. Zeus created the bright star Arcturus to protect his mistress Callisto and her son from his angry wife, Hera. Poor Callisto and Arcas are up there too�”also known as Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.” Cedrella smiled, pointing out the stars. “Zeus turned them into bears to hide them.”

Septimus had been staring up at the sky intently as she spoke, but now he turned to look at her.

“What?” Cedrella asked, smiling at his curious expression.

“It’s like�”I don’t know. I mean, not that your father is much of a protector, or anything like that�”but is it nice, to have them all up there? Like your family is always there, watching over you or something?”

“Yes,” Cedrella said softly. “I know the sky well enough that I can always look up and find them. I like to think that long ago my ancestor, the first Arcturus Black, really was a strong, brave protector, and that he still watches over all of us.”

“I wish�”“ Septimus paused, then continued in a low voice, “I wish my dad were up in the stars, too.”

“But he is,” Cedrella said, surprised. “I’ve thought it was perfect ever since you told me his name, Sagittus Weasley. He was born in December, wasn’t he?”

“December 12th,” Septimus agreed, gazing at her with an almost hungry look on his face. “Go on.”

“That’s what I thought,” Cedrella said. “He was born under�”and named after, I’m guessing�”the Zodiac sign Sagittarius, the archer. Sagittarius is known for being honest, jovial, and freedom-loving�”but also reckless, and sometimes blindly optimistic. In the summertime you can see him, riding along the southern horizon. Right there,” she said, pointing up at the heavens. “In June you’ll be able to see him, right there. Represented by a centaur drawing a bow, do you see?” Septimus had grasped her hand tightly as she spoke, and she now lifted it up and traced the shape of the constellation with his finger.

“Yes,” Septimus said, his voice almost a whisper. Cedrella glanced sideways and saw tears shining in his eyes. “I see him.”

“You can always find Sagittarius by following the Milky Way to the south,” Cedrella said, pretending she hadn’t seen. “But he only rides during the summer months. That’s why he’s sometimes called the Sun Zodiac.” She paused, watching Septimus stare up at the sky as though seeing it for the first time. A tear trickled out of the corner of his eye and she reached out and caught it with her finger, smoothing her hand across his face. It had never occurred to her that Septimus did not know about his father’s namesake, and even more extraordinary was that he seemed to take the same sort of comfort in his relation to the cold, distant stars that she did. She had thought it was only someone like her, searching at seven years old for something, someone, who would always be there for her, who could do that.

Suddenly Septimus reached out and pulled her closer to him, holding her there against his chest in the grass, one hand twisting into her windswept hair, pressing his face into her head. “Cedrella.”

“Yes?” she said faintly, that frantic thrumming of her pulse returning. One of her hands pressed against the back of his neck. How did that get there?

But Septimus didn’t respond, he simply tilted her head upwards and kissed her. It was a different kind of kiss�”there was none of their customary shyness, nor Septimus’ jaunty, sometimes rather forced boldness. No, Cedrella thought, even as Septimus’ soft, hot lips melted her insides and caused small explosions somewhere down near her stomach, no, this is not the same thing at all. This can’t be allowed, it’s too much… Her own lips were working against Septimus,’ her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer.

Nothing, none of the many hours she had spent in Septimus’ company, the dozens of letters they had exchanged, or the weeks she had spent thinking of nothing but him, had prepared Cedrella for how she felt in that mountain meadow. What remained of her protests fell away just as her fear of flying had done as she lay in Septimus’ arms with his hands on her back and in her hair and his lips on hers in that way that was almost frantic in their intensity. She kissed him and kissed him, forgetting the constellations, forgetting her father and his, forgetting Charis and Lucifer and Pepper and Mathias and flying and everything in the world except Septimus.

They flew back across the mountains and valleys and lakes in the fuzzy dark grey of very early morning, and landed back in the dark Owlery before it was even properly dawn. It was only standing there in the familiar stone tower that Cedrella realized how very cold, and hungry, and tiered she was. Mathias landed like a warm weight on her shoulder, concerned, but she stroked his feathered back and told him she was quite, quite all right. More than all right, in fact.

She and Septimus looked at one another. “Thank you,” Cedrella said, at last. “I will never�”it was a wonderful surprise.”

Septimus shook his head, smiling in a tender way quite unlike his usual teasing, gleeful expression. “Thank you.”

They shared one last long, lingering kiss before Cedrella pulled away, cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, and slipped out the door. The night was almost over. She looked back once, as she tiptoed down the steps, and saw the silhouette of Septimus, standing stock still where she had left him, staring after her. She blew him an invisible kiss.

**

It was terrifically lucky, Cedrella thought, that there was no class that day. She had fallen into bed the moment she entered her dormitory and been asleep in moments. When she next opened her eyes, the room was full of the usual eerie green light from it’s underground window, and was completely deserted. ¬¬Her roommates, Eleanor Selwyn and the two seventh year Slytherin girls, Veronica Bulstrode and Annabelle Burke, usually slept late on weekends, so Cedrella was not surprised to look at the clock on her nightstand and see that it was past noon. Grimly, she got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, wondering how on earth she was going to explain away this one. She only grimaced further when she saw her reflection in the mirror above the sink�”her hair was in wind-tossed knots all down her back, her cheeks were pink and chapped from the wind, and her lips, her kissed lips, were red and swollen. Cedrella took a cold bath, put powder on her face, dressed in fresh robes (she had never changed the night before), and neatly combed and pinned her hair, thinking all the while about what, in the name of Merlin, she was going to tell Charis. If she was lucky, Charis had stayed late in Hogsmeade with Lucifer and been busy telling her friends all about it last night, and would not have noticed her absence until this morning. If that were the case, Cedrella was sure she could explain it away�”they had missed each other at breakfast, she had gone to the library and run into Professor Slughorn there who needed a hand with something… But it was quite possible that Charis had come looking for Cedrella last night, wanted to tell her all about her date. And if that were so Cedrella was certain that she was in for another bout of justified, but difficult questions. Steeling herself, she left the dormitory and headed up the steps to the Great Hall.

She did not see her sister at the Slytherin table right away, so she sat down by herself and ladled some soup into a bowl, glancing up and down the long table for a head of brown, wavy hair like her own. She had almost decided Charis must have already had lunch, when she spotted her. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. Charis was not sitting with Mattie and Winifred, or even with Lucifer. She was seated across from Rodney Selwyn, and they had their heads together, speaking intently.

Do you think that I know something you don't know
What do you want from me?
If I don't promise you the answers would you go
What do you want from me?
Should I stand out in the rain
Do you want me to make a daisy chain for you
I'm not the one that you need
What do you want from me?

You can have anything you want
You can drift, you can dream, even walk on water
Anything you want

You can own everything you see
Sell your soul for complete control
Is that really what you need

You can lose your selfish mind
See inside there is nothing to hide
Turn and face the light

What do you want from me?
-Pink Floyd


“Cedrella, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Please pick a different expression, Charis, that sounds so vulgar,” Cedrella said, looking up from her book to face her sister and feeling dread settle in her stomach as she did so.

“It sounds fine,” Charis said, perching on the end of Cedrella’s bed. Cedrella raised her eyebrows and Charis sighed. “All right, fine. Cedrella, I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Much better. What is it, Charis?” Cedrella laid her book (it was Demetrius Weasley’s second one, which Septimus had given her a few days ago) down, faking a calm she did not feel. She had not had a proper conversation with her sister in over two weeks, ever since she had confronted her in the Great Hall and demanded what on earth she had been talking to Rodney Selwyn for. Memories of that unpleasant encounter, and Charis’ vague casualness and general disinterest in where Cedrella had disappeared to for a night, chased themselves across Cedrella’s mind as she looked into her sister’s face now. She had been convinced then, and she still was, that her sister was hiding something from her. Or at least that she was not being entirely truthful with her. It made Cedrella extremely uneasy, especially because she thought it might have something to do with Selwyn. In ordinary circumstances Cedrella would have confronted Charis about it, point blank. Even Septimus had advised her to do so, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Her guilt at her own deception still ate at her and somehow Cedrella felt that it wouldn’t be fair to demand honesty from Charis if she herself didn’t want to give it in return. That, and she was rather afraid of what she might hear. Well, I may be about to find out,she thought now.

Charis settled herself more securely on her sister’s bed, crossing her legs neatly and leaning towards Cedrella, her chin resting on her hand. “I think that I’ve figured out why Father won’t sign a betrothal agreement with the Malfoys,” she said.

Cedrella blinked, taken completely by surprise. “What?” she paused, frowning at her sister. “Hold on a moment, Charis. How do you know the Malfoys have even made an offer? Father may not�”“

“I know,” Charis interrupted, “because Lucifer let slip that they were going to, after the World Cup this summer. And so I wrote to Father to tell him that I have been enjoying spending time with Lucifer and that I approve and that I hoped he would accept the offer when it came.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you wrote the letter?” Cedrella demanded, slightly hurt. She usually wrote their letters home, and if Charis was sending one individually Cedrella always went over it with her beforehand.

Charis looked slightly guilty, but she said, raising her chin defiantly, “You were busy. You do know you’re never around anymore, don’t you? And anyway, I have to learn to write letters on my own sometime.”

“Well of course you do,” Cedrella said placatingly. She felt much calmer now that she knew all Charis wanted to talk about was Lucifer, like usual. “But such an important letter…that could have gone badly wrong.”

“Well, it didn’t,” Charis said. “Mattie and Lucifer both looked over it for me, and�”“

“You showed it to Lucifer?”

“Yes.”

The sisters stared at each other for a moment, Cedrella disapproving and worried, and Charis defiant once more.

“It’s not the eighteen hundreds anymore, Cedrella,” Charis said finally. “Today marriage is supposed to be a partnership, from the very beginning. You should know, with all of your talk about moving the Blacks into the modern world by keeping you at Hogwarts two years longer.”

“You know perfectly well I only said that to convince Father,” Cedrella said, amazed at her sister’s sharp snappishness. This was not a side of Charis she had seen often, and never directed at her.

“And if he ever finds out that Lucifer saw that letter, which he won’t, I have just as good an excuse as you did,” Charis retorted.

“Perhaps, but that’s beside the point.”

“Yes it is,” Charis agreed, sitting up straighter. “Because you haven’t let me finish. My letter must have been all right, because Father replied and thanked me for my input and said that Mr. Malfoy had actually already approached him. And Father told him he was interested, but he was going to hold off on promising anything for now.” Charis’ lips curled into a half-smile at Cedrella’s raised eyebrows. “I was surprised, too! And quite excited. But I was also confused�”I mean, the Malfoys are one of the few families that are just as pure as the Blacks. It seems like Father would be jumping on the offer. He wouldn’t need to make it public yet, but I mean, what if the Malfoys got tiered of waiting and the only person left for me to marry was Arnold Macmillan!”

“I thought you liked Arnold Macmillan,” Cedrella said, remembering her fantasy at Christmastime that her sister would marry into one of the Hufflepuff families.

Charis looked baffled. “I do, he’s very nice. But Cedrella--that’s completely beside the point. I’m talking about who I am actually going to marry, and I’m sure you’d agree that Father would definitely pick a Malfoy over a Macmillan any day. To marry a Black to a Malfoy would mean absolute purity of blood�”“

“You sound like Mother,” Cedrella said, her insides twisting inexplicably. “Charis, I’m sure that if you wanted to marry someone like Arnold we could talk Father into it without much trouble�”“

“Cedrella, are you even listening to me? I don’t want to marry Arnold, for Merlin’s sake! I want to marry Lucifer! And I was confused about why Father didn’t immediately sign an agreement, because you have to admit it makes sense that he would. Stop trying to change the subject!”

Cedrella had opened her mouth to retort, but she closed it, regarding her sister with surprise and a little bit of horror. It was unfathomable to her why Charis was so excited to get married. When did you grow such a backbone? she wanted to ask. And how can you think of marrying Lucifer Malfoy now, you’re only fourteen! But she didn’t. Instead, with no small amount of effort, she pulled to mind her father and the many intricacies of the Pureblood world, both things which had begun recently to seem like distant and almost unimportant bad memories. “All right,” she said to Charis. “I’m sorry. Yes, I think…I would think that Father would accept the offer from the Malfoys, too.”

“Exactly,” Charis said. “But he hasn’t�”and I think I’ve figured out why. It’s because of you.”

“Because of me?” Cedrella echoed, her unease returning in a rush.

“Well, sort of. I think it’s because he’s embarrassed to promise his younger daughter when he hasn’t even made arrangements for his older one, who is almost of age. I mean, what does that say about you to everyone else? That you’re undesirable or something? He couldn’t have that, and besides it isn’t true. You’re probably the most eligible Pureblood girl in the country. He couldn’t chance tarnishing that image, could he?”

Cedrella swallowed in a panicky sort of way. This conversation was not headed in a good direction. “But you said yourself the betrothal wouldn’t be made public right away anyhow. So it wouldn’t matter�”“

Charis waved a hand impatiently. “People would find out. Everyone usually knows about a big engagement like that before it is announced in the Prophet, you know that. Remember Callidora and Harfang, or even Rodney and Rosalyn this winter? A few people have already said things to me about it, I’ve been spending so much time with Lucifer lately. So when Rodney said�”“ She stopped at the look on Cedrella’s face.

“No, Charis, go on. What did ‘Rodney’ say?”

“He just asked me casually when Lucifer and I were going to set a date! Honestly, Cedrella, stop overacting.”

“That�”bully�”punched me in the face hard enough to make me bleed, Charis! I don’t see how I’m overreacting. I don’t want you to go anywhere near Rodney Selwyn, much less be on first name terms and discussing your non-existent betrothal. Not only does that spread rumors unnecessarily, it’s dangerous. I told you this two weeks ago, I want you to stay away from him�”“

“I don’t have to listen to you all the time, you know!” Charis said crossly. “Especially because all you ever do anymore is boss me around. I’m going to be fifteen in two months, and I can take care of myself. By the time you were fifteen, you already thought you knew everything. Besides, I don’t think I would ever be foolish or rude enough to call Rodney ‘blood-traitor, half-blood trash,’ so I’m probably safe.”

“I didn’t�”“ Cedrella stopped. Arguing with this strange new Charis was going to get them nowhere. She took a deep breath, wondering what had made her sister into this sharp, defiant young woman and trying to master her fear at the thought that Charis might not listen to her or consult her about anything anymore. She may be learning, but Cedrella knew that her sister was still clueless and naïve about some things, and the thought of what their father might do to her if she messed up made Cedrella’s stomach turn. “Listen,” she said finally, with forced calm. “I know you’re growing up. I know you can do lots of things on your own now�”like writing to Father, you must have done quite well. But that doesn’t mean you can be rude to me, Charis, or disregard my opinion completely, especially about something as important as this. I have a very, very good reason for mistrusting Rodney Selwyn, and I want you, please, to stay away from him.”

Charis did not speak for a long time. Cedrella thought that she looked rather conflicted�”slightly guilty, perhaps confused, still a little defiant. It was a curious experience, watching her sister’s face that she knew so well and having next to no idea what was going through her mind. Charis’ thoughts were not usually very difficult to decipher. Finally she raised her eyes to meet Cedrella’s. Her expression had settled on a sort of determination.

“All right,” she said, in a measured voice. “That’s fair. I’m not going to ignore him, though, if he talks to me�”I mean, we have proof that it isn’t a good idea to be rude to him. But I’ll stay clear of him as much as I can.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise, Cedrella, really. Now, can we talk about what I came here to talk about, please?”

“Yes, all right. When did you become such a negotiator, Charis?” Having made her point, Cedrella felt much calmer, even though they were still discussing her impending engagement. At least Charis would be safe… or safer, anyway.

Her sister gave another half-smile. “Maybe I learned it from you.”

“Maybe.”

“So, do you think that I’m right? Do you think Father really might just be holding off because he wants to have you promised to someone first?”

“Again, maybe.” Cedrella did not want to say what she really thought: that, most likely, Charis was absolutely, certainly, one hundred percent right.

“Cedrella,” Charis said, “if I miss out on the chance to marry Lucifer because you’re too busy studying and being introverted to talk to any potential boys, then I am never going to forgive you.” She sounded (to Cedrella’s relief) like she was teasing, but something about her tone told Cedrella that to some extent she was serious, as well.

“It’s not completely my fault that I’m not betrothed yet, Charis. Father could quite easily make an agreement without consulting me at all, and he hasn’t done that yet.”

“You know he doesn’t want to do that,” Charis said. “I mean, no doubt he will, at the rate you’re going, but I bet that he’s going to wait as long as possible and hope that you show preference for someone suitable. Unless he got a really good offer, I suppose.”

“That’s true,” Cedrella said. “And I like it that way, Charis. I’m quite glad he gives us the illusion we have some choice in the matter, anyway. It is the polite thing to do.”

“I know,” Charis said. “But my point is that I could lose my choice while I’m waiting for your husband to be picked for you at the last minute. I know you don’t want to get engaged, for some reason, but it’s going to happen, and you can’t get married until after you leave Hogwarts next summer anyway. Being betrothed right now wouldn’t really change anything.”

“So you want me to tell Father to hurry up and pick someone, so that he can say yes to the Malfoys, too?”

“Yes! Or, you know, pick someone yourself. Father might even announce the engagements at the same time, it would be quite the celebration. Just think what a grand party we could throw this summer, Cedrella, and we would be the guests of honor…”

“I see you’ve thought this out quite thoroughly,” Cedrella said dryly, feeling slightly relieved to hear a hint of Charis’ usual vain chatter.

“I’ve been thinking of hardly anything else for two weeks. It’s perfect, because we both have only one year left at Hogwarts. The timing all works out. I’ve thought that perhaps we could wear matching gowns, and�”“

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Charis,” Cedrella said.

Charis frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m not going to pick a random boy to marry just because you ask me to. It doesn’t even work that way, Charis, I can’t just write Father and say ‘by the way, I’ve decided to marry Marvin Burke’ or something like that. It would take all kinds of negotiations, and�”“

“I know that,” Charis said, waving a hand. “But it’s only March, you have time. You can spend some time with some of them, make a choice, write some brilliant letter to Father, and have the whole thing sorted by June!”

Cedrella refrained from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty, and then almost laughed at the thought of how much eye rolling Septimus was going to do when she relayed this conversation to him later. Eye rolling and outraged muttering, without a doubt.

“What?” Charis asked. She looked cross again.

“Nothing,” Cedrella said.

“Well, will you do it? This way you get to choose yourself, and it won’t change really anything at all for you, and I can be absolutely sure I can marry Lucifer. I don’t really care about the ball or the gowns,” she added anxiously, when Cedrella didn’t say anything. “That would just be fun, if it were to happen. But we don’t have to have a party at all. Well actually, we probably won’t get much of a choice if we do or we don’t. But we could have them separately, or�”“

“Charis, stop babbling. I don’t care about the party either.”

“Oh, all right. But will you write to Father? Please, Cedrella?”

Cedrella looked into her sister’s earnest face and wondered again what had happened. She still sensed that the “tell-the-truth-but-not-all-of-it” trick was being used on her, but she didn’t press the point. She just regarded Charis for a while, her thoughts whirling around in her head, thoughts of what she was going to do after Hogwarts, thoughts that she usually kept hidden and suppressed. And thoughts, unbidden ones that had no place in this conversation, of Septimus.

“I’ll think about it, Charis. I really will. That’s the best answer you’re going to get from me for now.”

**

Cedrella did, indeed think about it. In fact she thought of little else but her conversation with Charis for days afterwards. All of it was deeply troubling: that Charis was clearly hiding something from her, the fact the she had been speaking to Selwyn, the idea that she was so eagar to marry, that Charis was, at this point, probably going to marry Lucifer, who Cedrella had never liked or trusted, and the request her sister had made which, unfortunately, made a horrible kind of sense to Cedrella. But worst of all, it had unlocked her thoughts about the future. And so when she wasn’t picking over the more immediate, pressing problems of Charis’ safety or lack of honesty, Cedrella felt herself sinking into thoughts of what was going to happen, once the year was over. Once Septimus graduated. Once she had to go home for the summer. And then, once she herself had to leave Hogwarts and had to get married and move away and live the rest of her life as a proper, Pureblood wife. Six months ago this prospect had been unpleasant, but not unbearable. Cedrella had always faced her future with an “I’ll worry about that when it happens” sort of attitude, and it had served her well. But try as she might, she couldn’t call up that old resignation. No, these days, as she sat in the library pretending to be immersed in her research, she felt nothing but pure dread and a terrible wrenching in her gut at the idea of it.

Septimus found her one such evening, a few days after her discussion with Charis. Cedrella was curled into a chair in the back corner of the library, hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to ease the pain in her stomach that seared there every time she thought about “what was going to happen next,” feeling frustrated and ashamed at herself. She knew it was him before she opened her eyes.

“Hey, Drell,” he said quietly, confirming this.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He stood there in his Quidditch robes, red-haired and windswept as usual, looking at her with a concerned expression. “Hi.”

“Are you all right?”

“I�”yes, I’m just fine, I was only…”

She trailed off. Septimus had given her a skeptical look and she knew he knew she was not, in that moment, just fine. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“We can’t�”“ Cedrella stopped. It was late, almost curfew, on a Wednesday night. Nobody is going to be out on the grounds, she thought. “All right,” she agreed, setting aside the book that she had not been reading, anyway. Septimus reached out a hand to help her up and pulled her to his chest, crushing her in a hug. Cedrella sank into his arms with relief, pressing her nose to his shoulder, feeling her tension and fear ebb away, at least for a moment. Eventually she looked up. “Let’s go.”

Septimus picked up her school bag, which had been sitting beside the chair, and slung it over his shoulder. Then the two of them set off through the corridors, walking very close together, their hands brushing often as they walked. They met no one except a few ghosts, and as soon as Septimus had eased open the oak front doors and slipped into the shadows along the edge of the castle, he took Cedrella’s hand firmly in his own and kissed her fingertips. She smiled, pulling their linked hands down and covering his lips with hers. “Hi,” she whispered, and she could feel him smile.

“That should be how we say hello,” he agreed, when they had pulled apart.

Cedrella laughed quietly. “In a perfect world, yes.”

Septimus stroked the back of her hand. “How much longer do we have to keep this a secret, again?”

Cedrella frowned, her earlier thoughts returning in a rush. “Sep…”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Forget I said anything. We don’t have to talk about that right now. We don’t have to talk about anything! Let’s just walk.”

“We’ll walk,” Cedrella agreed, allowing Septimus to take her hand once more and lead her through the shadows towards the path that led to the greenhouses. “But actually that’s sort of what I was thinking about before. The future, I mean. You remember I told you the other day that I spoke with Charis?”

“Yes,” he said, and Cedrella could hear a slight note of trepidation in his voice.

“Well, at first I just thought she wanted to talk about Lucifer, as usual�”“

“Creep,” Septimus muttered.

Cedrella laughed. “Rather, yes. Anyway, she started talking about the possibility of being betrothed to him, and…” she relayed the entire conversation to Septimus: Rodney Selwyn, the engagement offer, Charis’ changed and defiant manner, and her sister’s request. “So I told her I would think about it, which I have been, often. When I’m not worrying about her, of course. But quite aside from the fact that I’m half afraid she’s going to get beat up by Selwyn, I’ve been thinking constantly about my future, and what I want, and what I have to do now…”

Septimus listened to her entire account with the slightly pained and bemused expression he usually wore when she tried to explain something about her family, though he had offered his commentary with a fair share of eye rolling and muttering, as she had predicted. “Well,” he said now, “what do you have to do?”

Cedrella said nothing, taking a moment to marvel at the fact that Septimus, who seemed so lighthearted and carefree and hotheaded most of the time, could take all of her rambling and find the one question that got straight to the heart of it all. It was a gift, she was certain. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I mean, I do on some level�”I have to finish this year and the next at Hogwarts, and then get married to whoever Father picks and spend the rest of my life as a perfect wife. I’ve always known that. But I don’t know what else I have to do to make that prospect more…bearable.”

“Then don’t!”

“What?”

“Don’t go through with that, not if you don’t want to! I’ve told you before, that’s just cruel. Your life should be about what you want, Drell.”

Cedrella smiled bitterly. “Perhaps it should, but it isn’t. It never has been. My life belongs to the Blacks, Sep. I just… I get to borrow it, while I’m here at Hogwarts.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know it is, to you. But that’s�”“

“That’s just the way it is,” Septimus finished, angrily.

“Yes.”

She could see him scowling in the half-light. They made their way behind the greenhouses and across the vegetable patch, down to the edge of the lake. Here Septimus stopped, sitting down in the grass against the trunk of a young tree and pulling Cedrella down with him. They sat there in silence, Cedrella staring at Septimus and he at the water. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, though she could guess with a fair amount of certainty that it was something rebellious.

“All right,” Septimus said suddenly. “So that’s what you have to do. Just forget about that for a minute. What do you want to do?”

Cedrella looked at his shadowed face, meeting his determined glare, and then gazed out across the lake. “I want to relive this year, over and over and over again,” she said quietly. “I never want to get married and I never want to go home and I want to study and learn and be with you. Always. But Sep,” she said at his sharp intake of breath, a little desperately, “what use is it doing me to want that? I can never have it. Time is going to keep on passing just as it always does, as sure as breathing, and this year will be over and then all wanted it back is going to do is make me miserable. It’s not worth it. I can never have what I want, and I’ve always known it, so what use is it to want something, anyway?”

“If you want something,” Septimus said, in a low voice, “then you can make it happen. There might be consequences, and it might be difficult, but it’s in your power to be whatever you want to be. Don’t go telling me you’re some sort of helpless damsel pawn in your twisted Pureblood world. I know better. You’re more than that.”

Cedrella swallowed painfully. It was so easy to believe Septimus’ words when he talked like that�”and she wanted to believe them, more than she had ever wanted anything. “I�”can’t,” she choked out after a moment, feeling, to her horror, hot tears threatening in the back of her eyes. “I can’t start thinking that way, Sep. You’re more than that. You always have been. But I’m… I’m a Black. Whatever you say about “wanting” things and making them happen, that’s never going to change. It’s all I’ll ever be.”

“That’s not true!” Septimus stood up suddenly, towering over her, his voice furious. “Listen to me, Cedrella, I know you better than anyone, and I know you can do better than that! It’s pathetic the way you’re letting them dictate your life when you’re the one who�”“

“Don’t call me pathetic, Septimus Weasley,” Cedrella said, standing up too. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked? How bloody hard it is to be this perfect all the time? How well I’ve dealt with hiding my relationship with you from the entire castle? Do you even understand how difficult that’s been? How bluntly do you need me to say it? I. Have. No. Choice.”

“There’s always a choice!”

“That,” Cedrella snapped, “is a fanciful lie. Do you think my mother had a choice, when she was engaged to my father at age twelve? Do you think my favorite cousin Marius had a choice when my aunt and uncle threw him out of the house when he was seven years old because they were pretty sure he was a Squib? Did I have a choice when I was beat for the first time when I was five because I stopped to talk to a Muggle girl on the street? Did your precious father have a choice to live or die when he was trampled by that horse?”

Septimus looked as if she had slapped him, and his eyes had gone wide. “Stop it. Stop it! That has nothing�”NOTHING�”to do with what we’re talking about right now, d’you hear me? Of course he didn’t have a damn choice, it was an accident! But you�”you marrying some filthy rich Pureblood just because you think you don’t have enough of a spine to say no, that’s something else.”

Cedrella immediately regretted saying it, but she wasn’t about to take it back. She felt frustrated and panicked, as if she had to make him see, had to make him understand why she was doing this. “It’s not,” she said. “I have next to no control over this situation, just like your father. You don’t understand, because you’re a blood traitor and a boy, but it’s true, all right? That’s why I’m seriously considering doing what Charis wants me too�”just picking someone halfway decent before I lose any control of the situation that I might have once had!”

Septimus looked away. “Fine,” he muttered. “Why don’t you just go pick someone now? Cozy up to that creep Marvin Burke or something. You should have done it ages ago, if this is the way it’s going to be.” He paused, and Cedrella saw his angry expression slip. For a moment, he looked close to tears. Then he met her eyes again, his face hardened once more. “Go on. Get. Why haven’t you done it before now?”

“Because of you!” she cried, his bitterness and hurt almost more than she could bear. “Because of you, Septimus! Because the last few months have been the happiest ones of my life and I wasn’t about too lose that before I had to, and besides I hate the idea of you being unhappy like this, that’s what started everything in the first place, before I even knew you. I can’t stand it, Sep, I can’t!”

“Well, maybe you don’t have a choice!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m perfectly entitled to be unhappy if the girl I love is planning to desert me for some creep she hardly knows just because she thinks she has to!”

“Of course you are, Sep! But I�”what?”

“What?”

“You…you said…” She could not complete the sentence. She merely stared at him, her heart pounding frantically in her chest.

She couldn’t be sure, as they were standing in almost complete darkness by now, but she thought she saw a dull flush creeping up his face and into his ears. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Umm… I love you. Did I�”did I mention that?”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “Yes, you just did.” She stared at him, unable to form any more words, her thoughts swirling feverishly. I love you too, I love you she thought. And then :What on earth am I going to do now?

