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Chapter Text

Marcus Flint’s body was cold by the time Harry got to Knockturn Alley.

Wizards from Auror Forensics had already set up their station near his body, the entire scene taped off so that the curious residents of the Alley couldn’t get too close. Marcus had died – or been deposited, it was hard to tell – by the Knockturn graveyard, tucked away in a little half-alley in the back end.

Harry ducked under the tape, the mild tingling of a muffling spell following as he did.

His friend and fellow Auror, Bethany Abbott, turned to him. She’d been first on call that morning when it had come through, and had been there for an hour already. Her face was grave and pale, although she managed a smile of hello at him.

“Seamus is coming,” he told her, wand in hand as he walked to meet her where she was standing in front of the body. “Give him two minutes, you know how he is with Apparation.”

Bethany cracked a smile. “King Splincher himself.” The smile faded quickly, though, as she handed him a scroll of notes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Harry. This one’s bad.”

Harry eyed the scene in front of them grimly. In death, Marcus didn’t much resemble the boy he had known in school. His olive-brown skin was sapped of color, and his face and arms were riddled with scars that had only stopped bleeding probably a few hours ago. He was laid down at an awkward angle, which lent itself to Harry’s theory that he had been dumped here rather than died here. The golden ring on his finger gleamed in the dull June daylight.

“Who called it in?” he asked, skimming over Bethany’s notes to check the statements she had taken in the last hour.

“Carmilla Cobb.” Bethany tapped the name with the edge of her quill to direct Harry’s attention there. “Part-owner of Cobb’s and Webb’s. She said she was coming outside to bury her dead kneazle and saw him. She called us pretty fast, and the dead kneazle thing is true, I checked it out.”

“So probably not a lead.” Harry looked back over at Marcus, and the two wizards kneeling over his body conducting diagnostic spells. “Someone put him here, didn’t they?”

“That’s what I think,” said Bethany. “There’s no blood anywhere else here except exactly where he was sitting. The amount he lost… you’d think it would have splattered if he was killed here.”

Seamus Finnigan Apparated in with a loud pop, which would have made both Harry and Bethany jump about five years ago, but they were more than used to it now.

“Sorry I’m late.” Seamus brushed himself off and checked over his hands for any splinching. “What have we got?”

“Marcus Flint,” said Bethany, gesturing to the body in question. “Dead at twenty-nine. I sent someone to ask his parents to come down to identify the body, but I’m pretty sure we can all tell who he is from here.”

“Damn.” Seamus looked genuinely shocked as he peered over the body. “I thought I must have misheard, maybe it was his father. But no, it really is Marcus.”

Harry knew why it felt so strange to him. The Aurors had finished chasing active Death Eaters, and prosecuting the ones they’d captured, several years ago. There were many pureblood names that always came up in the trials, but the Flint family, miraculously, wasn’t one. They were one of the few major families to escape mostly unscathed, and, in the absence of their usual rivals, had became wealthier than before.

Marcus, despite mediocre Quidditch skills and a truly unpleasant personality, at least to Harry’s recollection of him, was an ordinary member of wizarding society. He worked for his father’s company – what it was, Harry had no clue – and they only ever saw him at various high class events. He was far away from the Dark witches and wizards that the Aurors spent most of their time tracking down.

“You got anything for us, Anthony?” Seamus called over to one of the wizards running spells on Marcus’ body, who stood up to approach their group.

“I do,” said Anthony Goldstein, the Auror Department’s chief forensics expert. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

With his wand, he Summoned one of the samples that his partner had set aside while she worked diagnostic spells over Marcus Flint’s body. It was a small cloth bag and he opened it carefully, pulling out what was inside it with gloved hands.

A hank of dark brown fur lay in his palm.

“Werewolf fur,” said Anthony quietly.

Bethany rocked back on her heels. “Shit.”

Shit didn’t begin to cover it, Harry thought. If what they had on their hands was the scion of a wealthy, powerful pureblood family murdered by a werewolf…

“Are you sure?” asked Seamus worriedly. “It could be any animal, no?”

Anthony favored him a cool look. “Yes, I know how to run magical diagnostic spells, Finnigan. I’ll send over the lab reports when we have them done, if that will ease your minds, but I’m certain. This wasn’t just a wild animal attack.”

“I believe you,” Seamus protested. “It’s just… what’s Marcus Flint doing with a werewolf anyway?”

“Could be random,” Bethany suggested, glancing at Harry to gauge his reaction, but he was focused on the body in front of them. “A werewolf not under the influence of Wolfsbane could have done this for no reason.”

“But most of them do use Wolfsbane nowadays,” Anthony pointed out. “Since Minister Shacklebolt made it more accessible. And the ones who don’t, Greyback’s pack, we’ve chased so far underground, I don’t think there’s been a wild werewolf attack since…”

“1999,” said Harry. He looked at Anthony and Seamus. “You remember. You were still an Auror then, Anthony.”

“Has it been that long?” Anthony shook his head. “I suppose six years is long enough for one of them to maybe want to come out of hiding. But I can tell you one other thing. He died with a potion in his system. I don’t know what kind yet—it’s not poisonous according to our preliminary diagnostics. But it definitely wasn’t Pepper-Up Potion. Which means…”

“Premeditation.” Seamus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Merlin’s soggy boxers, this is going to be a mess when the parents get here.”

“Well.” Anthony bagged the werewolf fur again. “I’ll let you mighty Aurors handle that.”

“Coward,” Seamus muttered.

“There’s a reason I quit,” said Anthony, turning back to the diagnostic work.

“We need to interview everyone here,” Harry said, his mind racing through the possiblities. “Everyone in Knockturn Alley today, and then…”

“Harry, they’re not going to tell us anything.” Bethany looked worried. “I got a decent amount out of them now, but I think it’s mostly because they were startled. You know how Knockturn Alley feels about us.”

“Yeah, but someone here knows something.” Harry turned around to look into the main lane of the Alley, and almost immediately, three different bystanders jumped and pretended they hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop. “Respectable purebloods don’t exactly spend more time here than they need to, so Marcus was here for a reason. And he was killed here for a reason.”

Seamus raised a hand hesitantly. “I know you’re not going to like this but… I think we need to revisit those fight club rumors from a while back.”

Harry sighed. The reason he didn’t like it was because the denizens of Knockturn Alley were so damn closed-off about their little secrets. All they had to go on the fight club were rumors from the other purebloods, the ones who weren’t local, like Marcus. They technically had no proof it even existed.

“You think he was a part of it?” he asked.

“Either that, or he was buying something sketchy.” Seamus shrugged. “Those are really the only two reasons a pureblood like him would be caught dead in here.” His mouth twisted. “Literally, as a matter of fact.”

“Or he could have a secret lover,” suggested Bethany. “He has a fiancée, we need to check in with her, too.”

Harry and Seamus traded a long, weary look. Marcus Flint’s fiancée was not high on the list of people Harry ever wanted to speak to again.

“I know,” said Bethany, preempting them. “You both hate Pansy. But she could know something.”

“Or she could have done it herself,” said Seamus. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

“No biases,” Bethany told him firmly. “We need to go into this with an open mind.”

“My mind is wide open,” Seamus assured her.

“We’ll at the very least need to tell Pansy what happened,” said Harry with a sigh. “Along with his parents. Did he have siblings?”

“One little sister,” said Bethany. She was their go-to for pureblood family geneology, since she was one and had been raised with them, and her memory for connections was uncanny. “She was my year, actually. Drusilla Flint.”

“We can’t rule out that it was an interpersonal family conflict,” Seamus pointed out. “Maybe she wanted the family business or something.”

“Or it could have been a business conflict and one of his clients or secretaries did it,” added Bethany. “We’ll have to investigate his company, too.”

“What is his company, anyway?” asked Harry.

Bethany made a face. “Dragon breeding.”

Harry’s mind went to Charlie Weasley and his dragon reserve. “Like… for reservations?”

“No.” Bethany’s face became even more disgusted. “Like for dragon sports. Bloodsports. Popular in Russia, Germany, various Eastern European countries, South America…”

“Ew,” said Seamus. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Breeding them’s not illegal, unfortunately,” said Bethany. “And they export them to the other countries, which is also not illegal.”

“We should fix that,” said Harry, making a mental note to let Hermione know. If anyone would get anything done on the topic of magical beasts rights, it was her. “But you’re right. Sounds like a nasty business, so probably had nasty people working there.”

“Great,” said Seamus. “Literally anyone could have done this.”

“Well, not anyone.” Bethany grimaced. “A werewolf. Or somebody who knows a werewolf. Or…”

“Or somebody controlling a werewolf,” Harry finished. “But I don’t think you can Imperio a werewolf on the full moon.”

“Probably not a wild werewolf.” Seamus’ brow furrowed in thought. “Their minds are already kind of under Imperio by the moonlight. But a werewolf on wolfsbane, who has their human mind…”

“And we also don’t know any werewolves who might have a connection to Marcus Flint,” said Bethany.

“Also, we need to keep the werewolf thing quiet,” Harry said in a sudden start of realization. “If the purebloods catch wind that a werewolf may have murdered one of their own…”

Seamus looked uncertain. “Should we not even tell his parents? It’s our best lead.”

“Not until we have more proof,” said Harry. “Anyway, regardless, we need to start here, today. Anyone in Knockturn Alley could know something, or have seen something. Merlin knows they’re all a bunch of snoops on the best of days.”

“All right.” Bethany took her scroll of notes in hand and scrutinized the names listed on it. “Seamus, you take this half of the list, these are all people I know for a fact were here this morning. We need full statements from them. Harry, we should track down the rest of the shopkeepers I haven’t talked to yet.”

“Good plan.” Harry cast one last look over at Marcus Flint’s dead body and repressed a shudder. What a horrible way to die. “Let’s go, then.”

Chapter Text

“—mauled by a wild—”

“—of course she’s in shock—”

“—I think you’ve done enough—”

Greywing Hall was an elegant labyrinth of minimalism and modernism, and Astoria didn’t think she’d ever been in a house she liked less. Which was saying something, considering her parents’ house. This one seemed to mock you for being unworthy of walking down its halls. Or maybe that wasn’t her imagination, since some of the portraits of dead Parkinsons were definitely whispering about her.

As she walked through the beige hallway lined with classical paintings and picture-perfect family photographs of the modern Parkinsons, the voices in the parlor room grew louder and more heated. One of them, the loudest one, was definitely her older sister. The others she didn’t recognize – and she didn’t hear Pansy at all, which was strange.

No, she thought, ducking around the corner, she did hear Pansy. The most affected little sniffles and sobs were definitely her.

The door to the parlor room opened. Astoria quickly slipped back around the corner she’d just crossed and flattened herself into the wall.

“Have a good day, Potter.” Daphne’s voice was simmering furious, despite the polite words.

Potter like Harry Potter? Astoria kept herself from looking around until the three sets of footsteps disappeared the other way down the hall, off to the front door. Daphne had told her to come in through the kitchen, and Pansy’s house elf had let her in, so her sister must have thought ahead and planned for this.

Once they were gone, she came back around and slid through the half-open door to the parlor room. It was awash in cool, neutral blues and beiges, much like the rest of the manor house. A portrait of an odious-looking Parkinson ancestor eyed Astoria in contempt. Only Daphne and Pansy were left inside.

Pansy was sitting in an armchair, head buried in her hands, small, muffled sobs escaping her periodically. Daphne stood over her, gently brushing back Pansy’s dark hair and making soft soothing noises. Unsurprisingly, neither of them had a hair out of place.

 “The Aurors are gone,” said Astoria lightly.  “You don’t have to put on a scene anymore.”

Daphne sighed.

Pansy’s head jerked up, eyes narrowed at Astoria. “Who invited you?”

There wasn’t a single streak of tears on her cheeks.

Astoria offered her an indolent shrug and collapsed on a couch far away from Pansy. “Daphne told me something bad happened and I needed to get over here. Were you expecting the Aurors?”

“More or less, although they picked an inconvenient time.” Elegant as ever, Daphne floated over to a nearby sofa and sat down, crossing her legs. “What’s happened is that Marcus was murdered.”

Astoria sat up straight. “What?”

“He was found dead in Knockturn Alley.” Pansy inspected her long green acrylics as if she was discussing a spot of rain. “The Aurors came to express their condolences and ask me some questions.”

“Back up.” Astoria shook her head. “What do you mean murdered? Marcus Flint, your fiancé?”

“Is there another Marcus you know?” Pansy snapped.

“I would think you could be bothered to shed a few real tears for the man you were supposed to marry,” Astoria retorted.

“Look,” said Daphne, efficiently cutting over whatever snide remark Pansy was about to make. “Let’s not fight today. Yes, Marcus was murdered. I found out from my contacts in the Ministry a couple hours before the Aurors came here. We don’t know who did it. We do know he was found with scratch marks all over his body, looking like a hippogriff had mauled him.”

“Or a—” Whatever Pansy was about to say, Daphne stopped her with a hard look.

Astoria glanced between the two of them, trying to work out if she was being pranked. It was hard to wrap her head around Marcus being dead—her mind went straight to his little sister, Drusilla, whom she had dormed with in school for seven years. She’d never liked Drusilla, or Marcus by extension, but the idea that he had been murdered unceremoniously… it was chilling.

“Wait, so then why were the Aurors here?”

“I told you, to express condolences and ask questions,” Pansy said impatiently.

“No.” Astoria raised her eyebrows. “The Aurors work on cases involving Dark magic only. Not every routine murder on the streets. If he was killed by a wild animal, the police would be on the case.”

Daphne and Pansy looked at each other, as if they hadn’t considered this.

“Maybe it’s just because Marcus was so high profile,” suggested Daphne. “Or they know something we don’t about the murder.”

“Who cares?” Pansy said. “I’m sure Finnigan demanded they take the case so he could accuse me of having done it. As if I would set an animal on my fiancé. If I was going to murder him, I’d surely have better ways to do it than that.”

“I hope you didn’t say that to them,” Astoria muttered.

Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Daphne continued. “It happened in Knockturn Alley, so that’s probably also why they think Dark magic was involved. My point is, Astoria, we need to be careful. And get our stories straight.”

“What stories?” Astoria asked. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“If only,” Pansy said.

“I know you hate your fiancé, but most people don’t care about him that much,” Astoria told her.

“Well, someone cared a lot,” said Daphne, mouth pressed into a thin line. “But no. What I mean is, the Aurors need to think we’re all devastated. And we need to be sure this doesn’t come back on Mother in any way. Marcus was one of her top donors.”

Of course, everything came back to her mother’s campaign to be Minister for Magic somehow. It was only June and Astoria was already so sick of hearing about it, she was considering moving somewhere further away than Scotland to get away from it.

“How could this possibly come back on Mother?” Astoria asked, then paused as another thought occurred to her. “Did he have a will? Where is his money going?”

“Of course he had a will,” Pansy snapped. “What kind of idiot would he be if he didn’t?”

Astoria sent her a look. “Were you on it?”

Pansy scowled. “No. We weren’t married.”

“Which would make it pretty stupid of you to kill him before you got married,” Daphne interjected smoothly. “Which I’m sure the Aurors have realized.”

“Daphne,” said Pansy, suddenly more serious than Astoria could remember ever seeing her. “You know they don’t care about any of that. They hate me – Potter especially, but Finnigan and Abbott, too. If they can pin this on me, they will.”

“They won’t,” Daphne assured her. “They don’t know anything about you and Marcus. And they’re all honorable Gryffindors, they wouldn’t accuse you just because they don’t like you.”

“You mean you didn’t tell the Aurors that you and Marcus hated each other?” asked Astoria dryly.

Pansy glared at her. “No, and if you breathe a word of that to them, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“Both of you, stop it,” said Daphne sharply. “We can’t afford infighting right now. Look, I’m going to talk to the rest of our friends. We’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you because of this. Including you, Astoria.”

Astoria glanced at her sister. Even in the midst of a murder investigation, Daphne was always so poised and calm. The only time she could remember seeing her sister lose her cool was when they had put her under a year of house arrest for what she’d done during the war.

“How do you know one of them didn’t do it?” she asked. “Marcus had a lot of friends, but he had a lot of enemies, too. People who are mad the Flints never joined the Death Eaters.”

Daphne’s gaze hardened. “If one of them did it, then we just better make sure it wasn’t someone we care about. The Flints are on the warpath about it. They want someone’s head on a pike.”

“Well, obviously,” said Astoria, shivering a little at the thought. Seneca and Althea Flint were not people even she would like to cross. And they had raised two monsters. “Do the Aurors have any leads?”

“I’m sure they do, but they’d never tell us,” said Daphne. “And I—”

There was a knock on the door, followed by someone’s head peering around it.

“Blaise!” Daphne jumped up to greet her boyfriend. “Oh, thank Merlin you’re here.”

Astoria watched in mild bemusement as Blaise Zabini stepped through into the room, opening his arms automatically for a hug from her sister. They were such an odd pairing—they actually got along, which was the first strange thing about it. Usually Daphne’s boyfriends were a rotating circle of love-drunk idiots who trailed in her wake while she used them ruthlessly. Blaise seemed like he could actually keep up with her.

“What’s wrong?” Blaise asked, looking between Daphne, Pansy, and Astoria in question. “You sounded urgent on the Floo call.”

“Marcus died.” Pansy no longer seemed to bothered to inflict even in the mildest of emotion into her voice about it. “The Aurors were here just now, asking questions. Apparently he was murdered.”

“Shit,” said Blaise sincerely. “I’m sorry, Pansy.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Pansy advised him. “Feel sorry for the media storm we’re all going to have to deal with as soon as this gets out to the presses.”

Blaise followed Daphne over to the sofa she’d been sitting on and took a seat next to her. “So do they have any idea who did it?”

“None, that’s why they were nosing around here,” said Daphne. “He was found mauled to death, though. Like, actual claws and blood. He—”

Something about that description made Astoria’s blood run cold. As Daphne explained what they knew to Blaise, she wracked her brain for the thought she was chasing. Mauled to death… how many days ago had he died? It had to have been recent, Pansy would have been one of the first few people they questioned. And today was two days after the full moon.

Pansy still seemed focused on her nails, as if the thought of her dead fiancé meant less than nothing to her. Maybe it didn’t. Astoria looked at her and realized with a chill down her spine what word Daphne had stopped her from saying earlier.

Werewolf.

She kept her mouth shut through all of Blaise’s questions, and then piped up when he was done. “When exactly did this happen?”

“Two days ago, apparently, but they only found the body yesterday,” said Daphne. “June 22^nd.”

The night of the full moon. And Pansy didn’t appear upset at all, except at the thought that she might be accused. Almost as if she knew it was going to happen.

“That’s horrible,” said Blaise with feeling.

“Dying?” asked Daphne.

“Dying in Knockturn Alley,” he clarified. “Can’t think of a worse place to kick it.”

“Why was he there anyway?” asked Astoria. “Does he do business in Knockturn?”

Unfortunately, she could think of one very good reason for Marcus Flint to be in Knockturn Alley the night he was murdered. But she was pretty sure the others didn’t know about the White Wyvern fight club.

“No idea,” said Pansy with a shrug. “He probably did. Not like he ever let me into the business side of things.”

“Astoria,” Daphne said suddenly. “You used to work there. Do you think you could ask around—”

“No, wait,” Blaise said. “We don’t want to be seen poking around Knockturn Alley all suspiciously in the middle of your mother’s campaign.”

Astoria, who had definitely been planning on poking around Knockturn Alley all suspiciously anyway, schooled her face into mild agreement.

“Right,” said Daphne, sighing. “Speaking of Mother, she’ll want to give us all strict press instructions for handling this situation. You too, Astoria. And remember, nobody speak to the Aurors without a lawyer involved.”

“Didn’t you two just do that?” asked Astoria.

Daphne tossed her hair. “I’m a lawyer in training.”

“You are not, you interned with Helena for one summer.”

“I think what Daphne is saying,” interjected Blaise smoothly, “is that she knows what not to say to the Aurors because of her press training. And the rest of us don’t.”

“Sure,” said Astoria. “How hard can it be? They’re Gryffindors, not like they’re a bright bunch.”

This earned scattered, tense laughter.

“Regardless,” said Daphne, rising to her feet. “Don’t do anything stupid. Definitely don’t put any words in Mother’s mouth. Don’t say anything to the wrong person. Shall I order tea from the house elf?”

“You’re still allowed to keep house elves?” asked Astoria.

Pansy’s lip curled. “Just because Granger mandated that they have to be paid and get vacation days now doesn’t mean she can take them away from us.”

The House Elf Reform Ordinance of 2001, or H.E.R.O., did indeed mandate those things, and in fact had led to a noticeable decrease in owning house elves, but Astoria kept quiet on that. The Parkinsons pretended to be a very modern family, but Pansy’s father was still in jail and they stuck to the old rules and customs much more rigidly than even the Greengrasses or the Zabinis.

But would Pansy really have murdered to get out from under those same customs? The ones where her father could sign her life away to a man she didn’t even like from behind bars?

Astoria watched her quietly as Blaise asked her some more questions and Daphne swept away to arrange for tea. Pansy was acting like her usual self – bored, snide, only speaking to certain people as equals and everyone else as lesser. There was obviously no love lost between her and Marcus, but she didn’t even seem a little bit rattled.

“Pansy,” said Astoria, cutting into their conversation. “Do you know for a fact that the murderers won’t come after you?”

This actually did seem to unsettle her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if someone killed Marcus, it was for a reason. You’re connected to him. You, Drusilla, his parents – you could all be in danger.”

Pansy twisted her engagement ring around her finger. “We’ll hire some security. Put up some new wards.”

“I know someone,” Blaise told her. “Private security wizards. I can get one of them for you.”

“How do you know private security wizards?” asked Astoria.

Blaise shrugged. “My mother has made a lot of enemies in the past. She knows how to protect herself.”

“Right,” said Astoria, glancing at Pansy. “I guess that happens when you murder all your husbands.”

Blaise laughed, getting to his feet, and stopped by Astoria’s couch to tweak her braid, making her bat at him in annoyance.

“Don’t speak on things you don’t know anything about, Greengrass.”

Astoria smiled up at him. “But that’s my favorite thing to do.”

The morning dawned warm and golden over Queen’s Lodge the next day. Astoria often woke with the sun, so that she had a chance to check on all her horses before the stablehands showed up and she could make a list of tasks for the day to keep the farm running smoothly.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be doing the on-the-ground work of running the facilities, as the lady of the house, but she had fired the groundskeeper and estate manager her father had kept before she had inherited the place. She didn’t like other people telling her what to do, especially when it came to her horses.

Today, though, her visit to the stables was cut unceremoniously short by three figures Apparating onto the edge of the property and walking towards the front door.

Astoria saw them before they got there, halfway up in the sky on one of her younger horses, who still needed to learn how to fly properly. Hermes was a half-Granian, half-Abraxan mixed breed and had wings too big for his body, so he couldn’t manage to hover more than ten feet up in the air.

There was a guard at the gates, but Astoria quickly tugged the reins and sent Hermes careening, slightly unceremoniously, to the ground. She dismounted him, patted him on the back to send him back to the stables, and hurried up to stop her unwelcome guests before they got to the guard.

“Can I help you?”

Harry Potter looked at her, green eyes scrutinizing behind his glasses.

“Are you Astoria Greengrass?”

“The one and only.” Astoria let her gaze travel between him and his companions. She knew them, of course, and would have even if Daphne hadn’t given her the rundown yesterday. Harry Potter, Seamus Finnigan, and Bethany Abbott. The trio of Aurors assigned to Marcus’ case.

And now they were at her door. Was she supposed to wait for their family lawyer to get here?

“We were hoping to ask you a few questions,” said Finnigan. He was the shortest of the three—Abbott had about two inches on him, but she was freakishly tall for a girl—although he was still taller than Astoria. “Do you have the time?”

“I don’t talk to Aurors,” said Astoria. “Do you have a warrant?”

The three of them exchanged a glance.

“No,” admitted Abbott. “But this is important.”

She said that as if it would have swayed Astoria. Funny, she thought being in the same year should have given Bethany Abbott a clue on how to deal with Slytherins.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Astoria crossed her arms, waiting. One thing she knew about Gryffindors – they would always break first.

“You’re not under suspicion, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Finnigan, sounding frustrated.

Potter hadn’t said anything, just stared at her while the other two spoke. Astoria met his gaze, pulling herself up to look him directly in the eye. He was studying her, trying to figure out how to get under her skin. She knew that look, because countless people had tried it before him.

“I told you,” she said, flicking her gaze back to Finnigan and sending him an innocent smile. “I don’t talk to Aurors. Have a good day.”

“Astoria,” tried Abbott, perhaps banking on whatever miniscule non-friendship they had shared at Hogwarts as classmates to draw her back. “Will you just listen?”

She ignored her, turning her back on the three of them and stepping towards her guard, who obligingly opened the gate for her.

It was Potter’s voice that made her stop.

“It’s about Daniel Diggory.”

Immediately, she could tell he wasn’t supposed to start with that, because both Finnigan and Abbott made small noises of dismay. Unfortunately, it worked.

Astoria turned on her heel slowly. “What?”

Potter walked forwards, opening his hands to prove he wasn’t holding a wand when her guard stepped in between them.

“We just wanted to ask you a few questions about Daniel Diggory. I understand the two of you are friends?”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him. His tone of voice was mild and unassuming, but the look in his eyes gave him away. He knew what he was doing, bringing up Daniel. He knew it would give her pause. What she didn’t know was how he knew, or what the Aurors wanted with Daniel.

Her uneasy suspicions from last night at Greywing Hall came back to her with a vengeance. Even with her sister’s words of warning echoing in her ear, she found herself breaking her promise to not speak to the Aurors.

“What about Daniel?”

“We’re looking for him,” Potter said lightly, as if he were discussing the chances of rain. “Just to ask some questions. But he hasn’t been seen in days. We thought you might know where he is.”

Astoria bit back her first response, then her second, even ruder one.

“Why do you need to ask him questions? Has he done something wrong?”

Potter’s lips quirked in a half-smile, although it lacked humor.

“That’s classified information, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Astoria nodded solemnly, as if she was just going to accept this. “Well, then, so is everything I know.”

The flash of annoyance in his eyes was brief, unlike Finnigan’s protracted glare, but it was definitely there. Astoria allowed herself a moment of smugness for making him crack even a little before she turned back to her house.

“Are you refusing to cooperate?” Finnigan called after her.

Astoria shot him a pitying look over her shoulder. “Get a warrant.”

Once safely inside the house, she took a deep breath, ignoring the concerned look from one of her servants as he stepped up to take her riding coat. Outside, she could hear the pops of Apparation, as her guard must have forced them to leave.

Her hands were shaking, she realized, looking down. Lucky that hadn’t happened in front of the Aurors. Something was seriously wrong here. Marcus Flint was dead, Daniel was missing, and whatever the Aurors said to her, she knew they were only looking for him because they suspected him. Marcus had been mauled to death on a full moon. And now the Aurors were at her doorstep.

Whatever was happening, she had to do something. She had to figure it out before someone else got hurt.

Chapter Text

The Skyfire Dragon Sanctuary was hidden away in a magically warded little corner of the Scottish Highlands, just like Queen’s Lodge was. Although the geographical distance was probably quite a lot, Astoria knew the Apparation points into the sanctuary like the back of her hand. There was an open invitation to everyone the dragonkeepers called friends of the dragons, and she had earned her way into the circle by tracking down Charlie Weasley and yelling at him for letting a dragon almost eat one of her horses four years ago.

She was looking for Charlie again as she threaded through the sanctuary, avoiding the dragon-heavy areas – you never knew what mood the dragons would be in, and she wasn’t prepared to have half her hair burnt off again, even if it might give her mother another heart attack.

Charlie was in the canteen, riding gloves on the table, talking with some of the newer recruits – she recognized all of the usual dragonkeepers, but most of this group was fresh-faced and full of awe as he explained the reservation to them.

Astoria stood at the edge of the table and sent the recruits scattering with a clearing of her throat and a pointed look.

“Oh, good, you’re free,” she said once they had gone.

“Always lovely to see you, Astoria,” said Charlie with a deep sigh. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t scare off my recruits?”

“Yes.” Astoria slid into the vacated bench opposite him. “I need to talk to you.”

He probably would have ribbed her more under normal circumstances, but the tone of her voice threw him off. Charlie frowned, studying her closely.

“Is something wrong?”

“Did you hear about Marcus Flint?” she asked.

“Shit, yeah,” he said. “Horrifying. Did you know him?”

“Not really.” Astoria leaned back on the bench, tangling her hand into the end of her ponytail. “But the Aurors came to talk to me yesterday.”

“To you?” Charlie’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“About Daniel. They think he had something to do with it and they were looking for him. Have you heard from him recently?”

Charlie’s frown deepened. “No, but… Merlin, why would they think Daniel had something to do with it? He would never.”

“I know.” Astoria’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “And you know that. But they don’t know. And Marcus was killed on a full moon. I think—I don’t know, somebody must have fed them some information about him. When was the last time you saw Daniel?”

“A couple weeks ago,” Charlie admitted. “And then the other day, I was meant to go out with Olivine and Matt for drinks, but they had to cancel, said Daniel was supposed to babysit Anaïs and he never showed up so they couldn’t.”

Astoria inhaled sharply. “What day was that?”

“The 23^rd,” said Charlie. His gaze turned thoughtful and worried. “When did Marcus die?”

“The 22^nd.”

Charlie sat back.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.” Astoria rubbed at her head. “I wrote him, obviously, but no answer. And I wrote the other wolves at Silverspire, asking if they know anything. I haven’t heard from them yet, and it’s not like we can go knocking on their door or even Floo-call them with the Fidelius up, so…”

“So we’re up shit creek without a paddle,” Charlie finished. Then he frowned again. “Wait, what Aurors came to talk to you?”

“Potter, Abbott, and Finnigan,” she said. “Why, d’you know them? I mean, aside from Potter.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Charlie grimaced. “You might wanna come to the cottage with me.”

The cottage was where Charlie and most of the other dragonkeepers lived on the reservation, where they held their birthday parties and other get-togethers in the fields that made up the backyard. Astoria went there often, although rarely without Daniel, who was just as good friends with the dragonkeepers, and more interested in parties than she was.

“Why?”

Charlie didn’t answer, just took her around the back of the reservation to where the cottage stood – it was rather large, despite the name, a wooden building with two stories, a balcony draped with various handmade flags, and a dormer shaped like a dragon’s head on top of the roof. She was pretty sure it was an actual window wearing a glamour, but she’d never gone to check.

Usually, there were a lot of people coming and going, but the weather was so bright and sunny today, that it seemed everyone was outside having fun. There was a small gathering in the kitchen, getting dinner ready for later in the evening, but Charlie barely stopped to say hi to them, instead taking her down into the basement where she knew the den room was.

The sight of Harry Potter on one of the worn leather couches in the den made her freeze.

“What the fuck, Charlie?” she demanded.

Potter looked up from the two children he had been paying attention to, rising slowly to his feet. He wasn’t wearing his Auror robes today, dressed casually in a black t-shirt and jeans, both of which had paint stains on them from the children’s art project that they were happily doing on the floor – or rather, they were happily throwing paint at each other, which amounted to the same thing.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, gaze darting between her and Charlie, as if they had been keeping some secret from him.

Astoria opened her mouth, but Charlie got there first.

“She’s a friend, Harry. I thought you guys should talk.”

Potter’s mouth twisted in a half-smile. “She doesn’t talk to Aurors.”

At least he remembered that.

“What are you doing here?” Astoria asked.

“I brought Teddy over for a play date,” said Potter, gesturing to the children.

