Starlit Death

by lversr0ck

Summary:

Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy.

Chapter 1

There were three things Ascella Black needed to know.

Number one: Being a Black in the Wizarding World got you nowhere.

She was a menace, a manipulative mistake of a child. She was a Death Eater's daughter, practically scum of the ground. She was a nobody, yet she was a someone. To the Ministry of Magic, she was bad blood, doomed to end up just like Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy and Druella Black. Locked away in a tight marriage with some pureblood bastard, someone who had utter control over her. It seemed like a nightmare. But, to Ron Weasley, Ascella Black was a best friend, a sister. Not someone who was deemed a disgrace to the population. Ascella was someone who glowed as she entered a room, lighting everyone with an ever-growing shine of gold, and shine she did. But being tainted with the surname Black, there was always a shadow lingering on the back of her head, reminding her of who she really is.

Number two: Regulus Black was not a coward.

No matter how many times she thought, or was told it, her father was not a coward. He was brave, right up until the very end. He fought right until his final moments, until his last breath left his lungs. And, even when he knew he was dying, his daughter was the only thing on Regulus' mind. He was courageous, despite not being in Gryffindor, no matter what his brother told him. He was a brave soul, and, even in death, was determined to make sure his daughter knew that.

Number three: Falling in love with Harry Potter was never supposed to be part of the plan.

 . . . Yeah, that one's pretty self explanatory.

Chapter 2: Prologue - The loss of my life

NOVEMBER 1ST, 1979.

 

THE HOWLING WINDS COULD HARDLY BE HEARD inside the dingy flat, over the tearful cries of newborn baby. The stars were glimmering broadly in the obsidian sky, emitting a glow of silver across the city of London.

Seraphina Laurent laid up against a wooden bed frame, a small bundle of blankets wrapped tightly in her arms. Tracks of pearly tears were evident on her flushed cheeks, as drips of perspiration slid down the side of her face. Seraphina smiled warmly, adoration swimming in her amber eyes, as the baby's cries faded away and she stared around, her small hands clutching the blankets.

Regulus Black stood up against the wall, having not moved a muscle since his daughter was born. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, his thumb placed in the corner of his mouth. For some reason, Regulus couldn't find it within himself to approach his girlfriend, nor the baby she cradled in her arms. He wanted to, yet he couldn't.

"Regulus . . ." Seraphina's voice pulled him from his thoughts, her voice soft, timid. Regulus glanced up, and he couldn't help but think how utterly breathtaking she looked. As if carved from Aphrodite, Seraphina Laurent was blessed with unruly blonde curls that framed her sculptured face and piercing eyes that sought through you with one glance. It was no surprise Regulus had fallen for the Laurent witch, it was almost inevitable.

"Regulus, come here," Seraphina pleaded feebly, a yearning in her eyes that Regulus had not seen before.  

"Sera —"

"Regulus, come here," Seraphina repeated, more sternly this time. Regulus' silver eyes darted between the door and the baby.

"Maybe I should go."

"Don't you dare run away, Regulus Black," snapped Seraphina, amber eyes flashing. "She is not just my daughter, she is also yours. Don't try and run out on us, Regulus. It's not just you and me anymore, there's her now, and, well — we need you. She needs you."Inhaling deeply, Regulus attempted to compose himself. God, he wanted nothing more than to walk over to Seraphina and his daughter, to offer the comfort that Seraphina wanted, but it was like he was stuck there permanently. A niggling fear writhed in his mind as a small voice constantly reminded him of how destructive he was, how he would most likely end up hurting her because that's what he did — he was a Black. Everything they touched disintegrated before their very gaze.

"I'll hurt her," Regulus retorted, and Seraphina scoffed in return.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes. "She won't hurt you, nor will you hurt her. She's a baby, Regulus, not a bomb. Come and look at her."

With some reluctance, Regulus began to walk over to Seraphina, fiddling with his fingers as her went. His heart was pounding within his sternum as Seraphina shuffled over to the side to allow space for Regulus to sit. Perched on the end of the bed, Regulus cast his eyes down to the fidgeting baby, his breath caught in his throat.

Unruly black hair, ivory skin and silver eyes, Ascella Lyra Black was the spitting image of her father. Not all of her features were an exact replica of Regulus, Ascella's nose and mouth were the identical shape of Seraphina's, but, in all honesty, she was the epitome of the Black family.

In the spur of the moment, Regulus brushed his finger against Ascella's small, open palm, her fingers almost instantly, like it was a reflex, closed around his finger, gripping it tightly. Light laughter bubbled from Regulus' chest, adoration the only emotion he felt. Her raven curls had dried into a halo around her head, her skin tinted pink still, her eyes stuck on her father.

"Would you want to hold her?" Seraphina offered, watching the father-daughter moment, love filling her. Regulus' eyes went wide for a moment, protests spilling out of him.

"I don't think I should —"

"Stop being silly, Reg, and hold your daughter for Merlin's sake," exclaimed Seraphina unexpectedly, and Regulus sighed, but complied nonetheless. Shifting the baby into his arms, Seraphina fought off the smile that threatened to appear on her face. Seventeen and pregnant was never the life she had planned, but now that she was here, watching Regulus as he attempted to wipe away discreet tears from his eyes, she wouldn't change it for the world.

---

NOVEMBER 22ND, 1979.

 

With a shaky breath, Regulus desperately wanted to just slip past Seraphina, knowing how cruel it was of him to leave without staying goodbye — but it was for the best. He was good at running, from Voldemort, from the expectations of his parents; he could run from her. He could hear Seraphina's light laughs from inside the flat, his heart aching painfully.

Sighing deeply, Regulus made his way inside, a small smile painted across his lips as he saw Seraphina and Ascella sat on the soft duvet, Ascella's hands tangled in Seraphina's blonde locks.

"Everything okay?" Seraphina asked, glancing up at the raven-haired man and noting his stoic expression.

"Yeah, course it is," Regulus comforted ( well, at least tried to ). However, Seraphina knew Regulus, much more than he preferred, and she immediately noticed his shifty behaviour. Getting up and placing a sleeping Ascella in her cot, she tentatively approached Regulus.

"You don't seem okay," she commented, brushing a strand of inky hair from his eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Sera . . . please don't make this harder than it already is," Regulus implored, his eyes shut as if he were in pain.

"What are you on about?" Seraphina asked, stepping slightly, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"I've found out something," Regulus admitted, his hands clasping Seraphina's. "I know how to get rid of the Dark Lord. I can end this, Sera. We can live freely, we don't have to hide our relationship or our daughter. I can make up with Sirius — we can be together."

"Then why are you acting like it's the worst thing in the world? I can help you. We can do this together, you and me," Seraphina wondered, her anxiety shooting through the roof.

"I've got to retrieve something to make it work, and I . . . I don't know what'll happen whilst I'm there. It's dangerous, and a risk, but if I succeed, then it'll be over. Doesn't that sound perfect?" he said, reaching forward to grasp her hand and watching as Seraphina took a shuddering breath, goosebumps arising on her skin.

"But you'll come back, right? I — I can't do this without you," she asked, hope evident in her worrisome tone. Regulus pulled her to his chest, his voice muffled against the crown of her head, her blonde curls tickling his chin.

"Of course I will," Regulus promised, neither of the two believing his words.

Seraphina Laurent never saw Regulus Black again.

Notes:

hii! so this fic is originally from wattpad, and it's mine that i'm currently writing! i decided to post it here as i know some people prefer to read on ao3, but to new readers, welcome! i'm not sure how often i will republish the chapters on here, so you can speed up the process and read it on wattpad ( it's under the same user - lversr0ck ), but it will be done!! hope u enjoy <3

Chapter 3: Calm before the storm

THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT being a part of the most elite family in the Wizarding World that made Ascella Black's nerves set off and a stream of anxiety shooting through her veins. Her surname was plastered across scrolls and textbooks and her name was whispered amongst individuals who didn't know a thing about her — but knew her family. She was a living legend. Her mere existence was a miracle ( or, alternatively, some would describe it as a mark against humanity ) and she should be proud to be a part of a lineage as exclusive as the Blacks.

Ascella didn't feel proud. She felt self-loathing. She felt as though she had been robbed of a picture-perfect family.

There was something dark in her. Young as she was, Ascella could feel it, infiltrating her skin and throbbing her mind — she wasn't light. She wasn't good. She was the by-product of an illicit affair between two people on the opposite sides of a war and she constantly felt herself slipping towards the side of cruelty and wickedness. Being a Black wasn't all it cracked up to be; not when any of the last, living members of the family would scorn her and erase her from their wretched bloodline. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly opposed to that.

Her mother, from a Pureblood family just like the Blacks, wasn't as accepted as Ascella used to think she was. In her head, when she was a meek child and her mind was filled with bewitching stories that she believed, she used to think that her mother and father had a whirlwind romance and her father's death was a tragic fault of war. Her mother allowed her to believe that up until she was due to go to Hogwarts.

Whispers would spread and things Ascella didn't understand would infiltrate her innocent mind. And Seraphina Laurent, the doting, lone mother of a Black witch prodigy, rebutted that narrative immediately. So, she sat her daughter down. Doe-eyed with daring silver irises, Ascella watched the woman she adored tell her the tale of Regulus Black and her mother, the man who she called father, but wasn't able to call Dad.

It was an intriguing story. Stemming from when they were mere teenagers engrossed in a battle of morality, Seraphina and Regulus were on the opposite side but tangled in a web of love. Regulus had expectations he was supposed to meet as the Black heir and he failed. An illicit affair with a woman — no, a girl because they were children — who he loved for most of his life and a baby. An innocent, rosy-cheeked baby who had to bear the weight of his mistakes because Regulus was reckless.

Succumbing to death was selfish but necessary. Regulus doubted he had it within him to witness his daughter suffer from the Black curse like the rest of his family.

Regulus hoped she grew up to be like Sirius. Sirius was brave, while Regulus was not. Jealousy used to claw at him, when he was nothing but a feeble-minded teen, but — even in death — all Regulus could wish was that Sirius was there to remind him that he was okay. If his daughter turned out to be anything like Sirius, then he had succeeded.

And, now, said daughter sat up against the island in her kitchen, wishing to disconnect herself any further from the Black heritage as she could.

Ascella Black, much to her dismay, was very much like those of the bloodline she stemmed from. The tendrils of raven curls that fell down her back and the silver gaze that shot straight through someone when she looked at then distinguished her greatly as a part of the Black family. The aristocratic features of high cheekbones and a slicing jawline aided in her appearance, but the slope of her nose and curve of her lips was all the Laurent gene in her blood. Beauty sparked from within, the freckles of constellations which danced across her cheeks was the only tender thing about her.

The rest was cold and sharp. Ascella didn't like to think of herself like that — but, sometimes, it was instinctive. Another part of her that she couldn't rid.

Her iron-tight grip was firm around the piece of tea-stained parchment as she glanced down at the words scrawled atop it. She shouldn't feel guilty but it palpated in her chest regardless. Humming and throbbing, Ascella could feel the imprint of sin spin a web like a spider and she wanted to empty the contents of her stomach until there was nothing but acidic liquid left to brew. Maybe she'd feel better if she did; maybe she'd feel like she wasn't related to someone as treacherous as Sirius Black.

Ascella knew what he had done. All of those people he'd murdered in a blind rage; bystanders, who'd done nothing wrong yet be at the scene of a man losing his mind because he'd lost. The Dark Lord, who had ruined so many people with a smile and a flick of his wand, refused to cease his tyranny there. Even if death, Voldemort still had his followers wrapped around his finger and Sirius Black, the outcast and black sheep, had still fallen weakness to his sorcery.

Ascella loathed him. He was supposed to be good. He was supposed to be the one that separated from the chains of the most prestigious wizarding family and become a good person. Someone who was better than what was expected of him, but Sirius had failed. So had Regulus. As had Andromeda. And Bellatrix. Seemingly, the only one who had done something worthwhile was Narcissa Black — formally known as Narcissa Malfoy.

But she was trapped in a marriage with Lucius Malfoy, so Ascella doubted that could be considered worthwhile.

Ascella's eyes repeatedly scanned the words, the parchment creasing more intensely as the seconds ticked by.

Ascella,

I don't know if you've heard the rumours, tucked away in that posh manor of yours, but some say Black is deranged and on a warpath. I wouldn't worry too much about it though. We'll be at Hogwarts soon and we have Dumbledore, and I doubt Black will be able to get past him. And I've met your mother, she seems like the protective type. Black'll have to try her if he wants to get to you, and good luck to him.

We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron until school starts up again and I wanted to ask if you'd like to come and join us. It's alright if you can't, we all suspected that Seraphina wouldn't be too willing to let you stray too far from home, but she can come too. It would be nice to have you with us for the summer before school starts up, especially as Ron is back from Egypt and Hermione's managed to come. We all miss you, I hope you know — also, Ron won't stop going on about Egypt and I need someone else to talk to. Help me!

I really hope you can come. I've missed you. It's been an awful summer, and I sort of blew up my aunt. But she's not really my aunt and she didn't explode, so there's a silver lining. I can imagine your confused expression, so I'll let you know when I see you.

Hope to see you soon,

Harry.

Ascella balled up the letter and tossed it across the kitchen island. He was being too nice to her. He should be furious, wanting to scream at her and push her away as far as he could. Black was her uncle — they shared the same genes. She was, likely, just as dangerous as he was and Harry's inclination to have her around was foolish. He should know better than associate with someone like her. His idiocy would be the death of him, she was certain.

"Ascella?" A soft voice broke the silence, and Ascella's head snapped towards her mother. She smiled briefly, while Seraphina Laurent asked, "Everything okay?"

She nodded shortly. "Yep. Fine. Just tired, s'all."

"Okay," mumbled Seraphina, understanding instantly. "Hogwarts is starting up soon. Fancy going to Diagon Alley and getting your stuff? Could go for some lunch, too?"

"Harry owled me," Ascella waved the letter. "Asked me if I wanted to go and spend some days at the Leaky until we go back. The Weasleys are there."

Seraphina grimaced. "Oh, I'm not sure, Elle. Given the circumstances, I think it would be best if you stay home."

"Please, Mum," Ascella begged of her. "I just wanna be with my friends. That's all I want to do. Please?"

Seraphina sighed. "Right. Well — I'm coming with you. I'm not having you there on your own, whether Molly and Arthur are there or not. I can keep an eye on you then."

Ascella rolled her eyes teasingly. "I'm not gonna do anything crazy."

"We never know with you, do we?" Seraphina jested, smirking. "Go and pack a bag and we'll head off. I still want that lunch, though — I'm starving."

Ascella smiled, before bounding up to her bedroom and grabbing the first set of clothes she spotted in her wardrobe. Her Hogwarts trunk, shockingly already packed for the year ahead, was left in the corner of her bedroom and Ascella had no doubt that Binky, her family's house-elf, would be more than willing to deliver it to her before she boarded the Hogwarts Express.

In no time, Ascella and Seraphina arrived at Diagon Alley, where every student of all years made their way to purchase their necessities for the school year. It was particularly busy, given how close it was to September first and it seemed everyone was divulging in some last-minute shopping. Ascella had to barge past shoppers and kept her hand locked around her mother's so she wouldn't lose her in the crowd.

"Ascella! Ascella!" A voice called out broadly, and Ascella snapped her head to spot her three friends — Harry, Hermione and Ron. They were urging her over to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, their expressions matching equal delight, and Ascella glanced up at her mother with a look of desperation on her face.

"Oh, go on then," Seraphina complied and Ascella grinned. "I'll meet you at the Leaky. But if you're really late then I'll be sending out a search party!"

"And I do believe that!" Ascella called over her shoulder, chuckling, while she rushed over to her friends.

"Ascella!" Hermione squealed, wrapping her arms around the Black witch. Ascella hugged her back with equal ferocity, always feeling a certain type of comfort when in the arms of Hermione.

She turned to Harry, who was smiling delicately at her. "You got my letter then?"

"I did," she nodded, engulfing him in a hug, his raven hair tickling the side of her face. "Missed you," she murmured.

"I missed you too," Harry said, his gaze gentle.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Another voice spoke up with distaste in his tone, and Ascella faced the vibrant-haired, youngest Weasley brother.

"No, but you smell like it," Ascella jeered and Ron rolled his eyes, yet was accepting of his arms enveloping around her nonetheless. "I couldn't forget you, Ron."

"I'd like to think so," Ron muttered, yet there was a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"How was your summer, Ascella?" Hermione asked as Ascella sat down in a vacant seat.

"Pretty dull," she replied, shrugging. "But I think Harry's was a lot more interesting than mine?"

"That's right," Hermione recalled, her tone shifting to seriousness. "Did you really blow up your aunt?"

"I didn't mean to," said Harry, while Ron roared with laughter. "I just — lost control."

"It's not funny, Ron," said Hermione sharply. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled."

"It is a little bit funny," Ascella supplied unhelpfully.

"So am I," admitted Harry. "Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested." He looked at Ron. "Your dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?"

"Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it?" shrugged Ron, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!"

Hermione nodded, beaming. "Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things."

"Mum's let me stay too," Ascella added. "Although she refused to if she wasn't there. Which, fair enough. I'm not fussed."

"Excellent!" said Harry happily. "So, have you got all your new books and stuff?"

"Look at this," said Ron, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and opening it. "Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we've got all our books —" He pointed at a large bag under his chair. "What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two."

"What's all that, Hermione?" Harry asked, pointing at not one but three bulging bags in the chair next to her.

"Well, I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I?" said Hermione. "Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies —"

"What are you doing Muggle Studies for?" said Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. "You're Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!"

"But it'll be fascinating to study them from the Wizarding point of view," said Hermione earnestly.

"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" asked Harry, while Ron sniggered and Ascella slightly smiled. Hermione ignored them.

"I've still got ten Galleons," she said, checking her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present."

"How about a nice book?" said Ron innocently.

"No, I don't think so," said Hermione composedly. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig, Ascella's got Apollo and you've got Errol —"

"I haven't," said Ron. "Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." He pulled his pet rat out of his pocket. "And I want to get him checked over," he added, placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him."

Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.

"There's a magical creature shop just over there," said Harry, who knew Diagon Alley very well by now. "You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl."

So they paid for their ice cream and crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie.

There wasn't much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited, examining the cages.

A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every colour, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-coloured furballs that were humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that were playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails.

The double-ended newt wizard left, and Ron approached the counter.

"It's my rat," he told the witch. "He's been a bit off-colour ever since I brought him back from Egypt."

"Bang him on the counter," said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket.

Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better look.

Like nearly everything Ron owned, Scabbers the rat was second-hand ( he had once belonged to Ron's brother Percy ) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked especially woebegone.

"Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."

"What powers does he have?" said the witch, examining Scabbers closely.

"Er —" The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers. The witch's eyes moved from Scabbers's tattered left ear to his front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted loudly.

"He's been through the mill, this one," she said.

"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Ron defensively.

"An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these —"

She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again. Ron muttered, "Show-offs."

"Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic," said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

"Okay," said Ron. "How much — OUCH!"

Ron buckled as something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.

"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch, but Scabbers shot from between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, and then scampered for the door.

"Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry and Ascella followed hastily.

It took them nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who had taken refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffed the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightened up, massaging his head.

"What was that?"

"It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger," said Harry.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Probably getting her owl —"

They made their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reached it, Hermione came out, but she wasn't carrying an owl. Her arms were clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat.

"You bought that monster?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" said Hermione, glowing.

That was a matter of opinion, thought Ascella. The cat's ginger fur was thick and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it had run headlong into a brick wall. Now that Scabbers was out of sight, however, the cat was purring contentedly in Hermione's arms.

"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" said Ron.

"He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" said Hermione.

"And what about Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?"

"That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him."

"I wonder why," said Ron sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.

They found Mr. Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet.

"Harry! Ascella!" he said, smiling as he looked up. "How have you both been?"

"Fine, thanks," said Harry as he, Ascella, Ron, and Hermione joined Mr. Weasley with all their shopping.

"Not too bad," Ascella shrugged.

Mr. Weasley put down his paper, and Ascella saw the now-familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up at her, tauntingly. For a moment, Harry spotted the painful resemblance between them both.

"They still haven't caught him, then?" Harry asked.

"No," said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far."

"Would we get a reward if we caught him?" asked Ron. "It'd be good to get some more money —"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back, you mark my words."

At that moment Mrs. Weasley and Seraphina entered the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts; the newly elected Head Boy, Percy; and the Weasleys' youngest child and only girl, Ginny.

They greeted Ginny, and then Percy held out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, "Harry. How nice to see you. You too, Ascella."

"Hello, Percy," said Harry, trying not to laugh.

"I hope you're well?" said Percy pompously, shaking hands. It was rather like being introduced to the mayor.

"Very well, thanks —"

"Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy —"

"Marvellous," said George, and he seized Ascella's hand in mocking. "Absolutely spiffing."

Percy scowled.

"That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Mum!" said Fred as though he'd only just spotted her and seizing her hand too. "How really corking to see you —"

"I said, that's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, depositing her shopping in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silver badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said, swelling with pride.

"And last," Fred muttered under his breath.

"I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two prefects."

"What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life."

Ginny giggled.

"You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner. . . ."

He disappeared and George heaved a sigh.

"We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told Ascella and Harry. "But Mum spotted us."

Dinner that night was a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlour, and the seven Weasleys, Ascella, Seraphina, Harry, and Hermione ate their way through five delicious courses.

"How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred as they dug into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.

"The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley.

Everyone looked up at him.

"Why?" said Percy curiously.

"It's because of you, Perce," said George seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them —"

"— for Humongous Bighead," said Fred.

Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorted into their pudding.

"Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?" Percy asked again, in a dignified voice.

"Well, as we haven't got one anymore," said Mr. Weasley, "— and as I work there, they're doing me a favour —"

His voice was casual, but Ascella couldn't help noticing that Mr. Weasley's ears had gone red, just like Ron's did when he was under pressure.

"Good thing, too," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Do you realise how much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle Underground . . . You are all packed, aren't you?"

"Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," said Percy, in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped them on my bed."

"You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't have much time in the morning," Mrs. Weasley called down the table. Ron scowled at Percy.

After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by one they made their way upstairs to their rooms to check their things for the next day. Ron and Percy were next door to Ascella and Seraphina. She was just beginning to change into her pyjamas when she heard angry voices through the wall, and went to see what was going on. Harry did too as she bumped into him in the hall.

The door of number twelve was ajar and Percy was shouting.

"It was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing —"

"I haven't touched it, all right?" Ron roared back.

"What's going on?" Ascella asked curiously.

"My Head Boy badge is gone," said Percy, rounding on Ascella.

"So's Scabbers's rat tonic," said Ron, throwing things out of his trunk to look. "I think I might've left it in the bar —"

"You're not going anywhere till you've found my badge!" yelled Percy.

"We'll get Scabbers's stuff, we're packed," Harry said to Ron and Ascella nodded in agreement, and they went downstairs.

Harry and Ascella were halfway along the passage to the bar, which was now very dark, when they heard another pair of angry voices coming from the parlour. A second later, Ascella recognised them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's. They both hesitated, not wanting them to know they'd heard them arguing, but the sound of Harry's own name made them stop, then move closer to the parlour door.

" . . . it makes no sense not tell him," Mr Weasley's voice was heard, anger laced within. "Harry's got a right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He's thirteen years old and —"

"Arthur, the truth would terrify him! Both of them!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley. "Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over his head? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!"

"I don't want to make him miserable, I want him to put him on his guard!" Mr Weasley retorted. "You know what Harry, Ascella and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves — they've ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice! But Harry mustn't do that this year! When I think what could've happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to bet he would've been dead before the Ministry found him."

"But he's not dead, he's fine, so what's the point —"

"Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible. It's been three weeks, and no one's seen or hide nor hair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we're no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure it what Black's after —"

"But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts."

"We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts."

The sound of a large thud was heard, and Ascella flinched slightly. Mr Weasley banged his hand on the wooden table.

"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: 'He's at Hogwarts . . . he's at Hogwarts.' Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that . . ."

Ascella and Harry shared a quick, but wary glance with one another. Forest green clashed with silver grey, worry swimming in them both of them.

"And what about Ascella?" Mrs Weasley questioned, and Ascella stiffened when hearing her name being spoken.

"As far as I'm aware, Black doesn't know of Ascella's existence. Merlin, barely anyone knew of Ascella's existence except from us for years! She's easily one of the best kept secrets in the Wizarding World," said Mr Weasley.

"So, Fudge doesn't think Black's after her?" Mrs Weasley pressed on.

"No, no, but Rita Skeeter had a few unpleasant words about Ascella," Mr Weasley told her, and Ascella could hear Mrs Weasley mutter angrily, 'that wretched Skeeter woman . . ."

Ascella removed her ear from the hard door, and there was a short silence before Mrs. Weasley spoked again. "Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you're forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don't think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore's headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?"

"Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed."

"Not happy? Why shouldn't he be happy, if they're there to catch Black?"

"Dumbledore isn't fond of the Azkaban guards," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Nor am I, if it comes to that . . . but when you're dealing with a wizard like Black, you sometimes have to join forces with those you'd rather avoid."

"If they save Harry —"

"— then I will never say another word against them," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "It's late, Molly, we'd better go up . . ."

Harry and Ascella heard chairs move. As quietly as they could, they hurried down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlour door opened, and a few seconds later footsteps told him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were climbing the stairs.

It seemed that third year is going to be much more complicated than Ascella had anticipated.

Chapter 4: Loneliness is a fire

THE SOUND OF THE WHISTLING OF THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS was soothing to Ascella Black's. The high-pitched whistle drowned out the whispers and rumours that echoed throughout the platform.

Ascella had been expecting this, of course she had, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. She saw the way people stared at her, as if she was going to lash out and curse them all — reflecting the way her uncle had done a decade prior. Ascella kept her head down low, despite what her mother told her to do, and used her Metamorphi abilities to change the features of her appearance slightly.

Yet, despite the endless option to shift her appearance, Ascella Black would always be recognisable to those who knew her intimately. A born to be Black was her mantra and Ascella wasn't sure if she'd be able to separate from it.

Flustered, Seraphina pulled Ascella closely, their hearts touching one another's. "Be safe this year," Seraphina pleaded of her, and Ascella was just about able to nod in their tight proximity. "And don't take shit from anyone. You're my daughter — not Black's niece or whatever bullshit they'll call you. You're a brave girl and I love you."

"I love you too, Mum," Ascella whispered, loud enough for Seraphina to hear. She wrenched backwards, and she was certain she noticed a shimmer of emotion lining Seraphina's eyes, but she wouldn't comment on it. It would only affect her even more, and Ascella couldn't bear to see her mother cry.

"Okay," Seraphina murmured, composing herself, and then she bade goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry.

Ascella, Ron and Hermione hopped on the train, waving goodbye to their loved ones, and waited for Harry as the train clicked into movement and he was still lingering on the platform with Mr. Weasley, their conversation tense.

"I wonder what that's about," Ascella commented, and Hermione hummed in her agreement, her gaze inquisitive.

Moments later, before the train left without him, Harry jumped on the train, panting slightly. Harry leant close to the three of them, and he muttered, "I need to talk to you in private."

"Go away, Ginny," said Ron.

"Oh, that's nice," said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.

Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.

This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with grey.

"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," whispered Hermione at once.

"How d'you know that?"

"It's on his case," she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

"Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin's pallid profile.

"Defence, obviously," Ascella spoke up. "It's the only vacancy left, after last year."

Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumours that the job was jinxed.

"Well, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway . . ." He turned to Harry. "What were you going to tell us?"

Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him. When he'd finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth while Ascella sat back with a blank expression. Hermione finally lowered her hands to say, "Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry . . . you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry —"

"I don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, nettled. "Trouble usually finds me."

"How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?" said Ron shakily. Ascella scoffed, and Ron winced, "Oh, sorry, Ascella —"

"It's fine," she cut in, shoving her hands beneath her thighs.

"No one knows how he got out of Azkaban," said Ron uncomfortably. "No one's ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner too."

"But they'll catch him, won't they?" said Hermione earnestly. "I mean, they've got all the Muggles looking out for him too . . ."

"What's that noise?" said Ron suddenly. Ascella was thankful for the shift in topic.

A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment.

"It's coming from your trunk, Harry," said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry's robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron's hand and glowing brilliantly.

"Is that a Sneakoscope?" said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

"Yeah . . . mind you, it's a very cheap one," Ron said. "It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry."

Ascella smirked, "Doing anything you shouldn't have been?"

"No! Well . . . I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long journeys . . . but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?"

"Stick it back in the trunk," Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, "or it'll wake him up."

He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.

"We could get it checked in Hogsmeade," said Ron, sitting back down. "They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me."

"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione keenly. "I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —"

"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way, "but that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"

"What's that?" said Hermione.

"It's a sweet-shop," Ascella briefly explained. "I've been before — it really is great. They've got —"

"Everything!" Ron interjected. "Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next —"

"But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on eagerly. "In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —"

"— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

Hermione looked around at Harry. "Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?"

"'Spect it will," said Harry heavily. "You'll have to tell me when you've found out."

"What d'you mean?" Ascella asked, frowning.

"I can't go. The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn't either."

Ron looked horrified. "You're not allowed to come? But — no way — McGonagall or someone will give you permission —"

Harry gave a hollow laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, was very strict.

"— or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle —"

"Ron!" said Hermione sharply. "I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose —"

"Yeah, I expect that's what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission," said Harry bitterly.

"But if we're with him," said Ron spiritedly to Hermione, "Black wouldn't dare —"

"Oh, Ron, don't talk rubbish," snapped Hermione. "Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because we're there?"

Ascella ducked her head, ashamed, yet none of them seemed to notice. Hermione was fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks's basket as she spoke.

"Don't let that thing out!" Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron's knees; the lump in Ron's pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away.

"Get out of here!"

"Ron, don't!" said Hermione angrily.

Ron was about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirred. They watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.

The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened. People were chasing backward and forward past the door of their compartment. Crookshanks had now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned toward Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron's top pocket.

At one o'clock, the plump witch with the food cart arrived at the compartment door.

"D'you think we should wake him up?" Ron asked awkwardly, nodding toward Professor Lupin. "He looks like he could do with some food."

Hermione approached Professor Lupin cautiously.

"Er — Professor?" she said. "Excuse me — Professor?"

He didn't move. Ascella rose from her seat, and asked for a slab of chocolate from the witch, which she pocketed for Professor Lupin when he eventually rose from his slumber.

"I suppose he is asleep?" said Ron quietly as the witch slid the compartment door closed. "I mean — he hasn't died, has he?"

"No, no, he's breathing," whispered Hermione, taking the Cauldron Cake Harry passed her.

"I reckon we would've noticed if we were sitting with a dead man, Ron," Ascella cynically commented, shaking her head.

He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupin's presence in their compartment had its uses. Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps in the corridor again, and their three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Just what I need," Ascella murmured under her breath.

Draco Malfoy and Harry had been enemies ever since they had met on their very first train journey to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, was in Slytherin House; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and muscly; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla-ish arms.

"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty, the Weasel and my wretched cousin."

"Always a pleasure, Draco," Ascella smiled sarcastically, their identical gazes meeting.

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

"Careful, Black," Malfoy sneered, "don't want to end up deranged like your psycho uncle."

"He's your family too," Ascella reminded. "Don't be too quick to forget that now."

Malfoy turned his nose up at her, and then turned to Ron to ridicule him next. "I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?"

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.

"Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.

"New teacher," said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose.

"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.

Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles. "I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year," he said angrily. "I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to get hold of his head and —"

Ron made a violent gesture in midair.

"Ron," hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, "be careful . . ."

But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering grey, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept.

"We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

"Great," said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. "I'm starving. I want to get to the feast . . ."

"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, checking her watch.

"So why're we stopping?"

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

"What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Harry.

"Ouch!" gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!"

Harry felt his way back to his seat. "D'you think we've broken down?"

"I doubt it," Ascella said quietly. "But it's really the only explanation . . ."

There was a squeaking sound, and Ascella saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

"There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people are coming aboard . . ."

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry's legs.

"Sorry — d'you know what's going on? — Ouch — sorry —"

"Hullo, Neville," said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

"Harry? Is that you? What's happening?"

"No idea — sit down —"

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

"Who's that?"

"Who's that?"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron —"

"Come in and sit down —"

"Not here!" said Harry hurriedly. "I'm here!"

"Ouch!" said Neville.

"Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly.

Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Ascella could hear movements in his corner. None of them spoke.

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, grey face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

"Stay where you are," he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Ascella's eyes darted downward, and what she saw made her heart plummet to her stomach. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water . . .

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all. Ascella felt her own breath catch in her chest. The cold went deeper than her skin. It was inside her chest, it was inside her very heart . . .

Ascella watched in fright as Harry's eyes rolled to the back of his head as the Dementor loomed towards him, pouncing on him instantly. Ascella knew what these creatures were. Monsters of the dark, they prowled the walls of Azkaban and their unseeing gaze and hooded figure while they harboured the souls of the most wicked.

The lights flickered on and Ascella leant down to Harry, given he had slipped off of his seat in his unconscious state, and she gently patted his face in order to wake him. "Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"

"W-what?" He murmured groggily.

Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.

"Are you okay?" Ascella asked anxiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had vanished. "What happened? Where's that — that thing? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed," Ron informed him, sharing a look with Ascella.

Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale.

"But I heard screaming —"

A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

"Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it. "What was that thing?" he asked Lupin.

"A dementor," said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me . . ."

Suddenly, Ascella remembered the chocolate she had gotten for him a few hours previously. "Professor!" She halted his movements, reaching into her pocket and offering him the chocolate bar. "For you. You were asleep when the trolley went by, and I reckoned you'd be hungry."

Professor Lupin tentatively took it from her grip, something shining in his eyes that she couldn't quite decipher. "Thank you, Miss. Black. You were right, I am rather hungry. If you'll excuse me . . ."

Then, he was gone. Ascella watched him leave with a furrow of her brows. She'd never told him her name. How he knew that, Ascella was unaware, but the presence of her new Defence teacher was becoming even more curiouser as time went on.

She slid back into the compartment, just catching Hermione ask Harry, "Are you sure you're okay, Harry?"

"I don't get it. . . . What happened?" said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

"Well — that thing — the dementor — stood there and looked around ( I mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face ) — and you — you —"

"I thought you were having a fit or something," said Ron, who still looked scared. "You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching —"

"And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand," said Hermione, "and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away . . ."

"It was horrible," said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. "Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?"

"I felt weird," said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again . . ."

Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave a small sob; Ascella went over and put a comforting arm around her.

"But didn't any of you — fall off your seats?" said Harry awkwardly.

"No," said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. "Ginny was shaking like mad, though. And Ascella's hair — well, it was white."

Ascella frowned; she glanced down at her ringlets, and although most of it had faded back to raven, the tips remained a ghostly shade.

Professor Lupin had come back. He paused as he entered, looked around, and said, with a small smile, "I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know . . ."

Harry took a bite, and Ascella instantly noticed some warmth return to his cheeks.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Lupin. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Fine," he muttered, embarrassed.

They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

"Firs' years this way!" called a familiar voice. Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake.

"All righ', you four?" Hagrid yelled over the heads of the crowd. They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around them was shunting them away along the platform. Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students, each pulled, Ascella could only assume, by an invisible horse, because when they climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.

As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Ascella saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf her again; she leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed her eyes until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out, Ascella and Harry in tow.

As they stepped down, the heard a drawling, delighted voice sounded beside them.

"You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?"

Malfoy elbowed past Ascella to block Harry's way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.

"Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

"Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly. "Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"

"Is there a problem?" said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage.

Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, "Oh, no — er — Professor," then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the castle.

Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry, and the four of them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Ascella followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, "Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!"

"There's no need to look so worried — I just want a word in my office," she told them. "Move along there, Black, Weasley."

Ascella and Ron continued on in the crowds until they arrived into the grand Great Hall and found their spot at the Gryffindor table. Ascella greeted some of those she was friends with, and fervently ignored the pointed stares that latched onto her. All she wanted was to watch the Sorting and go to bed, disappearing into her dreams.

The Sorting was over in a blur and Harry and Hermione finally returned from their brief meeting with McGonagall, and sat down beside Ascella and Ron, who saved them both a seat. "What was all that about?" Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry started to explain in a whisper, but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.

Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age, and maybe he was, but Ascella wasn't so convinced. A facade was easy to form when someone had hundreds right under their foot.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast . . ."

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

He paused, and Ascella remembered what Mr. Weasley had said about Dumbledore not being happy with the dementors guarding the school.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly, and Ascella, Harry and Ron glanced at each other. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said.

Percy, who was sitting a few seats down from Harry, puffed out his chest again and stared around impressively. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.

"On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Ascella among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

"Look at Snape!" Ron hissed.

Professor Snape, the Potions master, was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but even Ascella, who hated Snape, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: It was loathing. Ascella knew that expression only too well; it was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Ascella and Harry.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Ascella leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

"We should've known!" Ron roared, pounding the table. "Who else would have assigned us a biting book?"

The four of them were the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!"

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Ascella, suddenly ravenous, helped herself to everything she could reach and began to eat.

It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were eager for it to finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. They knew how much being made a teacher would mean to him. Hagrid wasn't a fully qualified wizard; he had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It had been them who had cleared Hagrid's name last year.

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed, and they got their chance.

"Congratulations, Hagrid!" Hermione squealed as they reached the teachers' table.

"All down ter you four," said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them. "Can' believe it . . . great man, Dumbledore . . . came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he'd had enough . . . It's what I always wanted . . ."

Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed them away.

Ascella, Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, up more and more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress asked them, "Password?"

"Coming through, coming through!" Percy called from behind the crowd. "The new password's 'Fortuna Major'!"

"Oh no," said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble remembering the passwords.

Through the portrait hole and across the common room, the girls and boys divided toward their separate staircases. Ascella climbed the spiral stairs and was pleased to spot her four-poster bed in the circular room. Once she had switched into her pyjamas, and her head hit the pillow, she was asleep in an instant.

Chapter 5: Face your fears

ASCELLA BLACK RUBBED HER EYES TIREDLY as pools of sunlight fluttered through the crimson curtains. She ran a hand through her obsidian locks, slightly untangling the knots that had formed over night. The morning breeze of September was warm on Ascella's ivory skin, and she could faintly see the yellow sun emerging over the large mountains.

The door creaked open slightly, and Hermione Granger, Ascella's best friend, tentatively walked in, her footsteps soft. Ascella's lips parted at how well organised Hermione was, it was hardly seven in the morning and Hermione was already dressed.

"Morning Ascella," Hermione whispered, sitting on the edge of Ascella's bed. "How'd you sleep?"

"Alright," Ascella shrugged, her voice raspy from sleep. However, the mauve bags beneath Ascella's eyes told another story. She'd tossed and turned all night, her thoughts whirring constantly in her mind, until she'd had enough and made her way down to the fireplace-lit Common Room, a cup of scorching tea and book in hand to occupy herself. She had only slipped back into bed an hour earlier, to make it seem convincing that she'd been asleep the entirety of the night.

"Well, lessons begin soon, so you might want to hurry up," Hermione advised, tearing the covers off Ascella's body and exposing her bare legs. Ascella groaned, but complied regardless.

Merely forty minutes later, Ascella bounded down the stairs of the girls dormitories, her maroon and gold tie hanging loosely around her neck, her white shirt crinkled, her robes stuffed into her bag, and her grey, pleated skirt rolled up a few inches. It was always busy in the morning, students of all calibre and years rushing to get some food in before their day of lesson began, and although Ascella felt a sliver of anxiousness at facing the students of Hogwarts after the escape of her deranged uncle.

As she stepped into the common room, uneasy glances were sent her way. Lavender Brown, who was typically quite nice to Ascella, avoided her like the plague and evaded any opportunity there was to converse with the Black witch. Ascella feigned disinterest, but the ache in her chest palpated rigorously so.

"Morning, Harry," she greeted with a gentle smile. "Where's Ron?"

"Trying to find his tie," Harry told her with a roll of his forest-green eyes. "He really should be more organised."

"Oh, because you're so organised, aren't you?" Ascella asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow

"Er . . ." Harry trailed off, but was saved when Ron came down the stairs from the boys dorms, slightly out of breath.

"Found it," Ron panted, showing off his tie. "Let's go down to breakfast, yeah, I'm bloody starving."

"Wait, what about Hermione?" Harry asked as they walked towards the Common Room portrait, glancing behind him.

"She told me she had to do something this morning and we should go without her, but I wasn't really listening."

"Of course you weren't," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Ready for Divination?" Ascella wondered as the three of them made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The hallways were still somewhat empty, and all that could be heard was the whistling winds outside and the sound of footsteps hitting the floor, echoing of the walls.

"No," Ron grumbled. "George told me that Trelawney — the teacher — is a right nutter."

Ascella frowned momentarily, but it left as soon as it came. "Yeah, but, remember when we were nine, Ron, and Fred pretended to do palmistry on us? Told us we'd die when we were seventeen?"

Ron laughed loudly, whilst Harry gave Ascella a confused look.

"Mrs. Weasley went mental," Ascella told Harry, snickering. "I think Mum was more amused than angry, but she pretended to be, for Mrs. Weasley's sake."

"Fred and George liked to mess with us a lot as kids," Ron continued. "Ginny sometimes took part in it, so they couldn't prank her, so it was just me and Ella. But, as Ella got older, she started to join in a lot more, Fred and George had corrupted her."

Ascella snickered at the memories of when she was a child, and Harry questioned, "Did you spend a lot of time together as kids?"

"Oh, yeah," Ascella nodded as they walked into the bustling Great Hall. "After Dad died, Mum couldn't do it on her own, and she knew Molly and Arthur had loads of kids, so she went to them for help. Ever since, me and Ron have always been close, seeing as we're close in age, but all the Weasley's are like siblings to me."

Harry nodded, but a churning feeling of jealousy swarmed in his stomach like butterflies, knowing that Ascella and Ron had such a tight-knit friendship and grown up together, whilst he was forced to endure the Dursley household. It was never home to him. And while he knew that Ascella didn't have the best background either, he liked to think she was small bit luckier than him. She, at least, had a mother alive that would offer her life for her.

The previous lighthearted, amused feeling faded away when a nasal, high-pitched voice yelled out to Harry, Ascella and Ron as they walked to the Gryffindor table.

"Hey, Potter!" Pansy Parkinson shrieked, a pug-faced looking Slytherin who had a tendency to cling onto Ascella's cousin, Draco Malfoy, like a leech. "Potter! The Dementor's are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!"

"Parkinson, it's too early to be hearing your wretched voice! Shut it, will you?" Ascella yelled, smiling sarcastically at black-haired witch. Hermione, who had magically appeared by Ascella's side, had began to tut loudly.

"Ascella, it's the first day! You can't be getting points taken off Gryffindor already, McGonagall will kill you," she lectured, shaking her head.

"Oh, hello to you too — and McGonagall would never kill me, she loves me too much," Ascella scoffed, dropping into a seat next to George Weasley.

"New third-year course schedules," he said, passing them around. "What's up with you, Elle?"

"Malfoy," Ron answered for her, glaring bitterly at the Slytherin table. George peered over, only to see Malfoy pretend to faint with terror again.

"That little git," he said quietly. "He wasn't to cocky last night when the Dementors were down out end of the train. Came running into out compartment, didn't he, Fred?"

"Nearly wet himself," Fred said.

"I would've paid good money to see that," Ascella murmured, and Ron sniggered.

"I wasn't too happy myself, if I'm honest," George said. "They're horrible things, those Dementors . . ."

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Fred added, an odd sort of grimace playing on his face.

"You didn't pass out though, did you?" Harry said in a low voice.

"Forget it, Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking . . . They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."

Ascella anxiously twisted the silver rings on her fingers, her knee repeatedly bobbing up and down. Insanity wasn't uncommon in the House of Black, but the thought of her uncle, the only living Black family member alive, mad, caused her heart to drop to her stomach.

"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," Fred grinned. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first match of the season, remember?"

Ascella watched as Harry's face lit up, the previous look of dismay gone, at the thought of beating Malfoy in Quidditch. She piled some food on his plate, smiling softly as he mumbled a 'thank you'.

"Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," Hermione said happily, examining her timetable.

"Hermione," said Ron, peering over her shoulder, "they've messed up your timetable. Look — they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."

"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"But look," Ron pursued, laughing, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And —" Ron leaned close to the timetable, and Ascella could faintly see where this was headed, "look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o'clock. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

"Don't be silly," Hermione scoffed shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes at the same time, that's absurd."

"Well then —"

"Pass the marmalade," she asked, ignoring Ron.

"But —"

"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Ascella nudged him in warning. "Drop it, Ron," she muttered. "You know what's she's like."

Hagrid had entered the Great Hall, wearing his usual moleskin overcoat, and casually swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. "All righ'?" he asked eagerly, pausing to talk with them. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Righ' after lunch! Bin up since five gettin' everythin' ready . . . hope it's okay . . . me, a teacher . . . hones'ly. . ." He grinned at them, and then continued his walk to the staff table.

Ron turned to Harry, Hermione and Ascella, nerves evident on his face. "Wonder what he's getting ready? Nothing dangerous, right?"

Ascella smirked wickedly. "Ahh, you scared, Ronniekins? Want me to hold your hand during the lesson?" she teased.

"Piss off, Ella," Ron groaned. He ignored Ascella's delighted cackles, and checked his timetable. "We'd better go, look, Divination's at the top of the North Tower. It'll take us at least ten minutes to get there . . ."

"Well, we'd better hurry up then, shouldn't we?" Ascella said. They hastily finished their breakfast, before waving goodbye to Fred and George, and walked through the large, oak doors. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did another awful impression of a fainting fit, and laughter followed Harry into the Entrance Hall.

The journey to the North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, seeing as they had never been inside the North Tower before.

"There's — got — to — be — a — short — cut," Ron gasped, breathless, as they climbed the seventh long staircase, emerging onto an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing there but a painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

"I think it's this way," Hermione said, peering down an empty corridor.

"Nah, it can't be," Ron disagreed. "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake outside the window . . ."

Ascella, however, was watching the painting. A fat, dappled-grey pony had strolled into the portrait, grazing nonchalantly. Moments later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armour had clanked on to the picture, waving his sword.

"Aha!" he yelled, spotting the four of them. "What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ascella watched incredulously as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began waving it violently, hopping up and down in rage. However, the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing caused him to fall down and land face first in the grass.

"Um — are you alright?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Get back, you rogue!"

The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sunk deeply into the into the grass, and, though he pulled it with all his might, he couldn't get it back out. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

"Listen," said Harry, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do you?"

"A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish immediately. He clanked to his feet and shouted, "come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!" He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried, "On foot then, good sirs and gentle ladies! On! On!"

And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight. They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of the armour. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.

"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" the knight yelled, and they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.

Huffing and puffing loudly, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella climbed the spiral staircase, getting dizzier and dizzier, until the faint murmur of voices could be heard and they knew they had reached the classroom.

"Farewell!" cried the knight. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If you ever have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"

"Yeah, we'll call you," Ron muttered as the knight vanished, "if we ever need someone mental." Ascella snickered at Ron, her arm leaning on Harry's shoulder.

The climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a small landing, where most of the class were congregated. There were no doors, but Ron nudged Ascella and Harry and pointed to the ceiling, where there was a small, circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

"'Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher'," Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?"

At Harry's words, a silver ladder fell from the trapdoor, landing by his feet. Silence descended among the class.

"Well, up you go," Harry said to Ascella, grinning, and she climbed the ladder first.

Ascella emerged into the strangest looking classroom she had ever seen. It hardly looked like a classroom at all, in Ascella's opinion, it looked more like a cross between an old-fashioned tea shop and someone's attic. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the scorching fire was ablaze under a mantelpiece, emitting a sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the room were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, and countless, silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

Harry appeared at Ascella's shoulder, glancing around the room. "Where is she?" he asked

A voice suddenly came out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

"Welcome," the voice said. "How nice it is to see you in the physical world at last."

Ascella's first impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw how she was very thin; the thick, large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a knitted shawl. Multiple chains and beads hung around her neck, and her arms and fingers were encrusted with bangles and chunky rings.

"Sit, my children, sit," she informed softly, and they all awkwardly made their way to armchairs or poufs. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella sat around the same table.

"Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had sat at a large, winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."

Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you . . . Books can only take you so far in this field . . ."

"Do you possess the Sight?" Ascella whispered ominously to Harry, who smirked in amusement. "Hermione looks as if she's about to have an aneurysm." They glanced at the bushy-haired witch, who looked aghast at Professor Trelawney's words.

"Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous eyes scanning each face in the room, all absorbed, and slightly concerned, with Professor Trelawney's speech. "It is a gift granted to few. You, boy," she said suddenly to Neville, who almost slipped off his pouf from shock. "Is your grandmother well?"

"I — I think so," Neville stammered nervously.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, my dear," tutted Professor Trelawney, and Neville gulped tremulously. Professor Trelawney continued as though nothing had happened. "We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall be progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she said suddenly Parvati Patil, "beware a redheaded man."

Ascella laughed quietly, whilst Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, and edged her chair away from him. Ron looked deeply offended.

"Good going, Ronald," Ascella mumbled to him. "Cheers for scaring away one of the very few people that like you." Ron glared at Ascella and discreetly sent her the middle finger, whilst she gasped in faux offence.

"In the second term," Professor Trelawney went on, "we shall progress to the crystal ball — if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."

A tense silence coated the class at this announcement, but Professor Trelawney seemed completely unaware of it.

"I wonder, dear," she said to Lavender Brown, who was closest to her and shrank back in her chair, "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"

Lavender got up, looking relived, and timidly grabbed the silver teapot from one of the shelves, delicately setting it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, the thing you are dreading — it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."

Lavender trembled.

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup for your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear," — she caught Neville by the arm as he stood up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."

Soon enough, there was a small, tinkle of china breaking. Professor Trelawney glided over to Neville, a dustpan and brush in hand. "One of the blue ones then, dear, if you wouldn't mind . . . thank you . . . "

Ascella and Hermione, who had chosen to partner with one another, downed the scalding cup of tea as quickly as they could, their tongues burning. The swilled the dregs, as Professor Trelawney had told them to, then drained the cups and swapped over.

"Okay, Ascella, you go first," Hermione said, and Ascella peered down into the teacup, trying to decipher any shapes amongst the soggy tea leaves.

"Alright, um, there's a sort of blob thing that looks a but like a bowler hat, maybe you'll work for the Ministry — no surprise there," Ascella said, and Hermione shrugged in agreement. "Oh! There's also a sort of heart thing? That means you're going to fall in love in the coming years. Now, I wonder who that could be about?" Ascella wondered, and Hermione blushed brightly.

"Give me that," Hermione mumbled, snatching Ascella's teacup from her hands, ignoring Ascella's mischievous grin.

"Okay, lets have a look," she said, looking down into the cup. "There's a eagle, which means 'great power'. There's a skull, so that means that you've got a dangerous path ahead of you and a lot of pain with it. And there's also — what looks like — a sun and a crescent moon, which means that in the future, you'll have to make a choice, one that deeply determines your outcome."

"Well, with the shit that goes on at this school, I'm not surprised," Ascella joked, attempting to appear unaffected by Hermione's declaration. However, she couldn't stop the crease of perplexity forming above her eyebrows, confused at what choice she'd have to make — especially one so detrimental that could affect her outcome. Ascella had never thought of herself as a particularly mighty witch, she was — if anything — mediocre. She wasn't like Hermione, who got full marks at everything she did, she was simply Ascella Black, your average witch.

"Let me see that, dear," Ascella and Hermione overheard Professor Trelawney say to Ron, snatching the cup from him.

She stared into the cup, rotating it counter-clockwise. "The falcon . . . my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows that," Hermione whispered loudly. Ascella's head snapped towards her, shocked that she would ever speak to a person of authority that way.

"Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione with a look of admiration and amazement. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply, instead, she lowered her large eyes back down to Harry's cup.

"The club . . . an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup . . ."

"I thought that was a bowler hat," Ron muttered sheepishly, and Ascella rolled her eyes playfully at him.

"The skull . . . danger in your path, my dear . . ."

Ascella thought that it couldn't get any worse. But, then, Professor Trelawney turned the cup for the final time, gasped, and let out a screeching scream.

"My dear boy — my poor dear boy — no — it is kinder not to say — no — don't ask me . . ."

"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas asked. Majority of the class had gotten to their feet to inspect Harry's teacup.

"My dear," whispered Professor Trelawney dramatically, "you have the Grim."

Gasps echoed around the classroom, many people clapped their hands to their mouths in shock and terror. Ascella knew what a Grim was, one of the many books in the Laurent Manor had taught her it from when she was young. It was the only time Ascella could recall Seraphina yelling at her — her mother hardly ever raised her voice at her daughter. Seraphina had snatched the book from Ascella's small, nimble fingers, her eyes glassy and cheeks alight with a red hue. She had snapped at Ascella, warning her to never go near those books again, and to stay far away from the dusted room hidden away at the back of the Manor. Seraphina had told Ascella that books like that, mess with the mind, dragging it into the abyss and the beyond.

Seven-year-old Ascella Black couldn't understand why her mother had been so affected by her simply reading, and why Seraphina Laurent's sobs from the locked bedroom could be heard that sombre night.

"The what?" Harry asked.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" exclaimed Professor Trelawney, looking highly disappointed that Harry was unaware of what the Grim was. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen — the worst omen — of death!"

Ascella watched as Harry paled drastically, going as white as a ghost. She wanted to comfort him, to be the one to bring a small smile to his face, but she couldn't. No words fell from her soft lips, she simply stared blankly, her slate eyes flickering between the delicate china teacup in Professor Trelawney's thin hands, and Harry's wide, forest-green eyes that were shimmering with fright and slight panic.

"I don't think it looks like a Grim," Hermione said flatly, who had moved around to Trelawney's shoulder to look into the cup. Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with a large amount of dislike.

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Hermione bristled, and Ascella's lips quirked up into a smirk. Seamus Finnegan was tilting his head from side to side.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, squinting his eyes, "but it looks more like a donkey from here."

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" Harry yelled, taking everyone, even himself, by surprise. Everyone averted their eyes from him, not wanting to look at him.

"I think we will the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes . . . please pack away your things . . ."

As Ascella made her way to the trapdoor, Professor Trelawney's bony hand latched onto her wrist, halting her movements. Startled, Ascella glanced into Professor Trelawney's eyes, who watched her with a glint of trepidation shadowing in them. Ascella tried to remove her wrist, but Trelawney's tight grasp kept her there.

"You, my dear girl," Trelawney whispered apprehensively, as if talking to Ascella was a mortal sin, "there's darkness inside of you — I can see it. Soon enough, it'll over power you — but, it can be prevented, if you trust your hands to guide the way."

❦

Seated next to Harry in Transfiguration, Ascella fumbled with the woven bracelets on her wrists. Ascella had made them in her first year, gifting a matching one to Harry, and had told him it was a promise bracelet and that as long as he kept it on his wrist, they would forever be friends. It was a silly, childish thing, but neither Harry nor Ascella could ever part with the bracelet, not that they'd ever want to.

Both of them were hardly listening to what Professor McGonagall was saying about Animagi ( wizards who could transform into animals at will ), and wasn't even watching when she transformed into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes, their minds were so preoccupied.

"Really, what has gotten into you all today?" asked Professor McGonagall asked, turning back into herself with a faint pop. "Not that it matters, of course, but that's the first time my transformation's not gotten an applause from a class."

Hermione timidly raised her hands, whilst everyone's heads pivoted towards Harry. "Please, Professor, we've just had out first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and —"

"Ah, of course," Professor McGonagall interrupted, suddenly frowning deeply. "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"

Everyone stared at her. Finally, with a long sigh, Harry spoke up.

"Me, Professor," he said.

"I see," said Professor Trelawney, her beady eyes fixated on Harry. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student every year since she arrived at this school. None of them have died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class. If it were for the fact I never speak ill of my colleagues —" Professor McGonagall stopped talking, and her nostrils had gone very white. She pressed on, more calmly, "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience for it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney . . ."

She stopped yet again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Hermione laughed, whilst Harry let out a relieved sigh. Ascella, on the other hand, didn't feel as reassured. The way Professor Trelawney spoke to her . . . That wasn't the speakings of a mad woman. Ascella couldn't forget the chill that cascaded down her spine, or the shiver that arose on her porcelain skin. Trelawney may be a fraud, but that didn't stop the tremor in Ascella's hands, nor the way her mind repeated the words over and over again, as though they were a broken record.

Transfiguration went on, Ascella's head lazily resting on her hand, distractedly staring out of the window, her mind not with the lesson one bit. What Ascella wasn't aware of, however, was how Minerva McGonagall ( despite teaching a lesson ) continuously glanced at the girl with tired eyes, a frown tugging at the corners of her thin lips. As devastatingly sad as it was, Minerva couldn't help be reminded of an innocent boy, who had already been grasped by the parasite that was the Dark Lord, who had sat in that very chair Ascella was sat in, dazing out of the very same window, wondering where everything had gone wrong; what he had done wrong.

Minerva McGonagall may have failed in saving Regulus Black, but she'll be damned if lets Ascella Black succumb to the grasps of Dark Magic.

The chiming bell shook Ascella from her stupor, and she mindlessly packed away her things in silence, her face stoic.

"Miss Black!" McGonagall called out, and Ascella groaned internally. As much as she adored her Professor, she really wasn't in the right state of mind for a lecture; too tired, too drained for it.

"I'll see you after," she said to Harry, who had been patiently waiting for her near the exit. It was something Harry always did, waiting for her, and the gesture, albeit small, didn't fail to bring a small smile to her face.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I know I wasn't paying attention, my mind was just else where and I —" Ascella began, but her mouth shuts when McGonagall raised her hand for silence. Ascella felt as though she should be offended by the cut off, but she's secretly grateful to not have to spew anymore unwanted, unmeaning apologies.

"It's not about that, Miss Black," McGonagall told her, and a look of shock crossed across Ascella's face.

"Oh," was all Ascella could say, "What is it then?"

"How are you, Ascella?" McGonagall asked softly, worry and empathy lacing her voice. Ascella was taken aback, no one apart from her Mother had spoken to her with so much concern and care. But, as stubborn as it may be, Ascella didn't want to speak about how she felt. Ascella was fine with blunt statements and mediocre excuses, ones that got people to leave her alone. Ascella liked being alone, despite the selfishness of it.

"I'm fine," Ascella said impassively, her eyes boring into McGonagall's cat-like ones. McGonagall didn't believe her, hell, Ascella didn't even believe herself. But it was easier than being honest.

"Are you sure? My office door is always open for you, as you know," McGonagall pushed on, and Ascella sighed, one that hung heavy on her chest.

"Yes, Professor, I know," Ascella said monotonously. "Is that all?"

Professor McGonagall watched Ascella for a fleeting moment, before she nodded, "Yes, Ascella, you may go."

"Thank you," Ascella mumbled, and then bolted out the door, refusing to look back. She didn't go to lunch, instead, she headed to a small alcove on the third floor, one that had a large panelled window that showed the grounds of Hogwarts, the deep, dark pool of water that was the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest, that held untold secrets of the past.

Minutes felt like hours, before the ringing bell signalled the end of lunch, and Ascella reluctantly made her way to her first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. If wasn't for the fact that it was Hagrid teaching the lesson, Ascella would've bunked, clearly not bothered about what abnormal animal Hagrid had brought out for his first lesson.

"You didn't come to lunch," Ascella turned to face Harry, who she had caught up with on her silent journey to Hagrid's hut.

"Oh, yeah, I wasn't hungry. Sorry," Ascella said sheepishly, her feet falling into the same rhythm as Harry's.

"It's fine, you don't have to apologise," Harry dismissed with a small laugh, and Ascella couldn't help but feel embarrassed, she had a tendency to apologise for things that didn't need it. It was a habit she was rather desperate to break.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Harry continued. "Ron and Hermione are arguing yet again, it was extremely awkward."

Ascella turned around, and spotted Ron and Hermione, walking next to one another, stubbornly refusing to talk and avoiding each others eyes. Ascella snickered at their persistence, whilst Harry sighed in exasperation.

"They'll make up eventually," Ascella said, facing Harry yet again. "C'mon, we'd better hurry up or we'll be late."

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, patiently waiting for the class to arrive, Fang at his feet.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he shouted as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

For one small, nasty moment, Ascella thought that Hagrid was leading them into the Forbidden Forest; however, Hagrid strolled around the outskirts of the forest and into a paddock.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books —"

"How?" asked the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated cruelly. Ascella took out her copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which had been tied shut with an old leather belt.

"Hasn' — hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid said, looking crestfallen, and the class shook their heads.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as if it were obvious. "Look —"

Hagrid grabbed Ascella's book from her, ripped of the leather belt, and quickly dragged a large finger down the spine of the book. The book shivered, and then laid peacefully in Hagrid's hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered viciously. "We should have stroked them! Now, why didn't we think of that?"

"I — I thought they were funny," Hagrid murmured uncertainly to Ascella, who smiled softly at him.

"Oh, tremendously funny!" snarled Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Harry, wanting Hagrid's lesson to be a success.

"Righ', then," said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his spark, "so — so yeh've got yer books an' . . . an' . . . now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on . . ."

Hagrid strode away from the class and out of sight.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy loudly. "That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him —"

"No one cares about your father, Malfoy!" Ascella exclaimed suddenly. "He's vile, and horrible, just like you."

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Black, just because your father's dead —"

"Ooooooooh!" squealed Lavender Brown, pointing towards the opposite side of the paddock. Ascella's temper was boiling within her, splotches of red had appeared on her cheeks and her hair had morphed into a flaming crimson. Harry tugged on her hand, pulling away from Malfoy, who was smiling smugly, knowing he had got under the youngest Black's skin.

"Just ignore him, Ella, don't let him get to you," Harry whispered in her ear. Ascella didn't respond, instead she turned to Hagrid who had returned with a herd of the strangest animals she had ever laid eyes on.

Animals with the body, hind legs and tails of horses but the front legs, wings, and heads of giant eagles, with piercing orange eyes and steel-coloured beaks. Their talons were terrifyingly sharp, and deadly looking. Around each neck there was a leather collar, which was attached to a long chain, that Hagrid held tight in his hands.

"Gee up, there!" he roared, violently shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the fence where the class were stood. Ascella stumbled back slightly, falling into Harry, who caught her quickly, placing his hands on her shoulders and steadying her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, a faint pink flush on her cheeks and the tips of her hair painted a bubblegum pink colour.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Ascella could sort of see what Hagrid meant. After the first initial shock of seeing the bizarre creatures, you could kind of begin to appreciate the shining coats of the Hippogriffs, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them an individual colour: stormy grey, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut and inky black.

"So," said Hagrid, beaming brightly and rubbing his hands together, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer . . ."

It was very obvious that no one wanted to. For Hagrid's sake, Ascella, Ron, Harry and Hermione apprehensively moved closer towards the fence.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid explained. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't ever insult one, 'cause it may be the last thing yeh do."

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle weren't listening; they were talking in an undertone and Ascella had a small inkling that they were planning to sabotage the lesson some way.

"Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued, oblivious to the whispers amongst the class. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed yer touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

"Right — who wants ter go first?"

Majority of the class backed away in fear. Even Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella had a small feeling of doubt, despite it being Hagrid, who would never intentionally harm them or anyone.

"No one?" Hagrid said with a pleading look.

"I'll do it," Harry spoke up.

"Harry, are you mental?" Ascella hissed, clutching his wrist tightly.

"I'll be fine, Ella," he reassured, shaking his arm out of her grasp, his fingers gently brushing hers as he walked by her to the fence.

Ascella went to stand by Ron and Hermione, who looked just as anxious as her. "One day, he's going to get himself killed," Ascella stated, and Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.

Harry climbed over the fence and approached the Hippogriff that Hagrid had introduced as Buckbeak. Everyone appeared to be holding their breath.

"Easy now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not to ter blink . . . Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much . . ."

Ascella's breath was caught in her chest as she watched Harry stare dangerously in front of the Hippogriff, the palms of her hands coated in a sheen of perspiration.

"Tha's it," muttered Hagrid. "Tha's it, Harry . . . now, bow."

Harry gave a short bow, and then looked up. Buckbeak was still staring haughtily at Harry, having not moved.

"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it."

"Oh my God," Ascella whispered, grabbing Hermione, who held with just as much ferocity. But, then, to everyone's enormous surprise, Buckbeak suddenly bent on his scaly front legs and sank into what was an obvious bow.

Ascella giggled a relieved laugh, and Hagrid was estatic, "Well done, Harry! Right － yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

"Merlin, I thought he was a goner," Ascella said to Ron, who snickered in response.

"He could have been really hurt, though! Hippogriffs aren't animals to mess with," Hermione tutted, shaking her head.

"He's fine now, 'Mione —"

"I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!" came Hagrid's booming voice, and Ascella's eyes widened. She noticed the immediate panic on Harry's face, and she had a feeling that riding a Hippogriff was much different to riding a broomstick.

"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that . . ."

Harry hoisted himself up, placing his hands around Buckbeak's neck, unsure on what to hold onto, seeing as everything in front of him was covered in feathers.

"Go on, then!" roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters.

Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on the either side of Harry, and he tightened his grip around the Hippogriffs neck as he flew upwards. Ascella nibbled her fingers as she watched Harry soar upwards into the azure sky, her silky hair a silvery grey shade. Buckbeak flew around the paddock a few times before flying back down to the ground, the whistling wind blowing in his face as Buckbeak shakily landed on the ground. He slipped off the Hippogriff, his legs wobbily.

Ascella bounded towards Harry, her arms thrown around his neck. "God, I thought you would fall off!"

"I'm indestructible," Harry boasted smugly, and Ascella shoved his shoulder playfully. Encouraged by Harry's success, everyone else felt much less cautious to approach the Hippogriffs. Ascella went over to Buckbeak, Harry in tow, bowing gracefully in front of the intimidating creature, before he bent on his legs in return. Ascella grinned and gently patted Buckbeak's shining beak

"He's lovely, isn't he?" she gushed, a beam spread across her lips. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ascella overjoyed, so happy. Harry wanted to imprint the memory into his mind, to never forget it and to always be reminded of the flush of contentment spread across her cheeks, and the twinkle in her eyes.

"You think?" Harry asked, stroking the large feathers on Buckbeak's head.

"Yeah . . . you reckon Mum'll let me have one as a pet?" she asked with a mischievous smirk.

Harry laughed, "I doubt it, but it's worth a try."

Ascella shook her head in amusement, but it all faded away when the malicious voice of Draco Malfoy could be heard.

"This is very easy," Malfoy sneered. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it . . . I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to Buckbeak. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

It all happened in a flash of steely talons; one moment Malfoy was standing, snarling at Buckbeak, and then the next second he was wailing in pain of the moss-covered ground, scarlet blood blossoming from his wound and seeping into the cracks of the dirt.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as panic settled within the class. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"I don't think you're dying," Ascella shrugged as she peered over at Malfoy, who was squirming on the floor in pain. "I mean . . . if you were dying you wouldn't be talking, would you? Idiot," she scoffed under her breath.

"I am dying," Malfoy snapped. "I'm dying and my disgusting excuse of a cousin refuses to admit it."

"Oh, you'll wish you were dying in a minute, Malfoy —" Ascella hissed as she lunged for Malfoy, but was, yet again, pulled back by Harry.

"Yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had turned very white. "Someone help me — gotta get him outta here —"

Hermione ran and opened the gate for Hagrid who easily lifted Malfoy and carried him away. The was a splatter of blood evident on the grass, and it seemed to follow the path Hagrid was walking on as Malfoy bled.

"God, Malfoy really is pathetic," Ascella ranted as the four of them walked back up to the school. "Of course he had to ruin Hagrid's first lesson by provoking Buckbeak!"

"They should sack him straight away!" cried Pansy Parkinson, who was sobbing hysterically.

"It was Malfoy's fault!" snapped Dean Thomas furiously. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.

"I'm going to see if he's okay!" said Pansy, but before she ran up the marble staircase, she turned and faced Ascella, a scowl on her pug-like face.

"And, you, Black," she spat harshly, "don't ever threaten Draco again or you'll get what's coming for you."

Ascella let out a humourless laugh. "I'm quivering with fear, Parkinson. I'm pretty sure Draco can fight his own battles, and I'm certainly not terrified of you."

Ascella stormed away, strands of raven hair in her face, a tremor in her hand, and only one thought constantly floating around her mind; could my life get any worse?

❦

Seated at the back of the Potions class with Rosalie Hawkins and a Ravenclaw witch of the name Estelle Sinclair, Ascella glowered at Malfoy waltzed into Double Potions, his arm in a white cast.

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah, really bad," said Malfoy, but Ascella was certain she saw him wink to Crabbe and Goyle when Parkinson turned away.

"Settle down, settle down," said Snape idly, ignoring Malfoy's late entry. Ascella knew that if it were her or Harry who had strutted in ten minutes late, they would have been given a weeks detention. But Snape was the head of Slytherin house, so he generally favoured his own students above everyone else.

They were making a new potion; the Shrinking Solution. Ascella watched as Malfoy set up his belongings next to Harry and Ron, and Ascella prayed that Harry wouldn't let his temper get the best of him, but knowing Harry, it was inevitable.

"So, Rosa," Ascella began, not looking up from her potion. "Are you trying out for the team this year?"

Rosalie groaned, "I want to! But Flint's a complete dick and won't let any girls on the team. And I spent my whole summer practicing as well!"

"I thought your Mum didn't let you ride your broomstick at home any more because you almost flew through the window?" Estelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she doesn't," Rosa said. "But what she doesn't know won't hurt her," she added with a sly wink.

Ascella chuckled lowly, "my Mum would kill me if I did that."

"Nah, she wouldn't," Estelle disagreed, shaking her head, her brunette curls bouncing slightly. "Your Mum's cool, Ella."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Ascella said. "It'll boost her ego far too high."

Ascella glanced around the dimly lit Potions room, and noticed how Ron was red in the face with fury, Harry was tightly gripping his knife, and Malfoy was looking extremely smug over something.

"And, Sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," Snape ordered, sending Harry a look of loathing that he reserved for Harry only. Ascella watched as Harry snatched Malfoy's shrivelfig from him, and roughly skinned it, and then flung it back across the table.

"Stop staring at your boyfriend and do your work," a voice whispered in Ascella's pierced ear. She snapped around her head to Rosalie, who was looking particularly satisfied. Ascella narrowed her eyes at her.

"He is not my boyfriend!" Ascella snapped quietly, her hair flushed a bubblegum pink. "He's my best friend. That's all."

"Hmm, yeah, best friend," Rosa repeated incredulously. "You don't act the same around Ron as you do Harry."

Ascella made a disgusted face, "Yeah, that's because Ron's my brother. I've known him since I was a baby."