Is it not the choosing that makes the life we live so intricate?
Are the options we have too endless to control?
Can we oversee the offers and their demands and their goals?
Can we oversee our own needs if we do not know
What it is we really want?
Our minds, instead of our hearts
What we feel confuses our thoughts
Security, an ancient quest
Standing alone, the ultimate test
Still we reach for warmth in the materialized luxuries in life
The times have changed but we are stille the same
Another choice ‘cause we still don’t know

Let me see where I belong
Let me be a little part of it
Can I choose my way in life?
Can I dream, can I feel, could I know my choice?
A choice without the illusion that luck is for sale
‘cause I have all that money can buy
-After Forever


“I’m not going to do anything just yet.” That was what she had told Septimus that night, the answer she had given herself, completely insufficient as it was. “I’m going to think, and I’m going to work something out�”somehow�”“

“It’ll be all right, Drell,” he had assured her as she grimaced.

“Yes,” she had said, with a confidence she did not feel, ashamed he was the one reassuring her. “It must. I…” she could not think of anything precisely to say that would express what was going on in her mind just then. “I’m going to work something out,” she repeated.

“Of course you are. I know you can. I’m sorry I yelled at you, I just can’t stand the idea�”“

“I know,” Cedrella had said, shushing him. “Let’s not talk about it anymore now. I forgive you. I’m sorry too. Of course.” She kissed him quickly. “I’m going to go in now.”

He had caught her hand in that way that always made her heartbeat stutter. “All right, but, Drell, promise me something? You’re not going to just pretend all this isn’t happening, are you? It’s not the future, it’s now, we’re in it, and I want�”promise me you’re going to come up with another solution besides picking which jerk you’ll be condemned to wait on for the rest of your life.”

“An interesting way of looking at it,” she had said, trying to make light of his words and hide the hurt and fear they caused her. When he didn’t smile she had sighed. “I can’t promise you anything, Sep, except that I’m going to try.”

“That’s enough for now.”

“For now?”

“For now,” he repeated. “Goodnight, Drell. I love you.”

She had hesitated, wanting to say it but hating to admit it, and then whispered “I love you too, I think.” And then she had hurried away across the lawn.

**

Four days later, Cedrella sat in History of Magic, no closer to a solution to her problem than she had been that night by the lake. It wasn’t for a lack for trying, however�”she done quite well with her promise to Septimus so far. She thought she had been preoccupied before, worrying over Charis and her request for most of her free hours. But for the last four days, Cedrella’s every waking moment (as well as most of her sleeping ones) had been spent trying to see a solution to the situation she had gotten herself into�”a situation in which wherever she turned, she was going to hurt not only herself but one of the two people she cared about the most: Charis, or Septimus. That, of course, was the problem in its simplest, purest form. Throw in the rest of her family, her obligations to the Blacks and to her sister, the whole business with the owls, whatever Charis and possibly Rodney Selwyn were hiding from her, and what she was growing surer each day was her love for Septimus, and Cedrella felt she could say, with a considerable amount of certainty, that this was a problem that had no solution. Her plan from that January�”to simply do what she liked, and to ignore what was coming�”felt foolish and hollow and naive, and she knew she couldn’t go back to it.

For what felt like the tenth time that day, Cedrella dipped her quill into her ink and began a list.

Things I Cannot Do
1) Break my promise to S. I’m going to keep working on this until I’m 100% sure there is no elegant solution.
2) Let Charis loose her chance with Lucifer and think it was my fault. (There has to be some was to ensure this other than picking someone for myself first).

Once more she paused, her quill hovering hesitantly over the paper.

3) Turn my back on my family.
4) Ever be cut off from Septimus completely.

Cedrella surveyed the last two items on the list with deep gloom. It was perfectly plain to her that they were contradictory. Her family would never allow her to see Septimus, even if he was only her friend. And once she was married she could see no way to communicate with him except through letters and secrecy. Far from the fact that Cedrella was not sure she could bear going back to letters after everything she and Septimus had shared, she was quite certain that “lets be pen pals” was not the solution Septimus was hoping for or expecting.

What does he want from me? she wondered for the thousandth time. What is he expecting me to do, declare my relationship with him to the world and accept the consequences? But as ridiculous as that sounded in her head, Cedrella had a nagging feeling that that was exactly what Septimus wanted her to do. Well, I won’t, she thought. I couldn’t. I can’t. No, argued the little voice the back of her mind. But there is another way

“Black?” She looked up with a start. The room was empty except for Eleanor Selwyn, who was looking a bit suspicious. “The lesson is over.”

“Right, thank you, Eleanor, I was just finishing up a conclusion to my notes,” Cedrella said, rolling up her parchment tightly with a flick of her wand. Then she picked up her bag and brushed past the other girl without another word, holding her head erect. You are aloof, she thought. She is meddling and you are better than she is. And for that moment, it was true. But the feeling of superiority and the sight of Eleanor’s angry face gave Cedrella no pleasure at all.

After a fast and solitary dinner, Cedrella retreated to the library. She headed to her favorite, hidden corner and took out the exhaustive Flint Family Tree she had been working on for weeks. She traced the labored over lines that linked her, however distantly, to Gloria Flint without really looking at them. A thought that had nested, unacknowledged, in her mind since her argument with Septimus had finally shown itself in History of Magic that afternoon, before she was interrupted by the youngest Selwyn. It was time, Cedrella decided, to let it out. And so she closed her eyes and allowed the impossible idea to fill her mind: What if Father agreed to let me marry Septimus?

March 30th, 1934
Dear Father,

I hope this letter finds you and Mother well. I was pleased to see in that paper that you have secured another business contract with Mr. Macmillan, though not surpised�”you have always been more than capable at managing the trust.

I am well here at Hogwarts. Exams are of course not far away and I am busy studying. Arithmancy and Potions, especially, are proving to be challenging and rewarding. I have been tutoring some third-year students in both subjects, including Emma Greengrass and the Prince boy. The professors are certainly expanding the tutoring program, and I am proud to say that they have chosen all Purebloods so far. I know that Fiona Bones, of Ravenclaw, has been tutoring Charms, and Professor Dumbledore has Septimus Weasley, a seventh year, helping with Transfiguration. Apparently he’s quite brilliant.

I hoped to begin some correspondence about Charis. It has come to my attention that there are rumors circulating among the students about her relationship with Lucifer Malfoy. Several individuals have even forgotten their place and asked Charis or I about it, and we have been struggling to find the correct response. Of course it is entirely between his family and ours, and they have no business speaking of it. All the same, I hope to be able to give a definitive answer soon and put down the rumors. If you have any advice or say-so on the matter, I would be pleased to hear it. Charis and Malfoy have been dealing with it perfectly, and I respect young Mr. Malfoy a great deal for the way he treats Charis and the entire situation. I of course do not mean to pry, but I hope an engagement announcement will be forthcoming soon.

Enjoy your holidays in France and please send Mother and the Malfoys my regards.

Sincerely,
Your Daughter

Cedrella E. Black

This was the letter that Cedrella wrote, painstakingly recopied, and mailed the following day. She did not show it to Charis, and because her sister had recently denied to show her important letters to home and because the point of the letter really was to help her sister, anyway, she did not feel too guilty about this.

It was a good idea�”not as good (or bad, depending on how one looked at it) as Charis’ own, but sound all the same. If there was one thing their parents hated it was rumors defiling the family name, and if there was one person who knew how to manipulate Arcturus Black into doing what she wanted it was Cedrella. If she could just get her father to accept and announce the engagement, that would solve half her problems. The smaller half, it was true, but Cedrella didn’t know what else to do. I talked him into letting me continue at Hogwarts, she reminded herself. And I talked him out of punishing me too harshly for the detention or the Rodney incident. I can do this.

Charis caught up with her the day after she sent the letter, as Cedrella hurried from the Common Room to “patrol,” which was usually code these days for “the Owlery to meet Septimus.” “I have been thinking,” she said, as her sister opened her mouth. “Believe me Charis, I have. I mailed a letter to Father yesterday.”

Charis’ grey eyes grew wide. “So, you told him...?”

“I told him that I’ve been tutoring third years, and that I was pleased to her about his continuing business interactions with the Macmillans.”

Charis rolled her eyes. “And?”

“And, I do believe that the rest is my business,” Cedrella said.

Charis scowled. “Cedrella, you have to tell what you wrote! Are you saying you’re not even going to tell me who you picked?”

“I never said that I picked anyone,” Cedrella retorted, swallowing her dislike of this game of half-lies she was playing with her sister. “But if I had, then you would be right, I’m not going to tell you. It’s not really your concern, Charis. But you should know that I am trying to help you. That’s why I wrote the letter.” She lowered her voice. “If you want to marry Lucifer, then that’s what I want too.”

“You promise that you’ll help me?” Charis whispered back, looking up at her with angry eyes that Cedrella didn’t understand.

“I’m already trying, Charis. I promise you that.”

“All right.”

“Good,” Cedrella said, touching her sister briefly on the shoulder. “I have to go patrol now, Charis. Goodnight.”

And she stepped out of the Common Room into the dimly lit castle, wondering how many more promises she could keep.

**

Though the next few weeks were by some token happy and quite similar to the past month or so, Cedrella could feel a constant tenseness in the air around her that had not been present before. She still spoke with Charis�”not as often as she once had, but fairly regularly�”and yet there was a strain to their conversations, as if both knew that the other was hiding something, and resented them for it. Cedrella hated this change, subtle though it was, in her relationship with her sister, even though she knew it was partly her own fault. She talked about it at length with Septimus, who was always fairly understanding when it came to siblings, but even that outlet felt different to Cedrella now. She and Septimus still laughed as they always did, still discussed her research and spoke about family and school and anything else they could think of, still met in the Owlery or on the grounds or in the corner of the library at odd hours several times a week. He still slipped notes into her textbooks and sweets from his packages from home into her pockets, and she still saved every scrap of paper with his handwriting on it in a growing pile under her mattress. And yet often Cedrella could feel their argument hanging in the air between them�”the uncertainty, the frustration, and the urgency over the future and what was going to happen to them. Cedrella knew Septimus was growing agitated, and knew he was trying to give her space, to give her time, trying not to mention it. So many times she had seen his eyes narrow, his forehead crease, and his fists clench at the slightest mention of her family or the end of the year, and she felt simultaneously sad and grateful that he was containing his temper�”his very fiery, hotheaded, loveable nature�”for her benefit. There was certainly a seriousness between them that had not been there before. And yet despite that (or perhaps because of it?) she knew she was falling harder for him every day. She never mentioned it, and neither did he�”but she had a feeling that he knew, as well.

The Easter holidays arrived, and Septimus went home to visit his family. He had tried to convince Cedrella to come stay with him, and though she had responded with a lighthearted “don’t be ridiculous, Sep,” she wanted to say yes more than she ever would have admitted. She wanted, badly, to experience the life that the Weasleys shared, so radically different from her own, that Septimus had described so vividly to her. But she wasn’t foolish enough to try to make it happen. Explaining that to Charis would involve transparent and complicated lies�”it could never be. And so Cedrella kissed him goodbye and they promised to write, and she settled into the break at Hogwarts, relieved she herself wasn’t going home and determined to make the most of her week off.

She took long walks around the grounds, savoring the fresh air and warm breeze. She took her schoolwork outside and sat in the courtyard or by the lake studying in the pleasant outdoor light. She visited Pepper, and was treated to strong coffee and lots of informative stories about his aunt and her distant relative, Gloria Flint, the bird-speaker. She enjoyed his company so much that she returned each day after that, and spent many happy hours talking to the gruff gamekeeper while he mended socks and oiled traps, helping him peel potatoes for his dinner in return for the conversation and coffee. With both Mathias and Cleo at work, she and Septimus exchanged letters almost every day. And she spent long hours in the quiet of her empty dormitory drafting letters to her father, in a plan of persuasion which, though far-fetched, she thought might just work and make her wildest dreams come true. It was a productive and peaceful holiday, as long as Cedrella didn’t think too long about her strained connection with Charis or that fact that once term began, she had little more than a month left in the little paradise she had built for herself.


April 17th, 1934

Dear Drell,

I’m so glad you’ve been spending time with Pepper! He is an awfully interesting guy, and he knows so much about so many different things that you wouldn’t expect, which I’m sure you are discovering. I hope he hasn’t been telling you too many embarrassing stories about my brothers and I though�”he certainly knows them all. Like the time in my second year while we were serving detention for him and we were supposed to be catching bowtruckles… Well, I’ll let him tell you.

Mum has been getting on me all week about what I am going to do once I leave Hogwarts, and I keep telling her that I don’t know what I want yet, but she’s not having it. Rudy finally stuck up for me today at breakfast and pointed out to her that he didn’t have a plan when he finished school, either, and it was never a problem then, which is perfectly true. She got quite tight-lipped and said something about “well your father was around to support us then” and Rudy and I looked at one another and just left the kitchen and had a game of Quidditch in the field. Perhaps we shouldn’t have done it, but I can’t stand talking about Dad or money with Mum, and this was both.

It’s great to spend time with Rudy, though. I’ve told him more about you, and he wants to meet you. I think the two of you would get on well. He will tease you worse than I do, which is something I would love to see.

I miss you, Drell. Write again soon, and I will see you in six days. (Yes, I’m counting).

Love,

Sep


April 18th, 1934

Dear Septimus,

You do realize you have to tell me that story about the bowtruckles now, or I will ask Pepper. But to answer your question, no, he hasn’t been telling tales on you�”I’ve been hearing lots about his childhood, and his mother and his aunt that we have a particular interest in. I’ve actually taken down some of the stories about Gloria and added them to my research files. He’s such a fascinating man and though I don’t think he knows what to make of me, he’s always friendly and open with me and all my questions.

I hope you haven’t argued any more with your mother�”it won’t do either of you any good, you know. She definitely has your best interests at heart, which I know you are aware of, but it doesn’t hurt to remind you. And I’m certain that it will get easier to talk about your father, you all just need time. I would love to meet Rudy someday, of course, though the idea does make me slightly nervous. But I’ve always done all right dealing with you�”so how much harder could it be?

Charis hasn’t spoken to me all week. I have admittedly been avoiding my Housemates, studying outside or in the Owlery and spending time down at Pepper’s hut. But times when we have been together, such as at meals, Charis doesn’t talk to me. I am worried about her, and yet it is so hard to be around her these days that I am almost relieved. Which, of course, makes me feel even guiltier. I am going to have to do something about this, you know. Perhaps we can come up with a plan when you return.

Mathias has spent the afternoon with me on the grounds, so I’ll send this along with him now. I miss you and cannot wait to see you again in five days. The castle is not the same without you in it.

xo
Cedrella


April 23th, 1934

Cedrella,

Thank you for your letter and the concerns you have expressed. You are correct that this matter of your sister’s engagement is strictly between the Malfoy family and ours. Please continue to monitor the situation at Hogwarts. You have my assurance that this matter will be decided by the Solstice.

I am pleased to hear of your tutoring opportunities and that the professors are taking note of the superior talent of Purebloods such as yourself. I trust you will continue to excel in this area.

Your mother and I are enjoying France.

Sincerely,

Your Father

Arcturus S. Black


April 24th, 1934

Dear Father,

Thank you for your attention to the matter of rumors I wrote to you about. I will naturally pay attention to the situation and keep you and Mother updated. Charis and Malfoy have gotten even more attention since the pictures in the Prophet of the Blacks and the Malfoys vacationing together, but they are handling it well.

In other matters, I had a conversation with Greta Carmichael, the current Head Girl, a few days ago about my chances of assuming the position in the fall. She was helpful and positive, though she did say that Professor Dippet has been less consistent with his choice of Purebloods over the last few years. This year, for example, she had to share the position with Gryffindor and Mudblood Francis O’Connor. We discussed the fact that some of my fellow tutors, such as Prince or Weasley, would have been much more qualified. If I were to be in a similar situation next year (for many students in my year, such as Marvin Burke, who might otherwise be eligible, have been seen around with a few too many girls as of late) I have to step up to be the real leadership of the students that matter. I am eager and willing to do this, and Carmichael assured me that I had her recommendation.

Send my regards to Mother as always.

Your devoted daughter,

Cedrella E Black

**

“I’m a terrible sister,” Cedrella announced, closing the heavy oak door to the Owlery.

“Says who?” asked Septimus, turning away from the window to look at her.

“Says me,” she said.

“All right,” Septimus said, grinning at her. “Fair enough. But how about ‘congratulations on finishing your N.E.W.Ts, my beloved Sep, and on Gryffindor winning the House Cup, as well, mostly due to your excellent Quidditch skills!’”

“The points aren’t finalized until tomorrow night,” Cedrella retorted, joining him at the window. “Don’t count your owls before they’re delivered, Weasley.”

Septimus laughed easily. “Are you expecting a sudden windfall for Slytherin, then?”

“I’ve learned to expect the unexpected,” Cedrella said loftily.

“You’ve also learned to banter like the best of them, Miss Black.”

“I had an excellent teacher,” she said. Septimus smiled. “But I suspect the most credit goes to my own sharp wit,” she added.

Septimus kissed her. “There’s no doubt about that.” They smiled at one another, standing together in the familiar window of the Owlery. It was warm, with a light breeze drifting through the window, the sort of June night when the air feels like the exact temperature of your skin. Mathias, perched nearby as usual, cooed softly. “What did he say?” asked Septimus.

“Nothing specific,” Cedrella said. “He just likes to see us like this. We’re his two favorite people�”isn’t that right, Mat?”

The owl hooted in agreement. And then the other chimed in, calling and cooing to Cedrella, expressing their own pleasure that she was there and that she was happy.

She clucked back to them, smiling, marveling at the speed with which Septimus and the owls could transform a bad mood into a good one.

Septimus took her hand and pulled her down to sit beside him in the fresh hay piled under the window. “I love watching you talk to them like that,” he said. “It never gets any less fascinating.” Cedrella smiled and stroked one hand through his tousled red hair. “I sound like Demetrius,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “You know something?” he said after a moment.

“What?” she asked, curling a piece of his hair around one finger.

“Last April, I came up here late one night to send a letter,” Septimus said. “And I had only opened the door a crack when I realized there was already someone here. It was a girl, in a white nightdress, and she had owls perched on her arms and flying around her head, and she was twirling. Spinning, and smiling. I watched for a few minutes and then I left, because I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“That was me,” Cedrella said softly.

“I know,” Septimus said. “Afterwards I tried to figure out who it had been, and I realized a few weeks later, when I passed you and your sister talking in the corridor, that it was you. I…I watched you, after that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a boy, and I like to solve mysteries, especially ones involving beautiful girls.”

“If that was a compliment, I didn’t appreciate it,” Cedrella told him, and he laughed. “That’s how you knew my name,” she said, after a moment. “When I first met you, in October. You said ‘thanks, Cedrella.’ And I had no idea how you knew who I was.”

“I knew of you before that,” Septimus said. “But yes, that’s why. I thought you were fascinating. And that’s why I went to the Owlery in the first place, that day, because I wanted somewhere that was just away, and I thought of that night, and you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I made quite the impression on you, didn’t I? How come you’ve never told me before?”

Septimus shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

“Silly. It’s important to me.”

“Well, I’m glad I told you, then. But I don’t fathom the way your mind works, Drell Black.”

“Oh, stop.”

“What? I call you Drell all the time!”

“I know, and I’ve given it up as a lost cause. But you can’t pair it with Black.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you can’t,” Cedrella said.

She knew he was rolling his eyes, even though she couldn’t see his face. But for once he didn’t push it. They sat there in silence for a minute, enjoying the warm June air, and then Septimus said, “So what’s this about you being a horrible sister?”

“Oh,” Cedrella said, sighing. “That. It’s nothing really, just more of the same. I sat with Charis tonight, and we barely spoke. She was gossiping with Mattie the whole time, and I didn’t even have the guts to reprimand her, because I didn’t want to start an argument. That’s all we ever do anymore, Sep, is argue. I don’t know how it happened. We used to be so close! It’s my job to fix it, I know it is. Because I have to be there for her, to take care of her and her mistakes. But lately I’ve just… avoided her. It’s terribly irresponsible of me. But practically every time we talk she starts needling me about my engagement, and that’s the last thing I want to talk to her about.” She leaned her head against Septimus’ shoulder, stopping for a moment to marvel at the way her thoughts had spilled from her lips, unscripted, baring her feelings to an outsider. So much has changed this year, she thought. Everything has changed.

Septimus stroked her hands in his characteristic way, saying nothing. Cedrella knew he had heard her say all this before, and she also knew that he was thinking about her engagement, wondering whether to bring up the taboo subject of the future.

She took a deep breath. She had promised herself she would tell him tonight. It was, after all, her last chance to do so. “It’s all right, Sep,” she said, steeling herself. “You can ask. I know you want to. We need to talk about it.”

Septimus let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t want to argue with you tonight.”

She smoothed his hair, more fond of him in that moment than she had ever been. He was willing to keep quiet about it, on their last night, to spare her feelings, to make her happy, and she loved him for it. Septimus was not at first glance a particularly sensitive person, and his sweetness still took her by surprise at odd moments. “I’ve been writing to Father,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “He’s assured me that the “rumors” about Charis and Lucifer will be quelled by the Solstice. I think that means he’s going to announce their betrothal then. I’m almost positive.”

“Isn’t there a chance he’ll tell you who you’re marrying then, too?” Septimus asked.

“Yes,” Cedrella said. “But Charis isn’t the only thing I’ve been writing to him about, Sep. I’ve been…dropping hints. Tiny ones, but all the same… and I’ll have two and a half weeks to work on him once I get home, before the Solstice. I think that will be enough time.”

“Enough time for what?” Septimus asked. He sounded nervous. “What have you been hinting about?”

Cedrella took another silent, steadying breath. “You,” she said. “I’ve been… I mean, you’re still a Pureblood, Sep. I think I can convince him….This is the only way I can think to make everything right.”

Septimus’ eyes were wide in his boyish face. He looked at her intently. “Explain,” he said. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I mean that I’m hoping I can convince Father to announce my engagement….to you.” Silence. “It’s not going to be easy,” Cedrella rushed on. “I don’t know if it’s going to work. You’re going to have to act a bit. We’ll both have to lie a bit. But it will be perfectly legitimate, and…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. If you don’t want me to keep trying that’s all right, I’ll stop, I won’t say another word about it to Father�”“

“Cedrella,” Septimus said, finding his voice, “Are you saying that after all this time hiding, you’re going to tell you’re father about me and you think he’ll let you marry me?”

“I suppose yes, in a way�”I’m giving him a much altered version, of course, and I’m going to have to lie a lot, about you and how I know you and why it’s a good idea for us to be together, but yes, he might. Of course he might not. He might just get really angry with me and, well… But I want to try, I promised you I would and it’s the only way I can think of to make this work.”

Septimus stared at her and ran a hand through his hair. “Let me get one thing straight?”

“Of course.”

“You want to marry me.”

“Well I�”I don’t really want to marry anyone, right now, but I have to, and if I had the choice you’re the only person I would ever want to be with.” She bit her lip, looking into Septimus’ shocked face. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. “But if you don’t want me to do it I won’t,” she said again. “This would mean…a lot of responsibilities for you, Sep. We’d have to go to functions. Put up a respectable face. Have my parents over for dinner once in a while. I know it wouldn’t be easy for you and I know it’s a lot to ask�”“

“Drell,” he interrupted, “stop talking.” And then he took her face between his hands and pulled her close to him and kissed her mouth, with a ferocity and a determination that made her gasp.

“Sep!” she said, when she could catch her breath. “You have to consider this seriously, it’s asking a lot of you and I know it’s a bit bold of me, but�”“

“I don’t care,” Septimus said, and his eyes sparkled. “I don’t care if we have to go to hundreds of those stupid Pureblood parties, Drell, I would do it for you, and we can come home and laugh about it afterwards, and make fun of all the Selwyns, and… and you’ll meet my family and we can go to Tinsworth for Sunday lunch and we’ll have owls, all kinds, and horses, too, and�”you really think this is will work?”

Cedrella could not help but beam at his enthusiasm, nor did she have the heart to tell him not to get ahead of himself. “I can’t promise that it will,” she said.

“But you think it will?”

“Yes,” she said. “I could be woefully wrong about this…but I think so.”

Septimus picked up her hand and held it on his lap. “We’ll have a stable,” he continued, and though he was looking at her, Cedrella knew he was seeing something far away, something she couldn’t even imagine. “Just a small one. Three, maybe four horses, just enough to pull a carriage. I can teach you how to care for them, and ride them…”

“And I’ll teach you how to dance,” Cedrella said, picking up the narrative, a future she had hardly dared imagine spreading out in her mind’s eye. “I’ll teach you the waltz and the swing, and how to bow, and exactly how to deal with Father and Mother, so well that we’ll fool everyone into thinking you’re a gentleman!”

Septimus laughed. “Quint and Tusy will make fun of me into the next century. Rudy, too, except he’ll also think it’s hilarious. And Demetri is just going to ask me all kinds of questions and have me observing the Purebloods like they’re some kind of alternate species.”

Cedrella laughed too. “Just wait till you see what you’ll have to wear! And how we’ll have to decorate the house to please Mother and Father when we have to invite them for tea. You’ll never hear the end of it!”

“We’ll have to have a second dining room to use when it’s just us,” Septimus said, grinning. “Or a whole second house�”we could get a cottage in the country, somewhere that your family will never know about, where we can go and look and act as improperly as we want�”you can wear pants and Muggle clothes and we’ll eat sitting on the floor and never mop, and�”“

“And let the owls fly all through the house, and have china that doesn’t match, and never cut the grass!” Cedrella added, their impossible little fantasy dancing before her eyes.

“As messy as you want,” Septimus agreed, grinning. He knew she was a neat freak.

“Naturally,” Cedrella laughed. She laid her head against his shoulder, impossibly happy. This night, their last night together at Hogwarts in the place that had brought them together, should have been sadder, she thought. But it wasn’t. Bittersweet, perhaps, but the hope that was ballooning out in her chest outweighed any negative feelings. Maybe it was wrong to be so hopeful, but Cedrella found that she couldn’t help herself. Everything about Septimus felt somehow meant to be, even though less than a year ago she would have said she didn’t believe in such nonsense. But why else had she extended a hand to him that night they first met? Why else did he, so vastly different from her, understand parts of her she had never known existed? Why else could she be happier now than she had ever been, even when everything about the situation was wrong? Septimus had instilled a new optimism in her that had no patience with the old, cynical side of her. I’m still realistic, she thought. I’m still sensible, most of the time. I can still be a good Black to the world. But… “I’m braver now,” she said aloud.

“I’d love to think my Gryffindor influence had something to do with that,” Septimus said.

“I know it did,” she replied.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m betting you had it in you all along.”

She twisted around to meet his eyes. “That’s an awfully nice thing to say.”

He kissed her. “It’s true.”

“I don’t know about that. How come you’re so sure?”

“Because…” he traced a finger across her face. “Not to sound too deep or sensitive or anything, but because you’re so much more than you think you are. It seems sometimes like you put the fact that you’re a Black before the fact that you’re you, and you don’t realize�”you can’t see�”that you’re worth more on your own than all of you put together. You’re Drell. And you’re smart, and clever, and funny, and interesting, and yeah, brave, and all of that is yours, alone. It doesn’t have anything to do with you being a Black. It has to do with you. You being worth something as an individual, not a�”marriage pawn.”

“I don’t know, Sep, that sounded pretty deep and sensitive to me,” Cedrella murmured, trying to hide the fact that there were inexplicable tears glazing her eyes.

“Darn,” he said, and she smiled, one of the tears escaping the corner of her eye. He caught it with his finger. “Are you crying?”

“Maybe,” she said, more tears leaking out. Then she laughed. “Yes. Happy tears, I think�”I’ve read about those. I never believed it.”

“Believe it,” Septimus said, brushing away more tears and grinning.

“Oh, I do,” she said, sniffing and smiling all at once. “I love you.” She did. Unquestionably.

Septimus’ smiled widened, and he once again looked like a child who had won his favorite game. “I love you too.”

Cedrella wondered then for the millionth time how this had happened, how the redheaded person sitting beside her had changed her life so profoundly in just eight months. She smiled.

“Oh, come on,” Septimus said.

“What?”

“Kiss me, you ridiculous�”“

“Watch who you’re calling ridiculous,” she teased.

“�”ly beautiful girl,” he finished with a flourish.

“Nice save.”

“If I said I was planning to say it all along, will you get on with it and kiss me?”

Cedrella smiled and, slowly, leaned in and pressed her lips across his.

**

Hours later, lying in Septimus’ arms on the surprisingly comfortable straw, Cedrella looked up at the little swatch of sky that was visible though the window of the Owlery. “When I miss you this summer,” she said softly, “I’ll find Sagittarius in the stars, and hopefully you’ll know I’m thinking of you.”

“I’ll find him too,” Septimus said. “Good old Dad. He’ll always connect us, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Cedrella agreed, knowing he was referencing the first time they had met, the day of Sagittus Weasley’s death. “And Mathias of course,” she added, registering a sleepy hoot from somewhere above them.

“Of course,” Septimus agreed. “We’ll write lots of letters, just like old times.”

“You might get some odd letters from my Father or I, if everything goes according to plan. Just a warning.”

“Consider me warned,” he said, and she knew he was smiling. “I’ll look forward to it.”

They lay in silence for a while longer, Septimus playing with her loose hair and she tracing circles on his bare shoulder, marveling once again at the twists of fate that had brought her to this time and place.

“It’s time to go, isn’t it?” Septimus said after a while.

“Yes,” she said, regretfully. “It must be nearly dawn.”

He sat up, pulling her with him. “I’ll write every day,” he promised. “And next year I’ll visit you every Hogsmeade weekend, and other times besides�”we can go flying. You better practice over the holidays, all right?”

“I’ll try to fit it in,” she smiled. They looked at one another. A small part of Cedrella was painfully aware that if she failed, they may never have another night like this together. She pushed it out of her mind.