Now that she looked at them, the seven-year-old boy did happen to have blue hair, and she’d known vaguely through the grapevine that Potter’s godson was a Metamorphmagus. And the girl he was playing with, she actually did know – Anaïs was the daughter of two of her friends, and a werewolf.

“Look, he’s not on Auror duty right now,” Charlie told her.

“So?” Astoria crossed her arms. “Nothing I say to him will be off the record.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I can do off the record.”

“Yeah, right,” she said scathingly. “Just because you’re off duty doesn’t mean you’re not working the case.”

“True,” he agreed, glancing back down at Teddy and Anaïs, who were now wrestling over the last can of pink paint and getting it all over the carpet. “We don’t have to talk about the case, though.”

“And everything I say can be used against me in a court of law,” said Astoria, shooting Charlie a baleful look. “Why do you want us to talk?”

“I know you don’t trust him, but I do,” said Charlie with a Gryffindor’s ever-enduring faith in the world. “I think we need to talk to him about Daniel.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Astoria in exasperation. “And I’m not even allowed to talk to him without a lawyer present. Mother was very clear on that.”

“Do you listen to everything your mother tells you to do?” asked Potter in a voice of mild curiosity.

“Just the suggestions that keep me out of jail.”

“Oh, so you think I’d put you in jail if you talked to me?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Potter shrugged, sitting back down on the couch facing them. “Believe it or not, Greengrass, I actually haven’t put very many people in jail. Actually helped keep some of them out of jail in the war trials.”

Charlie gestured for her to sit down, and after sending him one last stink eye, she reluctantly took a seat on a mismatched green leather armchair opposite Potter.

“Anyway, if you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to worry about,” Potter continued.

“That is such bullshit,” Astoria said with a snort. “As if the Aurors have never arrested an innocent man. What happened with your godfather again?”

“Astoria,” Charlie warned.

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment, only taking his wand out to magically separate the two children. “Teddy, what did I tell you about making a mess of Charlie’s things?”

Teddy looked appropriately shamefaced, his hair turning a sorrowful light pink. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“Yeah, sorry, Charlie,” echoed Anaïs.

“Why don’t you guys do one of our puzzles?” Charlie suggested, gesturing to the board game corner. In delight, the two kids raced to the corner and immediately began picking out and assembling a rather complicated looking dragon-themed puzzle.

“Look,” said Potter after a minute of quiet filled only with Teddy and Anaïs’ bickering. “I get that you don’t trust us. I probably wouldn’t either, if I were you. But I’m not trying to ruin your life—or Daniel’s. I’m just trying to find the truth.”

“Why does the truth involve Daniel?” she demanded.

Potter met her gaze, green eyes bright in the golden lamps of the den. “I’m only following the leads I’m given.”

Astoria leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees. “And who gave you this lead?”

She wasn’t expecting him to answer that. Classified information, as he had said. She didn’t think he thought he was going to answer that either. But after a moment’s flicker of annoyance across his face, to both their surprise, he did.

“We interviewed some people in Knockturn Alley,” Potter admitted. “His name… was mentioned a few times.”

Astoria sat back, trying to process that. Knockturn Alley was a second home for her – and for Daniel, too. They’d both lived there for a time, and they both went back regularly. She considered a lot of the denizens of Knockturn Alley her friends. Why would they give up Daniel’s name to the Aurors? Had he been there that night? Even if he had, Knockturn wasn’t known for betraying their people to law enforcement.

Charlie spoke up before she could gather her thoughts. “Harry, I have to tell you, I really don’t think Daniel could have done it.”

“I didn’t say he did it,” said Potter, his gaze flickering back to Astoria, who ignored him. “Just that he’s a person of interest. I don’t know who did it.”

“Right, but… Daniel would never,” Charlie insisted. “He’s a good guy. He’s a Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake. What Hufflepuff has ever murdered anyone ever?”

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Potter repeated. This time, she could feel his eyes entirely resting on her.

“But you are,” Astoria said quietly. She looked up, hands curling on her knees. “Because he’s a werewolf.”

“We have good reason to believe—”

“That a werewolf did it, yeah, I know,” said Astoria. “Because that’s what it looks like. But you know, a lot of people would be happy to pin a crime on a werewolf, because they know the Aurors won’t look too deeply into it. And more than that, a lot of people would be happy to kill Marcus Flint.”

“Astoria,” said Charlie, “I think you have the wrong idea about Harry. He’s not prejudiced against werewolves.”

“Really?” asked Astoria. “How many werewolves are you friends with?”

Frustration flashed on Potter’s face. “Remus Lupin literally named me the godfather of his son—”

“Remus Lupin is dead,” said Astoria ruthlessly. “How many werewolves do you know now?”

Potter’s jaw worked, but he said nothing.

“And you know,” Astoria continued, casting a glance over to where Teddy and Anaïs were arguing about puzzle pieces. “Anaïs’ mum is running for Minister for Magic, too. And her dad is a werewolf. But you’ve thrown your support behind Macmillan wholesale. Even though Olivine is the one campaigning for magical beasts rights. So forgive me for thinking your werewolf rights activism is a little lacking, Potter.”

Potter sat back on the couch, looking at her thoughtfully. Astoria stared right back, a ripple of fury running under her skin. That he would accuse Daniel, then sit here and try to tell her he knew anything about how werewolves lived in the world today. That he was lying to her about not suspecting him.

“Your argument,” said Potter slowly, as if pondering the words before he spoke, “is that you, a pureblood girl from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, know more about werewolves than I do, and that’s why I should unquestioningly trust your judgment on a boy you clearly care about too much to think rationally?”

Even Charlie couldn’t figure out a way to save the conversation now. Astoria got to her feet, her boots thumping on the wooden floor.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she told him. “And you don’t know anything about Daniel, and you don’t know anything about Marcus. You’ll never solve this case if you can’t see past your own nose.”

“Astoria,” Charlie started, but she stomped up the stairs and away from him before he could call her back.

The fury led her straight out of the dragon reservation and into Knockturn Alley with a loud pop of Apparation. Normally, she was quieter about it – you had to be, in Knockturn – but the anger was affecting her magic. Astoria paused at the front of the street, trying to regain her breath and her composure.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong here. It wasn’t even just that the Aurors suspected Daniel of murder—she knew what he looked like to outsiders. He had deep scars on his face where Greyback had clawed him, and a sleeve of black-inked tattoos covering up the bite and matching scars on his arm. If you were already inclined to think the worst of werewolves, like most people were, he was an easy suspect. And if he had been anywhere near the scene of the crime, he would have to be questioned.

But the fact that Knockturn shopkeepers had given them his name. It rattled her more than she could have kept to herself, sitting in that den room with Harry Potter. Knockturn hated Aurors more than they hated anyone else. Who would give up Daniel’s name like that?

Astoria started walking. Her feet led her blindly through the narrow alley, memorized after years of living there. Her old apartment was deep in one of the side streets, and the path she took was the same one she always walked, coming home after a long shift at the White Wyvern.

“Oi!” someone called, breaking her musings.

She turned to see a man leaning on the sign in front of the Niffler’s Necropolis. He was wearing an all-black suit, a hat pulled low over his brow to hide half his face. When he tilted his head up, he grinned at her, his canines magically sharpened over his lip.

“Anubis,” said Astoria. “What do you want?”

Anubis Crow was the owner of Niffler’s Necropolis, and an old acquaintance of hers through the fight club. He never fought, of course, claiming that his face was too pretty to handle getting punched, but he ran the books for them. His parents had died ten years ago, when he was freshly seventeen, leaving the taxidermy store to him and his two siblings. Astoria had some doubts about how mysterious and unknown the circumstances of those deaths really were, but she wasn’t one to speak on other people’s family business, especially not in Knockturn.

“I haven’t seen you around here in ages,” said Anubis, tapping his fingers on the wooden sign. His nails were sharpened, too, black claws meant to look like a hippogriff’s talons. “What brings you back to our neck of the woods, Greengrass?”

“Just visiting.” Living in Knockturn Alley meant you learned fast not to give up more information than you needed to in any given conversation. “Am I not allowed to do that anymore?”

“Well, you know the kids view moving out of here as a massive betrayal.” Anubis chuckled. “I don’t, though. It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah.” Astoria cast her gaze over the taxidermy store, still as freaky and dark as it always looked, the beady-eyed stuffed augurey staring down at her from the roof, then back to Anubis.

“I hear you guys had some trouble with the Aurors a couple days ago.”

Like it or not, Anubis Crow knew everyone there was to know in Knockturn. Unlike her, he’d grown up here, knew the streets and the denizens like the back of his hand. And he also knew everyone’s financials.

He shrugged. “Guess so. Not really my business.”

“Marcus Flint wasn’t your business?” Astoria asked in deeply dubious tones. “He was one of your champions.”

“Sure.” Anubis flashed that canine-sharp grin at her again. “But so are you. And I wouldn’t put myself out if you went and got yourself murdered, sorry to say, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He raised his hands. “I forgot you hate it when people are nice to you.”

“I do, yeah.”

Astoria walked closer to him, arms crossed, studying the way he held himself. Looking for weaknesses – another thing you learned fast in Knockturn Alley. Anubis rarely had any, but even he was a little bit scared; she could tell from the way his smile slipped for a moment as she got closer. And it wasn’t because of her.

“You know something,” she said.

“What do I know?”

“You know something about Marcus.”

“I know lots of things about Marcus,” Anubis countered. “His fight club record. His debts. His secret lover.”

Astoria filed that away for later. “Something you didn’t tell the Aurors.”

“I didn’t tell them any of it.” Anubis shrugged, gesturing around them at the winding street. “We don’t talk to Aurors here.”

“Okay. Then talk to me. What didn’t you tell them?”

“Come now,” he said with a grin, wagging a black-tipped finger at her. “You know better than that how secrets work around here, little Greengrass.”

She normally would have hexed him for that, but she needed whatever information he was holding out on her right now.

“What do you want, Crow?”

Anubis tilted his head, as if he were thinking about it. She knew damn well he’d figured out what he wanted from her the second he saw her walking down the Alley.

“Come fight a match again.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “I told you, I quit. I’m done with that.”

“Your matches made me the most money,” Anubis countered. “Everyone bets against you because you’re a girl, and then you take down these men twice your size. It’s been a slow season. Just one match, Astoria. For old time’s sake.”

She’d quit the fight club last year, when her mother had started her campaign for Minister in earnest. Her family never knew much about her life in Knockturn and they certainly wouldn’t have approved of her being a three-time champion at the fight club. It was better to quit before anything could be used against her mother’s campaign, even though nobody outside of Knockturn knew about the fight club.

And the Aurors were investigating Knockturn now. There was no telling what they might find.

Anubis could clearly see the hesitation on her face, because he added, “I’ll answer any question you have about Marcus.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “Any question?”

He made a solemn X over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Cross me and you will,” she warned him. “Fine. One match. Name the time and date.”

You had to give an inch to steal two inches, in Knockturn Alley. Anubis grinned at her.

“I’ll write you,” he said. “Time and date. What did you want to know?”

She had to pick her questions wisely. He might have said he’d answer any, but that didn’t mean he would let her stand here and interview him as if she were an Auror. And she had to guess what questions the Aurors had already asked, and been rebuffed on, and not ask those same ones.

There was only one pressing most heavily on her mind.

“Why do the Aurors think Daniel did it?”

Anubis nodded, as if he’d thought she might ask that exact question. “Someone told them he did. That they saw a werewolf running out of the alley in the dead of night during the full moon.”

Astoria’s brow furrowed. “Do you know who?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t.” He was trying, she thought, to look sympathetic, but it came out more as pity on his face. “The Aurors spoke to every single one of us. Could have been anyone. I heard that directly from them.”

“Okay.” Astoria filed that one away, as well. “Do you think it was Daniel?”

“Maybe,” said Anubis with a shrug. “It was full moon. He might not have been in his right mind.”

Was that what the Aurors thought? That Daniel had skipped wolfsbane and gone out of his mind? Let himself loose in Knockturn Alley and killed someone unthinkingly? It wasn’t an insane set of circumstances to believe, she had to admit – she knew what happened to werewolves on the full moon without wolfsbane, from personal experience. But that still didn’t make sense. Why would a werewolf only kill one person, and one person who wasn’t even guaranteed to be in Knockturn Alley on the full moon?

Those were all questions to dissect later, though. Right now she had to figure out the right questions to get the answers she needed.

She narrowed her eyes at Anubis. He wasn’t acting guilty. But then, he never would. Knockturn Alley people didn’t feel guilty for stepping on innocents.

“Did you tell the Aurors anything that made them think it was Daniel?”

He smiled a crooked smile at her. “Only the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Marcus and Daniel didn’t get along.” Anubis smirked at the understatement that was. “They had a fight the day before the murder.”

“A real fight? Or a fight club match?” She struggled to believe that anyone in Knockturn would give up the secret of the fight club to the Aurors, but you truly never knew with some of them. But it was half of Anubis’ livelihood, surely he would never spill.

“A real fight, obviously. It was at fight club, but I didn’t tell them that.” Anubis rolled his eyes. “You have such little faith in me, Astoria.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, matching his hurt tone with a mocking one. “I thought ‘don’t talk to Aurors’ was rule number one of Knockturn Alley, and here you are.”

“That doesn’t apply for murder investigations,” he said. “They thought one of us had done it. We had to tell them some things. The guy was found in our fucking graveyard.”

“And you’re so sure nobody in Knockturn Alley killed Marcus?”

“Anything’s possible,” Anubis admitted. “But I would find it hard to believe. Marcus Flint had a lot of enemies, and they all came from your world, little Greengrass. The upper crust, fancy, poncy pureblood world. You lot are the ones who all hate each other. Enough to kill, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” she echoed sarcastically. “So what’s your theory? His secret mistress?”

He mimed zipping his lips. “That’s one secret I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. Knockturn honor on it.”

“Whatever.” Astoria looked around, all the knobby, twisty black and grey building of Knockturn jutting out of the alley around her. “So what didn’t you tell the Aurors? Aside from fight club?”

“Not much.” Anubis shrugged. “They didn’t ask too many relevant questions. I didn’t tell them that Marcus showed up here the day he was murdered to collect his prize money, obviously. Or that he asked me to keep the passageway into fight club open for him that day.”

“What?” Astoria jerked her attention back to him. “What do you mean? You knew he was going to be here that night and you didn’t tell them?”

“If I had told them, they would only be more convinced Daniel did it,” Anubis told her. “You should be thanking me. Marcus wanted an after-hours meeting with Daniel. They had a deal about the prize money. He paid me to shut down the other passageways in the early afternoon.”

Astoria stared at him. “What?”

Daniel would never have accepted Marcus’ prize money, especially not if it was a fight he’d lost. Was Marcus trying to bribe him? Blackmail him?

The Knockturn Alley residents were known for lying about whatever they wanted, but she had an uneasy feeling that Anubis wasn’t lying, not this time. He would throw anyone under the bus to make money, and he had lied by omission to the Aurors, but whatever he was telling her, he believed. His black eyes were faraway when he looked at her, clouded with some reminiscing memory. A chill went down her spine at the thought of it.

“I expect that they met up when Daniel was human,” Anubis continued. “And it should have been done before the full moon, but things got heated. And maybe Daniel didn’t take his wolfsbane in time, I don’t know. But Marcus died underneath Knockturn Alley.”

“Hold on,” said Astoria. “They found him in the graveyard. Above Knockturn Alley.”

His lips curled up in a half-smile. “Well, obviously. Keep up, little Greengrass. Did you think we were going to call the Aurors in to our underground passageways to clean up a dead body? Expose the fight club right then and there? Obviously, he had to be moved.”

“Who moved him?”

“The people who found him.”

Astoria stepped closer, the toes of her boots hitting the front of his feet. Anubis stopped smirking, a ghost of fear flickering across his face. She’d won enough fights in front of him for him to know that he should be scared.

“Crow, you are playing with a murder investigation,” she said quietly. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Tell me what you know and who I need to talk to so I can leave you alone and go shake someone else down.”

Clearly, he’d had enough of leading her around. “Fine. It was the Grimroses. You could’ve guessed that if you put your mind to it. They’re the ones who clean up under there every morning.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Anubis said, smoothing down his suit jacket as she stepped away from him, giving him back his personal space. “You owe me a fight.”

“Just tell me who you want me to destroy,” Astoria said over her shoulder, already turning and pacing down the alleyway to her old favorite haunt.

The White Wyvern had been her home away from home when she had graduated Hogwarts, unwilling to return to Summerstone where her parents lived while her father’s health was in decline. She’d worked with the Grimrose family – Mortimer, his two daughters, and his brother Corentin – almost every day when she wasn’t up at the farm riding or down in the fight club. It was still her favorite place to go for a drink, since she knew Lila would serve her the off-menu specials, and it was easier to have a private conversation here than in the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron.

She climbed up the stairs that led to the door underneath the wyvern sign, rickety wood swinging as she stepped through. There were a decent amount of patrons there, it being a Sunday night, but no one paid her any mind, busy with their own drinks and conversations and shady business plans.

At the bar, Lila was in the middle of pouring three shots for a group of teenagers who were clearly only there for the illicit thrill of being in Knockturn, because they couldn’t stop giggling and whispering to each other. Lila ignored them with practiced disdain, looking up when Astoria came in and only raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment, which was as close as Lila Grimrose got to a smile. She was a tall, muscled woman with dark hair swept up to reveal an undercut, a tattoo of the wyvern snaking out underneath the sleeve of her right arm. Even the teenagers didn’t seem eager to try to get one over on her; Lila tended to dissuade bad behavior just by looking at someone.

“Astoria,” she greeted, ignoring the sputters of the teenagers who had just downed their shots. “How are you?”

“Good.” Astoria swung herself up onto a barstool. “How are things here? I heard the bad news.”

Lila shook her head. “It wasn’t good. Aurors crawling everywhere. Dad’s worst nightmare, you know how he is.”

Astoria smiled. Mortimer Grimrose was only the owner of the White Wyvern in name, leaving his brother and his daughter to do all the day-to-day running of the place. Everyone knew his true passions – and most of his finances – were tied up in the gambling of the underground fight club. Everyone except the Aurors and outsiders.

“They didn’t find anything though, did they?”

“’Course not,” said Lila with a sigh of disgust. “Useless as always. They were asking a lot of questions about who found the body and where, but nobody told them.”

“You’re sure?” asked Astoria, worry creasing her brow.

“I’m sure.” Lila wiped down the bar with an old towel. “Otherwise, they would have raided us already, don’t you think?”

Astoria nodded slowly. “So it did happen here?”

Lila’s face twisted in displeasure. “Unfortunately. Right down in the fight club. Dad is raging mad about it, he had to cancel this weekend to get everything cleaned out. Lost a lot of money for that, and we don’t even know who did it.”

On instinct, Astoria glanced around to see if anybody was paying attention – someone usually was, in Knockturn, even if you didn’t think they were.

“Don’t worry,” Lila told her, shifting her hand to reveal her wand slid into her sleeve. “I already cast the muffling spell when you sat down. Figured you’d have questions. They’re looking at Daniel, aren’t they?”

Astoria managed a tight smile. “Everyone seems to know more about it than me. I haven’t heard from him in days.”

“No, well, he’ll have disappeared if he knows what’s good for him,” said Lila. “The law is never on a werewolf’s side. Or on ours. I just know the Aurors will be back poking around, they think they didn’t get enough out of us.”

“They tried to get me, too,” Astoria said. “At my house.”

Lila raised her eyebrows. “Really? I thought you’d be protected, with your mum and all.”

“I don’t think Mother’s political pull compares to Harry Potter’s.”

“True.” Lila shook her head and set a glass on the bar. “He’s endorsed the other guy, hasn’t he? Macmillan?”

“I don't know.” The name Macmillan struck something in her memory as she watched Lila pour her a mug of beer. Filing it away for later, Astoria asked, “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing.” Lila offered her the glass and Astoria accepted it gratefully. “Don’t know anything about Marcus Flint, do I? At least not openly.”

“But you really don’t know who could have done it?”

Lila sent her a look of pity. “No. But if it was Daniel… good luck to him.”

“It wasn’t.” Astoria frowned down into her beer. “He would never do that.”

“Strange things happen on the full moon, Astoria,” Lila pointed out.

“No.” Astoria looked back up at her, mouth set in a determined line. “Do you know who gave them his name?”

Lila wiped her hands clean with a new towel, looking almost sympathetic. “Yes. But you’re not going to like it. They spoke to her right before they spoke to me.”

Chapter Text

72 Knockturn Alley was a second-floor flat of a dingy old grey building stuck between the Spiny Serpent pub and the apothecary. Like all the other flats, it was hardly anything pretty to look at, but to Astoria, it had been home for three years, and a better one than her parents’ ancestral manor was. The door had peeling paint and there were spell marks on the side of the building, like most buildings in Knockturn had, but none of that mattered to her.

She rapped twice on the door, sharply. “Griselda! Open up!”

It took a minute but slowly, the door pulled open. Griselda Goyle stood on the other side, looking even smaller than she usually did. Her long red hair seemed to have grown in mass since the last time Astoria saw her, barely two weeks ago, and weighed down her small face on all sides. She blinked up at Astoria, looking surprised.

“Astoria, I didn’t know you were com—”

“What did you do?” Astoria demanded.

Griselda stepped back. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

Astoria shoved her way past her, waved her wand at the door to lock it behind her – Griselda hadn’t changed the locking spells since Astoria lived here, which was stupid of her – and added an extra muffling spell so that no one could eavesdrop even if they wanted to.

That done, she whirled back on Griselda.

“Why did you tell the Aurors about Daniel?”

Griselda’s face closed up immediately. Her lips trembled and she reached for a chair at the little dining table they had right next to the kitchen. When she sank down into it, her eyes were glassy.

“Don’t cry,” said Astoria. “I need to know what happened.”

“You’re mad at me,” said Griselda softly.

“Obviously!” Astoria snapped. “You gave his name to the fucking Aurors, Griselda!”

“I had to!” she protested. “I had to tell them the truth!”

“What truth?”

“That Marcus and Daniel got in a fight over money, and they were going to meet up that night!”

Astoria stared at her, still standing over her, while Griselda pressed her head into her hands and let out a soft sob. Her mass of red curls seemed to swallow her up; she was already a tiny thing and she clearly hadn’t been taking care of herself in the last few days. Astoria often stopped by, at least twice a week, to make sure Griselda was eating enough food and hadn’t gotten herself in trouble with someone in Knockturn Alley or gotten scammed again. She’d kept her name on the lease and paid the rent while Griselda stayed here, even after moving out, because she knew the apothecary’s salary couldn’t cover even the meagre rates of Knockturn.

She exhaled a deep sigh, trying to release some of that fury that was still spinning in her gut.

“Griselda,” she said, lowering her voice back down to a decibal that wouldn’t scare her. “I need you to talk to me, okay? Is that the only thing you told the Aurors?”

Griselda sniffled. When she looked up, her brown eyes were still cloudy. “I really don’t know what happened. That’s all I know. Daniel was going to take the money, that’s why they were going to meet. I don’t know what happened after that.”

Astoria paced away from her, into the living room, letting her thoughts spiral around for a minute to sort themselves out. Griselda wasn’t a liar. And she’d certainly never lied to Astoria. But her story didn’t make sense. Why would Daniel tell her about this, but not Astoria? Let alone the fact that Daniel even agreeing to take money from Marcus Flint didn’t make sense either. None of it made sense, starting from Anubis’ story and continuing on with Griselda’s version.

There was something here she wasn’t seeing.

“Why were they fighting about money?” she asked.

Griselda looked at her, uncertain. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t there. It was at fight club when it happened, you know I don’t go.”

She had gone once, to support Astoria, and had been thoroughly put off by the stench, the blood, and the violence, and never gone again.

“Okay.” Astoria crossed her arms, looking out the window into the dismal Knockturn skies above their apartment. “Anubis knew about the fight because he was at fight club when it happened. But he didn’t tell the Aurors about their meeting. How did you know about it?”

Griselda’s hands were shaking, when Astoria looked back at her.

“Daniel told me.”

“Bullshit,” said Astoria, frankly surprised at her own ability to cut through Griselda’s crying. “He told you and he didn’t tell me?”

“I was his friend, too,” Griselda whispered.

“Yeah, we’re all friends, Griselda, that’s why you gave up his name to the Aurors.”

“I had to!” Griselda got to her feet, eyes wide and brimming with tears again. “I had to, they were asking so many questions, and—you know I can’t afford to get on the wrong side of the law. I don’t have any protection like you do, my dad’s in jail—”

“You have me!” Astoria snapped. Griselda went quiet.

She took a deep breath and tried again.

“Griselda, I know things are hard for you, but I would have protected you against the Aurors. But I can’t do anything now. They’re out there hunting for Daniel because they think he did it, because you told them his name and connected him to Marcus!”

Griselda wrapped her arms tight around herself. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Astoria demanded.

“I don’t know!” Griselda squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know. I just had to tell them something. They were in here, in our house—”

“There’s nothing here for them to find,” said Astoria. Any evidence of fight club was thoroughly cleaned out of the house. And Griselda had never had anything to hide. “Is there?”

“No, but you don’t get it.” Griselda opened her eyes, looking freshly miserable. “The way they look at you when you’re a Death Eater’s daughter. They would look for any excuse.”

“We’re talking about Harry Potter here,” Astoria pointed out. “Literally the most chivalrous Gryffindor ever. You’re saying you felt threatened by the Chosen One?”

“He helped put my dad in jail.”

Astoria had to forcibly stop herself from pointing out that Geoffrey Goyle wouldn’t be in jail if he hadn’t fucking joined up with the Death Eaters in the first place.

“Okay. Fine.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying not to sound too annoyed. “Do you have any idea where Daniel might be?”

Griselda shook her head.

“Perfect,” said Astoria dryly. “So you know everything about his finances but not where he’s hiding out. That’s great.”

“I don’t know everything about his finances,” said Griselda, brow furrowing. “I just—I just think there was more going on than he told anyone. Even you.”

“Clearly.” Astoria checked her watch. “I’ll see you around, Griselda.”

“Astoria, don’t leave mad,” Griselda started, turning towards her as Astoria walked over to the front door.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Astoria, unlocking the door with her wand and swinging it open harshly. “I’m not leaving mad. I’m leaving furious.”

She slammed the door shut behind her and stalked back down the stairs and into the heart of Knockturn Alley, ignoring the looks and the whispers from her old neighbors – that was a familiar constant, living here, and one she didn’t care to deal with right now. Whatever truth she was searching for, she wasn’t going to find it amongst the liars and snakes of Knockturn.

By the time she arrived back at Queen’s Lodge, it was edging into evening time. The horses were on a rotating schedule of training and flight, so she could see two of them up in the air with the stable hands guiding them into new exercises as she approached. The estate was golden in the summertime, the aged white brick warmed by the sunlight, sprawling fields of wildflowers and scattered trees everywhere you looked.

Unfortunately, two figures at the stables ruined the scenery.

“What are you doing here?” Astoria asked, barely remembering to censor out a swear word since one of those figures was a seven-year-old boy.

“Hi,” said Teddy Lupin, his hair a shock of white that perfectly matched the mane of the horse he had been watching do circles in the air.

“Teddy wanted to see the horses,” said Harry Potter. “And Charlie mentioned kids can ride free, so…”

Astoria stared at him, unimpressed. He met her gaze evenly, although the longer she stared, the more his general sense of calm seemed to become perturbed. She wondered if he practiced at being quietly intimidating, because she knew she was better at it than he was. He wasn’t the one who had lived in Knockturn Alley for three years, after all.

“This isn’t a petting zoo.”

“Look, he really wants to—”

“What do you want, Potter?” she said, crossing her arms. “Because I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with horses.”

Teddy Lupin’s hair turned a distressed shade of blue, eyes darting between the two of them like he was watching a particularly intense game of Gobstones.

Potter pressed his lips together, then exhaled slowly. “Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Oh, really?” Astoria asked. “You think coming to my house unannounced and accusing my best friend of murder was the wrong foot to get off on?”

“I did not accuse your best friend of—”

Astoria ignored him, waving over Erik, one of her best trainers. He stepped up to them hesitantly, as if afraid to get too near to Harry Potter and the argument she was stoking.

“Teddy, is it?” she asked the boy, who nodded. “Erik, can you show him to ride one of our little ones? Maybe Hermes, if he hasn’t gone out today yet.”

“Sure thing.” Erik smiled at Teddy. “This one over here is Hermes.”

Teddy had brightened considerably at the knowledge that he would actually get to ride a horse, and trotted after Erik happily, his hair flashing an excited red. “Cool! What breed is he?”

Astoria turned back to Potter. “Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“I already told you, I don’t—”

“Don’t talk to Aurors, I know.” Potter sighed. “We can talk off the record, you know.”

“Yeah?” Astoria tilted her head, looking at him. “About what?”

Potter, to his credit, didn’t fidget under her gaze, but he also clearly didn’t have anything prepared for this question. His green eyes darted around, as if searching for inspiration. He was still wearing his t-shirt and jeans from earlier, with a jacket now, and the difference between his casual clothes and his Auror robes lent itself to a certain lack of mystery, she thought. When he was dressed up as an Auror, he commanded more respect. Maybe that was why Griselda had been so intimidated by him. In these clothes, he looked like someone normal, not the savior of the Wizarding World.

“Politics?” he suggested at last.

She nearly laughed. “You want to talk to me about politics?”

“Well, it seems relevant,” he said. “Your mother is running for Minister. Surely you have opinions.”

Astoria rolled her eyes, turning away from him, and began walking towards the stables to check on her horses. To her mild surprise, he followed after her with only a moment of hesitation.

“I actually don’t,” she said, opening the gate to where a Granian horse named Rhea was standing, wings tucked in and nibbling on some hay grass. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you, in case you spread around my opinions and smear Mother’s campaign.”

Not that she particularly cared about her mother’s campaign – in fact, her own life would probably increase in quality if she dropped out right now – but that didn’t seem like relevant information for Harry Potter to know.

“For the love of Merlin,” sighed Potter. “Not everything I do is an attempt to ruin your life, do you know that?”

“No, how would I know that?”

He stopped in front of Rhea’s gate, watching as Astoria levitated a brush to herself and began to comb through the horse’s soft grey mane. Rhea knickered in pleasure and lowered her head so Astoria could reach the top of her neck.

“Do you really think everyone is out to get you?”

“Only Gryffindors,” said Astoria dryly. “Although may I remind you, you did help put half the adults I know in prison after the war? And my sister on house arrest.”

“I had nothing to do with putting your sister on house arrest,” said Potter, raising an eyebrow. “That was all her.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Astoria slid her fingers into Rhea’s mane to gently sort out a tangle. “It was your ex-girlfriend who helped put her on house arrest.”

This quieted him for a bit. Astoria glanced back at him, satisfied to note the flare of annoyance in his eyes, his jaw working without making a sound. Maybe that would shut him for good.

No such luck. Potter instead opened the gate into Rhea’s stable, stepping inside and gingerly offering his hand for her to sniff. Astoria watched as Rhea took a hesitant sniff and then didn’t move as Potter lightly stroked her nose.

“Does that mean she likes me?” he asked Astoria, his tone deceptively casual.

“No,” Astoria lied.

He grinned at her. “Okay.”

Astoria continued brushing down Rhea’s mane, ignoring him as he pet her horse, and working her way back to Rhea’s wide grey wings.

“So is this how Auror investigations usually go? Using your godson to pry people for information?”

“I’m not investigating you,” Potter protested. “Do you have anything I could feed her?”