"Whatever you say," Rosalie sang under her breath, and Ascella turned away, attempting to hide her blush from Rosa.

Ascella saw that a few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. The Longbottom boy had never succeeded in Potions, and on top of Professor Snape's relentless bullying, Neville never did very well in the subject. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —

"Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one cat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

"Well, that's not the way to treat a student," Ascella said loudly. Snape, who had heard her, sneered her way.

"Something to say, Miss Black?" he asked softly, and many heads swivelled towards them.

"Yes, actually, I do," Ascella spoke up bravely, and Snape quirked an dark eyebrow.

"Ascella, just leave it," Estelle muttered, tugging on Ascella's sleeve.

"Maybe, Professor, instead of picking on and bullying your students, you should help them. Because, you know, that's what Professors do," Ascella said snarkily. "Well, that's what competent Professor's do."

A few gasps were heard around the room. Professor Snape looked more menacing than ever.

"You should watch your mouth, Black," snarled Snape, advancing on her. "You'll end up just like your Uncle — or, more like your Father."

"Don't you dare speak a word against my father," Ascella snapped, trembling with anger.

"I will speak about whatever and whoever I please," retorted Snape. "Now, get on with your work!"

Ascella sent one last glare to Snape, before turning back to her unfinished potion, mumbling incoherently under her breath.

"You'll get yourself killed one day with that mouth of yours," commented Estelle, sighing lightly.

"Yeah, whatever, let's just finish this, shall we? I can't bare to be in this class a moment longer," Ascella said, ignoring Estelle. Both Estelle and Rosalie nodded in agreement.

❦

Professor Lupin wasn't there when Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella arrived at their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Ascella sat next to Ron, and pulled out her belongings onto the wooden desk, when Professor Lupin entered the class. He still had a pale, waxy colour to his face, but he looked much healthier than he did on the train.

"Good afternoon," he greeted. "Would you please put all your books back in your bag. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands."

Ascella cursed quietly, "I just got all my stuff out!"

"Sucks to be you, then," Ron teased with a snicker. "I don't even bother getting my stuff out."

"Yeah, that's because you forget it all," Ascella snickered, and Ron childishly stuck his tongue out at her in response.

The followed Professor Lupin out of the class and through deserted corridors, until they came across Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair, stuffing chewing gum into the nearest keyhole.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang when he spotted Professor Lupin. "Loony, loopy, Lupin, loony, loopy, Lupin —"

Rude and unmanageable as he always was, Peeves usually showed some sort of respect for the teachers. Everyone nervously eyed Professor Lupin for his reaction, but to their surprise, he was still smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole, if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr Filch won't be able to get into his brooms."

Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who was at constant war with Peeves and the students; more specifically, Fred and George Weasley and Ascella Black. Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud, wet raspberry.

Professor Lupin gave a loud sigh and drew his wand from his pocket.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."

He raised his wand to Peeves and said, "Waddiwasi!"

Like the force of a bullet, the chewing gum that was previously stuck in the keyhole and straight up Peeves' nostril. Peeves cried out loudly, and whirled away, cursing.

Professor Lupin turned back to the class calmly, who were staring at him, mouths wide-open. "Shall we continue?" he asked.

"That was wicked!" exclaimed Ascella brightly. "D'you reckon I could use that spell on people?"

"Like who?" Ron asked whilst Hermione, who had overheard, said, "No, Ascella, you cannot."

"I could give you a list," Ascella scoffed to Ron, who shrugged. They followed Professor Lupin down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin instructed.

The staffroom was an long, panelled room, scattered with mismatched armchairs, and was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he glanced around as the class filed in. His black eyes were glittering venomously and a nasty sneer was playing on his mouth. As Professor Lupin went to shut the door, Snape stood and said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He strode past the class, his black robes flowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom and Ascella Black. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear. And, Ascella Black, well — she's a Black, I'm sure you can already imagine what she is like."

Ascella glared feverently at Snape, her silver eyes shining with vexation. Neville flushed scarlet, and Ascella was furious that not only Snape bullied Neville in his own class, let alone in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I was hoping Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably. And, as for Ascella, I can imagine what she is like, and I'm certain she is delightful student."

Neville's face went, if possible, more red. Snape's lip curled, but he ( thankfully ) left, slamming the door behind him.

"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, ushering the class to the end of the room where a large wardrobe was stood. As Professor Lupin stood next to it, it gave sudden wobble, banging off the wall and startling many.

"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin. "There's a Boggart in there."

Many people, however, felt as if this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus eyed the rattling doorknob apprehensively. Ascella had only ever dealt with one Boggart in her lifetime — and what she means by 'dealt with' is when she found her mother frozen in fear as her father's deceased body lay still and cold, his lifeless eyes staring blankly up at her. Ascella had to shake Seraphina out of whatever trance she was in, and when she did snap out of it, Seraphina hastily muttered a spell and practically ran from Ascella, in hope her daughter didn't see the streaming tears quickly falling down her pale cheeks.

"Boggarts like enclosed, dark spaces," continued Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I've even met one who lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is as Boggart?"

Hermione's hand, as usual, shot up into the air.

"It's a shape shifter," she spoke loudly. "It can take the shape of whatever frightens us the most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Lupin praised and Hermione glowed. "So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet resumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the other person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

"This means," said Lupin, ignoring Neville's small splutter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

Harry, who had relentlessly annoying Ascella to the point where she had moved away from him to stand next to Estelle, jumped slightly at the sound of his name being mentioned.

"Er — because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape to take?"

"Precisely," said Professor Lupin. "It's always best to have company when when you're dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I oncesaw a Boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."

"The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing thatreally finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that youfind amusing.

"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please . . . riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" the class repeated simultaneously.

"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, theword alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The wardrobe trembled violently, but not as much as Neville, who looked as though he was heading to war.

"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville's lips moved slightly, yet no noise escaped them.

"I didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," said Professor Lupin cheerfully.

Neville looked around the class, pleading in his eyes for someone to save him, but he was forced to speak when no came to his aid. "Professor Snape," he admitted in a quiet whisper.

The majority of the class laughed, and even Neville let out a bashful grin. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.

"Professor Snape . . . hmmm . . . Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Er — yes," said Neville nervously. "But — I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."

"No, no, you misunderstand me," said Professor Lupin with a chuckle. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

Neville looked confused, but said, nonetheless, "Well . . . always the same hat. A tall one with the same stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress . . . green, normally . . . and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

"And a handbag?" prompted Lupin.

"A big red one," Neville nodded.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind?"

"Yes," said Neville uncertainly, baffled at what was coming.

As Professor Lupin explained what was about to happen, Ascella thought deeply at what would be her greatest fear. Ascella thought that it would be easiest if Sirius Black were to appear, prove to everyone that she wasn't her uncle. But, she came to realise that Sirius wasn't her biggest fear, and she doubted he ever would be.

Ascella looked around and noticed how Ron was muttering under his breath, "Take its legs off." Ascella was certain he was thinking of spiders, his fear from them stemming from a prank Fred and George had played on him was a toddler.

"Everyone ready?" asked Professor Lupin.

Ascella felt a lurch of fear. She wasn't ready, or prepared to see what was about to come out of the closet, and her stomach churned sickly, her fingers twitching for something to fiddle with.

"Neville, we're going to back away," said Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right?I'll call the next person forward . . . Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —"

They all walked to the wall, their backs pressing tightly up against it. Neville looked pale and terrified, but he had his wand at the ready regardless.

"On the count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the wardrobe. "One — two — three — now!"

A colourful jet of sparks erupted from the end of Professor Lupin's wand, unlocking the wardrobe door. Hook-nosed and as menacing as ever, Professor Snape stepped out, his obsidian eyes flashing at Neville.

Neville froze for a moment, watching as Snape was bearing upon him, reaching inside his pocket for something. Neville eventually squeaked, "R — r — riddikulus!"

There was a sound like a whip crack. Snape, who was once in jet-black robes, was now dressed, head to toe, in Neville's grandmother's clothes. A roar of laughter could be heard, and Ascella was convinced that this would be a moment she would never forget.

One by one, students went forward and courageously faced their deepest fears, overcoming the horrors of their mind. And, inevitably, Ascella faced the Boggart.

At first, nothing happened. But then, unexpectedly, an image formed, the Boggart morphing into a shape she hadn't been expecting.

Ascella Lyra Black faced her, but this wasn't the Ascella that the population of Hogwarts had come to know and love — or, sometimes, loathe. This Ascella Black had a sinister grin on her aristocratic face, her stormy, grey eyes alarming and ominous. Instead of the lion crest sewed onto her breast pocket, the Slytherin emblem proudly faced them all. But the worst thing, and Ascella almost broke down when her eyes laid upon it, was the slithering, inky mark of the Dark Lord, audaciously painted across her porcelain inner arm. It sat there in all its glory, the darkness of mark contrasting with the light shade of her skin, instantly drawing attention to it.

This was the inner Black that roamed inside Ascella, impatiently waiting for the chains that were restraining it to be released.

"Look at you," she sneered, and Ascella didn't even recognise herself. "You're pathetic! You can't even look at me, can you? Face it, Ascella, this is who you are, who you will always be. Just admit it, you like this version of yourself — the big, bad side of you, the Slytherin side. Embrace who you are, Ascella, because if you refuse, the Dark Lord will be very disappointed in—"

"Riddikulus!" Ascella exclaimed finally, her eyes screwed shut, her mind foggy. She felt as if her throat was constricting, and all the oxygen in the room had dispersed. She was frozen in horror, because the Boggart was right. Ascella always knew that there was a part of her that was allured to the Dark side, the ambience of it attracted her for some absurd reason. And that terrified Ascella. The thought of ever becoming like Bellatrix Lestrange caused Ascella to be sick to her stomach, her mind wanting to block out every single tainted thought.

But she was a Black, and Dark Magic always found their way to them, whether they liked it or not.

Chapter 6: Undesired appearances

DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS RAPIDLY BECAME EVERYONE'S FAVOURITE CLASS. Hardly anyone had anything bad to say about it, except for Draco Malfoy and his gang of irritating Slytherins, of course.

"Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin would pass. "He dresses like our old house elf!"

But no one cared that Professor Lupin's clothes were shabby and patched. His next few lessons were just as exciting as their first. After Boggarts, the went on to study Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked in potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved onto Kappas, creepy, water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

Professor Snape had been in a particularly vindictive mood, and it was obvious as to why. The story of Neville's Boggart had spread like wildfire, and Snape didn't find it amusing one bit. His eyes flashed menacingly every time Professor Lupin's name was mentioned, and was bullying Neville worse than ever. It also didn't help that Ascella, along with Fred and George Weasley, had plastered very detailed drawings of Snape in a lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat with a stuffed vulture perched on top. It was safe to say that Snape was furious when he was greeted with that.

Ascella was dreading the hours spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling hot classroom, pretending not be bothered by the way Trelawney would quiver in fear every time Ascella was near her. Not only that, Trelawney's bug-like eyes would fill with tears every time she laid eyes on Harry.

Nobody really enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures any more. After their disastrous first lesson, Hagrid had seemed to have lost his confidence, the lessons becoming extremely dull. They were spending lesson after lesson working on terribly boring animals, like flobberworms, for example.

"Why would any one bother looking after them?" Ron asked, after another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' throats.

However, Quidditch season was arising, which brought an excited feel amongst the population of Hogwarts. Ascella wasn't on the Gryffindor team, but Harry was, so whilst Harry was busy practicing, Ascella spent most of her time with Ron and Hermione.

Ascella had not spoke of what occurred in their first Defence lesson, and she was adamant on not speaking of it. Hermione had tried, in the late hours of the starry night, desperately begging the youngest Black to let her in, to share some parts of the hidden depths of Ascella's mind. But Ascella was stubborn, too obstinate for her own good, and refused to answer Hermione's incessant questions, dodging them swiftly.

Even if Ascella did answer Hermione's questions, it wasn't like she'd ever understand. There were layers to Ascella's mind, each one as equally dark and complex. Ascella couldn't explain how she felt because they were far too perplexing for her to put into words. She was in a constant cycle of damning thoughts and rustling whispers that echoed in her head, day and night on end. The tenebrous night would claw at her ankles, dragging her into a state of insomnia, and she would spend hours in the morning attempting to paint away the dark bags underneath her bloodshot eyes.

Ascella snapped out of whatever state she was in when she felt someone lightly tug on her dark-purple curls. She turned around and was met with the grinning face of Harry, covered from head to toe in sweat and mud, his raven hair tousled from the wind.

"Oh, you're back," Ascella said, and Harry chuckled, dropping down on the maroon rug next to her.

"Wow, you seem so pleased to see me," he teased rolling his forest-green eyes.

"You know I adore seeing you. Actually, my heart aches when we're apart, did you know?" she scoffed sarcastically, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at her dramatic antics. "How was practice?"

Harry shrugged in response, "It was alright. Wood's got us working hard, though, seeing as he wants to win the Cup this year, obviously."

"Yeah, well, Wood's always been crazy about Quidditch, you know that," Ascella mumbled offhandedly. "He's like Charlie, but with Quidditch."

"Who's Charlie?" Harry asked obliviously, watching her intently.

Ascella looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Charlie Weasley? The one obsessed with dragons and helped us in second year? Ron's older brother?"

Harry stared blankly for a moment, before a look of recognition dawned on his face. Ron, who had overheard the end of their conversation, said, "I heard my name! What're you talking about?"

"Your brother," Ascella answered vaguely.

"Oh! Which one?"

"The best one," Ascella replied with a brazen grin.

"So . . . me?" Ron presumed with a smirk.

"Yeah, right," Ascella snorted, and Harry snickered lowly, whilst Ron scowled deeply.

"Har, har, har, very funny," he deadpanned, and Ascella sent him a sarcastic smile. "Anyways, first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. End of October, Halloween."

"Bloody brilliant," Harry muttered in faux amusement. "I'll be the only third year not going. How embarrassing is that?"

"It's alright, I'll bring you back something nice," Ascella promised, grinning up at the Potter boy. Seraphina had been extremely reluctant to sign Ascella's Hogsmeade slip, but after some pleading with her Mother, Ascella had managed to win her over.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, and Ascella turned back to her work, unaware of the tender look Harry was sending her.

"I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," Hermione said. "They're bound to catch Black soon, he's already been spotted once."

Hermione was right. Black had already been sighted, by a clueless Muggle who had spotted Sirius Black in a town not too far from Hogwarts. However, given her lack of magical ability, Black had escaped the Ministry once more before they'd even been alerted.

"Black's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," Ron disagreed, and Hermione shot him a withering glare. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry. The next one might not be for ages —"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, nudging the redheaded boy. "Harry's supposed to stay in school —"

"He can't be the only third year left behind," Ron argued. "Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry —"

"Yeah, alright then," Harry made up his mind, and Hermione tutted loudly, but her face softened when Crookshanks, a ginger-coloured cat with a slightly squished face, leapt up onto her lap, a dead spider dangling from his mouth.

"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" Ron said, scowling.

"Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" Hermione cooed, her hand reaching over to scratch Crookshanks' soft fur.

Crookshanks slowly chewed the spider, his bright, amber eyes fixed insolently on Ron.

"Just keep him over there, that's all," Ron ordered irritably, turning back to his star chart. "I've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."

Ascella went to grab her bag, stuffing her completed star chart in there, but a hand stilled her actions.

"Mind if I copied off you?" Harry asked sheepishly, and Ascella nodded.

"Course," she said, and Hermione pursed her lips, disapproving of copying. Crookshanks was still staring at Ron, his bushy tail flicking. The next moment, he pounced.

"OI!" Ron roared, yanking his bag away as Crookshanks set his sharp claws deep inside of it and began tearing ferociously. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!"

Ron attempted to seize his bag from Crookshanks' tight clasp, but to no avail, Crookshanks clung on, hissing and spitting.

"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione squealed; the whole Common Room watched in amusement; Ron whirled his bag around, Crookshanks still attached to it, and Scabbers then flew out of the top —"

"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron yelled as Crookshanks released his claws from the bag and lunged for Scabbers, springing over the table.

George made a move towards Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. He skidded to a halt, crouched low and sniffed out Scabbers, making furious swipes with his paw. Ron and Hermione hastily hurried over; Ron grabbing Scabbers and Hermione scooping up Crookshanks around the middle.

"Look at him!" Ron shouted, dangling Scabbers by his tail in front of Hermione, who grimaced. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"

"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione impatiently. "All cats chase rats, Ron! It's what they do!"

"There's something funny about that animal!" countered Ron, who was trying to persuade a frantic Scabbers back into his pocket. "It heard me say Scabbers was in my bag!"

"Oh, what rubbish," scoffed Hermione, shaking her head. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think —"

"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, ignoring the people who were beginning to giggle. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"

Ascella watched as Ron stormed his way through the Common Room, shoving past laughing students and marching up the stairs to the boys dorms. He hardly spoke to her all through Herbology the next day, even though he, Hermione, Harry and Ascella were working on the same Puffapod.

"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly as they stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beads onto a wooden pail.

"He's hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking," snapped Ron furiously, missing the pail and scattering beans all over the greenhouse floor.

"Careful, Weasley, careful!" cried Professor Sprout as the beads began to bloom right before their very eyes.

They had Transfiguration next. Harry had decided to ask Professor McGonagall about allowing him to attend Hogsmeade, but Ascella had a large gut instinct that McGonagall would say no. As they waited to enter the class, there was a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender Brown seemed to crying. Parvati had her arm wrapped tightly around her in a comforting manner, whilst Seamus and Dean had serious expressions on their faces.

"Hey, Lavender," Ascella attempted to be tender to the weeping girl, despite Lavender's inclination to stay far away from her. "What's the matter?"

"She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati whispered. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Ascella, sharing a discreet look with Harry, who smirked at her awkwardness.

"I should have known!" Lavender wailed suddenly. "You know what day it is?"

"Er —"

"The sixteenth of October! 'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!' Remember? She was right, she was right!"

Most of the class had gathered around Lavender by now. Seamus shook his head seriously, whilst Hermione spoke up hesitantly, "you — you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"

"Well, not necessarily a fox," said Lavender, her round eyes streaming with tears as she looked up at Hermione, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't I?"

"Oh," said Hermione. She paused again. Then —

"Was Binky an old rabbit?"

"N — no!" Lavender sobbed, and Parvati tightened her arm around her shoulders. "H — he was only a baby!"

"But then, why would you dread him dying?" asked Hermione, and Parvati glared at her. Ascella lightly nudged Hermione in the ribs, warning her to be quiet. Hermione ignored her, though.

"Well, look at it logically," Hermione continued, turning to the rest of the group. "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today —" Lavender wailed loudly. "— and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock —"

"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," Ron said loudly, "she doesn't think other people's pets matter very much."

Hermione glared daggers at Ron, and it was lucky that Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door at that moment. Harry was fidgeting the whole lesson, and even wasn't sure what to say to her when class as over.

"One moment, please!" called out Professor McGonagall as the class made to leave. "As you're all in my House, you should hand Hogsmeade permissions forms to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!"

Neville put up his hand. "Please, Professor, I — I think I've lost —"

"Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that's all, you may leave."

"Ask her now," Ron hissed at Harry.

"Oh, but —" Hermione began.

"Just go, Harry," Ascella urged, pushing him over to McGonagall lightly.

"This isn't gonna go well, is it?" Ascella said to Ron and Hermione as they watched Harry tentatively approach McGonagall.

"Most likely," Ron murmured back. Merely a few minutes later, Harry returned to them, looking downcast. He sighed, and shook his head.

"It's alright, Harry, we won't be gone for long," Ascella said in an attempt to cheer him up, but there was nothing to be done. Ron had called McGonagall a lot of rude names that had caused Ascella to glare at him and hit him over the head; Hermione assumed an all-for-best expression that angered Ron even more, and Harry had to endure everyone talking jovially about the upcoming trip.

"There's always the feast," said Ron. "You know, the Halloween feast, in the evening."

"Oh, how wonderful," Harry snarked, gloomily, "great."

"Well done, Ron," Ascella hissed. "We're all going to Hogsmeade, but there's always the feast."

"I was just trying to cheer him up!" Ron exclaimed, his hands flaying around dramatically.

Nothing anyone said to Harry made him feel any better. Dean Thomas, who was good with a quill, had offered to forge Vernon Dursley' signature, but Ascella had pointed out that McGonagall already knew that Harry hadn't signed his slip. Ron suggested the invisibility cloak, but Hermione stamped on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told them about the Dementors, and how they could even penetrate the forces of an invisibility cloak, even one as powerful as Harry's. Percy had what were possibly the least helpful words of comfort.

"They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he said seriously. "All right, the sweetshop's rather good, and Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything."

"Wow, Percy really knows how to make someone feel better, doesn't he?" Ascella muttered incredulously as Percy walked away, and Harry scoffed in agreement.

On Halloween morning, the day of the Hogsmeade trip, Ascella sauntered down to breakfast, feeling incredibly guilty. She had repeatedly insisted to Harry that she would stay behind with Harry to keep him company, but Harry was just as stubborn as she was, and demanded that she go with Ron and Hermione.

"We'll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes," said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for him.

"Yeah, loads," nodded Ron. He and Hermione had, thankfully, forgotten about their troubles over Crookshanks and Scabbers.

Ascella wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, his circling her waist, hugging him tightly. Her dark-purple curls tickled his chin, the faint scent of cherries and mint invading is nostrils and causing his mind to become fuzzy.

"I'll stay with you," Ascella said, reluctantly removing her arms from Harry's neck, and he frowned momentarily at the rush of cold. "I don't mind, really, I've been to Hogsmeade before with Mum —"

"Ascella," Harry interrupted with a small laugh. "I'll be fine, honestly. You can leave me alone for a few hours. Go have fun."

Ascella still looked reluctant, but moved over to Ron and Hermione regardless. "See you later," she said with a small wave.

"Yeah, see you soon," Harry mumbled. With one last glance to Harry, Ascella turned away to Ron and Hermione, sighing as she watched Harry retreat back to the castle on his lonesome.

"I feel bad," Ascella murmured as they walked to the horse-less carriages that were taking them to Hogsmeade. "We're all having a great time whilst he's at Hogwarts on his own."

Ron swung his arm around Ascella's shoulders, ruffling her hair. "Don't sweat it, Elle, Harry'll be fine. He's a tough one."

"You could be more sympathetic, Ronald," Hermione said with a scowl, and Ron shot her a lazy grin.

"Sympathetic's my middle name," he said, and Ascella furrowed her eyebrows.

"Your middle name's Bilius," she noted, whilst sitting down on one of the seats in the carriages, stray hay scattered all around.

"Yeah, well, no shit, Lyra," Ron scoffed, and Ascella sent him her middle finger. The frosty breeze of the October wind lightly dusted their skin, goosebumps arising and their lips rapidly became chapped. The faint silhouette of Hogwarts was quickly fading behind the immense evergreen forest, Hogsmeade coming into view. As the carriage halted to a stop, Ascella jumped off, Ron and Hermione in tow.

"You said you've been here before?" Hermione asked Ascella, who hummed in agreement.

"Yep," she said, popping the 'p'. "Mum would take me when I was younger — I always wanted to go to Honeydukes."

"Yeah, and I never got to go," Ron grumbled as they walked through the Highstreets of Hogsmeade, the small town looking like a picturesque village, with old-fashioned cottages lining up and down perfectly, and petite shops, the tinkle of a bell being heard every now and then. The village was a flawless description of serene, there was no bustling city life like London; it was calm, tranquil.

"That's cause you were a naughty child," Ascella retorted, grinning delinquently at Ron. "Always taking mine and Ginny's toys — you're lucky I was just as bad as you were or we would not have gotten along."

"Good thing we did then, isn't it?" Ron beamed, and Ascella shook her head in amusement. Hermione, who had never been to a wizarding village before, was extremely overenthusiastic, and Ascella found it somewhat cute. Being dragged around by the bushy-haired witch was rather tiring, but Ascella put a smile on her face regardless.

Whilst waiting for Hermione in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop ( Ron had reluctantly went in with her, after Ascella urging him to go with a sly smile ), Ascella slid a cigarette between her cold lips, lighting it with a muggle lighter that she had pinched from her Mum. Sitting in undisturbed silence for a while, Ascella revelled in the peace, and watched the passerby's make their way through the village, each with their own separate lives and worlds, their own troubles and worries.

Her quietude, however, was shattered when the burning cigarette was plucked from her lips. She turned to the person, a scowl on her face, "Hey! Give that —"

"Alright, Elle?" Caelum Lestrange, Ascella's older cousin, asked, smirking at her. His shaggy, blonde hair was ruffled from the wind, light pink splotches splattered on his defined cheekbones and his silver eyes shone while his long lashes lightly brushed his cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she responded bluntly. "Now will you give me that —" she tried to reach for the cigarette, but Caelum moved it out of her reach.

"Ah, ah, ah," he taunted, shaking his finger. "These aren't good for you, Elle. Also, Sera would kill you if she found out you smoke."

"But you smoke," Ascella retorted, a smug grin on her face. Caelum simply shrugged, careless.

"Yeah, well, I'm allowed," he said, placing the almost-burnt out cigarette between his lips and deeply inhaled.

Ascella internally groaned. "Where's your friend? He'd back me up," she asked.

"In Zonko's with Fred, George and Lee — and, no, he wouldn't" Caelum replied, flicking the cigarette butt away. "What about you? Where's your little gang of lions?"

"Well, Harry couldn't come for obvious reasons, and Ron and Mione are in the Quill shop," she answered, her back leaning against the stiff wooden bench.

"Ron? In a Quill shop?" Caelum said with a small laugh. "Didn't think that would ever happen."

"You really should give him more credit, Ron can be intelligent when he wants to be," Ascella said. "Oh, and because I made him go in with Hermione."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm ninety-nine percent sure he fancies her, he's just in denial about it," Ascella claimed. She was certain that all the arguing Ron and Hermione did, would one day lead to them snogging ( she prayed — she doubted she could live a lifetime of the bickering ).

"Like you and Potter?" Caelum wondered aloud. Ascella's eyes widened, and she stared at him in disbelief.

"What? Me and Harry? No, no way," she said, her voice unusually high, as she glanced around at everything except for Caelum's eyes, which were lit up with smugness.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Elle," Caelum mumbled. At that moment, Ron and Hermione had come bursting out of the shop door, squabbling loudly over something meaningless.

"If you had just got the one I said to get, we wouldn't be having this argu — Oh! Caelum, didn't see you there, mate," Ron said in surprise.

"Ron, Granger," Caelum nodded greeting. Hermione waved to Caelum timidly, whilst Ron smiled warmly at the older boy.

"How was your summer?" Hermione asked,  and Caelum made a face that sort of looked like a grimace.

"It was alright," he replied. "Well — as good as it can be living with the Malfoy's."

"I pity you," Ron murmured, and Hermione lightly hit him on the chest, and he yelped in pain.

"Me too, Ron, me too," Caelum muttered, whilst standing up with a heavy sigh, brushing down his clothes. "I'd better go."

"You're leaving already?" Ascella asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah, Eli's probably gone berserk wondering where I've wandered off to," he said, reaching down to envelop Ascella in a short, tender hug. "I'll see you later, Elle. And don't be getting into any trouble!"

"No promises!" she said with a small laugh as Caelum sauntered away, a frantic Elias Hart visible outside of Zonko's Joke shop.

"C'mon let's go," said Ron, grabbing Ascella by the arm and pulling her up, already walking away. "We'll go to Honeydukes first for Harry, and then let's go to the Three Broomsticks. I'm gasping for a butterbeer."

As Ron stormed off, Ascella whispered to Hermione, "What's wrong with him?"

Hermione groaned, "What's right with him?"

The rest of the day was spent basking in the autumn sun, the auburn leaves piled along the edge of the streets, the faint sound of childish giggles heard over the whistling wind. As they made their way back to the castle eventually, the rays of were sun setting and forming a rosy hue across the azure sky.

When they entered the Gryffindor Common Room, they almost immediately spotted Harry, lazily resting on one of the maroon sofas. His face lit up in joy when he spotted them, and especially when a shower of assorted sweets fell onto his lap.

"We got us much as we could," Ascella said, her cheeks flushed lightly.

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, smiling at her. "Where did you go?"

This set Hermione off on a tangent. She rambled about Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, Zonko's Joke Shop, into the Three Broomsticks for a warm glass of foaming butterbeer, and the many more places.

"The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour-coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there!"

"Honeydukes has got a new kind of fudge; they were giving out free samples, there's a bit, look—"

"We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks —"

"Wish we could have brought you some butterbeer, really warms you up —"

"What about you?" Ascella asked Harry. "Do anything interesting?"

"I saw Lupin," Harry told them. "He made me a cup of tea, and then Snape came in . . ." Harry then begun to tell them about Snape and the mysterious ( and slightly dodgy ) potion he had brought to Lupin.

"Lupin drank it?" Ron gasped incredulously. "Is he mad?"

Hermione checked her watch. "We'd better go down, you know, the feast'll be starting in five minutes." They quickly hurried through the portrait hole, the topic of Snape still amongst them.

"Listen," said Ascella, "I hate Snape as much as you do, but I doubt Snape would try to poison Lupin, especially in front of you."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry mumbled as they reached the grand Great Hall. Large, bright orange pumpkins were decorated all around, a cloud of real-live bats fluttering above their heads, and flaming coral streamers scattered lazily across the stormy clouds. The food, as always, was delicious, and even Ascella, who had practically stuffed herself with sweets from Honeydukes, couldn't deny herself second helpings. There was nothing that could lower her bright mood, or dim the twinkle that shone in her slate eyes. Sitting around the rowdy Gryffindors, Ascella felt nothing but serenity.

The feast finished with the ghosts of Hogwarts, popping out of the tables suddenly; Nearly Headless Nick doing a reenactment of his own botched beheading. The evening had been so enjoyable that not even Harry's good mood could be spoiled by Draco Malfoy yelling obnoxiously, "The Dementors send their love, Potter!"

Reaching the Gryffindor Common Room alongside the others, Ascella found herself frustrated when no one was going in.

"What is going on? Why aren't we going in?" she asked irritably.

She stood up on her tip-toes and faintly saw that the portrait door was shut. Percy Weasley pushed past the jammed crowed, and a second later, they heard his anxious voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick!"

Billowing robes and a silver beard appeared, and the Gryffindor's squeezed to allow Professor Dumbledore move past and to the portait. Ascella, Harry, Hermione and Ron moved more forward to see what the commotion was.

"Oh my god," Ascella gasped breathlessly, gripping onto Harry's wrist. The portrait that had once been home to the Fat Lady, had been viciously torn apart, almost animalistically. Even large chunks of her portrait had fell to the ground by their feet.

"We need to find her," ordered Dumbledore immediately, his voice shockingly steady. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" came a cackling voice. It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking as delighted as ever.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" asked Dumbledore sternly. Peeves' manic grin faltered slightly; he didn't dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead, he opted for an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. "Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. "Poor thing," he added triumphantly.

"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore questioned quietly.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead," grinned Peeves jovially. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and beamed and Dumbledore through his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

Chapter 7: To fall or fly?

FREEZING IN TIME, ASCELLA THOUGHT, WAS A RATHER STRANGE FEELING. Everything outside of her mind was blurred, her swirling hues of grey were brimmed with pearly tears as ferocious glares were pointed her way. She couldn't move on her own, it was as if her feet were permanently stuck to the ground, only moving  when Harry tugged lightly on her ice-cold fingers, removing her feet. Her hair was stark white, and Ascella cursed her abilities, desperately wanting to hide the biggest emotion that surged through her body; fright.

 Ascella snapped out of her trance, the blaring sound of the voices of panic-stricken students fading into her ears, a throbbing migraine forming in her head. She mindlessly followed Harry through the bustling crowds, attempting not to get lost amongst the swarm of pupils. Dumbledore's voice was fuzzy, his instructing tone almost incomprehensible to Ascella.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick slammed the oak doors shut. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."

Dumbledore paused as he was about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing . . ." With a wave of his wand, several soft, purple sleeping bags appeared out of thin air.

"Ella," Harry muttered, his fingers lightly dancing with hers, intertwining together. "Let's go get a sleeping bag, yeah?"

As they went to grab some of the many squashy sleeping bags, a body blocked their path. Sadistic grin, viridescent eyes gleaming malevolently, Ivory Reyes peered down at Ascella as if she were no more than an irritating bug, one that Ivory prayed she could mercilessly stamp on.

"So, come on, Black," Ivory taunted, spitting her name as though it scorched her tongue. "Why don't you enlighten us on how you did it? We're all curious."

Ascella glared at Ivory with just as much ferocity, anger bubbling within her like molten lava, itching to burst out and wreck havoc. "What the fuck are you on about, Reyes?"

Ivory laughed patronisingly, one that was malicious and cold. "Oh, now, now, Black, let's not beat around the bush, just tell us how you let your psychotic uncle into the castle? It's not that hard."

Ascella scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You really think I let him in? You must be a fucking lunatic, Reyes, if you really believe I would let that maniac in."

Ivory narrowed her eyes at Ascella, and then turned to Harry, as if Ascella were invisible. "Honestly, Potter, what do you see in her? She's just a skanky, excuse of a —"

"Give it a rest, will you, Reyes? It's been a long night, we don't need to deal with your whiny voice," Ron's voice interrupted, his usual warm tone gone, replaced with a stony, standoffish one that didn't suit him at all.

Ivory's head snapped towards Ron, who didn't falter when she shot him a venomous glower. Defeated, she mumbled to her two 'friends', "C'mon, let's go."

Ascella, unwillingly, let out a relieved sigh, a sigh that shattered her bones and wracked her chest almost painfully. Ascella was always constantly tortured with befouled thoughts poisoning her mind, every tremor in her hands and quiver of her lips lingered, but refused to let anyone see even a sliver of the jumbled mess that was Ascella Black's brain. In life, you were either the sun or the moon. The golden sun, that shone brightly, everyone basked in the sun, revelling in the warmth that you brought every time your fingertips delicately brushed against their skin. Ascella Black was the moon; only revealing herself in the depths of the night, her eyes an exact replica of the silvery light, the moonlight caressing her ivory skin. People who were the moon were never meant to be shown off like the sun, only disclosing themselves to those who were worthy.

Ascella jumped slightly when Percy bounded over, his breaths ragged. "Sorry, Ascella, didn't mean to make you jump," he apologised, and Ascella brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "Your Mum's here, she wants to see you."

Eyebrows furrowed, Ascella followed Percy out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall, where a frazzled Seraphina Laurent stood, her arms crossed tightly around her chest and a crease in her forehead.

"Mum?" Ascella said aloud, drawing Seraphina's attention to her daughter almost immediately. "What're you doing here?"

"Ascella," Seraphina breathed out with relief, enveloping Ascella in a tight hug, her hands stroking the back of Ascella's hair. On seeing her Mother, Ascella had noticed how pale Seraphina was, and how she appeared to be on the cusp of tears. "Minerva sent me a patronus, I came as soon as I could."

"Why?" Ascella asked, looking up at her Mum, who watched her with a glint of concern.

"I was worried about you!" exclaimed Seraphina. "I thought Sir— Black would have gotten to you or Harry! How is Harry? Is he alright?"

Ascella laughed lightly, "He's fine, Mum. I'm fine. You didn't have to come."

Seraphina quirked an eyebrow, amused, "It's almost as if you don't want to see me?"

"I always want to see you, Mum," Ascella said softly, and Seraphina smiled warmly at Ascella.

"You'll come home for Christmas? It's terribly lonely at home without you," Seraphina wondered, and Ascella nodded in response.