And so she kissed him one more time, long and sweet, and put her cloak on over her nightdress, and said goodnight.

**

Cedrella did not sleep that night. For the few hours that remained before she had to close her trunk and board the Hogwarts Express, she lay on her bed with her curtains closed and her wand lit, looking over the rolls and rolls of notes on everything from Egyptian legends to owl husbandry to Flint family heritage, the product of a year of research. She had done much more work than she needed to, she reflected. But she didn’t mind. It was actually rather fascinating to look back at her notes from, say November (they were scant, as she had spent most of that month writing much-labored over letters to Septimus), or from January, when she had been invigorated by the new information in Demetrius’ letter and had eagerly dove into both old legends from around the world and dozens of old geneaologies. She sorted the notes by month and by subject, piling all of Pepper’s anecdotes, some of her most recent “research,” on top of the bundle, and tied it up with one of her detested monogrammed hair ribbons. I should compile it all, she thought, glancing at Demetrius Weasley’s books (which she had refused to give back to Septimus, much to his amusement) that were piled on her nightstand. Maybe I could even write a book. That will be something to do this summer. And so with this comforting thought, she pulled aside her hangings to greet the day.

Ignoring Eleanor, Veronica, and Bettina, who were clattering around drowsily doing last minute packing, Cedrella dressed in Slytherin robes, drawing on her last chance to avoid the tighter and uncomfortable silks and satins and organza’s she would have to don back in London. She packed her last few belongings, including her notes and Demetirus’ books, into her already neatly organized trunk, did her hair (which took a bit longer than usual, as it was rather messy from being down all night in the Owlery) and left the dormitory without a backward glance, determined not to feel sad about leaving. I’ll be back in three months, she told herself firmly. Summer will fly by.

Then it was a last breakfast in the Great Hall, and before she knew it Cedrella joined the stream of students queuing up for the carriages. She spotted Septimus from a distance, laughing with a few other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was wearing Muggle clothes and open brown robes, and the bright sunlight made his hair look even more flaming red than usual. She wondered, as she climbed into a carriage with a few other Slytherins and watched the castle grow slowly smaller as they trundled out of the gates, how Septimus was feeling knowing that this was the last time he would see the school as a student. She was looking ahead to this time, next year, with considerable dread (though her hopes about a future with Septimus had softened it a bit). But the school didn’t hold the same significance for him. She knew he loved Hogwarts, but his home was in Tinsworth, where he would be reunited with his brothers and ride winged horses and his mother would make truffles and apple pie. He was going home and she was leaving it.

Cedrella found an empty compartment at the front of the train, stored her trunk, and lay down across the seat. It would not do to face her father exhausted, and the familiar sound and motion of the train was lulling. She did not entertain thoughts of meeting Septimus as she had at Christmas, for she wanted their goodbye to remain what it had been�”dark and sweet and personal. And so she closed her eyes and was asleep within moments.

Don’t cry sister cry, don’t do it, don’t do it
When old man trouble knocks on your door
Don’t give him no key, he just wants more
He’ll turn your life to misery
Kick you down, just like me
Don’t cry sister cry, it’ll be alright, it’ll be alright
Don’t cry sister cry, everything’ll be just fine
Woke downhearted and you feel so bad
Somebody wants something of nothing you had
Love don’t come too easy, you see
A little bit of you and a little bit of me
Don’t cry sister cry, it’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.
-J. J. Cale


Chateau Noir, the manor house in London where Cedrella had grown up, looked just as she remembered it. The wood was just as dark, the lamps just as dim, and the floors just as polished. It had the same faint smell of fine perfume and dust, and the curtains still hung, heavy and brocaded, over most of the windows, blocking out the view of the city and, incidentally, the light. Nothing had changed since her last visit except the holly that had been wound around the grand banister, which was gone and replaced by a vase of dried flowers on a desk in the hall. Cedrella sighed, as she handed her cloak off to the house-elf and proceeded up the carpeted steps with Charis to change her clothes, thinking of Septimus and the happy homecoming he was probably experiencing right that very moment. All of his brothers were there to celebrate his graduation�”even Demetrius and Vivery had flooed in for the welcome home dinner that his mother had cooked and was serving, Septimus said, out on the lawn. She tried to imagine them all, dim faces from pictures Septimus had shown her, laughing and eating together, teasing one another.

There was a tap on her door. “Does Mistress Cedrella need any help unpacking?”

“No thank you, Kiko,” Cedrella said, forcing her mind back to her present. “I can do it on my own.”

“If mistress is sure,” squeaked the elf.

“Quite sure,” Cedrella answered firmly.

“Then Mistress would like to see Mistress Cedrella for supper in an hour,” said the elf.

“All right,” Cedrella agreed. She heard Kiko proceed out of earshot down the hallway to Charis’ room, and flopped onto her bed, filled with dread at the thought of the first of many excruciating family dinners, a feeling made worse by the image of Septimus’ family that still hung in her mind. Three months,s she told herself firmly. Three months, and you have to use them well. It’s not going to be easy to convince Father to consider a Weasley. And with this thought centered in her mind, she got up once more and began to dress for dinner.


**

Five days into the summer holidays found Cedrella in the manor’s library, a dusty room full of books no one but she ever read. She had opened the long plum-colored curtains and cracked the window, letting the warm sun and a little breeze stream into the room, and was busy sorting her research notes into possible chapters of a book. She was feeling cheerful, or as cheerful as she dared�”it was her first day in London without some sort of social function to go to, and the sun and wide-open day had put her in an optimistic mood. Mathias had visited in the night, bearing fresh berries picked from the woods near the Weasely’s house and a letter. And early that morning she had sent off a long letter back to Septimus detailing the stressful but successful family dinner of the first night with her parents, Callidora and her husband, and Charis, and the various outings her mother had been dragging her on ever since: to Diagon Alley to shop, to the dressmaker to be fitted for summer gowns, to tea at the Potters’, the Lestranges’, and the Crouches’. Cedrella had the sense that she and her younger sister were being paraded around the Wizarding world like a pair of pretty birds, shown off to anyone and everyone. It was all extremely tiresome and predictable, and Cedrella had found that she had even less patience with that sort of thing than ever. It was crucial, however, that she stay in her parents’ good graces and so she had played her part flawlessly, pretending to enjoy the shopping, faking interest in the clothes, and even resisting the urge to one-up her mother during conversations at tea, giving up the only amusement they had ever offered. She had hid her estrangement with Charis, acting perfectly normally around her sister when there was anyone to observe them and even going to Charis’ room in the evenings sometimes, as she used to do, just to make sure she aroused no suspicion. And all the while she was hinting, plotting…why, just two evenings ago she had had a quite successful, though brief, conversation with her father at dinner about the death of Sagittus Weasley earlier that year. Though she would have given almost anything to still be at Hogwarts, Cedrella had to admit she got a certain amount of satisfaction from how well she was carrying herself off so far. It must be the Slytherin in me, she mused. I doubt a Gryffindor would ever enjoy manipulating their family. Too noble, the goons…

“Mistress Cedrella?”

Cedrella jumped and wheeled around to face the elf standing in the doorway of the library. “Kiko! You startled me. What is it?”

“Kiko is sorry, miss,” the house-elf squeaked apologetically.

“Oh no, nothing to worry about, it’s all right,” Cedrella reassured, rousing herself from her thoughts enough to realize that Kiko looked positively miserable. “Really, it’s all right, Kiko,” she said again, when the elf did not cheer up.

“Thank you, Mistress Cedrella, you is very kind,” said Kiko, and for some reason she looked apologetic now. “But Mistress Cedrella�”Master would like to see you in his study.”

“Now?” Cedrella asked quickly, trying to quell the automatic feeling of panic she felt in her stomach at these words.

“Yes, Miss,” Kiko answered, and she actually looked close to tears.

“All right then, I’m coming,” Cedrella said, as calmly as she could. She stacked up her notes, rolled them into a scroll, and handed them to the elf. “Will you take this up to my room please, Kiko? I’ll be along as soon as I see what Father wants.” She tried to keep her voice light. There was nothing to be afraid of, not yet.

“Of course, Mistress Cedrella,” Kiko said miserably, and vanished with a crack, taking the scroll with her.

Cedrella checked her reflection in a gilded mirror hanging on the wall, tucked a few strands of hair more securely into their bun, and left the library, heading resolutely down the long hallway to her father’s study.

The fact was that only once had Cedrella been summoned here to hear good news, and that was at the beginning of the previous summer when her father informed her that she could continue studying at Hogwarts, after her (if she did say so herself) rather brilliant plea. Every other time…Cedrella flexed her wrists, aware more than ever of the thin scars that criss-crossed the white skin there. Perhaps he wants to talk to me about my marriage, she thought. Perhaps he’s found someone for me. This possibility only worsened the fear bubbling in her stomach. It’s too soon, she thought. I need just a few more weeks, a few more weeks and I might be able to talk him into it…but what am I going to do now if he has already picked someone for me? And her mind racing with possible arguments, Cedrella rapped three times on her father’s door.

“Enter,” he said, and she did.

Arcturus Black was standing behind his desk with his back to her, facing the old painting of his grandfather that hung there on the dark, papered wall.

“Good afternoon, Father,” Cedrella said quietly. Her voice was steady.

For nearly thirty seconds she stood there in silence, waiting for him to speak, marshalling her wits and her thoughts as best she could. Finally he turned around. There was a fierce anger in his usually unreadable icy eyes. “Come here.” She did, taking five steps that brought her level with the desk, and then he raised the wand held in his right fist and whipped it across her face. Cedrella held very still, fighting back a cry of pain and shock. He had never beaten her without explanation before. The wand came again, and again and again, but Cedrella kept still and silent until at last he slammed it onto the desk and stepped back. “Sit,” he said, and his voice was low and furious. Her whole face stinging and numb, Cedrella sat. They stared at one another for a moment and than her father said, “you know why you’re here.”

“No, Sir,” Cedrella said. It hurt to move her lips. It hurt much, much worse than when Rodney Selwyn had punched her back in January.

She had never seen him look so furious. “You will be interested, then. You see, Cedrella, I do not allow my daughters to spend time around unsuitable boys, or fraternize with Blood-Traitors, or cavort around Hogwarts with filthy, ambitionless Gryffindors. And I CERTAINLY do not allow them to be seen kissing WEASLEYS!”

Cedrella’s heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint. How can he know, how can he know, how can he possibly know?

He was watching her grimly, his eyes burning furiously. “You thought you could get away with it, you clever little bitch, because no one would ever expect it from you? You thought you could bring the boy into our good graces and no one would ever suspect?”

Cedrella did not say anything.

“ANSWER ME!”

“I don’t deny it,” she said at last, feeling sick. “I don’t deny any of that. But please just tell me how you know. Where’s your proof.”

“Your sister,” he said, standing up once more, “informed me of this detail you have been withholding this morning. Now stand up.”

Cedrella didn’t move. Charis? Charis? Charis never knew, she never knew and even if she did why would she do that, how could she ever?

“Stand up!” her father shouted.

‘I don’t believe you!” Cedrella cried, not moving from her seat. “I don’t believe you, Charis would never do something like that�”“

“Your sister has proved herself a hundred times the Black you are!” he roared. “You are a disgrace, you are a�”“

“I don’t CARE!” Cedrella screamed at him. “I don’t care what you say because it doesn’t MATTER what you say, you’ve always hated us anyway because we were daughters instead of sons, and you would NEVER tell the rest of the world what awful things I’ve done because you’re too self-serving and greedy to do anything that would hurt your reputation!” She heard the whipping sound of the wand again without really feeling it. “I hate you!” she shouted. The wand struck her lips. “I HATE you!” she yelled again as soon as it was gone. He was forcing her head back, he was beating her neck, and suddenly it hurt so much she could not form coherent words any longer, and so she screamed, screamed as she had never allowed herself to do until the wand stopped and her father threw her to the floor of his study where she lay on the rug, gasping.

Arcturus Black stood over her, and for some reason Cedrella thought of the star Arcturus, the great protector. You are a disgrace to your namesake, she thought.

“You are never going to see that Weasley filth again,” her father said. “Late this morning I finalized a long-standing offer from Bartimeus and Lyra Crouch. You will marry their youngest son, Caspar, in a year’s time. Meanwhile you are not to leave this house until the first of September and you are not to leave the Hogwarts grounds unless I personally escort you out. Now get out of my sight.”

Cedrella dragged herself to her feet, hear head swimming with pain, and made to leave. But as she turned the door handle Septimus’ face sprung into her mind, and as if she had summoned his words to her she turned to her father and said “You’re the real disgrace, you loveless bastard.” And then she slammed the door.

The house elves were waiting for her outside, and they had scurried anxiously beside her has she walked, trancelike, her vision swimming a little, down the long hallway and up a flight of stairs to her bedroom, ready to catch her if she collapsed. But Cedrella did not collapse, not until she had safely closed the door of her room, and then the elves lost no time in physically pushing her onto the bed and fluffing her pillows and pulling her hair away from her face and neck, which was still throbbing and stinging in an odd, numb sort of way. It was then, lying there, dimly aware of one of the elves fussing over her while the other hurried from the room, that the weight of what had just occurred washed over her. And as the shock came, wave after wave of it, the numbness faded and then went away entirely. Pain.

When Cedrella opened her eyes again, there was someone else there, someone sitting on the edge of her bed and applying something that Cedrella could not feel to her cheek. The room was dimly lit and the curtains where drawn. “What time is it?” she asked, and her lips felt strange.

“Nearly nine in the evening,” her caretaker replied, and Cedrella recognized with vague surprise the dark hair and stern profile of her sister, Callidora. She shifted her position slightly so she could look Cedrella in the face. “Mother told me what happened.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me that Charis told Father something about you that made him very angry, and that you needed someone to take care of you,” Callidora said calmly. “The elves gave you a dreamless sleep potion so you wouldn’t feel us treating the bruising, and Mother told me to go out and purchase some anti-scarring slave at the apothecary on my way here. Don’t worry, Cedrella, you’re going to be all right. There might no be any noticeable markings at all. Perhaps one or two no your neck, but luckily high-collared gowns are in this summer, so no one will be the wiser.”

Cedrella stared at her older sister, extremely glad she was there but unable to fathom, in that moment, exactly how they had gotten to the subject of gowns. “All right,” she said, uncomprehendingly.

Callidora sighed, and smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “I have food for you, if you want anything to eat. No�”don’t turn your head. Would you like milk, at least?”

“All right,” Cedrella said again. And then her sister was holding a goblet to her lips, carefully tipping the warm milk down her throat, and she swallowed it, her throat oddly tender.

“I cannot believe this is still happening,” Callidora said quietly after the milk was gone. “You’re seventeen years old, you’re of age, and you’re still being treated like a naughty ten year old from the nineteenth century. I’ve told Harfang, when we have children, especially if we have daughters, I want to have a say in disciplining them. In most cases this isn’t the thing to be done.“

Cedrella did not say anything. She still felt like her sister was speaking another language. In most cases? What would you have done, then, in this case?, she wondered.

Callidora was watching her, looking regretful. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised. “Unless you want to talk about it? I can stay as long as you like, Harfang can wait.”

“I…” Cedrella cast for something to say. “Where’s Charis?”

“She’s finishing after-supper coffee with Mother and Father,” Callidora answered, and there was caution in her voice. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“Not yet,” Cedrella said, and she felt sudden tears welling up in her yes. She forced them back, mastering herself and making sure her voice was steady before she spoke again. “I just…she must have known what would happen. I could never�”unless I was afraid for her life, or something such as that, I could never turn her in like that.”

“She must have thought it was for your own good,” Callidora said reasonably.

“But it�”Callidora, I’m sorry, but what about this is good? Yes, I did something wrong, but I was never going to bring dishonor on the family, I had a perfectly good plan, and now look at me. I can take care of myself, she knows that. I’ve spent the last three years being responsible for both of us.” She forced the hysteria out of her voice.

“Charis cares about you a great deal, Cedrella. She’s always looked up to you and relied on you, more than you ever did to me.” Callidora paused thoughtfully. “Rightfully so,” she added. “You never needed me like Charis needs you.”

“She doesn’t think she needs me anymore,” Cedrella said bitterly. “Our whole second term at Hogwarts she was either badgering me or ignoring me�”“ she stopped. Don’t pretend you didn’t have a part in that, the voice in the back her head reminded her. She kept silent.

Callidora sighed again. “Cedrella, you know Charis better than anyone; you know her better than I do. If anyone can understand why she told, it’s you. But don’t spend too much time worrying about it, all right? What’s done is done, and no harm, really. We’ll have you healed up and presentable in a week, and then the Solstice Ball is coming up�”and you’re engaged! The Crouches are an extremely esteemed family, I’m very happy for you.”

Cedrella did not reply. She wondered if her sister could see the pain on her face�”coming from her heart this time, not her wounds�”that had swept through her at those words. Engaged. Engaged.

Callidora was busying herself with the bottles on Cedrella’s nightstand, and now she held a vial to her lips. “Painkilling potion,” she said, and Cedrella sipped it down obediently. “There,” Callidora said, replacing the empty vial. “Try to get a bit more sleep, all right? I’ll be back in the morning.”

She squeezed Cedrella’s hand for a moment and then rose, making to leave. She had almost reached the door when Cedrella said quietly, “Callie?”

Callidora turned back around, looking concerned. Cedrella had not called her “Callie” since she was five years old, and their mother had told her that it was disrespectful. “Yes?”

“Do�”do you love Harfang?” Cedrella felt like she was five years old. But she needed to know.

Callidora walked slowly across the room again and sank onto the bed. “Why does it matter?”

“To me? Or at all?” Cedrella wondered if she really wanted the answer to that question.

“Harfang is a very good man,” Callidora said after a moment of silence, ignoring the question. Cedrella thought she looked older than her twenty years. “He treats me well and we have a very good life.”

“I already know that,” Cedrella said, trying to contain her frustration. “But are you happy? Do you have fun together? Do you love each other?”

Callidora was frowning down at her. “I know you must be worried about being married, Cedrella, but its really�”“

“Are you going to answer me, or not?” Cedrella asked bitterly. She should have known better than to start this conversation with her sister. The time was long past when Callidora could reassure her about anything. They had barely spoken in two years. We don’t even know each other anymore, she thought.

“Cedrella, you of all people know that those things aren’t as important as�”“

“I know!” Cedrella interrupted. “I know. I was just wondering. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” A long silence stretched between them. Cedrella thought that, behind her impassive dark eyes, her sister looked sad.

“You learn,” Callidora said at last, “to love them. You learn. That’s what I’m counting on.” And then she stood up, and with a click of the door she was gone.

**

Cedrella slept fitfully that night, waking up again and again to find her eyes swimming with tears. She did not dare to wipe them away so she simply lay there, waiting for the salt water to evaporate from here eyelids, staring at the pattern of the plaster on the ceiling until she drifted off in a half-sleep once more.

Near three in the morning, she awoke again with a start, the fragments of a dream still swimming before her eyes. Something was tapping on the window. Septimus, she thought, quickly getting out of bed and hurrying across the room. She pulled back the heavy curtains, squinting through the dark for Mathias or Cleo. At first, seeing nothing, she thought she must have imagined the noise. But then as her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw someone standing on the drive outside the house, in a long cloak, wand arm raised. There was another tapping noise to her left and Cedrella, realizing what must be happening, sized the handle of the window and tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge. She dashed to the next window, and the next�”none of them. From the third window, she saw her father turn on his heel and reenter the house, his mission of imprisoning his daughter in her bedroom accomplished.

Cedrella flung herself back onto the bed, the same strange rage she had felt in her father’s study the day before building in her chest. The worst part of it was the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped and tied, figuratively and literally, every way she turned. I’m a fool, Cedrella thought, pounding her fist into her pillow. An optimistic fool. This is what I get for hoping. This is why I always heard it was wrong to expect things. Where did that get me? A prisoner in my own house, betrothed without so much as an introduction, betrayed by one of the only people who is supposed to protect me, disgraced, banned from ever seeing him again… And then she could not help it�”a sob finally fought it’s way up her throat and burst out, and so she lay on the bed, gasping and weeping, the tears leaving hot, stinging trails across her tender cheeks. It felt like hours before she finally lost consciousness to sleep.

**

Cedrella feigned listlessness the next day when Callidora arrived, eating the food she brought and ignoring her slightly forced chatter about her plans for redecorating the Longbottoms’ summer house. She was afraid that if she engaged in conversation or actually listened to what her sister was saying, she might start crying again. And that wouldn’t do. Callidora was already worried about her, and at any rate there was no reason to think that she wouldn’t tell their parents Cedrella was a nervous wreck. If one sister could betray her, so could the other. And so she lay in bed, docilely letting the healing creams do their work, with nothing but her miserable thoughts and a terrible weight in her chest for company.

A timid knock on her door when the tiny bit of light peeking through her curtains had turned dusky brought her back to the present. She knew, without looking, that it was Charis. “Come in,” she said, wishing she could postpone the inevitable and knowing that she could not.

Charis did not sit on the bed as Callidora had done. She closed the door, carefully placed the tray she was carrying on the nightstand, and dragged over Cedrella’s vanity stool, where she perched, biting her lip.

Cedrella took a long look at her sister: nervous, sad, and defiant. She wasn’t sure what to feel. She thought she ought to be angry�”and she was, but the misery had dulled it into a sort of burning resignation.

“Would you like some milk?” Charis said finally, breaking the silence.

“All right,” Cedrella agreed, and accepted the goblet her sister handed her. She sipped it slowly. Start talking, the voice in her head that sometimes spoke with Septimus’ voice said. Just say something, start somewhere. I’ve always thought screaming fights were better than silence. The last bit, she thought ruefully, was definitely his, not hers. But perhaps it was true. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said to Charis now. “You never saw me with Septimus. You heard this, somehow, from Selwyn.” She had been thinking about it all day, and nothing else seemed to make sense.

Charis was looking at her lap, refusing to meet Cedrella’s eyes. “He saw you kissing in the library,” she mumbled. “He was asking me about Lucifer�”I think he overheard Mattie and I talking about it at dinner�”and then he told me what he’d seen.”

“Did he offer any particular reason for gossiping like an ignorant Hufflepuff and meddling in our business?”

“Cedrella�”“

“Will you answer me?”

“No, he didn’t,” Charis said, still not looking at her. “I had said something about there not being a ‘date’ for Lucifer and I to get married. He asked me if there was one for you. I said no, there wasn’t, why did he ask? And he didn’t answer my question, just told me that there was something I ought to know about my ‘perfect sister.’”

“How many times have I told you that no one is perfect?” Cedrella asked bitterly.

“A fair few�”but I never dreamed this was the reason.”

Cedrella bit back her retort�”she’d starting telling Charis that years before she ever met Septimus, back when to all eyes she was perfect. “Go on,” she said instead. “What possessed you to take Rodney’s word over mine?”

“I didn’t want to believe him,” Charis said, raising her gaze at last and then quickly looking away again at Cedrella’s hard expression. “Honestly, Cedrella, I didn’t�”but I’m not stupid. Once I was looking for it was obvious that you were acting oddly. You were always smiling to yourself, that is when you were around, which was almost never, and he was always watching you�”at meals, especially, he never took his eyes off your end of the table. And I hadn’t forgotten what you told me in January. It all fit.”

“I see,” Cedrella said. She hated how icy her voice sounded, but she couldn’t help herself.

Charis refilled the milk goblet, watching her nervously with averted eyes. “I don’t understand, Cedrella,” she said at last. “All my life you tell me what to do, how to be proper and good and be the best Black I can be. You’re always right and you set the perfect example and you never lead me wrong, even though you’re annoying sometimes. So how do you think it was, this year, when I knew that you were betraying us�”going back on everything you’ve ever told me�”and lying about it to me just as easily as you can lie to Father, and all the while still bossing me around?”

Cedrella did not say anything. This was why she had decided not to tell her sister everything, why she had guarded her secret from Charis so carefully�”because she wanted to save her sister from this confusion, because she knew all along that she wouldn’t understand.

“It was awful,” Charis continued, looking at her at last with defiant, angry eyes. “I tried to�”I thought that if you could just get engaged to someone else then you would forget about the Weasley and move on and everything would go back to normal. But you didn’t, you wouldn’t. How can you say you know everything about being a perfect pureblood, Cedrella, when you don’t even want to act like one? You don’t want to get married, you hate parties, you spend all your time studying�”“

“There is a great deal of difference,” Cedrella said, trying to marshal her thoughts and not yell at Charis�”because now on top of everything else she was feeling guilty for what she had inadvertently put her sister though, “between knowing something, and being something. You’re right, Charis�”I know exactly how to be the perfect Pureblood, on the outside. But I never claimed to be one, nor have I wanted to be one for quite some time now.”

“Are you telling me you still know everything, even though you’re the one who messed up?” Charis asked hotly.

“Yes,” Cedrella said. “Because�”no, listen to me, Charis. You want to be a good Black? You want to survive in this world? Fine. I’ll tell you how. You are careful, you observe those older than you and copy their ways until they become yours, and you trust no one except the people your blood dictates you should trust. Do you want to know something about being a Black? One of the most important things, one of the only ways to make it around here, that somehow you seem to have missed even though I’ve been trying to explain it to you your entire life? There is nothing--nothing--more sacred than the trust between sisters like us! Who else can we count on? Who else is going to look out for us? Who else is going to protect us? Not our parents, clearly. Certainly not anyone else from the community. No Charis, the only people in this family who are really there for you are your sisters. And even if we fight, or hardly speak, nothing supersedes that.”

Charis was staring at her, her expression frozen, but Cedrella could not stop now that she had begun.

“I’ve been taking care of you for my whole life, Charis,” she said, her voice low, some of the raw fury breaking her cold tone now. She couldn’t help it. “There is no one in this entire world who I know better than you, or who knows me better than you, or who I love more than you. And yes, I care about this family, I care about the Blacks, I care about propriety�”but all of that nonsense pales in comparison to my responsibility and love for you. And I would never�”could never�”do anything that I knew would deliberately hurt you! I would go to Father if you were doing something that was…slowly killing you or�”something like that but otherwise I would find some other way to deal with it, because in this family nothing is more important than protecting you! If we don’t have each other, we have NO ONE. Do you hear me? No one.”

Charis had not moved a muscle, though Cedrella thought that her eyes had a strange sheen to them, as though she were trying not to cry.

“So yes,” she said quietly. “I would say that I still ‘know everything’ about being a Black. I may not agree with it or follow it, but damn it, Charis, I know it. And so until you know it too, you still need to listen to me�”because clearly you’ve missed a few important lessons.”

Charis looked away and set the milk goblet down on the nightstand, fussing with the contents of the tray. And when she looked back, Cedrella saw she had been right�”tears were spilling out of her eyes. Charis did not speak, but bit her lip and cried silently, staring at Cedrella. Cedrella had the feeling that they were both waiting for the other person to apologize. And neither of them, she realized, was going to do it. She hated to see her sister cry, hated the idea that she had put her through anything that year at Hogwarts. It was clear Charis felt badly about it and that she wasn’t about to forgive Cedrella for lying to her. But it was Charis’ fault that they were both sitting there, in Cedrella’s dark bedroom with the windows locked and the dark wood of the nightstand crowded with healing slaves and painkilling potions. Her sister needed to hear it, needed to understand. And not just so that this never happens again to me, Cedrella thought. She has to know, she has to learn, she has to stop being such an ignorant child about how this world works…

Charis swiped at her streaming eyes, and, abruptly, pulled back the bedcovers and crawled under them, curling into a tight ball and pressing her face into Cedrella’s shoulder. She was shaking, Cedrella realized. And so Cedrella drew an arm around her sister and held her there, stroking the back of her head with the tips of her fingers, tangling them in the soft brown waves.

“I was worried about you,” Charis said, and her voice was very muffled. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was going to happen if I didn’t�”if you didn’t start acting normally again. I was trying to help.”

And though Charis had not apologized, not really, and though she was acting in Cedrella’s opinion like a naive child, and though there was something pathetic about her excuses and the way she was crying, Cedrella could feel her anger melting away, to be replaced by nothing but an aching sort of sadness. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

It was forgiven, Cedrella knew. It was time to move on.

Yes, I made the choice,
I will stay
But I don't deserve to lose my freedom in this way,
You monster!
If you think that what you've done is right, well then
You're a fool!
Think again!

Is this home
Is this what I must learn to believe in
Try to find
Something good in this tragic place
Just in case
I should stay here forever
Held in this empty place
Oh, that won't be easy
I know the reason why
My heart's far, far away
Home's a lie.

What I'd give to return
To the life that I knew lately
But I know now I can't
Solve my problems going back...

Is this home?
Am I here for a day or forever?
Shut away
From the world until who knows when
Oh, but then
As my life has been altered once
It can change again
Build higher walls around me
Change ev'ry lock and key
Nothing lasts, nothing holds
All of me.

-Beauty and the Beast



“Cedrella!” Someone was rapping sharply on her door.

“Yes?”

“Get downstairs this instant, the seamstress is here!”

“Charis is going first.”

Cedrella could just imagine her mother, standing right outside her door, seething with frustration, trying to keep herself from yelling. “I expect you in the drawing room in two minutes,” she snapped, and Cedrella heard her high-heeling boots turning around and stalking down the stairs.