Astoria sighed, annoyed, and rummaged in her pockets for the little container of sugar cubes she always kept on her. She tossed it to him and he caught it with a Seeker’s unerring grasp.

“Pretty sure you had no idea who I was until Daniel’s name turned up in your interviews, did you? I’d call this investigating a lead.”

“Maybe.” Potter popped open the container and offered Rhea a sugar cube from the palm of his hand. “But I did know your name before.”

“My name or my mother’s name?”

“Neither,” he said. “Your sister, she’s marrying a friend of mine.”

Astoria shot him an exasperated look in the middle of brushing out bits of dirt from Rhea’s wings.

“What?” Potter asked. “Did you forget?”

“Forget that my sister is marrying a Weasley? As if.” Astoria shook her head. “But just because you know Penelope doesn’t mean you knew me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not that much alike.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t try to kill me with her eyes every time I see her.”

“If only it worked,” said Astoria, stepping around to Rhea’s other side to finish brushing her down.

“I know, pity,” said Potter. “Look, I like your sister. And I know you don’t exactly have the best impression of me, but I actually am trying to listen to you, you know? If you have information that could help exonerate Daniel’s name, I’m all for it.”

Astoria stopped in the middle of her brushing, looking over at him around Rhea’s head. Potter met her gaze, green eyes open and earnest. She quirked an eyebrow.

“How often does that work?”

He looked confused. “What?”

“The whole little Gryffindor golden boy schtick,” she said, waving a hand at him. “The ‘I’m just such a hero and I’m trying to do the right thing if only you could help me’ act.”

His eyebrows drew down. “It’s not an act, I’m trying to—”

“Trying to connect with me emotionally so I’ll feel guilty and tell you all my secrets, yeah, I know,” said Astoria. “Come on, Potter. I’m a Slytherin. Have some class. You can do better than that.”

Potter opened his mouth, then closed it, then exhaled a breath of almost laughter.

“You’re impossible.”

“I try,” she said. “Don’t feed her too many sugar cubes.”

“Oh.” He looked down to find the container almost empty. “Sorry.”

At that moment, the ghost of a middle-aged woman floated out through the wall, making Rhea knicker in alarm and rear her head up. Astoria drew her wand and cast a quick calming spell on the horse while the ghost spun in a circle and stopped right in front of the three of them, her old-fashioned dress streaming silver behind her. She leveled an accusatory glance at Astoria.

“Astoria,” said the woman in deeply outraged posh tones, “someone has moved my book from the library and I can’t find it.”

Potter sent her a curious look. “Who is this?”

Astoria sighed. “One of my ancestors. Euthalia Greengrass.”

“What are you going to do about it?” demanded Euthalia, turning the force of her glower on Potter for daring to interrupt her very important conversation.

“I’ll talk with the servants,” Astoria promised her. “I’m sure they just wanted to read your autobiography because you’re such an inspiration to all of them.”

Euthalia sniffed, although she looked pleased. “Well, tell whoever took it to place it back where it belongs. Honestly, no manners these days. Who is this man? Are you finally getting married?”

She had, unfortunately, finally realized Potter wasn’t one of the usual stable hands. Although she had still accused Astoria of trying to marry most, if not all, of the male servants before, so maybe she didn’t care about that.

“No, Euthalia,” said Astoria patiently. “This is Harry Potter.”

“Potter?” Euthalia flew close to Potter’s face until he had to take a step back in alarm. “Like Alexander Potter?”

“Um, maybe?” said Potter.

“Yes,” said Astoria, overriding him. “It’s easier to just go along with it,” she muttered to Potter. “She’s dead, she only knows your ancestors.”

Euthalia still looked suspicious. “Alexander Potter was far uglier. And a scalawag, besides.”

“Sorry?” Potter seemed mildly amused by this declaration.

“It was probably the inbreeding,” Astoria suggested. “This one’s not pureblood, Euthalia. You don’t want him marrying in.”

Euthalia wrinkled her nose and pulled away from her inspection of Potter as if he were diseased. “I see you let any sort of riffraff into our ancestral home these days.”

“You’re right. I should put up a ‘purebloods only’ sign.”

“And find yourself a good man, for Merlin’s sake,” said Euthalia, completely missing any sarcasm. “Entertaining mudbloods next to our prized horses…”

She floated off, muttering to herself all the way back into the wall and away into the depths of the estate. Potter turned back to Astoria, one eyebrow raised.

“So, your house is haunted by racist ghosts?”

“Don’t take it personally.” Astoria patted Rhea’s nose. “She hates everyone.”

Potter fell into step beside her as they walked out of Rhea’s stable and towards the front gate, where they could see Teddy and Erik hovering a few feet off the ground, Erik on a broomstick guiding Teddy atop Hermes’ back.

“I’d like to ask her about Alexander Potter,” he said musingly. “What’s a scalawag?”

“Probably her way of calling him a cunt,” said Astoria. “She’s from the 1800s or something. You’ll have to make an appointment, though, she’s very busy with her self-appointed job of yelling at all my stable hands and servants.”

He snorted. “I’ll put in a request. How do you deal with that?”

“Oh, she’s got nothing on my mother.”

At the front of the stables, Astoria wedged her boot on the wooden slat of the gates, propelling herself up and swinging a leg over it. With the added height, she could straddle the gate and look over at all the stables at once, taking note of which horses were grazing, which were sleeping, and which were out on their training rotation.

Potter leaned against the side of the gate. “Is it difficult?”

“Is what difficult?”

“Working on a farm when you’re that short.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“I’m just asking. Some of those horses are twice your height.”

“Horses don’t respect height, they respect power.”

“Right.” Potter watched as she waved her wand, refilling some hay feeders and water troughs that were getting low. “Look, I appreciate you letting Teddy ride. If you ever decide it’s worth it to tell me whatever you know—”

“I’ll be sure to send it through my lawyer,” she said dryly. “His name’s Joshua Goldstein, with Orpington and Tresswell law firm. You may have heard of him.”

Potter frowned in thought. “Anthony’s brother?”

“I don’t know who his brother is.” Astoria swung her other leg over the gate and hopped down. Potter opened it from the back and followed her back out into the field. “I know you’re just trying to do your job, Potter, but I’m not kidding. I don’t talk to Aurors. Under strict instructions here. Even if I liked you I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“But since you don’t like me, you’re telling me less than nothing?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“Alright, well.” Potter slid a hand into the pocket of his jacket, then pulled out a card, offering it to her. “That’s my office’s Floo code. If you change your mind before we get that warrant.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but he only grinned.

“Thanks,” she said. “And if you ever get horse manure through the Floo, you’ll know who it’s from.”

“I think that’s a felony.”

“Sending the Ministry unsolicited items is only a misdemeanour.” Astoria smiled at him. “I’ve checked before.”

Potter shook his head. “Of course you have. Look, I know you think we’re out to get your friend, but we are actually looking at other suspects.”

Astoria pressed her lips together, trying not to think of Griselda shaking and crying in their old apartment, so clearly holding something back. The holes in Anubis’ story. The way all of Knockturn felt like it was twisting itself into knots that she was trying to untangle.

“And, what, everyone else has alibis?” she asked.

“Well, Daniel’s missing, so… if he has one, I’d love to hear it from him.”

“I’d love to hear it, too.” Astoria turned around to the sky where Erik and Teddy were, gesturing for him to lead Hermes back down to the ground.

“I mean,” continued Potter, “if he’s innocent, surely he would want to tell us the truth.”

“Right.” Astoria shot him a look over her shoulder. “That sounds way smarter than hiding from a justice system that salivates at the thought of locking a werewolf up just on the basis of who they are. Do you have any idea how many werewolves have been murdered by Aurors on the job?”

Potter’s brow creased. “…No.”

“Tell you what.” Astoria turned his card over and pointed her wand at it, writing out the name of a book. “Read this and get back to me.”

He blinked at the card she proffered. “A Lycanthropic History of the Ministry of Magic?”

Astoria waited for him to take the card back, which he did, reluctantly. Nearby, Erik helped Teddy land Hermes on the ground and dismantled him from the saddle.

Potter looked thoughtfully back at Astoria. “How do you know so much about werewolves?”

“Well, believe it or not, sometimes Slytherins know more than you do, Potter,” said Astoria with a shrug. “My best friend was attacked in the war. I had to do my research.”

“You had to?”

“Yeah, I had to.” She turned to face him properly, watching the way he studied her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Because unlike Daniel’s parents, I’m not a piece of shit who would disown him for getting attacked. And there are very few protections for werewolves in the laws you uphold. Even if Daniel isn’t automatically found guilty, being suspected could kill him too. You think the Flints will be happy with an arrest over the murder of their heir?”

He paused, a frown on his face. “They don’t know—we haven’t told them.”

“Well, good. But what if I wasn’t Daniel’s friend? What if I was Drusilla Flint’s friend and went straight to her and told her that you suspected him? They’d have a manhunt out for a bounty on Daniel’s head faster than you could blink. And you know what, that’s still legal.”

“Hunting werewolves is legal?” he repeated.

“You’d be surprised how much bullshit is still legal.” Astoria looked over at where Erik was helping Teddy feed a carrot to Hermes. “If I wanted to, I could run a tournament tomorrow of horse fighting. Winged horses forced to fight each other in the sky. They would die. And that would be legal.”

Potter glanced at her in alarm. “But… we don’t allow that for dragons here.”

“No, dragon fighting is outlawed. Horse fighting isn’t. And it’s because dragons forced to fight each other might kill humans.” Astoria crossed her arms, blinking back her anger at the mere thought of it. “There’s so many little loopholes in every single law. And none of them have the best interest of anyone at heart, except the old purebloods who made them all those years ago.”

Potter took a breath. “Okay, I know that the Ministry is not always on the side of the people, but I’m not trying to throw your friend in jail just because he’s a werewolf. I’m trying to solve a murder.”

“Right.” Astoria smiled humorlessly. “Harry Potter, champion of werewolves, house elves, and muggleborns.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. I just don’t think it matters.”

“Why not?”

Astoria rolled her eyes up to the sky.

“Because there’s not a single werewolf in this country who would ever willingly talk to the Aurors. And that’s not a coincidence. And that’s not something you can fix by waving your wand and saying Expelliarmus.”

One corner of his mouth curved. “I don’t solve all my problems that way.”

“You’ll have to solve this one without me.” Astoria summoned up a smile as Teddy bounded over to them, Erik leading Hermes back to the stables. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” said Teddy, his eyes bright with excitement and his hair the same color as Hermes’ mane. “That was so cool! Can we come back here with Anaïs?”

Potter shot Astoria a sidelong look. “Maybe,” he said diplomatically. “If Miss Greengrass lets us.”

Teddy turned hopeful puppy dog eyes on her. Astoria sighed.

“You can only ride free until you’re eleven,” she told him. “After that, you have to pay.”

Teddy grinned. “Awesome!”

“Is that really a rule?” asked Potter curiously.

She made a face at him.

“See you around, Potter.”

Chapter Text

Nobody was ever late to an appointment with Delia Greengrass if they could help it. She was well known to fire employees simply for wasting her time, and to leak gossip on any friends who kept her waiting or stood her up. She ran her Ministerial campaign from her manor home with an iron fist. Even being two minutes late was seen as a capital offense.

Which was why Astoria was standing in front of her childhood home, five minutes past the agreed-upon time of twelve o’clock, smelling distinctly of horses and hay.

To be fair, she usually smelled like horses, but today she hadn’t bothered with a perfuming charm. The guard at the front gate nodded to her and then wrinkled his nose as she walked past him, boots thumping on the stone pathway winding up to the large double doors of Summerstone House.

Her mother was waiting in her office, down the main hallway and to the right. It was a spacious, luxurious room with dark wood bookshelves and jewel-toned velvet curtains, a leather armchair in the corner and another one behind the cherrywood desk. Delia herself sat in the chair, blonde hair tied up in her usual elegant braided bun, focused on the papers she was reading instead of on the house elf who let Astoria into the room.

When she looked up, her grey eyes were cold.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, Mother,” said Astoria, in her least mocking tone. “One of the horses had an accident.”

Her mother looked as though she greatly doubted that.

“Is that why you smell of manure?”

Astoria slid into the chair in front of Delia’s desk with a small smile.

“I always smell like this.”

Delia whisked her wand sideways and Astoria pursed her lips as the perfuming charm washed over her. All of a sudden, she smelled like honey and vanilla, two of her least favorite scents.

“That’s better,” said Delia. “Now, I need to talk to you about this… unpleasantness with Marcus Flint.”

“…You mean his brutal murder?” asked Astoria incredulously.

Her mother ignored this, shuffling through her papers before setting them off to the side.

“I understand the Aurors have been to Queen’s Lodge to speak with you. I assume you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut and not tell them anything.”

Astoria widened her eyes. “You mean, I wasn’t supposed to hand over all of my fiscal records and accounting books to them?”

Delia never looked amused, but she looked even less amused today. Her lips pressed into a thin line, red lipstick sharp against the ghostly pale of her skin.

“This is not the time to be joking around, Astoria. Now you know I’ve allowed you to have your freedom in living on Queen’s Lodge and running it by yourself, but I do need you to be smart about this. The last thing we need is to end up involved in a murder investigation in the middle of my campaign, especially since Pansy is already involved.”

“Uh, pretty sure Dad’s the one who let me have the freedom to live on Queen’s Lodge and run it by myself,” Astoria pointed out, swinging her legs up and over the side of the chair. Her mother sent her an unimpressed look but she ignored it. “Since he left it to me in his will and all.”

Delia sighed. “Honestly, Astoria, are you ever going to start acting like an adult?”

“I am acting like an adult. I didn’t even tell Harry Potter that it was Daphne who started that rumor about Granger and Weasley breaking up that hit the presses yesterday.” Astoria smiled as if her mother should be proud of this.

Her mother, true to form, ignored this entirely.

“Don’t speak to Harry Potter without Joshua’s presence. We can’t risk anything leaking while we’re in the middle of the campaign. Now, have you looked into those jewels that have been missing from the Queen’s Lodge vaults?”

“Have you considered that you or Father moved them into the Gringott’s vaults because that would have been very smart of you rather than leaving them somewhere at Queen’s Lodge?” inquired Astoria.

Delia ignored this, too. “They were very valuable jewels, passed down to your father from his parents. With the kind of riffraff you let into Queen’s Lodge—”

It was kind of funny, she thought vaguely, that even with two hundred years in between them, Euthalia Greengrass who had been born into the family in the 1800s and her mother, who had married in during the 1900s, used the exact same word for her best friends.

“Once again, you probably moved them into our endless Gringott’s vaults, since I bring so much riffraff around the farm.”

“Don’t test me, Astoria,” said Delia. “I need those jewels so I can assess them. After your father died, we did a reevaluation of all our estates, properties, and investments. Those jewels are the only things missing from the evaluation.”

Astoria couldn’t think of anything less interesting that ugly old jewelry rotting away somewhere in Queen’s Lodge, and she opened her mouth to say so but was – probably fortuitously – interrupted by one of her mother’s campaign workers knocking on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but the Prophet has sent over the journalist to interview you. She’s waiting in the parlor room, the house elf has given her tea and biscuits already.”

“Very well.” Delia twirled her wand to make all her files and papers fly into their respective cabinets and locked them all up with another flick. “Astoria, do let me know what your plans are to deal with this theft of our property.”

“If they’re in Queen’s Lodge, technically aren’t they just my property?” she asked.

Delia narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you would like to sit in for my interview, so you can have a glimpse at—”

“No, no,” said Astoria hastily, swinging her legs back over and jumping up to her feet. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally endorse Macmillan or anything in front of a journalist.”

“Indeed,” said Delia frostily. “William, will you escort Astoria out? Make sure to avoid the parlor room.”

“I’d be happy to,” said William obligingly.

“Don’t worry, Will,” Astoria said, patting him on the arm as she slipped around him and out of her mother’s office. “I’ve been sneaking out of this house since I could walk.”

She waved at her mother and then wandered down the hallway, ignoring the portrait of some Greengrass ancestor who shouted at her to get a husband, and out into the dining room that opened up into the backyard. Once there, she drew her wand, traced the rune for taking down the anti-Apparation wards around the house, and activated it.

Her mother’s campaign had helpfully reminded her that there was something she had completely forgotten to do yesterday, something that had struck her while talking to Lila Grimrose.

The flat she Apparated to was one in a wizarding apartment block called Whispering Willows, tucked away amongst rows of Muggle apartments, magically hidden so none of them knew that an entire building was taken up exclusively by witches and wizards. The Apparation point was in front of the building, which led into a reception area with a lift she could take up to her destination, but Astoria didn’t often come here with the intention of being seen.

Looking around the Muggle street, filled with passerbys who couldn’t see her, she walked around the building and to the back, where the fire escape stairs were. The flat she was looking for was one on the fourth floor, so it was a bit of a journey, up multiple iron-wrought staircases and quietly stepping over people’s sparsely-decorated fire escapes. A quick Notice Me Not charm would stop any of the other residents of the Whispering Willows from spotting her.

She knocked on the door once she reached her destination. It took a long minute for the curtains to draw back.

Ethan Macmillan stood on the other side of the glass, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he realized she was standing there.

Astoria offered him a smile.

He unlocked the door and slid it open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Macmillan,” Astoria rejoinded, stepping in to his flat and pulling down the hood of her jacket. “Are you busy?”

“I could have been.” Ethan crossed his arms, his brow wrinkled. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

He hated being told it, but he looked exactly like his older brother Ernie when he did that. Astoria stopped herself from annoying him with this factoid and instead looked around his flat, as if she hadn’t been there before.

Admittedly, it had been a long time. He’d replaced the worn old second-hand couch he’d bought at a yard sale with a plush new one – actually, she suspected his father had forced him to replace it because the old one had been truly ugly.

There was a pot of slowly boiling water going on the stove, and recently bought groceries strewn on the countertops. A magazine she was pretty sure his father wouldn’t have liked for him to be spotted with was tossed on the coffee table, a pretty witch with blonde hair and blue eyes batting her lashes on the cover.

“Just wanted to talk,” she said casually, walking over to the coffee table and picking up the copy of Unicorn. “Is this campaign-approved material?”

Ethan snatched it out of her hand and Vanished it. “Shut up.”

“I mean, it’s an interesting strategy.” Astoria grinned at him. “Relatibility or whatever.”

“Did you just come here to annoy me?” he demanded.

“No.” Astoria sighed. “Have you heard about the murder?”

Ethan frowned. “The Flint murder? Yeah, why?”

“Have the Aurors come to talk to you yet?”

“No,” he said uncertainly. “Should they have?”

“Well, they probably will soon,” said Astoria. “Once they clock that you and Daniel were friends. They showed up at my house two days ago, asking where he’s been. Turns out he’s a person of interest in the murder.”

That took a long moment to sink in for Ethan. His eyes widened, and he sank down into his armchair in shock.

“Holy shit. Why? Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Haven’t heard from him since before the murder happened. It’s like he’s just vanished. Did you hear how Marcus died?”

“Yeah, heard he was mauled to…” Ethan’s voice trailed off. “Fuck. Fucking hell. What do you mean, they think Daniel did it?”

“It was a full moon the night he died.” Astoria didn’t sit down, pacing the length of Ethan’s small living room instead. “I don’t know. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know why they came to me first.”

At this, Ethan snorted. “Well, come on. You are kind of the first person to go to on Daniel Diggory.”

She slanted him a sidelong look. “He has other friends. Like you.”

“Yeah, but.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Come on. The weirdest thing about Daniel was that he was friends with you. Of course it’s what people would remember. Who were the Aurors who visited you?”

“Harry Potter, Seamus Finnigan, Bethany Abbott,” said Astoria. “I’m shocked Bethany didn’t remember about you.”

“Honestly, the most I ever talked to Bethany was in fifth year, when we were in Dumbledore’s Army together,” Ethan said. “And I only joined after Daniel… well, after he left. So I don’t think she ever saw us together. But she probably remembered you two being friends.”

Astoria scrunched her face up. “Whatever. Can you just keep your ear to the ground? I haven’t heard anything from Daniel, or from the werewolves he lives with. Maybe someone at the Ministry has heard something.”

“I’ll try,” said Ethan doubtfully.

“You’re friends with Potter and that lot,” Astoria pressed. “You can ask them questions without it being weird.”

“I’m not… that close with Potter,” Ethan hedged. “He’s closer with Ernie. But Ernie’s not even in the Aurors anymore, so…”

“Don’t you all have, I don’t know, goody two shoes meet-ups or something? Dumbledore’s Army reunion parties? Bar crawls?”

“You have a very optimistic view of my social life,” said Ethan.

Astoria rolled her eyes. “You got out more when we were sleeping together.”

“Yeah, well.” Ethan shrugged. “I was drunk more often then.”

“Mm. Well, if you hear anything, let me know.” Astoria paused, thinking about it, and then added, “And try not to tell Potter first.”

“I’ll do my best.” Ethan’s gaze flickered to her, worried. “Do you really think Daniel’s… I mean, why would he have disappeared?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Astoria might have said more, but someone rang the doorbell then. Ethan blinked at it.

“Expecting someone?” she asked him.

“Oh,” he said with a sigh. “It’s probably my neighbor. She’s this old lady, says she used to babysit my mum when she was a kid, so she’s always doing things like dropping off cookies for me. Bertha Fairweather.”

“She sounds old,” Astoria agreed.

Ethan shot her a look and went to open the door. Astoria wondered if she was supposed to hide – when they had been sleeping together, he was very careful to never introduce her to his brother or anyone in his family, but that hadn’t been the case for two years now. They were almost friends, at least when Daniel was around.

Then again, his father was running for Minister against her mother so maybe she should hide just based on that.

It was too late, though. Ethan opened the door to Bertha Fairweather, who was, indeed, a gray-haired old lady wearing a yellow dress and holding a tin of what must be her cookies for him.

“Hi, dearie,” said Bertha. “I was just popping in before dinner—oh, do you have a guest over?”

Ethan turned to look at Astoria, as if expecting her to smile in greeting. “No, she was just leaving.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows, but said nothing, because she was pretty sure she didn’t want to be trapped in a conversation with Bertha Fairweather.

“Well, alright, then,” Bertha said, offering the tin of cookies to him. “I made some extras for you, they’re your favorite. Oatmeal raisin.”

“Thanks, Bertha,” said Ethan with what looked like a genuine smile. Astoria didn’t know how Hufflepuffs did it. “I’ll come by tomorrow to pick up your cat so you can go to your book club.”

“Thank you, dearie,” Bertha said, and bustled off with a sideways glance at Astoria as if she wasn’t sure if she really was there or not.

Astoria waited until the door closed. “Oatmeal raisin?”

“I lied to her once and said I liked them and she keeps making them.” Ethan grimaced, looking down at the tin. “I don’t suppose you’d want them.”

“No, I think my life is better without tasting Bertha Fairweather’s oatmeal raisin cookies,” said Astoria solemnly.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Was there anything else besides the Daniel thing?”

“No.” Astoria pulled her hood up over her hair. “Just… take care of yourself, I guess. This case might be a whole thing.”

He looked grim, walking over to the fire escape to open the door for her. “I’ll do my best. Honestly, you’ll probably figure it out faster than I could, you don’t have to spend time working at a Ministry campaign.”

“Maybe, but you talk to more people a day than I do,” Astoria pointed out, stepping out amongst the random succulent plants he had on the escape. “See you around.”

As she descended down the fire escape stairs, hood drawn low to hide her identity even though they were no one else around, it occurred to her that maybe she didn’t need to rely on Ethan at the Ministry to do the investigating there for her. After all, it wasn’t like the Macmillan campaign was the only one running.

But before she could think about that, she had something else to do. Knockturn Alley had only given her a clue, and she’d gone there in the daytime, when everyone was sober. As the sun began to set, she needed to go back and see what the people would say with a few drinks in them.

It was Lila’s day off at the White Wyvern, which suited Astoria fine since she didn’t have to explain herself for coming back so soon to her. Unfortunately, Lila’s younger half-sister Elendine was the bartender on duty, and Elendine knew approximately nothing about making drinks and spent most of her time flirting with the patrons in order to cover up this fact.

“Oh,” said Elendine upon spotting her, wrinkling her nose. “Hi, Astoria.”

Astoria smiled at her, hopping up onto her favorite barstool. “Need some help back there?”

“No,” Elendine said huffily. “I can handle it.”

Astoria nodded and propped her chin on her palm to watch Elendine ‘handling it’. She was only nineteen, so she could have been forgiven for not knowing how to make any drink more complicated that pouring firewhisky into a mug, but her father was notorious for understaffing because he never wanted to pay properly – his family, Astoria knew, rarely got paid on time, and she only had because her father had called Mortimer Grimrose up the first time she didn’t get a check on time and threatened him within an inch of his life.

However, Elendine was very pretty, with long dark hair she always kept loose and curled – despite Lila telling her five million times a day to not get hair in the drinks and food – and a bright, open face that was out of the ordinary for Knockturn residents, which meant the men generally preferred it when she was bartending. She also never yelled at any customers the way Lila did, although Astoria had always enjoyed that Lila did that because it was hilarious.

She rather suspected that Elendine’s mother had been a pureblood, because she shared the soft grey eyes and high cheekbones that Astoria was used to seeing in her family’s circles, but nobody had ever volunteered the information to her when she worked there – she actually wasn’t even sure Elendine herself knew who her mother was, just that she had been dropped off at the White Wyvern as a baby and torpedoed Mortimer’s marriage with Lila’s mother, who had left almost immediately.

It took Elendine a solid ten minutes to come back with the drink Astoria had ordered – a gin and tonic; she knew better than to ask for anything fancy when Elendine was behind the bar.

“So what are you doing back here?” asked Elendine.

“Just visiting,” said Astoria, turned sideways on the stool so she could keep an eye on the patrons as well as the bar. “How are things with you and Lila?”

Elendine scrunched up her face, which made her look even younger than nineteen.

“Ugh. She won’t tell me but I think she’s on a date tonight.”

“No way,” said Astoria in genuine interest. Lila never dated anybody, as far as she had known. “With who?”

“I don’t know!” Elendine looked affronted that she hadn’t been trusted with this secret, even though she obviously would’ve told the entire Alley if she did know. “She wouldn’t tell me anything. I don’t even think it’s a Knockturn boy, because she hates all of them.”

Astoria stared at her blankly. “A Knockturn… boy?”

“Yeah, I mean, unless you know one she actually likes?” asked Elendine.

“Um.” Astoria thought about explaining the idea that she was pretty sure Lila would never look twice at a man in her life, then decided it was too much work. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find out soon, if it’s serious.”

Elendine sighed deeply at this very upsetting thought. “I guess. Anyway, Anubis says you’re going to fight again?”

“Maybe,” said Astoria, even though she had, in fact, promised that. “We’ll see.”

“Well, you should, because the boys are getting too cocky down there,” Elendine said matter-of-factly. “Give me a second.”

Astoria watched as Elendine transferred her attention to a man who had just come in and was trying to order something she definitely couldn’t make properly, then turned back to the view the crowd of regulars. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, since it was a Monday evening, but Knockturn residents didn’t exactly work a 9-5 job, so there were still a good amount of people. Most of them worked on weekends more often than not, so it was always random weekdays that were more crowded than usual.

She took a sip of her drink, studying the loud conversations as well as who was conducting quieter meetings in booths tucked away into corners. There was always some sort of shady business deals going on, and most of them weren’t relevant to her – except now, they might be, because she didn’t know who might know something about the murder.

There was a couple getting drunk at a table that she was keeping an eye on, recognizing them from fight club – the man was a frequent fighter, although not a champion, and his wife liked to gamble, frankly a little too much if you asked Astoria – when a different couple sat down at the table next to them. Since people didn’t usually take seats too close to obviously drunk people, this made her sit up and take notice.

The new couple weren’t recognizable at first glance – they were both brown-haired, fair-skinned, and tall, but nobody she knew in Knockturn looked like them. They were dressed in Muggle fashion, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary around here, since wizarding robes could be expensive and nobody cared what you wore, but the woman kept adjusting her skirt in a way that indicated she didn’t often wear them.

Astoria looked away when the man cast a cursory glance around the bar, pretending to take a sip of her drink. She hadn’t actually drunk more than three sips, although she had a charm going to make the drink disappear slowly over time, so that people would think she was drinking the same as any other patron. Her Notice Me Not charm was active as always – it was kind of a precaution if you were smart and living in Knockturn – so that only people she talked to would know she was there.

When she was sure nobody was looking at her, she glanced back. They were perusing the menu – definitely newcomers, everyone in Knockturn already knew which three things to order because they were the only good things at the Wyvern – and having a quiet conversation amongst themselves. As Astoria watched, though, the woman smoothed down her skirt, slid her chair back as if she was getting up, and bumped into the chair of the other woman behind her.

Astoria narrowed her eyes. That had been done on purpose. Sliding her wand out, she cast a mild volume enhancement spell, just strong enough to make something within eyeshot audible to her.

The conversation came back muffled, but still understandable.

“Oh, sorry,” said the brunette woman with an obviously affected laugh of sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine.” The first woman laughed too, unaffected but obviously drunk.

“I was just on my way to the bar.” The brunette smiled at her. “Can I buy you two a drink?”

There was something so familiar about her. Astoria drummed her fingers on the bar, thinking. The girl’s mannerisms, the way she spoke, her obviously upper class accent… she had to be a pureblood. And purebloods didn’t just hang out at Knockturn Alley for fun. But her face matched none of the girls she knew around her own age in pureblood family circles.

“I’m Hannah,” the brunette said in introduction. “That’s my boyfriend, James.”

Hannah.

Of course it was.

Astoria had to physically stop herself from making a snide remark with no one around to say it to. Merlin, Aurors really were stupid.

She gave them ten minutes of cozying up to the couple before she cancelled her Notice Me Not charm, grabbed her drink, and stood. The man – and it was either Potter or Finnigan, but given that Potter’s father was rather famously named James, she had her suspicions – was just standing as well, to go to the bar and get food for him and his alleged girlfriend, who was deep in the middle of a conversation with the Knockturn couple and, from the looks of it, getting quite a bit of information out of them. Whether it was important information, though, or just marital troubles, was hard to say.

Astoria side-stepped a drunk teenager, turned around as if she was going to the opposite end of the room, and then walked directly in front of the man, tilting her drink forwards right as she did.

It splashed right into his black t-shirt. He winced back from her, looking down at the spill, and then up at her—and froze.

Astoria smiled sweetly at him. “I’m so sorry,” she said without a trace of apology in her voice. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her for a moment. His eyes were blue, but now that she knew they were both under Glamour Charms, it was easy to guess that they might be green underneath.

“I’m fine,” he said in a stilted voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” said Astoria lightly and lowered her voice just enough that nobody else could hear. “Pretty sure the Boy-Who-Lived can withstand a bit of drink spilling on him.”

She’d guessed right, because Potter went rigid. It would have been awkward if it was Finnigan, but she didn’t have time to feel satisfied about it.

He glanced back at Abbot and the couple she was talking to; she looked up, met his gaze, and frowned at whatever emotion was written on it. Astoria waited patiently for a response.

Potter seemed to make a decision after whatever nonverbal communication he held with Abbott, and grabbed her arm.

“Ow,” said Astoria, mostly for show. His lips were moving – she recognized the incantation of the Notice Me Not spell going up again – and then he was pulling her outside.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded once they were alone in the dark of the alley. Now that she could hear his voice properly and not through a spell, it was easy enough to place it as his, despite the fact that he still looked different.

“What am I doing here?” Astoria repeated. “This is Knockturn Alley, Potter. What’s a good little Gryffindor like you doing here?”

He ignored her question. “How did you know who I was?”