"Yeah, course I will," she confirmed, twisting the ring that rested on her finger. Seraphina's eyes narrowed in suspicion at her daughter's strange behaviour.

"What's the matter, Elle? Talk to me," Seraphina pressed, brushing stray strands of hair out of Ascella's face.

"It's just Reyes," Ascella mumbled, refusing to meet Seraphina's eyes. "She was asking me how I helped Black into the castle."

Seraphina muttered furiously under her breath, before inhaling deeply and composing herself. She tilted Ascella's head up to look at her, wiping away a single tear that had rolled down her pale cheeks. "What have I told you, Ascella? Your surname doesn't define you. You don't have to live up to the Black family legacy, okay? Just be you."

Ascella simply nodded in response, terrified her voice would betray her. She had no idea how Seraphina was always able to say the right things, how she was able to wipe away Ascella's tears of dismay when her own demons were slowly creeping up on her. Each morning, Seraphina would plaster on a faux smile, knowing that hours prior, her mind had tormented her with what ifs. What if Regulus Black had never died? What if Seraphina had never fallen for the boy destined for demise? What if, what if, what if?

"Oh, and Ascella?" Seraphina said, and Ascella peers up at her Mother with red-rimmed eyes. "Happy birthday, mon cheri."

Ascella's bitten lips twitch into what is an undeniable smile, and reluctantly closes her hand over the small present Seraphina had placed there. With a chaste kiss planted on her forehead, Ascella watched as Seraphina walked away, into the obsidian abyss.

Ascella stood for a moment in the dead of the night, the only sound floating in her ears was the secretive whispers coming from the Great Hall, or the scuffling shoes against the stone surface as the staff hurriedly searched for the notorious Sirius Black, each of them with a niggling inkling in their chests that he had already scampered out back into the wilderness.

Opening her palm, Ascella's lips parted and eyes widened in shock at the small necklace her mother had given her. A small, silver, circular locket with the initials S.A.L engraved onto it, and a ruby red diamond sat neatly above it. Flipping open the lid, a small, teary laugh tumbled from Ascella's lips as a picture of her mother and father from Christmas of nineteen seventy-eight, both so young and undeniably happy. The picture flickered, an older, more mature Regulus Black asleep, and young Ascella Black, asleep too, on his chest. Tears burned in Ascella's eyes, and she delicately placed the necklace around her neck, the locket over her heart. Where the memory of her father remained also.

Slipping back quietly into the starlit Great Hall, she tentatively tip-toed her way over to the majestic sleeping bag next to Harry, who was pretending to sleep rather awfully. She laid on her side, facing Harry, who peeled an eye open, only to see a smirking Ascella.

"You're a terrible fake-sleeper," she whispered, and Harry chuckled lowly.

"Really? I thought I was quite good, you know, with all the practicing I do with the Dursleys," he mumbled back, and Ascella shook her head in exasperation and slight mirth. "Are you okay?" He asked her, tentative.

"Okay as I can be, I guess," Ascella murmured back, an attempt at masking the tremors in her voice. "But this is only going to fuel more rumours about me helping Black into the castle. And I really don't have the energy to argue them anymore."

"You don't have to," Harry said, and Ascella turned her head to meet his emerald gaze. "You know the truth, as do the rest of us. Who cares what anyone else thinks? It's not like they'll do anything to you."

"Thanks," she whispered, feeling the effects of the day taking a toll on her and fatigue rushed over her rapidly. Beneath the stars, the two fell asleep, blissfully unaware of the path ahead of them — but, for the time being, they had one another. And that was more than enough.

❦

The days after Sirius Black's untimely break, was, in one word, hectic. Rumours were passed in a flurry of whispers, echoing off the walls in hallways, indiscreet glances being directed at Ascella, who refused to cower in shame.

Ascella Black wasn't her uncle, and she'll be damned if she becomes anything like him.

The Fat Lady's slashed portrait had been replaced with the eccentric Sir Cadogan. It was safe to say none of the Gryffindors were particularly pleased with this. He spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest creating terribly complicated passwords that no one could ever remember.

"He's a complete lunatic!" Seamus exclaimed angrily to Percy. "Can't we get anyone else?"

"None of the other portraits wanted the job," Percy explained dismally. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer."

Sir Cadogan, however, was the least of Ascella and Harry's worries. They had found that they were being closely watched by not only the staff, but Percy Weasley ( Ascella suspected he was acting on his Mother's orders, Percy didn't like Ascella that much ).

Ascella's fourteenth birthday had flown by, she had hardly recalled it until Hermione had practically tackled her with a tight hug, a ramble of happy birthday's floating repetitively in her ear. Ron had forgotten, of course, but it was an annual thing for Ron to be oblivious to everyone's birthdays. And Harry, he had fumbled awkwardly with his gift for Ascella, a blush across his cheeks and a sheepish smile.

"It's a mixtape," he explained, "I saw my cousin have one, and I thought that it might be nice idea, you know? It's fine if you don't like —"

"Harry," Ascella cut in with a small chuckle, gently prying the mixtape from his hands. "I love it. Really. It's a great present."

"It is?" Harry asked, shocked. Ascella scoffed incredulously, because how could she not like something Harry gifted her?

"Harry, you could give me a rock for my birthday and I'd still love it," she said softly, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I should've just done that then," he said with a feeble grin. "It would've saved me a hell of a lot of time."

Sat under a large oak tree, alongside Rosalie and Estelle, Ascella cringed slightly as a waft of toxic cigarette smoke fluttered around the three witches. Her nimble fingers twirled through Estelle's brunette curls, her head in Ascella's lap. Rosalie, however, was attempting to complete her Transfiguration homework for McGonagall — which was due next period.

"What are you guys doing for Christmas?" Estelle asked, her eyes shut in satisfaction as Ascella's fingers raked against her scalp.

"Going home," Rosa answered, her face screwed up in concentration. "My Mum sent me a letter a few weeks back, telling me to come home."

"What have you done now?" Ascella enquired with a small laugh, tossing the burnt out cigarette.

"Nothing!" exclaimed Rosalie. "Well, I did break a window in the shed after I knocked a Quaffle through it. I wonder if they've noticed yet . . ." she added under her breath, and Ascella snorted in glee.

"What about you, Ella?" Estelle pursued, opening her chocolate-coloured eyes and glancing up at the youngest Black.

"I'm going home, too," Ascella replied, a lock of Estelle's honey curls wrapped tightly around her finger. "Mum asked me to come home. McGonagall sent her a patronus the night we all slept in the Great Hall."

"Why?" pondered Rosalie, pausing her incessant scribbling.

"Dunno, she just wanted to check up on me I guess?" Ascella shrugged, and Rosalie nodded before turning back to her homework.

"I saw you and Reyes the other night," Estelle commented, and Ascella scowled whilst Rosa scoffed.

"Merlin, I can't stand Reyes," snarled Rosalie, the dagger digging into the tree bark more harshly. "She's so full of herself and acts like she's God's gift to us."

"Okay," laughed Estelle, watching Roaslie's grip on her quill tighten. "Maybe we should take that before you hurt yourself."

"No, I'm serious!" Rosa yelled, ignoring Ascella's quiet mutter of, 'no, that's my Uncle.' "She think's she's so much more better than everyone else. She's like Malfoy but in girl form."

"Yeah, you're not wrong there," Ascella murmured. Estelle peered up at her, concern swimming in her eyes as it's obvious that Ascella's mind was else where. One of Ascella's most prominent flaws is that she refused to admit she needed help. Ascella loved to be independent, the young witch incapable of opening up about the abundant of emotions bottled up within her. And as much as Estelle wanted to say she understood Ascella, she doesn't. Ascella was a swirling explosion of feelings, and Estelle wasn't sure whether she wanted to dive into them.

"You alright?" Estelle asked quietly, and Ascella smiled down at her.

"Course I am," Ascella replied with a grin, and Estelle smiled weakly, both of them aware that it wasn't the truth.

The day before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw ( although, originally, it was due to be Slytherin ), the rainfall was heavier than ever, alighting a buzz of anxiety amongst the Gryffindor team. Making their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ascella and Harry had been stopped by the enthusiastic Oliver Wood, droning on and on about tactics Harry should use in the upcoming match. Without realising, they had been stood there for over ten minutes.

"See you later, Oli!" Ascella shouted as her and Harry jogged down the the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Reaching it, they swung the door open, chests heaving and breaths ragged as they entered the clasroom.

"Sorry, Professor Lupin, we —" Ascella began to say, but faltered when she looked up to the front desk. Instead of being greeted with the kind, sage eyes of Professor Lupin, they were met with the menacing, inky stare of Professor Snape.

"Ah, Potter and Black," ridiculed Snape. "How kind of you to grant us with your presence. For your lateness, I'd say that's ten points from Gryffindor, each. Now, sit down before I deduct more."

"Where's Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, neither of them moving. Snape glared intensely at them both.

"Nothing to do with you, Potter. But if you must know, Professor Lupin says he is too ill to teach today. I thought I told you both to sit down?" Snape answered with reluctance.

Still, Harry and Ascella didn't move.

"What's the matter with him?" Ascella asked, and Snape narrowed his eyes at her.

"Nothing life-threatening," he replied, looking as though he wished it were. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down once more, it'll be fifty."

Harry slid into a chair next to Hermione, whilst Ascella was still standing, her head tilted in a patronising manner.

"Miss Black," said Snape, anger evident on his face. "Is there something you would like to say?"

"Oh, there is a lot I'd like to say —" she said, but the words had hardly left her mouth before Ron yanked her arm into a chair. Ascella glowered at him, but Ron just shrugged in defeat.

"As I was saying before Potter and Black interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far —"

"Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows," Hermione cut in quickly, "and we're just about to start —"

"Silence," snapped Snape coldly. "I did not ask for any information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation."

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," spoke up Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement amongst the class. Snape looked more intimidating than ever.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you — I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss —"

Ascella watched as he flipped through the book to the very last chapter, knowing full well they hadn't covered it yet.

"— werewolves," finished Snape.

"But, sir," said Hermione, clearly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks —"

"Miss Granger," said Snape, in a tone so deadly it felt as though a icy chill had shivered down everyone's spines, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around at all of them. "All of you! Now!"

Ascella, alongside the majority of the class, muttered incomprehensibly under their breaths, flicking their textbooks to page 394.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" asked Snape. Like usual, Hermione's hand shot up in the air like a bullet, whilst everyone else sat in motionless silence.

"Anyone?" said Snape, blatantly ignoring Hermione's writhing hand. His twisted smile had returned. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between —"

"We told you," cut in Parvati unexpectedly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on —"

"Silence!" exclaimed Professor Snape furiously. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet  a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are . . ."

"Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still stuck in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several ways. The snout of the werewolf —"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

In embarrassment, Hermione lowered her hand, ducked down her face, salty tears burning in her eyes. Fury flowed through Ascella's veins at the sight of Hermione's face flamed with humiliation and her trembling hands. Ron, who called Hermione a know-it-all at least twice a week, shouted loudly, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

Breaths hitched in throats as Snape advanced on Ron slowly, like a large animal stalking its prey. "Detention, Weasley," said Snape silkily, his face extremely close to Ron's, who scowled in disgust. "And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach again, you will be very sorry indeed."

Ascella scoffed, muttering under her breath as Snape began to walk away, "Well, that's not the right way to teach a class, is it?"

"Would you like to repeat that, Miss Black?" called out Snape, startling Ascella slightly as she hadn't quite expected him to hear her. But Ascella wasn't one to turn down a conflict.

"Yeah, actually, I do," responded Ascella dauntlessly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could spot Ron sniggering slightly and Seamus smirking excitedly at the sight of a dispute. "I said, that's not the right way to teach a class, is it?"

It looked as though smoking puffs of steam were sizzling out of Snape's ears from how furious he was. "And are you a professional in teaching, Miss Black?"

"Are you?" Ascella retorted snarkily. Ron snorted into his palm, whilst Hermione sighed exasperatedly.

"If you must know, Miss Black, I have several more years of professionalism than you do," Snape fumed, inching closer and closer to Ascella's desk.

"Doesn't seem that way to me," countered Ascella, her hair glowing a flaming crimson. "Considering you threatened a child and also insulted Hermione, because she knows the answer! I mean, what would the headmaster say?"

"If you care so much about your friend, Black," sneered Snape cruelly, his black eyes shining maliciously, "then you can join him in detention!"

"Gladly," grinned Ascella, leaning back against the wooden chair, her converse-clad feet kicked up on the table. The rest of the lesson was spent in utter silence, unless you counted Ascella's quiet mutters of casting a hex onto Snape, so every time he walked, his robes would catch under his feet and he would embarrassingly trip.

"Very poorly explained . . . That is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia . . . Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it three . . ."

When the bell chimed at last, Snape held them back.

"You will each write an essay, to be handed to me, on the ways you recognise and kill a werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time someone took this class in hand. Weasley, Black, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."

Standing in front of Snape's desk, along with Ron, Ascella idly rocked on the curves of her heels as Snape rummaged through his papers, before looking up at the two Gryffindors, upmost loathing evident on his pointed face. "Black, Weasley, you will clean out the bed pans in the hospital wing, without magic," he ordered, a dark look spreading across his face as a bloom of anger erupted on Ron's cheeks. "And before you leave, never speak back to me in my lesson ever again," said Snape, and Ascella fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You may go now."

Ron stormed out the class immediately, Ascella in tow, both of them spotting Hermione and Harry talking and waiting for them outside the classroom. Ron exploded in ferocity instantly, "D'you know what that —" ( he called Snape something that made Hermione gasp, "Ron!"  ) "— is making me and Ella do? We've got to scrub out the bed pans in the hospital wing, without magic!" He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!"

"A girl can dream, Ronald," sighed Ascella, swinging her arm over his shoulder. "A girl can dream . . ."

❦

It was terribly unlucky for the day of the Quidditch match to be held on such a dismal morning. Nevertheless, Ascella tried to keep her spirits high, her curls mirroring the maroon shade of Gryffindor, small gold flowers daintily painted on her refined cheeks, with the help of Estelle. Ascella sat opposite Harry in the Great Hall, a slice of golden-buttered toast in her hand.

"Eat, Potter," she instructed, placing the toast on his plate, pushing it more forward towards him. "You won't play well if you don't eat something."

"Can't," Harry mumbled, his leg bobbing up and down repeatedly in anxiety. "Too nervous."

"You'll be fine," Ascella reassured, her head resting on her hand. "You're a great Seeker, a little bit of wind and rain won't affect you."

"A little bit — a little bit of wind and rain!" exclaimed Harry suddenly, forest-green eyes wide. "Ella — have you seen it out there? That is not a little bit of wind and rain."

"Merlin, you are so dramatic," Ascella said with a laugh, and Harry shot her an unimpressed look.

"Coming from you?" he asked, and Ascella shrugged in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she murmured, sipping on a glass of icy cold orange juice. Ascella herself couldn't ignore the wriggling feeling of nerves, twisting and turning in her gut like slithering snakes. She brushed it off, however, as usual before-match anxiety.

"Team!" called out Oliver Wood, standing up from the Gryffindor table. "Out to the pitch!"

"See you later," Harry said, jumping up from his seat, downing the glass of water next to him.

"Good luck!" Ascella shouted to his retreating figure, his scarlet robes visible amongst the swarm of students. A few minutes later, Ascella got up herself, joining Ron and Hermione in the entrance hall.

"Loving the hair, Ella," chuckled Ron, tugging on a lock of Ascella's crimson curls.

"Thanks, Ron!" exclaimed Ascella, clearly not noting the sarcasm that tied in his tone. Hermione shook her head in mirth, before linking her arm through Ascella's, Ron trailing behind them. A vermilion ribbon was tied through Hermione's brunette coils, the scarlet shade contrasting with the darkness of her hair. Red and gold stripes were painted onto her tawny cheeks, and she was clad in a soft, knitted Gryffindor jumper.

The dreary weather didn't take away from the thrill of excitement that fluttered amongst all students, Quidditch being the main thing that brought the school together as a whole. Harsh droplets of rain lashed down furiously, belts of thunder rumbling in the grey sky as umbrella's threatened to fly away.

Breaking away from Ron and Hermione once they had reached the Quidditch pitch, Ascella hastily made her way up to the teachers podium.

"Alright, Lee?" she asked with a mischievous grin, eyeing the way the older boy's face contorted into confusion.

"Ascella?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "What're you doing up here?"

"I've come to commentate with you," she answered as though it was obvious. "Duh."

Lee laughed, "And how, pray tell, did you manage to convince McGonagall to allow you to do this?"

"I have my ways," she replied simply, grasping a microphone, inspecting it. "Does this thing even work? Hello?" she spoke into it, jumping in her seat from shock when her voice was magnified ten times its natural sound. "I guess it does, then."

"This'll be interesting," murmured Lee in amusement, before turning back to the pitch, where the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor team had began to congregate.

"Welcome!" greeted Lee enthusiastically. "Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the year! With me today, is the one, the only, Ascella Black!"

"Thank you, Lee, for that wonderful introduction," said Ascella, beaming broadly. "Now, why don't we introduce our team members? On the Gryffindor team, also known as the best team in Hogwarts, we have Wood, Johnson, Bell, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Potter!" A series cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands, whilst a multitude of boos were heard.

"And the Hufflepuff team!" announced Lee, and he then proceeded to name the members. "The captains shook hands, and they're off!"

"Right, so," began Ascella, lazily leaning back against the chair, ignoring McGonagall's exasperated sighs in the background, "Angelina — I mean, Johnson, sorry, trying to be professional here. Johnson is off, already searching for the Quaffle — no surprise there, she's a wicked player."

"You're not wrong there, Ella dear," agreed Lee. "Fred — or is it George? Five years and I still can't tell those two apart. Anyway, one of the two has just hit a Bludger at the Hufflepuff Chaser — ooooh, that's bound to hurt!"

"Nasty bruise that'll leave," said Ascella. "Oh, wait, Lee, look! Alicia Spinnet is in possession of the Quaffle and she's headed towards the posts. She shoots — SHE SCORES! Ten - nil to Gryffindor! Go on, Alicia!"

"You're rather good at this," stated Lee, turning to face Ascella, who looked as though she were having the time of her life.

"I know am," shrugged Ascella with a smirk. "I may not play Quidditch, but growing up with the Weasleys automatically means you know every strategy there is to know about Quidditch."

"Lucky you, then," remarked Lee sarcastically, and Ascella glowered playfully at him. The game pursued on, Ascella and Lee doing a great job at commentating, pulling laughter from the crowd and brightening the ominous weather.

"It looks like Potter has seen the Snitch!" called out Lee, drawing everyone's attention to Harry, who was zooming upwards towards the large clouds that coated the sky. Ascella's heart was thumping rapidly within her sternum at a fast pace, sweat forming on her palms as her eyes followed Harry on his broom.

"Come on, Harry," Ascella muttered hopefully, not leaving Harry's figure, who was quickly flying into the large clouds, and out of sight. "Where's he gone?"

"He'll be fine, Ella," Lee reassured, however, not even Lee himself believed his words. And then, disaster struck them. Falling from the sky, like an angel falling from heaven, Harry's still body was tumbling down faster than ever. Ascella's lips parted in shock and upmost terror as all she could do was stand there, and watch as her tumbled through the murky sky.

Lee, who had spotted the fright that was evident on Ascella's face, the way the microphone slipped from her trembling hands, did the only thing he thought: gently pulling Ascella's body to his, her pressed against his chest at the older boy stroked her hair, mumbling words of comfort in her ears.

"He'll be fine," he consoled, wincing slightly as Harry was placed on a stretcher in front of the crowd, for everyone to see. "He's Harry, he's always fine . . ."

❦

"Lucky the ground was so soft."

"I thought he was dead for sure."

"Don't say that! Godric."

"Sorry, Ascella . . ."

"He didn't even break his glasses, the lucky bastard."

As Harry slowly begun to regain consciousness, he could faintly hear the murmur of muffled voices, he squinted his eyes as a blinding flight flooded them, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?" he asked, slurring his words as if he were drunk. Sitting up right, Harry realised where he was; the hospital wing. And, at once, it all came flooding back at full speed, the Dementors . . . the match . . . the lightning . . . the Grim . . .

"Harry!" gasped Ascella, rushing to his side, the paint on her cheeks from the small flowers mixed together in a flurry of colours, her hair frazzled and her stormy eyes bloodshot. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," dismissed Harry, placing his glasses back on his face to see clearer. "What happened? With the match?"

Harry watched in worry as everyone exchanged nervous looks with one another.

"You fell off," explained Fred. "It must of been — what? — fifty feet?"

"We thought you died," said Alicia, who was shaking. Hermione, who was still very pale, made a small, squeaky noise.

"But the match," pressed on Harry desperately, eager to know what had occurred. "What happened? Is there going to be a rematch?"

No one said anything. The truth hit Harry, settling nastily in his stomach. "We didn't — lose?"

"Diggory got the Snitch," said George in dismay. "Just after you fell. He didn't realise what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square . . . even Wood admits it."

"Still in the showers," said Fred. "Ascella reckons he's trying to drown himself."

"What?" exclaimed Ascella when Harry sent her a questioning glance. "It's a very logical explanation."

Harry tugged angrily at his raven hair, his faced pressed to his knees. Pity adorned Ascella's face as she watched Harry beat himself up over it — even though it was not his fault. Fred grabbed his shoulder, shaking it roughly.

"C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before."

"There had to be one time you didn't get it," said George.

"It's not over yet," said Fred. "We lost by a hundred points."

"Right? So, if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin . . ."

"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points . . ."

As Fred and George discussed the possibilities of Gryffindor winning, Ascella approached Harry, sitting on the end of the bed. Her hand reached out to his, the cold metal of her ringed fingers startling him and causing him to look up.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked quietly, intertwining their fingers, her silver eyes glinted in concern.

"Course I am," Harry replied, a tight-lipped smile on his face as his free hand brushed away a stray, ash white curl that had slipped in front of Ascella's eyes.

With a shaky breath, Ascella turned away from Harry, Madam Pomfrey drawing their attention, asking them all to leave him in peace.

"Dumbledore was really angry," said Hermione in a quaking voice. Both her and Ron had noticed Ascella and Harry's linked hands, both of them refusing to speak of it. "I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as soon as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the Dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away . . . He was furious they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him —"

"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," continued Ron. "And walked up to the school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were . . ."

Ron's voice faded away, and all Ascella could think of was the shiver of terror that had cascaded down her spine, the perspiration on her palms as her she planned for the worst. But she thought of how ironic it was; the boy who lived, killed by Dementors and plummeted off of his broom.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?"

Ron, Hermione and Ascella quickly looked at one another, before glancing away.

"Er —"

"What?" asked Harry, looking between them all.

"Well . . . when you fell off, it got blown away," explained Ascella hesitantly.

"And?"

"And it hit — it hit — oh, Harry — it hit the Whomping Willow."

Harry's insides lurched. The Whomping Willow was known to be a very violent tree that lived on the grounds of Hogwarts.

"And?"

"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It — it doesn't like to be hit."

Hesitantly reaching down for a bag by her feet, Ascella pulled it up and exposed the contents, which held the broken remains of Harry's beloved broomstick.

Devastated as he was, Harry refused to part with the broom, as silly as it may seem, he felt as though he had lost a part of him. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on keeping Harry in the infirmary, despite his relentless protests that he was fine. He had a stream of visitors over the days he was there, including Hagrid, who had sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that resembled yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit.

Harry had only confided in Ascella about the Grim, and the voices he had heard when he fell, he felt that Ron would only panic, and Hermione would scoff and roll her eyes in response. Ascella, Returning to the noise and bustle of the main school was a relief for Harry, where other things occupied his mind and distracting him from the echoes of his mother's final words. Draco Malfoy was beside himself with glee at Gryffindor's loss; he had finally taken his bandages off and celebrated by mimicking Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent so much of his time their next Potions lesson taunting Harry, that Ron had finally cracked and threw a large, slippering crocodile heart at Malfoy, hitting him straight in the face. This caused Snape to deduct fifty points from Gryffindor, but it was worth it seeing the distressed look on Malfoy's face.

"Mione, check if Snape's in there, will you?" Ascella asked as they stood outside Lupin's classroom. "Cause if he is, I'm skiving."

"Count me in," muttered Ron, as Hermione peaked her head round the corner of the door.

"It's okay!" she exclaimed with a broad smile, and Ascella pushed off against the wall she was leaning on.

"Thank Merlin," she mumbled, entering the class and slumping into a vacant seat, Ron joining her. Professor Lupin was finally back at work, and it certainly looked as if he had been ill. Dark bags hung under his tired eyes, his old robes hanging more loosely on his body, but he smiled at the class as they entered nonetheless. As soon as everyone settled in, they all burst into an explosion of complaints over Snape's teaching.

"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?"

"We don't know anything about werewolves —"

"— two rolls of parchment!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" asked Lupin with a deep frown, and the babble broke out again.

"Yes, but he said we were really behind —"

"— he wouldn't listen —"

"— two rolls of parchment!"

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking disappointed. "I've already done it!"

"Did you do it?" Ascella whispered to Ron, nudging him lightly.

"No. Did you?" Ron whispered back.

Ascella snorted, "What d'you think?"

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little, one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, frail and harmless looking.

"Lures travellers into bogs," Professor Lupin told them as they made notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —"

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass of the tank. When the bell eventually rang, the class gathered their things and made their way to the door, Harry amongst them —

"Wait a moment, Harry," called Lupin. "I'd like a word."

"We'll see you after," Ascella said to him as Harry glanced back towards her.

"Wonder what Lupin wants," Ron commented as him, Hermione and Ascella left for the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Probably about the match," replied Hermione, and both Ron and Ascella agreed with her.

"You know," began Ascella, "now that I think of it, Professor Lupin looks rather familiar."

"Familiar how?" asked Hermione, pausing to mutter the word to Sir Cadogan. The three of them entered the warm Common Room, Ron immediately throwing down his bag and laid on the sofa, Ascella next to him.

"I'm not sure," Ascella responded, her legs thrown over Ron's. "I just feel as though I've seen him before. Like in a picture, you know?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Ron suddenly, sitting up fast. "Ella, remember when we was going through those boxes — they were your Mum's, from when she was in Hogwarts? I'm sure I saw a photo of your Mum and these other boys, and one of them looked a lot liked Lupin!"

Ascella thought for a moment, before a look of recognition passed over her face. "Oh, yeah, I know what you're talking about. When I get home I'll try to find it."

"Do you have to go home?" Hermione wondered, a frown playing on her lips. "You can't leave me with these boys!"

"I'm sorry, Mione," Ascella chuckled. "But, yes, Mum wants me to come home. Try not to miss me too much," she remarked sarcastically with a grin.

"Oh, I'll try," Hermione retorted snarkily.

The winter months had passed in rapid speed, Harry informing them of the upcoming anti-Dementor lessons Lupin had promised him, the mood had distinctly brightened. Gryffindor were in the lead to win the Quidditch Cup ( they hadn't won since Ron's older brother, Charlie Weasley, had been Seeker ), however they could not afford to lose another match. Wood had gained his manic behaviour back, as Harry had told them, and worked his team harder than ever in the early, grey hours of the morning or the late, ominous nights that came with winter.

Ascella found herself desperate to return to France, itching to relish in the warm, homely feel the Laurent Manor emitted. Christmas was undeniably Ascella's favourite time of the year, as it was Seraphina's, both witches always going all out each year. Go big or go home, Seraphina would say when Ascella would ask why they needed a six foot Christmas tree in the front room. Ascella never complained and she cherished the moments when her mother was overjoyed with happiness, a true smile on her face rather than the forced ones that Seraphina thought Ascella couldn't see through.

Two weeks before term ended, the occupants of Hogwarts woke to a dazzling sheen of pure white snow spread across the grounds. The spirit inside the castle had risen as well; Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor, had decorated his classroom with live, fluttering fairies. The topic of most conversations was what everyone was doing for Christmas; Ron and Hermione had chose to stay at home, and Ascella had a small inkling that it was Harry's benefit. As well, to everyone's delight ( apart from Harry's ), there would be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of term.

"We can do all of our Christmas shopping there!" exclaimed Hermione excitedly. "Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"

On a frosty Saturday morning, Harry bid goodbye to Ascella, Hermione and Ron, who were all bundled in scarves and jackets to protect them from the cold mist. Like the first Hogsmeade trip, Ascella walked away from Harry, a sense of melancholy surrounding her despite the upbeat mood.

"So, Ascella," said Ron, oblivious to the young witch's dismay, "what're you getting me for Christmas?"

"A new pet," Ascella replied smartly, ignoring Ron's yell of "hey!"

"You leave Scabbers alone, alright?" said Ron, waggling a finger right in front of Ascella's face. "What's he done to you?"

"Exist," Ascella responded, and Ron scoffed, rolling his azure eyes.

"He's a great pet!" yelled Ron, Ascella quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, really?" she asked, and Ron nodded. "If he's so brilliant, what does he do?"

"Well, he, um — he can, uh . . ." Ron stammered, whilst Hermione snickered in the background. "Oh, piss off the lot of you!" Ron stormed away angrily, Hermione and Ascella doubling over in a fit of giggles. The ride there was quick — Ron refusing to speak to Ascella — the outline of Hogwarts fading away and the quaint village of Hogwarts coming into view.

"Where to first?" Hermione wondered, the muggle-born witch still not able to comprehend the beauty of Hogsmeade, especially when it was coated in snow.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Ascella muttered to her, Hermione's chocolate eyes wide in awe.

"Yeah, it is . . ." murmured Hermione absentmindedly.

"C'mon," whined Ron petulantly, his hands shoved in his pockets, "it's freezing and I want some sweets."

"Alright, alright!" exclaimed Ascella, rolling her eyes. "We're coming. And I thought you weren't talking to me?"

"Yeah, I wasn't," Ron said, not meeting her eyes. "But then I realised that I don't know where to go, but you do."

"Admit it, Ronald, you'll always need me," Ascella grinned, her arm wrapped his shoulders.

"Never," teased Ron, and Ascella whacked him over the head, whilst Hermione shook her head in amusement at the two. The walk through Hogsmeade was peaceful, Hermione taking in every prospect of Hogsmeade, Ascella laughing at Ron when he would occasionally slip on ice and lose his balance. Their noses were dusted pink from the icy wind, and their hands were numbed from the many snowballs they'd chucked at each other.

Honeydukes was filled to the brim with students, as well as many different types of sweets and chocolates, each as different as the other. Ascella, Ron and Hermione were stood examining a tray of blood-flavoured lollipops, unaware of the figure lurking behind them.

"Merlin, Ronald, is Harry a vampire? He won't want any of those," scoffed Ascella with a grimace.

"Alright! Just a suggestion," Ron exclaimed with a roll of his eyes. He picked up a jar of Cockroach Clusters, giving them a sniff and then shoving them under Ascella's nose,"How about these?"

"Absolutely not," came an amused voice, startling the three of them, Ron almost dropping the jar to the ground.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" gasped Ascella, her hand pressed to her chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Harry!" squealed Hermione. "What are you doing here? How — how did you —?"

"Wow!" breathed out Ron, looking impressed, "you've learned to Apparate!"

"Course I haven't," said Harry. He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauders Map.

"How comes Fred and George never gave it to me?" asked Ron, outraged. "I'm their brother!"

"But Harry isn't going to keep it!" said Hermione, as though the thought was ludicrous. "He's going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren't you, Harry?"

"What? And along with his Invisibility Cloak?" snorted Ascella.

"No, I'm not!" protested Harry.

"Are you mad?" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "Hand in something that good?"

"If Harry hands it in, he'll have to tell them where he got it from! Filch'll know Fred and George — those wankers — had nicked it!" Ascella explained, enraged at the twins for not telling her of the maps existence.

"But what about Sirius Black?" Hermione hissed. "He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!"

"He can't be getting in through a passage," interjected Harry quickly. "There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three — one of them's caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them's got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can't get out of it. And the one I just came through — well — it's really hard to see the entrance down in the cellar — so unless he knew it was there —"

Harry faltered. What if Black did know the passage was there? Ron, however, cleared his throat significantly, and pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door.

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping before nightfall.

Merry Christmas!

"See?" said Ron quietly. "I'd like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break in, wouldn't they? They live over the shop!"

"Yes, but — but —" Hermione seemed to be struggling to find another break. "Look, Harry still shouldn't be coming into Hogsmeade. He hasn't got a signed form! If anyone finds out, he'll be in so much trouble! And it's not nightfall yet — what if Sirius Black turns up today? Now?"

"C'mon, Hermione, lighten up a bit!" said Ascella with a grin, linking her and Hermione's arms together. "If Harry gets caught — well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Hermione still looked apprehensive, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

"Are you going to report me?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Oh — of course not — but honestly, Harry —"

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?" interrupted Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to the barrel. "And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me and Ascella one of those when we were seven — it burnt a hole right through our tongues. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick." Ron stared broodingly at the Acid Pop box. "Reckon Fred'd take a bite out of a Cockroach Cluster if I told him it was a peanut?"

When Ron, Ascella and Hermione had paid for all their sweets, the three of them left Honeydukes and into the blizzard outside.

"Would you like my scarf?" Ascella asked Harry, having noticed he was without a cloak and shivering tremendously.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, really," Harry protested, waving a hand in dismissal.

"Just take the damn scarf, Potter," Ascella laughed, wrapping the Gryffindor scarf around Harry's neck, tightening it to keep the warmth in.

"Thanks, Ascella," Harry muttered in gratitude, and Ascella smiled softly at him in response, before turning her attention to Ron and Hermione, who were both excitedly pointing things out.

"That's the post office —"

"Zonko's is up there —"

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —"

"I'll tell you what," said Ron, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"

"Wonderful idea, Ronald," said Ascella pushing open the door of the pub and almost instantly engulfed in warm air from the fire, and the sweet, saccharine smell of butterbeer. Behind the bar, a curvy sort of woman with a pretty face and serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, a red blush appearing on his cheeks.

"Ron fancies her," Ascella whispered to Harry as they — and Hermione — made their way to the back of the room, sitting down comfortably on a vacant table. Ron returned five minutes later with four foaming tankards of scalding butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard in the air, butterbeer slopping off the side. The joyful mood, however, fluttered away as fast as it came, the door opening, and walking in Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Hagrid and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Shoving Harry under the table as fast as she could, Ascella tried to remain as stoic as possible, avoiding the direction the teachers and the Minister were sat in. Hermione muttered a spell, causing the Christmas tree that was sat beside them to move a a few feet off the ground, moving right in front of them and blocking them from view. Ascella couldn't see anything, her eyes fixed on the table, however she could still hear every word they were saying.

"A small gillywater —"

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall.

"Four pints of mulled mead —"

"Ta, Rosmerta," thanked Hagrid.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella —"

"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister?"

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us . . ."

"Well, thank you very much, Minister," said Rosmerta, walking away to gather herself a drink. Ascella's fingers repeatedly tap against the table anxiously, the tips of her snow-soaked her fading into a grey shade. She should of known, the amount of times she and Seraphina had visited Hogsmeade around that time of year, that it was the last weekend of term for the Professors too. She internally chastised herself, thinking of how this could have been easily prevented.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" returned Madam Rosmerta's voice.

Ascella had to strain her ears to hear, as Fudge's voice dropped to a low whisper, as if he was telling them a dark, forbidden secret. "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

"I did hear a rumour," admitted Madam Rosmerta.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" asked McGonagall with an exasperated sigh.

"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"I'm sure of it," answered Fudge shortly.