Cedrella sighed, sitting up slowly and regretfully and marking her place in her book. It was perhaps two weeks after the incident with her father�”she was too miserable to keep actual track. The various potions and creams administered by her sisters had done the trick, of course, and the wounds on her face and neck had faded to almost nothing in a few days time. All that remained now were a few thin, raised lines, puffier than the old scars and still tender if she pressed on them. Callidora had given her more anti-scarring slave and insisted that she keep applying it twice a day, but Cedrella hadn’t been particularly diligent. She didn’t want to do anything these days�”even dabbing on more evil-smelling green ointment felt like too much effort. Except for meals, she lay on her bed day in and day out, reading or simply staring at the ceiling, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. Charis slipped in and out at least once a day, usually trying to engage Cedrella in conversation about one of three things: Lucifer, upcoming parties, or Caspar Crouch. Cedrella let her sister talk, allowing the inane chatter to wash over her and pretending that this was the same old Charis and nothing had changed. She gave advice if asked for it and had consented to discuss the Solstice Ball with her sister a few times, but there was nothing she wanted to do less than talk about Caspar Crouch, her�”she could hardly stand to think the word�”new fiancé.

Which was why today’s activates were particularly loathsome, because not only was she getting fitted for dress robes, but they were they dress robes she would wear on the solstice�”which was the first time she would be presented as Crouch’s fiancé to the wider Pureblood community. Every time Cedrella thought about it she felt physically sick, as though someone had thrust a wrench in her stomach.

Caspar Crouch, Cedrella knew, was probably not bad as far as husbands went. She had met him a few times in the past, and he was moderately handsome, a good dancer, and quite polite. He came from an old, well-respected Ministry family, and his grandfather had been Minister of Magic. He was a Slytherin. He was only three years older than her. And he was already in charge of a team of three in the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, just two years out of Hogwarts. But every time she reminded herself of this, and of the fact that a year ago she would have accepted such an engagement without protest, simply happy to avoid someone like Rodney, she felt ill. Sure, he was good looking enough�”but it was nothing on Septimus’ flaming hair, dancing blue eyes, and mischievous, childish smile that she knew so well. Certainly, his family was well connected and well liked�”but they weren’t the boisterous, loving, eccentric Weasleys that she had heard so much about. And perhaps he was polite and intelligent and held an excellent job�”but she didn’t know him, not really. She didn’t know what made this man laugh, or what he was afraid of, or how to tease him until his ears turned red. She didn’t know his favorite foods or the names of his pets or his best childhood memories. She didn’t know that despite any faults, he had an immensely good heart. And she didn’t know that he loved her. Thinking about it all made Cedrella want to simultaneously scream, cry, and throw up. This is what I get for disobedience, she often told herself savagely, when it all became too much. This is what I get for trusting someone, for letting them in. But try as she might she could not make herself forget or regret Septimus. Even when she lay on her back, memorizing the flecks in the plaster above her head and trying to keep her mind as blank as possible, to shut it all out, he hovered just on the edge of her thoughts. Try as she might, she could not get a small part of her to stop hoping.

And it was that small part of her that was so dreading the Solstice Ball, when she would cement herself in the eyes of everyone she knew as the future Mrs. Crouch. There would be no going back.

**

In the drawing room, Charis was standing on a stool while the seamstress pinned and tucked the pale pink skirt of her dress robes under to the appropriate length. Lysandra Black stood off to the side, arms tightly folded and lips pursed, surveying the scene and shooting Cedrella looks like daggers as she slipped into the room and seated herself carefully on a chair in the corner to wait her turn. She knew her mother was angry because her father had insisted that Cedrella not leave the house, and so instead of making yet another trip, with great pomp and showing off of course, to Twilfit and Tattings in Diagon Alley, the seamstress had had to come to Château Noir herself. Lysandra had always loved showing off her daughters and her wealth and buying them extravagant clothes. Cedrella met her disapproving stare with a cold, steady look of her own. She could not make up her mind if she was glad or not that the fittings were taking place at home�”she had a hard time feeling glad about anything lately. It would have been nice to get some fresh air, she supposed, and perhaps get a snatch of conversation with a few owls when no one was looking, but at the same time she was pleased about anything that made her mother angry.

“Cedrella, isn’t this lovely?,” asked Charis, doing a little twirl in her successfully pinned skirt. It fanned out prettily, showing off the large amount of fabric that was gathered into a slim silhouette.

“It fits you very nicely,” Cedrella said, which was true. It was beyond her why Charis had insisted on pink. Initially, she had wanted an even brighter color, but Cedrella had talked her down, insisting that neutrals and pastels were more grown up. Luckily Charis had accepted this advice without much argument, which Cedrella hoped meant that her sister had taken her outburst to heart and was still going to listen to her on important issues, as well.

“Lucifer is going to love it,” Charis said happily, smoothing the silky cloth.

Cedrella highly doubted that�”if Lucifer was anything like Septimus, he wasn’t going to notice the dress much at all. But once more she held her tongue. It really wasn’t like her, all these negative things springing to her mind. Charis was happy, and she was getting engaged to the boy she wanted�”and Cedrella did not want to begrudge her sister that. Ten minutes later Charis stepped off the stool, beaming, and the seamstress beckoned Cedrella forward.

It took an inordinately long amount of time, Cedrella thought, to fit the already elaborate dress. Like her sister’s, it had a slim, gathered skirt, an empire waist, and a high neckline, embellished with a great deal of fancy stitches and lace and trim and pearl buttons. Cedrella held as still as possible and thought wistfully of her comfortable, functional Hogwarts robes. Two and a half months, she thought. But even the idea of returning to Hogwarts had lost some of its joy.

**

Cedrella knew Septimus was trying to get in contact with her. She knew he must be worried and frustrated and unable to understand why Mathias and Cleo kept coming back from London empty handed, for as fond of the owls as he was he still could not communicate with them the way she did, and could not hear the news that she was shut inside her house with her windows locked and charmed to be impenetrable, so no mail could be delivered. A few times she had seen the owls herself, flying several feet outside her windows, unable to get through.

She hated feeling so helpless. She hated that Septimus didn’t know what had happened and that he was probably still hoping she was going to owl him good news about their engagement any day now. But while half of her was constantly thinking of how to communicate with him, how to explain it to him, and what was going to happen when they saw one another again, the other half almost appreciated, in a strange way, that she was so cut off. Because she knew that Septimus wasn’t going to understand. If she had gotten her own hopes up, she had raised his to dangerous heights. And he would think that her marrying Crouch after all was simply giving up. Perhaps he’ll just give up on me, she thought despondently. But this was a vain hope�”it was going to take a lot, she knew, for Septimus to let this go. And Cedrella didn’t want to deal with it. And yet she couldn’t forget, couldn’t stop thinking about how much she missed him and missed their conversations and kisses and adventures. She missed laughing and she missed owls and she missed talking to someone who really knew her. She often thought back to that last night in the Owlery when Septimus had made his little speech about her being worth something, as a person rather than a Black, and to her horror it usually made her eyes burn with tears. That was what she missed, more than anything else�”feeling valued, for who and everything she was. Feeling appreciated. Feeling loved.

At these times Cedrella usually tried to remind herself that Charis and Callidora loved her, too. She wasn’t completely alone. But it wasn’t the same, and she knew it.

Three uneventful days after the robes fitting, days that she spent trying and failing not to think about Septimus, Cedrella couldn’t stand it any longer. And so she took out parchment and quill and wrote him a letter, and when she was done she folded it up into a tight scroll and tucked it into the inside pocket of her robes. I’ll get it to you, she promised herself. One way or another.

June 27, 1934

Dearest Sep,

I know you are probably frightfully angry with me right now, but please read this letter through and hear me out. I have so much to tell you. I’m sorry I haven’t managed to get this to you before now.

I told you I thought I could convince Father, but I was wrong. The day after I mailed my last letter, I was summoned to his study to learn that none other than Charis (acting on information from Rodney Selwyn of all people, who apparently saw us in the library) had gone to him and informed him that I have been “associating inappropriately” with a Weasley.

You can probably guess what happened after that. Father flew into a rage�”perhaps the worst I’ve seen�”and I was confined to bed for two days afterwards. He has also grounded me for the entire summer and locked and charmed my windows, so that I cannot receive any mail. I’ve seen Mathias and Cleo circling outside so many nights in the past weeks, but they cannot get close enough for me to communicate with them�”and of course I cannot undo the charms without going outside, which I’m forbidden to do. Father would make an excellent prison guard, I think. But you would be proud of me�”I didn’t take it all lying down. I was thinking of you when I called him a “disgraceful, loveless bastard” before leaving the room. (Naturally, that probably didn’t help matters, but it felt good to finally say it out loud). And the final blow was that he’s absolutely determined to keep me from you�”so determined, in fact, that he’s betrothed me to Caspar Crouch. The wedding is set for next summer. I don’t know if you remember Caspar, he was a Slytherin who would have been in your brother Rudy’s year. As far as I know he is a fairly polite, upright person, and he works in the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, but that’s all I really know about him. After the Solstice Ball, which is when Father is announcing both my and Charis’ engagements, I have been “graciously invited” to stay with the Crouches for a week to get to know the family and Caspar better. Of course I don’t really have a choice in going. Hopefully the Crouches will at least let me go outdoors, and perhaps they will have an owl that I can talk to a bit. That would brighten my summer a great deal. Other than that I expect it will just be more socializing with stiff, upright purebloods�”and ones I don’t even care about, which makes it all the worse.

I know what you are thinking, Septimus. I can see your ears reddening with frustration and your bright eyes flashing with anger at Father for doing this to me. I can hear your voice as though you are right beside me, crying “Drell, that’s just wrong! You can’t let him dictate your life like this! It’s cruel! It should be your choice, you always have a choice!” Now imagine me, dear Sep, putting a hand on your shoulder and pushing you gently back into your seat. I know I’ve told you this over and over, but you just don’t understand, and I know that you probably never truly will be able to. But to my family, blood and loyalty are everything. I can’t simply refuse to marry Crouch, for doing so would be enough to have me disowned for good, and shame the family forever. Now, it is true that I don’t believe you have to be a Slytherin to be a good person. It’s true I don’t believe that blood is everything anymore�”I think the world is a far more complicated place than Pureblood ideology can possibly express. And I may like to read books and talk to owls and explore the outdoors more than I will ever enjoy anything about this life. And I may have found the best friend I have ever, or will ever, have in you, a blood traitor according to my parents. I’m different, and I know that. But in the end it doesn’t matter�”I am a Black, and I’m not a Gryffindor like you, Sep. I’m not brave enough to leave behind everything I’ve ever known and everything that my life has been about for sixteen years.

I’ve thought so many times that had this happened last year, before I knew you, I may not have been happy but I certainly wouldn’t have questioned it. Now it is immeasurably harder to accept my fate. Now, I know that there is a person out there who cares for me�”not for my blood or my family but for me, Cedrella, as a person. I know now that I can be respected, that I can be interesting, and I know I can feel cared for and almost free in a way I never thought possible. And so now, I honestly feel like my heart is being torn in two. Most of me knows that I will never be able to go back, but still every day I think about you, and wish I could return to those nights in the Owlery. I miss you, Septimus, more than I ever could have imagined that I would. And that is why I’ve managed to go against not only my father’s wishes but my own determination that I must forget everything that happened and sent this to you. Because I cannot forget. I know that I will never forget the freedom you gave me or the way you taught me to laugh or the strange touch of your hands.

I am not asking for your advice�”I know what you are going to say. I have a terrible loss ahead of me, whichever way I turn, and I am trying to do what’s best. But I had to tell you, because I couldn’t stand leaving you in the dark thinking that I didn’t care. You must be angry and confused and you might even hate me. I’m so sorry. But whatever you feel is all right�”I don’t blame you for a thing.

Love,
Cedrella

p.s. You won’t be able to write me back until I return to Hogwarts on September 1st, but it would mean the world to me to hear from you then, whatever it is you have to say to me now.

**

The morning of the Solstice Ball, Cedrella woke up to the sound of torrential rain. She got out of bed and pulled back the curtains to reveal a dismal scene�”the London street was slick and wet, with water running in rivulets through the gutters and leaves and sticks scattered everywhere, ripped from the trees that were still being whipped in all directions by the merciless wind. The rain lashed directly at her window, making it difficult to see much more, but Cedrella could tell that despite it being nearly ten in the morning, the stormy sky was as dark was dusk.

Cedrella put on her dressing gown and pulled her vanity stool up to the window to watch the storm while she combed her hair. This sort of weather was rare for July, but not unheard of. She thought back on past summers as she brushed each wave, remembering with a wry half-smile the time when a sudden downpour had wrecked havoc on an outdoor party at the Notts’. The disaster was much funnier now than it had been when she was fourteen, and Cedrella made a mental note to tell Septimus about it sometime before she remembered that the time for trading silly anecdotes with her best friend was probably gone forever. At least Mathias and Cleo didn’t get caught in this storm trying to deliver a letter, she thought despondently, as a particularly strong blast of wind tore another branch off the nearest tree and thunder rumbled in the distance. A woman in a long black coat started running at the sound of it, the wind tossing her coat and umbrella wildly, and a moment later she was out sight. Cedrella sighed. She would have given anything be outside of the house, even in this mess. Or more accurately, to be outside of somewhere that wasn’t filled to the brim with ridiculous purebloods like her father and the Crouches. (Cedrella did not actually know if the Crouches were “ridiculous purebloods’ in the same sense that her father was, but she was in too foul of a mood to care if she was being fair and open-minded or not).

She sat at the window for over an hour, combing and combing her hair and listening as the thunder grew louder and louder. Oddly, there was something almost calming about the storm�”as if the rest of the world was sympathizing with her anger, frustration, and grief. And it gave her a grim sort of pleasure to know how upset her mother and her sisters would be about the rain ruining what should have been a day to celebrate summer. They would think it would reflect badly on the party they were hosting that despite the title of Solstice Ball, it could have been November outside.

Predictably, a loud knock on the door announced Charis’ arrival only a few minutes later. “Come in,” Cedrella called, and the door swung open to reveal her sister, also in a dressing gown, with her hair pinned up sloppily and a greenish-brown mask on her face.

“I cannot believe it’s raining like this today,” Charis announced, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Stop pouting,” Cedrella said.

Charis scowled and dropped her arms to her sides. “Better?”

“I suppose.”

Charis closed the door behind her and perched on Cedrella’s bed, crossing her legs. “It’s going to ruin the entire night,” she said.

“The rain? No it won’t, Charis, stop being so dramatic. Everyone will fit perfectly in the foyer and the ballroom; there’s no need for the garden. And since we’re hosting we don’t even have to go outside and get wet�”we’ll just look at the better because we’ll be the only ones who aren’t a tiny bit bedraggled from the trip.” She stood up from the window and checked her hair in the mirror, turning her back to Charis.

“Well I suppose that’s true,” Charis admitted, “but it’s awfully dreary, don’t you think? My gown is pink, for goodness’ sake, and it’s supposed to be the longest and sunniest day of the year. It’s going to be awful for the mood, and the light will be all wrong, and�”“

“It’s extraordinary to me that you still find things to complain about,” Cedrella snapped, losing her patience with her sister’s chatter.

“Well just because you’re so clever and sarcastic now doesn’t mean you have to be so mean. Besides, this isn’t just a bit of rain, it’s a big deal, and�”“ she stopped talking at the sight of Cedrella’s expression in the mirror.

“Thank you,” Cedrella said. “Seriously, Charis, do you want to know what is a big deal? It’s a big deal that we’re both getting officially engaged today. And it’s a big deal that I’m a prisoner in my own room.”

“Caspar isn’t going to like you if you’re so doom and gloom all the time.”

“Why should that matter? He has to marry me anyway.” She brushed down a stray strand of hair.

“So you’re just going to be bitter and awful to him, too? What good is that going to do? Father won’t like it, he might�”“

“There ‘s nothing else Father can do to me,” Cedrella said, and for a moment her eyes in the mirror looked as hollow as she felt. She forced calm back onto her face. “Nothing.”

Charis hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something more. But then she stood up with a shrug. “Fine, Cedrella. Enjoy being miserable.” She stalked to the door, hesitated again, and turned around. “Will you still do my hair for tonight?”

Cedrella sighed. “Yes.” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, though part of her hated that she was pushing away the only person she had to talk to. But she couldn’t help herself.

Charis nodded and closed the door with a snap that could barely be heard over the pounding of the rain.

**

The storm continued all day, while Cedrella ate lunch, tried to read, took a bath upon her mother’s orders, tried not to think about Septimus, and dressed her sister’s hair. The howling wind persisted after Callidora arrived with Harfang for dinner, tossing the trees outside her window this way and that as Callidora pinned up Cedrella’s own hair, laced her into her dress robes, and helped her powder her face to hide any evidence of the scars. It was still pouring when the Crouches and the Malfoys arrived, half an hour before all the other guests, and gave their wet cloaks to the house elves and accepted fine wine to drink and made small talk with Cedrella’s parents, while Charis and Lucifer talked animatedly and Cedrella stood avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of Caspar Crouch that she could feel burning into her. And thunder could still be heard as the four of them waited at the top of the staircase, listening to the guests arriving and the tinkled of glasses. Standing there, Cedrella tried to focus on the sound of the rumbling thunder rather than the false, unctuous voices of the guests, her father’s audible over them all, or the sick knot in her stomach at what was about to happen. But try as she might she could still hear her father’s voice as he called for silence and told all of Pureblood society who was assembled there that he had an important and joyous announcement to make. It was his great pride and honor, he said, to introduce his daughters, Cedrella and Charis Black, for the first time as the future Mrs. Caspar Crouch and Mrs. Lucifer Malfoy. And Caspar had his hand on her arm and he was leading her down the steps and into the bright, bright light of the chandelier and its many candles. Cedrella thought her heart might tear itself from her chest it was beating so hard, and with such desperation, telling her to run, run, run.

She floated down the staircase, smiling like a perfect, porcelain doll, and thunder crashed again in the distance.

**

“Now, Cedrella, tell us about your final year at Hogwarts. What are you planning to study? I hear you receive very high marks.”

“I plan to take eight N.E.W.T tests,” Cedrella said after she had taken a moment to rouse herself from contemplation and realize that Lyra Crouch was speaking to her. “Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, and History of Magic.”

“Eight! My goodness, dear, that’s quite impressive. Caspar here only took six… though he received top marks on all of them, of course. Why, Bartimeus, do you remember when…”

Cedrella tuned the conversation out once more, returning to her lunch and her thoughts. It was several days after the Ball, and she was spending the week at the Crouches upon her father’s insistence. They were hospitable enough, but rather than letting her be they tried to engage her in conversation and activity at every opportunity. She was constantly questioned, talked at, implored to play a round of gobstones or come to tea or some other inane an supposedly “pleasant” activity that required Cedrella’s energy and concentration. Caspar and his father worked every weekday at the Ministry, while the youngest member of the family, Caspar’s thirteen-year-old cousin Barty, went to a tutor. This meant that Cedrella spent most of her time with Mrs. Crouch. She was pleasant in her own way, Cedrella supposed, and she was certainly more tolerable than Cedrella’s own mother. But it was the same, always�”clever gossip and endless chatter about clothes and parties and egotistical discussions of how wonderful and talented and accomplished everyone in her family was. All Cedrella wanted was peace and quiet and a good book that would let her forget for a little while that Caspar was not Septimus, that the Crouches were not the Weaselys.

“Dear?”

Cedrella raised her eyes once more, realizing she was being spoken to. “Yes, Mrs. Crouch? I’m sorry, I was distracted.”

The older woman smiled. “I was saying that I think today is the perfect day for you and Caspar to spend a bit more time together, as he doesn’t have to go into work. I need a few things from Diagon Alley, and the sun has finally come out again�”what do the two of you think of getting a bit of fresh air?” she looked from Cedrella to her son.

Caspar nodded politely. “Of course, Mother,” he said. “What do you think, Cedrella?”

“I�”I would like that very much,” Cedrella said, keeping her voice calm to hide the happiness that was rushing through her. Her father must not have told the Crouches that she was grounded! There would be fresh air! Owls! And…she touched to pocket where she always kept her letter to Septimus. Perhaps she could find a way to send it. She would only have to slip away from Caspar for a few minutes…

Lyra Crouch beamed. “Lovely, it’s settled then. Cedrella, dear, I’ll send Bryony up to help you dress and you can leave in an hour or so!”

**

And so it was that Cedrella found herself stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and into bustling, sunny Diagon Alley. There were so many people, so many sights and smells, and everywhere there were owls, flying from shop to shop, criss-crossing the narrow street. Cedrella found herself smiling for the first time in days, almost able to forget that she was arm in arm with Caspar Crouch and that she wore a high-collared, uncomfortable summer dress that her mother had had made for her before her visit to the Crouches, and even that this was her first outing as a fiancée, as a woman rather than a girl.

Where are you going?

Bristol. You?

It’s a mouse!

This way, someone’s passing out food down the street!

That’s no way to deliver a letter! Watch and learn….

They were only snippets, but the bits of conversation she could hear from the owls as they flew overhead warmed her heart more than ever nonetheless. She wanted to call back to them, but she held back, conscious of Caspar at her elbow.

“Would you like to get a bite to eat before we do Mother’s errands?” he asked her.

“All right,” she agreed. “But let’s find somewhere outside to sit, please. It’s such a lovely day.”

“As you wish,” Caspar said. “Will Fortescue’s do?”

“That will be lovely.”

The stopped talking and headed towards the café, a certain awkwardness hanging between them. Cedrella knew Caspar was probably wondering why she had decided to break her silent streak and speak cordially to him. They had hardly spoken before, mostly because Cedrella had negated any attempts at conversation. She simply didn’t care what Caspar had to say, and anyway she had her whole life to get to know him, if they were really going to be married. It simply didn’t matter what they talked about, or where they went, or if they talked at all. In fact, not much mattered to Cedrella anymore�”except mailing her letter, which was why she wanted to sit outside and make Caspar think she was having a pleasant time so that he would let her disappear for a moment to find a willing owl…

They found a table in the sun and ordered a plate of small sandwiches and a pair of iced teas from a flustered waiter. Cedrella sipped hers carefully, relishing the simple pleasure of the sun on her face and the movement of the air, gazing over her companion’s shoulder at the shoppers bustling by.

“The Minister is giving a speech in two weeks that will be followed by a reception,” Caspar was saying. “As a head of department my father must attend, and I would appreciate it greatly if you accompanied me, as well. What do you think?”

“I…” Cedrella saw no point in arguing about it. “Very well. What is it that you do in the Ministry, anyway, Caspar?”

“I’m in charge of a team on the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad,” he said. “It’s a division of the Department of Magical Ca�”“

“I know that,” Cedrella interrupted.

He looked slightly surprised. “Right. Well, I’m in charge of my team, and we get sent out on various assignments to protect the International Statute of Secrecy and clean up any magical accidents�”anything from fixing a splinching or performing an Obliviation to removing dangerous magical debris before it harms anyone, and any number of things. It’s a very important and hands-on job that requires a lot of quick thinking and knowledge of all matters of Charms, Transfigurations, and Potions that might have gone wrong. Squad members know more counter-charms and jinxes and than anyone else, and often we have to come up with them on the spot, which is why I was made head of my team. I have an excellent working knowledge of Latin, Greek, and spell theory…”

Cedrella was looking at Caspar’s straight, square face, framed by it’s neatly cut brown hair and a starched collar on his robes, but she wasn’t seeing it. He was speaking, but she wasn’t really hearing him…in her mind’s eye she saw red hair, a round face, a rumpled school uniform, and imagined his smile as he discussed the finer points of Quidditch… Suddenly, she started, nearly spilling her tea. Was it just because she was thinking about Septimus, or was that�”she leaned sideways in her seat, and she saw it again, moving down the street: a head of telltale, violently red hair. She had not imagined it. As she watched, pulse racing, the figure turned into the bookstore and vanished.

“I’m quite full, aren’t you?” she said, interrupting Caspar, who was still talking about something or other. “I think we should get a start on your mother’s errands.”

He glanced down at his barely eaten sandwich. “Well, all she wanted us to do is pick something up from Madam Malkin’s, and get a few things from the Apothecary�”“

“Splendid,” Cedrella said, standing up at once. She couldn’t let that head of red hair get any farther away. “Let’s be on our way.”

Caspar got up too, rather reluctantly. “Very well. We’ll have to walk to Gringotts first to get some gold out of the vault, and then we can go to Madam Malkin’s on the way back. Is there anywhere else you would like to go, while we are here?”

“Well yes, I was actually hoping to stop in Flourish and Blotts,” Cedrella said, “but I wouldn’t want to bore you. Listen, Caspar,” she said, feigning a sudden inspiration, “the bookstore is right there down the street. And those Gringotts carts make me awfully queasy… I’ll go take a quick peek at the books and meet you back here when you’ve gotten the gold.”

“Books would not bore me, Cedrella. You forget who you are talking to. Everyone in my family is a great reader.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “But really, I’d rather not go to Gringotts. The carts are simply frightful. Meet me at the bookstore and we can spend as much time there as you’d like. I certainly don’t mind staying there longer.”

“Very well,” Caspar agreed. He placed a few galleons on the table to pay for their meal and picked up his hat. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Cedrella offered him a small smile. “See you in a few minutes then.” She watched until he had rounded the corner and then turned and broke into a jog, rushing down the crowded alley to Flourish and Blotts. She nearly tripped over a stooped old woman who was exiting the shop, but slipped around her and plunged into the dim, hardwood room, staring around. She didn’t see him immediately, and so she hurried in between the shelves, past displays of books she usually would have spent hours examining, until she saw someone standing, his back to her, in the “Travel” section, a cloak thrown over one arm to reveal his Muggle clothing. Cedrella hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and touching his elbow. He turned, looking at her with a mixture of confusion and surprise on his face. Cedrella’s hear simultaneously plummeted and leapt�”this was not Septimus, as she had hoped, but his brother Demetrius, the one she had always wanted to meet the most.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“No,” Cedrella said, “but believe I know who you are. Demetrius Weasley?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, looking at her curiously.

Cedrella took a deep breath, steeling herself. “My name is Cedrella Black,” she said. “I don’t know if that means anything to you but�”it would mean a lot to me if you would tell your brother Septimus that you saw me here and if you would give him this.” She pressed the tightly rolled scroll of the letter into his hand. “It’s a letter,” she said. “Explaining things. He’ll know what it means. Please.”

Demetrius had a strange expression on her face. “Are you…the girl? That’s what we all assumed, anyway, that there was a girl… Rudy knows, of course, but he’s not telling.”

“Yes, I’m the girl,” Cedrella said. She saw no point in denying it, even though she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. She was, undoubtedly, Septimus’ girl. Or she had been.

“You better have a very good reason for everything you’ve put him through this summer,” Demetrius Weasley said, pocketing the letter.

“I do,” Cedrella said. “I promise.” She hesitated, not wanting this conversation to be over. Demetrius had just nodded and begun to turn away when she said “How is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s not himself, certainly, and he hasn’t been for weeks. But yes, he’s all right. My wife Vivery and I are taking him to Africa with us for a few weeks, because our Mum reckons he needs to get away from it all.”

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Cedrella said quietly. “He always spoke so highly of you and your adventures. He gave me your books to read too, by the way. They’re wonderful. Really wonderful.” She wanted to say more, so much more. But her throat had constricted with threatening tears.

“Well, thank you. Very much. That’s why I’m here, actually, to disucss my books. I’m trying to get the manager to move them from the “Travel” section and into the “Interesting Magic” section. Or at least to keep copies in both. Nobody reads the travel section, you see, and certainly not most of the people who would benefit from reading my books.”

“Like who?”

“Like narrow-minded Ministry officials who need to have their eyes opened about the fact that some of the most powerful and beautiful forms of magic are things they call primitive or even illegal,” Demetrius said, and Cedrella’s lips twitched into a faint smile, thinking of Caspar.

“Very true,” she said. “I hope you succeed.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Listen�”Cedrella, did you say? I have a half an hour before my meeting, would you like to come eat a late lunch with me? I’m sure Septimus would be happy to hear more about what you’ve been up to this summer.”

“I�”“ she desperately wanted to say yes. She wanted to hear more about his books and ask him about the owls more and trade stories about Septimus and all the other Weasleys, the things that she had so missed all this long summer. She wanted to feel like herself again. But Caspar was going to be back in a matter of minutes, and if she disappeared like that… “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said. “I’d love to, though. I really would.”

“You’re not going to explain anything to me, are you, you little enigma?”

“I can’t,” Cedrella repeated again, her throat tight once more. It was not lost on her that he had called her an enigma, just like his younger brother had so many months ago. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Tell Septimus I’m so sorry. Thank you, Demetrius.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Good luck, Cedrella.”

She nodded and turned away, hurrying across the store to the Transfiguration section, swiping angrily at her eyes and wishing fervently that everything would simply disappear. She couldn’t look at him anymore, standing alone across the store. She hid her face behind a gilded red book, trying not to cry, blue eyes and red hair burned into her eyelids.

Caspar found her there, surrounded by stacks of books. “Are you purchasing any of these, Cedrella? I ran into Octavian Robards at Gringotts and he wants me to come to the office tonight, so we had best go to Malkin’s and then go home.” When she did not move, he plucked the book from her hands and pulled her to her feet. “We’re going home,” he repeated.

Home, Cedrella thought furiously, as she allowed herself to be led out of the shop. Is that what home is now, then? Is that what he thinks?

“It was nice to get to know you a bit better today, Cedrella,” Caspar was saying mildly. “The Ministry event will be splendid, all the top officials and people of note will be there…”

You don’t know me, she thought. You never will. You power hungry, insensitive prick.