“Uh, I have brains?” said Astoria. “Also eyeballs.”

“We’re wearing Glamours.”

“You named yourselves Hannah and James.”

He paused. “Most people don’t know—”

“Yeah, but I know.” Astoria smiled at him. “I was in the same year as Bethany and I know Hannah, in case you forgot. Also, you two aren’t very good at not being suspicious.”

Potter took that in with a mildly incredulous look, and then sighed and waved his wand in his own direction, cancelling out his Glamour Charm. The brown hair deepened back to his usual black, his eyes flashing green again – and annoyed, on top of that.

“How did you even see us? You weren’t anywhere near us.”

“Unfortunately for you, I was.” Astoria twirled her wand around. “Aurors aren’t the only people who know how to cast the Notice Me Not spell, you know.”

Potter pressed his lips together, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she slid her wand away. She wondered how often it was that anyone got one up on him like this. Probably not very many since the war; Potter and his team of Aurors were in fact rather notorious for catching Death Eaters and being successful.

“By the way,” added Astoria, remembering something else, “I didn’t know you two were dating.”

He looked at her. “We’re not.”

“Oh, good,” Astoria said, mock-sympathetic. “You make a horrible couple.”

“Merlin,” said Potter, mostly to himself. “What’s wrong with you? Do you just thrive off annoying people?”

“Am I annoying you?”

“Yeah, you are. You’re getting in the way of my investigation.”

“Some investigation,” said Astoria, turning and wandering down the alley. True to form, he followed after her. “The people you’re talking to don’t know anything. I’d been watching them all evening. The only interesting thing about them is that he cheated on her and she knows about it and is blackmailing him about it to get a new house.”

Potter was quiet for a moment, walking alongside her as she pretended to enjoy the evening air.

Then he said, “If you were watching them, that means you suspected they might know something.”

He had her there.

Astoria turned to look at him, squinting at him in the glare of a silvery street lamp that washed them both with light. He didn’t look particularly smug, but she could still sense it in the way his gaze rested on her, quietly probing. Fucking Gryffindors.

“Well, I guess we were both running investigations. Except only one of us didn’t have to waste ten minutes of our lives talking to those two.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “So you are investigating?”

“Yes, it’s for my new radio drama called ‘The Life and Times of Knockturn Alley.’”

He sighed. “This would be a lot easier if you would just work with us, you know.”

“Easier for you, maybe.” Astoria wrapped her arms around herself as a wind picked up. “I think you lot would just drag me down. You can’t take two steps into Knockturn without being obvious.”

Potter leaned against the street lamp, still looking at her, more curious than annoyed now.

“How were we obvious?”

Astoria almost answered, then narrowed her eyes at him.

“Nice try. I’m not giving away Knockturn tricks of the trade that easily.”

He half-grinned. “Worth a shot.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. Potter stayed quiet for another long moment, and she let him think, watching a stray kneazle prowl out of a hole in the alleyway and eye the spot where the two of them were standing. Even the kneazle couldn’t see through the charm, though it probably sensed something was off, and eventually decided to slink away in search of food.

He broke the silence before she started seriously considering walking out of his spell and back to the Wyvern.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were really doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to be here?”

“Good little pureblood girls don’t usually hang out here, no,” Potter pointed out.

Astoria sent him a significant sidelong look. “What about me makes you think I’m a good little pureblood girl?”

“Nothing,” he said frankly. “But I assumed your mother wouldn’t like it if she knew.”

“Harry Potter,” said Astoria, turning around to face him properly. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Merlin,” Potter said with a breath of laughter. “No. Do you Slytherins only think in terms of blackmail and bribery? I was only making an observation. As if I’m going to go tattling to your mother like we’re six years old.”

“Well, it wouldn’t work even if you did,” Astoria told him. “What would you tell her, that her grown adult daughter was having a drink in a pub?”

“Not really having a drink so much as spilling one,” he said dryly. “But no. I’m not exactly in frequent communication with your mother, am I?”

“You could be, if you wanted to,” she said. “You’d just have to promise her your endorsement.”

“Right.” Potter sounded dubious. “Well—is that Bethany?”

Someone had indeed come out the front door of the White Wyvern. They hadn’t walked too far away, so Astoria could just make out that it was probably Abbott under the brunette glamour. Potter muttered the counterspell and a whisk of his wand took away the Notice Me Not charm so he could get Abbott’s attention and wave her over.

“Why aren’t you wearing your glamour?” Abbott asked, her gaze flicking between him and Astoria as she approached them.

“Oh.” Potter shrugged. “I put up a Notice Me Not. Nobody’s out here anyway.”

“And surely nobody around here would try to go after Harry Potter,” added Astoria, just a touch mockingly.

Abbott looked at her, frowning. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Potter said lightly. “She’s not very forthcoming.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you guys just because you’re Aurors,” said Astoria. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

“But you are,” said Potter, green eyes resting on her instead of meeting Abbott’s attempt to trade a look with him.

“Yeah, but only because I never let Mother tell me what to do.” Astoria smiled at him. “Anyway, I should get going.”

“Hold on,” said Abbott at the same time as Potter reached a hand out as if he was going to grab her arm again.

Astoria shot him a dangerous look. “Manhandling me was a one time only thing, Potter, and only because it was funny.”

Potter dropped his hand. “Right. Sorry about that.”

He actually looked apologetic, but it was hard to tell if it was because he actually felt he had behaved un-chivalrously, or because he was doing his thing of trying to get on her good side again.

“No, uh, you actually do need to talk to us this time, Astoria,” said Abbott, moving forward to Astoria had to pay attention to her. She took out her wand and undid her Glamour, changing her facial features back to normal and her brown hair back to soft blonde. “Because we got a warrant to search Daniel’s job at the pier, and his emergency contact was you.”

For a second, she froze. It wasn’t a surprise that she was Daniel’s emergency contact, or that they were searching his various jobs for information, but what was a surprise was that Potter hadn’t brought this up. He’d been trying to talk to her like normal, getting her to say things off the record without actually being off the record.

It was possible he was more Slytherin than she gave him credit for.

“Mm.” Astoria pretended to consider that, tilting her head and looking between Abbott and Potter, both of whom were staring her down. She settled her gaze on Potter. “And you didn’t mention this because…”

He said nothing, but she could see from the flicker of worry in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking was right.

“Because you’re still working on the warrant to talk to me,” Astoria finished. “Isn’t that right?”

Abbott sighed. “Astoria, we’re not your enemies. We just want to ask you a few questions about Daniel—”

“Oh, but you can’t,” she pointed out. “Not without a warrant. Not without my lawyer present. And he’s not letting you, is he?”

Despite the fact that she hadn’t heard from Daphne on the status of what their lawyer was doing, she knew her mother didn’t mess around with legal protections. Joshua Goldstein’s entire job right now was protecting the Greengrass family. There was no way he’d let the Aurors file that warrant, or speak to her without him there.

She turned back to Potter, stepping closer. “And you were trying to get me to talk without telling me about that.”

His gaze slid from hers to look at the backdrop of shops behind her.

“I just thought you’d prefer talking without a warrant over your head.”

“Right.” Astoria threw enough sarcasm into the word to make it clear she didn’t believe him. “You know what, Potter, you’re pretty good at this.”

He glanced back at her in surprise.

“But I’m better,” she finished. “Let me know when Joshua lets you speak to me again.”

“Astoria, come on,” Potter said, before she could walk away. “If you think Diggory is innocent, then don’t you owe it to him to tell us why?”

Her jaw worked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re supposed to be his best friend,” Abbott added. “Wouldn’t it be better to help us with our investigation to clear his name? Instead you’re deliberately obstructing us.”

The sheer fury that filled Astoria at the idea of someone using her friendship with Daniel against her like this must have shown on her face when she turned to the other girl, because Potter stepped forward in front of Abbott as if he might have to protect her. She almost laughed at him for it – she was five foot nothing and didn’t even have her wand out, what did he think she was going to do, attack her with her bare fists? – but she couldn’t find any humor through the anger.

“You’re right,” said Astoria slowly, her gaze shifting between the two of them. “I should tell you everything I know about Daniel Diggory. Let’s start with how—” She looked straight at Abbott, blue eyes into her restored hazel, and kept her face as straight as possible. “—when he was bitten in our fifth year, not a single one of you in Dumbledore’s Army said anything. And when his parents pulled him out, none of you reached out to him. Why was that?”

Abbott looked truly startled. “We—Astoria, there was a war, we were busy—”

Astoria ignored her, turning to look at Potter. “And you. You make a big deal out of knowing Professor Lupin, but what have you done to make things better for werewolves who actually are alive? And trying to live in this world? How does your godson feel about you using his father’s name as a shield?”

“I’m not doing that,” said Potter.

“Really, because I think you are,” said Astoria. “And a lot of people think you are. Your little war hero club pretends to care, but you’ve got no werewolves among you. The closest you have are people who were injured by Greyback, so you hunted down his pack and called it a day.”

“Astoria, that’s not true,” Abbott tried to say. “We know werewolves—”

Potter sent her a quick look that made her go quiet. Astoria narrowed her eyes. Obviously there were things they weren’t telling her, but that seemed significant. And it was about werewolves.

“Whatever,” she said, feeling abruptly tired of the conversation, and everything to do with the two of them, and with Ethan Macmillan, and her mother’s campaign. She wanted to go back to her horses, but she couldn’t, she had to stay here and figure out why Griselda was lying to her, what Knockturn Alley had seen, why Daniel was missing. “I don’t actually give a shit about you two. Feel free to keep investigating Knockturn Alley, you won’t find anything here, though.”

“Like a fight club?” asked Potter quietly.

Astoria had spent way too many years of her life lying to people about the fight club to be caught out by him, but she did shoot him a long, narrow-eyed look. Of course he thought he could get through to her like this. As if she were that easily manipulated.

“What do you even need me for, Potter?” she asked. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Hardly,” he said.

“Do you really think we didn’t care about Daniel?” Abbott demanded, because clearly Astoria’s earlier jab about her had struck. “Of course we did. Of course we all wondered what happened to him. It’s not like you would tell anyone, though.”

Astoria swallowed down what felt like bile in her throat. “You want to know what happened to him?”

Abbott traded a glance with Potter, looking suddenly uncertain.

“We only know Greyback bit him,” Potter volunteered.

Astoria curled her hands into fists deep inside her pockets.

“Right,” she said, carefully removing all traces of emotion from her voice before she spoke. “Because of me.”

Abbott blinked. Potter looked taken aback.

“What?” asked Abbott.

Astoria turned to her, letting her see just a hint of the anger that filled her when she thought about that moment in fifth year, that one horrible night that had changed her life completely.

“My father,” she said, barely managing to get the sentence out, “sent Greyback after him. To stop me from being friends with him. He stalked us into the Forbidden Forest and attacked him.”

Each word hung in the air between them, terrifying in her account of the war on the other side. She knew they weren’t used to it. The horrible things that purebloods did to each other during the war. The fact that their side weren’t the only victims of the Death Eaters.

“Why would he do that?” Potter asked after a long moment on quiet.

Astoria glanced at him, gratified to see the smallest bit of guilt in his green eyes.

“Use your fucking brain, Potter. Why wouldn’t my father want me spending time with a halfblood Hufflepuff boy? You have no idea how things work on the other side of the war. Just because you’re living in some brand new shiny world of happily ever after doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

“Astoria, that’s not fair,” said Abbott, stepping around Potter towards her.

“Isn’t it?”

“We’re just trying to understand,” Abbott tried to say.

“No, I don’t think you are,” Astoria countered. “You think Daniel Diggory, a boy you have known since you were fucking eleven years old, by the way, Bethany, killed someone. In cold blood. That’s what you’re investigating right now. That doesn’t sound off to you?”

“It was a full moon,” Abbott said softly. “He might not have been aware of it.”

“You’re not investigating an accidental manslaughter,” Astoria reminded her. “You’re investigating a murder. Murder implies premeditation. Don’t give me that bullshit. You think he locked himself somewhere with Marcus on the full moon and mauled him to death. Even though he has literally never missed a dose of wolfsbane since he got turned. That is your running theory. So forgive me if I’m not interested in letting you use my friendship with Daniel against me like everyone else tries to do.”

“We’re not trying to—” Potter started.

Astoria whirled on him. “Yes, you are,” she snapped. “Of course you are. Just because you view yourself as above it all because you have such good intentions and you’re such a fucking hero doesn’t mean that’s not true.”

“Okay,” he said, raising his hands placatingly. “Okay, I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” she said. “And I don’t think I have anything else to say to you.”

Potter opened his mouth to say something as she stepped backwards, closed it, and then started again.

“Will you at least tell us who you think did it, then? If you’re so sure it wasn’t Daniel.”

Astoria huffed out a laugh. “Isn’t that your job?”

“You’re telling me you don’t have any idea who might have wanted to kill Marcus Flint?” he challenged.

“Maybe,” she said. “But like hell I’m going to send the Aurors after someone.”

“So you’re okay with us going after Diggory?”

Astoria glared at him.

“Harry,” said Abbott quietly. “Maybe we should just go.”

“No, I want to know what she thinks,” Potter said, still looking at her.

“Why?” asked Astoria. “You suddenly value my opinion?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “You’re the only person in the whole world who cares about werewolves, aren’t you?”

Astoria debated the political ramifications of pulling her wand on Harry Potter for a long second, then exhaled.

“Did I say that?” she demanded. “Or did you make it up in your own head?”

“No, I think you said it,” said Potter. “Because I think you’ve been lecturing us around in circles so that we don’t look too closely at the people you actually suspect.”

“Really?” Astoria folded her arms, looking up at him. “And who do I suspect?”

Potter shrugged, a gesture that could almost be careless if she didn’t already know he was just trying to get under her skin.

“Could be anyone. One of your sisters. One of your other friends. Your mother. A cousin.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “By all means, Potter, please feel free to investigate my mother. I’m sure that’ll go great for you.”

“So one of your sisters,” he continued easily. “Or one of your pureblood friends. Do you have any friends?”

“No, I stay locked up in my farm all day all the time and never talk to anyone else ever, as a matter of fact.”

“Clearly, that’s not true,” said Potter, spreading his hands as if to indicate all of Knockturn Alley around them.

“You know what, you decide what’s true or not and then get back to me, okay?” Astoria said. “Since you’re so good at it.”

Potter and Abbott exchanged looks, but she was done with them. Taking two steps backwards away from them, she spun her wand and Apparated away before either one of them could piss her off even more.

Chapter Text

There were few things Astoria wanted to do less on a Tuesday afternoon than go dress shopping with her sister. Unfortunately, since she was the only Greengrass woman currently on speaking terms with Penelope, she was stuck here at a London boutique, pretending to peruse a selection of bridesmaid dresses even though she already knew she would just agree with whatever Penelope picked for her because she honestly didn’t care about the difference between rusty orange and dusty mauve herself.

“Astoria, are you listening to me?” asked Penelope in the middle of sending the styling assistant to fetch them both some cold drinks.

Astoria, who had not, in fact, been listening, blinked at her sister. “No.”

Penelope looked concerned. “Are you okay? I know you don’t really care much for shopping but I’ve never seen you so zoned out.”

“I’m fine.” Astoria brightened up her face and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “What were you saying?”

Penelope seemed unconvinced but continued. “I was just saying you should come over to our place tomorrow afternoon if you’re free. George and I wanted to discuss some wedding details with you, about Queen’s Lodge.”

“Oh, sure,” said Astoria, thinking fast on if she had anything urgent she needed to get done tonight. “What time?”

“Around lunch time, probably twelve?”

Astoria nodded and then made a face as the stylist presented a new pink dress in front of her, one filled with ruffles down the bodice and roughly the color of dragonfruit.

“I don’t think that really matches the color scheme,” said Penelope apologetically to the stylist.

Astoria never knew how her older sister – all three of them, in fact, but especially Penelope – could manage to be so polite to everyone all the time. Daphne at least would always undercut the politeness with something snide or mean; Helena would raise a frosty eyebrow and send people scattering; Penelope, however, was genuinely nice. She offered a smile at the stylist and gestured at three more suitable dresses in the magazine she was browsing, smoothing over any tension without breaking a sweat.

No wonder she was marrying into the Weasleys.

“How is George?” asked Astoria, accepting a cold bottle of sparkling water from one of the other assistants.

Penelope smiled at her. “He’s doing good. Surprisingly, he really likes the wedding planning part. Everyone always says men hate it, but he’s really taking to it. I do think it’s so he can hide some little jokes around the wedding, though.”

“Well, that’s probably what you get for marrying the owner of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,” Astoria pointed out.

Her sister laughed. “I wouldn’t have him any other way,” she said fondly.

“Must be nice.” Astoria took a sip and then stretched out her legs. “Remember Helena and Huxley’s wedding? It was so…”

“Sterile?” suggested Penelope.

“Boring,” Astoria said.

“Don’t say that,” said Penelope. “It was very pretty. Just very… white. Can we see this dress, in the mint green? I think it’ll make your eyes pop.”

Astoria eyed the picture she was holding out to the stylist doubtfully. “My eyes are blue.”

“Trust me,” Penelope assured her.

“I guess it would be hard to have a not boring wedding, when you’re marrying someone as boring as Huxley Bulstrode,” Astoria continued her train of thought. “Although I don’t think he had much to do with the planning.”

Penelope shook her head. “None at all. I think Millicent mostly helped on their end. I remember she and Daphne got in quite a few fights about it.”

“Oh, yeah, the great wedding planning fights of 2002.” Astoria cracked a grin at her sister. “That was funny. You know, I almost think Daphne is actually upset about this Marcus Flint thing because now she can’t help Pansy plan the wedding.”

Penelope smiled back, a little sadly. “Well, she could help plan mine if she wanted to. Although, honestly, I don’t think that wedding was ever going to happen.”

“Marcus and Pansy’s? How come?”

“Because I know Marcus,” said Penelope with a shrug. “Our parents were talking about us getting married before I even graduated Hogwarts, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember.” Astoria sat up straight. “You were going to marry him?”

“Of course not.” Penelope brushed her long hair over her shoulder and sent Astoria a ‘don’t be silly’ look. “I put a stop to that. Luckily, Mother and Father weren’t too concerned about it, since Helena had already decided she would get engaged to Huxley, so they didn’t pressure me too much. But the Flints really wanted it, and they were really upset I said no.”

Astoria absentmindedly took a deep sip from her bottle of sparkling water, her mind churning.

“Why did you say no?”

“Well, you’ve met Marcus,” said Penelope. “What do you think? He’s not a good person. Or a good boyfriend, for that matter. I was shocked Pansy even said yes in the first place, but the Flints are very rich and the Parkinsons lost a lot of money in the war, so that makes sense. But Marcus… well, I wouldn’t want to be Pansy.”

“He’s super rich and has a huge house, I figured those were Pansy’s only requirements,” admitted Astoria. Her own interactions with Marcus Flint had happened underneath the White Wyvern, in dimly-lit fight club meetings with crowds cheering them on as they fought, but she didn’t think Penelope needed to hear about that.

“She may have thought that, but I don’t think she’d be very happy with the reality of being with Marcus Flint,” said Penelope. “He’s cruel, he won’t care about her feelings, and he only looks out for himself. And he’d never involve her in his business, and I think Pansy is too ambitious to just be a trophy wife.”

Astoria glanced around, but the stylists were buzzing about gathering dresses. Taking out her wand, she cast a quick muffling spell so she could speak freely.

“You don’t think she had anything to do with it, do you?” she asked quietly.

Penelope blinked at her in surprise. “With the murder? No, of course not. I mean, unless she was totally stupid. She’s the first person they would’ve looked at.”

“I wish,” said Astoria dryly. “They think a werewolf did it because he was found all savaged.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past Marcus to have pissed off a pack of werewolves,” Penelope said. “He never could let anything go without a fight.”

Astoria stopped herself from agreeing and instead eyed her sister curiously. Penelope was flipping through a magazine of bridal styles, her sparkling water in one hand and long blonde hair spilling down her shoulders as she leaned over the magazine. She knew Penelope was easily the most astute of her sisters – she was the only one who’d so far managed to escape from under their mother’s thumb, after all.

“How did he react? When you turned him down, I mean.”

Penelope looked up, her brow furrowing. “I don’t think I turned him down directly. I doubt he cared that much, I mean, I was still in Hogwarts, he was just out of it trying to become a Quidditch star. At some point, he joined up with his father’s dragon breeding company and turned his life around to be a businessman and honestly, I never even talked to him after that. I assumed he’d find some nice pureblood girl and settle down in their manor.”

“Well, he almost did,” said Astoria, half-smiling although the subject was grim. “I don’t know, Pansy wasn’t very torn up about it when I saw her. She was more worried they would suspect her.”

“She’s smart,” agreed Penelope. “If she did do it, I’m sure she knew to cover her tracks. But honestly, I’m not sure Pansy Parkinson is capable of murder.”

“Are you just saying that because she’s Daphne’s best friend?” asked Astoria.

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t think most people are capable of murder, Astoria. No matter how mean or rude they are.”

She loved her sister, but she did have a very optimistic view of the world, Astoria thought.

“So, what, you think it was an accident?”

“If it really was a werewolf, almost certainly,” said Penelope. “They don’t really have control over themselves on the full moon, do they?”

Astoria tried to think under what circumstances a rogue werewolf might end up locked underneath the White Wyvern with Marcus Flint on a full moon night and came up blank. Werewolves didn’t roam Knockturn Alley. Even the wild ones stuck to the woods, or rural villages if they wanted to attack people. The Wolfsbane ones, like Daniel and his friends, stayed locked up in safe rooms.

“Maybe it was a business deal gone wrong,” she mused.

“Maybe.” Penelope closed the magazine. “Shall we get back to dress shopping, then?”

Astoria groaned but her sister was already moving, wand out to cancel the muffling spell, and the stylist was coming over with new dresses. With a sigh, she slid down into her seat, covering her face with her own magazine. Some tortures just had to be prolongued.

Diagon Alley was always a stark counterpoint to Knockturn Alley but especially so today, less than a week after a murder had taken place. It was as if no one here knew or cared about what had happened in its seedy underbelly; the shops were bright and bustling and the Leaky Cauldron was filled with an assortment of random stragglers on a Tuesday afternoon. When they had rebuilt Diagon after the war, they had breathed fresh life into it; Knockturn couldn’t say the same.

Astoria was making her way through the Leaky Cauldron, her hood up and hands in her pockets so that people didn’t pay too much attention to her, but her plan to hit up the Menagerie before going to Knockturn was thwarted when someone called out to her from a booth at the side of the pub.

“Oi, Greengrass!”

She turned in the direction, frowning. The voice was mildly recognizable—

It was Ernie Macmillan, sitting at a booth with his brother, waving her over. Ethan looked like he was attempting to sink into the seat. Ernie seemed vaguely annoyed, but Astoria couldn’t fathom why he would want to talk to her – she was fairly sure she’d never had a serious conversation with Ernie Macmillan in her life, apart from pleasantries at pureblood parties.

He stood as she walked over, leaning against the table. Astoria glanced down at his legs – he rather famously had a prosthetic leg since the war had cost him one of his own, but you’d never be able to tell from the way he walked. She was pretty sure it was the right one, though, because the left one seemed to take more of his weight.

“Did you need something?” she asked him, pulling down her hood.

“Yeah,” said Ernie, picking up a newspaper from the table and offering it to her with the page flipped to the blind items section. “What are you doing with my little brother?”

“Ernie,” hissed Ethan.

Astoria glanced between the two of them, not sure if she should be taking this as brotherly banter or something serious. Never having any brothers of her own meant she had no clue how boys behaved with each other like that.

“What is this about?”

She scanned down the page he was showing her – blind items were usually nonsense, and she wasn’t much of a newspaper reader, but Ernie tapped the one she should be reading for her.

The children of two political candidates were spotted at a certain flat yesterday afternoon, looking quite cozy. Perhaps something their parents wouldn’t approve of is going on?

Astoria looked back up at Ernie, who met her gaze resolutely. Slowly, she raised one eyebrow and stared at him until he blinked.

“Well?” he demanded. “Was it you and Ethan?”

“Considering your father only has two sons and it obviously wasn’t you,” she said coolly. “What does it matter? It’s a blind item. Nobody reads this shit.”

“Our parents do,” Ernie said. “Or their publicists do. And people do care about this stuff. We have to control narratives or whatever. You guys can’t be hanging out unsupervised.”

“Unsupervised?” she repeated while Ethan pressed his hands into his face. “What are we, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look,” said Astoria, struggling not to laugh in his face. “I promise I’ll stay away from your sweet innocent little brother, as long as you promise to never make me read a newspaper again. Deal?”

Ethan lifted his head up to give her a baleful glare.

Ernie frowned at her. “You don’t think your mother will be upset by this?”

“My mother is upset by everything I do.” Astoria shrugged. “Not much I can do about it.”

“Well…” Ernie looked uncertainly between her and Ethan. “What were you two doing together?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Astoria said mockingly.

“Astoria!” snapped Ethan.

“Besides,” she continued, ignoring him, “you called me over here and now people are going to see me hanging out with both of you. Isn’t that worse?”

Ernie paused. “Well – it’s a public place, so it’s different. And we’re obviously having a disagreement.”

He did look around though, and she noticed several people turning away hastily as he did.

“What are we disagreeing on?” she needled.

“On you hanging out with Ethan!”

“Well, you know, he didn’t exactly kick me out—”

Ethan groaned. “Shut the fuck up, Astoria, please—”

“Hey,” a new voice interrupted. “What’s going on?”

Astoria turned slowly, unable to believe how bad her luck was.

Behind her stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Unfortunately, with Potter’s appearance in the pub, suddenly everyone was paying attention to them instead of just a few nosy people. And he was looking at her, as if she wasn’t supposed to be here.

She exhaled a sigh. There was no way she was escaping to Knockturn Alley now. Salazar help her, he would probably follow her if she did.

“We were just having a talk,” said Ernie. “How are you two?”

Weasley sent her a curious look as he slid into the booth opposite Ethan. “About what?”

“Nothing,” Ethan said before she could answer. “For the love of Merlin, Ernie, let it go.”

“There was a blind item about these two,” Ernie explained, disregarding his brother’s protests. Despite the fact that she would’ve done the same thing, Astoria felt a little bad for Ethan. “I was just telling her that she can’t be seen with him, because of the campaigns.”

“Telling Astoria what to do isn’t usually the way to go,” Potter remarked casually. He was still looking at her but when she pulled a face at him, he grinned and took a seat next to Weasley. “Take it from me.”

“You know what, why don’t you boys sit around and gossip about me like a bunch of schoolgirls,” Astoria suggested. “And I’ll go do my actual work because I have a big girl job.”

All four of them seemed offended by that.

“Yeah, we actually have work to talk about, too,” snapped Weasley. “Real Auror cases that we need to solve.”

“Oh, yes, real Auror cases,” Astoria said, widening her eyes over-dramatically. “Like how to break into other people’s abandoned houses, yeah, those sound tough. I’m not surprised you’re struggling with them, Weasley.”

Weasley’s face turned red and he opened his mouth. She could see Potter kick him lightly under the table, to warn him not to reply. She wondered if he was actually about to tell her a real Auror case – he seemed like he wanted to, and she knew he wasn’t working on the murder case. Merlin knew, he wasn’t the smartest Weasley around.

“You know she’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” Potter said to him.

“I resent that,” Astoria informed him. “If I were trying to get a rise out of him, I’d have a lot more to say.”

“You—” Weasley started, but Potter cut across him.

“Why don’t you try to get a rise out of me instead?” he suggested. “Since I wouldn’t want to mess up George and Penelope’s wedding before it even happens if you two get in a fight in public.”

Astoria snorted. “Not a single Slytherin in this country is suicidal enough to insult Harry Potter in the middle of a pub.”

“Speaking of,” Ernie said, more to the boys than to her, sliding in next to his brother with a jerk of his head to gesture around the pub. “We should put up a privacy spell.”

Potter didn’t seem to hear him, looking at her with a challenge.

“So if we weren’t in the middle of a pub, you’d be fine insulting me?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Astoria pressed a hand to her heart in mock-outrage. “Why would I ever insult the savior of our great nation? The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One? I wouldn’t dream—”

“Okay,” Potter interrupted. “Do you ever have normal conversations with anyone?”

“Well, I was having a great conversation with your friend Ernie here,” said Astoria, shooting Ernie a look of disdain that he met with a glare. “Where he called me over in the middle of a crowded pub to yell at me about something that wasn’t my fault.”

Ernie didn’t even have the decency to look abashed. “Okay, but it was a little your fault. What were you doing at his house?”

Ethan, who had seemed quite gratified that she had switched her attention to Weasley and Potter, jumped at the question.

“You were at Ethan’s house?” repeated Potter.

“Uh,” said Ethan eloquently.

Astoria glanced once at Ethan, not wanting to make it too obvious that they were keeping secrets. She thought she knew him well enough to know he would – he was Daniel’s friend, too, and he hadn’t ever betrayed her trust before. Hufflepuffs were exceedingly loyal, and she didn’t think his loyalty necessarily extended to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. But maybe she was wrong, because he looked embarrassed enough to crack under the pressure.

Damn it, how had this even gotten out to the press? Probably Bertha Fairweather and her stupid book club. And her mother actually might kill her for this one. Being seen with Edmund Macmillan’s son had to be high treason in her campaign.

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” Weasley added suspiciously, looking between her and Ethan.

She could see the wheels in Potter’s head working. There was really only one connection she had to Ethan Macmillan – a Hufflepuff boy in their year, whom he already knew she was friends with.

Astoria sighed. Ethan was going to have to deal with the embarrassment.

“Well, I’m sure you also don’t know any reasons why two people would be alone in a flat together, since your girlfriend is always out of town,” she said in her snidest, most Daphne-like tones. Weasley’s face turned red again. “But I promise you, it’s nothing to be afraid of when you finally get there, Weasley.”

Ethan covered his head with his hands and slowly sank down until he was halfway under the table. Ernie gaped at her. Weasley spluttered.

Potter’s gaze darted between her and Ethan, annoyingly suspicious. Mentally, Astoria sent a plea for Ethan to get over it and back her up; she’d rather have this getting out than Potter knowing what she was doing to investigate Daniel’s disappearance behind his back.

“I know what people do—” Weasley tried to say.

Potter stepped on his foot underneath the table again to stop him.

“Ethan,” said Ernie forebodingly, turning to look at his brother. “You didn’t actually—”

“And you know,” Astoria said to Ernie, before Ethan could ruin her stride, “it’s a bit weird for you to be so obsessed with your little brother’s life. I mean, just because you can’t get any doesn’t mean you have to shame him.”

Ernie’s cheeks splotched with color. “What—”

Potter, though, actually looked a little impressed, his green eyes flickering between Astoria and Ethan.

“This is a nice runaround you’ve given us,” he told her, cutting across both Weasley and Ernie, and making Ethan look up startled.

“Excuse me?” said Astoria.

“Considering, you know, you two weren’t actually sleeping together,” Potter said lightly.

Ethan went a little pale.

 “Did I say we were?”

“You did a good job of implying it,” he said, looking directly at her instead of at Ethan. “Probably to make us think you were, since you two were actually—”

“She’s right,” said Ethan in a quiet voice.

Potter stopped. “What?”

Ernie and Weasley both turned on Ethan in shock and alarm.

Ethan cleared his throat. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah. We did.”

Astoria could have kissed him. She managed to keep the relief from her expression though, and only raised an eyebrow pointedly at Potter, who was blinking at Ethan.

“Like I said.” Astoria slid her hood back up over her curls and shot Potter a pointed look. “You lot have fun gossiping about the sex lives of people younger than you.”