"You know that the Dementors have searched the whole village twice?" said Madam Rosmerta with a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away . . . It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution . . . unfortunate, but there you are . . . I've just met some of them. They're in fury against Dumbledore — he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

"I should think not!" snapped McGonagall furiously. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

"Hear, hear!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, his feet dangling a foot from the ground.

"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse . . . We all know what Black's capable of . . ."

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," commented Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought . . . I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you had too much mead!"

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiousity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," affirmed Fudge.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," muttered Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Ascella heard the thud of Harry's tankard hitting the floor, her stormy eyes widening drastically.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall, her voice unusually tight. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don't think we ever had such a pair of troublemakers —"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money. Even Black's own niece could!"

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers! He was certainly closer with Potter than he was his own brother, Regulus Black," chimed in Professor Flitwick, and Ascella winced slightly.

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left Hogwarts. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Rosmerta.

"Worse than that, m'dear . . ." Fudge dropped his voice to a low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" asked Madam Rosmerta. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"An immensely complicated spell," he explained squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret Keeper refuses to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where James and Lily were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed up against their sitting room window!"

"So Black was the Potters' Secret Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Naturally," confirmed Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than tell where they were, that Black was planning on going into hiding himself . . . and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potter's Secret Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.

"He was sure that someone close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

Ascella's tapping fingers halted, her breaths becoming ragged. Madam Rosmerta's words echoed in her mind like a broken record, her palms sweaty. All she could think of was how much Harry would resent her, how much he would look at her differently. She wanted Rosmerta to take back her words, to go back to a time where Harry was blissfully unaware of how his godfather, his only living, caring, relative, had played a part in the murder of his parents.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it —"

"Filthy, stinkin, turncoat!" said Hagrid so loudly that half the pub went quiet.

"Shh!" hissed Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead . . . an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" pleaded Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him' — Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says.

"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace.Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.

"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore . . ."

A tense silence followed Hagrid story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction. "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him the next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," sneered Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew — another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew . . . that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.

"Hero — worshipped Black and Potter," said McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now . . ." She sounded as if she had a sudden head cold.

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses — Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later — told us how Pettigrew cornered Black.They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens . . ."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy . . . foolish boy . . . he was always hopeless at dueling . . . should have left it to the Ministry . . ."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands — I'd've ripped him limb — from — limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him . . . a heap of bloodstained robes and a few — a few fragments —"

Fudge stopped abruptly. The sound of five noses being blown could be heard.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let a long and heavy sigh. She then turned to McGonagall. "And what of Ascella Black? It was quite the scandal when she appeared."

"Ah, yes," said McGonagall. "No one was aware that Seraphina Laurent and Regulus Black were somewhat of a thing together; let alone have a child together! But, I must admit, I was pleased that Seraphina had someone after Regulus' death — Merlin knows she would need it."

Madam Rosmerta turned to the Minister, "Do you think she's like her uncle? Or her father?"

"Well, Ascella Black is very much like her father, but she also takes after her mother. Who knows who she'll end up like!" said Fudge, sipping on his drink.

"Is it true they say Black's mad?"

"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man — cruel . . . pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them . . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored — asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him — and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his — er — eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing . . . but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again . . ."

There was a small clink on the wood. Someone had set their class down.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall.

Eventually, one by one, they all made their way out of the pub, and back into the blizzard. There was a moment of silence, Ascella refusing to look at any of them, far too ashamed. And then, Harry pushed his out from under the table and barging past people, desperate to leave.

Ascella, Ron and Hermione quickly rushed after him, trying not to knock people over as they followed him through the crowds. They found him in a clearing, where the only thing around was pure white snow and the sound of Harry's furious breaths.

"Harry?" Ascella asked tentatively, approaching him apprehensively.

"Did you know?" Harry asked harshly, his usual warm eyes now sharp with anger.

"Of course I didn't —" Ascella began, but was cut off.

"D'you know what? I shouldn't have even asked. Because you probably did know, you just didn't want to tell me, so you'd look a lot better," he said cruelly, unaware of the affect his words had.

"Harry, I swear to you, I didn't know," Ascella attempted to reassure him. "You've got to believe me."

"Why should I believe you?" Harry questioned. "Should I believe you the same way my father believed Black? Look what happened to him."

"Oh, screw you, Harry!" Ascella finally snapped, her hair a flaming red with her firsts clenched. "What Black did was terrible, I know! But I'm not him! I'm sorry, I truly am, but let's not forget that you aren't the only one without a father! Mine's dead too, you know!"

"At least my father died knowing he was good!" yelled Harry. "Yours died a follower of Voldemort!"

Ascella faltered, a small gasp falling from her cold, chapped lips. The look of hurt and betray was hidden quickly, a scowl forming on her face. "Fool me for thinking you'd ever look at me other than a Black," she snarled viciously. "My father may have been a Death Eater, but I'm not. And if you can't see me as anything else, then maybe these two years, where I have stuck by you through everything, wasn't worth it." With one last glower, her words hanging in the frosty air, Ascella Black stormed away, her heart cracked into a hundred pieces.

Chapter 8: 'Tis the season

FURY. The only emotion Ascella could feel at that moment, it sizzled and crackled through her veins, a flush of vexation evident on her prominent cheek bones. She wanted to leave, to run away as far as she could, away from Harry, Hogwarts; she craved to bask in the warmth that came with the Laurent Manor.

Ascella Black was many things, but she certainly wasn't ignorant. If she had been in Harry's shoes, she would have been furious that her last living relative betrayed her parents to Voldemort, leaving her parentless. But Ascella would never want to blame Harry for something that was entirely out of his hands, and when Harry had used her father's fine, wicked actions on earth against her, he had slowly begun to shatter Ascella's already-broken soul.

Because what Harry Potter and Ascella Black weren't aware of, was how Regulus Black had sacrificed his life the night of November 22nd, how he had willing left the two people he loved most in the universe, attempting to save the fate of the Wizarding World and inevitably taking his own life with him. Regulus Black was a fallen soldier, one that many had come to know as a coward. And Regulus was far from a coward.

And, as much as she loathed to admit it, Ascella Lyra Black was very much like her wretched family. Striking grey eyes, aristocratic features, and curls of raven hair, Ascella was just like every other member that proudly (or, in some cases, unproudly) that held the Black family surname. Bellatrix Black, Narcissa Black, Andromeda Black, Sirius Black, Regulus Black; it didn't matter, each one of them had been poisoned with the curse of Black, venom dripping amongst their crimson blood, tainted with darkness. Before long, it would be Ascella's turn, and the population of the Wizarding World were itching to know the outcome of Ascella.

Ascella was grateful that the Hogwarts Express was departing from Hogsmeade the next morning, as the young Black couldn't bare to look at Harry, to be reminded of what he had said to her in a fit of rage. As Ascella roamed the isolated Hogwarts halls, having returned on her lonesome, she found that she couldn't face the Gryffindor Common Room, so she swiftly turned on her heels and headed the opposite direction.

It was late, the glistening constellations settled themselves comfortably in the inky sky, emitting a glow of faint silver across the grounds of Hogwarts that went on for acres. Mumbling the answer to the riddle, Ascella tentatively stepped into the Ravenclaw Common Room, her vision instantly turning cobalt. Rickety bookcases held various books with tea-stained pages, old stories written within them, desperate to be read. A few students lingered, some finishing off work, whilst others quietly read or chatted amongst one another, a small fire, charmed a sharp blue shade, blazed brightly.

Ascella headed up the stairs to the girls dormitories, knocking lightly once she reached the door for the third-year girls room. The door swung open, a flustered Estelle Sinclair revealed on the other side, her warm eyes wide with shock. Her brunette ringlets were tied into a bun at the nape of her neck, a few curls framing her sculptured face. A Ravenclaw jumper hung loosely from her frame, a small pair of baby-pink shorts just noticeable beneath her knitted jumper, fluffy socks resting on her feet.

"Ascella?" Estelle asked, her velvet voice quiet in attempt to not wake the other girls in the room. "What're you doing here?"

Ascella sheepishly glanced down, fiddling with her fingers, picking at the pastel purple nail polish Hermione had applied the week before. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Estelle's hazel eyes softened, and she opened the door wider, stepping out of the way slightly, "Course you can."

Merely ten minutes later, Ascella laid next to Estelle, her pale blue, unruly curls tickling Estelle's chin. Estelle had kindly given Ascella clothes to change into, another jumper with an eagle emblem stitched onto it that instantly warmed Ascella's ice cold body. Ascella winced when she caught her appearance in the mirror, she looked ( in simpler terms ) dead. Blue lips, blood-shot eyes that held no emotion — just vast emptiness — and her skin almost as white as the snow that coated the grounds. She thought how much she must of terrified Estelle when she appeared outside of the dormitories, looking as ghastly as she had.

"What happened, Ella?" Estelle queried into the darkness, her fingers tangled in Ascella's hair, the way Ascella's had been in her hair not too long ago. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

Ascella sighed, and turned slightly, her tired eyes meeting Estelle's, "It's just Harry. He said some . . . not very nice things."

"Like what?" pressed Estelle, not wanting to come across insensitive, but she couldn't but be curious. Harry Potter and Ascella Black were two peas in a pod, one hardly seen without the other. It was unusual, for the both of them not to be on speaking terms with each other, and it intrigued Estelle as to why that was.

Ascella proceeded to tell Estelle of the disastrous afternoon, trusting the Ravenclaw witch to not spill to anyone about the existence of the Marauders Map. Reliving the situation, Ascella thought, felt like a heavy weight was being pressed onto her chest, restricting her breathing and crushing her lungs. She loathed the thought of retelling the harsh and cruel interaction her and Harry had, but she wanted — no, needed to tell someone what had occurred.

"That's horrible," Estelle sympathised with a small gasp, her dainty fingers rubbing small circles into Ascella's shoulders. "But, you know, Harry's just angry, Elle, he doesn't really mean it. I see the way he looks at you, like your the only thing that matters to him. He'll get over his anger — he probably already has, if I'm honest  — and you'll go back to being the best of friends."

Ascella felt her cheeks heat up with a blush, thankful for the darkness that engulfed the two young witches. "Loving the enthusiasm, Stell," she chuckled, and Estelle shrugged.

"I'm attempting the whole 'glass half-full' type of lifestyle now," she said with a small, mischievous smile.

"Maybe I should try that too," Ascella muttered, her eyes facing the small stars that shone from the window outside of them, contemplating the life she faced in days — or years — to come.

 

❦

Steam from the train flowed through Ascella's hair as she stepped off the train at Kings Cross Station, her eyes eagerly searching the platform for her mother. She had bid goodbye to Hermione and Ron the morning she was due to leave, avoiding Harry completely ( not that he was looking for her ). For the duration of the nine hours, Ascella sat with Rosalie, who was dreading going home and facing the wrath of her mother — whatever she had done, Ascella didn't quite want to ask.

"Ascella!" a voice called out her name, and Ascella whirled around to where the direction of voice. Her face lit up with joy when she spotted her mother, a small smile painted across her lips. Grabbing her trunk, Ascella bounded towards Seraphina, her arms wrapping around her neck in a tight hug, exhaling a breath of solace.

"I missed you, Mum," Ascella mumbled into Seraphina's golden locks, the nostalgic jasmine scent wafting from her curls, and Seraphina chuckled lightly.

"I missed you too, mon cherie," said Seraphina, pulling back from the hug and cupping Ascella's face with her gentle hands. "Now, let's get home, shall we?"

The Laurent Manor never failed to bring a beam of bliss to Ascella's face, just the sight of the home managing to brighten Ascella's eyes in joy and relief. Everything inside the Manor reflected the two people who resided there, not the pristine marble walls and glistening interior that the Laurent Manor used to appear as many centuries ago. Jackets were messily thrown over old armchairs, sweetly scented candles scattered around the house, burning fervently, and pictures of Seraphina when she was younger, and Ascella as a baby placed on walls and mantelpieces, giving the Manor a more welcoming feel to it.

Sighing in fatigue, Ascella collapsed onto one of the many velvet sofas in the front room, her eyes shut, her head leaned back against head of the sofa. Seraphina shook her head in mirth, idly trailing after her daughter, placing her trunk ( that was rather empty, Ascella didn't see the point in bringing much home ) at the foot of the door.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked, and Ascella peeled an eye open, stormy silver facing Seraphina.

"No, I'm good, thank you, though," Ascella dismissed, and Seraphina frowned momentarily, before brushing it away quickly.

"Well," Seraphina began, placing herself next Ascella on the sofa, "on Christmas, we're going to the Burrow, as usual, I know Ron won't be there, but Charlie and Bill are coming home."

"They are?" Ascella perked up, sitting up sharply. Bill and Charlie, just like the rest of the Weasleys, were older brothers that Ascella looked up to, brothers she never had.

Seraphina nodded, and a small smile graced Ascella's features. It was silent for a moment, before Ascella looked up again.

"What about uncle Pierre?" she asked. Seraphina faltered, it had been a while since she had spoken with her elder brother, Pierre Laurent never being the type of brother to reach out first. He may be a busy man, but Pierre hardly made any effort to visit his niece, but it wasn't like Seraphina was too eager to speak with her brother either.

"I'm sorry, Elle," apologised Seraphina, a guilty expression portrayed on her face as Ascella's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I haven't spoken with Pierre for a while . . . though, seeing as it's Christmas, I'll send him a letter."

"Thanks, Mum," Ascella said in gratitude. "I miss him."

"Yeah, I miss him too," Seraphina murmured, her head lowered slightly in regret, wishing she had made more of an effort with her brother. She shook her head, inhaling deeply and glancing back up to her daughter with a joyful look.

"Shall we make cookies?"

❦

Flour, egg yolk, sugar, you name it, it covered the marble counter tops as Ascella and Seraphina placed the pan into the oven, both impatient as ever and dreading having to wait the twenty minutes or so until they were ready. Soft flour was dusted across Ascella's freckle-splattered nose, cookie dough stuck to her pale skin and some even under her fingernails.

Ascella giggled loudly as Seraphina had a smearing of flour over her cheek and melted chocolate across her rose-tinted lips, and she let out a breath of relaxation. It was never simple when it came to the mother-daughter duo, the dramatics in their genes made it much harder to make things easier.

"We'd better clean this all up. I can just imagine my parent's faces if they were to see all this mess," Seraphina commented, lips turned up in a small smile.

Ascella's lips quirked up, leaning on her palms as she watched Seraphina waved her wand and magically made the mess of ingredients fade away. "Want some help?" Ascella asked, Seraphina shaking her head in dismissal.

"No, it's okay — Ascella! Your hand!" Seraphina's frightened yell startled Ascella, causing her to yank her hand up from whatever the source of the problem was.

"What? What is it?" Ascella asked, examining her hand that was blemish free, confusion etched onto her face as she glanced up at Seraphina's wide alarmed, eyes.

"You had it in the fire! Did you not feel it?" Seraphina informed her, grabbing Ascella's hand and eyeing it in scepticism. Ascella peered over to the blazing stove, amber fire blossoming from it.

"No, I didn't . . ." she murmured, bewildered. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her hand, that looked exactly the same as it did moments previous, no burn marks or red hues appearing.

"Are you okay, Elle?" Seraphina asked, noticing Ascella's bemused manner, her eyes glinting in concern.

"Yeah, course I am!" Ascella attempted to reassure Seraphina, who saw straight through her facade. "Maybe I didn't have it in the fire? Maybe my hand was just next to it."

Ascella was convinced that she didn't have her hand on the scorching fire, because it simply couldn't be possible. She couldn't have had her hand there, because she would have some sort of burn mark, or at least her skin would begin to flame up slightly. Yet, it hadn't? Seraphina, on the other hand, wasn't as persuaded. She had saw, with her own two eyes, Ascella's hand placed in the fire, engulfing it completely. It wasn't next to it, it was in it. A sense of reminiscence flowed through the Laurent, a bitter memory she had wished to forget rushing back towards her.

"I'm going upstairs, if that's alright?" Ascella asked Seraphina, who was perplexed at her sudden shift in mood. Seraphina blinked a few times, before nodding.

"Yes, of course it is. I'll bring you something up to eat later," she said, and Ascella smiled gratefully, before dashing away quickly. Skipping steps as she headed up the spiral staircases, her chest heaving somewhat. She kept going, completely missing the floor that held her bedroom, and made her way to the loft. Quietly opening the door in order for it not to creak, she slipped inside, clicking the light bulb on.

Boxes upon boxes were stacked inside the crammed loft, spilling out with old relics and memories of Seraphina's childhood and teenage years. Old, silk dresses that Seraphina would be dolled up in as a teen, photos that held wistful reminders of the times spent as a child, and secrets that Seraphina was eager to keep locked away.

Shuffling her way past the cardboard boxes, Ascelle approached the back of the loft, were she began to search through them for something special. She had made the decision for Christmas to give her mother a framed photo of her two friends from many years back. Ascella thought it would be a nice thing to give Seraphina, a reminder of her friends that she had so tragically lost.

Reaching her hand down deep into the box, Ascella recovered an envelope of various photos. She flicked through them, smiling at the sight of her mother so young and carefree, untarnished from the weight of the war that plagued them so terribly so.

Ascella's eyebrows furrowed together when she reached the back of the envelope, picking out the final photo. She stared at it, stunned at the contents of the old, wrinkled photograph. Seventeen-year-old Seraphina Laurent was facing the camera with the features of someone Ascella would have seen in those Muggle magazines that Lavender and Parvati had, her blonde hair cascaded over her chest with glass of, what looked like, firewhiskey being held in her hand. A boy with shaggy, raven hair and warm hazel eyes that were hidden behind his rectangle-framed glasses, muttered something to Seraphina, who erupted into a fit of giggles. Another boy, with wavy, raven hair that flowed to just above his shoulders, and stormy silver irises, that were an exact replica of Ascella's, reached over to shove the other boy and held a grin of mischief on his lips. Next to him, a boy with a scarred face and honey curls shook his head in amusement and slight exasperation, whilst the other boy wasn't even facing the direction of the camera. Ascella flipped the photo over, reading the words on the back.

James, Sirius, Remus, Peter & Seraphina: Slughorn's Christmas party, 1977.

"Holy shit," breathed Ascella, astonished at the contents of the old photograph. It was no wonder it had been hidden in the back of the loft, Seraphina had clearly been desperate to disclose the contents of it.

Ascella folded up the photo, stuffed it in her pocket and grabbed another photograph from the envelope, one of Seraphina with her two best friends. She manoeuvred through the boxes, wincing when she accidentally knocked into one with her hip and caused it to fall and clatter to the ground with a loud thud.

"Ascella!" Seraphina's worried yell reached her from the front room, "is everything okay?"

"Er — Yes! Everything's fine! I just — um — knocked over a book!" Ascella called back, frozen in the spot she was in.

"Oh, okay, then!" Seraphina shouted, before it went silent. Ascella released a breath of relief, and rapidly made her way to the door, turning off the light, and closing the door tentatively. She headed back down the stairs, walking in the direction of her bedroom. The Laurent manor was anything but small, with many towering stories and Ascella's bedroom was located on the third floor. Pale blue sheets were lazily thrown across her king-sized bed, curtains that matched the same shade of the bed sheets, and a huge door that lead to a terrace, the outline of the coast of France breathtaking, especially as the sun set in a whirlwind of yellows, oranges and reds. It used to be Seraphina's room, but Ascella had taken it as she gotten older, and she loved it. Plants ( that were charmed to stay alive, Ascella could hardly look after herself, how on earth could she keep a plant alive? ) rested on mantelpieces, tall-paned windows that allowed the sun to flutter through in the early hours of the morning, and books that had once belonged to Seraphina rested in wooden bookcases comfortably.

The Laurent house elf, Binky, who had been in the Laurent family for generations, had brought up Ascella's trunk, alongside her leather jacket, that was adorned with pins and badges. Ascella opened up her trunk, rummaging through it, before finding the small opening at the bottom, where she shoved the photo of her mother and the four other boys into it, grabbing her wand and sealing it tightly. She rubbed her face tiredly, before closing her trunk fully (that she had covered with stickers and drawings, some her and Ron had done ) and fell onto her warm bed.

The sound of apparition startled Ascella, pulling her from the state of sleep she was beginning to drift into. A small, ditsy house elf stood in front of Ascella, wringing her hands around the pillowcase that covered her. Seraphina had once attempted to give Binky clothes, but Binky had seen it as a sign of dismissal, and begun to panic, bursting into a state of tears and punishing herself, thinking she had done something wrong. Seraphina was quick to reassure Binky that she had done nothing wrong, but she just wanted her to feel more pleasant at the manor. Binky was stubborn, though, and refused to wear any clothes apart from the pillowcase.

"Miss Black is has returned!" exclaimed Binky excitedly, flinging her bony arms around Ascella's waist, who had stood up to greet Binky. "Binky has missed Miss Black very, very much!"

Ascella giggled quietly, rubbing Binky on the back. "Hi, Binky. How are you?"

"Binky is very well, Miss Black!" she said happily. "It has been very quiet since you have been gone, Binky finds herself cleaning the same things over and over again!"

"You know, you can call me Ascella, if you'd like," Ascella offered, sitting on the edge of the bed, Binky next to her.

"Oh, no, no," Binky shook her head, looking outraged. "Binky must not call Miss Black by her first name, it's not right. Binky must always call you Miss Black."

"As long as you're sure? I don't mind," said Ascella.

"Yes, I'm sure, Miss Black!" she insisted, and Ascella chuckled lightly, watching in mirth as Binky jumped down from the bed. "How is you, Miss Black?"

Ascella sighed, her eyes meeting Binky's large emerald-green ones, flashing her a small smile. Ascella wasn't fine, she knew that, but was she willing to pour her heart out to someone, even if it was her family house elf? Of course not, because Ascella, being Ascella, had a tendency to hide away her emotions inside her mind, the key to unlock them unknown.

"I'm fine, Binky," she replied, a tight-lipped smile on her features. "Thank you for asking."

"Miss Black doesn't look fine," Binky commented, frowning at Ascella, who faltered slightly at her comment. Binky was right — Ascella's appearance had changed since the summertime; her sparkling, silver eyes had dulled, her skin was pale, pale to the point where she looked ill, and her cheekbones were much more defined than they already were.

"I appreciate your concern, Binky, but really, I'm fine," Ascella persisted, ignoring the churning feeling that was swirling in her stomach.

"If you say so!" cried Binky, jumping down from the bed. "Binky must go and help Mistress Laurent for dinner now!"

"Binky, I'm sure mum is okay on her own —"

"Miss. Black must not be late for dinner or else Binky will be very, very sad!" said Binky, before apparating away. Ignoring the evident manipulation from a house-elf, sleep overcame Ascella the moment her head touched the pillow.

❦

The winter days leading up to Christmas day itself were spent relaxing beneath warm, fuzzy blankets with scorching cups of hot chocolate and spending as much time together as they could before Ascella was due to return to Hogwarts.

On Christmas morning, Ascella and Seraphina sat before the Christmas tree, opening presents. Seraphina, pretending she hadn't, shed a few tears when she had opened one of her gifts from Ascella. A photo of Nico Fitzgerald and Serenity Avalon on Christmas 1975, eighteen years ago to the day. They were all smiling, so undeniably happy, that Ascella's lips couldn't help but turn up into a small smile.

"Thank you, Elle," Seraphina thanked in appreciation, sniffling slightly. "I . . . it's lovely. Really. Now, let me give you yours!"

Taking the box from Seraphina's hands, she tore off the wrapping paper, her pink lips parted in shock. A record player, the one that Ascella had mentioned to Seraphina in passing months prior, rested in her hands in all its glory.

"How did you remember?" Ascella asked, in awe of how her mother picked up on tiny details Ascella tells her.

"I notice these things, you know," Seraphina responded with a sly smile, and Ascella wrapped her slender arms around Seraphina's neck, muttering her thanks repeatedly.

"We'd better get ready to get to the Burrow," Seraphina said, pulling Ascella up from the floor by her hands, "Molly wants us there by twelve!" Ascella made her to her room, jumping in the shower immediately, rinsing her hair and body thoroughly. Applying a bit of a makeup, Ascella dressed into a casual, warm clothes to protect her from the icy breeze outside. Clad in a red and gold, knitted jumper, a black skirt that fell to her mid thighs, opaque tights and her new, black converse, the ones Seraphina had gotten her, the laces tied into dainty bows. The silver locket that Seraphina had gifted her rested on her chest, having not left her neck since she had clasped it together.

Jumping the last two steps, Ascella spotted her mother, patiently waiting for her, dressed in a soft dress, patterns of mistletoe stitched into it. Seraphina smiled up at Ascella, her blonde curls resting on her chest.

"Don't you look lovely," Seraphina complimented, her finger tracing the chain of the metal locket, a reminiscent gleam in her eyes. Noticing her wistful look, Ascella hesitantly asked:

"Mum, why did you give me this? I mean, I love it, of course I do, but . . . dad gave you this. Don't you want it anymore?"

Seraphina sighed deeply, before glancing at Ascella, "Of course I want it, but you should have it now. I've had it for over ten years now, it's high time someone else wears it. And I'm pretty sure Regulus would have wanted you to wear it eventually."

"Well, I love it. It's beautiful. Dad had good taste," Ascella smiled, making her way to the fireplace.

Seraphina chuckled, although thick emotion was evident in her tone, "Yes. He did. The very best."

Ascella grabbed a handful of the soft as silk powder, stepped into the grate and broadly called out the home of the Weasleys. Floo travel may not have been the best way to travel but it was one of the easiest. With her arms tucked neatly beside her body, eyes squeezed shut tightly, Ascella eventually stumbled out of the Burrow's fireplace, releasing a breath of fresh air, and clearing her throat of any soot. Large hands reached out and steadied her, and Ascella brushed away any stray, purple curls from her eyesight.

"Careful there, Elle," teased a grinning Charlie Weasley, his eyes shining playfully. Ascella, once recovered from her flustered state, beamed brightly, wrapping her arms around Charlie's broad shoulders.

"Charles!" she squealed excitedly, Charlie's low rumble of a laughter vibrating her body. He looked the same as he did since Ascella had last seen him; the same auburn curls that flopped over his forehead, burns and scars scattered across his arms from the dragons he worked with in Romania and the familiar, crooked smile that Ascella knew and loved.

"Ascella!" yelled Charlie with just as much enthusiasm, jesting playfully. She glowered at him, punching his shoulder, her eyes scanning the front room of the Burrow. The Burrow was never a silent home, there was always the sound of Fred and George's obnoxious laughter, Ron's petulant whining, or Molly's loud chastising to the twins, usually.

"When did you get here?" Ascella asked, sitting on one of the few sofas. Charlie sat next to her, his legs spread out in front of him.

"A few days back," responded Charlie. "Mum was desperate for me to come home —"

Charlie was cut off by the whooshing of the fireplace and Seraphina stepped out gracefully, brushing down her dress.

"Charlie!" exclaimed Seraphina, wrapping him in a warm hug as Charlie stood up to greet her. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Sera, you?" Charlie replied, and Seraphina smiled comfortingly.

"I'm wonderful, thank you," she said. Charlie was seven when he first met Seraphina Laurent and the young boy in awe of the witch — how she was so young yet so mature, how she was hardly nineteen and with a baby. He admired her, and thought of her as a older sister/aunt, and Ascella Black as a younger sister, like Ginny came to be when she was born, two years after Ascella. When he had first seen Seraphina's daughter, she was tiny thing, with glowing purple hair and stormy eyes, and him and Bill — who were the eldest of the Weasley siblings — promised to look after the little girl who was an identical replica of her father, to not let anyone tear her down.

"Where's your mother?" Seraphina asked, peering around the corner of the front room.

"In the kitchen," answered Charlie. "And — fair warning — she's on a warpath. Fred and George have been pestering her for so long that she finally snapped."

"Ah," nodded Seraphina. "I'd better go and help, shouldn't I?" She planted a chaste kiss on Ascella's forehead, patted Charlie's shoulder warmly, before leaving the room to look for a furious and exasperated Molly Weasley.

"Bill's here," stated Charlie, sitting back down on the sofa. "Karina's with him."

"Rina came too?" asked Ascella. "I haven't seen her in ages."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one," Charlie remarked, ever-so bitter that his older brother stole his best friend from him.

"Don't pout, Charlie — you'll get frown lines."

A smirking Karina Elliots walked in, her hand interlocked with Bill Weasley's, who always looked like he'd won the lottery with his girlfriend. Karina's brunette, tight ringlets rested on her shoulders and her lips were painted a crimson red shade with various, dangling earrings adorning her ears. Her dark, tanned skin contrasted with the matching, scarlet-coloured dress that accentuated her curves, and her olive-green eyes shone broadly.

"He already does," Ascella quipped and Charlie whacked the back of her head in retaliation.

"Hiya, Elle," greeted Karina, wrapping Ascella in a tender hug, smiling into her curls.

"Hey, Rina," said Ascella. "How you been?"

"I've been good," replied Karina, and Ascella was certain she'd always be struck by Karina's beauty. Hand-crafted by Aprhodite, Ascella was certain.

"How's Clara?" Ascella queried eagerly, thinking of her beloved dragon that resided in Romania. When Ascella was seven, her, Seraphina, and the whole Weasley clan had left for Romania for a week, to visit Charlie. Despite working in Egypt alongside Bill, Karina often ventured to Romania from time to time, working with some magical creature there, seeing as she adored mystical animals. Whilst they were there, one of the elder dragons had given birth to baby dragons, and Charlie had let Ascella and Ron have their own dragon. Ron had named his Giggles ( Ascella never let go of it, continuously teasing him for it ) and Ascella had called her dragon Clara. She had deep, emerald green scales, wings that reached the length of of thirty feet and horns forming from the crown of her head.

Karina let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Great! I think she misses you, though."

"Yeah, I miss her too," there was a pause of silence, the only sound that could be heard was Bill and Charlie's squabbling. Ascella looked up, "How long are you staying for?"

"Just for a few days," replied Karina. "Me and Bill've got to get back to Egypt. Work never stops. How's school?"

Ascella groaned, "It's the holidays! I don't want to talk about school."

Karina chuckled. "Right, well. Go and enjoy your break then. I should go and be a wonderful guest and help Mrs. Weasley and your mum in the kitchen. Be prepared for my amazing cooking skills."

"More like terrible," Bill jested, and Karina rolled her eyes.

"I can hardly wait," Ascella answered sarcastically, and with a sly wink, Karina sauntered out of the front room.

"I'm off to see the twins and Ginny," she told Bill and Charlie, who both glanced down at her. "Lovely to see you, William, as always."

Walking up the creaking steps of the Burrow, Ascella made her way to Fred and George's room, eyeing the jumpers that were thrown across banisters and prank supplies that the twins had lazily left out.

Deciding to sneak up on Fred and George, she secretly slid into their room, their door surprisingly wide open. They were both hunched over a mysterious sheet of paper, muttering to each other quietly.

Approaching their humped figures, she grabbed the back of their necks, yelling loudly, "Boo!"

Both Fred and George let out shrieking screams, jumping at least three feet into the air. They whirled around, gasping for breath.

"Ascella!" hissed George, his cheeks flamed pink. Ascella was doubled over in a fit of laughter at the sight of shock on both Fred and George's faces.

"You scared me half to death!" cried Fred, his hand placed over his heart.

"I'm sorry," apologised Ascella, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to mask her uncontrollable giggles. "But I couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, well, don't do it again," grumbled George, turning back to the secret sheet of parchment, intrigued.

"What're you two up to?" she asked, peering over their shoulders, and Fred made an attempt to shield it.

"Piss off, Ascella!" Fred yelled, and a look of offence crossed across Ascella's face.

"That's rather rude, Fredrick," she feigned indignation. "I thought we were friends!"

Fred and George exchanged a glance, before sighing simultaneously. "Alright, fine," said George. "Mum said me and Fred can't order anything from Zonko's so we're doing it secretly."

Ascella laughed, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "And you thought you couldn't tell me that? I wouldn't tell your mum."

"Yeah, course we know that," said George. "But, we were wondering if we could send it to your house? Mum'll go mad at us if she finds out."

Ascella thought for a moment, a look of thought evident on her face. She then answered, smirking, "Only if you get me some dungbombs."

"Deal," synchronised Fred and George almost instantly, and Ascella grinned brightly.

"Brilliant!" she exclaimed, jumping off the edge of the desk, where she was sat. "Now, tell me where Miss Ginerva is. I haven't had spoken to her in awhile."

"In her room," Fred told her, turning back around.

"Alrighty then," she said. "See you boys later." Shutting the door behind her, she skipped up the steps to Ginny's room, flinging the door open and spotting the red locks of Ginny Weasley, sat comfortably on her soft duvet, reading Witch Weekly.

"Ginerva, my love!" exclaimed Ascella, startling Ginny at first, but then grinned in amusement after. "Oh, how I have missed you!"

"Ascella, my dear," said Ginny with just as much ardour. "Nothing can compare to how my heart has yearned for you."

Ascella laughed loudly, laying down dramatically on Ginny's bed, who tried to shove her off in a playful manner. Ascella gasped, snatching the magazine from Ginny's grasp.

"Merlin, you read this shit?" she asked incredulously, flicking through the pages with a scoff.

"What? It can be interesting. You don't?" defended Ginny, pushing her long mane of auburn hair over her shoulder.

"I used to," responded Ascella, her head propped up on her hand, the metal rings digging in, almost painfully, to the side of her head, "but mum told me to stop when they wrote that she was moving to America to get married to some famous bachelor of some sorts. Side note, there was no famous bachelor. And, anyway, mum would never get married. At least not to the man she wanted to . . ."

Ginny laughed, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the article, but missing the underlying sadness in Ascella's tone. She had always wondered why Seraphina had never met another person, Ascella certainly wouldn't have been bothered, her mother's happiness came first for her. It wasn't until Seraphina told her that she couldn't date anyone else, because, despite him being dead, Seraphina's loyalties always laid with Regulus. She would never betray him like that, in spite of knowing that Regulus would want her to be happy.

"Anyway" said Ascella, pushing away the sadness and grinning broadly at Ginny. "How've you been?"

Ginny's smile faded away, her fingers fumbling together in nervousness. Ascella frowned at Ginny's strange behaviour, distress settling in her bones.

"Gin?" she said softly, quietly. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, yes, I think? I just — I need to speak to someone about something," she began sheepishly, stumbling over her words ( which was extremely unlike Ginny, who was usually very confident ).

"You can always speak to me, you know that, right?" Ascella reassured, her cold fingers brushing over Ginny's knuckles, in a way intended to soothe the girl. Ginny nodded, and Ascella smiled encouragingly.

"I know I'm only young for thinking things like this, but I think I've known for awhile now, if I'm honest," she took a deep breath, composing herself. "I think I — um — like girls?"

"Ginny," Ascella laughed lightly, embracing the younger girl in a tight hug. "You don't have to worry about telling me things like that. I'm into girls too! As well as boys, but still. You can always speak to me."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin that's off my chest. I knew you would understand, though. I was just working myself up about nothing."

"Does anyone else know?" Ascella asked, looking up into Ginny's coffee-coloured eyes. Ginny shook her head.

"No, no one else," she said. "I mean, it's not that I'm scared, or anything to tell them. It's just, I don't think I'm ready yet."

"And that's fine," Ascella nodded in understanding. A teasing look appeared on her face, and she lightly poked Ginny in the cheek. "So . . . who d'you fancy? C'monnnnn, tell me."

A red hue appeared on Ginny's normally pale cheeks. "No one! Merlin, Ascella."

"You sure about that? I can see that blush," laughed Ascella, and Ginny swatted away her hands with a small, embarrassed smile on her face.