Cedrella made a decision, as she and Caspar prepared to Floo back to his parents’ house: the Crouches was never going to be home. Because she may have lost her chance to be with Septimus, but she wasn’t going to lose her heart. She had to hold on to the only thing she had left: herself.

Standing in the sun smoking quiet cigarettes
Just before I let you down
Funny how a heart shatters all at once
Seems like it should make a sound

Monday come like Tuesday
You were something else, I will admit
I remember what you told me
Only wish I could forget
Only wish I could forget

Too much to ask, for just one kiss
You'll never know what I will miss

Guess I'm getting old wandering this way
Wondering what's wrong and right
You try to move along but the traffic holds you still
Or did I lose the will to fight?

Monday come like Tuesday
You were something else, I will admit
I remember what you told me
Only wish I could forget
Only wish I could forget

-The Weepies


In what Cedrella thought was a strange act of mercy, her father allowed her to decline her invitation to the Selwyns’ Summer Ball at the end of August. This meant, of course, that she had to spend the evening on a private date with Caspar instead, but she honestly didn’t mind sipping wine and allowing one of his monologues about work to slip through one ear and out the other when the alternative was a public appearance and socializing with the despicable Selwyns. She was not sure she could haven handled having to be civil to Rodney, which she suspected was a difficultly her father had foreseen and had contributed to his decision to let her skip the party. Charis, too, had been surprisingly unconcerned that Cedrella was not going, saying simply to “enjoy your romantic dinner!” as Cedrella finished doing her hair and she pranced from the room to go meet Lucifer. Cedrella had watched her go a bit sadly. Despite the fact that Charis was considered to be an engaged woman now, Cedrella still thought that her fifteen-year-old sister looked and acted like a child playing dress-up in her grown up robes.

Cedrella fretted about her sister and wondered what Septimus was doing in Africa for most of the dinner, allowing Caspar to do the talking. It was easier that way�”she didn’t have to think, and he was still under the impression that they were having a conversation and getting to know one another better. After they finished dessert they walked along the river for a while in the warm summer air, Cedrella relishing the feel of the wind and the smells of the city and ignoring Caspar’s hand in hers. And when they returned to Château Noir, where the flowers he had brought her at the beginning of the night still lay on the desk in the foyer and many of the gas lamps were dimmed, she permitted him to give her a chaste kiss on the lips, holding as still as she possibly could and closing her eyes and pretending that it wasn’t happening. It almost worked. When Caspar finally left, Cedrella put the roses in a vase of water, left them out for her mother to see, and went to take a long bath, washing the evening away.

**

Her parents hosted a big dinner party with the Malfoys (who had just returned with Charis from the Quidditch World Cup in Norway), the Crouches, and Callidora and her husband, the Longbottoms, two nights later as a “send-off” for her and Charis. As she had so many times that summer, Cedrella simply sat in her chair, trying to pretend she was not there. She was good at being invisible; given all the practice she’d had. There were many goodbyes that night, with the Crouches expressing how sorry they were that they wouldn’t see her until Christmas. Like you actually care, she thought, submitting to a kiss on the cheek from Mrs. Crouch and handshakes from the men. Luckily, Caspar didn’t try to kiss her again in front of their parents.

The next morning she awoke much earlier than usual and, like the previous year, triple-checked her trunk and her room for anything she had forgotten. As she had expected there was nothing, so after dressing (to her great relief) in her impeccably pressed Hogwarts robes and pinning her new, silver Head Girl badge to her chest, she sat beside her window, watching the pearly grey dawn.

She could not help thinking back to this time, last year. She had been overjoyed to get out of the house, relieved to be going back to the one place where she was left alone to do as she liked. She had been excited to see the owls and commence her serious research. She had been a little bit worried about Charis and a little bit sad that this was her second to last year… They all seemed to her now like such shallow emotions. She had been so naïve. So unprepared. The girl that had sat here a year ago had no idea what it meant to have a true friend, or what it meant to be in love. She had never really cried, she had never really been angry, and she had never really lost anything. And yet she had been full of hope and possibility. Staring out at the sunrise now, Cedrella didn’t feel full of anything except bitterness, longing, and cold determination. I’m never going to forget, she promised herself. I’m never going to forget that I’m worth something. I’m never going to forget that someone loved me. I’m never going to forget that I loved them back. But no matter what she told herself, she wished more than anything that morning that she could go back to the naive girl she had been and get a chance to do it all over again.

Charis came to her room, dressed and dragging her trunk, and opened the door without knocking. “Cedrella, are you up? It’s almost time to�”oh.”

“Knock next time, please,” Cedrella said, getting up slowly from her seat at the window.

“Right,” Charis said, sitting down on the perfectly made bed.

It was not lost on Cedrella that her sister had not apologized, but for once she didn’t press the point. “Are you all packed then? No important books left behind at the expense of extra hair potions or a pair of bookends?”

“Yes, I’m packed, and no, I didn’t bring the bookends,” Charis said, voice amused. “What about you, Miss Head Girl? Ready to go?”

“Readier than I’ve ever been,” Cedrella said fervently. It was true�”as she felt she had proven by the amount of time she had willingly spent in Caspar’s company this summer, she would do anything to get out of Château Noir and her father’s supervision. Even though Hogwarts felt like less of an escape and more of a delay of the inevitable, Cedrella had never been more desperate to get back.

“Won’t you miss Caspar, though?” Charis was saying. “I mean, I suppose he can come visit you on Hogsmeade weekends and things, but haven’t the two of you gotten quite close this summer? I know you were initially a brat to him and all, but you’ve been going over there quite often…”

“Anywhere was better than here this summer,” Cedrella said. “You’d think so too, Charis, if you spent three straight weeks in your bedroom.”

“That was your own fault,” Charis said, shrugging.

Cedrella glared at her sister. “Do you really want to talk about whose fault that was?”

Charis quailed under her gaze. “No.”

“I thought not,” Cedrella said. “Anyway, to answer your question, no, I’m not going to miss Caspar at all. We’ll have plenty of time too see each other after we’re married. Now let’s go have breakfast, it’s nearly nine.”

Charis sighed, getting up from her perch on the bed. “I suppose that’s true, but I’m still glad Lucifer has another year left. I would miss him dreadfully if we had to spend a whole year apart! This way works perfectly, we’ll both be done at the same time…”

“Providing you leave Hogwarts after your O.W.Ls, which might I remind you has not been decided yet,” Cedrella said sharply, ushering her sister out and closing her bedroom door without a backwards glance.

“Oh please,” Charis said. “You practically had to beg to get to stay, there’s no chance Father would make me take N.E.W.Ts if I didn’t want to.” She snapped her fingers for the house elves, who appeared and began to maneuver the trunks down the stairs.

“I’ll do that, Kiko,” Cedrella said, taking hers back from the startled elf and dragging it down the stairs. “Listen, Charis,” she added over her shoulder to her sister. “I don’t think you should rule it out so soon. Father would probably let you finish if you told him you wanted to.”

“But I’ve just said, I don’t want to,” Charis answered. “Honestly, Cedrella, what’s the point?”

“The point is that you’re actually rather intelligent when you put your mind to it,” Cedrella said, “and you should take the opportunity to finish your education while you have it. Lucifer isn’t going anywhere, you will still get to marry him the summer you turn seventeen.”

“But if I’m going to marry Lucifer when I’m seventeen, why would I ever need N.E.W.Ts? I’ll already be Charis Malfoy nee Black, I don’t need any more clout than that.”

“You don’t need it,” Cedrella snapped, “but I’m saying you should want it.”

“I should want it? You can’t play the ‘I know best’ card this time, Cedrella. You’re the abnormal one in this, not me.” Charis opened the door to the dining room and seated herself at the table beside their mother, effectively ending the argument.

Cedrella sat down in one of the hard wooden chairs next to her sister and leaned over on the pretext of picking up the cream pitcher. “This conversation isn’t over,” she hissed in her sister’s ear.

Charis shot her an exasperated look that said quite plainly I’m sure it’s not.

Cedrella gave her a sharp nod and returned to her tea with a sigh. She wasn’t particularly hungry. It was just so very frustrating, after how carefully (well, for the most part) she had watched over her sister, kept her safe, saved her from making mistakes, that Charis was so eager to get married and throw away the rest of her time at Hogwarts. Cedrella knew they were very different�”she had always known it. But she was so used to Charis following her lead in every way, and she had always thought and hoped that her sister would understand that there was more to life than getting married, and that Hogwarts offered that. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, she thought bitterly. It’s not like I haven’t been grooming her for this all her life anyway. But what else was I supposed to do? I wanted her to be safe, I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to succeed.

She has, another voice in her head spoke up. according to the Purebloods, anyway. According to Father. Cedrella sat back in her seat, unable to eat another bite. If she had succeeded, why did it feel like such a failure?

**

Cedrella found herself, once more, sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express. She had kept the Prefect meeting short, having already drawn up a patrol schedule and copied it out six times over the summer, one for each house and one for herself and the Head Boy, a Ravenclaw named Vladimir Dearborn. The two of them discussed logistics for a few minutes after they sent the Prefects on their way, planning a weekly meeting on Tuesday evenings. Dearborn seemed like he was going to be a decent Head Boy to Cedrella�”he was a friendly, cheerful fellow with blonde hair and a pointed nose who she vaguely knew from several of her N.E.W.T classes. She was pretty sure he was a Half-blood, but contrary to what she had written to her father the previous spring, she didn’t care. She knew she wasn’t the most well liked person at Hogwarts, so she was pleased that Dearborn had the charismatic side of the Headship covered. He had left to join his friends, asking her haltingly if she was coming or not.

“No, I’ll just stay here,” Cedrella had said, and looking slightly perplexed he had nodded and left. She sighed, settling herself against the familiar seat of the Prefect’s compartment and turning to watch the countryside speed by through the windows, relaxing into the comforting motion of the scarlet train. Chug chug, chug chug. Come home, come home.

I’m coming, Cedrella thought. For the last time, perhaps, but I’m on my way. She closed her eyes, listening to the train, trying to clear her mind of thoughts of Charis and Septimus and everything that was going to be different about this year.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes, disoriented, to the sound of a timid knocking on the compartment door. “Yes? Come in?” she hid a yawn behind her hand. A small girl was standing in the doorway, her curly reddish hair pulled into pigtails. Cedrella blinked, disoriented. “Hello, do you need something?”

“Um…” the girl looked terrified. She must be a first year, Cedrella decided. “Is this compartment full? I mean, I can’t find anywhere to sit?” she spoke with a softly lilting Irish accent.

“This is the Prefect’s compartment,” Cedrella said, sitting up straighter, “but it’s empty now, so you can sit here if you would like. If I were you, though, I would want to sit with some people my age. Do you want me to help you find a place?” The little girl nodded. “All right,” Cedrella said, standing up. “Let’s go. What’s your name?”

“Ellen O’Riordan,” the girl said in a tiny voice.

“Nice to meet you, Ellen,” Cedrella said, offering her hand. An Irish Muggle-born, she thought ruefully to herself. Father would be horrified. “Is this your first time at Hogwarts?” She led Ellen into the corridor.

“Yes’m,” the first year said. “And my first time meeting anyone magical ‘sides for the teacher with the long beard who came to give me my letter.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Cedrella said, nodding. “He’s a wonderful man, and a wonderful teacher. He teaches Transfiguration, which is one of my favorite subjects.”

“What’s Transfiguration?” Ellen asked.

“It’s the type of magic where you turn something into something else,” Cedrella explained, peering into compartments as the proceeded down the train to see if they contained first years. “Most likely the first thing you will do in that class is learn how to turn matches into needles.”

Ellen was frowning. “But…why do you need’ta do that? My Ma keeps matches and needles both on her, always.”

Cedrella smiled, surprised by the girl’s astuteness. “I’ve never thought of it that way before. I suppose, Ellen, that you really don’t need to know how to turn matches into needles. But I expect Professor Dumbledore teaches it because it’s a fairly easy spell and it’s a good introduction into some of the basic principles of all Transfiguration. Some of the same skills you learn when you’re Transfiguring the match will help you later when you’re learning more complex�”and useful�”things.”

“Oh,” Ellen said. She appeared to be thinking hard. “I still think we ought’ta learn useful things first,” she said.

Cedrella laughed. “Don’t worry, you will. You’ll learn how to grow a magical garden, and how to protect yourself from dark spells, and how to brew healing potions. You’ll learn how to fly a broom and how to Charm objects to accomplish tasks faster, and how to take care of magical animals, and even how to predict the future, if you want to. Hogwarts is wonderful, you’ll see.”

“Magical animals?” Ellen asked, sounding amazed. “Like what? Dragons, n’such?”

“Well, I don’t think dragons are covered in Care of Magical Creatures class, but you can learn all about them if you want to. The Hogwarts library has information on everything,” Cedrella said, watching with amusement as Ellen’s eyes grew wide.

“There are dragons?” she asked, agog.

“There certainly are,” Cedrella said. “Here, this compartment looks like it has seats.” She pulled open a door. A few first years, not yet dressed in their Hogwarts robes and just as small as Ellen, were grouped by the window, talking excitedly. “Hello,” Cedrella said, and they all stopped speaking and looked at her nervously. “Would it be all right if one more joined you?” She pushed Ellen forward.

“Sure,” one of the first years spoke up at last, a dark haired boy wearing robes in Appleby Arrow colors. “I’m Tarus, and this is Carver, and Linnea.”

“I’m Ellen,” Ellen said, shy once more. Cedrella had a feeling it wouldn’t last long. Her charge took a seat cautiously beside the others.

Cedrella bent down to squeeze her shoulder. “Have fun, Ellen. I’m Drell, the Head Girl, so if you ever need anything just come find me, all right?”

“Thanks, Drell,” Ellen called, and Cedrella heard the dark haired boy asking her about Quidditch as she closed the compartment door. She headed back to the Prefect’s compartment, feeling simultaneous warm inside and wistfully envious of the children who were just beginning their adventure at Hogwarts.

It was not until several hours later that she realized she had introduced herself as “Drell,” and that someone had called her by her once- hated nickname for the first time in three months.

**

Cedrella ran the last few steps and threw open the door to the Owlery. There it was, just as she had left it on that night in June, so filled with hope. There was straw and owl droppings and bits of bone strewn across the stone floor, and hundreds of birds perched all the way up the tower, and moonlight streaming through the window. It smelled deliciously like fresh air and feathers and hay, and the air was sharp and chilly. Her first visit to the Owlery every year was always exhilarating, but the place was more significant to her now than it had ever been, and a deluge of bittersweet memories swept over her as she stood in the doorway, sharpening her joy into something almost painful.

“Hello, darlings,” she called softly, looking around at the owls. “I’m back, my friends.”

They circled her, calling out, some landing on her arms, shoulders, and wrists, pecking her affectionately and expressing their pleasure to see her again.

Where have you been?

It was a long summer!

You’re back!

I just caught a huge mouse, come and see…

Where’s the boy with red feathers?

“Septimus isn’t here anymore, Daria,” Cedrella told the tawny sadly, cooing into her feathers. “He’s not coming back, he doesn’t go to Hogwarts anymore.” She smiled sadly. “But it’s wonderful to see you all.” She moved to sit under the window, in their favorite spot, and the owls moved with her, gathering around her. She closed her eyes, listening to their voices and stroking their smooth, feathered heads. Two owls nearby were having a dispute over a piece of food and Cedrella listened, trying to separate what others would hear from the meaning she understood from their screeches, her mind already returning to her research and possible book. Suddenly there was a commotion, many owls calling to each other and wings rustling. She opened her eyes, for a moment seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Then she realized that a very familiar bird had just landed on the perch nearest her.

“Mathias! Oh, Mat…” The owl had a piece of parchment clamped in his beak, and he regarded her appraisingly, his gaze much colder than usual. Cedrella reached out an arm, clad in the sweater Mathias himself had carried to her last Christmas. “Come talk to me, Mathias,” she begged, beseeching him. “I know you must be angry and confused. I know he must be, too. But I’ve missed you so much.” She could feel tears building behind her eyes. What was it about Septimus, and things related to him, that made her cry so easily?

He’s sad, Mathias answered. He cared.

“Oh Mat, I know he did, he cared so much,” Cedrella said. “I did too, you know that I did, but I let him down, l let you down, and I’m sorry…”

The owl leaned forward, proffering the parchment he held, and Cedrella took it with a slightly shaking hand and opened the seal.


August 22, 1934

Dear Drell,

I have written and re-written this letter so many times this summer. But I’m leaving for Africa tomorrow, and you start back at Hogwarts in a little over a week, and I’m out of time for revisions.

I honestly don’t know what to tell you, except all of the things you expect me to say. You know me well. And I thought I knew you well too�”I thought you had finally decided to do what you want, to take matters into your own hands. I don’t understand how you of all people can be so passive all of a sudden about your future and about what is important to you. How many times have I told you that you’re more than a Black, more than a Slytherin, more than a future wife? I thought you finally realized that about yourself. I guess I was wrong. You say that I can’t understand, and you’re right. I know that you are a smart, talented, logical person, and I have a hard time believing you don’t have a good reason for your decision, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see it. I do see that leaving your family, if that’s what it would take at this point, would be a very, very difficult thing to do. But I don’t see how, given what I know about them and you, you would choose to stay with them. I simply don’t.

I do have to thank you for getting your letter to me, though. Before Demetrius came home with it I was a complete wreck�”I had no idea what was going on and was afraid something had happened to you. Of course your news didn’t improve things much, but at least I knew where you were and that you were safe.

As I mentioned, Demetri and Viv are taking me to Africa with them for most of the month of September, so I’m giving this letter to Rudy to post in time for the start of term. I’ve told him everything. He’s not very happy with you. But he agreed to mail this for me. I am excited to be going abroad, even though I think I’ll end up babysitting baby Violin most of the time. It’s no secret that this trip is to help me forget whatever happened to make me so miserable this summer, (no one but Rudy, and now Demetri a bit, knows) but I think they are right and it will do me good. I hope your start of term goes well, and I’m sorry that you’re so unhappy. You are in a difficult situation, I’ll admit, but I’m not going to hide that I think you’re making the wrong choice.

Still love you,

Sep


Cedrella was not sure what sort of expression was on her fact as she finished the letter, but it must have been bad because Mathias relented from his silence and came to perch on her knee, the grip of his talons firm and reassuring. She pressed her face into his feathery back, tears leaking out of her eyes, as she let the letter fall to the floor. “What am I supposed to do, Mat? I knew he would react like this. I knew it.”

The owl acknowledged this with a gentle nudge of his head.

“But do you realize what he’s asking me to do?” she asked, swiping at her tears trying to steady her voice and marshal her thoughts, trying to keep from sobbing outright. “He wants me to leave my family for him!”

He’s always wanted that. You know this.

“Of course I do�”but he always had enough sense before not to say something like that outright! It’s awfully presumptuous of him, Mat. It’s not fair.” She paused, blinking tears out of her eyes. The owl regarded her in disapproving silence. “I suppose neither of us are being fair,” Cedrella admitted. “You’re right about that. It’s not fair of him to tell to me I’ve made the wrong choice by choosing my family over him, but neither is it fair for me to have gotten his hopes up so much only to let him down so badly.”

Yes, Mathias agreed, and he gave her another reassuring nudge with his beak.

“You like it when I admit my mistakes, don’t I? Well, it’s true, I made one, and I was silly enough to get my hopes up, to convince myself that I was clever enough to have everything. I was a deluded fool, thinking I could ever have both.”

The owls did not like her bitter tone. They clustered around her, making contradictory sounds, asserting their devotion and confidence that she was not a fool.

“Thank you,” she said softly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. “You’re all very kind. But I don’t deserve it.”

Mathias peered into her face from his perch on her knee. What are you going to do now?

“I don’t know, Mat. I just…” she picked up the letter from where it had fallen in the straw, surveying the angry, accusatory words. “I miss him,” she whispered. “Whatever’s happened, whatever’s going to happen, I just miss him. I want to see him.”

Then tell him, Mathias instructed. His golden eyes were stern. Be honest. He was with you.


September 3, 1934

Dear Sep,

Mathias gave me your letter last night. I have to thank you for sending him to deliver it�”it was more wonderful and reassuring than you can imagine to see him and to speak with him after all this time. I know I’ve told you before, but he is a most extraordinary bird and a dear, dear friend.

You have been very honest with me and I want to commend you for that. As difficult as it was to read your letter and as unfair as I think you are being, I appreciate so much that you are telling me what you really think, and I will try to do the same.

First of all, you reacted almost exactly as I expected you to, though I had hoped (foolishly, perhaps�”another lesson for me about the futility of this optimism business) that you might understand at least a little. I am not blaming you for being yourself�”I said all along that I blame you for nothing. If anyone is to blame in this situation it is I, and I take responsibility for that. I was not fair to you. But what you are telling me is not right either. You are asking too much and taking too much for granted, and I think you know it.

But let us forget about all that for a moment, because despite all of this between us I miss you desperately, like a constant knife in my chest. Being back here at Hogwarts makes it both better and worse�”I am certainly happier and freer, but at the same time it is full of memories. I am sitting in the library in our old corner as I write this, and it seems like you could appear from behind a bookshelf at any moment and start making jokes about what a bookworm I am. I want to see you and I want to hear about your summer, and I want to trade news as we always have. Will you write me back, and tell me about Africa? Will you meet me in Hogsmeade when you return to Brittan? We have a day in the village scheduled on October the 30th.

I hope you are having a wonderful time and learning lots of interesting things with Demetirus and Vivery, and that the trip is helping in all the ways your mother hoped. The owls send their greetings, and they miss you too. They grew quite accustomed to having you around last year.

Love,

Cedrella


September 10th, 1934

Dear Drell,

I cannot believe that Mathias flew all the way to Africa for you. I was so shocked when he turned up, you have no idea. The locals we’re staying with were really confused, as they’ve never seen an owl before. Here they use these strange pigeon-like birds to deliver packages, which can cause problems when trying to send larger items because the birds are so small.

Africa is wonderful so far�”it’s about as different as possible from home, and I’m kept busy all the time with strange and new things to do. Demetri is studying the magic of this remote tribe, a cousin of the Masai, and Viv spends the day traipsing through the savannah looking for magical plants, with the baby on her back when she can tear her away from the villagers, who absolutely love her. The old women pass Violin around and around�”they think she’s the funniest looking baby they’ve ever seen, with her white skin and red hair and all, and they think it’s fabulous that she’s started picking up some Masai words. I can’t understand a word they say, but Demetri does and when he’s around he translates. Otherwise, we do a lot of hand gestures. I know that you would love it here, though I’m not sure what you would think of the living conditions. Seeing how you always surprise me, they probably wouldn’t bother you as much as I think they would.

Anyway, I appreciate that you want to be honest with me, I really do. I know that is sometimes hard for you, or harder for you than it is for me. I do miss you too, of course, that was and still is the problem. I don’t know what to think about us anymore and I don’t know what I want. I don’t think you do either. But I miss you and I love you, Cedrella.

Sep


September 18th, 1934

Dear Sep,

Mathias must have stopped off at your house to give the next job to Cleo�”or did you tell him to do that? Either way it was wonderful to see her as well.

Africa sounds amazing. Your description of the old women with Demetrius and Vivery’s baby made me laugh, and I can’t wait to read about their findings. What sort of things do you do during the day? Do they use any form of wands for their magic? And what are these owl-pigeons like?

I am keeping quite busy with all my classes, Head Girl duties, and more research. I’ve been writing and organizing all my findings from last year as well, and I am thinking about compiling it into a book of some kind. You should tell your brother that he has inspired me. I’ve been to visit old Pepper twice already, the first time to ask him about his aunt, and the second time because he invited me back for tea. It’s lovely to have a bit of conversation and a reminder of last year. I visit the owls almost daily, but it isn’t the same anymore without you there. I hardly ever see Charis�”she put up with me over the summer, or rather we put up with each other, but I can tell she doesn’t want me bossing her around now that we’re back at Hogwarts. I don’t mind the distance, but I do worry about her of course. And I miss they way we used to be. All in all though, I am relieved to be here and am trying to make the most of my seventh year. I might even go to the Quidditch matches.

What do you think about Hogsmeade? I miss you.

Love,

Cedrella


**

Cedrella quickened her pace, glancing at her reflection in a window as she passed. Her hair, barely visible in the glass that revealed an overcast October morning out on the grounds, was neatly pulled back from her face and fell loose down her back, how Septimus liked it.

It’s almost time, she thought, nerves dancing. In less than an hour, I’ll see him. She joined the queue of students in the entrance hall waiting to leave the castle for a day in Hogsmeade village. Most, like her, wore cloaks and scarves, and many were paired off, dates clutching one another’s hands, and there was a general air of excitement among everyone. Cedrella stood alone near the back of the group, averting her eyes from Charis and Lucifer, who stood arm in arm near the front. Charis was laughing at something, gazing admiringly up at her blonde fiancée.

Cedrella could not quite explain to herself why, amid her excitement, she was so nervous. It was Septimus, after all, who knew her better than anyone and whom she had been longing to see for months and months. Perhaps it was the divide that hung between them now, the mutual acknowledgement that there was something they could never agree on. But Cedrella thought that they had done quite well, in the past weeks, with moving past that and corresponding normally. After the summer, simply seeing his handwriting and hearing his news and casual banter and familiar jokes had been a wonderful relief, however angry he was with her. After he returned from Africa, they had resumed sending letters nearly every other day, trading thoughts and stories as they always had. And she desperately wanted to see him, to hold his hand and hear his voice and perhaps be able to explain a bit better how it was that she could love him so much and still not give up everything for him, as he wanted her to. She knew it was highly improper, as an engaged woman, to go and meet Septimus now, but she hardly cared anymore. She was taking precautions so that they wouldn’t be seen, and she had to do something to ease the painful ache of her heart, to make her feel like herself again. Determined though she was to hold onto herself, Cedrella could feel the girl she had been last spring slipping away from her sometimes, and she couldn’t bear it. She wanted to be happy. Maybe Septimus would be able to make it all better.

Pringle allowed her to pass through the oak front doors and down the steps, out of the castle. It was a windy day, but Cedrella always enjoyed being outdoors, and this did not bother her much. She hurried down the path to Hogsmeade, stopping less than she normally would have to enjoy the scenery, intent on her goal. Turning onto High Street, she ignored the various brightly lit shops, the Post Office (where she had often gone to talk to the owls in years past), and the pubs where Hogwarts students were flooding in to buy lunch and hot drinks. She walked briskly, the wind tossing her hair, until she reached the end of the shops and turned right onto a small country lane. Past several cottages with large, wild gardens, she sat down on a large stone bench at the end of the road to wait.

It was a beautiful spot, with the mountains rising up on two sides and the green, rock-strewn hillsides all around, and Hogwarts visible in the distance. She tried to tame her tangled hair, pulse jumping oddly in her veins. And then after only a few minutes there was a loud pop and there he stood, the same as ever, in a brown cloak and plaid scarf, his hair blazing red in the muted landscape… She stared for a long moment, smiling, drinking in the sight. “Sep!”

He walked over to her and held out a hand to help her to her feet, pulling her into a crushing hug. Cedrella wrapped both arms around his warm body, breathing in his smell, all sorts of emotions rushing through her.

Much too soon, Septimus pulled out of the embrace. “Hi Drell.”

“Hi.” She was slightly breathless. She probably looked like a fool and she really didn’t care.

“Merlin it’s strange, seeing you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“I know,” she agreed, for there was definitely something odd hanging in the air between them, something that had never been there before. She suddenly felt unsure of what to say or do, which had never happened around Septimus before. She wanted to hug him again, to kiss those familiar lips and laugh in that familiar way, but somehow she felt that it would be wrong.

Septimus held out a hand to her again, and she took it. “Let’s walk,” he said.

“There’s no path,” Cedrella pointed out, as he led her past the stone bench and up the rocky slope.

He shrugged. “So?”

Cedrella gave a half laugh. “Fair enough.”

The picked their way up the steeper, mostly not speaking. Cedrella could hardly believe she held his hand in hers, after all this time. Her heart felt strange and large in her chest. She could feel his eyes on her, and every now and then she glanced sideways at him, making sure all over again that he was really there. And yet every time she looked he was gazing straight ahead, his expression strangely serious. He almost looked sad, she thought. She wondered if something had happened that he wasn’t telling her about.

Finally she could take it no longer. “Sep,” she said carefully, “Are you all right? You seem… troubled.”

He sighed, looking at her properly at last. “Cedrella…”

“What? What is it?” his tone was scaring her. Where was her laughing, smiling, joyful Septimus?

He sighed again and moved to sit down on a nearby rocky ledge. She joined him, not letting go of his hand. “I hoped we could just, you know, talk and have a good time before I said this,” he said eventually, “but I guess that’s not going to happen. I shouldn’t’ t be too surprised, I guess.”

“Say what?” Cedrella pressed, hating how cryptic he was being.

“Say that�”“ Septimus suddenly looked upset, almost distraught, and she knew that this is what he had been hiding behind his serious expression. It only made the sick feeling in her stomach grow worse. “It’s easy to be normal in letters,” he said finally, “or easier anyway. I could read over it, make sure I sounded happy, chatty, like always. But Drell, who am I kidding, really?”

She did not answer. She didn’t know what he was talking about but she didn’t like where this conversation was going at all.