There was an explosion of noise at the table as she turned to leave and, taking pity on Ethan, she cast the Notice Me Not spell so that other people wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on it. Not that it much mattered; she was sure the fight would be in the Evening Prophet by nighttime, and she was going to get a hell of a talking-to from her mother.

But Ethan knew how important finding Daniel was to her. And he was Daniel’s friend, too. The shit they’d gone through in the war mattered more than a mildly embarrassing scandal about their sex lives. He had to believe Daniel hadn’t done it, either. Which only meant she needed to find the proof, before anyone else did, and before the Aurors caught up to her.

Astoria quickened her pace, cast an Invisible Glamour charm over her head, and darted down Diagon Alley, back to the heart of Knockturn. Ethan was one thing, and for better or worse, she trusted him. Griselda, on the other hand, was a whole other issue.

She always hated going to the apothecary in Knockturn. It smelled like rotten turnips and dead fish had a baby, even worse than the one in Diagon. At least that one was run by competent people. Griselda was basically holding Mustardseed’s together by the skin of her teeth.

Astoria covered her mouth and nose with her hand to avoid inhaling the smells as she moved amongst the displays of herbs and animal intestines, sidestepping dusty barrels and aquariums of tiny, black shrimp. Merlin only knew what use all of these things had in potions; she’d always hated the class, anyway.

Griselda was in her usual corner, the only one that didn’t smell like shit because she sprayed it with endless perfume charms set up in a self-fulfilling loop so that they never faded.

She looked up with a start when Astoria appeared.

“Oh—Astoria, what are you doing here?”

Astoria lowered her hand, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of linens and lemon. Griselda couldn’t even fake being happy to see her, she noticed, because her brown eyes were already wide with alarm. It was a pity, some Slytherins were so good at keeping secrets, and some weren’t at all.

“I’m here to talk to you.” Astoria glanced around, making sure nobody was within earshot, before waving her wand to put up a privacy spell. “Griselda, I need you to tell me the truth.”

Griselda blinked at her.

Astoria sighed. She’d taught her that trick for getting out of answering things. It worked better on people who didn’t know her so well.

“What do you know?” Astoria clarified. “Do you know where Daniel went? Do you know why he disappeared? Do you know anything about what happened that night?”

Griselda shivered a little. Her eyes were glassy again.

“I told you what I know, Astoria. I haven’t heard from Daniel…”

“No, you didn’t tell me what you know. You know something about whatever stupid deal was going on with Daniel and Marcus.”

The look on Griselda’s face was answer enough. What Astoria couldn’t figure out was how she knew – had Daniel told her things he hadn’t even told Astoria? – but that was less important than finding out why.

“I think,” Griselda started, her voice shaking, “I think Daniel needed money. I don’t know why. But I know Marcus offered it to him and he was going to take it.”

Her eyes were cloudy and faraway. Astoria frowned.

“Daniel would never take Marcus’ money,” she said. Pureblood money, blood money – she knew Daniel. He would never. “If he was desperate, he could have asked me.”

“He wouldn’t ask you,” said Griselda. “He has too much pride.”

“Too much pride for me, his best friend, but not for Marcus Flint?” asked Astoria doubtfully.

“I don’t know.” Griselda shrugged helplessly. Her freckles were stark against her pale face, paler than normal. “I really don’t know, Astoria. I just know there was stuff going on that we didn’t know about.”

“Stuff going on that ended with Marcus Flint dead in Knockturn Alley?”

Griselda shivered. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” she asked dryly.

Griselda looked as though she might cry. “I don’t think Daniel did it!”

“Then why did you tell the fucking Aurors?”

The bell rang, letting in a new customer. Astoria glared in the general direction of the door, blocked by the aisles so they couldn’t see her. Griselda took her chance and jumped up, shooting Astoria one last mournful look before she ran away to help the customer.

Giving up, Astoria stormed out of the apothecary. Outside, a mid-afternoon breeze had turned into a wind – somehow, Knockturn was never quite as sunny as Diagon, even in the stifling heat of summertime. She wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, her curls flying out from underneath her hood.

The sight in front of her made her stop in disbelief.

Harry Potter knelt on the ground, a cap pulled over his head, one hand out to let a stray orange kneazle sniff him. As Astoria watched, the kneazle got his scent and then slowly prowled around him in a circle, while he looked up and met her gaze.

“Are you following me?”

She probably would have asked anyone that at that point, but with him, she was more concerned it was a genuine possibility, knowing the Aurors were working on a warrant.

Potter stood, brushing dirt off his jeans, as the kneazle darted away and into another hidey hole. He didn’t seem remotely admonished or embarrassed, which meant he had definitely planned to talk to her here.

“Am I not allowed in Knockturn Alley?”

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“I swear I left you and your club of idiots in that pub not more than twenty minutes ago.”

“Hmm.” Potter clearly wasn’t convinced of her argument as to why he should not be standing in front of her right now. “Right, I actually meant to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the Notice Me Not spell.” He shot her a grin as if they were sharing a joke. “That would’ve gotten bad if people could still overhear us. It was nice of you.”

“I didn’t do that,” said Astoria, and shouldered past him.

Potter took the bump with great dignity and fell into step alongside her.

“How come you never take credit for doing nice things? Is it against some Slytherin code of honor?”

Astoria stopped her stride to make him stop, too, and shot him a narrow sidelong look.

“Yes.”

“Makes sense.”

“Stop following me,” she said, picking her walk back up. “And you really shouldn’t be around here.”

“Why not?” He dogged her steps, his sneakers soft on the concrete next to the thump of her boots. “I am investigating, you know.”

“I didn’t know you were investigating Knockturn’s stray kneazles.”

This made him laugh. “Well, you never know who has ears and eyes everywhere.”

Astoria stopped again, but not because of anything he had said. There were voices coming out of a store just a few feet down from them.

Potter turned to her curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Normally, Astoria wouldn’t have really cared who saw her with Harry Potter in Knockturn Alley. But they were approaching Niffler’s Necropolis without her realizing it. And she knew that if Anubis saw her with an Auror, particularly this Auror, he would raise hell. In fact, most of her old friends would, but Anubis specifically would use it to blackmail her.

The voices, she could recognize now that she was in earshot, were Anubis and his brother Cerberus. It was the middle of the day, which meant they should be safely in their shop, but the conversation was happening close to the door. She cursed under her breath; probably, one of them was heading out for lunch. Cerberus wasn’t as dangerous as his younger brother, but neither of them were people she wanted to see her with Harry Potter.

The door to the Necropolis swung open.

Astoria grabbed Potter’s arm and dragged him sideways, drawing her wand and tapping it on the side of the abandoned building that had once been Knockturn’s post office before the war – the owner had been scared away by all the fighting – to make the building squish itself inwards and create a little alcove they could hide in. Almost every building in Knockturn could do this, if you knew exactly where to press, and only the people who lived here knew how to hide here.

She swung her wand in an arc and the soft grey smoke of a Privacy Spell settled over them, blocking them from the view of anyone walking outside. Through it, she could hear both brothers – they must have left their sister in charge of the store – walking out of the Necropolis and out onto the street just next to them.

Astoria sighed, pressing her back into the cold stone wall of the post office. In front of her, Potter looked both amused and a little befuddled, and possibly impressed – at how fast she had hid? Or maybe at the revelation of one of Knockturn’s best-kept secrets. It was hard to tell.

“I’m guessing you didn’t want those two to see you with me,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Your detective skills continue to amaze me.”

Potter grinned at that. “So are you going to tell me who they are?”

“You know them,” Astoria said pointedly. “You interviewed Anubis for your little murder investigation.”

“Right,” he said, as if he did not, in fact, remember, but she thought she knew him a little bit better than that – enough to know when he was faking it. The difficult thing about Potter was that he was always smarter than you expected him to be. “I don’t know the other one, though.”

“His older brother, Cerberus.” Astoria tilted her head back until she hit the wall, the impact muffled by her hood. “They’re probably going for lunch, so we just have to wait for them to leave the Alley.”

“And then what?” asked Potter.

“And then I leave and you go do your hero thing somewhere else and we never speak to each other again?” she suggested.

“Well, except for the investigation,” he said wryly.

Astoria glared at him.

“I’m not helping you with your fucking investigation.”

“Because you don’t know anything about it.”

The wind was faster now, running over her skin. Potter looked at her as if he expected her to blink first, but Astoria just shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket, fingers curling around an old hairtie she had lost inside there, and met his gaze with a simmering fury.

“I know you’re trying to get evidence to convict my best friend of a murder he didn’t commit.”

“Come on, Astoria.” Potter stepped closer, the cap over his dark hair shifting with the movement. “You know that’s not what I’m doing. If you would just tell me—”

“Tell you what?” she challenged. “Where Daniel is? I don’t know. Who killed Marcus? I don’t know that either. Pretty sure that’s your job.”

Potter frowned a little.

“I know you have suspicions you haven’t shared with us—”

“It’s not my responsibility to share them with you,” she fired back. “If you suspect someone I know, go fucking interview them. Hell, if you suspect me, get that warrant and go to town, Potter. I’ve told you everything I know that’s relevant.”

“You actually haven’t told me very much at all,” he pointed out. “And look – I think you’re right. There’s a lot about this whole thing, about your world, that I don’t get. I’m not involved in whatever insane pureblood politics you might think killed Marcus Flint. We need someone else’s insights to figure it out.”

The way he said it made it sound so reasonable. We just need a pureblood to tell us who might have killed him. Except she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give him her only real suspicion. She frankly wasn’t even sure if she could give up Pansy’s name as a suspect – surely they’d investigated her already, but they didn’t know what her and Marcus’ relationship really was like. And Astoria didn’t even like Pansy, but it still would have felt like a betrayal to reveal that to Harry Potter.

“Don’t you have Abbott on your team?” she asked instead of dealing with anything else he’d said. “She knows just as much about pureblood politics as I do.”

Potter sent her an incredulous look. “Right. Bethany Abbott knows more about pureblood politics than the girl whose mother is literally running for Minister for Magic.”

Astoria shrugged. “I’m not on my mother’s campaign, you know.”

That gave her pause. Should she be? Would it be easier to figure this out from the inside, the way Potter was saying? He thought she knew more than him, which wasn’t untrue, but she didn’t know nearly as much about Marcus Flint as someone like Daphne might. The only context she knew Marcus in was fight club; the other purebloods knew him through his family and his business.

“And Beth and the Abbotts have been a little ostracized from you lot since the war, anyway,” Potter added.

Astoria squinted at him. “Beth?”

“What?”

“I didn’t know she let people call her that. When we were in fourth year, she hexed a boy for using it.”

Potter’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yeah, he was in Slytherin. She said only people she liked got to use nicknames.”

“Oh.” Potter adjusted his cap thoughtfully. “Well. We are friends.”

Astoria let that sit for a minute.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

Potter frowned at her. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Yeah, sucks when people don’t believe you, huh?”

He digested that in silence for a long second.

“Okay. Fine. Point made.” He peered around the corner of the building. The Crow brothers were still there, they’d stopped to talk to the girl working at Cobb and Webb’s across the street. “So how bad would it be if they saw us together?”

“For you, just bad if they see you here at all,” Astoria told him. “Doesn’t matter who it’s with. For me…”

She trailed off. Potter glanced back at her.

“What, I’ll ruin your Knockturn street cred?”

Astoria shot him an annoyed look.

“No. But if Anubis thinks he can get something over on me, he’ll try. And I already owe him a favor.”

Potter’s gaze sharpened. Shit. She shouldn’t have said that.

“A favor for what?”

“Knockturn runs on favors, Potter,” she said with a sigh. “Everyone needs something. Don’t worry about it.”

“What did he ask?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I think I am worrying about it,” he said, although he sounded at least half amused. “Are you getting yourself into trouble around here?”

“I’m always in trouble.” Astoria sighed again, the wind picking up and loosening the curls from her hood. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can handle Knockturn.”

“This is handling Knockturn?” Potter gestured at the miniscule space between the two of them, shoved into the alcove between buildings.

The voices of the Crow brothers began to get more distant. Astoria pushed herself up off the stone wall and back into Potter’s personal space, offering him a shrug as if she were helpless to do anything about the state of Knockturn.

“If you can do it on your own, be my guest, Potter. Walk out. Be free.” She gestured to the opening, where he could step out past the Privacy Spell anytime he wanted.

Potter seemed torn between laughing and being offended. “Hey, you’re the one who dragged me in here.”

She inspected her watch, as if she had somewhere else important to be.

“That was just payback for manhandling me out of the White Wyvern.”

Potter winced. “I apologized for that.”

“Slytherins hold grudges.”

“Right.” His gaze rested on her with a sudden weightedness. “And secrets.”

Astoria looked up at him as the footsteps and noises of the Crow brothers disappeared down Knockturn Alley, fading into Diagon.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And secrets.”

She slid out from in between the buildings, and felt him follow behind her a moment later, but when she turned away from him to walk deeper into Knockturn, he didn’t come after her this time.

Chapter Text

Astoria,

Thanks for checking in. I don’t know where Daniel could be. I’ve already checked the usual places, including his favorite spots in the Muggle world. He’s not anywhere. He was gone that morning.

I know he wasn’t telling us everything before he disappeared. He was always somewhere else. And he was really upset about one thing I think I should tell you, though I don’t know what he was doing about it exactly – the werewolves who have been going missing.

I don’t think the Aurors know about them. Or they might know about one, I think one girl got reported as missing by her family. But they definitely don’t know about the others. By my count there have been three werewolves who have disappeared since the start of the year, and that’s just the ones I know. There might be more, like any wolves from Greyback’s old pack that I’m not in contact with.

I don’t know what’s going on, but most werewolves are in hiding now. I guess Daniel must be too, but I don’t know why he wouldn’t stay under the Fidelius with us. Unless something even worse happened.

Let me know if you find anything else out.

Raihan

Astoria hated going home. Summerstone House had been built in the 1600s, bought and then renovated by the Greengrass family many times over the years, and it seemed to bow under the weight of all those ghosts. The hallways were haunted by portraits of her ancestors and memories of her father. None of her sisters still lived at home, just her widowed mother and her staff and house elves. Everything in it was eerie.

Her mother had summoned her through a Floo call from Daphne, but truthfully, Astoria had already decided to come. Raihan Shafiq’s letter was tucked away in her personal files at Queen’s Lodge but the information in it lingered in her mind.

She had to do something about it.

“Astoria,” said Delia, in mild surprise. “You’re not late.”

“I figured it must be important,” said Astoria lightly. “Since you usually have appointments on Wednesday.”

Delia gave her an assessing look. “Yes, well, we need to speak about that scene you caused in the Leaky Cauldron the other day. And what’s this blind item about you and—”

“You know,” Astoria interrupted, which was already a big risk since her mother hated being interrupted, “I was actually thinking about that. I think it would be better if I did stay in London and worked on the campaign after all. Because you know, the Macmillan brothers were asking me all sorts of questions and I couldn’t even defend you properly because I had no idea what was going on.”

Her rush of a mostly-fake defense seemed to have stopped her mother in her tracks. Delia frowned.

“What were they asking you?”

Astoria waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t know. All sorts of stuff about poll numbers and policy issues.”

“Hm. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to train you in the foundations of our campaign.” Delia fixed a cool look on her. “You will have to actually pay attention though.”

Astoria put on her best smile. “I will.”

Delia seemed like she doubted that, and probably rightfully so.

“Where will you stay then? I can have the house elf make up your old room—”

“No, no,” said Astoria hastily. “I’ll ask Daphne if I can stay at her place. Or maybe at Griselda’s again.”

Delia sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t still pay the rent for that girl. She needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet.”

Astoria said nothing, since this was a common argument and one without a resolution, since she would never stop paying for Griselda as long as she needed her to.

“Very well.” Delia shuffled papers around on her desk. “I’ll find you a job somewhere on the campaign. Do you have Queen’s Lodge attended to?”

“Yeah, the staff can run it fine, I’ll just pop in to check on them once a week,” said Astoria. “I was thinking… can I work under Daphne?”

“In press relations? I don’t know if that’s the best… fit for you,” said Delia dubiously.

Astoria crossed her fingers behind her back.

“I’ll stay quiet, I’ll just follow her around when she talks to journalists and stuff. Or… whatever it is she does.”

Delia made a ‘hmph’ noise. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to learn ‘whatever it is she does’. She’s quite essential to my campaign. I’ll talk with her.”

“Great.” Astoria smiled. “Thanks.”

Talking to her mother somehow always felt like flying through an obstacle course. Something she knew how to do in her sleep, but the feeling of relief when it was over never truly faded. Like she had conquered something – or lost the prize, depending on how the conversation went.

Luckily, this one had gone decently, and Astoria was in a good mood when she Apparated over to Penelope and George’s flat in Diagon Alley for lunch. The good mood vanished quite fast when she rung the bell and it started blasting an old Weird Sisters track in her ears.

Penelope opened the door. “Sorry, sorry. George set that up for one of his brothers yesterday and then forgot to turn it off.”

Astoria eyed her with deep suspicion. “Right. Forgot.”

Penelope smiled and waved her in. “Come on in. You can hang your coat right there.”

Her coat was actually a zip-up hoodie with frayed sleeve edges she’d bought at a hole-in-the-wall shop in Knockturn, but she appreciated her sister’s attempts to pretend that she had any sense of fashion. Astoria slid it off, hung it on the coat hook shaped like a dragon’s head, then stepped back to stare at it.

“Did Charlie give you guys this?”

“A housewarming gift,” Penelope told her.

Astoria hummed in thought, taking a look around the flat. Although Diagon Alley was quite narrow and squished on the outside, the inside of their apartment was reasonably spacious. She knew Penelope had only moved in this month, since she’d been in America for her art museum job for the past several years, but already there were many touches of her sister scattered around. The décor could have been loud and obnoxious – a red lamp, a couch in an offensive shade of orange, a table runner with a bright paisley pattern – but Penelope had decorated around the eye-catching choices with finesse. It almost looked cohesive, although nothing like what she’d imagined her sister would be living in.

“Are you going to stay in this place?” she asked, following her sister through to the small dining room next to the kitchen. It was quite cozy, not at all grand and luxurious like Helena or Daphne’s houses, just a round wooden table and chairs with burgundy cushions. “It’s a little… small, isn’t it?”

“It’s two bedrooms,” said Penelope with a shrug, laying out the table mats. “Enough till we have more than one child. And I don’t really want to make him move out until he’s ready, you know.”

“Why?” asked Astoria blankly, then stopped at a picture of two Georges on the mantle that explained it. “Oh, right. Forgot about that.”

If Daphne were here she would’ve made a snide remark about there being too many Weasleys in the first place. But then, Daphne would never step foot into a homey little flat in Diagon Alley. Her sister would look as out of place here as a hippogriff in a china shop.

Penelope waved her wand, levitating over an array of Mediterranean take-out dishes spooned out into bowls. As she did, the bedroom door down the hallway creaked open and Astoria turned to see her sister’s fiancé walking into the dining room.

She could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d spoken to George Weasley in the two months since he and Penelope had surprise dropped their engagement on everyone. She’d kind of admired him for the utterly ballsy move of just showing up at Summerstone and telling her mother to deal with it, but she had no idea what to really expect from the man himself. He and Penelope had come to Queen’s Lodge once to ask her if they could use it as a wedding venue, and the rest of the time, even when she saw Penelope, he was working at his joke shop – which, Astoria had to admit, she’d only entered a handful of times in her life, and never bought anything.

“Hi, Astoria,” said George, slipping past her to give Penelope a kiss on the cheek and then smiling at Astoria. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for having me.” Astoria watched the dishes settle onto the table. “So, I hear you guys have some wedding ideas to run past me?”

“How do you feel about winged horse-drawn carriages?” asked George, looking completely serious.

Astoria folded her arms. “Tacky.”

George grinned. “I thought so.”

Unfortunately, she thought to herself over lunch, that George ranked number one on her list of brothers-in-law. Not that it was a high bar to pass, since the other one was Huxley Bulstrode, and she didn’t think she’d ever had a real conversation with him—he preferred to communicate in stony looks and furrowed brows, anyway—while George was actually a good conversationalist, funny to boot, and most importantly, wasn’t chosen out of a box of purebloods to be an appropriate husband for her sister.

They’d settled on an October date for their wedding, which would be—if she knew her sister at all—beautifully whimsical and artsy and glowy. After lunch, George said that they were having a wedding cake sampler delivered, so they settled into the cozy living room to play Exploding Snap while they waited for it.

“You know, I thought all of Penny’s sisters were crazy,” George confessed her to when Penelope stepped outside the room to check on her cat Persephone. “I’m glad she has one normal one.”

Astoria stared at him blankly. “You were worried her family was crazy?”

He grinned. “Hey, I’ll have you know, us Weasleys make it just onto the normal side of bonkers.”

“No, you don’t.” Astoria tapped two cards with her wand and one of them exploded. “I have enough stories from Charlie to know that for a fact.”

“Come on.” George reshuffled the cards and flipped two more over. “I think generally our threshold of insanity is lowered by the fact that we have Percy. You don’t have any normal people in your family.”

Astoria considered this as she took her turn to flip more cards. “I think Pen’s more normal than Percy, though, so our threshold is lower.”

“True.” George flipped two more, got a pair, and stabbed his wand at them. They both exploded and he winced. “Damn it.”

The doorbell rung at the moment and started blaring the same Weird Sisters song. Astoria sighed deeply. She didn’t even like the Weird Sisters, and now it was going to be stuck in her head for days.

“Hey, you made it,” said George cheerfully to whoever was on the other side of the door.

Sitting up against the couch on the floor, Astoria turned and craned her neck to see beyond it into the hallway to check who was delivering the cake sampler.

“’Course we did,” Weasley – the youngest Weasley, damn, there were too many of them – was saying, stepping into the house and shedding his coat. “Where’s Penelope—oh.”

He noticed her at the exact same time his companion did, both of their faces shifting into annoyance and surprise at once.

Despite her own annoyance, Astoria fanned her fingers in a cheerful wave. Harry Potter looked between her and George, who was inspecting the plastic platter of wedding cake samplers and not noticing the additional friction suddenly inside his house.

“What is she doing here?” Potter asked. He was holding a box of – well, something – that he set down in the hallway, presumably for George and Penelope.

George looked up in surprise. “Who—oh, Astoria? Well, she is Penny’s sister.”

“Yeah, what are you doing here, Potter?” Astoria asked. “You’re not anyone’s sister.”

Potter didn’t react, but Weasley scowled at her.

“Does she have to be here for the cake sampling?” he asked his brother.

George’s gaze flickered between the three of them. “Um…”

Penelope reemerged from the guest bedroom and stopped at the sight of Potter, Weasley, and George in the hallway. Persephone the cat padded out behind her, her blue eyes wide and discerning.

“Oh, Harry, Ron, come on in,” she said lightly, gesturing for them to come join them in the living room. “Thank you for bringing over the sampler for us.”

“Ron wasn’t about to miss this,” said Potter with a grin, seeming to have decided to ignore Astoria as best as possible. “The food’s his favorite part of weddings.”

George set the platter down on the coffee table and removed the plastic top, uncovering the twelve slices of various cakes underneath. Reluctantly, Weasley the younger followed them all into the living room, deliberately taking the sofa on the opposite side from Astoria. Potter sat down in the armchair adjacent to her.

“Okay, whatever your problem is here, you lot know you need to get over it before our wedding, right?” said George, looking from Astoria to the other two.

“I don’t have a problem,” said Astoria before Weasley could start.

Penelope shot her a look as she and George sat down on the couch.

“Astoria, be nice.”

“I am nice,” she insisted. “What have I done that hasn’t been nice?”

Potter and Weasley traded glances, but neither of them said anything.

“Well, you’re all three in the wedding party,” George pointed out.

Weasley’s face twisted. “Seriously? I thought none of your sisters were talking to you, Penelope.”

Astoria looked at him in offense. “I’m right here?”

 “Only Astoria is in the wedding party, don’t worry,” Penelope said to Weasley.

“The most normal sister,” George added with a grin.

“High bar,” Potter muttered.

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.

“Whatever,” said Weasley, clearly grumpy at the prospect. “I thought we were going to eat cake.”

George eyed him. “Are you going to be nice to Penelope’s sister?”

Weasley made a face.

“Ron.”

“George,” he repeated mockingly. “Yes, obviously.”

Penelope shot Astoria a look as she reached for the paper plates and forks she’d gathered earlier to pass them out. “And you?”

Astoria put on her most innocent face. “When am I not nice?”

Potter coughed, but didn’t say anything, so she chose to ignore it.

“Good,” said Penelope although she seemed a little doubtful. “Especially since I’m pretty sure you’re going to have walk down the aisle with one of them.”

“What?” Astoria demanded at the same time as Weasley.

George looked amused. “Well, you’re a bridesmaid and they’re both groomsmen.”

Astoria blinked hard at him, trying to process this. “Don’t you have like seventeen brothers? Why is he a groomsman?”

Potter squinted at her, but continued to say nothing.

“Well, I have five bridesmaids, so George needed five groomsmen,” Penelope explained, slicing cake onto her plate. “Plus a maid of honor and a best man.”

Astoria considered this, then turned to George. “Who’s your best man?”

“Lee Jordan,” said George, slightly muffled around the bite of chocolate cake he’d just taken. “Don’t know if you know him, he runs—”

Astoria had already decided she didn’t care. “He’s not one of them?” She turned back to Penelope. “Can I be your maid of honor?”

Penelope laughed as Weasley made an offended noise and George grinned.

“Sorry, I already promised Zoya.”

“Who’s Zoya?” asked Potter in mild curiosity, reaching over to serve himself the bite-sized pieces of cake that Penelope had cut up for them.

“Zoya Shafiq, my best friend from Hogwarts,” Penelope explained.

Astoria forgot about the wedding conversation entirely, although she didn’t say anything, mentally running over that connection as she slowly chewed on a bite of vanilla cake. She’d completely forgotten that Penelope was friends with Zoya Shafiq.

Zoya was Raihan’s older sister, and he’d been two years above Astoria herself. She knew that the Shafiqs had mostly cut Raihan off after he got turned during the war, but as far as she knew, Zoya was still close to him. She’d been the only one to contact him afterwards, and sometimes showed up to parties at the dragon reserve when Raihan invited her and all the wolves were there. She had never really known Zoya personally, apart from saying hi sometimes, but since she couldn’t communicate with Raihan more than sending letters back and forth, it was a good lead.

She was so caught up in considering that, she almost missed Potter’s next words.

“Her brother’s a werewolf, isn’t he?”

Astoria kept herself still, quietly reaching for a new bite of a different flavor of cake. She could tell he wasn’t looking at her, but that felt almost as purposeful as her ignoring of the conversation.

“Mmhm,” Penelope said to Potter. “A lot of people were turned during the war.”

Potter leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Could I get in touch with him? Or Zoya?”

Astoria pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying anything.

Penelope looked slightly confused. “Well, I can put you in touch with Zoya, I haven’t heard from Raihan in a long time. I did tell her to invite him to the wedding, but I’m not sure he can make it. He’s pretty elusive.”

“I’d appreciate it,” said Potter. “Even if it’s just Zoya.”

“What for?” asked George curiously.

Astoria didn’t look at him but she was sure his face shifted at the question. Debating how much to reveal to people who weren’t classified Aurors. From the corner of her eye, she could see Weasley watching carefully, too. What was the case he was on, she wondered? It wasn’t the murder case. But Potter hadn’t wanted him spilling it to her for a reason.

“Might be a lead in a case I’m trying to solve,” Potter explained. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t have a lot of leads.”

“I can put you in touch,” Penelope told him, clearly not getting Astoria’s telepathic signals to say no.

“Thanks.”

Great. Now she had another thing to beat Potter to, and he would surely know she was chasing down the same line of investigation if he ever saw her talking to Zoya. But at least she had a lead on him – she actually knew Raihan. And she thought she knew him well enough to guess that he wouldn’t want to talk to the Aurors.

And, more importantly, Zoya and the Shafiqs hung out in the same exclusive pureblood circles as her mother and her other sisters. So at least there was one resource she could use that Potter didn’t have.

“There’s a debate this weekend,” said Daphne, before Astoria barely had a chance to even say hello. “If you’re on my team, I need you to be there. There’s also a formal dinner party afterwards and all campaign teams and their guests are expected to be there.”

“Good to see you, too, Daphne,” said Astoria, trying not to sound disgruntled as Daphne forced a folder into her hands. “I was just going to ask if you had made my weekend plans for me.”

Daphne paid no mind to her sarcasm, walking around her office and waving her wand to set off various spells. It was, Astoria had to admit, a sight to behold – the office was classically elegant, just like the rest of Daphne’s house, but with the campaign running, she had transformed an entire wall of pale green wallpaper into a magical shifting calender. There were floating banners, contact information, and all sorts of color-coded reminders and alerts, which shifted as Daphne flipped the pages of the calender with her wand, going deep into the events of July.

Astoria looked down at her folder, which seemed to be another version of the calender.

“When is the election again?”

Daphne sighed, flicking her long blonde ponytail back over her shoulders.

“August 18^th,” she said patiently, and jabbed her wand at the calender. It shuffled into the month of August and the date of the 18^th became enlarged and started dancing on the wall.

Astoria blinked at it. “Okay.”

“You will also need to dress appropriately,” said Daphne, giving her a look-over. “None of this… horse-riding gear.”

“Great,” said Astoria, looking down at her outfit. “I’ll put on my best potato sack for the occasion.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, spun on her heel, and whisked her wand in a series of complicated motions at the dark wooden bookshelf on the right side of her office. The bookshelf made a loud creaking noise and then turned around, folding into the wall, and then remerging as a wardrobe in a different, lighter shade of wood.

“You’re kidding,” said Astoria, as the doors to the wardrobe swung open. “You connected your entire closet to your office?”

“My closet is connected to everywhere in my house,” said Daphne with a sniff. “Anyway, take your pick, I’ll have it tailored for you. Dilly is on call.”

Dilly was Daphne’s house elf – and had, in fact, been one of the Greengrass family house elves before all of them had moved out. Daphne had taken Dilly with her, even when the new laws were put in place to reform house elves’ working conditions. Astoria had never liked her, but then, she’d never really liked any of their family house elves.

With a sigh, she began ruffling through the dresses hanging in the wardrobe. Daphne had only brought out her fanciest clothes for Astoria’s perusal, it seemed, because they were all floor-length gowns in various shades of silk, chiffon, and sometimes velvet. Astoria could count the number of gowns in her own wardrobe on one hand; Daphne’s must number in the hundreds.

“What about this?” she asked, mostly at random, pulling out a red dress with a crushed velvet bodice.

Daphne glanced up from her papers and shook her head. “Red is too Gryffindor. Remember, we have to represent Mother’s campaign here. We can’t just wear any colors we like.”

Astoria made a face and slid it back into the wardrobe.

“You know the Macmillans aren’t exactly Gryffindors, either.”

“No, but all the Gryffindor war heroes will be there to support him,” said Daphne. “Ernie doesn’t go anywhere without his Dumbledore’s Army entourage for moral support. Speaking of, you need to stay away from those two.”

“Sure,” said Astoria, barely listening.

“I mean it,” Daphne insisted. “No more sneaking around with Ethan Macmillan. You’re not nineteen anymore. We can only talk to the Macmillan side in formal events, like the debate or Ministry galas. Never alone. And definitely not at the fucking Leaky Cauldron.”

Astoria paused, considering this.

“What if they accost me at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Then you tell them to fuck off. Not in those words,” said Daphne hastily, walking back around to the wardrobe. “No cursing in public, either. And no calling people mudbloods.”