"Alright, alright!" she gave in. "She's in your year and she's very pretty and rather sarcastic."

Ascella's eyes rose in curiosity, yet she didn't pry, knowing Ginny needed to keep her secrets. "Okay . . . I'm extremely eager to know who this mystery girl is. But, I won't probe. However, I will looking out for a very pretty and sarcastic girl in my year."

"Good luck trying to find her," said Ginny, getting up as Molly Weasley called for them both to head downstairs. "Come on, let's go before mum loses it. Again."

Dinner, as always, was a joyful affair. Molly and Arthur, who saw Ascella as one of their own, greeted her with an affectionate hug, planted a Weasley jumper in her hands, a knitted A in a soft, midnight blue shade. Laughter could be heard from each end of the table, jokes being shared, drinks being sloppily spilt and delicious food gone in minutes. Ascella's cheeks were aching from wearing her biggest smile, and she couldn't help but think how much brighter her grin would be if she had Ron in front of her, Hermione next to him and Harry sat beside her, their fingers discreetly interlocked together in solace.

After goodbyes had been exchanged and hugs had ensued, using the floo network, Seraphina and Ascella retired home, fatigue evident in their movements. Placing a kiss on Ascella's forehead, Seraphina tiredly headed to bed, and Ascella watched as her mother walked up the spiral staircase and eventually out of sight.

Rather than going to her room, Ascella went to the kitchen and sat upon one of the chairs, summoning a quill, parchment and ink, and leaning over it. She wasn't sure on what to say, so instead she chose to let her hand just write, rather than overthinking.

Dear Harry,

I'm not entirely sure on what to say, but it is Christmas, so I thought I'd write you a letter. I hope you're having a nice time at school! Christmas is always fun there, isn't it? I had a great night too, Bill and Charlie came back, along with Karina, Bill's girlfriend. You've never met Karina, have you? She's really cool, and very pretty as well.

I'm probably the last person you want to hear from, which is shown in your lack of letters ( understandable, of course ) but I do hope that when I return we can resolve our differences. You were angry, and I had no right to argue with you, so I apologise. Maybe you meant what you said about my dad, maybe you didn't, but it doesn't matter now. What's said is said.

I miss you. Very much. And I hope you miss me too, otherwise this is rather awkward. Regardless of what happened and what was revealed that day, I do hope we can continue on as we were before everything, because not speaking to you these past few weeks have, quite literally, killed me. I can't imagine not speaking to you for this long ever again.

Merry Christmas, Harry.

l̶o̶v̶e̶  from, Ascella.

Chapter 9: And the madness returned

RETURNING TO HOGWARTS, was a huge relief for Ascella Lyra Black. The mere sight of the crimson red train, grey smoke billowing from it, pulled a sigh of solace from her. She turned to Seraphina, whose eyes were stained with unshed tears.

"Mum," whined Ascella, "you don't have to cry every time I leave for school."

"I know, I know," sniffled Seraphina, dabbing lightly at her amber eyes, glistening tears threatening to fall. "It's just sad, that's all!"

"But I'll be back soon!" Ascella comforted eagerly. "And I'll send you letters. I promise."

"Once a week?" asked Seraphina.

"Once a week," confirmed Ascella, nodding her head sharply. Before she burst into a fresh set of tears, Seraphina wrapped Ascella into tight hug, her face pressed into the crown of her daughter's head.

"Don't be getting into any trouble," said Seraphina, her hands cupping Ascella's face softly, her teary irises staring into Ascella's stormy grey ones. "I can't be dealing with any more letters from Minerva about your shenanigans."

"No promises," joked Ascella, a roguish smile on her porcelain features. Two plaits were braided at the side of her head, leading down to an intricate bun at the nape of her neck, courtesy of Seraphina. Stray, violet curls framed her face, and her fingers fiddled with the loose strings of her knitted, black jumper. Seraphina planted a kiss on Ascella's forehead, engulfing her in one more warm hug, before pulling back reluctantly.

"Okay," Seraphina composed herself, wiping her cheeks. "I love you, so very much, chérie. I'll see you in summer."

"I love you too, mum," said Ascella, watching anxiously as the train began to leave.

"Try not to put your hand in any more fires!" called out Seraphina in mirth, referring to when Ascella's hands had slipped into the burning cooker, Ascella herself unaware of it.

Ascella let out a weak laugh, "I'll try my very best!" With one more dismayed glance to Seraphina, she stepped onto the soon-parting train, and out of sight.

The train was unsurprisingly packed, students from different years already sat in compartments, meeting up with friends they hadn't seen over the holidays. Ascella peered through the glass, smiling and waving warmly at anyone she knew; Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang and many more.

Clearly not paying attention, Ascella winced as her hip slammed into the wall of the train, a shock of pain surging through her. A groan escaped her lips, not only from the ache that was forming, but from the familiar, malicious laughter that was heard.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Black. Did that hurt?" Ivory Reyes taunted in faux worry, twisting a strand of her blonde locks between her fingers. "Who am I kidding? I hope it hurt."

"Wow, Reyes," Ascella rolled her eyes, glaring daggers at the smirking girl, "that's so original. Maybe I should slam you up against a wall. See if that hurts."

"I'm not frightened of you, Black," retorted Ivory, who kept a stoic expression on her face, despite the shiver that wracked her spine from the hardened glare Ascella was sending her.

"Really? Most people are," mused Ascella, whilst Ivory chuckled lowly, her lips spread into a hostile smile.

"Merlin, Black, you really are pathetic," spat Ivory, advancing on Ascella as though she were a predator, and Ascella was the prey. "You think you're so special, just because your surname's Black. You act as though you're royalty, well, news flash, sweetheart, you're not. You're just a low-life, pitiful person with a Death Eater for a father and a whore for a mother."

Ascella was practically trembling in anger, her hair flashed a blood red. Her wand was held tightly in her hand, her magic buzzing between her fingers. "You're attempt at antagonising me, Reyes, is the only pathetic thing here. Believe what you want, it's all shit. And, if it isn't, that only means I have a mass-murderer on my side —"

"Is there a problem here?" a voice interrupted Ascella's enraged rant. Cedric Diggory approached the two arguing girls, Ivory's eyes widened in terror, and Ascella's face flushed in shock and previous fury, her hand clasping around Ivory's forearm.

"Uh — no, everything's fine here," Ascella attempted to reassure, discreetly stamping on Ivory's foot when she opened her mouth to speak.

"Well, you'd better get into a compartment," said Cedric, scratching the back of neck sheepishly. "Other prefects may not be so lenient."

"Yeah, thanks, Diggory," said Ascella, and Cedric sent the two a small smile, before walking back down the corridor. When she was sure he was gone, Ascella released a sigh of relief, and Ivory yanked her arm from Ascella's grasp.

"You're a fucking psycho, Black!" she hissed, and Ascella fought off the urge to roll her eyes. "They should throw in a mental hospital, cause that's where you belong!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Reyes, I hardly did anything," scoffed Ascella, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hardly did anything?!" repeated Ivory, her eyes bulging from their sockets. "You threatened me!"

"I did not threaten you, I was merely warning you —"

"I have a right to report you to McGonagall!" yelled Ivory, cutting off Ascella.

"For what?" said Ascella, an eyebrow raised. "All I did was warn you what would happen. News flash, Sweetheart, everyone already knows that my relatives have a harsh temper. And, anyways, if you go to McGonagall, I'll just tell her that you called my mum a whore. And she loves my mum as if she were her daughter."

Ivory spluttered incoherently, before letting out a groan of frustration. Ascella smirked triumphantly, watching as Ivory pointed her finger in Ascella's face, her words laced with ferocity, "Never threaten me again, Black, or else you'll deeply regret it."

"I'm trembling with fear," mocked Ascella, shoving past Ivory. "Get a life, Reyes," she called over her shoulder, "You're far too obsessed with mine!"

Finding an empty compartment towards the end of the train, Ascella settled herself comfortably against the wall, a book in hand and a burning cigarette in between her dainty fingers. She inhaled deeply from the end of the cigarette, revelling in the sting that cascaded down her throat, breathing out the grey smoke and watching as it fluttered out of the open window. The harsh winds whistled and pounded, dancing amongst one another as Ascella's mind was delved into the words on the tea-stained page.

The hours had passed, the glowing orange sun setting and night descended, the moon hanging like a silver claw in the obsidian sky. The Hogwarts Express came to a halt, students leaving it, eager to reach the homely buzz that Hogwarts provided, the bitter winds lashing against their faces. Jumping off the steps, Ascella headed to one of the carriages, always curious as to how they moved without anything pulling them.

"Ascella!" exclaimed Rosalie Hawkins, a grin spread across her lips. Her raven hair was tousled from the wind, a small hue of pink apparent on her cheekbones. "Why didn't you come and sit with me on the train?"

Sitting down next to her, an apologetic expression passed over Ascella's features, "I'm sorry, Rosa. I had a run in with Reyes again, so I guess I just wanted some time on my own."

"Fair enough," shrugged Rosalie, before a scowl formed on her lips. "God, Reyes doesn't leave you alone, does she? Maybe she's in love with you."

"Who isn't?" joked Ascella, battering her eyelashes in a flirtatious manner, before giggling quietly. Rosalie scoffed, but smile of amusement was evident nonetheless.

"Ella, you know Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, right?" Rosa pointed out the two other girls in the carriage, whom Ascella had not even noticed.

"Yes, I do," Ascella laughed awkwardly. She looked towards Astoria, a crease in her brows, "You're in second year?"

"Uh — yeah, I am," Astoria replied nervously, clearly not expecting Ascella to address her directly.

"Well, it's nice to properly meet you both," Ascella greeted, a small smile on her face. Daphne Greengrass was an extremely pretty witch, with sharp features, dazzling eyes that glowed in the moonlight, and loose waves of golden hair that rested down her back. Astoria was no different, however she had hazel irises that resembled pools of melted gold, her hair peppered with flecks of brunette that deeply contrasted with the blonde.

"We don't think you helped your uncle in," Daphne blurted suddenly, a blush spreading from her face and down to her neck, which was decorated with various necklaces. "Most of us in Slytherin don't, to be fair. We all know you don't like your family. It's a shame the rest of the school doesn't see it that way . . ."

"Thanks, Daphne," Ascella expressed her gratitude. Rosalie looked positively overjoyed at the sight of her friends getting along together.

"Isn't this wonderful!" she cried, clapping her hands together. "You're all getting along so well!"

Ascella turned to Rosa, asking, "And why wouldn't we?"

"Well, you know what Gryffindors are like," Rosalie fumbled with her fingers. "They usually hate Slytherins . . ."

Ascella let out a small, fake gasp of offence, her hand pressed against her heart, "I don't hate Slytherins! My dad was a Slytherin! I almost got into Slytherin."

"Really?" queried Astoria, bewildered. Ascella nodded, thinking back to what the Sorting Hat had said to her.

"Yup," she confirmed, popping the p. "The hat told me that I could thrive in Slytherin and that some of my future alliances and loyalties may potentially lay there."

Ascella had never considered, properly, what the Sorting Hat had told her that night. Eleven-year old Ascella Black, with glowing pink hair and small butterfly clips scattered around, was so overwhelmed by the tumultuous applause from the Gryffindor table that she hardly recalled what the Hat had told her. Eleven-year old Ascella Black didn't notice the hesitance in The Sorting Hat's voice as he shifted through her mind, the disinclination to send to the House of Lions, rather than the Snake Pit, but knowing that Gryffindor needed Ascella. Not the other way around.

All the Sorting Hat knew, is that if Ascella Black was sorted into Slytherin, she certainly wouldn't be the girl she currently was. Not the girl she would grow to be.

"Green would look rather nice on you," complimented Rosalie, eyeing the red on Ascella's robes with distaste. "I'm not one for House prejudices, but that red truly is awful."

Astoria and Daphne snickered, whilst an expression of playful indignation danced on Ascella's face. "How dare you, Rosa? This red is the finest red there ever is. I like to think it's rather beautiful."

"Oh, whatever," laughed Rosalie, jumping down from the carriage, the had came to a stop at the gates of Hogwarts, Ascella, Astoria and Daphne in tow. "You would have made a fine Slytherin, Ella."

"Why, thank you, Rosa," grinned Ascella, wrapping her arm around Rosalie's shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Rosalie grimaced, shoving Ascella away, who snorted in delight. "Ew, Ascella! Physical affection, gross."

"You're so dramatic, Rosa," commented Ascella, her arm intertwining with Daphne's.

"You're just annoying," grumbled Rosalie, who stomped away, dragging Astoria with her.

Daphne laughed at her sisters "help me" expression, before turning to Ascella, "You know, my mum's a big fan of yours."

"She is?" asked Ascella. Seraphina Laurent had been an incredible Potioneer and Healer when she was younger, however she never pursued her dream of working in St Mungo's, as it had all gone down the drain when the First Wizarding War occurred and Seraphina had fell pregnant.

"Yeah," said Daphne. "My mum always wanted to be a Healer, and your mum's, like, legendary. But, she never got the chance. Her and my father were courted the moment they finished Hogwarts."

Ascella frowned; she was very much aware of how families in the Sacred 28 worked. Women weren't to work, they were to be housewives, merely wed to birth an heir. Luckily for Seraphina, her family were not part of the Sacred 28, although they were a very respected and prestigious family in France. Eponine and Francois Laurent never intended to force their daughter into an unwanted marriage.

The same, unfortunately, couldn't be said for Regulus Black, whose parents had planned for him to marry Persephone Parkinson from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts. Thankfully ( or, not so thankfully ) Regulus died before he could even discover when his fiancées birthday was.

"What's your mother's name?" Ascella asked.

"Magnolia Greengrass," Daphne informed her, and Ascella nodded.

"I'll send my mum a letter," Ascella said. "She's constantly bored at home, so it'll give her something to do."

"Oh, thank you, Ascella!" exclaimed Daphne, wrapping Ascella in a tight hug, causing her to stumble back slightly. "Mother'll really appreciate this!"

Ascella chuckled, "It's fine, Daph, really. Now, come on, it's bloody freezing!"

As much as she loved home, Ascella couldn't deny the thrill of jubilation that lit her skin on fire whenever she was at Hogwarts. She could faintly hear the buzz of chatter from the Great Hall, and a smile fought on Ascella's lips as she was desperate to see Ron and Hermione again. As for Harry . . . Ascella hadn't heard from since the catastrophic afternoon in Hogsmeade. He had never returned her letter, despite her pouring her heart out to him on the scrappy bit of parchment. And Ascella, shockingly, was okay with that. If Harry really couldn't get past his anger towards her ( over actions that she herself had not even done ) then Ascella couldn't, and wouldn't, force him to speak to her.

Spotting Ron and Hermione almost immediately ( Harry was also there, Ascella chose to ignore that ), Ascella engulfed Daphne into a brief hug, and then left for the Gryffindor table. Appearing behind Ron, she gave the back of his head a small smack, causing him to turn and scowl, before a broad grin took over his face.

"Miss me, Ronniekins?" she asked, and Ron jumped up, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest.

"And the madness returned!" quipped Ron, and Ascella shoved him away, ignoring his obnoxious laughter.

"To think I missed you," she scoffed, turning to Hermione, greeting her with a warm smile, her grey eyes shining with tenderness.

"Hermione, love," she grinned, watching as Hermione's cheeks turned a dusty pink at the pet-name. "How has everything been?"

"It's been horrible! Thank goodness you're back!" cried Hermione, pulling Ascella down for a hug, the scent of tobacco invading her nostrils. "I don't think I can put up with these two any longer!" Ron shot Hermione a weak glare, to which Ascella raised an eyebrow at.

"Is everything alright?" Ascella murmured quietly, quickly noticing how Hermione appeared to be on the outs with Ron and Harry.

"I'll tell you later," Hermione mumbled back, and Ascella nodded. Her gaze drifted towards Harry, who was watching her with a rather odd expression. Her best friend ( was he still her best friend? ) looked the same, the same raven hair that stuck up every where, piercing forest-green eyes that were shielded from his circular glasses, and the same lightning bolt scar that was etched into his forehead. She swallowed thickly, perspiration rapidly forming on her palms from the nerves that shook her body.

Ron and Hermione watched back and forth between the two, wondering who would make the first to speak to each other. They were deeply surprised when Ascella sat down, ignoring Harry completely. Ron and Hermione, despite their current differences, shared a quick, worrisome glance with one another, before turning back to the two silent Gryffindors.

"Everything alright at home?" Ron asked Ascella through a mouthful of food.

"All the same, Ronald," she replied, sipping on a goblet of water. "Bill brought Karina home, Fred and George were annoying as ever — so me and Ginny practically hid in her bedroom."

"Rina was there?" whined Ron, slamming his fork against the wooden table, drawing the attention of nearby students. "She was gonna show me how to do one of those muggle tattoo's!"

Ascella choked on her drink, snickering loudly. "You? Get a tattoo? Ron, you wouldn't get a tattoo even if your life depended on it."

"I could!" protested Ron indignantly. "Karina said that they don't hurt as much as people think they do."

"And anyways," continued Ascella as if Ron hadn't even spoken, "Mrs. Weasley would kill you if she ever found out you got a tattoo."

"Bill has tattoos!" Ron countered, and Ascella shot him a look.

"What makes you think your mum knows about them?" She countered smartly.

"Wait — back up a second," interrupted Hermione, confusion etched into her features. "Who's Karina?"

"Karina is Bill's girlfriend," answered Ascella, Hermione nodding in understanding. "Charlie and Rina were in the same year — were best friends, in fact. After school, Karina went to Egypt, met Bill, they started dating, and Charles was pissed."

"Does Charlie fancy her or something?" chimed in Harry. Ascella eyed him strangely for a moment, Harry shifted uncomfortably under her perceptive glare, before she replied to him stiffly.

"Oh, no," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Charlie's far too in love with dragons to be interested in dating. And I think he just didn't want anyone dating his best friend."

Harry nodded, his gaze fixed upon Ascella. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he felt these tingly feelings for his best friend, but they had began to form like little dancing butterflies in his stomach every time she shot him a dashing smile or teasingly flirted with him. Recently, though, those fluttering butterflies had ceased, ever since the conflict in Hogsmeade. And, God, Harry would do anything to feel that again.

Leaning over to Ron, oblivious of the stare Harry had on her ( though Ascella had a feeling her was watching her, she could feel the prickle on her neck ), Ascella whispered to Ron, "I found something at home, I'll show you once everyone's gone to bed."

Ron nodded lightly, and Ascella turned to Hermione, a furrow in between her brows, "So, what's going on? Why's Ron and him acting like you don't exist?"

Hermione released a heavy sigh, her face pressed into the palms of her hands, her brunette curls surrounding her head like a halo. "Ascella . . . it's been awful. They hate me."

"Don't say that, Mione," Ascella said, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulder, her head resting on Ascella's shoulder. "What could you have possibly done that made them hate you so much?"

Hermione began to ramble; from Crookshanks and Scabbers' constant disputes, to Harry receiving a Firebolt for Christmas ( at this, Ascella's eyes widened drastically, wondering who would spend that much money on Harry ), to then Hermione believing that the broom was sent by Sirius Black, resulting in it being confiscated by McGonagall. By the time Hermione had finished speaking, they had both completed their meals.

Ascella, honestly, wasn't really sure what to think. Sure, Sirius Black could have sent it, but it's not like he could have casually walked into Quality Quidditch Supplies — the whole Wizarding World was looking for him! It was hard — Ron was her best friend, her brother, and Hermione was one of her closest girl friends; she was quite literally stuck in the middle.

"Hermione," Ascella approached tentatively, wiping a stray tear from Hermione's tawny cheek, "I'll speak to my mum. She has access to the Black family vault, seeing as — apart from Sirius — everyone else with the surname Black is dead. I'll ask her to check, and if there's money missing, then we'll know that Sirius has been in there."

"How does your mum have access to the Black family vault? Her and your father weren't married, were they?" Hermione asked with a small sniffle.

"No, they weren't," Ascella replied with a small smile. "Dad — it was almost as if he knew he was going to die. He left practically everything to my mum: money, estates, jewellery, you name it."

"Wow," breathed Hermione, a small chuckle escaping her lips. Students had begun to file out of the Great Hall, Hermione and Ascella along with them. "Thanks, Ella. I know me and Ron argue a lot . . . sorry for putting you in the middle."

"Hermione," said Ascella, grasping Hermione's hands, "don't apologise for anything. I can always split my time between my two favourite people."

Hermione shot Ascella a weary look, contemplating whether or not to bring up the not-so secretive tension between Ascella and Harry. Ignoring the protests surging through her mind, Hermione tentatively asked, "Will you speak to him?"

Ascella took a heavy breath, keeping a stoic expression on aristocratic features. Despite the tremor in her hands and the shakiness of her voice, she said, "I did, Hermione. I sent him a letter and he never sent one back. I'm not sure what else I can do."

"He really misses you," Hermione ( attempted to ) consoled, and Ascella released a resentful scoff.

"Does he?" she said, with a roll of her eyes. "Cause, if so, he's got a funny way of showing it."

"But maybe if you just talk to him —"

"I already tried," Ascella snapped, a scowl formed on her lips. "He blatantly doesn't want to speak with me, and if not going to beg for his forgiveness. For something I didn't do, might I add."

Hermione dropped the topic, knowing not to push Ascella's buttons. She was a stubborn witch, too stubborn for her own good.

Ascella stopped suddenly, turning round to Hermione. Her eyes were shut, almost as if she were in pain, her hand rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry, Mione," she apologised, "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"Ascella, it's fine, really," Hermione brushed off with a small smile.

"No, it's not," Ascella said. "It's not your fault. There was no need for me to yell at you, I'm sorry."

"Ascella, it's okay. I mean — I don't really understand, but if you ever want to talk . . . well, I'm always here," Hermione comforted, her hand gently rubbing Ascella's arm. Ascella felt a familiar tingle in the back of her eyes at Hermione's kindness, instantly pulling her in for a tight hug.

"Godric, Hermione, what would I do without you?" Ascella mumbled into Hermione's array of dark curls. Hermione's light chuckles vibrated through Ascella's body, her hands fiddling with the ends of Ascella's purple ringlets.

"Probably wouldn't survive," teased Hermione, pulling back and interlocking her and Ascella's fingers.

"You're not wrong there," agreed Ascella, following the Gryffindor pupils to their common room. The entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room could faintly be seen up ahead, Harry and Ron just in front of Ascella and Hermione, speaking in hushed whispers.

Upon entering the common room, Ascella was instantly caressed by the golden embers from the sparking fire, the orange luminosity setting a serene feel amongst the occupants in the room. It hadn't changed, of course ( Ascella was convinced that the Gryffindor common room was the exact same as it was since it had been created ), and Ascella, quite literally, threw herself onto the maroon sofas, very inelegant.

"Home sweet home," she sighed, her feet kicked up against the arm rest. Hermione chuckled, lifting Ascella's head and placing her in her lap, her fingers running through Ascella's hair.

"It's not been the same without you," Hermione mumbled, forming small, intricate plaits in Ascella's hair.

"It never is," joked Ascella, a grin of mischief planted on her face, her stormy eyes swirling with playfulness. Hermione scoffed, shaking her head, her brunette curls brushing her shoulder blades.

"Ever so arrogant," she remarked snarkily, though a smile of amusement was evident nonetheless.

"Well, when you're as stunning as I am, it's hard not to be," jested Ascella, sniggering. With a small shove from Hermione, Ascella went tumbling to the ground, groaning, a look of betrayal passing over her face.

"Hermione!" gasped Ascella, her robes askew and her eyes wide, attempting not to smile at Hermione's uncontrollable giggles, "How dare you? I was extremely comfortable there!"

"God, you sounded like your mum then," came an amused voice. Ascella turned, spotting a grinning Ron and Harry, who was trailing behind him.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Ronald, dear," she said, slinging her arm over Ron's shoulders, only for him to push her off. "My mum's quite fancy."

"Quite?" repeated Ron incredulously, an eyebrow raised. "Ascella, your mum's the poshest person I've ever met."

"Not many people you can compare her to then," retorted Ascella, and Ron threw up his middle finger, a few first years who were standing by gaping in shock at the rude gesture. Ron winced, and Ascella snickered in amusement.

"Merlin, Ronald, no need for that," laughed Ascella, Ron sticking his tongue out childishly. Hermione heaved herself up, brushing her down her practically perfect uniform, looking towards Ascella.

"You coming, Ella?" she asked. Ascella glanced at Ron, then looked back to Hermione, shaking her head.

"Uh — no, Mione, I'll be up in a bit," she replied with a small smile.

Shrugging and grabbing her bag, Hermione said, "Okay, but don't be up for too long."

Ascella's lips quirked up, and she nodded her head. Harry watched as Hermione left up the common room and up the girls dormitory and out of sight. His gaze flickered towards Ascella, who had settled herself on the soft sofa, her legs tucked beneath her. Ron shot him a look, one that said 'speak to her. Now.' Harry was hesitant, because Ascella Black was like a supernova in the form of a teenage girl, a chasm of unmanageable wildfire. One wrong move, or wrong word, and she could detonate like a nuclear bomb, contaminating everyone around her.

Harry mouthed no, and Ron rolled his icy, azure eyes, saying, "do it now." Harry shook his head fervently, clearing his throat. "I'm, er, gonna go up to bed," he said awkwardly, fumbling with his fingers. Ascella didn't look up, whereas Ron smiled at him as if they hadn't been having a private conversation the whole time.

"See you up there, mate," said Ron, and with one more fleeting glance towards Ascella, he left for the boys dormitory, tripping on the stairs as he went.

"You know," began Ascella once Harry had left, Ron sitting beside her, "you two really aren't that discreet. I could literally hear you."

Ron flushed pink, shrugging, "at least I tried, am I right?"

"I appreciate your help, Ron, but if Harry wants to speak to me, he will," Ascella said, with a manner of nonchalance. "Don't force it."

"But that's the thing, Ella!" exclaimed Ron. "He won't speak to you. He's too scared."

Ascella scoffed, "I'm not scary."

Ron shot her a look, and Ascella rolled her eyes. "Alright, I guess I can be a little scary when I want to be, but that doesn't mean Harry can't speak to me! I mean, come on, it's been weeks, and I sent him a letter! What more does he want?"

There was a pause, before Ron wearily spoke up again. "Have you ever considered maybe he's upset too?"

"What do you mean?" Ascella queried, her eyebrows pinched together in uncertainty.

"Well," said Ron, cowering slightly at Ascella's piercing stare, "Harry — he was really hurt, Ella. I'm not excusing what he said, of course not, but you've got to understand it from his side. Sirius Black, his godfather, betrayed his parents. That shit's gotta hurt. And, he probably saw you, remembered that you're Black's niece, and took it out on you. Give him time, Ella, and he'll come around."

Ascella looked up at Ron, guilt eating away at her. She had never thought of how Harry might of felt, only letting her anger consume her completely. "Was he really that upset?" she asked, and Ron watched her with sympathy.

"Yeah . . . he was," Ron admitted, oblivious to Ascella subtly wiping away a salty tear from her selfishness. "I think he felt guilty too. He obviously cares about you, Ascella. Even a blind man can see it."

Ascella let out a tearful laugh, "when did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise, Ascella, dear, you've just never noticed," Ron retorted with a cheeky grin, and Ascella shook her head in mirth. Just for a moment, the two of them sat there, soaking in the tranquil setting, revelling in the blissful heat that was released from the crackling fire, the only sound was Ascella's light sniffles. Ascella, in all honesty, wasn't sure what she'd do without Ron. He had been there for Ascella for as long as she could remember, and simply couldn't ( refused ) to imagine life without him. It would be like gruesome torture, living a life where Ron didn't exist, both of them each others person to lean on.

"So, Ella," grinned Ron suddenly, turning towards the Black heiress, "what'd you find at home?"

Fishing in her pocket, Ascella pulled out the folded photograph, Ascella having not looked at it since she found it. "Well, I was in the loft, you know, searching for a photo of my mum's old friends — when I found this."

Unfolding the picture, Ron's eyes widened drastically, gaping at the contents. "No — no way," he gawked, as Ascella nodded her head solemnly. "That's your mum and — Professor Lupin?"

"Yep," said Ascella, leaning back against the sofa. "She was friends with them — Black, Professor Lupin, Harry's dad and some other boy named Peter."

"Have you asked her about this?" Ron questioned, placing the photo next to him.

"How can I?" said Ascella. "It's not like I can just ask her if she was mates with my mass murderer of an uncle, now can I?"

"Well, no," faltered Ron with an uneasy look. "But you could be, you know, clever about it. Just ask casual questions, not so straight up."

"Ron, I don't know how to be casual," stated Ascella, Ron shrugging in agreement.

"Worth a try," he said. "You've got to try and find out something. You can be a detective, like you always wanted to be," he shot her a playful grin, nudging her shoulder.

"Merlin, I always had some strange life ambitions as a child," she reminisced with a small laugh, remembering all the times she was desperate to uncover secret and dirty truths that had been hidden from the world. She had eventually fallen out of the long-running phase, moving onto something else to obsess over.

"Now's your chance!" declared Ron with sardonic smile, Ascella rolling her eyes again at his childish antics.

"Piss off," she grumbled, shoving Ron lightly, who snickered in great amusement. "I am not going to do any detective stuff, thank you very much."

"But that's boring," whined Ron petulantly. "Why not?"

"Mum told me not to get into any trouble," she mumbled, nibbling lightly on her nail. It was a nasty habit, one Ascella was extremely eager to get out of.

Ron snorted, "Since when do you listen to what anyone says?"

"Since she has a point!" exclaimed Ascella frustratingly. "I've got to keep my head down for a bit, only for this year. Once Black has been arrested and captured again, I can go back to my usual self."

"So . . . what does that mean?" Ron asked.

"No drawing any unwanted attention to myself," she replied with a look of dismay. "No arguing with Reyes, no talking back to Snape —"

"What?!" yelled Ron, his eyes wide. "Seeing you and Snape argue is the highlight of day!"

"I'm sorry, Ron," apologised Ascella in mock sympathy. "I'm really going to miss taking the piss out of Snivellus too."

"Black better get arrested soon," complained Ron, his head thrown back against the sofa. "I think I'll die without any sort of entertainment in Potions."

"Don't be so dramatic," chastised Ascella. "Next year everything will be back to normal, I hope."

"We have Harry Potter, aka The Boy Who Lived, as our best friend. Nothing will ever be normal," said Ron with a humourless laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," murmured Ascella, her head resting on Ron's shoulder, the fire glinting in their eyes.

❦

Classes started up again the day after Ascella's first day back, already thrown back into the wonders of school. Hardly anyone wanted to spend two hours on a raw, freezing cold January morning, but Hagrid had provided them with a bonfire full of Salamanders for their enjoyment, and they had an unusually good lesson. However, that couldn't be said for Divination, where Professor Trelawney had began teaching them palmistry, flinching in fear every time she saw Ascella's hands, and informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had every laid her eyes upon.

It had completely slipped Ascella's mind that she had agreed to attend Patronus lessons with Harry and Professor Lupin. She couldn't look at Professor Lupin the same, knowing that he had been friends with Black. And maybe they were more, from the way Lupin stared at Black with admiration shining in his warm, green eyes.

"Ah, yes," said Lupin once Harry had reminded him after their first Defense lesson. "Let me see . . . how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough . . . I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this . . . we can't bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on . . ."

"He still looks ill, doesn't he?" commented Ron as the four of them left the classroom. "What d'you reckon is the matter with him?"

There was a load and impatient 'tuh' from behind them. It came from Hermione, who was attempting to repack her bag. It was so full of books, it wouldn't close.

"And what are you tutting at us for?" asked Ron irritably. Ascella fought back a groan at yet another one of Ron and Hermione's repeated squabbles.

"Nothing," said Hermione, heaving her bag over her shoulder.

"Yes, you were," argued Ron. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you —"

"Well, it isn't obvious," said Hermione with a look of maddening superiority.

"Isn't what obvious?" asked Ascella, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"If you don't want to tell us, don't," snapped Ron angrily.

"Fine," said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.

"She doesn't know," Ron was convinced, staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again."

At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, both Ascella and Harry left for the History of Magic classroom. they walked in silence, Ascella desperate for the painfully awkward tension between them to dissipate. The room was dark and empty, solitude engulfing them. With a flick of her wand and a murmur of a spell, Ascella lit the lamps in the room, patiently waiting ( on the other side of the room from Harry ) for Professor Lupin to arrive. It wasn't long when he did, a large packing case with him.

"What's that?" Harry queried curiously.

"Another Boggart," replied Lupin, removing his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking in Mr Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."

"Okay," said Harry. Despite not speaking to him, Ascella knew Harry, she could hear the quiver in his voice.

"Ascella?" Professor Lupin's voice pulled her from her deep thoughts. "You still okay to do this?"

Harry watched as Ascella glanced up, her fingers twirling her wand and her feet repeatedly bobbing up and down. The dim of the yellow lights from the lamps shadowed her face, her curls messily resting on her shoulders, some strands brushing her delicate features.

"Yeah, course I am," she replied uneasily, clearing her throat. "Let's just get this over with."

"So . . ." Professor Lupin's eyes lingered on Ascella weary face, an inner conflict brewing in his mind that neither Ascella nor Harry were aware of. He took out his wand, Harry doing the same, whilst Ascella's grip tightened around her wand. "The spell I am going to teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry, Ascella — well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" asked Ascella nervously.

"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin, "which is a kind of anti-Dementor — a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor."

Ascella's mind searched for whatever could be so powerful to protect her from those monstrosities, but, alas, she couldn't come up with anything. Professor Lupin continued on, "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you that the charm might be too advanced for you both. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

"What does a Patronus look like?" asked Harry.

"Each one is unique to the wizard or witch who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, happy memory."

Ascella had no problem with happy memories, however facing the Dementor ( fake or not ) scared the living daylights out of her.

"The incantation is —" Lupin cleared his throat. "Expecto patronum!"

"Expecto patronum," Ascella heard Harry repeat under his breath, "expecto patronum."

"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"

"Oh — yeah —" said Harry, his eyebrows pinched together. "Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum."

Something light and silvery whooshed suddenly from the end of Harry's wand, resembling a wisp of gas.

"Did you see that?" said Harry excitedly. "Something happened!"

Lupin smile warmly, before turning to Ascella. "You ready to try?" he asked, her nodding cautiously in response.

Bracing herself, she thought hard of her memory: her and all the Weasley siblings, playing a game of playful Quidditch in the garden behind the Burrow. Ascella could remember how her cheeks ached from smiling so broadly, how a headache had formed in her mind from laughing, and how she had went to sleep that night with a permanent smile on her face. It's her happiest memory, and Ascella was almost certain it would work.

Grasping her wand, Ascella inhaled deeply, before casting the spell, "expecto patronum!" Just like Harry's, a small flutter of sliver flourished from Ascella's wand, however hers was slightly more distinguishable.

"That was great, Ascella!" praised Professor Lupin, and Ascella smiled bashfully. "Now, the Dementor. Who would like to go first?"

Ascella looked towards Harry, gesturing with her hand, "you can."

Harry smiled tightly, walking to stand in front of the packing case. Ascella hoisted herself up onto one of the wooden tables, watching in anxiety. Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case, unlocking it with a small click. A Dementor rose, a scabbed hand gripping on to its cloak and its face hooded. Ascella's breaths were shaky as she watched the Dementor eerily approach Harry, the lamps in the room flickering continuously. A wave of icy coldness enveloped the occupants in the room, goosebumps arising and shivers cascading down spines.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry cast the spell, determination evident in his voice. "Expecto patronum! Expecto —"

Ascella's breath hitched in her throat as she watched Harry's voice fade away, his forest-green eyes fluttering shut, his wand slipping from his hand. She jumped down, quickly catching him before he hit his head against the hard stone. It wasn't long before he woke, his head in Ascella's lap.