“We both know it’s over,” he continued flatly. “Where can we possibly go from here? What are we, anymore? What’s the point in writing all these letters, or in meeting here today? Aren’t we just prolonging the inevitable?” he stared out across the beautiful village and surrounding mountains that were displayed below them. “I want to see you, Drell, and I want to get letters from you and hear about your life and write you back and make you happy. But I can’t�”I’m just going to lose you. If you’re serious about not changing your mind, then I’ve lost you already and�”“ he broke off and turned suddenly to face her. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what? Sep, what are you saying, it’s not�”“

“I’m saying that you are making this worse, all right? That’s what I’m saying! You writing me all these letters, and asking me to meet you�”I can’t say no to you, Cedrella, I love you too damn much, and�”“

“I’m not forcing you to do anything! I thought you wanted to see me! You told me you did!”

“I did want to see you, I do. But this�”“ he held up their joined hands and then dropped them, jamming his into the pocket of his cloak. “All of this is just wrong. If you’re engaged to another man, if you’re really going to go through with that and marry him, then I shouldn’t even be here. What do you think, that we’re going to be pen pals forever? Are we just going to be friends now, after everything? Or you think that we’ll keep meeting in secret like this for years, while I watch you get married and have children and am not allowed to love you?” He stood up, glaring at her, looking more like a man and less like a boy than Cedrella had ever seen him. “I want you, Drell,” he said fiercely, and he sounded like he was about to cry. “I love you and I would marry you and I think you’re worth everything in the world. But�”“

“Then what are you saying?” Cedrella interrupted. Panic was rising up in her like poison. “I don’t want to lose you, Sep, I can’t�”that’s the whole point of this. You’re the only one who�”you’re�”“

“I’m what? I’m not going to be your secret shame anymore! You’re not being fair, Cedrella! What am I supposed to do, never move on and just wait for you to write me and tell me when we can meet for a few hours? I have a life to live too! I can’t do that�”and believe me if I could I would, because I would do almost anything for you. But not that. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I can’t do it. I won’t.”

She thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She stood up to face him, and realized there were tears running down his cheeks. “So what are you telling me?” her voice was choked.

“I’m telling you what I told you months and months ago,” he said roughly. “There is always a choice�”you’ve made yours, and now I have to make mine.”

“So did I, Sep, I chose to try to be with you, and I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances�”“

“No you’re not!” he shouted. “You’re not, Cedrella, not by a long shot! If you really love me, if you really choose me, then you have to choose all of me, even the parts your family won’t like! You have to make a sacrifice sometimes, that’s just the way it works! You have to let go of your bloody pride and your ideas about loyalty and all that rubbish and really, actually, choose me. Can you do that? Can you?”

She did not answer. Her throat felt sealed shut.

“I didn’t think so.” She had never heard him sound so bitter. “Just admit it, you’re choosing the Blacks. Admit it! You’re brave enough to decide for yourself, Cedrella, and smart enough and independent enough. I know you, all right? So don’t�”you have a choice. And you’re choosing them! Just say it!”

“There was never a choice�”“

“Damn it, Cedrella!”

They glared at each other, both of them crying, and Cedrella had no idea what was happening, or why they were saying these things, or how to make him understand, or how things had gone so horribly wrong so quickly. “So are you just going to leave?” she demanded, realizing she sounded slightly hysterical and not caring a whit. The only thing in the world was Septimus standing right there before her and the frantic pounding in her chest.

“No, I�”“ he stopped. And then he suddenly moved forward and grabbed her around the waist and kissed her roughly, his lips hard and hot and almost painful. It was like no kiss they had ever shared, and despite his anger and hurt that she could practically taste, she threw herself against him and reciprocated, thrusting her hands into his hair, forgetting that she couldn’t breathe, that his hand was crushing her mouth to his, that her cheeks were wet with his tears. They stood there for several full minutes, clinging to one anther, and it was delirious, exquisite pain for Cedrella. And then Septimus wrenched himself away and held her at arms length for a moment, his eyes slightly wild, staring at her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but just as suddenly as he had kissed her, he turned away and vanished with another loud pop.

She was abruptly, violently alone on the empty mountainside.

When you find someone that's true to you
Some days are up and oh some days are blue
Just don't go and throw it all away
Wait a minute, you gotta hear what I say


Isn’t it always love that makes you hang your head
Isn’t it always love that makes you cry
And isn’t it always love that takes the tears away
And I wouldn’t have it any other way

-Karla Bonoff




Cedrella never remembered afterwards exactly how she made it back to Hogwarts. She remembered the feeling of being paralyzed with shock and horror and grief on that picturesque hillside, the feeling of being unable to move from that place. She remembered sitting there in the cold for hours, rooted to the spot, staring at the place where Septimus had vanished.

Eventually though, she must have gotten up, walked back down the mountainside and through the village and along the path to Hogwarts and up the steps and down them again and let herself into the Slytherin Common Room and swept straight through it, ignoring the curious looks from the younger students, and into her dormitory. She must have, because she could remember with vivid, painful acuity how she had shut herself in the girls bathroom, and how, only after casting a well placed Colloportus and an Impenetrable Charm for good measure, she had curled up on the cold flagstones and sobbed�”great, wracking cries that bounced and echoed around the small stone room again and again, amplifying her misery and surrounding her in it.

She was not sure she had ever been so miserable in her life, nor had she cried so hard. As prone to tears as she had become in the past year, Cedrella had never felt so unable to control herself, so utterly powerless to the emotions thundering through her body. Every time she tried to contain herself, pull it together, stop the sobs tearing at her raw throat, a fresh wave of tears would break over her and she collapsed once more on the floor. She felt pathetic, she felt weak, she felt foolish, and yet instead of helping her control herself those feelings just made it all the worse. Because aside from the shock, the horror, and the grief, an indisputable fact was clear to her: Septimus was right. She had been deluding herself, leading them both on, prolonging the pain of something she should have ended months ago. Rekindling contact with Septimus was the worst thing she could have done. It hadn’t been presumptuous at all, what he had asked her to do, not after she initiated the communication. What had she expected, that he existed simply to cater to her every want and need? How could she have been so single-minded, so selfish? She hated herself for it, hated him for pointing it out, and hated the fact that she could still feel his last kiss on her lips. And she hated that she was being so melodramatic�”but she couldn’t help herself. She felt like she could cry forever, like she would, like nothing would ever make her able to get up again.

Of course, some hours later when she opened her eyes to the underside of the sinks, a dull ache all over her body, and a very sore throat, she did get up. She got up and washed, and then twisted her hair up in a towel and put on a dressing gown and removed the charms from the door and went back into the dormitory.

It was empty except for Eleanor Selwyn, who was asleep on her bed with the hangings only half drawn. Exhausted, and not wanting to think about the morning, Cedrella drank three glasses of water and fell asleep.

**

The clock on the wall said seven-thirty when Cedrella next opened her eyes. She was at first not sure what had woken her up, but then she realized that her hangings had been pulled back and her sister, wearing a dressing gown, a bow in her hair, and a frown, was standing over her bed. Eleanor Selwyn stood a few feet behind her, looking curious.

Cedrella tried to sigh, but no sound came out. Her throat felt like someone had scoured it with steel wool. Wincing, she sat up, refilled her water glass with an Aguamenti charm, and took a long drink.

Her sister’s silent disapproval did not last for long. Charis folded her arms, sat down on the edge of the bed, and said baldly, “Where were you yesterday, and why couldn’t Eleanor get into her bathroom?”

“Don’t mince words, do you?” Cedrella said hoarsely, trying to work through the fog in her brain and come up with something to say. She wasn’t sure what to do. She hadn’t even thought about how to handle this yet.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Yesterday I was in Hogsmeade, and then I was here,” Cedrella said at last. “And I imagine that Eleanor couldn’t get into the bathroom because she hasn’t mastered the first year level charm that reverses Colloportus. Now Charis, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so if you don’t mind�”“ she made to get out of bed, but her sister interrupted her.

“That’s not much of an answer, Cedrella, and you know it! Why�”“

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now, Charis,” Cedrella snapped, standing up and forcing her sister to her feet as well. “Please leave my room.” Charis stared at her, shocked surprise written plainly across her face. Cedrella could only imagine what she looked like�”dressing gown slightly askew, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red, hair curly and disheveled, lips still red and chapped. Guilty, in her sister’s eyes. She didn’t care. She just wanted her sister gone so she could think, figure out what had happened and what to do and how she was supposed to exist anymore. “Go,” she said, pointing at the door. “Now.”

And to her surprise, Charis went. Cedrella was sure it was only a brief respite, but she couldn’t deal with her tattletale sister in that moment. Better that the confrontation was later, once she could clear her head, once she was in control of it.

**

Over the next week, Septimus’ last words to her rang in her ears during class as she tried to take notes, during meals as she ate alone, monitoring the Great Hall for misbehavers, while she sat in the library trying to study, and as she walked the halls of the castle on Head Girl patrol. His accusations, none of them kind and all of them true, never left her�”every time she had almost focused on something, on anything else, something reminded her of him and all of it came rushing back in painful detail: the sound of his voice, angry and yet close to tears, his white face and windswept flaming hair. Cedrella felt like her resolution from the summer�”that she would never let herself forget Septimus�”had come back to curse her. Now, when all she wanted was a respite from the pain thoughts of him caused her, she could think of nothing else. She longed to forget, sometimes just for a few hours and sometimes, in darker moments, forever. If she could only erase those memories, simply make them disappear, she thought she might be all right.

But she couldn’t, and it was all very confusing anyway because despite her wish to forget Septimus, she did not want to disregard the second part of her resolution�”that she wasn’t going to loose herself. But somehow in her mind who she was and who Septimus was and what they were together had gotten all mixed up, and she felt at times like it was hopeless to try to distinguish one from another. Who am I then? she would wonder, desperately wanting the answer and yet simultaneously hating the melodrama. Over and over she resolved to wait, to see if memories of Septimus grew less acute over time, if she could find a way to move on.

**

November 10th, 1934

Dear Cedrella,

I hope this letter finds you well. I do apologize that I was not able to meet you in Hogsmeade in October�”I had a very important meeting I needed to attend that weekend and making it up to Scotland would have been impractical. But I would very much like to see you and I hope the next free weekend I have you will be able to excuse yourself from the castle for a few hours to see me.

Things here in London are going very well. Work is busier than ever, as I have three new members that were recently added to my squad and am in the process of conditioning them and completing their training. Though they show great potential, they are frustratingly green and inept at times, which tries the patience of my whole squad and me most of all. I am sure I was not this cumbersome when I was a trainee! However, it is an important part of my job and of course we are always looking to expand our staff, so I take my mentorship of them most seriously.

My mother always inquires after you and, if you were so inclined, she would be pleased to hear from you.

All my best,

Caspar

Cedrella’s scowl grew more and more pronounced as she read the letter. When she finished it she scoffed, crushed it in her hand, and dropped it onto the table, returning to her eggs, trying to be supremely indifferent and not dwell on the fact that Caspar in person was about a dozen times worse than Caspar on paper.

“Cedrella?”

She looked around. It was Vladimir Dearborn, her fellow Head Boy, standing behind her. She forced a smile. “Hello.”

“The meeting with Dippet’s been moved to tonight at nine,” he said. “Professor Dumbledore just told me.”

“Thank you,” Cedrella said. “I’ll see you then?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to go. Then he turned back. “Who wrote the letter?”

“Excuse me?”

“The letter,” he said, pointing at the crumpled parchment beside her plate. “You looked like someone had force fed you raw bobotuber pus.”

She let out an unexpected laugh at his observation. It felt strange in her throat and on her face, and she realized it had been weeks since she’d laughed without faking it. “That isn’t a completely inaccurate assessment,” she said. “Though I do try to pretend I like him. Was I really that obvious?”

“Definitely,” he replied. “Who are you failing to pretend you like?”

“My fiancée,” Cedrella said with another half laugh, realizing a moment after it slipped out of her mouth that she shouldn’t have said it. Vladimir could mention it to anyone. Anyone could overhear. She sighed, the lighthearted moment already over.

“Well… that’s unfortunate.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But it’s really here nor there,” she added quickly. “I’ll see you tonight, Vladimir.”

“Sure,” he said. His parting look was almost pitying, and she didn’t even mind. Perhaps she wanted to be pitied.

After her Potions class that afternoon, as her feet carried her automatically towards the Slytherin dormitories, she had the sudden, unbidden thought that she ought to visit Pepper. She changed directions without thinking twice, pointing her feet towards the stairs that would lead her out of the dungeons and onto the grounds. It had been a long time since she’d seen Pepper, after how close they’d gotten the first month of term. Originally she had gone to see him to ask him about his aunt the bird-speaker, then after that she had gone so she would have something interesting to write to Septimus about…

She bit her lip, the familiar sharp pain darting through her chest as Septimus once again wormed his way into her thoughts, pervaded her consciousness.

Pepper was sitting on his front steps skinning a rabbit, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows even though Cedrella, wrapped in a cloak, was shivering from the cold November air. “Miz Black!” he called, voice jovial, as he saw her approaching. “I was wonderin’ when you’d take your nose outta those books and find your way down here again.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that�”she was never particularly sure of what to do around Pepper�”so she offered him a small smile and said simply “Hello. I hope it’s a good time?”

“As good as any,” he said, gathering up the remains of the rabbit. “C’mon inside, it’s cold out for a thing like you.”

Cedrella followed him gratefully out of the cold and into his hut, draping her cloak across the back of one of the chairs and moving towards the small stove to boil some water for tea. She could feel Pepper’s eyes on her as she filled the pot, lit the fire underneath it, fiddled with the lid, got out the mugs, and when she turned around she was unsurprised to find him surveying her with an unusually thoughtful expression.

“So, how’s the writin’ and researchin’ coming, Miz Black?”

“It’s…” Cedrella had not looked once at her notes since that horrible day in Hogsmeande, had not once opened a book on Wizarding ancestry or owl husbandry. “It’s not coming, much,” she admitted. “Not in the past two weeks or so, anyway.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Pepper said gruffly, accepting the tea she offered him. “Seems you’d almost got it all tied up and figured out, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, I…. my initial research question, yes,” Cedrella admitted. “But I think I was telling you about the recent sort of tangent I’ve been following, about the owls communication with one another and their language itself…there hasn’t really been much research done on that, so I’ve been making my own observations, I suppose. Septimus thought it was really interesting, he�”“ she broke off, feeling the blood drain from her face. There he was again, ever present in her thoughts, in her life. How could she ever feel happy, feel like herself, when thoughts of him made her feel like she was being suffocated every five minutes?

Pepper was looking at her in that strange way again, and she realized that his watery blue eyes, just like Vladimir’s, were full of pity. It was a strange expression on Pepper, who was usually so matter of fact and cheerful.

She looked away, into her tea. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” she muttered. “It’s my fault.”

She heard his chair scrape against the floor, heard him get to his feet and walk around the table and come to stand beside her seat. He put one large hand on her shoulder. “Miz Black, you’ve got a lot goin’ for you besides for that crazy boy. I know you care for him�”so do I, though I ‘spect it’s a bit different.” He chuckled to himself. “ But yer Head Girl, and a damn good one too from what I hear up at the castle. Yer smart, and interestin’, more than most people I know, and you’ve got somethin’ good with that owl book of yers.” He sighed, and Cedrella looked up from her tea at last, surprised and touched by the way this usually formidable man was trying to cheer her up. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say,” he said, “is that Sep liked you before he ever spoke to you, y’know? He always used to tell me about the girl from the Owlery, which I have a feelin’ was you. Yer a fascinatin’ and valuable person, Miz Black�”always have been, always will be. Now,” he added, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, “c’mere, I’ll show you how this rabbit gets cleaned, and then I got a bag o’ herbs from the forest that need sortin’, if you want to give me a hand.”

“Of course,” Cedrella said, a rush of gratitude and affection for Pepper welling up inside her. “I’d love to learn about the rabbit. Let’s get started.”

She stayed at Pepper’s for dinner, the two of them talking for hours about the plants and animals of the forest. And that night in her dormitory, instead of going straight to sleep filled with troubled dreams about Septimus, or lying awake for hours thinking of him, she was up till nearly dawn, quill in hand, buried in her research once more.

**

Time passed in strange spurts that November for Cedrella. Sometimes it felt as if every hour, every day, was so long that the smallest things exhausted her. Those were the times when Septimus, or rather his absence, weighed heavily on her mind, hanging in the back of her consciousness, constantly there, constantly painful. Those were the times when it took calculated effort to smile when necessary, and speak when spoken to, and pay attention in class. Those were the times when she remembered that night crying on the bathroom floor and felt so empty that she almost wished she could cry that way again, just so that she could feel something, so that she could escape herself for a little while.

Other times, hours and days passed almost without her noticing them. Afternoons in the Owlery, parchment spread out before her, taking notes as she talked with the owls or simply listened, could pass in the blink of an eye. Frosty days spent with Pepper in his cabin and in the forest as he taught her about local plants and how to set a trap line, melted together. Evening patrols through the quiet castle with Vladimir were, some days, no longer awkward and silent but flew by as the two of them talked about Head business or, more often, nothing in particular. At these times, she still thought of Septimus, still felt that ripple of pain in her chest every time something reminded her of him, but it didn’t make her feel helpless. She didn’t feel empty, she felt…busy, and useful, and needed. And it was all right.

She thought often of what Pepper had said�”he liked you before he ever spoke to you. Meaning that he saw something in her, something good, before they ever interacted. Meaning that Septimus did not create all of those things that made her feel like herself. Some of them must have been there before. And on the good days, when she was working with Pepper or laughing about Slughorn with Vladimir, she thought that they could be there again.

It was on one such optimistic afternoon as she crossed the Entrance Hall on the way back from the grounds that she heard someone calling her.

“Um, Head Girl? Drell?”

She spun around instinctively at the familiar nickname, looking wildly about the Entrance Hall, until she saw the tiny redheaded first year from the Hogwarts Express standing halfway up the staircase.

She let out a breath of relief. Of course. It was just Ellen.

“Hi, Ellen, how are you?”

“Oh I’m all right,” the girl answered, cheerfully. “But I had a question?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“It’s my friend, Linny,” Ellen answered, looking up at Cedrella earnestly. “She doesn’t have normal�”I meant Muggle�”family like me, but I’m doing a lot better with learning magic, like in Transfiguration and Charms and stuff. I think she’s starting to get miffed at me, and I tried to help her with her homework but I’m not very good at that and I don’t think she wanted me to anyhow. I’m not sure what I ought’ta do about it.”

“Well it’s not your fault if you’re doing well in your classes, you know,” Cedrella said, the innocent problem making her smile. “That’s fantastic actually, I’m proud of you. But sometimes it’s fun for people who have lived in the Wizarding world their whole lives to tell people like you about it, and be the one to teach you about things like Quidditch and Hippogriffs and the Ministry.” She was thinking of the way Muggle-borns were always attached at the hip to a more knowledgeable first year at the beginning of the school year, how even Septimus had told her that he’d been the informant of his fellow Quidditch team member Gavin when they first came to Hogwarts.

“Linny does that,” Ellen said, nodding. “Well, everybody does, but Linny the most. Cause I’m with her the most.”

“Exactly,” Cedrella said, nodding. “That can be really fun for pure�”for people who know all about the Wizarding world. But pretty soon you’re going to know enough that she doesn’t have to do that anymore, and Linny might…be getting sad that she can’t help you learn anymore.”

Ellen frowned. “That doesn’t make very much sense that she would do that.”

“No,” Cedrella agreed, “but a lot of the time people don’t make sense. And that’s okay.”

Ellen nodded, looking like she was thinking hard. Cedrella smiled in spite of herself. Suddenly, the younger girl looked up at Cedrella, her eyes wide as if she’d just had a brilliant idea. “I know! Will you help Linny with her spells? Then she won’t be mad at me any longer, and maybe you could help me with my Astronomy charts too, ‘cause those are terrible confusing.”

Cedrella almost laughed, almost told Ellen that she was Head Girl and talking eight N.E.W.Ts, but that she would ask around and find someone to tutor Linny… and then she stopped herself. Why not? wondered a voice in her head. It’s a distraction. You like this girl, right? She’s making you smile.

“That sounds like a perfect idea, Ellen,” she said instead. “Do you think you could meet me in the library and eight on Tuesday night? It’s my night off from patrol.”

“Yeah, great!” Ellen said enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ll tell Gladys�”she’s in our house too�”she’s been doing bad in Potions… Thanks Drell!” She waved, grinning, and sprinted off up the stairs, her robes flapping to reveal unmatched socks and her pigtails bouncing around her shoulders.

Cedrella watched her go, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Then she turned and walked down the staircase to the dungeons, the area around her heart feeling warm from the sound of “Drell” in her ears once more.

**

Cedrella came back from Pepper’s that evening in December just before curfew. They had spent the morning setting traps in the forest, tramping through snow that was, at times, almost up to Cedrella’s knees. She didn’t see how any animals could survive in it, but Pepper knew exactly where to go�”where the trees and dead brush were the thickest, and near the running water. They didn’t talk much, but the woods were quiet and calm and Cedrella didn’t mind. The companionship was more than enough. They had planned to check the last trap line on the way back, but by three in the afternoon it had started snowing again and even under her sweater, cloak, and the thick fur that Pepper had thrown over her shoulders, Cedrella was shivering. So she asked a passing owl to check which traps were full, and he returned in less than five minutes reporting rabbit and jarvey in five and six. They took a shortcut off the path, Cedrella marveling at how unafraid she was of the forest in Pepper’s presence, gathered the rodents from the traps by the stream, and got back to the gamekeeper’s hut before the gusts of snow turned into a full fledged blizzard. Thawing by the fire and letting the ice crystals melt from her hair while watching with careful attention as Pepper showed her how to clean the rabbit, Cedrella realized she was happy, and also perhaps more extraordinarily, that she hadn’t thought of Septimus all morning. The winter air was invigorating, the work was interesting, she was with a friend whom she trusted, and best of all she felt useful�”Pepper had gotten more done today with her along, especially with the information she’d gotten from the owls.

They ate fresh rabbit for dinner, Pepper drinking hot mead and Cedrella tea, and it was the best thing she had tasted in a long time. Finally, as it neared nine, Pepper stood up and said in his gruff way. “Time I got you up ter the castle, Miz Black.” Cedrella agreed reluctantly, and they wrapped up in cloaks and furs once more and stepped out into the snowstorm.

Pepper left her at the castle doors with a rough, yet affectionate pat on the head and a “work hard in those classes, now,” before he turned and disappeared into the snow. Cedrella sighed, and headed for the Slytherin Common Room, her thoughts on traps and forests and how she might ask the owls to help them in the future and that she really ought to introduce Ellen to Pepper.

She was about to give the password when she became aware of a large person standing just beside the concealed door, and large person who smelled of velvet and expensive drink and something sugary.

“Ah, Miss Black, there you are.” It was Professor Slughorn.

“Good evening, Sir. Did you need me for something?” Cedrella was not sure she had ever actually seen her Head of House in the dungeons before, except for during Potions class. His office was floors above.

“Yes, Professor Dippet asked me to find you, you see, and nobody had seen you all day. Where have you been, my dear?”

“Studying,” Cedrella said carelessly, more concerned about the first part of his statement than the second. “What does Professor Dippet want?” Have I missed a Head’s meeting? she wondered, racking her brain. No I certainly haven’t. Maybe he has extra duties for me. Funny that he wouldn’t just ask Slughorn to pass on the message…

“I don’t know, my dear, but it was hours ago and he told me to find you as quickly as possible. I’ve been running about the castle ever since!” He puffed, looking put-upon.

“I’ll go see him now, shall I?” Cedrella said, starting to get nervous. “Good night Sir.” She sidestepped Slughorn and hurried back up the steps, into the Entrance Hall, and up the grand staircase, wondering what they Headmaster could possibly have to say that was so urgent. If it was Head duties, he certainly could have gotten by with Dearborn for the afternoon. She gave the password to enter the head’s office, hurried up the rotating steps, and knocked.

“Come in,” said Dippet’s voice.

Cedrella opened the door on the familiar office and looked towards the headmaster’s desk. He sat in his chair, across from another man. Cedrella didn’t have to wait for him to turn around to know who he was, or for a sick feeling of fear to sweep through her stomach.

“Miss Black, there you are at last,” the Headmaster was saying mildly. “As you can see, you have a visitor.”

He had turned around anyway, of course. Cedrella forced her knees into a curtsey, keeping her eyes raised and locked with his the whole time. “Hello, Father.”

He nodded once and she stood up straight again, heart pounding. What was he doing here? Here! In her safe place! “I have spoken with Headmaster Dippet,” Arcturus Black was saying, “And he has agreed to let you leave for the holidays a few days early, due to your exemplary work this term.” There was menace in his voice as he said it. “I requested a house elf to pack your things. We are leaving, now?”

Cedrella didn’t move.

“Now,” her father repeated.

“May I ask why?” she said, as calmly as possible. All she wanted to do was scream at him the way she had over the summer, but that wasn’t going to serve her anymore.

He ignored her, standing up and tucking a pocket watch back into his cloak. He shook hands with Dippet, who, Cedrella was disgusted but not altogether surprised to see, looked just as intimidated by her father as she was, and placed a forceful hand on her shoulder, steering her out of the room.

“Merry Christmas, Sir, thank you for everything,” Cedrella said to Dippet, and allowed herself to be pushed from the office.

The moment the door closed she shook of her father’s hand. “I can walk,” she snapped.

He redoubled his grip, this time on her upper arm. “Exactly.”

Cedrella frowned to herself as they swept down the steps. What did he mean? Why is he treating me like a prisoner again? she wondered. What did I do this time? I’ve been perfectly obedient, unless you count going to Pepper’s and how could he know about that? I chose him, for Merlin’s sake. I chose the Blacks! Isn’t that enough?

A house elf was waiting for them with Cedrella’s trunk at the foot of the stairs. “Here you are, sir and miss,” he squeaked.

“Thank you,” Cedrella told him, ignoring her father’s disapproving look that was burning into her for speaking to a house elf like that.

The elf directed them to a Floo in a room just off the Entrance Hall, and Cedrella’s father withdrew a pouch from his robes and offered it to her. She dipped her fingers into the glittering powder, but did not throw it onto the flames. “Where are we going?”

“Chateau Noir,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.

“Father, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand,” Cedrella said, trying again. “Why do I need to go home early? Where is Charis? Is something wrong?”

“Hold your tongue and get in the Floo, Cedrella,” he said, and she could tell it was a threat.

And suddenly the question that had so plagued her since October, that she had been feeling closer to finding an answer to over the past weeks, came to mind once more. She thought of Hogwarts, of her corner of the library, of the Owlery and her friends that lived there, of her Head Girl duties that she took such pride and care with, of her classes and her research, of Pepper and Ellen and even Vladimir Dearborn. Don’t listen to him. she told herself.You can do this. “I’m not going to go anywhere,” she said, as calmly as she could, “until you tell me why.”

She could almost see the struggle behind his ice-cold eyes�”but empty though the room may be, they weren’t safe in his study. There were twenty people in a classroom mere meters away, including a professor, who would all come running if they heard her scream. Cedrella moved ever so slightly to the left, standing in front of the door, and gripped her wand inside the pocket of her robes. Don’t think I won’t do it, she thought, glaring directly into her father’s gaze. Don’t you dare think I won’t.

The staring contest lasted at least two full minutes. Cedrella had never felt so tense in her life�”it took every ounce of willpower she had to remain standing there, poised to scream, fight, and flee. It went against her most ingrained instincts: obedience, self-preservation, and fear of the man before her. She could feel her limbs trembling slightly, but she didn’t move, didn’t shift her gaze. Something very wrong was going on here, she was certain of it. And nobody, not even her father, was taking her away from Hogwarts without a reason.

At last, Arcturus Black drew a folded newspaper from the inside of his cloak and handed it to her. She stared down at it, heart pounding, puzzled. It was the Society pages of the Daily Prophet, the place where Purebloods bragged about births and parties and engagements and deaths…

And that’s when she saw it, in innocent, common type: Crouch-Black Wedding: The youngest son of Bartimeus and Lyra Crouch, Caspar, will wed Cedrella Narcissa Black at two in the afternoon on December 21st in a Winter Solstice ceremony.

As Cedrella stared at the little words, comprehension dawning like an icy curtain on her skin, her father grasped her arm and pulled her into the fireplace. And before she could fight back he was yelling, “Château Noir!” There was anger in his voice.

The flames glowed a brighter green, and Hogwarts was gone.

Finally, I can see you crystal clear,
Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your ship bare,
See how I'll leave with every piece of you,
Don't underestimate the things that I will do,

There's a fire starting in my heart,
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bring me out the dark,

The scars of your love remind me of us,
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all,
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless,
I can't help feeling

We could have had it all

-Adele


It did not escape Cedrella’s notice that, over the next few days, she was almost never left alone. Her mother, Callidora, and Mrs. Crouch hovered constantly, rushing her from robe fitting to robe fitting, giving her instructions on how to walk, what to say, when to smile. Telling her about the menu, the guest list, the flowers, the location, as if it were vitally important information. Callidora even took her aside to have a serious conversation about the “wedding night,” and what was going to happen and what was expected of her. Cedrella sat through all of it, focusing only on keeping her expression blank and her tongue still, letting the dressmakers poke and prod her, letting her family’s words slip through her ears without touching her consciousness.

She had never felt so betrayed, not over the summer when Charis told on her, not in October when Septimus left her. I chose you, you worthless bastard, she would think, staring at her father during dinner. According to Septimus, I chose you, and I was going to go through with this on your terms as soon as I graduated in June. What have I done to deserve this now? Why am I being treated like a prisoner about to bolt at the first opportunity? She felt like she was being treated like a naughty child who didn’t know what she was doing, which was such a sharp contrast to her role of mature, autonomous Head Girl at Hogwarts or even the previous Christmas at home when she was trusted to behave well in social situations and take care of Charis. Never mind that she was an adult, about to become a wife. At night, when she was alone, she let her blank mask drop and sobbed furiously into her pillow until she was too exhausted to cry any longer and fell asleep. The anger almost felt good, though�”it let her channel everything she was feeling, kept her from thinking about Caspar or losing Hogwarts or worse, Septimus. No, as long as she didn’t think about that she could stand it, just barely.