“I don’t call people mudbloods,” said Astoria, offended.

“Well, you really should, considering the type of riffraff you hang out with.”

“Riffraff?” Astoria repeated. “I think you’re spending too much time with Mother.”

Daphne ignored this and reached over her to pull a new dress out. This one was a pale green, floaty chiffon fabric with layers of skirts and sparkling embroidery on the long sleeves.

“What about this one? It complements your skintone.”

“I have no idea what complementing my skintone even means,” Astoria informed her, but she allowed Daphne to hold the dress up to her body anyway. “Hey, that’s the color Penelope chose for her bridesmaids.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose in affront. “I cannot believe you’re going to that wedding.”

“Uh, she’s our sister?” Astoria reminded her. “One of us has to go.”

“She’s marrying a Weasley.”

Astoria decided not to mention that she didn’t really view this as a high crime, or that as far as the Weasleys went, George ranked pretty high on her list. He’d given her quite a few little knickknacks from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes before she’d left their house the other day, and they were sitting at Queen’s Lodge waiting to be distributed in Summerstone House when she got a chance.

“Yes, but she’s still our sister. What are you going to do, never talk to her again? You’d rather spend time with Helena and fucking Huxley Bulstrode? Really, Daphne?”

“Huxley Bulstrode comes from a powerful family and he’s an excellent brother-in-law,” said Daphne primly, pulling another dress out – this one was a soft peach color with a wrap-around skirt – and holding it up to Astoria to test it. “And you should really go visit Helena instead of spending your time helping Penelope with her godawful tacky wedding planning. She’s due in three months, you know.”

“No, I prefer to forget that our sister is spawning the next generation of Bulstrodes, actually,” said Astoria dryly.

Daphne shot her a look and slid the peach dress back onto the rack, pulling out a blue one as she did.

“Anyway,” said Astoria, ignoring Daphne using her as a dress-up doll, “I really think you all are missing an opportunity here. Our sister is marrying a Weasley and you and Mother are just ignoring the political ramifications.”

Daphne frowned. “What political ramifications?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Weasleys are the most politically powerful family in the country,” Astoria reminded her. “Their word and their endorsements mean a lot. One of them is literally marrying one of Mother’s daughters, they’re not marrying into the Macmillans. And you all are just letting that go to waste because you don’t personally like him. You should be using it as a way to get more of that crowd to vote for you. Or do you think we can win on the old guard purebloods demographic alone?”

Daphne raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“You think we should reach out to Penelope? After that last fight with Mother, I imagine she doesn’t much want to hear from us again.”

“Oh, come off it,” said Astoria, rolling her eyes. “She’s our sister. She loves us. She’s not even mad, she’s just sad that you all disowned her and won’t come to the wedding. And Mother can’t think more than two moves ahead in this campaign or she would recognize that it would be an honor for her to host the engagement party for them. Instead the Weasleys are hosting it at the Burrow and it’s going to be a morale boost for the Macmillan side instead, because only George’s friends and family will be there, instead of us.”

Daphne’s lips parted, as if she had been halfway to a rebuttal and had to stop as Astoria just kept going on and on.

 “Since when are you such a touchy feely goody two shoes type of sister?” she asked at last, shaking her head and resuming her search for the perfect dress, pulling out a pink and gold one from the rack. “As far as I remember, you were the one always making excuses to get out of family dinners and vacation trips.”

That had had very little to do with her sisters, and much more to do with their parents, but Astoria let that go.

“We’re all adults now, aren’t we? And I personally can’t believe you’re going to miss out on an opportunity to show up a wedding full of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs with your most haute couture dress.”

Daphne tilted her head. “True. If Penelope would even invite us.”

“Of course she will.” Astoria waved a hand. “Just write her and apologize. And tell Mother to get over herself and throw an engagement party if she doesn’t want to be outdone by Arthur and Molly Weasley. By the way, what’s the guest list for this debate dinner party?”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “It’s an open invite to all the campaign teams, so the Sprouts and their lot will be there too. The Macmillans, obviously, and all their friends. I’d bet Potter and the rest of Dumbledore’s Army show up, too. Macmillan always begs them for turnout because it makes him look better to have the war heroes behind him. And anyone who works at the Ministry in a high enough role. Most of the Wizengamot and their families will be there.”

Astoria ran that information through her repressed knowledge of the Ministry of Magic. In his life, her father had been one of the top lawyers kept on retainer for the Wizengamot in his private firm, so he had made sure all his daughters knew the sitting members. Even though a lot of them had changed and shifted since the war – she knew Granger, for one, had taken a seat, as well as some Weasley or the other – many of them were still the same.

The Shafiqs’ mother had been on the Wizengamot for years. With any luck, that meant Zoya would be there this weekend. She wasn’t going to ask without raising suspicion about why she was so interested in the Shafiqs – Daphne was quick enough to pick up on the werewolf connection between Raihan and Daniel, and would tell her to keep well out of it, probably rightfully.

The only downside was that Potter or one of the other Aurors might be there, too, but she’d just have to cross that bridge when she got to it.

Chapter Text

Queen’s Lodge was a flurry of activity when she finally returned. She had trained her staff to be able to deal with all events and run the estate in her absence, so she wasn’t worried about that, but there was a pre-qualifying event being held in France for the Meteorics next month, and all the winged horse riders with a shot of getting a place were training at the farm nonstop. All the trails in the sky were full of horses and their riders when Astoria Apparated in.

“Astoria!” called Erik, coming up to her with a levitating bag of horse feed behind him. “You’ve got visitors.”

“More than usual?”

Erik waved his wand to set the bag down and jogged after her as she strode up the wide stone steps to the front door.

“The Sprouts are just here for you. Although I think Anaïs might want a horse to play with. And we’ve got a lot of riders wanting to train, but Amelia set up a queue so it doesn’t get out of control. We might want to look into getting permits for a larger sky field as we get closer to the Meteorics, though.”

Astoria nodded, only half-listening. “Sure, I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah, your accountant is here. Wants to run over the monthly numbers and stuff. He’s waiting in the parlor room. I sent the Sprouts to the family room, I figured you wouldn’t mind. You should probably talk to him first.”

She had to stop herself from sighing. She hated everything to do with numbers, which was the only reason she regretted firing the estate manager when she took over Queen’s Lodge. And although her accountant was able to handle most of it for her, there were somehow still always things she needed to look over.

But Erik was unfortunately right. She hung up her coat, cast a quick spell on her boots to remove any mud and debris, and went to the parlor room where Jason Chang had already claimed a coffee table to spread out a number of very threatening professional-looking papers on. Granted, Astoria found most professional papers to be threatening.

At least Jason himself was fairly unassuming, although she knew for a fact that his mild manners hid a very sharp and analytical mind. He was the reason the farm had almost tripled its profits in the two years since she’d been running it, since he had a degree in not just accounting but wizarding economics, and he could predict market trends better than anybody else she knew, even Daphne. He was rifling through his notebook with a black feather quill, glasses askew, when she came in.

“Astoria,” Jason said, looking up. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“Did I have a choice?” she asked dryly, taking a seat on the couch opposite him. “How does everything look?”

“Good, good.” Jason closed his notebook, slid his quill into the inkpot, and pulled up a different accounting notebook to offer to her. “Profits have increased, and I think the Meteorics will only help. I was talking with some of your stable hands and they mentioned there’s a long list of potential riders waiting for a horse to be available. Might want to look into buying some more from overseas, if the ones you have aren’t breeding fast enough.”

Astoria grimaced. She frankly hated the culture around breeding winged horses, and refused to do it as often and as consistently as her competitors in France, Greece, and other countries. It meant she didn’t have quite the steady flow of new horses being born, but the ones she did breed had a reputation of being stronger and capable, since she wasn’t forcing the mares to be pregnant constantly.

“I don’t trust the overseas European farms,” she said, flipping through the book he gave her as if she was going to understand the numbers on it. “They overwork their breeding horses and then the new ones are born frail, but they think them having pretty wings makes up for it.”

“I understand,” said Jason. “There are a couple of upcoming ranches in midwest America, still small but they’re doing good work in their national competitions. The horses they’re breeding are fast and strong, and I think we’ll see a lot more of them in international competitions soon. Might be ones you want to get in touch with.”

“Americans are not exactly known for their restraint when it comes to horse breeding,” Astoria pointed out.

“No, I know you have issues with the Southern farms,” Jason agreed. “But they’re not all bad. And, you know, they have more regulations in place than we do, or Spain, or whoever.”

“I suppose.” Astoria sighed. “I’ll look into it. What else?”

“Well, your mother asked me to also look into the matter of the missing jewels,” said Jason, grinning when Astoria let out a groan. “I know, I know. Jewelry wouldn’t be included on your books regardless, since it has nothing to do with the farm. I suspect they were just stored here and may have been misplaced.”

“My mother thinks I let one of my friends steal them,” said Astoria with a roll of her eyes. “I wish I had, because then I would just tell her that and let her deal with it.”

“Regardless, you might want to look into hiring a Pensieve Investigator, if she’s really pushing you,” Jason told her. “They do a lot of experimental charms work with memories – not yours, but memories of places and inanimate objects. They might be able to find something out.”

“The less I know about the memories of this place, the better,” Astoria said frankly. “But I’ll look into it. Honestly, I think Mother is just putting up a fuss to have something to fuss about, since she has nothing to do with the rest of the estate and our profits.”

“Possibly,” Jason acknowledged. “But worth looking into, in case there really is theft going on. Speaking of, I did find something a bit unusual when I was going over the past five years of accounting books.”

“Do you just do that sort of stuff for fun?” Astoria asked in genuine curiosity.

He shrugged. “Sometimes yes, but in this case it’s because you’ve only owned the estate for two years so there’s probably stuff that went on that you don’t know about that might be important to know. I’ve checked out all the papers and numbers for all your current living horses, and there’s only one I can’t find who owns it.”

Jason opened a different book to a specific page and offered it to her, tapping on the line he had marked for the horse. A pure inky black Granian horse – they were normally grey, but this one had been specially bred from a long line of darker-coated and faster Granians – named Arion. One of her best horses, and a regular champion at winged horse tournaments.

He was Rose Parkinson’s horse.

Astoria frowned, trying to make sense of Jason’s notes. “I don’t understand. Arion has an owner, he belongs to Rose Parkinson. She won last year at the Versailles Cup.”

“I know,” said Jason patiently. “But we keep all the records of everyone who’s ever bought a horse from us. There’s no papers for his transfer to Rose. When did it happen?”

“Um.” Astoria cast her mind back, since this was well before she owned Queen’s Lodge. “Probably like five years ago? When we were kids, Rose had a different horse, but that one died. And then she quit tournaments for a while, and she only came back when she could train Arion. She’s had him for a while though, since my father was alive.”

“Hmm.” Jason accepted the accounting book back, looking over it thoughtfully. “Your father and his estate manager were very meticulous in their records. It would be completely unlike them to misplace papers, especially papers for a champion horse like Arion.”

“You think someone stole… just the papers?”

“Well, why would anyone do that?” Jason frowned. “Maybe a rival rider from one of Rose’s tournaments?”

“But you can’t do anything with just the horse’s papers,” Astoria said. “If they wanted to mess with Rose, they’d have to attack Arion personally.”

“No, they can’t hurt Arion by stealing his papers, but they can make a mess of things for Rose,” Jason pointed out. “Because a lack of papers means the purchase will have to be investigated. Legally, you might still own the horse.”

Astoria blinked. “But… that doesn’t make sense. The Parkinsons have more than enough money. Of course they bought Arion.”

“I don’t know,” said Jason. “I’ll have to look into it. It’s very strange.”

Astoria sighed. “I don’t know if I can deal with tournament saboteurs at the same time as everything else going on.”

“I mean, you could always hire someone to manage the estate…”

She glared at him. “No.”

Jason laughed. “Regardless, we will have to look into this. And the jewels, probably, although I can’t help with that.”

Astoria stood up. “Thanks. You can use the office if you need to. I have some other visitors, though, I hope you don’t mind.”

He waved her off, returning to his work. Astoria left him there with his papers, stopped one of her servants in the hallway to tell him to bring Jason some coffee and snacks, and then headed down the hall to the family room, where she could already see the chandelier lit up inside and the sounds of Anaïs chattering away to her parents.

“Astoria!” Olivine Sprout stood up in greeting, smiling as she walked over to hug her. “Long time, no see. Where have you been?”

“You would not believe the insane turn my life has taken,” Astoria told her with a deep sigh. “Hi, Matthew.”

Matthew grinned at her over Anaïs’ head of dark braids, one of which ended up in his mouth when she whipped her head around to see Astoria.

“Hi, Astoria—”

“Astoria!” shrieked Anaïs, running headfirst out of her father’s arms and into Astoria’s for a hug.

Astoria grinned, relaxing from all the tension she’d had just a moment ago talking to Jason, and leaned down to scoop Anaïs into a hug.

“Hey, kid,” she greeted, squeezing Anaïs tight. “How’s it going?”

Anaïs pulled back, gap-toothed grin brightening her face. “Good. Dad said I can ride a horse today if you let me.”

“Did you?” Astoria glanced at Matthew who shrugged helplessly at her as if to say ‘what can I do?’. It was true enough, even she had a hard time saying no to Anaïs sometimes. “Well, we’ll have to see if we have any horses your size available. Do you want to play with something else while Erik checks on that for us?”

Anaïs nodded eagerly. Astoria waved her wand to transport one of the old dollhouses that was kept in a guest bedroom on the upper floors of the estate down to the family room – she suspected it had belonged to one of her ancestors in the early 1900s or thereabouts, because it had been fairly decrepit when she’d found it in her investigation of Queen’s Lodge, but she’d restored it to something resembling a playable normalcy, since Anaïs and some other kids came over from time to time.

“Thanks,” said Matthew as Anaïs immediately began dismantling one of the dolls in it to play a game that apparently involved severed heads. “She’s been asking for one of those new dollhouses, you know, the magical ones where they walk around by themselves and you have to stop them from running around all over the house? We’re trying to dissuade her.”

“Well, get her an old-fashioned one,” said Astoria, gesturing to the very non-magical dollhouse. “That one might be haunted but at least the dolls don’t move.”

One of the servants came in with a tray of fresh mint lemonade in cocktail glasses, which Astoria accepted gladly, as did Matthew and Olivine. She settled down in an armchair next to them on the couch, all of them within eyeshot of Anaïs in case she decided to start throwing dolls around. But she was a well-behaved kid for the most part, as long as she didn’t have a partner to encourage her.

“Since when is she friends with Teddy Lupin, by the way?” Astoria asked, remembering the encounter from last week as she watched Anaïs playing.

“Since couple of months ago. Charlie introduced us,” said Olivine, leaning back on the couch. Her dark hair fell down over the seatback in a cascade of pearl-beaded braids, clearly the inspiration for Anaïs’ own hairstyle.

If Astoria didn’t know better, she would’ve thought Anaïs was her biological daughter; they shared the same deep brown skin and naturally curly hair. She didn’t look much like Matthew, though, who had blond hair and incredibly fair skin, although he was a little sunburnt right now as he usually was in the summers.

“When did you meet Teddy?” he asked in interest.

Astoria made a face. “Oh, Charlie didn’t tell you? I went to see him at Skyfire the other day and he took me down to the den where Potter and his godson were playing with Anaïs.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Olivine, amused. “Harry Potter’s a nice guy.”

“Probably,” said Astoria. “When he’s not running a murder investigation on your friend, I guess he’s pretty nice.”

Matthew and Olivine exchanged looks of alarm.

“A murder investigation?”

“On who?”

Astoria stirred her lemonade around, mixing up the crushed ice into the water.

“On Daniel,” she told them quietly, so as not to attract Anaïs’ attention – Daniel was one of her favorite people, and her most frequent babysitter when Matthew and Olivine were out working on their Ministerial campaign. “They’ve named him a person of interest in the Marcus Flint murder. He’s always asking questions about it.”

“No way,” said Matthew, pulling back in shock. “Why would they think Daniel did it?”

Olivine was staring at her, brow furrowed in confusion.

“And why are they on you about it?”

“They know me and Daniel are friends,” she said to Olivine. “And someone gave them his name when they were doing their initial interviews. And…” There was something else Anubis had said that had just risen to her mind. “I guess they had witness testimony that someone saw a werewolf running out of Knockturn Alley that night. But…”

Olivine had gotten there, too. “That doesn’t make any sense. A wild werewolf wouldn’t kill one person and then leave the scene.”

“No, a wild werewolf would have destroyed half of Knockturn Alley,” said Matthew grimly. “A werewolf on Wolfsbane might have the capability to kill someone premeditated, but even then that’s a risk.”

“And even then,” Astoria said, staring down at the glass coffee table as if it would help her untangle the truths and lies that everyone had been telling her. “That doesn’t sound like Daniel.”

“No,” Olivine agreed. “He would always lock himself up on full moon nights. And he’d never miss a dose if he could help it.”

Matthew leaned in, waving his wand absently to cast a spell on Anaïs so she wouldn’t be able to make any sense of what they were saying, in case she recognized any of the words.

“What if he was forced to miss a dose and someone put him under Imperio?”

“You don’t think he actually did it.”

“I don’t know,” said Matthew. “I’m a werewolf, Astoria. I know I’m capable of things I don’t want to do. And so is Daniel. But if he was forced to do it, then they won’t lock him up.”

“You don’t know that,” argued Astoria. “You’ve seen the state of the justice system.”

“Well, it’s gotten a lot better under Shacklebolt,” Olivine reminded her gently. “But you’re right. I mean, that’s why I’m running. Werewolves still don’t get fair trials.”

“To be fair,” Matthew said, “most of the werewolves who got trials after the war were Greyback’s wolves, and they really did do horrible things.”

“But that’s the thing,” said Astoria. “There were so many of Greyback’s wolves, and so many people he turned in the war that run around doing horrible things, that people still think all werewolves are like that. And we can’t let them arrest Daniel if they’re going to treat him like one of Greyback’s pack.”

“Do you know where he is?” asked Olivine.

“No,” she admitted with a sigh. “I haven’t heard from him since it all happened. I did hear from Raihan. Do you guys know anything about missing werewolves?”

Matthew and Olivine traded another look.

“We’ve heard things, yeah,” Matthew said. “But honestly, I thought—well, I kind of thought it was someone trying to freak us out, to stop our campaign.”

Astoria hadn’t even considered this. She’d put the entire political elections so far out of her mind, it hadn’t occurred to her that there might be a political motive to all this unrest.

“Who would do that?”

“Well,” said Olivine slowly. “Your mother.”

Astoria sat back. “Oh.”

“Or,” added Matthew hastily, “Not her, but maybe someone on her side.”

“Marcus Flint was one of her top donors,” Astoria murmured, more to herself than to them. “But then… what’s the theory? Marcus Flint was kidnapping werewolves to silence your campaign and so Daniel went and killed him?”

It was insane to even say. They could all see that.

“I don’t think Daniel would do that,” said Olivine. “And I don’t really believe Marcus Flint was capable of kidnapping werewolves by himself.”

 “I don’t know,” said Astoria doubtfully. “That all sounds so crazy. I mean, Marcus is an awful person, but he also had a lot of money and a lot of political pull. I don’t see why he would resort to doing anything to werewolves to get rid of you. And you’d think Macmillan’s campaign would also be targeted, if the goal was to get my mother to win. But there are no missing Dumbledore’s Army members.”

“Well, actually,” Matthew said with a grimace. “One of them is connected to Dumbledore’s Army. Amaris Zeller is the only the Aurors have a report on. Her sister Rose was in Dumbledore’s Army in the year of the war.”

Astoria frowned. “And the others?”

“I only know two others, there could be more,” Matthew said. “Connor O’Malley and Diana Grey. Werewolves turned during the war. Around your age, both of them, I think. I know of them through Silverspire, but they never lived there – you know a lot of werewolves prefer to try to make it alone. So they had no support system, and no one to report them.”

“So how do you know they’re missing?”

“Through werewolf communities,” Matthew said. “Just whispers, really. They were both pretty solitary. It’s hard to know for sure, but everyone seems pretty convinced they’re missing. It’s just we can’t really report them officially because none of us are close enough to say for sure, and we’d be laughed out of the DMLE for saying ‘hey, someone I kinda know might have gone missing but I don’t know where they live or anything about them but could you look into it?’”

Astoria heaved a sigh, dropping her head back until she hit the couch. “Merlin’s beard.”

“I know,” said Olivine grimly. “And Macmillan also kind of has the Aurors in his pocket, so it would be hard to get them to listen to us, since we’re his competition.”

“Do you think Daniel was looking for the missing wolves?” she asked. “Do you think – I don’t know, what if he is one of the missing wolves? And it was just bad timing with the murder? Or—I don’t know, the murderers kidnapped him on purpose to frame him?”

Matthew considered it, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense though. If you want to frame someone, surely the goal is for them to go to jail, which won’t happen if he’s… missing.”

“Well, maybe they’ll just send him to the Auror office once they’ve built enough suspicion,” suggested Astoria, although it sounded like a stupid plan even as she said it. “I don’t fucking know. Who are we even looking for here? It was such a random murder.”

“You’re right,” said Olivine. “Look, I do know the Aurors are working on Amaris’ case. But you’re looking for who killed Marcus Flint.”

“I really don’t care who killed Marcus Flint,” Astoria admitted frankly. “I just know it wasn’t Daniel. And the Aurors won’t fucking stop trying to investigate him, and his jobs, and me, because I’m friends with him. And I don’t know where he is to clear his name.”

“Then maybe to clear his name you need to figure out who actually did it,” Matthew suggested.

Astoria pressed her hands to her eyes. “Honestly, that’s probably a better use of my time than working on my mother’s stupid campaign.”

Matthew and Olivine looked at each other.

“Seriously?”

“Unfortunately,” she said with a sigh. “She has me working under Daphne to learn from her or whatever. Don’t worry, obviously, I’m not going to tell her anything about your campaign.”

Olivine laughed. “Your mother would never take me seriously anyway. Even Macmillan barely does, and his whole thing is being nice.”

“I’ll try and convince her to drop out so we can have a real Hufflepuff v Hufflepuff battle,” Astoria said dryly.

“If you convince your mother to drop out of the race, I will personally buy the best pony you have for Anaïs,” Olivine promised her, making all three of them laugh.

“Well,” said Pansy, placing the newspaper down on the coffee table. “This was rather predictable, don’t you think?”

Astoria sighed. Daphne paced in front of her, from one end of the Greywing Hall family room to the other, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked ominously away.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” she tried.

Daphne stopped at the far end of the room and turned to scowl at her. With her blond hair twisted up into a bun, she looked alarmingly like their mother when she did that.

“Are you kidding? A blind item was ‘not that big of a deal’. You getting in a fight with Ernie Macmillan was ‘not that big of a deal.’ Why does The Prophet have an exclusive source that you and Ethan Macmillan are sleeping together?”

“Probably because The Prophet makes everything up?” Astoria suggested. She reached over to take the newspaper from the coffee table and jabbed a finger at the byline. “It’s fucking Isabella Rookwood. She is a notorious liar.”

“Maybe, but people believe her,” Daphne pointed out. “And they’ll believe this. I know you don’t care about your reputation, Astoria, but I do.”

“You care about my reputation?” asked Astoria.

“Yes!” Daphne took a deep breath. “You’re my sister. Most importantly. Second most importantly, you are a reflection on Mother and the campaign. And third most importantly, he is the fucking enemy.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not sleeping with him.”

Pansy shrugged and picked the newspaper up again. “It doesn’t really matter if you are or not. It matters what people think.”

“I know you have always struggled to care what other people think, Astoria, but please, give some mind to the campaign,” said Daphne with a deep sigh, finally collapsing gracefully into an armchair. “It’s bad enough with the murder investigation going on. The last thing we need is a torrid affair scandal.”

“So we probably shouldn’t tell them about you and our family lawyer?” asked Astoria.

Daphne glared at her.

Pansy managed a spark of interest and raised an eyebrow at her best friend.

“Joshua Goldstein?”

“Shut up, Pansy. Focus more on The Oracle running a radio drama about a scorned fiancée who murdered her husband last night.”

“The Oracle doesn’t know shit,” said Pansy. “When did you sleep with Goldstein?”

Astoria raised a hand. “I know that answer.”

Daphne sent her another death glower. “It was a long time ago,” she said to Pansy.

“Two years,” said Astoria helpfully.

“Was he good?” asked Pansy in interest.

“Does it matter?” Daphne demanded. “It was ages ago. You’ll notice I’ve stopped misbehaving since Mother announced her run for Minister.”

“You’re right,” said Astoria. “If only we could all be so lucky as to find a boyfriend as handsome and charming as Blaise Zabini. Didn’t he have a longer house arrest sentencing than you?”

“Those trials were bullshit,” Daphne said.

“Right, because of the whole getting caught with a love potion thing?” Pansy added, picking up Astoria’s question. “Who was that even for?”

Daphne’s mouth twisted. “Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?”

Astoria leaned forwards. “You’re not under a love potion, are you?”

“Salazar’s snake, Astoria, of course not,” Daphne snapped. “It wasn’t for anyone. It was just… a precaution.”

Pansy looked at Astoria, who looked back in mild confusion.

“A precaution for what?” asked Astoria in genuine curiosity.

“Because not of all us can run away to live in the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands on a whim, Astoria,” said Daphne coldly. “And the rest of us live in society and we have to be prepared to do the right things in order to secure ourselves a future. A future of children, and happiness, for the pureblood cause. We have to – there is a necessary willingness to make sacrifices. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I don’t understand,” Astoria agreed. “That sounds fucking insane. You’re dating him to have little pureblood children for the cause?”

“Someone has to,” Daphne said. “Since one of our sisters has disgraced herself entirely and you – well, Merlin knows what will happen to you. Maybe the best I can hope for is that you marry Ethan Macmillan, he’s at least a pureblood.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “I’d sooner freefall off a horse than marry Ethan Macmillan.”

“It’s not like you have very many other options,” Pansy snarked, then stopped and sat up straight. “Oh, hello, Euan.”

Daphne and Astoria both turned around in their seats. Pansy’s older brother, Euan Parkinson, was hanging up his coat in the hallway. He looked into the family room with the kind of smile Astoria had come to associate with business-minded pureblood heirs – the ‘I’m better than you but it’s my job to be charming’ kind of smile. Euan was better at it than most of them, although being classically handsome certainly helped him there.

“Hello, Pansy. Daphne, Astoria,” Euan said, inclining his head in acknowledgment of them both. “What brings you two lovely ladies to our hallowed hall?”

“Campaign preparation,” said Daphne smoothly. “The debate is tomorrow. Will you be attending the dinner party and dance?”

Astoria made a face. “There’s a dance?”

Euan came in to stand next to her sofa, smiling. “There’s always a dance. You can’t step foot in a Ministry function these days without being forced at wandpoint to do a quadrille. And yes, I will be there.”

“You’d know this if you ever attended them,” Daphne told Astoria.

“I think I know why I don’t,” said Astoria.

Euan laughed. Across the coffee table, Pansy was studiously ignoring the conversation, pretending to leaf through the newspaper she had already read.

“I will say, we do miss you at social functions, Astoria,” said Euan. “Very few of us are willing to admit how ridiculous the whole thing is. Or to torpedo an entire waltz by rigging a bucket of gardening water to the chandelier.”

Astoria smiled at him. “One of my proudest memories.”

“You got locked in your room for three months for that,” Daphne reminded her.

“And it was worth it.”

“Will you be bringing your girlfriend?” asked Pansy in a deceptively casual voice, cutting across their bickering to talk to her older brother, although she still didn’t look at him.

Euan glanced sidelong at Astoria and then at Daphne.

“Will it be a problem if I do? She’ll be attending regardless.”

“Who’s your girlfriend?” asked Astoria.

Euan seemed hesitant to answer, so Pansy did it for him.

“Felicity Macmillan.”

“What?” Astoria sat up in her seat and turned to glare at Daphne. “He’s dating a Macmillan and you’re getting on me for a fake rumor about me and Ethan?”

“Not dating,” Euan clarified hastily. “We’re engaged.”

Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Even better,” said Astoria.

Daphne sighed. “Astoria, surely you see the difference between Euan having a long-term relationship with Macmillan’s niece and you sleeping with his son.”

“But I didn’t sleep with him!”

“It doesn’t matter! People respect relationships, not fuck buddies. And your mother is the one running for Minister, not Mrs. Parkinson.”

“Oh, come on,” said Astoria. “Mrs. Parkinson is Mother’s best friend, she’s been involved in this campaign since the beginning, she may as well be co-running it with her.”

“I hate to say it, Astoria,” said Euan, “But Felicity and I have been together since long before the elections were even announced.”

Astoria stared at him blankly. “Ethan and I aren’t together.”

“Right.” Euan looked between the three of them. “I feel like I’m interrupting a conversation that has no need for me.”

Pansy made a gesture with her hands as if to say ‘obviously’.

“Congrats on the engagement,” Astoria told him.

Euan looked at her speculatively. “Thanks. See you ladies around.”

As he left, Astoria turned back to Daphne and Pansy, who were both wearing expressions of exasperation, although she suspected they were for different reasons.

“I’m surprised he’s not more torn up about things,” Daphne mused. She shot a glance at Pansy, who only shrugged.

“Torn up about what?” asked Astoria.

“Marcus’ murder,” her sister explained. “They were best friends. And business partners, I think? That’s how…” She made a gesture to Pansy to indicate the betrothal.

Pansy’s lips twisted. “Nice of him to set me up with his stupidest friend, when he went and fell in love with a fucking Ravenclaw all on his own.”

Astoria stared at her. “Did you have other options or something?”

Pansy glared. “No.”

“Then—”

“Anyway,” Daphne interrupted. “What is our plan to deal with that? We’re the public relations team. We need to do something.”

She emphasized that by pointing at the newspaper in Pansy’s hands.

“Spread a worse rumor about someone on Macmillan’s team?” Pansy suggested. “Maybe Ernie. I’m sure he’d react to anything we could run, which will just make it bigger.”

“No,” said Daphne thoughtfully. “Bringing the elder Macmillan into it will only underscore this. People will be comparing the two if we use sex or relationships against him, and it will only make the Ethan and Astoria thing last longer. We need to go after someone else on Macmillan’s campaign. Or one of Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Granger and Weasley?” asked Pansy.

“We just did the breakup rumors thing for them last week,” said Daphne dismissively. “And it didn’t work.”

“Well,” Astoria said, leaning back in her seat. “It worked a little.”

The two of them turned to look at her in confusion.

“I mean, Weasley was upset about it.”

“When did you talk to Weasley?” asked Daphne.

“At the Leaky Cauldron, when Ernie Macmillan accosted me,” said Astoria. “Keep up, Daphne. Anyway, I made a joke about how he never gets to have sex because she’s always away and he got mad at me. So your baseless rumors are at least getting them bothered.”

“Interesting.” Daphne crossed her arms, thinking. “Well, we shouldn’t double dip on Weasley and Granger. What about Potter, is he seeing anyone yet?”

“As if he would tell anyone if he was,” Pansy muttered. “Remember that rumor about him and what’s her name, one of those Abbott girls? The Auror, not the one in our year.”

“Bethany?” Astoria supplied. “Did you two start that rumor, too?”

“No,” said Daphne. “We don’t start every rumor. Potter brings enough attention onto himself without our help. But they both denied that one.”

“Right, and then everyone magically stopped printing any stories about the two of them from that point forward,” said Pansy. “I’m pretty sure he threw his weight around the Ministry to get them to shut up.”