"Are you alright?" she asked tenderly, and for a split second, the two of the forgot that they weren't speaking with one another, Ascella's swirling hues of of sparkling silver clashing with Harry's emerald irises. Her fingers were lightly tangled in his hair, as she watched him with concern lingering on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, sitting up and reaching for his glasses. Harry's cheeks were lightly dusted pink with embarrassment, tentatively taking the chocolate frog that Lupin was offering him.

"Here, eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had," said Lupin.

"It's getting worse," muttered Harry, biting off the frog's head. "I could hear her louder that time — and him — Voldemort —"

Lupin looked paler than normal, whilst Ascella winced.

"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand —"

"I do!" exclaimed Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the chocolate frog in his mouth. "I've got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"

"All right then . . ." said Lupin apprehensively. "Well, let's let Ascella have a go. And think of a really strong memory to concentrate on . . . that one doesn't seem to be strong enough . . ."

Harry nodded, and Ascella braced herself. Lupin shot her one last questioning look, to which she nodded strongly. Lupin opened the packing case yet again, the Dementor rising like a phoenix from ashes. Its intimidating, cloaked face preyed down towards her, its hand reaching out towards her. Ascella swallowed thickly, sweat sliding down the side of her face despite the cold temperatures. A searing, torturous pain shot across her forehead, causing her to whimper slightly from the throbbing in her mind.

Ascella tried her hardest to focus on her memory, remembering how her team had won, and Fred and George had hoisted her onto their shoulders, cheering in victory. The Dementor, however, was much more stronger, its overbearing figure rapidly dragging her under.

"Expecto patronum!" she said, with as much might as she had. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto . . ."

But, she couldn't do it. The Dementor was advancing on her at a fast speed, her chest heaving as her breaths became more ragged. In a suddenness, a voice echoed in her head, distracting her slightly. The man's voice was pained, as if what he was saying was causing him physical torment. She recognised, only a little bit, because it reminded her of herself.

"I promise, I'll come back to you. You know I always do," the man was saying. Ascella's eyes were slowly closing, fatigue taking over her body as the Dementor took complete control.

"Ascella! C'mon, Ella, don't die on us," a voice was breaking through the barriers of Ascella's mind, helping her to regain consciousness. Her eyes blinked open, blinding lights obscuring her vision for a moment.           

It was Harry. Just like him, her head rested in his lap, his worrisome face evident above hers.

"Ascella? Are you okay?" Professor Lupin asked, offering her his hand to help her stand. Once she was back on her feet, she wobbled slightly, reaching out for the closest thing to regain her balance. It happened to be Harry, who quickly moved his hands to her waist before she tumbled to the ground. The roots of her stark white hair faded a soft pink, and she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Yes, I'm fine. I think," she said the last part rather quietly, that Harry wasn't sure if he heard it. Yet, he did, and a deep frown spread across his lips. He removed his hands from her waist, reaching up to rake one through his unruly, raven curls.

"I think I heard my dad," Ascella blurted out unexpectedly, Lupin's eyes widening drastically. Harry was shocked by the suddenness of her statement, but his thoughts were interrupted by Ascella's shaky voice. "I mean, I think I did? I've never heard him speak so I wouldn't even know what he would sound like, but he sounded a bit like me. You know, posh, bit aristocratic if I'm honest," she was rambling, her eyes staring intently on the multicoloured laces of her converse. Lupin's small laugh pulled her from her incessant babbles.

"Ascella," said Lupin quietly, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, "it's normal to hear deceased loved ones. I'd be surprised if you didn't hear Regulus."

There was a pause, the silence hanging in the air. Ascella looked up towards Lupin, a questioning expression on her face. "Did you know my dad? You called him Regulus and, well, not a lot of people do. Only mum. Everyone else just says 'your dad' or 'Black's younger brother'."

Lupin looked hesitant to speak, but he did nonetheless, "yes, I did. Not very well, I just saw him around school. But, Regulus Black tended to be someone you couldn't know about. He made quite the name for himself."

"How so?" asked Ascella, intrigued.

"Well, for starters, he was a prodigy at Potions. If he hadn't of passed away so young, he would have made a fine Potions Professor. As well, he was a brilliant Seeker for Slytherin. Despite many people disliking Slytherin, no one could deny that Regulus Black was extremely talented on the pitch," when Lupin spoke, a small smile spread across Ascella's lips as she thought of her father as a teen.

"However, I'm sure your mother has much more stories to tell of your father, as she, evidently, knew him much more than I did," finished Lupin. Lupin was right, though, as Seraphina knew Regulus extremely well, probably better than his own brother. However, every time Ascella approached the subject of Regulus, Seraphina shut down, rarely ever speaking of him in full detail.

Lupin turned to Harry, the Potter boy already prepared, facing the packing case with a stoic look.

"Ready?" asked Lupin, gripping the lid tightly.

"Ready," repeated Harry, attempting to fill his mind with joyous thoughts, not ominous ones of what will happen once Lupin opened the box.

For the third time that evening, the room turning icy and dark yet again. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand extended towards Harry —

"Expecto patronum!" yelled Harry. "Expecto Pat —"

White fog obscured his senses . . . big, blurred shapes were moving around him . . . then came a new voice, a man's voice, shouting, panicking —

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off —"

The sounds of someone stumbling in a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter —

"Harry! Harry . . . wake up . . ."

Ascella was giving Harry's cheek light taps. For a split second, Harry's mind was completely blank as to why he was laying on a dusty classroom floor. And, then, it came to him.

"I heard my dad," mumbled Harry drowsily. "That's the first time I've heard him — he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it . . ."

Ascella's heart sank to the depths of her stomach. James Potter, a valiant and noble man, attempting to face Voldemort without a wand. She spotted silver tracks on Harry's face, due to the tears that had unexpectedly fell during his effort to face a Dementor, and guilt overwhelmed her completely.

"You heard James?" asked Lupin in a strange voice.

"Yeah . . ." said Harry, looking up. "Why — you didn't know my dad, did you?"

"I — I did, as a matter of fact," replied Lupin tensely. "We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry, Ascella — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced . . . I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this . . ."

"No!" Harry protested, getting up again. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is . . . hang on . . ."

"Harry," Ascella approached him softly, placing her arm on his shoulder. "It's getting late now, and I'm pretty sure we're all tired. We can come another time, right?" She looked towards Lupin.

"Of course," nodded Lupin, and Ascella turned to Harry. He looked uncertain, still believing that he had the strength and power to battle the Dementor. But, from the paleness of his face and fluttering of his long lashes, he was too worn out.

"Okay, okay," he gave in, defeated.

"Here, take these," Lupin handed them two of Honeydukes best chocolate bars, a proud smile on his face.

Ascella and Harry, offered their thanks, and with a small goodbye, they headed to the door. As they left, though, Ascella glanced back to Professor Lupin, curiosity laced within.

"Professor," she began, "if you knew my father and Harry's, you must have known Sirius Black then?"

Lupin's head snapped up quickly. "What makes you think that?" he asked sharply.

Ascella's eyes widened drastically at the harsh tone Lupin's voice held. "Black and my father were brothers, and I'd heard that Harry's dad and Black were friends — I'm sorry, I just assumed . . ." she clarified, watching as Lupin's shoulders softened lightly.

"Yes, I knew him," he replied shortly. "Or, I thought I did. You better be off, Ascella, Harry, it's getting late."

With one final tight smile to Lupin, Harry and Ascella left the classroom, the cool breeze from an open window immediately reaching them and causing goosebumps to arise on their skin. Ascella discreetly glanced at Harry, whose head was lowered and muttering lightly to himself. She sighed lightly, having an inkling as to what he was thinking about.

"I know what you're thinking about," she spoke suddenly, his forest-green eyes meeting hers. "It's okay to want to hear their voices again. Merlin, I'd love to hear my dad's voice again. But not like that. Just to face a Dementor to hear them once more . . . it's not healthy, Harry."

"I know," groaned Harry, running a hand over his face. "I just . . . I've never heard them speak before, Ascella! And the one time I do, it's their final moments."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ascella apologised, though she wasn't entirely sure what for.

"No, I am. I'm so sorry, Ella, for, well, everything!" said Harry fiercely. "I was a complete prick to you and it wasn't even your fault! I had only realised that after you'd left, and in my mind, I thought it was too late. Please, Ascella, I miss you."

Ascella stared back at Harry, her eyes glassy and full with anguish. "Why didn't you write back to me?" she asked, her eyebrows scrunched together.

"I didn't know what to say," he confessed with a frown. "I had so much to say, and I couldn't put it all down on paper. But I wanted to. Trust me, I did."

Ascella let out a deep breath, her thoughts all tangled in her mind like vines running up a stone wall. One part of her ( the bigger part ) wanted to forgive Harry, to regain her best friend. However, a small, niggling part of her wanted her to stay mad at him, to not give in so easily.

"Harry . . ." she said, watching as a crestfallen look overtook his face. "I'm sorry. You were upset and I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"Ascella, there's no need for you to apologise. I was in the wrong, not you," Harry argued, and Ascella fought the urge to roll her eyes; they were both so stubborn.

"How about we just forget about the whole thing, yeah?" she proposed, sneaking her arm around his. "What's happened happened, we can't change the past."

Harry grinned at her, wisps of raven hair dusting his forehead, "I'd like that a lot."

❦

Ravenclaw had played Slytherin a week after the start of term. They had lost, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for the Gryffindor team, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too, which resulted in Wood increased the number of practices to five times a week. Ascella found herself constantly drowning in work, waking up in the early hours of the morning, where the amber sun had barely broken dawn, and going to bed when everyone had left the common room, when the ashes of the burning fire had died down. However, this could not be compared to Hermione, who, without fail, was seen huddled in a corner of the common room, several books with a variety of content surrounding her. She barely spoke to anyone, and when she did, it was to snap at them for interrupting her.

"How's she doing it?" Ron muttered to Ascella and Harry. Ascella was sat up against the sofa, quickly scribbling down a conclusion for a essay of Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Ascella glanced up, hardly noticing Hermione behind her stacks of textbooks.

"Doing what?"

"Getting to all her classes!" exclaimed Ron as if it were obvious. "I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday's lesson, but Hermione can't've there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie Macmillan told me she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she's never missed one of those either!"

Despite too being intrigued as to Hermione was attending all her classes, Ascella scoffed regardless, "Does it matter? So what if she's being a bit dodgy about her timetable, she's still going to lessons."

Ron opened his mouth to retort back, but Wood had happened to appear at that time. "Bad news, Harry," he said. "I've just been to see McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I did about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first." Wood shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me . . . you'd think I'd said something terrible. Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it . . ." He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall's severe voice. "'As long as necessary, Wood' . . . I reckon it's time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There's an order form at the back of Which Broomstick . . . you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got."

"I'm not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good," said Harry stubbornly.

January inevitably faded into February, the bitter weather still present and the workload getting heavier and heavier. As for Harry, the match against Ravenclaw drew closer, and yet he still hadn't got his Firebolt back. He was now asking Professor McGonagall at the end of every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing by his shoulder, Ascella snickering behind at his desperation and Hermione rushing past with her face averted.

"No, Potter, you cannot have it back yet," said Professor McGonagall before he's even opened his mouth. "We've checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes that the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we've finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me."

Furthermore, the Anti-Dementor lessons hadn't been going as well as Ascella and Harry had planned them too. Harry had been able to produce an indistince, silvery shadow that fluttered away before he could even take a good look. Ascella's, on the other hand, patronus was strong, emitting a bright glow of white, however it blinded her eyesight so drastically that she couldn't tell what shape it took. The amount of energy Ascella put into casting her patronus, the more she was drained and tired.

This was one of the ( many ) reasons she had chosen to skip the lesson her and Harry had with Lupin that evening, choosing to stay behind in the common room, brushing up on all the assignments she had to finish. Her back was leaning up against the sofa, her legs crossed beneath her, her hand beginning to ache as she quickly wrote down her answers. Ron was sat opposite her on the carpeted floor, his eyes narrowed as he watched Hermione.

Ascella glanced up, a slight smirk forming. "You know," she began, setting her quill down, blue marks of ink stained on her fingertips, "staring at her won't solve the mystery."

Ron scoffed, averting his eyes from Hermione's figure, "I am not staring."

"Really? Cause that's what it looks like from here," mused Ascella with mirth, watching as Ron flushed a deep red.

"I'm not staring — !"

"Guys! Guess what?" came Harry's excited voice. Ascella and Ron's heads snapped towards him, eyeing the broom that was held in his hand. Ron's face lit up with joy.

"You got it back? Wicked!" grinned Ascella, approaching Harry, Ron by her shoulder. Harry nodded enthusiastically, and people suddenly surrounded them at a fast speed.

"Where'd you get it, Harry?"

"Will you let me have a go?"

"Have you ridden it yet, Harry?"

"Ravenclaw'll have no chance, they're all on Cleansweep Sevens!"

"Can I just hold it, Harry?"

After ten minutes or so, the crowd dispersed, returning to their own things. Harry, Ron and Ascella went over to Hermione, who payed no attention to the praise of Harry's new broomstick.

"I got it back," said Harry, grinning at her and holding the Firebolt up.

"See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with it!" said Ron.

"Well — there might have been!" exclaimed Hermione, adamant that she was still in the right.

"Yeah, I suppose so," shrugged Harry. "I'd better put it upstairs."

"I'll do it!" offered Ron eagerly. "I've got to give Scabbers his rat tonic."

Gently prying the broomstick from Harry's hands, Ron made his way up to the boys dormitories, treating the Firebolt as if it were a prized possession.

"Can we sit down, then?" Ascella asked Hermione.

"I suppose so," she replied, moving stacks of parchment from chairs so Harry and Ascella could sit down. Ascella picked up some stray sheets, her mind completely boggled as to what she was reading.

"Merlin, Hermione, how are you getting through all of this?" she asked with sincere worry.

"Oh, well — you know — working hard," she mumbled. Close up, Ascella could see that she looked as tired as Lupin did.

"Why don't you drop a few subjects?" suggested Harry, cringing slightly as he read a rather complicated piece of Ancient Runes.

"I couldn't do that!" said Hermione, looking scandalised.

"Arithmancy looks awful," commented Ascella, attempting to read a number-chart.

"Oh, no, it's wonderful!" insisted Hermione earnestly. "It's my favourite subject! It's —"

But whatever was so wonderful about Arithmancy, Ascella and Harry would never know. Because, at that moment, Ron came bounding the stairs, his feet slamming against the floor so loudly it almost echoed. He was dragging a crisp, white bed sheet behind him, and Ascella's eyes furrowed in confusion.

"Ron, what's the matter — ?"

"LOOK!" he bellowed, ignoring Ascella. "LOOK!" he shook the sheets in Hermione's face.

"Ron, what — ?"

"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!"

Hermione was leaning away from Ron, utterly terrified. Ascella peered over, her head tilted as she wondered what was so horrible that Ron was having a complete meltdown over. It wasn't until she saw something, something that looked remarkably like —

"BLOOD!" Ron yelled into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"

"N — no," said Hermione in a trembling voice. Ron suddenly threw something down onto Hermione's rune translation. They all leaned forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several, long, ginger cat hairs.

Chapter 10: Bloom with grace

IT APPEARED TO BE THE END OF RON AND HERMIONE'S FRIENDSHIP. Both were so furious with one another, that Ascella couldn't see how they could ever make up. Ron was enraged with Hermione that she had never taken Crookshanks various attempts to eat Scabbers seriously and hadn't bothered to try and keep a watchful eye on her cat. Whereas Hermione maintained firmly that Ron had zero proof that Crookshanks did anything to Scabbers, the ginger hairs might have been there since Christmas, and that Ron had been prejudice towards Crookshanks ever since he had jumped on his head in the Magical Meangerie.

Ascella chose not to get in between the arguing teenagers, knowing full well it would only fuel the anger of both Ron and Hermione if she sided with one of them. Harry, however, fully believed that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when he tried to point out all of the evidence, Hermione turned on him too.

"Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!" she cried shrilly, her eyes wide and glossed with tears. "First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything's my fault, isn't it! Just leave me alone, Harry, I've got a lot of work to do!"

Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed.

"Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was," said Fred bracingly. "And he's been off-colour for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly — one swallow — he probably didn't feel a thing."

"Fred!" hissed Ginny indignantly.

"All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," said George.

"He bit Goyle for us!" argued Ron miserably. "Remember, Harry?"

"Yeah, that's true," Harry nodded his head.

"Wow, the one time he actually did something useful," snickered Ascella alongside Ginny, purposely ignoring the withering glare Ron shot her.

"His finest hour," said Fred, unable to keep a straight face. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy yourself a new rat, what's the point in moaning?"

Due to the match against Ravenclaw that was drawing nearer, Ascella found herself spending hardly any time with Harry. They had made up, of course they had, but there always seemed to be this awkward tension between them when Ascella brought up the subject of Christmas, the time they weren't on speaking terms. Ascella decided not to pay it any attention, therefore spending more time with her other friends.

Estelle Sinclair and Ascella Black walked the halls of Hogwarts, the echo of their shoes against the floor racketed around them. The faint thrum of magic could be heard, buzzing lightly like little wasps surrounding their heads. Estelle was more than happy to see Ascella, having missed her friend over the past few months. Staying at Hogwarts was rather lonely for Estelle, despite Ron, Hermione and Harry being welcoming and kind to the brunette witch.

"How've you been?" Estelle asked, a few textbooks tucked comfortably under her arm. "It's been ages since we've properly spoke."

"I know right? These teachers are really doing it with the workload. But, I've been good. You?" Ascella replied.

"Oh, you know, the same old," shrugged Estelle nonchalantly. She then added, somewhat sheepishly, "I — uh — spoke to my mum."

Ascella cringed; it was no secret that Estelle and her mum, Chasity, did not have the best relationship. Estelle had confided in Ascella after she had found her weeping in tears, after Chasity had owled Estelle for money yet again, only to blow it on booze and drugs. Chasity and Estelle's father had split when Estelle was only a child, leaving her with her unstable mother.

"How was that?" queried Ascella gently, the two of them reaching the grounds of Hogwarts, melted snow scattered around. They both walked over to a vacant bench, sitting down comfortably. Estelle shrugged nonchalantly, releasing a heavy sigh.

"Same old, really. Asked me for money," she replied. Ascella features softened at the crestfallen expression on Estelle's face, wishing she could do more to help her friend.

"Estelle, you don't have to stay with her. What about your dad?" Ascella said softly, her fingers brushing against Estelle's.

"He's too busy with his step-children to worry about me," sneered Estelle quietly, a scowl forming on her lips.

"You can always come and stay with me, if you'd like? Mum would love to have someone else to dote on," Ascella offered, a frown deepening when Estelle shook her head fervently.

"No, I couldn't do that," she protested immediately, her loose ringlets resting on her shoulders.

"Why not? And don't say that you're a burden, because you're not," Ascella added sternly, the corner of Estelle's lips turning down.

"I really appreciate the offer, Ascella. But I can't. She's still my mum after all, I couldn't just leave her," said Estelle, hating the loyalty she felt towards her mum. Ascella engulfed Estelle in a warm hug, her arms wrapping around her as Estelle's head rested on her shoulders.

"If you ever change your mind," Ascella mumbled into Estelle's array of dark curls, "you know where to find me."

The burning sun set in the sky, replaced by the stark, silver moon, its light reflecting off the dark depths of the murky Black lake, an ominous feel shivering down the spines of the Hogwarts students. Hours passed and morning came, a thrill of excitement felt amongst everyone as the match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor was due to commence that very day. Being an avid supporter of the Gryffindor team, Ascella's appearance greatly mirrored the love she held for them. Auburn hair with streaks of gold shining within and small, dainty flowers with light blue petals painted on her defined cheekbones.

Resting her chin on her hand, Ascella poured a gracious amount of milk into her bowl of coco pops, desperately trying to drone out Harry's incessant jittering in front of her. His head was constantly glancing towards the doors of the Great Hall, waiting to see when Ron would enter, who had generously offered to bring his Firebolt down. Ascella didn't understand why Harry agreed to that, seeing as Ron was like a bull in a china shop: destructible.

"Stop it," she snapped finally, Harry's head swivelling towards her. "Ron's been treating that bloody broom like a child; he won't break it."

"I wouldn't put it past him," mumbled Harry anxiously. Ascella battled the urge to scoff, flinching as Harry jumped up suddenly and bolted towards Ron, retrieving the broom from his hands so carefully some might think he was treating it like a newborn.

Heads turned in the direction of the Firebolt, but none of them stuck out like Malfoy's, whose pale, sharp face seethed with envy. A sharp flair of satisfaction flew through Harry as he saw majority of the Slytherin table looking thunderstruck.

"Did you see his face?" Ron grinned gleefully, glancing back at Malfoy's jealous-stricken face. "He can't believe it! This is brilliant!"

Wood, too, was basking in the reflected glory the Firebolt held. "Put it here, Harry," he instructed, laying the broom in the middle of the table. Ascella scowled as her bowl of cereal was pushed to the side, almost toppling over completely.

Several people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff came over for a close inspection of the Firebolt, the predominance of Slytherins remaining uninterested. Cedric Diggory came over to congratulate Harry on having acquired such an amazing broomstick, and Percy's Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asked if she could actually hold the Firebolt.

"Now, now, Penny, no sabotage!" said Percy heartily as she examined the Firebolt closely. "Penelope and I have got a bet on," he told the team. "Ten galleons on the outcome of the match!"

Penelope placed the Firebolt back down, thanked Harry, and went back to her table.

"Harry — make sure you win," said Percy in an urgent whisper. "I haven't got ten galleons. Yes, I'm coming, Penny!" And, with that, he bustled off to join her.

Astoria and Daphne Greengrass had appeared too, in awe of the new broom.

"Wow," gushed Astoria in astonishment. "It's so much more nicer in real life! Right, Daph?"

"It's great," Daphne complimented. "Dad knows the creator, said it took them nearly four years to perfect it."

"Don't brag, Daph," Astoria chastised. "Mother says it's not flattering."

"You're not flattering," Daphne murmured under her breath, petulant and sometimes behaving like the younger sister of the duo.

"Why don't you play Quidditch, Tori?" asked Ascella in an attempt to stop the squabbling sisters to take it any further.

"Not allowed," shrugged Astoria, Ascella's stomach dropping. "I always wanted to, but father said that girls aren't to play Quidditch. It's a 'boys' sport, whatever that means."

"You can always have a go on it if you'd like," Harry suggested kindly, Astoria's eyes widening in excitement.

"Really? Are you sure?" she asked in disbelief.

"Why not?" shrugged Harry. "No one has to know, in case you're worried your father might hear about it."

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, engulfing Harry an unexpected hug. Ascella chuckled at his bewildered expression.

"Good luck for the match, Potter," said Daphne, disregarding Astoria's exhilarated giggles beside her. "Try not to fall, you know, like last time."

Harry nodded with a serious face, "Cheers for the advice. I'll try my very best."

"Well, we'll see you lots later," she said, dragging Astoria along with her.

Shaking her head with mirth, Ascella returned to her breakfast. However, the joyful feeling she held once before, fell from her body quicker than it came when a cold, drawling voice piped up obnoxiously.

"Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asked, a sadistic grin on his refined features. Ascella groaned, taking no notice of whatever rubbish Malfoy came over to spew out.

"Yeah, I reckon so," replied Harry casually.

"Got plenty of special features, hasn't it?" commented Malfoy, his eyes shining malevolently. "Shame it doesn't come with a parachute — in case of a Dementor, of course."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, whilst Ascella raised an eyebrow the terrible, unoriginal, joke of Malfoy's.

"Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy," said Harry. "Then it could catch the Snitch for you."

The Gryffindor table roared with laughter. Malfoy's face tinged pink, his eyes narrowing as he stormed away petulantly. At quarter to eleven, everyone made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. One of the main reasons Ascella enjoyed Quidditch was because of how everyone came together; there was no prejudices amongst everyone, just a fun game of Quidditch.

"Why's there blue on your face, Ella?" asked Ron. "You're supposed to be supporting Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw."

"I'm embracing my inner house-unity, Ronald!" she told him, Hermione nodding beside her.

"She's right, Ron. It's always good to start making friends with other people from different houses," she said, Ascella shooting Ron an "I told you so" look.

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to be all chummy with a load of snakes, alright?" he grumbled moodily. Ascella rolled her eyes, her and Hermione exchanging a glance with each other.

"Cheer up, will you? It's Quidditch; you love Quidditch!" exclaimed Ascella, throwing her arm around Ron's shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said, shoving off her shoulder and stomping away. Ascella frowned fleetingly at Ron's odd behaviour, before shrugging it off and turning to Hermione, who also appeared mildly surprised.

"What's up with him?" she asked, both of them watching Ron's retreating figure.

"I have no idea . . ." Ascella replied confusedly, before brushing it away and pushing it to the back of her mind. She turned to Hermione, planting a grin on her face.

"Well, Mione, I'll see you after," she said, about to turn and leave when Hermione's befuddled voice reached out to her.

"Where're you going? Gryffindor stands are that way," she said, pointing to the crimson-covered stands just opposite them.

"I'm commentating, remember?" Ascella reminded, Hermione's lips forming a small 'o' shape.

"Well, alright then," Hermione said uncertainly, not wanting to be left on her own. Ascella, sensing Hermione's uneasiness, spoke up kindly.

"Go and sit with Rosa, if you'd like," she offered, pointing faintly over to Rosalie who was making her way to the Slytherin stands. "She won't mind."

"But, Ascella . . ." Hermione trailed off, still looking apprehensive. "She's in Slytherin."

"So?" wondered Ascella, not entirely sure what the problem was.

"Ascella, I doubt many of the Slytherins would appreciate a muggle-born sitting with them," Hermione deadpanned, and Ascella winced at her slight ignorance.

"Trust me, Mione, Rosalie isn't like that. And I'm a hundred percent sure that she wouldn't let anyone treat you that way," Ascella assured. Hermione still appeared unsure, but sighed nonetheless.

"Alright, fine," she gave in, engulfing Ascella in a brief hug, heading over to where Rosa was. Ascella watched as Hermione approached Rosalie, awkwardly asking if she could sit with her. Rosa looked slightly taken aback at first, but nodded regardless, grabbing Hermione's hand.

Sighing in content, Ascella turned towards the Quidditch stands, rushing so she wouldn't be late for Lee, who was most likely waiting for her. Panting slightly as she reached the top, Ascella turned and faced the exasperated face of her commentating partner, Lee Jordan.

"You're late, Ascella," he spoke in a stern voice, clearly attempting to imitate Professor McGonagall. The corners of Ascella's lips turned up, finding it rather humorous.

"I know, I know! I was speaking to Hermione, ever so sorry, Lee," she apologised, grabbing one of the spare microphones.

Lee shook his head, tutting, "Simply not good enough, Ascella."

"Oh, whatever," she scoffed, smiling slightly. "You're lucky I'm here, Leonald."

Sitting down next to her, Lee laughed lightly, the strict facade falling away, "Leonald? C'mon, Ella, you can do better than that."

"That was good — !" Ascella began, but was interrupted by McGonagall's frantic voice.

"Black! Jordan! The game has began!" she told them, Ascella and Lee's eyes widening simultaneously.

"Oh, shit," cursed Lee, quickly turning on the microphone. "Annnnd, they're off! The big spectacular of this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt's going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year's World Championship —"

"Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the match?" cut in Professor McGonagall.

Ascella giggled into the mic, a melodic sound that filled the ears of everyone in the stands. "Yeah, Lee, focus on the match. But! If anyone's interested, the Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in-auto-brake and —"

"Black!"

"Okay, okay, Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor, heading for the goals . . ."

Ascella watched the game faintly, her stormy eyes squinted so she could see clearer, spotting Harry, streaking past Katie, gazing around for a tiny, glimmer of gold. Cho Chang, an extremely pretty, Ravenclaw witch, tailed behind him closely, cutting across him constantly, causing him to change direction.

"Show her your acceleration, Harry!" Ascella heard Fred yell, zooming past him.

The game pursued on, becoming more tense and nail-biting as it went. Katie managed to score the first goal of the match, causing a riot of applause and cheers from the Gryffindor stands.

"And what do we have here, folks?" Ascella yelled into the microphone, excitement laced in her voice. "Harry Potter of Gryffindor diving — has he seen the Snitch? Cho Chang, Ravenclaw Seeker, is tailing after him — c'mon, Harry! He's almost got it and — oohh, Harry you've got glasses for a reason! Watch out for the fucking bludger, will you?"

"Miss Black!" gaped Professor McGonagall at Ascella's crude language. "Don't make me send a letter to your mother! Again!"

"Sending you my deepest apologies, Professor!" yelled Ascella, clearly not apologetic one bit. "Just trying to stop Potter from falling off his broom!"

"Nice try there, Ascella! But if you keep on distracting Potter, maybe he will fall off!" shouted Lee in joy, grinning at a slightly flustered Ascella.

"Oh, be quiet, Leonald," she laughed, a teasing smile on her face. "There's a lot I could say about you."

"Really, now?" he mused, turning to face Ascella properly. "Perhaps you'd like to inform the crowd? And me?"

"Black! Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's frantic voice drew Ascella and Lee's attention back to the ongoing match. "Please, focus on the match! Not on your personal lives!"

"Oops, sorry, Minnie!" said Ascella. "Just trying to give the crowd some entertainment, y'know?"

George Weasley vented his feelings by hitting a second bludger at an unanticipated Ravenclaw Beater, who was forced to roll over in midair just to avoid it.

"Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and just look at that Firebolt go! Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn — Chang's Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision — balance is really noticeable in these long —"

"JORDAN? ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"

"Wait a second," Ascella's confused voice cut in. "You're being paid to do this?"

Ravenclaw was pulling back; they had scored three goals, which put Gryffindor only fifty points ahead — if Cho got the Snitch before Harry, Ravenclaw would win. Harry dropped lower, narrowly avoiding a Ravenclaw Chaser, scanning the field frantically — a glint of gold, a flutter of tiny wings — the Snitch was circling the Gryffindor post . . .

"Has Potter seen the Snitch?" Ascella called out in the microphone, causing everyone's eyes to swivel towards Harry. "He's using his acceleration — go on, Harry! Oh, and Chang's appeared out of thin air, blocking him —"

"HARRY! THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN!" Wood roared as Harry swerved to avoid a collision. "KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!"

"Potter's turning again!" Ascella informed the crowed, everyone sitting on the edge of their seats. "And — for Merlin's sake! — the Snitch has vanished again! Chang's trailing him; I must admit, she is a good Seeker. She's marking him, and Potter's flying twenty feet above the game — what's he thinking?"

"He's dived again!" cried Lee. "Chang thinks he's seen the Snitch! Oh — and Potter's pulled out of the dive — very sharp indeed and Chang's hurtling downward! He's rising as fast as a bullet yet again —"

"Potter's seen the Snitch — third time lucky!" enlightened Ascella, exhilarated.

"Potter's turning many feet below; Chang's just behind him," Lee announced, exuberant at the prospect of winning. "He's winning, gaining on the Snitch! He's so close — come on, Harry!"

"Oh!" screamed Cho, pointing down frightfully at something. Ascella peered over the barrier, of gasp of terror falling from her lips, her crimson hair fading a smoky grey. Three, black, hooded Dementor's, were looking up towards Harry.

Ascella couldn't bare to see Harry tumble to the depths of the abyss yet again, desperate to not feel that type of pain again. But, before she could do or say anything, Harry plunged his hand into his pocket, whipping out his wand, and bellowing, "Expecto patronum!"

A shocked and enraptured laugh bubbled for Ascella's chest as a glistening Patronus erupted from the end of his wand. Ascella, so lit up with delight, hardly noticed the small, glimmering ball of gold held tightly in his hand. When she did recognise it, her eyes widened in exultation, grabbing the microphone.

"GRYFFINDOR'S WON!" she screamed, tossing the mic away and wrapping her arms around Lee, their laughs of contentment echoing in their ears.

Madam Hooch's whistled sounded. Harry turned around in midair and saw six blurs of maroon streaking towards him. The next moment, the whole team was hugging him so hard he nearly toppled off his broom. Down below, he could hear roars of the Gryffindors in the crowd.

"That's my boy!" Wood kept yelling. Alicia, Angelina and Katie had all kissed Harry; Fred had him in such a tight grip Harry felt as though his head would come off. In complete disarray, the team managed to make its way back to the ground. Harry got off his broom and looked up to see a gaggle of Gryffindor supporters sprinting onto the field, Ron in the lead. Before he could comprehend it, he had been engulfed by the cheering crowd.

"Yes!" Ron yelled, yanking Harry's arm up into the air. "Yes! Yes!"

"Well done, Harry!" said Percy, looking delighted. "Ten galleons to me! Must find Penelope, excuse me —"

"Good for you, Harry!" roared Seamus Finnegan.

"Ruddy brilliant!" boomed Hagrid over the heads of the milling Gryffindors.

Harry stumbled back as a figure bounded into him, their arms wrapped around his torso, his arms mindlessly falling to their waist. Ringlets of rosy curls tickled his chin, as the scent of spearmint and cherries invaded his senses. He glanced down to see the grinning face of Ascella, a gleam of passion alighting her defined features.

"You did it!" she exclaimed blissfully, her cheeks stained with a red hue. "You were amazing!"

Before Harry could reply, a voice echoed in Ascella and Harry's ears.

"That was quite some Patronus," the two of them turned to see Professor Lupin, who looked both shaken and pleased.

"The Dementors didn't affect me at all!" said Harry excitedly. "I didn't feel a thing!"

"That's because they — er — weren't Dementors," said Professor Lupin uneasily.

Ascella's head tilted, baffled, "What d'you mean?"

"Come and see," Lupin beckoned them away from the crowd, until the could see the edge of the field. "You have Mr Malfoy quite a fright." Harry and Ascella stared. Down on the floor, in a crumpled heap of black robes, were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team Captain, all struggling to remove themselves from the hooded robes. It looked as though Malfoy had been standing on Goyle's shoulders. Despite the sincerity of it all, Ascella found herself fighting the urge to laugh at all of their stupidity. Standing over them, with an expression of the utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall.

"An unworthy trick!" she was shouting. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!"

If anything could have sealed the deal on Gryffindor's win, it was this. Ron, who had fought through the crowds, doubled over in laughter at the sight of them, leaning on Ascella, who too gave in and burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles as they watched Malfoy try to extricate himself from the robe, Goyle's head still stuck inside of it.

"Come on, Harry, Ascella!" yelled George, fighting his way over. "Party! Gryffindor common room, now!"

"See you later, Professor Lupin!" Ascella called over her shoulder as Ron dragged her away. It felt as though they had won the Quidditch Cup; the party went on all day and into the darkness of night. Fred and George disappeared for a couple of hours and returned back with armfuls of bottles of butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets. ( Fred may or may not have grabbed a sneaky bottle of firewhiskey, and totally didn't slip it into Ascella's pocket with a roguish wink ).

"How did you do that?" squealed Angelina Johnson as George started chucking random Peppermint Toads into the crowd.

"With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," Fred muttered to Ascella and Harry, her turning to grin mischievously at him.