The evening before Charis returned for the Christmas holidays, Cedrella found herself alone in the drawing room with Callidora, who was staying in Château Noir until after the wedding to perform her sisterly duties. Her older sister, dark hair pulled back as always, sat by the fire bent over her embroidery, her needle flashing silver in the firelight independent of her hands and her wand out, two intertwined C’s blooming beneath her fingers. Cedrella knew it was to be her wedding present, and it made her sick to look at. She stared out the window instead, watching the fat snowflakes that were gathering on the sill.

“Callidora, will you answer me something honestly?”

Her sister looked up, surprise evident on her face. Probably because Cedrella had hardly spoken since her return to Château Noir, especially not in a voice that sounded actually interested. “I can try.”

“Why did they move the date of the wedding without telling me? If it had to be in December instead of June for one reason or another, why wasn’t I informed about it before the entire Wizarding community?”

Callidora looked down at her lap for a moment . “I don’t know,” she said softly, and Cedrella was certain she was telling the truth. “Mother only told me about it the day before it was announced in the Prophet. I think it was a… fairly recent decision.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Cedrella said, forcing her voice to stay steady, to speak in terms that wouldn’t alarm her sister, even though she wanted to burst into angry, frustrated tears. “This wedding isn’t a small event. It’s right in the middle of the Christmas season, which is always a busy time socially, and weddings aren’t usually held then. And there’s not only the ceremony itself, but the Open House beforehand, as well. That’s two events to add the social calendar awfully late, and I’m sure less people are going to be able to come because of the lateness of the announcement. It meant taking me out of Hogwarts in the middle of a term, which is quite unusual, and it means that I won’t be able to live with Caspar right away because I have to go back to finish my exams, which is even more unusual.”

“I know,” Callidora said. “You’re quite right, about all of it. Father and Mr. Crouch must have had a very good reason to move the date, otherwise I can’t imagine why they would have.”

Cedrella nodded in agreement, wondering if she should say any more, if she dared voice what was bothering her so much about the situation. “You don’t think it was moved… so I didn’t have time to change my mind?” she said it quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Even Callidora’s needle was still as she stared at Cedrella. Only the flames in the fireplace and the snowflakes outside moved.

“What makes you say something like that, Cedrella? You would never do that�”you know what it would mean. You don’t have a choice.”

“I just�”“ Callidora’s last sentence hung in her ears. You don’t have a choice.

Do I? she wondered, for what felt like the thousandth time.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I never would,” she started over. “But with everything that happened last year, and over the summer, I just thought… maybe Father wanted to be certain.”

Callidora pursed her lips, a slight frown creasing her high forehead. “Well we can never know for sure,” she said at last, “and in the end it doesn’t make much difference when the wedding is, anyway. We shouldn’t be talking about it.”

“Right,” Cedrella said softly, understanding that the subject was closed, that that was as much humanity as she was going to get from her sister tonight.

They spent the rest of the evening in silence, Callidora sewing and Cedrella staring into the fire. But when the clock on the mantle chimed midnight and they both rose to return to their rooms, Callidora strode forewords and embraced her, her arms surprisingly strong, pressing Cedrella’s head to her breast. It was the briefest of moments, but as Callidora hurried from the room without meeting her eyes, Cedrella knew that her sister thought she was right, and that she pitied her for it.

The thought gave her surprisingly little comfort. It just made her feel more helpless.

**

Two nights before the wedding, Cedrella’s parents hosted the Open House, a warm new name for another fancy ball in which she was to be paraded around like someone’s prize Hippogriff, and everyone had a chance to show off. It was the first and only time she would see Caspar before the ceremony. Remembering a similar party held for Callidora when she was married, Cedrella expected her father, Mr. Crouch, and perhaps other influential purebloods to make toasts (or rather, long speeches) to the marriage, and to spend the rest of the evening hanging off Caspar’s arm being congratulated by everyone in attendance, though the sincerity of their remarks was always questionable, especially from the families with sons who could have been other potential husbands. Cedrella knew all of them would just be wishing they had approached her father sooner, offered a better dowry, anything that would have brought the prestige of a Black daughter to their family, their bloodline. The thought disgusted her.

She spent most of the day being scrubbed, prepped, and pampered, never left alone for a moment. Callidora spent nearly three hours doing her hair, twisting it, tendril by tendril, into something elaborate on the back of her head that involved the use of a box of about two hundred pearl-covered pins. While her sister worked, Cedrella stared out the window, where it was snowing again, and went through in her mind exactly how to set a trap line and skin a rabbit, as Pepper had shown her. She wondered if there were more ways she and the owls could help the gamekeeper, and planned what she would do when she got back to Hogwarts. She thought of more books to recommend to Ellen. She devised a new patrol schedule to run by Vladimir Dearborn for next term. Things that made her feel like herself. Thoughts of Septimus, Caspar, and that horrible trapped feeling were only present when she was forcing them away. Callidora, for once, left her to her thoughts, clearly sensing that Cedrella was far, far away from reality.

Charis was not so considerate. She breezed into Cedrella’s room two hours before the party was scheduled to start, already dressed and ready in a gold gown and red lipstick that made her look about four years older than she was, practically singing with excitement.

“I just can’t believe that it’s time already, Cedrella! This is the best Christmas surprise we’ve ever had, don’t you think?”

“Mhmm,” Cedrella said, not turning away from the window. Callidora’s reflection there frowned at her disapprovingly.

“I think it’s perfect, really, that you’re getting married now,” Charis was saying chirpily. “That way, over the summer when it’s my turn, you’ll be able to do everything for me that Callidora’s done for you!”

“There isn’t a date set for your wedding yet, Charis,” Cedrella said tightly. “Father hasn’t decided if you’re going to continue at Hogwarts or not. Remember?”

“When are you going to give that up? I couldn’t bear to be away from Lucifer and wait for two whole years.”

“You know, some people get married in their twenties,” Cedrella said. “You’re not even sixteen, Charis. There’s no hurry.”

“Well you’ve never wanted to get married, so of course you don’t think so. You’d rather read, or go tromping about the grounds with that filthy gamekeeper�”“

“Pepper’s mother was a Flint, Charis. I would be more careful with words like that.”

“Perhaps I meant he’s actually, physically filthy all the time,” she countered, without missing a beat. “I don’t think he ever bathes.”

“He’s not�”I’m not having this conversation anymore, Charis.” Her sister’s newfound ability for sharp retorts always unsettled her.

“Quitter,” Charis said, a little bit malicious and a little bit teasing.

“Both of you please, stop,” Callidora said suddenly, breaking her disapproving silence. “Charis, Cedrella is under a lot of pressure right now, don’t heckle her. Cedrella, try and act like an adult.”

It was extremely unusual, Cedrella realized, that the three of them were together in a situation where Callidora could assert her oldest-sister authority. It had happened all the time when they were small, but hardly ever in the past four years. She looked from Charis, who was examining her fingernails looking only slightly abashed, to Callidora, who looked tired and worried.

Why should I act like an adult when everyone refuses to treat me like one? she wanted to snap. But she held her tongue. Callidora was just trying to help, and Charis… she didn’t know what to do about Charis any longer. She knew, despite how much they still cared about one another, that something between them was never going to be the same as it once was. It was better to just keep quiet. Glancing at her younger sister again, she noticed that her hair was already elegantly twisted on top of her head and adorned with jeweled pins. Even this responsibility, the simplest thing, had been taken from her.

**

“Cedrella dear, are you ready?”

She did not answer her mother, nor did she move away from the mirror where she stood, staring at the glass. A stranger looked back.

“What do you think, Cedrella? Are you ready to go meet Caspar? He’s really going to love this, you look stunning. Like a goddess of winter,” Callidora said, smiling proudly at her handiwork.

Cedrella touched her face with one finger. Her skin was so perfectly polished and powdered that it looked, and felt, like wax. Her elaborate green and white robes felt simultaneously heavy and fragile, as if they were so intricate that they would break if she moved too quickly. There were so many pins in her hair that it took conscious effort to hold her head up straight. Charis, to be sure, had looked different and older in her red lipstick and golden gown, but she still looked like Charis. Cedrella didn’t know this girl looking back at her from the mirror. She was frightening in her strangeness.

“Cedrella!” Her mother wasn’t giving up.

“Let’s go,” Callidora said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Cedrella took a last look around her room, which as much as a prison as it had been at times, was still hers, unlike her face. She was unable to say exactly why she was so unnerved by her appearance, but she couldn’t help it. You can’t be yourself tonight anyway, Cedrella reminded herself. It doesn’t matter.

They descended into the foyer with no time to spare, for the Crouches arrived mere minutes later, and Caspar greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and some nonsensical comment about how beautiful she looked, and she accepted his arm and smiled a porcelain smile. Callidora was watching her approvingly from the staircase, and Cedrella forced her thoughts down and set her focus to her next duty: playing the part of the happy couple for their guests.

A surprising number of people considering the lateness of the announcement, all dressed in their winter finest, arrived at Château Noir in the next half hour. Cedrella supposed that no one who was invited, no matter how inconvenient the timing, had wanted to turn down attendance to such a prestigious event. She greeted all of them, nodding, curtseying, smiling, and all the while keeping one hand placed in the crook of Caspar’s elbow. She even accepted a kiss on the hand from both Robert and Rodney Selwyn, and shook hands with Eleanor, who gave her a curious, calculating look as she offered her congratulations. Cedrella was sure that her roommate was wondering the same thing she was: why was this happening now? Why not wait until she was out of Hogwarts?

After an hour of mingling, the tinkling bell rang for the start of the meal, and Cedrella and Caspar led the tide of guests into the ballroom where two dozen large tables laid with the finest china had been set out. Each guest picked a name card when they entered the room and, once they said their name, writing appeared directing them exactly to their seat. Cedrella knew from conversations between her mother and sister that she had vaguely listened to that a great deal of work had gone into the seating arrangements�”it was a complicated game of social politics that her mother had always greatly enjoyed. If I ever have to host one of these parties, I’m going to let everyone sit wherever they want, Cedrella thought, as she and Caspar took their seats at the large table in the front of the room with the rest of their families.

House elves served wine and a first course of spiced, brothy soup, and as Cedrella sipped hers she could not help but wonder how much money had been spent on this food and what a family like the Weaselys could have done with it. Made it last for a whole year, probably. No, no, don’t think about that, But she had caught herself a moment too late. Caspar touched her knee under the table.

“Are you quite all right Cedrella? You looked odd, for a moment.”

She looked at him properly for the first time that night, surprised that he had noticed her moment of weakness. “Oh no, I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “Just a shiver�”it’s chilly in here.”

“Do you need a wrap? I can fetch one for you.” He had not taken his hand off her leg.

“No, I’m quite all right thank you,” she said, suddenly repulsed by him. She jerked her leg away. “Please don’t touch me.”

She was saved from hearing his response by her father, who had risen to his feet at the sound of the bell once more, commanding silence. The guests stopped talking and turned their attention towards the front of the room where Arcturus Black stood, diamonds glittering on the collar of his black robes, a crystal goblet in one hand.

“I am pleased that you all have joined us tonight to celebrate a very special event,” he said in his deep, steely voice. “I think I speak for everyone at this table when I say we are delighted for the support and loyalty to our families that your attendance shows. I would now like to offer a toast, and I would appreciate very much if our guests joined me, in honor of the marriage of Caspar Crouch and my daughter Cedrella Black, and in honor of the union of our two great families. The Crouches, like the Blacks, are a family with a history of generations of purebloods and many influential wizards and witches. It is with great pride, therefore, that I anticipate the joining of our lineage and history. The world today is far more complicated and threatening to our way of life than it has been since the imposition of the International Statute of Secrecy, and at this time when many pureblood lines are dying off, splitting up, and mixing with a lower division of our society, a union such as this is truly something to celebrate. So in defiance to the Fawcetts, Weasleys, and Lovegoods of our society, let the union we celebrate today between two of our brightest young prospects stand for new promise for the Wizarding race and a renewal of our values: integrity, beauty, and purity of blood and mind.” He raised the wine glass to his lips and sipped it, and applause rang out across the hall as the guests followed suit.

Cedrella knew she wasn’t imagining it as her father looked directly at her over his wine glass, meeting her eyes with his icy gaze. There was triumph there, as if they were back at the Floo in Hogwarts and he had finally won the contest, won the game, proved she was merely a pawn to his king.

Bartimeus Crouch had risen to his feet and was saying something about a marriage of values, but Cedrella could not focus on his words with her father’s still ringing in her ears. The content of it was bad enough�”not a word about his affection for her, his wishes for their personal happiness and peaceful marriage. It was politics, all politics, and he had not even tried to conceal that fact. Instead he had glorified it, bragged about it, treating her and Caspar as objects at a party that was supposed to celebrate them, presenting them not as people but merely as means to an end.

But it was not only that that was making her entire body feel cold. No, it was the vindictiveness�”the snide mention of the Weasleys, the triumphant glare�”that hurt. What was her father trying to do? Was he actually trying to hurt her? What was the point of that? Arcturus Black did not do things simply for the sake of doing them, Cedrella knew this much. All of his actions, no matter how despicable, were careful and calculated. But it didn’t make sense that he was trying to make her angry. So was this simply retaliation for her tiny act of defiance as they were leaving Hogwarts? Was he so determined not to only win the game but demolish her pawn as well?

Pawn. Where was that metaphor coming from? And then she remembered: Septimus, telling her she was more than a “marriage pawn,” that she had to take control of her own life. That she had to make a choice. And now here she was, after all this time and despite all her promises to never lose herself, being called a marriage pawn by her own father in front of a hundred people who all applauded him for it.

Septimus was right all along.

Caspar wasn’t paying attention to her anymore, he was watching attentively as his father finished speaking, clapping politely, turning to talk to Harfang Longbottom, who was seated on his other side…

She wondered if anyone else could tell how sick she suddenly felt, sick with dread and fear and anger at her father and that awful trapped feeling. She wondered if her waxy, porcelain face was betraying any emotion yet. She picked at her food for the rest of the meal, which seemed to take an inordinately long amount of time, and then as they all stood and last and the tables were swept to the side with a wave of her father’s wand, the music started and it was immediately time for her first dance with Caspar. As they waltzed and twirled around the ballroom, everything seemed to shimmer before Cedrella’s eyes. The rich colors of everyone’s robes, the light dancing off the crystal chandeliers and the jewels in the women’s hair, the glow of the candles…she felt dizzy, and sick and scared and trapped and disgusted by Caspar’s too-warm grasp on her hand and her waist. She broke away the moment the song ended.

“I’m feeling a little light headed,” she murmured. “A bit to much wine at dinner, I think. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“Would you like me to come with you? Here, sit down, I will get you a glass of water.”

“No, thank you Caspar, I think I need a breath of fresh air.” And before he could object again, she hurried away from him, into the crowd of dancers. She knew she wasn’t supposed to leave his side all night�”this was one of her mother’s explicit instructions�”but she had to have a moment to compose herself, to clear her head and master her anger.

People greeted her as she made her way to the doors of the ballroom.

“Congratulations, dear.”

“Your father’s speech was wonderful, you must be so proud.”

“Caspar is such a wonderful match for you.”

“I couldn’t be more pleased about this wedding, Miss Black.”

And always, always, “you look beautiful, Cedrella.” Or “What a classic Slytherin beauty you are, Miss Black.”

By the time she made it out into the foyer, she wanted to scream not only at her father, but also at every single person she had spoken to in the last few minutes. Do you not realize that we’re actual people? she thought furiously. Are we just pretty dolls with useful political significance to you? Does anyone care if I’m happy, or if I actually care for Caspar? Why does everyone assume that my life is perfect?

Her hand was on the doorknob to the first floor bathroom when she heard Charis’ voice coming from inside it.

“…so glad the wedding was moved,” she was saying.

To Cedrella’s horror, Lucifer Malfoy’s voice answered. “I am too�”if only because it means I get to see you in this dress.”

Charis giggled. There was a silence, during which Cedrella imagined they were kissing. She could not believe that her sister, her sister who these days was so focused on being the perfect socialite, had snuck away from an important party to snog her fiancée.

“Do you know why it was moved?” he asked. “Did your father tell you? It’s not a very common thing to do, move an important event like this on such short notice.”

“No,” Charis said, voice thoughtful. “But I think it may have something to do with…well…do you remember over the summer when I told you that Cedrella go in trouble with our father?”

“Yes.”

Cedrella leaned closer to the door.

“Well after that I think he was worried that once she went back to Hogwarts she wouldn’t…want to marry Crouch, that she would go back on the engagement or make things difficult.”


“Cedrella, make things difficult? She’s not very much fun, but she doesn’t seem like the type to fight an engagement, especially such an illustrious one. This will get her far.” Lucifer Malfoy sounded genuinely puzzled, and very curious.

“I know, I know… but Father thought she might. Things have been tense between them ever since... an odd sort of power struggle, I suppose you could call it.”

At least Charis has the decency to be vague, Cedrella thought sourly, pressing her ear closer still.

“So he changed the date to force her to marry Crouch? That seems extreme.”

“Well he…he asked me, at the beginning of the term, to be sure to write him and tell him everything she was doing, just to make sure his hunch was wrong, I think. And obviously we haven’t seen her much this term, she’s always so busy, but I’ve seen her sitting with some Gryffindor first years in the library before, and outside with that awful gamekeeper quite a lot. And…well, just…things…”

“Charis, you can tell me, you know you can trust me.”

Her sister hesitated, but not long enough. “The first Hogsmeade visit no one saw her the whole time, but she didn’t come back until late and then she locked herself in the bathroom and cried,” she said, words spilling out in a rush. “And she never cries! She’s told me she was going on patrol, but then I’ve gone out and seen Dearborn patrolling, and I don’t know where she goes. I saw her going into the forest with the gamekeeper once. And sometimes during Divination I look out the window and see her sitting outside, in all sorts of weather, with owls all over her arms. I think she’s up to something, I don’t know what it is, but I’m trying to find out. I don’t like it, I want her to go back to normal and stop being so bitter and distant, but she isn’t even nice to me anymore, Lucifer! We used to be best friends and now ever since she lied to me last year about the Weasley boy�”“ Charis broke off, but the damage was done.

“Weasley boy?”

“I�”“

“We’re going to be family, Charis,” Lucifer said. “You can tell me, it’s all right.”

Slippery git, Cedrella thought furiously, as Charis hesitated for a moment and then began to speak.

“All right, Lucifer, but nobody is supposed to know about this, you hear? I don’t know the full story myself. But do you remember when Cedrella got into a fight with Rodney Selwyn last year and ended up in the hospital wing?”

“I don’t think anyone is likely to forget about that any time soon,” Lucifer said with a snort.

“Right. Well, Septimus Weasley was somehow involved in that, and afterwards Cedrella told me that they had spoken in detention, and he was…interested in her. I think something more happened�”I mean I know it did, because they were definitely seen kissing in the library after that, and then�”“

Cedrella couldn’t take it any longer. Hearing this, hearing her sister speak so casually and so incorrectly about everything that that had happened to her in the last year on top of the awfulness of the party, and Caspar, and most of all her father’s speech and the feeling of being a pawn in his plans, was simply to much. She threw the bathroom door open.

Charis and Lucifer sprang apart, Charis looking horrified and alarmed, and Lucifer surprised but almost amused.

“You shouldn’t be here, Malfoy,” Cedrella said as coldly as she could. “And I need a word with my sister.” She glared at him until he kissed Charis’ cheek, straightened up, and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and smirking slightly.

Charis and Cedrella stared at one another. Cedrella didn’t know where to start, didn’t know if she wanted to scream or simply run away as fast as she could so she didn’t have to look at her sister’s worried face and her smudged red lipstick. She felt like the whole night was spinning fast out of her grasp, like something was happening that was far out of her control.

“Are you…going to say anything?” Charis asked after a moment, voice tentative. “How much did you hear?”

“I heard that you’ve been spying on me for Father,” Cedrella said. “After everything that happened this summer, Charis, after everything I told you. After everything I did for you. I honestly don’t know what to say. I don’t understand you.”

“I was just doing what he told me to do, Cedrella, I didn’t have a choice! It would have been me in bed with scar slave on my face if I had refused!”

“Then you SHOULD have been!” Cedrella exclaimed. “How many times have I told you, Charis, that your highest loyalty isn’t to him, it’s to your sisters! We’re the only people who can take care of each other! I would have taken his wand for you in a moment!”

“You haven’t taken care of me at all, lately,” Charis said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been on my own for months, with you wrapped up in your own strange little world, and I’ve done all right for myself! But I know who I want to be, Cedrella, and that’s Mrs. Lucifer Malfoy, and in the end you can’t do that for me and I can’t do that for me. Only Father can!”

Cedrella stared at her sister in horror. There were simply too many things wrong with that statement to fully process in that moment. “Is that what you think this is about?” she hissed. “Your personal gain? That’s not what we were talking about, Charis, and that’s not what being a Black is about. Being a Black is about loyalty, loyalty to your family as the highest duty in life.”

“It’s not,” Charis said, and her voice was trembling, but she had that defiant look in her eyes again. “Being a Black is about being a pureblood, Cedrella. Tojuors Pur, remember? You heard Father’s speech. He’s not worried about being loyal to you, he’s worried about advancing his social position and staying on top! You can’t even hold up the loyalty idea, much less actually advance yourself. You’re good at following the rules, but that can only get you so far.”

“That’s what you think?”

“That’s what I know. I can’t believe I understood it before you, but there you are�”you couldn’t teach me everything, Cedrella.”

“I was trying to protect you, because you’re my sister and I love you! Do you even care about that anymore? Is that even important to you at all? What happenedto you, Charis?”

“I could ask you the same question! What did you think you were preparing for, by trying to be perfect for all those years?”

For a terrifying moment, Cedrella wanted to reach out and strike her sister. She had never been so angry in her life, never felt so frustrated and betrayed. But then she thought of their father, and that she could never, ever hurt Charis how he had. So instead she turned away and ran before she did something she would regret.

**

Miraculously, no one saw her as she flew through the foyer, up the staircase, down the hall, and flung herself into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, heart pounding, eyes streaming. She tried to take deep, steadying breaths, to push it all away so she could go back downstairs before anyone noticed she was gone, but the harder she tried to calm down the faster her gasps came, the harder she cried, the angrier she became.

“Being a Black is about loyalty, loyalty to your family as the highest duty in life.”

“It’s not. Being a Black is about being a pureblood, Cedrella. Tojuors Pur, remember?

She sank to the floor, her back to her bedroom door, pressing her face into her hands.

”So in defiance to the Weasleys of our society, let the union we celebrate today between two of our brightest young prospects stand for new promise for the Wizarding race and a renewal of our values: integrity, beauty, and purity of blood and mind.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tiny stars erupted there, but she couldn’t shut it out.

” What did you think you were preparing for, by trying to be perfect for all those years?”

What, indeed?

Cedrella had heard of epiphanies before, read about them. She had even though that she may have had one before�”when she decided to accept her attraction to Septimus, for example, or even over the summer when she had made that promise not to lose herself. But she realized, sitting on her bedroom floor with tears mottling the makeup that was caked onto her face, that she had not understood what an epiphany really was until this exact moment. One second she had been hopelessly frustrated, confused, angry, and betrayed, and the next she saw it all laid out before her, eerily clear. There was a ringing in her ears.

She sat still savoring the feeling for only a few seconds before leaping to her feet and tearing at the ties on the back of her gown, ripping the intricately tied cord that held it on out of the cloth. There was no time to spare. She darted around her bedroom still struggling out of the horrible dress robes, throwing things into a bag. Her Hogwarts books. Her owl sweater. A handful of underwear. She kicked off the torn dress at last and snatched up her heaviest cloak, throwing it over her shoulders, over her silk slip and elaborate helmet of pearl hairpins. She ripped off her high-heeled slippers and was pushing her feet into her favorite boots when she heard footsteps on the stairs and someone�”Charis!�”calling her name. She dashed to the window and rattled it�”it was locked. “Alohamora!” Nothing.

“Cedrella, are you up here?”

She pressed herself into the doorway of her closet, bag in hand, hidden from view of the door. But if Charis came in it would take her less than a second to see the torn dress all over the floor and scream like a banshee and alert the entire gathering.

Cedrella knew the Apparition ban on the house was lifted for the night, because she had seen guests arrive that way, in the foyer, mere hours previously.

“Cedrella, where are you?” Charis called again. She sounded even closer this time.

Cedrella had never apparated before�”she had intended to take a course on it at the Ministry after she finished Hogwarts. But standing there, her epiphany clear in her mind her entire body pounding with adrenaline, she knew she was out of options.

“Cedrella!”

She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and thought desperately, with every fiber of herself, of anywhere but her childhood home. Get me out of here,she begged. Take me somewhere safe. And then an image of Hogsmeade sprang to her mind and she turned on the spot as she had seen her father do so many times before, and everything was excruciating, suffocating, darkness.

I don't believe in anything but myself
I don't believe in anything but myself
But then you opened up a door
You opened up a door
Now I start to believe in something else.

But how do I know if I'll make it through?
How do I know?
Where's the proof in you?

And so it goes, this soldier knows
The battle with the heart isn't easily won.
And so it goes, this soldier knows
The battle with the heart isn't easily won
But it can be won.

I sit in the back of a bus watching the world grow old
Watching the world go by all by myself.
I took a faithful leap and packed up all my things and all my love
And gave it to somebody else.

But how do I know if I'll make it through?
How do I know?
Where's the proof in you?

And so it goes, this soldier knows
The battle with the heart isn't easily won.
And so it goes, this soldier knows
The battle with the heart isn't easily won.
But it can be won
But it can be won
But it can be won
But it can be won.

And so it goes, this soldier knows (and so it goes)
The battle with the heart isn't easily won (the war is won)
And so it goes, this soldier knows (and so it goes)
The battle with the heart isn't easily won (the war is won)
But it can be won
But it can be won.

-Ingrid Michaelson


There was air in her lungs. Air! Fresh, sweet, icy cold air. She gulped it down, desperate for oxygen.

A moment later she became aware of two more things: she was lying facedown in the snow, and there was a searing, throbbing pain in her left forearm.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and sat up, still gasping for breath. The village of Hogsmeade lay before her�”there was Gladrag’s Wizard Wear, and down the deserted street was the Three Broomsticks, it’s lanterns and steamy windows glowing cheerfully. There was snow everywhere, piled in great drifts along the sides of High Street. She tried to stand up and immediately felt dizzy and ill, the familiar village swimming dangerously. Her arm throbbed.

Gingerly, she looked down and saw that the sleeve of her cloak was soaked with dark blood. She pulled it back carefully and looked at the flesh of her forearm in horror�”a chunk of it was simply gone, cleanly removed, and the hole it had left behind was filled with blood.

Cedrella was not squeamish. But the sight of her mutilated arm made her feel like she might faint, vomit, or both. She quickly covered it with her sleeve again and forced herself to her feet. She needed to get herself hidden and off the street, and she needed to find a healer. That was about all her mind could comprehend at that moment.

Every step down the street was a fight to stay upright, to stay conscious, to keep the contents of her stomach down. It seemed to take years to pass the Three Broomsticks, turn the corner at Honeydukes, and make her way down a side street that, she knew, ended with a dead end and another inn, one she had never entered before.

The door to the Hog’s Head was locked, its windows dark except for a single candle that was lit on the bar, burning low, which she could barely make out through the grimy window. She raised her good arm and pounded on the door, the window, and then the door again in desperation, past caring who answered it. She had been standing there, pummeling the door with her fist, for nearly two minutes when a dark shape swooped down out of nowhere and alighted on her shoulder.

An owl.

“Help me,” Cedrella said desperately, her voice cracking. “Do you live here? Can you get me in? I’m lost�”I mean, I know where I am, but I have to hide, and I need a healer�”please�”“

The big man, the owl hooted, turning it’s head towards the castle. From the forest. He will help you.

“Big�”do you mean Pepper?”

Stay here. The bird leapt into the air and was gone.

Cedrella had no idea if the owl had actually gone for Pepper, or how he knew they were friends, but she wasn’t about to go anywhere. She didn’t have anywhere to go. I’m homeless, she thought ruefully, and for some reason the thought was hilarious to her. She sank to the ground outside the door of the pub and sat in the snow and laughed until she threw up, until she wasn’t sure if she was laughing or choking or crying. And then she heard a wonderfully familiar voice.

“CEDRELLA! What the ruddy hell are you doin’ here?”

She looked up through her hazy vision and saw the dark form of Pepper running towards her, the owl flying above him like a spectral guide.

“I ran away,” she said faintly.

“You ran�”hang on, is tha’ BLOOD?” Before she could answer in the affirmative, Pepper had yanked her up out of the snow, supporting her against his chest, and was bellowing something in his great roar of a voice, pounding on the door of the pub just as she had done, but with about three times the volume. “Oi, DUMBLEDORE! Get yerself down here and open the bloody door!”

She thought she heard footsteps, the lock turning, and then a man with a grubby red beard stood before them in a nightshirt, holidng the candle from the bar and glaring daggers at the pair of them.

“Yes?” He growled.

“You’ve got a guest,” Pepper said. “This lady would like a room.”