“Too bad we don’t have a Potter to erase all rumors for our team,” Daphne said with a sigh, sending Astoria a pointed look.

“You’re right, we have nothing,” agreed Astoria. “I’ll simply have to bear the shame of everyone thinking I fucked Ethan Macmillan for the rest of time. Maybe I should just go to the seaside and live there far away from society forever.”

“Can you take one thing seriously? Just once in your life?” asked Daphne. “Anyway, I think Potter is a non-starter. There are always a hundred rumors going around about him and none of them stick. And he hasn’t dated anyone since Ginny Weasley.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “That was, like, two years ago. Surely he’s not still holed up in his room crying about it. She was hardly a catch.”

“Ginny Weasley’s not a catch?” Astoria asked her incredulously. “One of the best Chasers of the Holyhead Harpies? Daughter of the most popular family in Wizarding Britain? I think you two should count your blessings that her father isn’t running for Minister because then you’d be out of a job.”

“She’s a bitch,” said Pansy, tossing her hair. “Granted, he’s an idiot, so they were quite well-suited. But either way, he should move on. I’m sure she’s got someone back in America or Canada or wherever it is that she ran off to.”

Daphne sat up straight. “Wait… don’t you think?”

“Think what?” asked Astoria.

“Don’t you think she has someone?” Daphne said, looking between the two of them. “I mean, Pansy’s right, it’s been years since they broke up. If we could break that news, that would properly distract everyone from any other rumors. The Weasleys are big money in the presses, and Potter’s name obviously is worth top coin.”

Astoria looked at Pansy, who seemed just as befuddled as she was.

“Uh, what is your plan here exactly?” Astoria asked gingerly. “You want us to go to America and stalk Ginny Weasley to find out if she’s dating someone new?”

“We’re in the middle of a campaign, Daphne,” Pansy reminded her. “And a murder investigation. We don’t have time for her. If we’re going to spread a rumor, it needs to be local, and easily believable, if not true.”

“Also, we don’t know anyone in America?” Astoria pointed out. “How would we even find her?”

Daphne was staring at the far end of the living room, though, barely paying attention to anything the two of them were saying. She had a look in her eye that Astoria knew from childhood experience heralded a capital-I Idea that was sure to get someone in trouble.

“Penelope,” she said slowly.

“What?” Astoria said at the same time as Pansy.

“Penelope,” Daphne repeated, looking over at her. “She lived in America. She must still have contacts there. She just moved here last month, I’m sure she—”

“Daphne,” said Astoria patiently. “You are not even invited to Penelope’s wedding. How do you suggest—oh, no.”

Her sister smiled at her. “You’re invited. You can talk to her.”

“I’m not going to do that,” said Astoria. “Mostly because I don’t really care.”

“Well, you can either do that or you can find some other hot gossip to take the heat off you and Ethan,” said Daphne. “Your choice.”

“Ugh.” Astoria dropped her head back. “Daphne, this is insane. It’s just a rumor. It’ll blow over.”

“No, this rumor has legs because of that blind item, and then you and Ernie getting into it at the Leaky,” said Daphne. “And people love a scandal. You’re the children of the two Ministerial candidates, for Salazar’s sake.”

“Three,” said Astoria.

“What?”

“There’s three Ministerial candidates.”

Daphne waved a hand dismissively. “Sprout doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” asked Astoria, offended.

“Because she doesn’t have enough votes, she barely has any influence, and her entire platform is based on stupid shit like werewolf rights.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at Daphne, but before she could say anything, Pansy interrupted.

“Honestly, it’s a good thing that werewolf boy of yours is missing, because the only thing worse than everyone thinking you’re sleeping with a Macmillan is everyone thinking you’re sleeping with a werewolf.”

Astoria turned her head slowly to stare at Pansy, who met her gaze calmly, a smirk on her lips.

“Pansy,” said Daphne with a sigh. “Don’t say—”

“You know what, Pansy,” Astoria cut over her sister, “I think I know exactly what piece of gossip would take the heat off me and Ethan.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Astoria looked at Daphne, who seemed curious despite herself.

“That Marcus had a mistress.”

There was a moment of dead silence in the living room. Even the portraits on the left side wall went quiet, looking at each other uncertainly.

“How do you know that?” Pansy asked in a dangerous voice.

“How do you not know that?” Astoria retorted. “He was your fiancé.”

Pansy stood up, her dark eyes flickering furiously between Astoria and Daphne.

“He did not have a mistress.”

“Oh, right,” Astoria said. “He was just in Knockturn Alley on business. Is that what you’re telling everyone?”

Pansy’s lips pressed into a thin, murderous line. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I actually have it on good authority,” said Astoria, leaning back in her seat as Pansy towered above her. “And you know, this would be just the thing.” She directed this at Daphne, who was staring between the two of them, caught. “Because everyone knows the Aurors need a good motive for the murder. And the only thing more important than the election right now is the murder investigation.”

“Astoria,” murmured Daphne. “Don’t do this.”

“Who’s the mistress?” Pansy asked.

“Pansy,” Daphne started, but Pansy held up a hand to stop her.

“I want to know,” she said, her gaze fixed on Astoria. “Who is she?”

Astoria shrugged helplessly, indolent on purpose.

“I can’t tell you that. Then you might actually be responsible for a murder.”

“Greengrass,” began Pansy ominously, leaning forward, but Daphne stood and grabbed her arm before she could draw her wand or her fists.

“Stop that,” Daphne ordered. “Nobody is going to tell anyone about Marcus having a mistress. Nobody thinks you did it. The Aurors aren’t investigating you, are they?”

“Maybe they should be,” Astoria muttered.

Pansy slid her wand out of the sleeve of her dress and hurled a curse at her.

Astoria ducked and then got to her feet, turning to look at where the spell impacted the wall behind her, leaving a singed hole in the floral wallpaper just beneath the portrait of some outraged Parkinson ancestor.

“Nice shot.”

Daphne wrested Pansy’s wand out of her hand. “This is exactly why they banned wands at election functions,” she huffed. “Sit down, Pansy. And both of you, just shut up for a minute. I just need to think and I can’t do it with you two fighting over everything.”

“What’s there to think about?” asked Astoria, spreading her hands. “We tell The Prophet that Marcus had a mistress. They’ll run a story on the murder being a crime of passion without us having to lift a finger. Suddenly, it’s all everyone’s talking about. Nobody will remember any other rumors by next week.”

“You have some nerve,” snarled Pansy. “Just because your wolf boy is being accused of the crime you think it’s okay to try to pin it on me.”

“If you didn’t do it, why are you worried?”

Daphne brought her wand out before Pansy could answer and whisked it in a semi-circle. “Silencio.”

Astoria and Pansy both turned to glare at her, but she ignored them.

“I cannot have you two squabbling like school children when I am trying to solve a crisis,” Daphne told them coolly. “Sit down, both of you. We’re not going to say anything about Marcus to the press, obviously. And fine, fuck the Potter and Weasley angles. Fuck Dumbledore’s Army. We’ll figure out something better.”

Astoria rolled her eyes, drew her own wand, and undid the Silencing Spell.

“I know something better.”

“If this is another stupid idea, Astoria, I swear to Merlin—”

“Penelope,” Astoria said, making Daphne pull up short. “I told you, if you and Mother go talk to her, throw her an engagement party, outdo the Weasleys, everyone will shut up about everything bad. We’ll seem like an actual functional family. And we can invite Macmillan’s ex-wife, to really rub it in. This whole stupid rumor about me and Ethan is only juicy because people think our families are petty rivals and that Mother won’t let her daughters off the leash. If you act like the bigger person, they’ll have to come up with something else.”

Pansy had removed the Silencing spell on herself after snagging her wand back from Daphne, but she said nothing, just continued to eye Astoria poisonously.

“That… is actually a good idea,” Daphne admitted reluctantly after a long moment of thinking about it.

“You’re welcome,” said Astoria. “Can I go now?”

Chapter Text

The trouble was, Astoria thought as she paced outside the riding stables, boots splattering mud on the grass, that she didn’t have anyone to talk to about everything.

Sure, there were people she could discuss bits and pieces of it all with. Daphne generally refused to even entertain discussions of the murder – she claimed it upset Pansy too much, although Astoria had yet to see evidence of that – and repeatedly told Astoria to leave it to the Aurors and the Flints. Charlie was too close to Potter to trust. Griselda was hiding things from her. Penelope was too busy with planning her wedding that Astoria didn’t want to burden her with it, and Helena…

Well, Helena was pregnant. And even if she had gone to Helena, she likely would have given her the same lawyer advice she always gave her: Don’t speak to anyone without a lawyer present.

Astoria had already broken that rule about several dozen times, but that was beyond the point.

Ethan hadn’t found anything out by talking to the Ministry, she presumed, or he would have sent her a letter about it. Then again, he might still be avoiding her. The Sprouts were good to talk politics with, and Matthew knew more about the ins and outs of the werewolf community than she did, but they were also busy with their campaign, and, unfortunately, they were right that what she was looking for wasn’t just Daniel. She had to find who killed Marcus Flint. It was much harder to prove that Daniel hadn’t done it on her own.

If he’d been here, he would have been the person she talked through everything with, but he wasn’t. She only hoped he’d run. If he was one of the missing werewolves, she had worse problems than the murder of Marcus Flint.

Raihan hadn’t written her back yet. She wasn’t sure what information she really expected him to give – more names of missing werewolves, maybe, since Matthew had only known the three. But even if he knew the names, what could she do with them? Launch an investigation herself? What if some of them were Greyback’s wolves?

Her plans to talk with Zoya tomorrow at the dinner seemed silly at this point. What could Zoya know that might be helpful? Nobody knew the whole story, except perhaps whoever had killed Marcus. Everyone knew bits and pieces, some had theories, some didn’t care – she almost considered working with the Aurors just to learn what they knew.

A horse ambled up to her in the field, palomino wings spread in the summer air. Astoria stared at him – an Abraxan named Xanthus, one of her best and greatest – and then sighed as he bumped his nose into her.

It was really kind of annoying that her best friends these days were horses.

Not that she didn’t love them, but they couldn’t exactly bounce theories off her.

Fishing out the flask of whiskey she kept for the Abraxans, she uncorked it and offered it to Xanthus to drink. Her gaze wandered past him to the stables, where her trainers and riders were engaged in the day’s lessons, and up in the sky to where some of the horses were on their training rotation. They made a beautiful sight, wings spread against the fluffy white clouds, manes fluttering in the breeze.

“Too bad Muggles can’t see you, huh?” she said to Xanthus, rubbing his nose. “Bet they’d love to watch you do your thing.”

Xanthus neighed as if he agreed, and she corked the flask again, letting him saunter back off to the stable hands.

“Astoria?”

She turned. Erik was standing there, looking a little nervous.

“One of the riders wants to speak with you.”

He stepped away to show who he had brought out into the field to meet her. Astoria blinked in surprise.

“Hello, Rose,” she said.

Rose Parkinson crossed her arms. She looked – as she always did – unimpressed by everything around her. She was taller than Astoria by several inches, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid, her riding cap somewhere back in Arion’s stable. The wind rustled around them both, but somehow never made Rose look like she had even a hair out of place.

There were very few reasons that Astoria could think of off-hand for Rose Parkinson to want to speak to her. Despite her keeping Arion at Queen’s Lodge, she went out of her way to not deal with Astoria, and Astoria was more than happy to let her. It was nothing her stable hands couldn’t handle in her stead, usually.

“I received a letter from your accountant,” said Rose. Her voice, as always, was emotionless – honestly, Astoria was surprised Pansy was so volatile since both Euan and Rose were very skilled at pretending not to care about much of anything – but there was a flare of annoyance in her eyes.

“Right,” said Astoria.

“He was asking about Arion’s papers.” Rose squinted at her as if she was responsible for this turn of events. “Shouldn’t you have those?”

“Well, I didn’t sell him to you, so no, and if I did have them, Jason would have found them,” Astoria pointed out. “That’s kind of why I hired him. Don’t you have a copy?”

Rose didn’t look convinced by this, even though it was both logical and correct. Then again, she rarely looked convinced by anything.

“My mother would have them. She gifted me Arion for my eighteenth birthday.”

Astoria stopped herself from saying ‘I know that.’

“Can you ask her to provide the papers?”

Rose frowned a little.

“She’s busy with your mother’s campaign,” she said a little accusingly. “Anyway, why should she have to? Obviously, they would be in your records, too.”

“Uh, obviously they’re not, if my accountant couldn’t find them,” Astoria said. “Look, can you just take this up with him? He can probably help more than I can.”

“I don’t understand where the papers could have gone,” Rose said, brow furrowed. “If this is going to affect my qualifications for the Meteorics—”

“Well, probably, if you don’t get your mother to dig up the papers on your end,” said Astoria.

Rose narrowed her eyes at her.

“I’ve competed in the Meteorics for the past two games in a row. Obviously, Arion had his papers.”

Given the general incompetence of the Meteorics board, Astoria had to resist the urge to point out that this wasn’t really very ‘obvious’ at all. In her time at the Meteorics – only one year, and she had hated it – she hadn’t found them to be very organized or cohesive as an institution.

Besides which, Amaryllis Parkinson had enough money to smooth over her daughter’s entrance into the biggest Wizarding sporting event into the world, and that was even after all the fines for her husband being a Death Eater.

But there was no point in telling Rose any of that. Honestly, Astoria wondered if all the Parkinsons were as delusional as Pansy – believing utterly that nothing could or, in fact, should go wrong for them, and that if it did, they simply had to ignore it to make it go away. No matter how ridiculous that was in any situation. It was how Pansy had gotten through her house arrest, anyway.

“I agree,” said Astoria instead, as conciliatory as she was capable of being. Which wasn’t much. “I’m sure they’ll turn up. Do you need my help with anything else?”

“No.” Rose was still frowning as she looked at her, but she seemed to realize there was nothing else to be done on the subject of Arion’s papers. “Are you really sleeping with Ethan Macmillan?”

Astoria stared at her in disbelief.

“Seriously? That’s what you want to ask me?”

“It’s a valid question.” Rose tossed her braid over her shoulder. “It’s everywhere.”

“I would’ve thought you wouldn’t care about idle gossip either,” said Astoria. Rose had never seemed very caught up in the games of gossip and intra-House politics that Slytherins played; she had always been too focused on her horseriding to pay much attention to anything else.

“I don’t,” said Rose. “But you’re literally never linked with anyone. I honestly didn’t think you ever came to London, let alone to sneak around with boys.”

Astoria sighed. “Believe what you want. I don’t care.”

“I know, you don’t care about anything,” Rose said, which frankly Astoria thought was rich coming from her. The only thing Rose Parkinson had ever broken a sweat for was horseriding. “But shouldn’t you? I mean, with your mother’s campaign and everything.”

It took her a bit of willpower to override her instinctual reaction of ‘I don’t give a fuck about my mother’s campaign.’ She didn’t need that one getting back to Pansy or anyone else in their pureblood social circle.

“Of course, we’re working on it.” Astoria summoned up a smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll all blow over.”

Rose looked decidedly skeptical.

“And I’m sure we’ll clear up your papers issue in no time,” added Astoria, using all the customer service skills she had learned in her two years of dealing with small children, irate parents, and mothers pushing their reluctant children into being the next Meteorics winged horse racing champion.

This, Rose looked even more skeptical about, but she didn’t have much time to argue, because Astoria was already heading back to the stables.

Another thing she’d learned from running the estate – when in an uncomfortable situation, just leave.

Unfortunately, Daphne didn’t allow her leaving privileges when she was working on the campaign. Which was often these days – her sister demanded she attend all of the same meetings as her, and Astoria could hardly argue, since she was the one who had asked for the position. Daphne also took the opportunity to have Astoria do what she hated most about doing anything – paperwork.

“I don’t understand,” Astoria complained to her only companion in Daphne’s office, “why releasing a simple statement to the press requires this much bureacracy.”

Blaise looked up from the book he was reading on the chaise lounge while waiting for Daphne to return from a meeting she was taking at Summerstone. He had been politely ignoring her for an hour, since Daphne had left him clear instructions to not bother Astoria while she was getting ‘very important’ work done. Astoria failed to see what was ‘very important’ about giving a quote about her mother’s favorite type of tea biscuits.

“Everything requires bureacracy,” Blaise said lightly. “It was the only thing left standing after the war. That—”

“And a Gryffindor’s instinct for making trouble,” Astoria finished the quote – Shacklebolt’s first press secretary in the early days after the war had said it off the cuff during a Ministry meeting when someone had complained about some irrelevant Ministry process not being expedited due to the war. A reporter in the meeting had quoted it in The Daily Prophet and seven years later, Slytherins had yet to stop using it.

“Exactly,” said Blaise, grinning at her. “Anyway, this is actually quite an important job she’s given you.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it means she trusts your basic literacy skills and that you won’t send the press a statement that reads ‘Lady Greengrass enjoys the hobbies that she enjoys greatly.’”

Blaise quoted this very sincerely, and Astoria stared at him.

“Did someone really write that?”

“Yes, and then Daphne fired him on the spot.” Blaise shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many minor idiocies we have to deal with in a day of working on this campaign. Just count yourself lucky you’re not getting invited to those meetings yet.”

“I thank my lucky stars every day,” said Astoria dryly. “What are you reading?”

Blaise pulled the book up from his lap to show her.

“The Four Founders: Fables, Folklore, or Fact?” Astoria read off the cover on the book. “Didn’t take you for a history nerd.”

“It’s interesting,” said Blaise. “There’s a long-running theory amongst certain academic circles that the Founders never existed, or at least, not the way they’ve been memorialized. They think the names of the Houses came later and have simply been accepted as tradition. There’s actually a spell called Artis Memoria which can slowly turn something you heard for the first time into something that you think has always been around.”

“Like Muggle folklore?” Astoria asked. “Interesting. If the Founders didn’t create Hogwarts, though, then who did?”

“Other people, with different names,” said Blaise. “At least that’s the theory. And probably more than just four people, since it was a whole school.”

“Maybe, but it was a school in the Middle Ages,” Astoria pointed out. “It’s not like what it is now, with hundreds and hundreds of students. They didn’t even have the Hogwarts Express back then. I think four people running a small school of, like, twenty children is pretty reasonable.”

“Well, I didn’t say I was convinced,” Blaise said, grinning. “This book offers all sorts of perspectives. Some people actually think the Founders were even greater than we all think. That they really did exist and they were far more powerful than any witch or wizard today, or back in the day. Did you know they fought a war too?”

Astoria wrinkled her brow. She’d heard of that somewhere. “Yes, I learned that in my childhood history lessons, I think. What was it called… the great something of Hogwarts?”

“The Great Siege,” Blaise filled in. “Salazar had been barred from the castle and he laid seige to it with a great army behind him. All the other three Founders had was their students. Supposedly a lot of the wards on Hogwarts now were created out of necessity for the first time during the Great Siege.”

“Makes sense.” Astoria propped her head on her hand, thinking. “Wait, where did Salazar even get an army?”

Blaise looked down at his book. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t say.”

“And he failed?” asked Astoria.

“Considering the school is still called Hogwarts and not Salazar’s Academy for the Magically Gifted, yes, I assume so.”

“Was that really what he wanted to name it?”

Blaise chuckled. “I doubt it, but one of these writers claims it was. But she seems a few feathers short of a phoenix nest, if I’m honest.”

“Sadly, that still sounds more interesting than editing press releases,” said Astoria mournfully.

“You can read it if you want,” Blaise offered. “I’m almost done.”

Astoria shook her head. “If I really want a history lesson, I can just talk to one of them.”

She jerked her finger at one of the portraits lining the other side of the wall in Daphne’s office. Daphne had chosen three of her favorite female ancestors to decorate her office, and they came and went from her house to Summerstone as they wished. The only one currently in her frame right now was a Cecilia Greengrass, who sat in her portrait reading a book on Dark Magic. She was from the late 1800s, according to the plaque below her frame, with long brown curls she wore swept up into a tight bun and a floor-length black gown with purple embroidery sewn into the bodice and sleeves.

Blaise got up to take a look at what Astoria was pointing to. “Cecilia Greengrass, born 1875?”

“That is Lady Cecilia Lestrange to you,” said Cecilia with a sniff, waving her ring finger where an ostentatious diamond sparkled. “Don’t think just because you’re betrothed to our Daphne you can be disrespectful of your elders.”

Blaise turned around to exchange glances with Astoria. “Betrothed?”

“I don’t think they really understand the concept of dating,” Astoria stage-whispered back to him. “At least, the ghost of Queen’s Lodge doesn’t.”

Cecilia fixed a beady, blue-eyed stare on her. “And who might that be?”

“Euthalia Greengrass,” said Astoria.

“Hmm,” said Cecilia, contemplating. “I did not imagine her to become one stuck in the mortal realm.”

“You know her?” asked Blaise in surprise.

“Of course.” Cecilia sent him a look that indicated she thought he was being stupid on purpose. “She was my father’s sister. And she was no longer a Greengrass when she died. She married Gregorios Gamp and they had four children.”

Astoria frowned. “She’s never mentioned a husband. Then again, I never read her autobiography.”

“Maybe she forgot,” said Blaise. “It has been a long time since she was alive. Do ghosts forget things?” he asked Cecilia.

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” Cecilia demanded. “I am a portrait. Ghosts are those who choose to remain behind in the mortal realm. I am simply a painted imprint of my true self.”

Astoria and Blaise exchanged another glance.

“What… uh, exactly, is the difference?” she asked.

“Ghosts affect the world around them because they were too scared to leave it behind,” Cecilia explained, none too patiently. “All I can do is observe. And they can change and grow. I remain as I was painted, in 1912. I am a version of a living person, not a dead person who wishes to be alive again.”

“So there’s no chance you can do my work for me?” Astoria asked hopefully.

Cecilia scoffed and returned to her book.

“Guess that’s a no.”

Blaise dropped back onto the chaise and put his feet up, ignoring Cecilia’s ‘tsk’ of disappointment. “You’ll figure it out,” he told Astoria encouragingly. “How many ways are there to describe your mother’s tea order, really?”

“Too many,” said Astoria, drumming her quill on the table. “Tea is best kept simple. So you and Daphne really aren’t betrothed yet then?”

“As I understand it, a betrothal requires a ring,” said Blaise, opening his book again. “Which is not currently in my possession, no.”

Cecilia was clearly still paying attention to their conversation, because she glanced up from her reading to send a look towards Blaise that Astoria could only read as her respect being lost.

“D’you want me to measure her finger for you or something?” she prodded. “Haven’t you two been dating a year?”

“Eight months, two weeks, and three days,” Blaise corrected. He looked up with a smile to meet Astoria’s incredulous gaze. “She has it on her calendar.”

“Of course she does.”

“You don’t have to worry about me and Daphne,” said Blaise. “In fact, you should probably be more worried about your own love life.”

“I have none, so it causes me no worries,” Astoria said cheerfully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t really think you two would last this long.”

Blaise squinted at her. “Is there a right way to take that?”

She shrugged, giving up on her work in favor of swinging her legs over the arm of her chair, just to annoy Cecilia a little more.

“It’s just that Daphne doesn’t really go for men who… shall we say… fit a certain standard of acceptability. Which you do.”

“Because I’m so devastatingly handsome and rich?”

Astoria grinned at him. “That, and you’re in her age range. And you don’t follow around after her like a puppy dog.”

Blaise laughed. “Well, we’re not teenagers anymore. Tastes change. Everyone has to grow up sometimes. Even you.”

“I guess,” said Astoria, unconvinced. “Does growing up mean marriage and babies for you?”

Blaise didn’t answer for a moment. Astoria tilted her head back so it was dangling off the other arm of her chair, letting him think.

“I suppose it’s different for everyone,” he acknowledged slowly.

“So you really have no plans to marry my sister?” she asked. “Because Mother is looking forward to it. I think she’d hoped you’d steal the thunder from Penelope and George by proposing.”

Blaise laughed again, but this time it seemed a little more uncomfortable.

“As much as I hate to deny your mother any of her requests, I don’t think anything will be stealing Penelope’s thunder. There hasn’t been a Weasley wedding since before the war.”

“Please, Daphne’s wedding would outshine the Queen of England’s,” said Astoria, waving a hand. “She’s been planning it since she was a little girl.”

“I know,” said Blaise, amused.

Astoria pulled herself back up to a semi-straight sitting position to look at him.

“Should I not be telling you that in case it scares you off?” she asked, mostly joking.

“Believe me,” Blaise said with a slight laugh. “Nothing can scare me off Daphne. She’s…” He paused, as if searching for the words. “The best friend I’ve ever had.”

Astoria stared at him. “You’re dating.”

“That’s my point,” he said, a little defensively. “Dating involves friendship. At least, it should.”

“Right,” said Astoria, slightly disbelieving. None of Daphne’s relationships prior to Blaise had ever seemed to involve ‘friendship’. “What do you think, Cecilia? Were you friends with your husband?”

Cecilia glared at her from ther portrait, probably for daring to interrupt her reading again, or perhaps for asking stupid questions.

Blaise looked at her and laughed. “Who even was your husband? Lady Lestrange,” he added, just a touch mockingly.

“Corvus Lestrange,” Cecilia informed him snottily. “One of the finest and most eligible pureblood gentlemen of my generation. And he certainly did not wait eight months to propose to me. You new age pureblood boys could learn a thing or two from how we used to do it.”

Astoria waved her wand to Summon a book she knew would be on Daphne’s bookshelves, as it was on every respectable pureblood home’s library. Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Geneology zoomed into her hands.

“How did they do it?” Blaise asked Cecilia in a reasonable approximation of genuine interest.

“The way you ought to,” Cecilia informed him. “He asked my father for permission to court me, and within a month of courtship, we were engaged.”

“Corvus Lestrange,” repeated Astoria, flipping through the book until she found the Lestrange family tree. “Born 1870, heir to the House of Lestrange. Family seat was the estate of… Wraithwood. Creepy.”

Blaise furrowed his brow. “We don’t get a family seat with a creepy estate name.”

“You’re not Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Astoria reminded him idly. “Merlin, she’s the grandmother of the Lestrange brothers.”

Cecilia eyed her. “I have seven grandchildren.”

“Are they all murderers?” asked Astoria as Blaise came around to her desk to peer over her shoulder.

“How dare you accuse my grandchildren—”

“Whoa,” said Blaise, tapping a finger to the family tree in the book and tracing it down two generations past Cecilia. “Her granddaughter is Theo’s mum.”

Astoria looked where he was pointing, at the branch of the family tree that led to Parmenia Nott, born 1976 and Theodore Nott, born 1980.

“Horrifying,” she said. “Then how am I related to her?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Cecilia. “I would never have a girl raised so uncouth in my family.”

Blaise turned a page to go back to the generation before Cecilia, the names and birthdates melting away to reconfigure in the shape of the family tree from a different branch as he tapped on it in the lines of the book.

“You’re not really,” he admitted. “You’re descended from Cecilia’s uncle. Asterius Greengrass, born 1844.”

“Ew,” said Astoria, wrinkling her nose. “Is that where I got my name?”

“You should be honored,” snapped Cecilia, “to be named after a member of the noble House of Green—”

“I think that’s enough,” Astoria said firmly, and whisked her wand at Cecilia’s portrait. “Silencio.”

Since portraits didn’t have wands to use magic, this worked well. Cecilia kept talking for a moment, then stopped and glowered at her.

Blaise laughed, pulling back from the book. “And what are you going to do when Daphne comes back and sees you’ve silenced her favorite portrait?”

“She should get better taste in familial portraits,” Astoria said. “We’re not even related to her! That’s the Notts’ great-grandmother.”

She pronounced Notts the way Daphne might pronounce ‘horse manure’ or ‘Dumbledore’s Army.’ Blaise looked at her speculatively.

“You know, he’s going to be at the dinner tomorrow.”

“I know,” said Astoria, flicking through the pages in Nature’s Nobility without a care for what was on them.

“Are you going to be nice?” he asked pointedly.

“No.”

“Astoria…”

“What?”

“Daphne will be upset if you ruin the dinner and debate for your mother.”

Astoria tilted her head up to smile at him. “Ruining things is what I do best. But you can relax. I’m sure Theodore Nott has zero intention of approaching me tomorrow. Or ever, in fact.”

Blaise hummed in agreement, heading back to his lounge. “That’s true. That was a nasty curse you laid on him.”

“He’s fine,” said Astoria dismissively.

Blaise leveled her an unimpressed look. “It took six months of potions to heal him. And that was only after three years of the Healers trying to figure out exactly how to undo it in the first place.”

Astoria shrugged. “That’s not my fault. He was on house arrest for one of those years, anyways. And then I think he just didn’t want to see the Healers to admit what happened.”

“What did he even do to you?” asked Blaise.

“You should ask him,” she suggested.

“I’m sure I’d get totally different stories from both of you.”

“Probably,” Astoria agreed. With a sigh, she snapped Nature’s Nobility shut and tossed it onto her desk. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, anyways. The war was the war. It’s over now.”

“Yeah,” said Blaise slowly, watching her as she slid off her chair to stretch. “But we were all meant to be on the same side.”

“What side is that?” Astoria asked, crossing her arms. “The Death Eaters? The losing side? I thought Slytherins supported winners. And I didn’t think you cared much for the Death Eaters either way.”

“I don’t,” Blaise said, mouth twisting. “But I care about Slytherin. Our House, our honor—”

“Honor,” Astoria repeated, her face going hard, “is not a concept Theodore Nott understands.” Then, thinking about it more, and the other things Blaise had said, she frowned at him. “Is that why you and Daphne are together? For the sake of honor?”

He didn’t answer, just spun his wand lightly in between his fingers, letting sparks of light drift from it. Astoria watched him for a moment, until the door swung open and they both jumped.

Daphne strode in, her stilettos clicking on the marble tile of her office. She looked between the two of them, her grey eyes suspicious, and then up at her portraits, a small furrow appearing between her brows.

“Why did you silence Lady Cecilia?” she demanded of Astoria.

“What—how would you know I did that?”

“I would never silence a woman,” said Blaise solemnly, winking at his girlfriend.

“She always compliments me on my outfits,” Daphne explained. “And since she didn’t, I can tell you silenced her. Undo it, please, she doesn’t have a wand.”

Astoria rolled her eyes, pulling her wand back out to undo the Silencing Charm on the portrait. Cecilia straightened up and shot her a deathly glare in response.

“Anyway,” said Daphne, clapping her hands together once. “I have great news. I was able to obtain a copy of the questions the debate moderator is going to ask Mother and Macmillan tomorrow night. Blaise, will you go over them with me?”

“What about me?” asked Astoria, offended. She would much rather go over debate questions than proof-read boring press releases. “Also, how did you get the questions?”

“I have my ways,” Daphne said with a small smile. “Are you done with the press releases?”

“No, but there’s nothing to be done. They’re all boring.”

Daphne looked at her, then rolled her eyes. “Fine, just leave them, I’ll have an intern finish them. Why don’t you go and visit Helena, then? She won’t be at the dinner tomorrow, she says she and Huxley are too busy getting the house ready for the new baby and she always falls asleep early. Besides, I think you ought to explain your little plan to her first, before we take it to Mother.”

“What plan?” asked Astoria.

“You know,” said Daphne meaningfully. “The plan about stealing all the thunder from Macmillan and the Weasleys? Trying to get Penelope to agree to us throwing her an engagement party? Honestly, Astoria, do you even pay attention to yourself in meetings?”

“Not really,” Astoria admitted. “As Professor Snape would have said, I pretty much just talk to talk.”

Daphne sighed. “May he rest in… well. Whatever he’s resting in.”

“Not peace, I’m sure,” muttered Blaise.