However, there was one person who wasn't joining in on the festivities. Hermione was sitting in the corner of the common room, her head buried in a book, attempting to read a textbook entitled Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles. Grabbing Ascella's hand, Harry broke away from the table where Fred and George had began juggling butterbeer bottles and went over to her.

"Did you even come to the match?" Harry asked her.

"Of course I did," said Hermione in a strangely high-pitched voice, not removing her eyes from the book. "And I'm very glad we won, and I think you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday."

"Come on, Hermione. Why don't you come and have something to eat, a drink, maybe? Loosen up a little," Ascella suggested tentatively, brushing away one of Hermione's stray, brunette curls.

"I can't, Ascella. I've still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!" exclaimed Hermione, now sounding slightly hysterical. "And, anyways . . ." she glanced over at Ron too. "He doesn't want me to join in."

There was no arguing with this, as Ron chose that moment to say loudly, "If Scabbers hadn't just been eaten, he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to really like them —"

Hermione erupted into a fit of tears. Tucking her book under her arm, she stormed up the stairs towards the girls dormitories, her flying behind her like a swarm of fluttering butterflies.

Fed up with the animosity, Ascella headed over towards Ron, a pleading look on her face.

"Please, just drop it, will you?" she implored quietly, Harry standing behind her. "Can't you just back off a bit?"

"No," refused Ron stubbornly, Ascella's shoulders slumping. "If she just acted like she was sorry — but she'll never admit she's wrong, Hermione. She's still acting like Scabbers has gone on holiday or something."

"Fine. Whatever," snapped Ascella, Ron looking taken aback. "But when you finally realise that you're jeopardising a friendship over a stupid fucking rat, which — might I add — looked like a lump of shit, don't come crying to me."

The Gryffindor party ended only when Professor McGonagall turned up in her tartan dressing gown and hair net at one in the morning, to insist that they all go to bed. Ascella felt somewhat guilty over what she had said to Ron, but when she had stumbled into her dorm ( slightly tipsy, but sober enough to know what she was doing ), and spotted Hermione with tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes, flames of anger ate at her yet again. Pressing a chaste kiss onto Hermione's forehead and enveloping her into a warm hug, Ascella slipped into her own bed.

Ascella often found it hard to fall into the void of sleep, frequently tossing and turning until she gave in and left for the common room, only to fall asleep on one of the sofas and be woken up the next morning by Ron's incessant prodding. However, tonight, sleep came to Ascella rather quickly, almost the minute her head reached the velvety pillow.

She had a relatively odd dream. Flashes of hands glowing molten gold; a boy and a girl, both of their bodies bloodied and bruised, supporting another girl whose head was lolling to the side, falling in and out of unconsciousness; devouring fire licking at a building, engulfing it completely as it's structure shattered to the ground; a manic cackle of triumph —

"AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH! NOOOO!"

Ascella's eyes snapped open, her body bolting upwards. She jumped out of bed, Hermione in tow, running down the stairs, just to see the common room portrait shut close. Fatigue was still evident on her face, but she was awake nonetheless, panic settled within her.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming, Ron?"

"I'm telling you, I saw him!"

"What's all the noise for?"

"Professor McGonagall told us all to go to bed!"

A few of the girls had come downstairs, pulling on dressing gowns and yawning. Boys were reappearing too.

"Excellent, are we carrying on?" asked Fred brightly, Ascella snorting in amusement despite the situation.

"Everyone back upstairs!" shouted Percy, hurrying into the common room and attempting to pin his Head Boy badge onto his pajamas as he spoke.

"Perce — Sirius Black!" exclaimed Ron faintly. "In our dormitory! With our knife! Woke me up!"

Ascella's lips parted at the revelation that escaped Ron, and her head ducked down in shame, her body submerged in guilt.

"Nonsense!" said Percy, brushing Ron off with a laugh. "You had too much to drink, Ron — must have had a nightmare —"

"Perce — I'm telling you —"

"Now, really, enough's enough!"

Professor McGonagall had returned. She slammed the portrait door behind her as she entered the common room and stared furiously around. "I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!"

"I certainly didn't authorise this, Professor!" said Percy indignantly, puffing out his chest so his Head Boy badge glistened clearer. "I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare —"

"IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" bellowed Ron furiously. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!"

Professor McGonagall stared at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he have possibly gotten through the portrait hole?"

"Why don't you ask the painting?" Ascella suggested, some people shooting her venomous glares for opening her mouth and daring to speak.

Glaring suspiciously at Ron and Ascella ( who was quite bemused, as she hadn't done anything wrong ), Professor McGonagall pushed open the portrait and went back outside. The whole common room waited with bated breath. "Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter the Gryffindor Tower?"

"Certainly, good lady!" cried Sir Cadogan. There was a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room.

"You — you did?" stammered Professor McGonagall, thunderstruck. "But — but the password!"

"He had 'em!" Sir Cadogan told her proudly. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole, appearing scarily calm. "Which person," she said, her voice trembling, "which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords and left them lying around?"

There was utter silence, shattered by the smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, shaking from head to fluffy-slippered toes, raised his hand slowly in the air.

No one in the Gryffindor Tower slept that night. Majority of them sat up in the common room, awaiting further news on the whereabouts of Black. Professor McGonagall came back at dawn, only to regretfully inform them that Black had slipped from their clutches yet again.

Throughout the next day, tighter security was being put into place; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognise a large picture of Sirius Black ( Ascella found this rather humorous ); Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the wall to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan had been, of course, fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady had returned. She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on the condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Ascella had began to notice how jittery Harry had become, continually asking questions about the statue of the one-eyed witch remained unguarded and unblocked. It seemed that Fred and George had been right in thinking that they — and now, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ascella — were the only ones who knew about the passageway within.

"D'you reckon we should tell someone?" Harry asked Ron and Ascella.

"Definitely not," replied Ascella, almost instantly. "If you say something, it'll only make you look dodgy. And, anyways, we'd know if Black was coming through Honeydukes, we'd have heard by now."

Harry was extremely grateful that Ascella and Ron were on his side. If the statue was boarded up, then he'd never be able to go to Hogsmeade again.

Ron had become an instant celebrity, which he took great pleasure in. For the first time in his life, people were paying more attention to him rather to Harry and Ascella, and it was evident that Ron was enjoying the experience. Though severely shaken by the nights events, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what had happen, with a wealth of detail.

". . . I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft . . . I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down . . . I rolled over . . . and I saw him standing over me . . . like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair . . . holding this great long knife, must've been at least twelve inches . . . and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered."

Ascella watched Ron in disbelief. She was a hundred percent certain that the story Ron had told was a exaggeration, and that it was much less dramatic than what Ron was letting on. However, she couldn't wonder, why Black had gone to Ron's bed rather than Harry's? And why did he run away? It seemed that Ron, too, held the same concerns.

"Why, though?" he added to Ascella and Harry after the gaggle of second year girls who had been listening to his chilling tales departed. "Why did he run?"

Harry thought deeply for a moment, before answering, "He must've known he'd have a job getting back out of the castle once you'd yelled and woken everyone up. He'd've had to kill the whole house to get back through the portrait hole . . . then he would've met the teachers . . ."

Neville, the poor thing, was in a total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him that she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, and forbidden anyone to give him the password. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black's break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a howler.

The school owls swooped down into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Harry, Ascella and Ron, who were sat opposite, recognised the letter as a howler at once — Ron had gotten one from his mother the year prior.

"Run for it, Neville," advised Ron, remembering how he had shook in embarrassment and mortification.

Neville didn't need telling twice. He seized the envelope, carrying it in front of him like an explosive bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the Slytherin table exploded with raucous laughter at the sight of him. They all heard the howler go off in the entrance hall — Neville's grandmother's voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had brought shame on the whole family.

Ascella, so astounded at what had just occurred, she had hardly noticed her own owl impatiently waiting for her to take the letter. Ascella winced when a sharp claw dug into her arm, scowling as she turned to the perpetrator. However, her eyes softened when she was greeted by her black-and-white peppered owl, Apollo.

"Thanks, love," she mumbled, ignoring Ron's perplexed look. 'Why's she calling an owl love?' he mouthed to Harry, who just shrugged in response. Ascella smiled faintly at the letter from her mum, opening it quickly and reading the contents.

Mon amour,

Apologies for not responding to you sooner, I've been rather busy with things at home ( shockingly ). I'm redecorating ( yes, again, I can already picture your judgy look ) as I think the front room and the kitchen are way out of date and so need refurbishing. Hopefully it should be done for when you return home — fingers crossed!

Thank you, love, for informing me of Magnolia Greengrass! The woman is a genius! Merlin, I do wish I had become friends with her sooner, as her potioneer skills are off the levels ( maybe even better than mine! ). I do think I remember her from school, I'm pretty sure she was a year older than me? The years are slightly hazy, but thank you nonetheless!

As for Harry's new broomstick and the money in the vault: yes, some of it has gone missing. Not that it really matters, seeing as the Black family vault is overflowing with riches, but a decent sum has disappeared. So, yes, it is most likely that Sirius has taken it and gotten the broom from Harry. I'm not sure how he's done that, if I'm honest, as the whole nation's looking for him, but he has. So you can tell Hermione that she was right. I can already imagine the smug look on her face.

Please, for my wellbeing, stay safe! After the incident the other night, I can't bare to think of anything to happen to you or anyone else! Just, please, avoid trouble as much as you can? Once this has all cleared over, you can go back to do whatever you please. Also, could you please pass on a message to Ron from his mum? I'm writing this from the Burrow, and Molly would like for Ron to know that she is horrified at what has happened, and she sends Ron her love, but for him to NOT use this experience to brag in front of other people.

I love you, cherie, miss you tons.

Mum <3

"Ronald, I've got a message for you," Ascella announced, drawing Ron's attention, who looked at her expectantly. "Your mum says that she's horrified at the events the other night, and she sends you her love, but she does not want you to use this so you can brag in front of other people."

Ron looked outraged. "How dare she?" he exclaimed furiously. "I mean, my own mother, doesn't even trust me! As if I'd use this experience to brag. It's scandalous!"

Ascella raised an incredulous eyebrow, Ron becoming more offended. Harry snorted lightly, before turning to Ascella, "Hagrid invited us to his hut later . . . if you'd like to tag along?"

Ascella groaned, "I'd love too, but I've got a shit ton of homework to complete — majority of it due for tomorrow — so I'll have to swerve that one."

At six o'clock that evening, Ron and Harry left to meet Hagrid, leaving Ascella to brush up on her essays. As she worked, her mind drifted back to the strange dream she was having before she was woken up by Ron's horror-stricken scream. She wondered, was it just a figment of her imagination? Or was it much more than that? The images flashed in her mind repeatedly, causing her to lose focus.

Before Ascella could comprehend, three hours had gone by. Her hand was cramped from writing, navy ink staining her fingertips. She pushed her papers to one side, resting against the sofa, itching to head to bed.

"Hey, Ascella," came Ron's voice, plopping down in a seat next to her. Harry had returned too, collapsing in the armchair. "Hogsmeade's next weekend," he informed her, then lowering his voice an octave, glancing towards Harry. "What d'you reckon?"

"Well, Filch hasn't done anything about the passage into Hogsmeade . . ." Harry said quietly, a grin forming on his pink lips.

"Harry!" cried a voice suddenly. Startled, Ascella glanced up to see the dishevelled face of Hermione, who had been sat a few tables away, hidden behind her stack of textbooks.

"Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again . . . I'll tell Professor McGonagall about that map!" she said frantically.

"Can you hear someone talking, Harry?" growled Ron, not looking at Hermione.

"Ron, how can you let him go? After what Sirius Black did to you? I mean, I'll tell —"

"So now you're trying to get Harry expelled!" exclaimed Ron in fury. "Haven't you done enough damage this year?"

Ascella grew in wrath at the sight of Hermione's chocolate-brown irises filling with pearly tears. She loved Ron, there was no doubt about it, but, Merlin how he could be cruel sometimes. Emotions taking over, her curls a vermilion red, she whipped her head over to look at Ron with her fists clenched tightly together.

"Merlin, Ron! Just leave it alone! Hermione's only saying it because she cares about Harry, not that she wants to see him expelled! You're, quite frankly, acting like a child and it's really starting to piss me off!" she yelled. Ron's mouth had fell open in shock, Harry's forest-green eyes widening and Hermione looking grateful. With one last resentful scoff, Ascella shuffled her sheets of parchment in her hand and stormed out of the common room.

Chapter 11: The winner takes it all

HARRY HAD GOTTEN THE MAP TAKEN OFF HIM, which caused yet another rift between the four Gryffindors. As Ascella and Hermione approached Ron and Harry with crestfallen expressions, a scowl formed on Ron's freckled face as harsh words began to fly from his mouth.

"Come to have a good gloat?" he sneered cruelly towards Hermione as her and Ascella stopped in front of the two boys. "Or have you just been to tell on us?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, a quiver to her mellow voice. A wrinkled piece of parchment was clutched tightly in her hands and her lip was trembling like a tearful babies. "I just thought you ought to know . . . Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak's going to be executed."

The glare on Ron's face faded away as quick as it came. "He sent me this," Hermione handed them both the letter. It was extremely hard to read, as the navy-blue ink had smudged due to the teardrops that had dripped down onto it.

Dear Hermione,

We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed London.

I won't forget all the help you gave us.

Hagrid.

"They can't do this," said Harry, a downcast expression adorning his face. "They can't. Buckbeak isn't dangerous!"

"Oh, but they can," chimed in Ascella. She had been terribly quiet, that Harry had hardly noticed her presence. Her curls of purple were piled into a bun at the nape of her neck, the glistening locket shining gloriously as it rested against her sternum. "It's all because of Malfoy's dad; Lucius Malfoy. He's got so much power within the Ministry, they can't do anything but agree with him. And, you know what the Ministry officials are like. They're a bunch of old fools that they'll listen to whatever he tells them to do."

"There's an appeal," Hermione added, but she didn't look too sure that it would work. "Only I can't see any hope . . . nothing will have changed."

"Yeah, it will," Ron disagreed fiercely. "You won't have to do all the work this time, Hermione. I'll help."

"Oh, Ron!" Unexpectedly, Hermione flung her arms around Ron's neck and broke down completely. Ron, looking terrified, patted her on the top of her head. Ascella snickered quietly as Ron stared at her briefly with a helpless appearance. Finally, Hermione drew away.

"Finally," Harry murmured lowly to Ascella, and she raised her brows in agreement, watching the two in mirth.

"Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers . . ." she sobbed hysterically, salty tears staining the features of her face.

"Oh — well — he was old," shrugged Ron, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "And he was a bit useless. You never know, maybe mum and dad might get me an owl now."

Because of the tight security measures that had been imposed on the student's after Black's last break-in made it quite literally impossible to go and visit a downcast Hagrid, who appeared in need of a friend. The only time they could really speak to him was during their Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

He seemed numb with shock at the verdict. "S'all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin' in black robes an' I kep' droppin' me notes and forgettin' all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An' then Lucius Malfoy stood up an' said his bit, and the Committee jus' did exac'ly what he told 'em . . ."

"There's still the appeal!" said Ron passionately. "Don't give up yet! We're still working on it!"

"S'no good, Ron," said Hagrid sadly as they all reached the castle steps. "That Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna make sure the rest o' Beaky's time is the happiest he's ever had. I owe him that . . ."

Before any more emotions overwhelmed him, he turned around and hurried back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

"Look at him blubber!"

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had been standing just inside the castle doors, listening in. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" snarled Malfoy with a vicious laugh. "And he's supposed to be out teacher!"

Both Harry and Ron made furious moved towards Malfoy, but Hermione got there first — SMACK!

She had slapped Malfoy across the face with such intensity that he staggered backwards, his cold eyes wide with shock and a stinging sensation. Ascella's face split into a wide grin of joy at the embarrassment of her estranged cousin, whilst Harry, Ron, Crabbe and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione's hand lifted again.

"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul — you evil —"

"Hermione!" Ron tried weakly, and he attempted to grab her hand as she swung it back.

"Get off, Ron!"

Hermione's hand plunged into her pocket, pulling out her wand. Malfoy stepped backwards in fear, Crabbe and Goyle looking towards him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

"C'mon," Malfoy muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, his cheeks a light pink with embarrassment. Soon enough, the three of them disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.

"Hermione, that was the best thing I've seen all year!" exclaimed Ascella excitedly, her cheeks aching from the smile that was permanent on her lips.

"Harry, you'd better beat him in the Quidditch final!" Hermione cried shrilly. "You just better had, because I can't stand it if Slytherin wins!"

"We're due in Charms," said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "We'd better go." They all hurried up the marble staircase towards Professor Flitwick's classroom.

"You're late!" said Professor Flitwick reprovingly as they entered the classroom. "Come along, quickly, wands out, we're experimenting with Cheering Charms today, we've already divided into pairs —"

"Hermione, you want to sit with me — ? Where's she gone?" Ascella wondered, peering out of the classroom. Her eyes scanned the isolated corridors, yet any sign of the Granger witch had vanished, if it was even there in the first place.            

"Miss Black, please, sit down!" demanded Professor Flitwick, oblivious to Ascella's bewilderment.

"Sorry, Professor," she mumbled, dragging a vacant chair over to the table where Harry and Ron were sat.

"Where's Hermione gone?" Ron asked, glancing behind Ascella.

"I've no idea," Ascella replied, grabbing her bag and reaching for her wand, which she stashed safely in there.

"That's weird," commented Harry. "Maybe — maybe she went to the bathroom or something?" But, Hermione didn't turn up all lesson.

"She could've done with a Cheering Charm on her too," said Ron, grinning broadly. The charm had left them with a tingling feeling of fulfilment.

"I don't think she'd need one after her punching Malfoy," Ascella remarked.

Hermione wasn't present at lunch either. By the time the three of them had finished their apple pies, the Cheering Charms had wore off, leaving them with a pit of dread settling uncomfortably in the pits of their stomachs.

"You don't think Malfoy done something to her?" Ron asked worriedly as they hurried towards the Gryffindor tower.

Ascella shook her head, disagreeing, "Malfoy may be a prat, but he's not stupid."

They passed the security trolls, giving the Fat Lady the password ( "Flibbertigibbet" ) and scrambled in through the portrait hole and into the common room. Hermione was fast asleep, her head resting on an open textbook ( which looked rather uncomfortable, in Ascella's opinion ), her brunette curls shielding her face. Harry prodded her lightly in an attempt to wake her up.

"Wh — what?" Hermione muttered, waking with a start and staring wildly around. "Is it time to go? W — which lesson have we got now?"

"Hermione, love, are you alright? You missed Charms," Ascella said tentatively, wincing as Hermione's eyes widened in fear.

"What? Oh no!" she squeaked. "I forgot to go to Charms?"

"But how could you forget?" Harry asked. "You were with us till we were right outside the classroom!"

"I don't believe it!" she wailed frantically. "Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of time!"

"You know what, Hermione?" said Ron, peering down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione had been using as a pillow. "I reckon you're cracking up. You're trying to do too much."

"No, I'm not!" argued Hermione, brushing her hair from her face and searching for her bag. "I just made a mistake, that's all! I'd better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry . . . I'll see you in Divination!"

Hermione joined them at the foot of the ladder to Professor Trelawney's classroom twenty minutes later, looking extremely harassed. "I can't believe I missed Cheering Charms! And I bet they come up in our exams; Professor Flitwick hinted they might!"

Together they climbed the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on each little table was a crystal ball of pearly white mist. Ascella winced as the heavy aroma of Arabian scents wafted into her mind, causing an aching pain to occur. Her, Ron, Hermione and Harry sat down together at the same rickety table.

"I thought we weren't starting crystal balls until next term," Ron muttered, casting a wary eye around for Professor Trelawney, in case she was lurking nearby.

"Don't complain, this means we've finished palmistry," Harry murmured back. "I was getting sick of her of her flinching every time she looked at my hands."

"Yeah, well, at least she didn't shake in fear every time she saw them," scoffed Ascella, thinking back to when Professor Trelawney's wide eyes would grow ten times their size every time she glanced at Ascella's hands.

"Good day to you!" called the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney made her usual dramatic entrance out of the entrance. Parvati and Lavender quivered in excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball.

"I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned," said Professor Trelawney, her back to the blazing fire and gazing around. "The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Hermione snorted. "Well, honestly . . . 'the fates have informed her.' Who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!" she said, not bothering to lower her voice at all. Ascella leaned into the palm of her hand in an attempt to conceal her uncontrollable giggles.

It was hard to tell whether Professor Trelawney had heard Hermione or not as her face was hidden within the ominous shadows. She continued, however, as if she had not. "Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," she told them dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when you first peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes —" at this, Ron had began to snigger unmanageably and had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stifle the noise —"so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will see before the end of the class."

And so they began. Ascella, at least, felt extremely foolish ( and bored ), staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep her mind empty when thoughts such as 'this is stupid' kept drifting across it. It also didn't help that Ron kept on relentlessly giggling and Hermione kept tutting.

"Seen anything yet?" Harry asked after a quarter of an hour's quiet crystal gazing.

"Yeah, there's a burn on this table," said Ron, pointing down. "Someone's spilt their candle."

Ascella clutched Harry's hand dramatically. "I think I see something! It looks a lot like you, Ron!" she gasped, Ron's azure eyes widening. "It's you with the Grim! And — oh, my goodness! — it's going for your awful haircut!"

Ron glowered at the snickering girl, "You're such an arse."

"Why thank you, Ronald," grinned Ascella, leaning back against the soft armchair she was sat in. Hermione, on the other hand, didn't find humour in it at all.

"This is such a waste of time," she hissed. "I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms —"

Professor Trelawney rustled past. "Would anyone like me to help them interpret she shadowy portents within their orb?" she murmured over the jingling of her metal bangles.

"I don't need help," whispered Ron. "It's obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight." Ascella, Hermione and Harry erupted into a fit of laughter.

"Now, really!" exclaimed Professor Trelawney as everyone's heads turned towards them. Lavender and Parvati were looking scandalised. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" She approached their table, peering deeply into their crystal ball. Ascella could sense what Trelawney was about to say, her heart dropping to her stomach.

"There is something here!" whispered Professor Trelawney, lowering her face to the ball, the reflection shining in her huge glasses. "Something moving . . . but what is it?" Ascella was prepared to bet every galleon from the Black family vault, all the jewellery she owned that it wasn't good news. And sure enough —

"My dear," Professor Trelawney breathed, gazing up at Harry. "It is here, plainer than ever before . . . my dear, stalking towards you, growing ever closer . . . the Gr —"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" cried Hermione loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim again!"

Professor Trelawney raised her enormous eyes to Hermione's face. Parvati whispered something to Lavender, and they both glared at Hermione too. Professor Trelawney stood up, surveying Hermione with unmistakable anger. "I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don't ever remember meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane."

There was a moment' silence. And then —

"Fine!" said Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her bag. "Fine!" she repeated, swinging her bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair and hitting Ascella in the face. "I give up! I'm leaving!"

And to the whole class' amazement, Hermione, strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and climbed down the ladder and out of sight. It took a few minutes for the class to settle down again. Professor Trelawney seemed to have forgotten about the Grim. She turned abruptly away from where Ascella, Ron and Harry were sat, breathing rather heavily as she tugged her gauzy shawl tighter around her.

"Oooooo!" said Lavender unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Ooooo, Professor Trelawney, I've just remembered! You saw her leaving, didn't you? Didn't you, Professor? 'Around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!' You said it ages ago, Professor!"

Professor Trelawney gave her a dewy smile. "Yes, my dear, I did indeed know that Miss Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that one might have mistaken the Signs . . . the Inner Eye can be a burden, you know . . ."

Lavender and Parvati appeared deeply impressed, and moved over so Professor Trelawney could join their table instead.

Ascella turned to Harry and Ron, the corners of her lips turned up in an amused smile. "Well, I dunno about you two, but that has certainly made my day."

❦

The Easter holidays, which were supposed to be spent relaxing and taking a break from school, were far from that. The third years had never had so much homework. Neville Longbottom seemed close to a nervous collapse, and he wasn't the only one.

"Call this a holiday!" Seamus Finnegan roared at the common room one afternoon. "The exams are ages away, what're they playing at?"

However, no one had more work than Hermione. Even after dropping Divination, she was still swamped with work to complete and taking more subjects than anyone else. She was usually last to leave the common room at night, and the first to arrive at the library the next morning; she had shadows like Lupin's under her eyes, and majority of the time she seemed on the verge of tears.

Ron had taken over responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal, which greatly shocked Ascella. When he wasn't doing his own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality. He was so absorbed, that he even forgot to be mean to Crookshanks.

Ascella found that she was rather relaxed compared to the rest of the third years when it came to exams. Growing up as a pureblood witch and living in the Laurent Manor where a variety of books of various different topics gave Ascella a one-up on everyone else. Some of the things that were being taught, she had read when she was ten years old. However, the niggling feeling of anxiety still wriggled around uneasily in her stomach at the thought of sitting the exams.

Harry, meanwhile, had to fit in his homework around Quidditch practices everyday, not to mention the endless discussions of tactics with Wood. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Slytherin was leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. This meant ( as Wood constantly reminded his team ) that they needed to win the match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also meant that the burden fell of winning fell largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch was worth more than one hundred and fifty points.

The whole of Gryffindor house was obsessed with with the coming match. Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley ( Ron's second oldest brother ) had been Seeker. But Harry doubted anybody, even Wood, wanted them to win as much as he did. The enmity between Harry and Malfoy was at its highest peak ever. Malfoy was still smarting Harry about the mud-throwing incident in Hogsmeade and was even more furious that Harry had wormed his way out of a punishment. Harry also hadn't forgotten Malfoy's attempt to sabotage him in the Ravenclaw match, but it was a matter of Buckbeak that made him most determined to beat Malfoy in front of the entire school.

Never, in anyone's memory, had a match a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, tension between the two teams and their houses was at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles broke out in corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

Harry — Ascella had come to realise — was having a particularly bad time of it. He couldn't walk to class without Slytherins sticking out their legs in an attempt to trip him up; Crabbe and Goyle kept popping up wherever he went, and slouching away looking disappointed when they saw him surrounded by people. Wood had given instructions that Harry should be accompanied everywhere he went, in case the Slytherins tried to put him out of action. The whole of Gryffindor house took up the challenge enthusiastically, so that it was impossible for Harry to get to his classes on time because he was surrounded by a vast, chattering crowd. Harry was more concerned for his Firebolt's safety than his own. When he wasn't flying it, he locked it securely in his trunk and frequently dashed back up to the Gryffindor tower at break times to check that it was still there.

All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the night before the match. Even Hermione had put down her books. "I can't work, I can't concentrate."

"Me too," agreed Ascella, an anxious look on her face. "I've never been this nervous about a bloody Quidditch match."

There was a great deal of noise. Fred and George Weasley were dealing with the pressure by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself. Angelina, Alicia and Katie were laughing at Fred and George's jokes. Harry was sat with Ron, Hermione and Ascella, removed from the centre of things, trying not to think about the next day, because every time he did, he had a horrible sensation that something very large was fighting to get out of his stomach.

"Everything'll be fine," Ascella made an attempt to comfort him, however it didn't ease his worries as much as he would have liked it to. "You're a wicked player."

"And you've got a Firebolt!" said Ron.

"Yeah . . ." said Harry, his stomach writhing like slithering snakes.

It came as a huge relief when Wood suddenly stood up and yelled, "Team! Bed!"

❦

The tidal wave of noise rang in Ascella's ears as she sat with the microphone in her hand, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. Three quarters of the crowd was wearing scarlet rosettes in support of Gryffindor, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lions upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP!" Behind the Slytherin goal posts, however, two hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags, and Professor Snape sat at the very front row, wearing emerald like everyone else, and a very grim smile.

"And here are the Gryffindors!" Ascella shouted, trying to mask her restlessness with excitement. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Wood. Highly acknowledged as the most talented team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years —" Ascella's comment was drowned out by a series of 'boos' from the Slytherin side, "alright, alright, but we can admit that Slytherin have no chance —"

Another set of 'boos' were heard, Lee chuckling lightly next to her. "And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He's made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill —" More boos from the Slytherins, however, it seemed that Lee had a point. Malfoy was easily the smallest person on the on the Slytherin team; the rest were enormous.

"Captains, shake hands!" ordered Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approached each other and grasped one another's hands very tightly; it looked as though each was trying to break the other's fingers. "Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch. "Three . . . two . . . one . . ."

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Harry felt his hair fly back off his forehead; his nerves left him in the thrill of the flight; he glanced around, saw Malfoy on his tail, and sped off in a search of the Snitch.

"And it's Gryffindor's possession, Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no — Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing UP the field — WHAM! — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by — Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina — nice swerve around Montague — duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger! — SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

"Good going, Angelina!" yelled Ascella joyfully. "What did I say? Slytherin should probably just forfeit, as it we already know who'll win —" Ascella grinned cheekily, ignoring Professor McGonagall's chastising at her biased comments.

"OUCH!" Angelina was nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint went smashing into her.

"Sorry!" said Flint unapologetically as the crowd below booed. "Sorry, didn't see her!" A moment later, Fred Weasley chucked his Beater's club at the back of Flint's head, causing his nose to smash against the handle and start to bleed.

"That will do!" shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between them. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!"

"Come off it, Miss!" howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Alicia flew forward to take the penalty.

"Come on, Alicia!" yelled Lee into the silence that had descended upon the crowd. "YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry turned sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood was hovering in front of the goal posts, his jaw clenched tightly together.

"'Course, Wood's a superb Keeper," Ascella informed the crowd as Flint waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very difficult to pass — very difficult indeed — YES! I DON'T BLOODY BELIEVE IT! HE'S SAVED IT!"

Relieved, Harry zoomed away, gazing around for the Snitch, but still making sure he caught every word of Ascella's and Lee's commentary. It was essential that he hold off the Snitch until Gryffindor was more than fifty points up —

"Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession — no! Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field — WHAT THE FUCK? THAT WAS DELIBERATE, YOU BASTARD —"

Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle he grabbed her head. Katie cart-wheeled in the air, managed to stay on her broom, but dropped the Quaffle. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Katie had put another penalty past the Slytherin Seeker.

"THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING －"

"Jordan, Black, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way —"

"But, Professor, we're just telling it like it is — !"

Harry felt a huge jolt of excitement. He had seen the Snitch — it was shimmering at the foot of one of the goal posts — but he mustn't catch it yet — and if Malfoy saw it —

Faking a look of sudden concentration, Harry pulled his Firebolt around and sped off towards the Slytherin end — it worked. Malfoy went haring after him, clearing thinking Harry had seen the Snitch . . . WHOOSH. One of the Bludgers came streaking past Harry's right ear, hit by the gigantic Slytherin Beater, Derrick. Then again . . . WHOOSH. The second Bludger grazed Harry's elbow. The other Beater, Bole, was closing in. Harry had a fleeting glimpse of Bole and Derrick zooming towards him, clubs raised — he turned upwards at the last second, and Bole and Derrick collided with a sickening crunch.

"Ha haaa!" bellowed Ascella as the Slytherin Beaters clutched their faces. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it's Gryffindor in possession again, and Johnson takes the Quaffle — Flint alongside her — poke him in the eye, Angelina! — it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke — oh no — Flint in possession, Flint flying towards the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save — !"

But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug away the magical megaphone from him, Ascella cackling in glee beside him. "Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession —"

It was turning into the dirtiest game Ascella had ever watched in all her years at Hogwarts. Enraged that Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins were rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hit Alicia with his club and tried to say he thought she was a Bludger. George Weasley elbowed Bole in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties, and Wood made another spectacular save, making the score forty points to ten. The Snitch had disappeared again. Malfoy was still keeping close to Harry as he soared over the match, looking for it once Gryffindor was fifty points ahead —

"And Katie's scored!" Ascella informed the crowd in exhileration. "Fifty-ten to Gryffindor!" Fred and George were swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick took advantage of the twins' absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded.

Madam Hooch was beside herself —, "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieked at Bole and Derrick, who appeared undeterred. "Gryffindor penalty!"

Angelina scored. Sixty-ten. Moments later, Fred pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; Alicia seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal — seventy-ten.

The Gryffindor crowd below was screaming itself hoarse — Gryffindor was sixty points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, they would win. Harry could feel the prickle of hundreds of eyes following him as he soared around the field, high above the rest of the game, Malfoy speeding behind him. And then he saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above him.

Harry put on a huge burst of speed; the wind was roaring in his ears; he stretched out his hand, but suddenly, the Firebolt was slowing down —

Startled, Harry looked around. Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt's tail, and was pulling it back. "You —" Harry was angry enough to hit Malfoy, but couldn't reach — Malfoy was panting with the effort of holding onto the Firebolt, his cold eyes sparkling maliciously. He had achieved what he'd wanted to do — the Snitch had disappeared again.

"Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!" Madam Hooch screeched in shock, shooting up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee howled into the microphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall's reach. "YOU DIRTY, CHEATING B －"

Professor McGonagall didn't even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her finger in Malfoy's direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting furiously. Alicia took Gryffindor's penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy's foul on Harry, were being spurred on to greater heights.

"It's Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal — for fucks sake — Montague scores —" Ascella cursed, groaning loudly at Slytherin's goal. "Seventy-twenty to Gryffindor . . ."

Harry was now marking Malfoy so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry wasn't going to let Malfoy any where near the snitch . . . "Get out of it, Potter!" Malfoy yelled in frustration as he tried to turn and found Harry blocking him.

"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!"

Harry looked around. Every single Slytherin player apart from Malfoy was streaking up the pitch towards Angelina, including the Slytherin Keeper — they were all going to block her — Harry wheeled the Firebolt around, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle, and kicked it forward. Like a bullet, he shot toward the Slytherins.

"AAAAAAARRRGHH!" They scattered as the Firebolt zoomed towards them; Angelina's way was clear.

"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty!" Ascella announced cheerfully, her hair a broad bubblegum-pink with exuberance.

Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in mid-air, reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field. And then he saw something that made his heart halt. Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph on his face — there, a few feet above the grass below was a tiny, golden glimmer —

Harry urged the Firebolt downward, but Malfoy was miles ahead —, "Go! Go! Go!" Harry urged his broom. He was gaining on Malfoy — Harry flattened himself to the broom handle as Bole sent a Bludger at him — he was at Malfoy's ankles — he was level —. Harry threw himself forward, took both hands off his broom. He knocked Malfoy's arm out of the way and —

"YES! YES! YES! I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE IT! HARRY'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE CUP!" Ascella's screams of delight echoed around the stadium as Harry lifted his hand, the small, wriggling ball of gold held tight in his hand. Wood was speeding towards Harry, half-blinded by a waterfall of tears; he seized Harry around the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry felt two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina's, Alicia's and Katie's voices, "We've won the cup! We've won the cup!" Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.

Wave upon wave of crimson supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the field. Hands were raining down on their backs. Harry had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on him. Then he, and the rest of the team, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Thrust into the light, he saw Hagrid, plastered with vermilion rosettes — "Yeh beat 'em, Harry, yeh beat 'em! Wait until I tell Buckbeak!"

Suddenly, Harry was pulled down from someone's shoulders, wrapped in the tightest hug he had ever experienced. All other noise was blurred out as Harry glanced down to the figure who was wrapped around him, his elation multiplied ten times its size.

"I knew you could do it!" Ascella cheered, her cheeks aching from her wide smile, small dimples either side of her cheeks. "See, I told you, you're good for something!"

Harry chuckled, hugging her tighter. If only there had been a Dementor around . . . as a sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, as he lifted it into the air, Harry felt he could have produced the world's best Patronus.