The innkeeper peered at them. “It’s bloody one in the morning, Goldilocks, and we’re closed. Besides, she doesn’t look so good.”

“No, she don’t, which is why she’ll be needin’ a room NOW, and you’ll be givin’ her one.”

“Don’t you order me around.”

“Don’ think I won’t,” Pepper countered.

The redheaded man scowled. “You got gold, missy? I won’t take her if she can’t pay, Goldilocks.”

It took Cedrella a moment to realize he was talking to her, and a moment longer to realize she didn’t have a single galleon on her. She opened her mouth say so when she caught sight of something on her finger, glinting in the light of the innkeeper’s candle.

She took off her engagement ring with difficulty and held it out for the man to see. “I don’t have gold, but I have this. If you let me stay here for a few days and don’t ask any questions, you can have it.”

The man held out his hand and she dropped the ring into it. He held it up, eyes growing wide as he recognized emeralds and diamonds, and the Crouch family crest engraved on the stone.

“This is goblin-made?”

It was. It had been in the Crouch family for something like three centuries. She nodded, closing her eyes against another wave of nausea. She knew she was losing too much blood.

“Well for that, missy, you can have the master suite.” He chuckled harshly, pocketing the ring. “Bring her on in, Goldilocks. I don’t think she can make it up the stairs herself.”

**


An immeasurable amount of time later (it was daylight, that was all she could tell), Cedrella awoke to an empty room. Though she had never seen the small, shabby, slightly dirty space before, she knew immediately where she was, and felt an immense rush of relief that it had not all been a dream, that she really was here�”penniless, alone, and injured, but here and not back at Château Noir, preparing to marry Caspar Crouch. On her nightstand, there was an unlabeled bottle of greenish liquid, a small pile of hairpins with a lot of hair in them (it looked like someone had tried to take them out and given up) and a tray with a mug of black coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs. Though the food was stone cold, she gulped it down immediately, hungrier than she had been in a long time, eating clumsily because her left arm had been wrapped tightly in bandages and bound to her chest in a sling.

She wrapped herself in the blanket from the bed and set to work removing the rest of the hairpins, which had gotten twisted and tangled and crossed over one another over the course of the past hours. She wanted something to do with her hands, a concrete task she could manage, somewhere to start. It was too overwhelming to think about everything that had just happened all at once.

It was imperative, she decided, that she stay hidden here until a few days after the wedding was scheduled to happen. Doubtlessly, her father had people searching frantically for her right now, hoping to find her before the wedding so that they would not have to do the unthinkable and cancel it. What a scandal it was going to be, when it could be concealed and postponed no longer, and the world would find out that Cedrella Black had run out on her own wedding the day before it happened, during a party in her honor! How ashamed her family would be! How everyone would gossip! She found that she didn’t care nearly as much as she thought she might have. It served her father right, for trying to make her his pawn, for getting carried away with his own game of control. She didn’t care what the other purebloods thought. Only the thought of Charis held her up�”as furious as she was with her sister, she could not help hoping that her defection would not harm Charis. She didn’t see how it could�”breaking the engagement with Lucifer would just cause more scandal, and to marry him was all Charis really wanted anyway. She’ll be all right, Cedrella told herself. She has what she wanted. She’ll be happy. She did not want to think about the fact that she would probably never see Charis again. It was too painful. She forced her mind to other things.

So after the wedding was long past, then what? It was dizzying to her, that mere hours before she had had no control over what she wore, much less what her future was going to entail. And now…now she had nothing but a wide-open blank slate and a bad reputation. She would finish her year at Hogwarts of course, but what about after that?

She remembered, suddenly, a conversation she had had with Septimus the previous spring, their first real fight. “What do you want?” he had demanded of her. And she had replied, ”I want to relive this year, over and over and over again. I never want to get married and I never want to go home and I want to study and learn and be with you. Always.”

She leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes against the hope that was blossoming in her chest.

No, she told it.

But you did what he wanted you to do! it persisted, leaping up and down. You may have done it at the very last moment, but you did it! You left the Blacks, you didn’t choose them. You’re free now. You can be with him!

Septimus has no reason to want me back and every reason to hate me now, she argued with herself. I led him on for months and treated him horribly and put him through the worst kind of uncertainty. He wanted to live his life and that’s what he should do.

But he wanted you, that hopeful voice reminded her. He only broke it off because he had to, because you weren’t being fair to him. He was ready to marry you!

And this, Cedrella could not deny.

**

She paced back and forth, around and around the small room which she had not seen the outside of for three days, running a brush anxiously through her hair. She had been mostly alone ever since running away from the Open House, alone with her thoughts and her anxieties and her hope. She had seen Pepper, of course, who had come to check on her every day and brought her some smoked meat (“better than that ruddy food they serve here”) and two sets of ill-fitting robes (she had no idea where they had come from but she was grateful to have something to wear besides for her silky slip and her bloodstained cloak). He didn’t talk much, but she didn’t mind�”simply the idea that there was someone out there looking out for her was enough. She was fairly sure that she would be indebted to Pepper for the rest of her life. As for the scruffy innkeeper, who had told her to call him simply “Ab,” she had only spoken to him when he brought her food, and true to her bargain on that first night, he had not even asked her name. He persisted in calling Pepper “Goldilocks,” which Cedrella found hilarious and which made the gamekeeper go red when she asked him about it.

But mostly, she had been alone, and for all the thinking she had done, trying to distract herself from thoughts of her family, she had decided only three things. The first was that she was going to get herself an owl for her very own, a familiar like Mathias who could go with her everywhere and be her closest confidant, her constant companion. The second was that she needed money�”her family had most certainly already cut off her access to their vault�”so for a start she needed to sell the heap of pearl hairpins now sitting on her nightstand, and after that she needed to find a job. A job! It was a strange concept to Cedrella, one she had never really thought much about. Perhaps she could work in a pet shop, and help people choose their owls. She would like that. Other purebloods would be horrified.

And the third thing…the third thing was what was making her pace, was twisting her stomach with anxiety and too many other emotions to identify. The third thing was what had permeated all of her other thoughts, made it difficult to plan anything, decide anything, even to be properly sad about losing Charis and Callidora, though she had cried about that a few times already. For she had to know, once and for all, whether she had any chance to be with Septimus ever again. The fact that with only a tiny bit of hope, she could once more not get him off her mind reminded her that she still loved him, that what she had told him last spring was true. And she had to know soon, because as it was she could hardly think of anything else, could not squash the newfound hope in her heart no matter how hard she tried. So she was going to find him, today, and tell him everything. The worst thing that could happen, she reasoned, was that he would turn her away, have closed that door and shut her out of his heart.

She had already lost him once. This wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly.

She packed up everything in her room�”which wasn’t much�”into her bag. She put her cloak on over the robes Pepper had given her, and gave her hair one more nervous brush-though. She surveyed herself in the cracked mirror hanging on the back of her door for a long, moment, thinking of the last time she had looked at her reflection, back at Château Noir, and a strange porcelain doll had looked back. She didn’t look remotely like a doll anymore, but she certainly looked strange. She looked like a plain girl in ill-fitting clothes with her arm bound into a sling. She looked just as adrift, lost, and penniless as she was. But Cedrella recognized this girl, shabby though she was. This was the girl who spoke to owls and set traps in the forest, who read books late into the night, who had flown with Septimus to a mountain meadow on Valentine’s Day and stayed out until dawn.

“Hello, Drell,” she said softly.

It was early afternoon, and there were a few people sitting at the bar downstairs, talking in low voices. Ab looked around as she came down the stairs behind the counter.

“Going somewhere, missy?”

“Yes,” Cedrella said. “But I’ll most likely be back soon, so please don’t put anyone else up in my room.”

He grunted in response, already going back to wiping glasses.

She hurried out of the pub before she lost her nerve and strode down the street to a corner, where she stopped to take out her wand. She had never done this before�”her mother always said only hooligans, Mudbloods, and crooks took the Knight Bus�”but she supposed there was a first time for everything, now that she was plain old Drell and not Cedrella Narcissa Crouch nee Black any longer.

She held out her wand into the street. BANG.

There it was, just as Septimus had once described it to her�”three stories high, bright purple, barreling down the street. A man appeared in the door. “Welcome to the�”“

“How much to get to Tinsworth?” Cedrella interrupted.

He blinked at her. “Seven sickles.”

“If I told you I didn’t have seven sickles but I do have these�”“ she held up three of her hairpins “which are antiques and worth several Galleons apiece, would you still take me to Tinsworth?”

The man blinked. “Errrr… I ‘spose?”

“Lovely,” Cedrella said, pushing the pins into his hand and hurrying onto the bus before he could change his mind. She could tell he was watching her, giving her an odd, calculating look, but she was sure they got all types on the Knight Bus, she couldn’t be that unusual. And she was rather past caring what anyone thought of her.

It was more crowded than she had expected, but she sat in the back corner of the bus by the window, staring out of it as the vehicle lurched forward with another BANG. She kept her hood up, just in case someone recognized her, and held her bag tightly in her lap.

Cedrella hardly noticed what was passing by outside, or the lurching movement of the bus. Her thoughts were all on Septimus, what she would say and how he would respond, on the chance of meeting his family who she had wanted to know for so long, on seeing his home at last. Her stomach was in knots. Never, after what had happened in October, had she expected to find herself on her way to Tinsworth to confront him. But then again, she never could have anticipated much that had happened over the past few days.

It was a surprisingly short time before the conductor was saying, “Now whereabouts in Tinsworth, miss?”

And she heard herself answering, with a tremor in her voice, “anywhere near the Weasleys place, do you know it?”

And he was nodding, and moving up to the front again, and with another BANG the bus was rolling through a snowy countryside, and then it had stopped, and she was thanking him and watching him point up the lane to a large house about half a mile away, and she was nodding and getting off the bus again and then it was gone. And there she stood, alone, in sight of Septimus’ house.

From what she could see it was medium sized, made of stone, with a thatched roof peeking out from under the snow and smoke curling out of the chimney. Was he in there at that very moment? she wondered. Were they all there, preparing for Christmas perhaps, making cookies and potato pancakes? Was he thinking of her and the letters they had exchanged this time last year, before it all really began, before he had ever kissed her?

She set off up the lane, counting her footsteps to keep her mind calm and focused. It was much shorter than it looked, and far too soon she was out of time and had reached the door. Cedrella stared at it, covered in chipped red paint with a heavy, unadorned iron knocker in the center. She was here. She would know soon, one way or another…

I have nothing to loose, she reminded herself, and with that she reached out and lifted the knocker, twice.

There were sounds from within and the door opened, revealing a tall woman with her grey-streaked red hair pulled back into a bun, wearing an apron over her robes. Septimus’ mother. She stared down at Cedrella rather sternly.

She swallowed. “Is Septimus here?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “I need to speak with him, it’s�”“

“My son is not taking visitors at this time,” Alana Weasley interrupted. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Cedrella suspiciously.

“Mrs. Weasley, this is important, I promise. May I please, please see him?” she did not try to disguise the desperation in her voice.

The old woman seemed to consider her for a moment. Cedrella felt uncomfortably like she knew exactly who she was. “Very well,” she said curtly, at last. “On your own head be it I suppose. Come in.”

Wondering what on earth that ominous statement could mean, and if the Weasleys all hated her now after what she had done to Septimus over the summer, she followed his mother into the house. She had just a glimpse of a large, cozy sitting room that opened into a kitchen where several redheaded people were talking, before her guide turned down a hallway and shut the door behind them. They passed a staircase and an open doorway before Alana Weasley opened yet another door at the end of the hall and gestured for her to enter. Cedrella did so, looking at the older woman uncertainly, but she did not get any reassurance.

“Septimus, someone is here to see you,” his mother said, before closing the door again.

Slowly, Cedrella turned around. The room was a small den, covered in framed Quidditch articles and faded Gryffindor banners. At a large desk by the window, a redheaded man sat with his back to her.

“Septimus?” she asked, softly.

He turned around slowly, as if in a trance, and they stared at one another. There were dark circles under his clear blue eyes, and he looked ill and drawn. But still so handsome, she thought, drinking in the sight of him. His eyes were so familiar, even as he gazed at her in disbelief.

“Septimus, I�”“

“Cedrella, what the hell are you DOING here?”

She started, her heart pounding even faster if possible. She had not expected such open hostility, she had to admit. But perhaps he was just shocked.

“I had to talk to you,” she said. “I have to explain something. I�”“

“Explain? What is there to explain? This is so over, Cedrella! You’re married, for Merlin’s sake! What did you want to tell me, that you’re SORRY? Well, I’m sorry too! But I don’t want to hear it, all right? Get out of here, you’re only making things worse!”

She stared incredulously at him, mouth gaping. She had never heard Septimus sound so bitter, so mean, not when they had argued about right and wrong, not even in October when he had said all of those awful things to her. And on top of that�”“I am NOT married!” she shouted.

Septimus let out a harsh, entirely humorless laugh. It was a terrifying sound. “And now you’re denying it? What’s the point of that, Cedrella? What more could you want from me?”

“I’m not lying!” she exclaimed. “Why would I do that? And what do you mean, what more could I want? I don’t want anything from you, Sep, I’m just trying to explain�”“

“Why you married Crouch? Yeah I get it, you didn’t have a choice�”“

“Yes I did have a choice, Septimus, and I made the right one, I�”“

“Oh so that’s what you’re here to tell me, that you’re happy now as the Slytherin bride? Gosh Cedrella, I really needed to know that! It really eases my peace of mind!” he was shouting now, on his feet.

“NO!” she shrieked at him, over his accusatory shouts. “No, NO! I could never be happy as Caspar’s wife, as my father’s little pawn, and that’s why I didn’t get married! I left! That’s what I’ve been trying to TELL you!”

He was only silent for a moment, and then he said in a deadly voice, “What the hell are you playing at, Cedrella.” It wasn’t question.

“I’m not�”“she began, but he had snatched something off the desk and flung it at her.

“What’s that, then?” he snarled, as she caught the two newspapers. “Look at that and then tell me why you’re really here.”

Cedrella stared down at the Prophets, both folded over to the Society page. One showed photographs from the Open House ball, with an especially large one of her dancing with Caspar that had a caption that read ”New high society darlings, Purebloods Cedrella Black and Caspar Crouch.” All right, that was bad, but it didn’t explain Septimus’ hostility… She turned her attention to the second newspaper.

Crouch-Black Wedding, read the headline. And below that, there it was: a photograph of a bride and groom, hand in hand. Caspar was unmistakable, his blonde hair combed away from his face, smiling a small, courteous smile as he waved to the guests and the cameras with his free hand. Beside him was a young woman, tall and slender with long brown waves, radiant in the elaborate dress and veil that she, Cedrella, had tried on just days ago at a fitting.

If she had not known, beyond any doubt, that she had not attended that wedding, had never donned that finished dress, she would have sworn it was herself. Feeling slightly faint with shock, she sank onto one of the nearby armchairs and stared at the photo in horror. Who could it possibly be? Had her parents fed someone Polyjuice potion in order to avoid scandal? Wouldn’t that backfire on them a hundredfold later? She peered at the bride, trying to see her face behind the veil. As she watched, the bride waved cheekily to the photographer and turned towards Caspar, kissing him on the cheek. And then Cedrella saw her profile and, for a fleeting moment, her large beaklike nose, and she closed her eyes as icy dread swept over her.

No.

Charis.

She scanned the article, looking for her name or her sister’s. Neither appeared. The bride and groom were simply referred to as “Black,” and “Crouch,” or “the new Mr. and Mrs. Crouch.” She stared at the picture once more. The bride’s hair, now that she thought about it, was considerably shorter than her own, hanging to just the middle of her back rather than skimming her hips. But she so rarely was allowed to wear her hair down at formal events that no one would ever notice… She went back to the article. ”after reportedly taking sick after Friday’s Open House, Black glowed as she danced with guest after guest…” “Attendees included all of Black’s extended family, the Yaxleys, the Selwyns, the Longbottoms, and the Potters. The Malfoy family was, noticeably, absent.”

Yes, Charis.

So this was how her father had avoided public humiliation? Spreading a story about her taking ill, passing his fifteen year old daughter off as Cedrella, paying off the newspaper not to say anything technically false, and probably bribing the Malfoys as well to drop Lucifer’s engagement with Charis quietly?

When it was all Charis wanted, no matter how foolish the wish, was to be Mrs. Lucifer Malfoy?

Did Charis have any say in the matter at all? Would she even be allowed to return to Hogwarts to take her O.W.L’s? Had she been allowed to say goodbye to Lucifer, to explain things to him? How was she feeling now? Does she hate me? Cedrella wondered, burying her face in her lap as she thought of the last time they had spoken to each other. Does she blame me, for all of it? She remembered her concern, that first morning, that running away could have harmed her sister, and her dismissal of the idea as so unlikely. How very, very wrong she had been!

“Er, Cedrella?”

She jumped�”she had almost forgotten Septimus was still in the room, watching her. He sounded much less angry�”his voice was cautious, curious, and his expression was confused. She obviously had not reacted how he had expected her to.

She swiped furiously at the tears on her face and turned to face him. “Septimus,” she said, her voice a low quiver, “I know you’re angry and confused. And I understand why. But please, please just listen to me. You have to hear me out.” She looked at him imploringly, desperate for him to understand.

Slowly, he nodded.

“That isn’t me,” she said, pointing to the picture of the bride and groom. “I know it looks like it, but it’s not. This is�”“ she held up the article about the Open House “but that was probably taken less than an hour before I ran away from the house.”

“If it’s not you, who is it, then?” The accusatory note was back.

“Charis,” she said, tears running down her cheeks again. “Please, Sep, just let me finish.”

He was quiet.

“My father took me away from Hogwarts almost a week early,” she began again. “He wouldn’t tell me why until I forced him to, and then he revealed that they had rescheduled the wedding from June to December right before pushing me into the Floo. I spent several days at home getting ready for the wedding, and I was so angry, Sep, because I couldn’t figure out why they were treating me like I had done something wrong, like I was about to bolt at any second. Then on the night of the Open House, Father made a speech�”it was supposed to be toast to Caspar and I, but he said…well he said a lot of things, but basically he admitted like it was something to be proud of to all the guests that it was a purely political marriage, all about Pureblood values and nothing about us as actual people. I remembered what you always used to say, about me being a marriage pawn, and how I always used to deny it, because I knew I was more than that, and because my family meant more to me than that. But I realized that that was how he, my own father, thought of me. And on top of that he made a jibe about the Weaselys being blood traitors, right to my face like he was taunting me.” She took a deep breath, thinking of what came next, of Charis. Septimus was watching her intently, his expression inscrutable.

“I was upset,” she continued. “I left the dance floor to get some air, to calm down and compose myself, and I went to the bathroom. And I overheard Charis and Lucifer talking about me, and why the wedding had been moved, and she told him that she thought it was because Father didn’t trust me. She said Father had asked her to spy on me at school, and she had told him about me spending so much time with Pepper, and tutoring some Gryffindor first years, and playing with owls. And she told Lucifer about you, and how I lied to her about you, and… I was so, so angry. I confronted her, and we had an argument, and we said awful things to each other, but the point is that she made me realize that she wanted to be one of Father’s pawns, she wanted that life for herself, because she wanted to marry Lucifer, and that I could never be happy and never live with myself and never be myself if I stayed. And that what my family meant to me was not what my family means to anyone else, not at all. And so I ran up to my room, and ripped off my awful dress and changed my clothes and tried to Disapparate, because I knew it was my only chance to get away. I managed it, I got to Hogsmeade, but I splinched myself.” She gestured at her sling. “An owl brought Pepper to me, and he helped me get a room at the Hog’s Head, and I paid for my room with my engagement ring, and I’ve been there for days, taking blood replenishing potion and hiding from my family until after the wedding was over, until they would have to admit that I was gone. And ever since, I’ve been trying to decide what to do and all I can think about is you, and the chance that you might not hate me anymore, and so that’s why I came to talk to you. I had to tell you, I needed you to know. And I had no idea…until now…what my family had done, that they had covered it up like this… I never dreamed they would do such a thing. It’s despicable.”

She flattened the picture out on her lap once more, showing it to Septimus. “See how much shorter her hair is? And there, when she turns, you can see her nose… The article never mentions the bride’s first name. But it does say that “I” took sick after the Open House, which must be their way of explaining away the fact that I disappeared in the middle of it. And it says that the Malfoys weren’t at the wedding, because of course they must be furious that Father married Charis to Caspar and didn’t honor her engagement to Lucifer, that they got drawn into a scandal that should have had nothing to do with them…” She wiped angrily at her eyes, which were streaming again.

“And it’s just wrong, because Charis may be young and naive and vain, but all she wanted was to marry Lucifer Malfoy, and I think she really did love him, in her own way, and now she’s married to someone else just to cover up something that had nothing to do with her, something that I did, and she’s only fifteen and probably broken-hearted, and I’m sure she has no idea what she’s doing or what is going to happen. But I’m sure my father will have some big plan, about how to spin this to the press and how doing this to Charis was so much better for the Blacks’ image overall that canceling the wedding and admitting right away that I left, and…and…” she was crying too hard to continue, imagining how it must have been for her sister, how betrayed and terrified and angry and sad she must have felt. “And it’s all my fault,” she finished bitterly, through her tears.

Septimus had picked up the newspaper while she spoke, gazing at it intently, looking between her and the picture. Now, he placed it behind him on the desk and knelt down on the floor in front of her. “Cedrella, look at me.”

She did so.

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“I know, but you�”hold on. Just… just let me clarify a few things.”

She nodded.

“You didn’t marry Caspar Crouch.”

“Correct.”

“You ran out on the wedding at the last second.”

“Yes.”

“And you did it because you realized you could never be yourself as a pureblood wife, and that your family is insane and that you’re ten thousand times better than them, and then they proved that to be true by forcing Charis to marry Crouch in order to save their image, or something?”

“I suppose you could put it like that.”

“And you’re not going back?”

“Never, I can’t. I’m sure I’ve been blasted off the family tree already.” She swallowed another sob.

He gazed at her. His face was very white. “And…and you paid for your room at the Hog’s Head with your engagement ring?”

The faintest trace of a smile flickered across her tear streaked face. “Yes, I did.”

“And,” Septimus said, whispering now, as if he could hardly believe it, “You came here to tell me all of this because you couldn’t stop thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Because you still care about me?”

“Because I still love you,” she said. “I never stopped, Sep. There was never a question of that.”

Septimus let out a long, slow, breath, and buried his face in her lap. She thought that he might have actually started to cry.

Tentatively, she put a hand on his shoulder, and he reached up immediately, gripping it with one of his. She ran her fingertips through his hair, hardly daring to believe it was real, torn between joy and relief, and bitter guilt and sorrow. She touched him with hesitant, careful fingers: his neck, his back, his shoulders, his cheek. After a long time, he raised his head to look at her again.

“Drell, you promise me that no matter what, you’re never going back there? You’re not going to, I dunno, kill your sister and claim your rightful place as Mrs. Caspar Crouch?”

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I promise.”

He pulled her off the chair and into his arms then, and they sat there on the floor, clinging to one another, for an immeasurable amount of time. Everything about Septimus was familiar to her�”his smell, his grip, even the shirt he was wearing. But until a few days before, she had lost all hope that she would ever get to hold him like this again. She still felt like a melting pot of emotions, but the joy was winning. He had always had that effect on her.

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you,” he said after a while. “I was just so�”it upset me so much, the idea that you would marry him so soon after things ended between us, because I’ve been hoping since October that you would change your mind and come to your senses and leave them, after all, and so I was just wrapping my head around the idea that it was really the end of the line now, and you were married, and I was never going to see you again, and I couldn’t hope for that anymore. I’ve been such a wreck, Drell�”even Rudy’s been steering clear of me.”

“It’s all right,” she said into his shoulder. “I understand. If you really did think I was married…I would have had no business turning up here, tormenting you.”

“Anyway it doesn’t matter anymore,” Septimus said. “You didn’t get married, after all. Though you did wait until the very last second, I have to say.”

“That was what it took for me to realize what it really meant,” she said. “It was facing it, really facing it and what everyone expected it to mean, that made me understand I could never go through with it. No one asked me if I was happy, Sep. But they were all so sure I was! So sure I was proud and glad to marry him, along with everything that it meant. And that’s when I realized�”or Charis made me realize�”that I was never going to make a good Black, that I had to make it out of there while I still could.” She sighed. “She was the better Black all along, Charis was. And look where it’s gotten her!”

“I’m sorry, Drell,” Septimus said softly.

She was sorry too. But there was nothing more to say, really. So she kissed him instead, pressing her lips against his, savoring the taste of their tears and of the person without whom she would not have found Drell, the girl who could talk to owls, who was Head Girl and poised to take her N.E.W.T.s, who could do whatever she liked with her future, be it being Hogwarts gamekeeper or a magical ornithologist or anything else she could dream up. Drell, who was worth something, and knew it. Drell, who was free.

Septimus broke the kiss for only a moment, long enough to yell “Mum, we have another guest for Christmas!” And then his lips were back on hers and there was no reason, really, to think about the next time they would have to part.

June 2nd, 1935

My beautiful Drell:

As I write this, I will see you again in only two days. And in those two days, you will be done with your exams and can finally, finally come home.

Rudy is making me go out and play Quidditch with him because he keeps saying that once you’re back, he’s never going to see me anymore. Let’s make sure he’s right.
Good luck on your Potions and Arithmancy exams today, and enjoy the cookies! Mum made them just for you. I’ve heard a rumor that chocolate increases mental capacities.

Love,
Sep

p.s. I decided I needed to ask you this first so you didn’t hex me into next week�”would you mind very much if I proposed to you at graduation?

p.p.s. I AM THE SAPPIEST MAN ALIVE AND I NEED TO GET A LIFE.

p.p.p.s Rudy wrote that last postscript in indelible ink. Please hex him for me also when you get home. I love you.


**


June 3rd, 1935

Cedrella,

I wanted to wish you a happy graduation and say congratulations for the eight N.E.W.Ts I’m sure you received!

I don’t know where you are going to go after this or why you left, and even if I did I don’t think I would be able to understand. I assume you are with him. But I really hate how things were left between us and I wanted you to know a few things.

As you of course know, I didn't return to Hogwarts after Christmas, but I was tutored at home and took my O.W.L.s at the Ministry last week. I don't know my results yet but I think I did all right, and I know that was important to you.

I did not want to marry Caspar, but I want you to know I did it with good grace, because I knew that the safest thing for you just then was to be forgotten and hidden, and for our father’s attention to be directed elsewhere. You were right and I was wrong: being a Black is about loyalty, because it’s about doing what is best for the whole family, even when it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. I'm doing the best I can. I can't say any more here.

I want you to know that I'm all right, that I am thinking of you, wishing for your guidance, and missing you every day. I wish things had turned out differently.

Please do not respond to this letter.

Always,
your little sister


**

June 3rd, 1935

Dearest Sep,

I've had a letter from Charis. I'll show it to you when I see you tomorrow- I don't know how I feel about it.

As for the rest of your letter, Rudy has it all right: you are terribly sappy and I love you for it, and he is not going to see either of us for days when I get back after graduation. But you do know that, however much I love your sense of humor and your refreshing originality, you can't offhandedly propose to me like that in a letter! I won't accept until you do it properly. I'll have you know I expect a lot from the man who took me flying to a secret mountain meadow on Valentine's Day...

Love,
Drell



June 4th, 1935

My Cedrella,

I will be seeing you in a matter of hours, and I wanted to formally ask your permission to, when I catch sight of you after two very long months, drop down onto my knees as an amused Alex tells me is the custom and ask you to marry me.

I won't have a very fancy ring, but something tells me you won't mind. I won't ask you to give up anything. I'll promise to make your life as happy as it can possibly be. I'll tell you that you're the best thing that ever happened to me, that you always surprise me and always amaze me, that I think you're beautiful, that I see your faults and love you more for them, that I think you're brave and brilliant and unique, that I'll love forever and that I think I have since the first time I saw you in the Owlery, dancing in your nightdress, as crazy as that sounds. I'll tell you that I know it's kind of silly to worry about marriage now when it's probably the last thing on your mind since you so recently escaped from it, and I'll tell you that I'm doing it now because I want to make a negative into a positive. I'll tell you that it doesn't have to mean we get married right away, that we can wait as long as you like, that I don't care as long as you're happy.

I'll tell you all of this, or I'll try, but I expect you'll be so excited to see my handsome face that we'll be snogging too much for me to get the words out, so I thought I'd say them here.

See you in a few hours!

Love,
your Sep



October 12th, 1935

Dear Miss Back,

We are pleased to inform you that your manuscript Talking with Owls: A History and a Journey has been chosen for publication! Please present yourself at the Obscurus Books Office in Suite 18a, Diagon Alley, on October the Twentieth for a preliminary meeting with your editor.

Yours truly,
Professor Otto Viridian


**


The Weasley Family
Cordially invites you and yours
To a ceremony celebrating the marriage
Of Septimus Arthur Weasely
and Cedrella Narcissa Black
(Affectionately known as Sep and Drell)
On June 15th, 1937, at noon
On the Weasley Lawn.
A reception will follow,
And in honor of the memory of Sagittus Weasley, it will last until the champagne is gone and there is no one left on the dance floor.
We await your owl no later than the day of the ceremony, (though Drell would like to add that there is no need to send a note).


**


June 5th , 1937
Dearest Pepper,
You’ll find a wedding invitation enclosed, but I wanted to ask you if you would do me the added honor of walking me down the aisle?
Love,
Drell