“Did you know they’ve put a portrait of him up in the Headmaster’s Office?” said Astoria. Blaise and Daphne turned astonished looks on her. “Yeah, some of my riders are still in Hogwarts, and one of them has a tendency of getting in trouble, and she told me he’s in there. Just sitting on the wall behind McGonagall glaring at everyone else.”

“Incredible,” murmured Daphne. “Harry Potter’s doing, I imagine.”

“Guess that’s what betraying everyone for the other side gets you,” said Blaise with a grimace. “Eternal lionization.”

“I think it’s great,” Astoria said, smiling.

“Why?” Daphne asked.

“Because there’s literally nothing Professor Snape would have hated more than being stuck in a castle with children for the rest of time.”

Daphne was quite used to getting her way, which meant Astoria ended up being practically forced into the Floo to go visit her elder sister at the Bulstrodes’ family home despite all attempts to the contrary. It wasn’t that she hated Helena or didn’t want to see her, it was more that there were very few conversation topics that Helena ever indulged in with her, and most of them involved the family, marriage, and babies. None of which Astoria liked talking about even with normal people, let alone her oldest sister.

“Astoria!” greeted Helena, as she stepped through into the parlor room of the Bulstrode house. “I’m so glad you finally made it.”

Despite her six months of pregnancy, Helena looked as radiant and beautiful as ever. Then again, Astoria had seldom seen her eldest sister with a hair out of place. She was as tall and blonde as any of her other sisters – Astoria was the only unlucky one to inherit some ancestor’s lack of height – but somehow more settled in her features than any of them. The traditional Greengrass thick eyebrows had been shaped to frame her grey eyes and the fact of a baby growing inside her did little to make her figure any less beautiful.

“Well, I didn’t want to intrude on your… home renovation,” said Astoria.

Helena smiled and looped a hand around Astoria’s arm. “Come, let me show what we’ve done with the place.”

Helena and Huxley had been married for years, but what Astoria knew of her sister’s in-laws, the Bulstrodes were very traditional and had resisted Helena’s desires to make their old country home a little more… Greengrass-y, was the only way to put it, really. But she’d worn Huxley’s parents down, and now the entryway into her home boasted jewel-green velvet curtains at the windows, a Persian rug unrolling down the hallway, classic pieces of art that could have been at home in any museum decorating the walls. The house smelled, not of the wood and earthy smoke that Astoria remembered from before the wedding, but of sweet florals and crisp citrus fruits, much like Helena’s bedroom at Summerstone always had.

“Here’s the nursery,” said Helena with a small smile, opening a wooden door into a room that was smaller than most of the others they had passed, but still quite spacious, decorated in clean whites and sage greens.

“White for a nursery is a bold choice,” Astoria said, leaning over the crib to touch the beautiful wooden mobile hanging on top of it. There were little snake and star charms dangling from the mobile, and when she set it spinning, a soft, crooning lullaby started playing.

“Huxley made that,” Helena said proudly. “Enchanted it with my voice and everything. And he built the crib, too.”

“I see you’re enjoying being married to a lumberjack.”

Helena swatted her arm. “Don’t call him that. He’s just a hobbyist. Do you know, he’ll be getting a promotion soon?”

Astoria searched her mind for what on Earth it was that her brother-in-law did for a job and came up mostly blank. “What kind of promotion?”

“His father wants to make him Chief Financial Officer,” Helena said, leading her back out of the nursery and into a small sitting room.

“Oh, so when you said promotion, you meant nepotism.”

Helena shot her a look. “You inherited Father’s entire estate.”

“And what a great decision that was,” said Astoria, dropping gracelessly down into a soft beige couch. “Considering I know nothing of running a farm, or managing an estate, or exporting horses overseas.”

“All of which you learned to do,” Helena pointed out, snapping her fingers to make a house elf pop into the room. “Tea for both of us, Flipsy. Bring the sugar and milk. Make it quick.”

Astoria watched the house elf nod and pop away to fetch the tea, marveling at the ease with which Helena commanded an entire house full of servants and elves that were not even her own. But then, Helena had always been like that – cool, collected, and in charge, no matter whether it was her husband’s home or her office at the law firm that had once belonged to their father. Even Daphne, who modeled her whole life after Helena, had never quite been able to get that easy mastery of controlling every room she walked in.

“How have you been?” asked Helena, smoothing out her blue maternity dress as she took a seat across from Astoria. “Mother told me you’ve signed on to help with the campaign, good for you.”

Astoria sighed. “I did, but I have to say, I don’t see how much help I’m giving with the tasks Daphne assigns me. They could hire a fifth year and probably achieve the same effect.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Helena chided, as Flipsy the house elf returned with a tea tray. “You’ve always had a unique perspective – and a way with words. If I recall, that got you out of detention a few times in Hogwarts.”

This made Astoria crack a smile. “Only because the teachers never wanted to put up with me talking at them.” It had been one of her most useful talents in school, the ability to make any teacher regret the decision to lock her in a room with just them and nothing interesting for her to do. Professor Snape had once informed her that she should have been a Gryffindor for all her skill in spouting bullshit.

Flipsy served them both tea and Astoria added two sugar cubes and a splash of milk to hers, taking a sip.

“Yes, we did get some letters home about that,” said Helena with a soft chuckle. “As I believe our Head of House put it – ‘I have never met a Slytherin witch of any age so stupendously unaware of the correct time to stop speaking, which is always at least ten minutes before she actually does.’”

“He was always quick on the uptake, Professor Snape was,” Astoria said solemnly. “He could never punish me in class, though, because he hated punishing Slytherins in front of other Houses.”

“Helena,” a new voice, gruff and low, interrupted, “are you—oh, I see you’re busy.”

Astoria looked up to see her brother-in-law standing in the archway of the sitting room. Since he was 6’5”, he had to hunch a little to fit in, which was true for Huxley Bulstrode almost anywhere. His brow was furrowed – also typical – and his robes were stained with dust and what might be paint, although it was brown and hard to tell.

“Huxley,” said Helena with a smile, beckoning him in. “Come in, Astoria is just here for tea. What were you working on?”

Huxley sent Astoria an uncomfortable glance, although truth be told, she couldn’t recall him ever having any other look on his face when he was around her. Or around most people who weren’t Helena.

“The treehouse,” he said to his wife. “I wanted your advice on the next part, but it can wait.”

“Come sit,” Helena encouraged, patting the couch next to her.

“Hi, Huxley,” said Astoria over her cup of tea.

“I think I should go see if Millicent needs my help with…” Huxley paused, clearly trying to think of a decent excuse. “Work.”

Astoria watched him leave in mild amusement. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“He likes you fine,” Helena said.

“It’s probably because I’m so short, he can’t hear me properly down here.”

Helena shot her a look.

“Seriously,” Astoria went on, “what’s it like being married to a tree?”

Her sister, much like Professor Snape eventually did, had long mastered the art of studiously ignoring her whenever she was being annoying on purpose.

“Are you looking forward to the debate tomorrow?” asked Helena instead, taking a sip of her tea. “I hear it’s going to be played over the radio, and quite a lot of important Ministry people will be there. If it goes well, they might have more.”

“A whole fancy dinner at the Ministry of Magic with half of the room full of all our least favorite people?” Astoria raised her eyebrows. “Sounds just like my idea of fun.”

Helena laughed. “Well, you might surprise yourself. It can be quite interesting to get to know people from different perspectives.”

Astoria blinked at her. “Like… what, muggleborns?”

“No, goodness,” said Helena at once. “I hope you haven’t been associating with muggleborns. I just meant the purebloods on the Macmillan side, you know, just because they’re politically opposed to Mother doesn’t mean they don’t have some points as well. It’s always useful to build alliances. Especially working in politics.”

Astoria puzzled that over for a moment. “Is this your longwinded way of telling me it’s okay if I want to marry Ethan Macmillan?”

Helena, she knew, subscribed to the rather more old school pureblood belief that dating was simply unnecessary for a relationship – she and Huxley had only met once before their betrothal, agreed that it would be suitable for everyone, and then gotten engaged and set to planning a wedding. If she’d heard anything about Astoria and Ethan, it would have come to her as talk about a potential marriage.

Sometimes, Astoria reflected, it was really fucking annoying being in a family like this. It was 2005, for Merlin’s sake.

“Well, he’s certainly not the best option,” Helena admitted, “but hardly the worst one either.”

“I’ll let him know,” said Astoria dryly. “But I’m not with Ethan. In any kind of way.”

Helena’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you?”

“It’s just a rumor,” Astoria sighed. “Honestly, you’d think everyone would be used to it by now, given half of the shit the Prophet prints about Mother all the time.”

“Well, you have to admit, Astoria, you’re so reclusive, nobody ever gets any rumors about you printed in the Prophet.”

Her sister had a point. Astoria made a face at her.

“That’s the way I like it. Nobody bothers me up in the Highlands.”

Helena sent her that annoying older sister smile that always preceded a heart to heart even when you were in no mood for one.

“So why are you down here with us normal folk in London society?”

“Calling you lot ‘normal’ is a stretch,” Astoria said. “But I came for a lot of reasons.” The most important of which, she wasn’t about to tell her sister – love her she may, but Helena was a lawyer and that meant she would have only one piece of advice for her regarding the murder investigation, and Astoria didn’t have to guess what that was.

“Such as?” Helena prompted, leaning forwards over her baby bump.

“Penelope’s wedding.” Astoria watched the dismay wash over Helena’s face. “She asked me to be a bridesmaid. And Mother’s campaign, of course. And – Marcus’ murder, so I’m here to support Pansy. As much as possible, anyway.”

Which was not very much at all, because Pansy neither needed nor welcomed any sort of help, but all Helena really knew about Pansy was that she was Daphne’s best friend. The complicated politics of Slytherin House far after her own time at Hogwarts was simply not on her radar, Astoria knew.

“Well, I suppose it will be nice to have some Greengrass representation at Penelope’s wedding,” said Helena after taking a long sip of her tea. “Considering it will be overrun with redheads and war heroes.”

“I was actually here to convince you to give us a little more Greengrass representation.” Astoria put on what she hoped was a winning smile – she knew Daphne could come up with one in seconds to get her whatever she wanted, but Astoria had generally had more success with hexing people to that end. “I don’t think it’s right that none of you are involved in Penelope’s wedding. Only the Weasleys are throwing her an engagement party, when we’re her sisters.”

Helena sat straight up, her spine stiff. “She made her choice.”

“She fell in love,” Astoria said, struggling not to sound frustrated. “She hardly chose to cut us all out of her life. She would never do that.”

“Astoria,” said Helena in tones of great patience. “George Weasley is a blood traitor. She chose to marry him instead of any respectable pureblood—”

“Respectable?” Astoria repeated incredulously. “Like who? Helena, wake up. We’re not the ones people respect anymore. If anything, Penelope made a far better choice than either you or Daphne. The Weasleys are the most powerful family in Wizarding Britain right now. If you can’t see that—”

“Of course I see it!” Helena snapped, making Astoria sit back in her chair – Helena never accomplished anything by yelling that she could do with cold words. “Of course I know that, but that doesn’t make it right. And that doesn’t make George Weasley right for her. There are a thousand years of tradition, our traditions. Our family, our honor, our blood.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Astoria said, “but we lost the fucking war, Helena. All of our great traditions, honor, blood, whatever. Our side lost. And our side is going to lose the election too if we don’t start acting like we’re living in the twenty-first century.”

“I wouldn’t want to win an election by betraying our ancestors and celebrating the union of our sister to a blood traitor,” said Helena coolly.

Astoria laughed, although it was devoid of humor. “Betraying our ancestors? Honestly, listen to yourself, Helena. They’re dead. They don’t give a skrewt’s ass about us, or you, or who Penelope marries.”

Helena shook her head, her grey eyes soft and distant. “When did you become like this? You had all the same lessons as all of us, but you never learned from any of them.”

It was a question her mother had often asked, usually in despairing tones. In fact, Astoria was pretty sure her mother had come to the conclusion that her late husband’s willingness to indulge Astoria’s childhood love of animals by taking her to Queen’s Lodge every weekend was what had created what she called ‘a discontentment of spirit’ in her.

“I think you’re the one who didn’t learn,” Astoria murmured. “I thought being a Slytherin was about being powerful. Ambitious. But our entire House sits here, too afraid to think differently to face the world that’s occuring around us.”

Her mother had been wrong, or at least only half-right. It wasn’t just a childhood friendship with a boy who would turn out to be a Hufflepuff that had led Astoria astray. It was being in Slytherin House during an encroaching war, and witnessing the things her peers had done in the name of stealing power – not just from outsiders, but amongst themselves.

She got to her feet, setting her cup of tea down on the coffee table. Helena stood a half-second after her, although it took her longer, with the current state of her pregnancy.

“I do not want my daughter growing up in a world where people think – my own sister thinks – marrying a blood traitor is acceptable,” said Helena frostily.

“Fine,” said Astoria, spreading her hands in impatience. “Don’t live in that world. Far be it for me to stop you from cutting off your own sister for something as stupid as falling in love. But I hope your daughter inherits some brains and can recognize that if the whole world is changing, the smart thing to do is to change alongside it.”

Helena crossed her arms. “Why, so we can all hold hands around the campfire with werewolves and mudbloods?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying?” Astoria demanded. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. All I’m asking is for you to be smart about things. I thought you were, that’s why you’re a fucking lawyer. Has it not occurred to you that your sister is marrying into what basically amounts to wizarding royalty at this point in history? Has no one suggested that instead of spurning her, you should recognize the power they hold as a family? Are you not thinking for two seconds on how this reflects on Mother, who is trying to gain new voters, to have the entire family turn their backs on the Weasleys?”

Helena stared at her.

“Since when do you care so much about politics?”

Astoria stopped herself in time from saying ‘Since politics got my best friend accused of a murder he didn’t commit.’ She knew very well Helena’s stance on Daniel Diggory, among other things.

“I don’t,” she admitted. “I care about our family.”

And as hard as they made it sometimes, that was still true. Astoria took her leave, crossing out of the sitting room and to the main parlor room where the fireplace was to Floo back to Daphne’s house.

She passed Huxley on the way, frowning at papers on the table. He looked up and made a face that indicated he wasn’t sure whether to say hello or goodbye, but Astoria saved him the trouble by offering only a small wave before she stepped through the fire and out of his house.

Chapter Text

The day of the dinner debate party dawned bright and early at Summerstone. Astoria found herself sequestered in her childhood bedroom while her mother and sister and their teams ran around getting everything ready, snapping orders at the Greengrass house elves, and generally making everything more stressful than it had to be.

At least most of the visitors didn’t dare cross into the other wings of the house, where Astoria’s room remained far away from the action. There was enough space in Summerstone House for a family of six to live and never run into each other, if they so wished. And sometimes, Astoria really did wish.

She heaved a sigh, staring up at her bedroom ceiling, where little stars twinkled faintly to mimic the night sky. The house elves had kept her room in perfect condition, even though she’d moved out years ago. All her childhood toys, the doll house she had taken from Daphne when her older sister decided she was too old for playing dolls, the posters of famous female winged horse champions throughout the ages, starting with Magdaline Barbwell from the 1730s and continuing on from there. Her bed was as fluffy as it ever had been, the blankets in the soft coral pink that had been her favorite color when she was twelve, and all her old clothes remained in the wardrobe, no longer fitting her size or her style.

It was almost like going back in time, she thought, opening up the closet to look at all her old school robes and the ridiculous dresses her mother liked to force her into as a child.

There was a knock on her door.

“Astoria?” Her sister peered into the room, her grey eyes lined with jade green eyeshadow, lashes long and dark against her fair skin. “It’s time to get ready. Do you have a dress picked out?”

Astoria offered her sister a winning smile. “I was hoping you would.”

Daphne sighed. “Well, as it happens, and luckily for you, I do, because I know you hate making these kinds of choices.”

She beckoned Astoria out of the room, her own dress swirling around her feet as she stepped back. The soft green chiffon was delicately layered with lace embroidery in a darker shade of green that looked like ivy crawling over the bodice and the sheer sleeves of the dress, down into the floor-length skirt. In her high heels, Daphne towered almost eight full inches above Astoria – four inches naturally, four with the stilettos – which made Astoria realize she was going to have to deal with walking in heels the entire evening, so that she didn’t look like a house elf in comparison to everyone else there.

Thankfully, Daphne had clearly decided not to let Astoria make any important clothing-related decisions on her own anymore. When she got to Daphne’s room, it took her sister no time at all to pull a dress out of her closet and shove it at her.

“Go change,” said Daphne, waving a hand at her bathroom. “And then we need to go over rules.”

“My two least favorite things,” Astoria muttered. “Fancy dress and rules.”

At least the dress was pretty. It matched Daphne’s in texture, although hers was a warm blue shade and had silver embroidery snaking up the sleeves and curling over the bodice. She had to adjust it with charms as both the sleeves and the skirt length were too long on her, and she definitely did not fill out the chest as it was originally – but she didn’t think Daphne would have either, so possibly there was a different charm for that than the one that simply made it smaller.

Daphne smiled when she emerged from the bathroom and held up a pair of silver stilettos. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Astoria sighed, accepting the shoes. “Do these at least have the Cloud Nine Charm on them?”

“Of course.” Daphne looked offended that she even had to ask. “Now, are we thinking straight or curly for the hair?”

Astoria glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair, like her sister’s, was irrepressibly curly in its natural state, and she had frankly never bothered to figure out the right combination of straightening charms to ever have it any other way. Daphne, obviously, had no such issue because her hair was often sleek and shiny, straight as a pin, as it was today.

But with Daphne in this kind of mood, it was best to just go with it.

“Whatever you think is best,” Astoria said, with only the smallest trace of irony in her voice.

Daphne beamed and came over to sit her down at her vanity and begin working her hair charms. “Now, the debate starts in an hour, but you don’t have to go to that. They pay people to attend those so that it sounds like a full crowd over the radio. Then afterwards is the dinner and dancing, and you do have to attend that because they want everyone on the campaign teams to be there. For unity, or whatever.”

“Unity,” Astoria repeated dubiously. “Whose idea was this?”

Daphne twirled her wand through a lock of Astoria’s hair, leaving a gentle and frizz-free ringlet behind.

“The post-war Unity Coalition, of course,” she said in tones of disgust. “But it works out for us, because the Ministry puts on these dinners and they’re all kind of old-fashioned, and all the little halfbloods and m—Muggleborns don’t know all our old traditions. And Macmillan always invites all of Dumbledore’s Army and they’re just useless at the waltzes and everything.”

“Not all of them, surely,” said Astoria, thinking of who she knew had been a member of Dumbledore’s Army in her year. “There’s a lot of purebloods there.”

“Yes, some, but they’re like the Longbottoms or the Weasleys,” said Daphne with a wrinkle of her nose. “No respect for the customs at all. And I doubt the Weasleys were teaching their children how to dance. I saw Weasley – the youngest one – and Granger at one of the charity galas earlier in the year, and he stepped on her feet about five times.”

“Well.” Astoria watched in the mirror as Daphne left behind soft curls in place of her usual untamed ones with every twirl of her wand. “At least you know you won’t have to worry about Blaise.”

Daphne paused for a moment, then smiled slightly. “He’s a better dancer than I am.”

“High praise.” Astoria met her sister’s gaze in the mirror, blue into grey. “Not to sound too much like Mother, but are you two…”

“No,” said Daphne flatly.

Astoria twisted to look at her, ignoring Daphne’s reproach about messing up the curl she’d been working on.

“Is that because you don’t want to or because he’s holding out on you?”

Daphne pulled her wand away with a sigh. “It’s none of your concern, Astoria.”

Astoria waited. She knew from experience that most people, even the most Slytherin of Slytherins, would break under the pressure of an uncomfortable silence.

“We’re just not ready yet,” said Daphne finally, sounding annoyed, as she resumed the process of making all of Astoria’s hair match the rest of her curls. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to step on Penelope’s toes.”

This was said with a highly sarcastic spin on the words, but Astoria looked back in the mirror thoughtfully, as Daphne continued curling her hair.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she said, lightly teasing. “Stepping on people’s toes is kind of a Greengrass rite of passage.”

Daphne laughed a little, though it sounded forced. “Did you talk to Helena about the wedding? I asked Mother, and she’s slowly coming around to the idea of throwing an engagement party. But she says we’ll have to plan everything, she’s far too busy.”

“I did.” Astoria grimaced at her own reflection. “She wasn’t thrilled about it. She thinks Penelope betrayed the family by choosing George.”

“Well, she’s right,” said Daphne.

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“I know you don’t care about that kind of stuff,” Daphne continued with a small frown on her face, “but it’s still important. Marrying the right kind of family, raising the right kind of family. Not just running off with the first boy to make you—to promise you things.”

Astoria blinked at their reflection in the mirror, confused. The frustration in her sister’s tone didn’t sound like it was just about Penelope and George. She also was pretty sure George wasn’t Penelope’s first relationship ever, but that seemed besides the point.

“It’s not that I don’t care,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care because she had a feeling she’d stumbled into a conversation neither of them were really ready for. “It’s just that I’ve seen first hand the difference between our kind of family and theirs. And I hate to say it, Daphne, but the Weasleys are a lot better off.”

Daphne drew back, as if she’d been stung by a hex. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true?” Astoria ventured. “Or do you not remember what it was like for us during the war? What Slytherin House was like?”

Daphne narrowed her eyes and returned to Astoria’s hair with sharp, precise wand movements.

“We had everything during the war,” she said, a lie that Astoria recognized – it came straight from their parents.

“No, we didn’t,” Astoria said, although she didn’t know why – Daphne already knew this, even if she refused to believe it. “We spent that entire year terrified. One step out of line and our parents would be threatened. Or our siblings, or our friends. And you could never even tell anyone because any sign of weakness meant you would be next. They used the Dark Lord like a cudgel to threaten us with if we were even seen talking to a Gryffindor in the hallways. Mother and Father weren’t even part of the Death Eaters, and they still did that to us.

“And you know what,” she continued, twisting around again to look at Daphne in the face rather than through the mirror. “The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs – they were scared, too. But they had each other. We didn’t even have that. We turned on each other every other week. And now, those families, even the ones who’ve lost people, they still have each other.”

“We have each other, too,” said Daphne, voice frosty.

“Do we?” Astoria asked. “Because you’re all willing to disown Penelope for the crime of fucking falling in love. Notice how the Weasleys didn’t do that to George, even though she’s a Greengrass? Because they don’t give a fuck as long as he’s happy. That’s how they all are on that side.”

“And you think that’s better than caring about our legacy and our magic—”

“Obviously it’s better,” Astoria cut across her. “They don’t have to worry about their fathers sending werewolves after them.”

Daphne went quiet, staring at her.

Astoria softened her voice. “Do you really think that was the right thing to do? For the sake of our legacy and our magic? What if Greyback had gotten me, too? I’d be a werewolf – you’d have to disown me. And I’d never have children. So much for passing on the Greengrass legacy, right?”

Daphne shook her head, staring down at her wand in her lap. “Father made a mistake. But it was a war, and we all made mistakes.”

“And I forgave him,” said Astoria, turning back around to look at herself in the mirror. The girl in the reflection stared back at her with cool blue eyes, unwilling to accept the fact that she never truly had forgiven her father in the first place. “Can’t you do the same?”

Daphne sighed quietly, and then began combing the curls out of Astoria’s hair, leaving them soft and shiny.

“Look, Penelope will probably be there tonight. So will the Weasleys. I’ll ask her about the engagement party, okay?”

Astoria glanced at her doubtfully. “You have to be nice.”

“I can be nice,” Daphne said, then smiled at her in the mirror. “You’ll have to be nice, too. To a lot of people. The Notts—”

“I know, I know,” said Astoria with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll be on my best behavior, don’t worry.”

“Good.” Daphne teased out two curls to frame her face and then gathered more strands into a small circle of braids on the back of her head. “And don’t let me catch you anywhere near Ethan Macmillan tonight, or I’ll make sure you have to sit front row at the next debate.”

Avoiding Ethan Macmillan, Astoria thought later, as she stood in the Ministry atrium staring at a giant seating chart, was likely to be the easiest part of the evening.

There were a lot of people here. Too many, in fact. The dinner was taking place in the biggest ballroom the Ministry had to offer, and just from the seating chart, she could tell that it was overloaded with famous and familiar faces. It seemed Macmillan’s side had invited all of the war heroes who had offered him their endorsements, as well as plus ones, and to counteract that, her mother had invited every pureblood lord, lady, heir, and spare.

A table off to the side was marked with names like Sprout and Whittemore – Olivine’s table with her family and friends. Astoria felt a small pang that she wouldn’t be able to sit with them, and in fact would probably get in trouble for talking to them in public. Not that Delia considered the Sprout campaign a real threat, but it was all about optics.

And speaking of optics, she noticed with a grimace, all the major tables were exactly half and half for Macmillan’s side and her mother’s side. Clearly, the Unity Coalition was putting in overtime to make sure this election went smoothly. Since this was the first real election after the war – Shacklebolt had won his actual election handily, and then there hadn’t been one called for seven years – it seemed everyone was a bit on edge about it.

People passed her by in the atrium, glancing over the seating chart, then taking their place cards with some mumbles and grumbles, and moving on to the lift that would take them to the dinner party. She could hear the faintest stirrings of string music playing from the direction of the ballroom, but she was in no hurry to get there. The debate was almost over, and then she could walk in with Daphne.

“Looking for your seat?” asked someone from behind her.

Astoria turned and found herself in the company of a tall, dark-skinned, vaguely familiar man. She was pretty sure he was familiar in the way that all of Dumbledore’s Army was familiar – they’d all had profiles and interviews in The Daily Prophet right after the war, as well as prolific careers and brand deals in the years that followed. He had dark hair, close cut, and a dimpled smile as he looked at her, dressed formally in a black and white suit with a yellow tie – the color of most Macmillan supporters.

“No, I’ve found my seat,” she said to him. “I just don’t want to take it.”

“Makes sense,” said the man, scanning the chart. “They seem to have put everyone with people they’ll find deplorable. I’d hate to see how some of these purebloods react to being forced to sit next to me.”

“Muggleborn?” asked Astoria.

“Mmhm,” he said, turning back to her and offering a hand. “Dean Thomas. Nice to meet you.”

She’d heard his name, although she’d never placed a face to it. He was one of the original members of Dumbledore’s Army, and he was quite famous for giving the seminal interview on what life had been like as a Muggleborn on the run during the war. One of Harry Potter’s close friends.

“Astoria Greengrass,” she said, accepting his hand and watching as his eyes widened. “Pleasure.”

“All mine,” said Dean Thomas, drawing his hand back and looking at her curiously. “You’re Daphne’s little sister.”

“The one and only.” Astoria moved away from the seating chart slightly, allowing a few other partygoers to inspect it. Dean followed her after grabbing his place card. “She’s down at the debate, though, if you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried. Though I thought you might be.” Dean glanced around the atrium, as if expecting Daphne to pop out from somewhere. “Don’t know if she’d take too kindly to you talking to m—a Muggleborn.”

“Isn’t that the point of this?” Astoria gestured at the seating chart. “Unity or whatever.”

Dean shrugged. “True. Maybe. I don’t know if it’s working.”

Somewhere, a loud bell began chiming – the debate had ended. Astoria braced herself for the deluge of people soon to swarm into the atrium and off to take their seats in the ballroom.

“Well, I haven’t heard any fighting break out yet, so it seems to be working.” She smiled at him, inviting him to share the joke, and was surprised when he laughed. “I suppose you’re here on the Macmillan side?”

Dean nodded. “Ernie asked us all to come support his dad. And obviously, you’re here for your mother…”

Astoria stopped herself from making a face at the reminder of her mother’s campaign.

“Obviously,” she agreed instead. “Is it true they’ve banned us from using our wands inside?”

“There was an incident, a couple of months ago,” said Dean, half-smiling. “It actually wasn’t very funny then, but it kind of is now. Pansy Parkinson got into it with Ernie, they ended up hexing each other, it took two of us on both sides to stop them. A lot of people got hit in the crossfire.”

“That sounds like Pansy,” Astoria muttered. “Why don’t they just ban—”

“Astoria!”

She sighed. The telltale click-clack of Daphne’s stiletto heels upon the marble floor tiles of the atrium approached her rapidly from behind. Astoria turned to see her sister looking at both of them with narrowed eyes.

Dean’s face had gone blank, and he inclined his head in an almost sarcastic greeting. “Daphne.”

Daphne pressed her lips together, then turned from him to stare almost accusingly at Astoria.

“What are you doing talking to him?” she demanded.

Astoria spread her hands helplessly. “I was having a conversation. You told me to be nice!”

This brought Daphne up short, since she had, in fact, told her that. Behind her sister, Astoria could see Dean’s lips quirk in amusement.

“To normal people,” said Daphne after a moment, flicking her hair over her shoulder and tossing Dean an inscrutable look. “Not… Dumbledore’s Army people.”

“My apologies,” Dean said, although he still sounded kind of amused. “I didn’t know she was your sister when I started talking to her.”

“Well, you should have stopped then,” Daphne snapped at him.

Dean raised his eyebrows. Astoria felt herself mirror the expression, surprised more than amused. Daphne at formal events, especially campaign events, was never anything less than cool, collected, and in charge. No matter how much she disliked Dumbledore’s Army, she was more than capable of frosty politeness. It was more Pansy’s modus operandi to start snapping at people out of nowhere.

“Daphne,” said Astoria quietly, her voice low enough to only be audible to Dean and Daphne, “why are you making a scene?”

“I’m not,” Daphne said, then straightened up, pulling back that mask of pureblood propriety that Astoria had only very rarely seen her let slip in public. “I’m not,” she said again, as if to convince herself, then glanced back at Dean.

He was still watching the two of them, cautiously, possibly not wanting to create an explosion. Astoria felt a little bad, although she wasn’t really sure why – he’d attended Hogwarts with Daphne for six years, surely he knew what she was like.

“Sorry,” said Dean again, this time slowly and deliberately. There was an ironic sort of edge to his voice, and the corner of his mouth lifted as he pulled out his place card. “But I was just about to say to your sister, I think she and I are at the same table.”

Astoria glanced down at her place card. Table number seven. So they were.

Daphne exhaled slowly. “Of course you are,” she muttered. Then, to Astoria, she said, “Just be sure to put your wand in the Magilock Pouch. We don’t need another incident. It took weeks to get the last one out of the press.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Astoria. She could tell Dean was attempting not to laugh. “Shall we go in together?”

“Yes.” Daphne shook her hair out, letting it fall in a sleek cascade down her back, then shot Dean another narrow sidelong look. “See you around, Thomas.”

Dean lifted his hand for a rather sarcastic salute. Astoria stifled her own laugh, and then let Daphne take her arm and lead her to the ballroom for the actual main event.

The Magilock Pouch, as Astoria found out, was a simple black velvet sleeve that the witch operating the coat room slid her wand into and then sealed it with a spell.

“It will open automatically when you’re outside of the ballroom,” said the girl in a bored tone that indicated she had given this spiel countless times. “Until then, your wand will be unavailable to use. Kindly use the stairs to your right to enter.”

“You know,” said Astoria to Daphne as they took the stairs leading down to the ballroom – why they had to take a lift to get to this level and then the stairs to get down, she might never know – “If someone did want to cause any harm at a Ministry party, it wouldn’t be that difficult to sneak in some potions and pour them into someone’s drinks.”

Daphne shot her a look. “Don’t say that. They’ll start scanning us for contraband the second you do.”

“I didn’t say I would do it,” Astoria protested. “Just that someone could. Not great security for our Ministry of Magic, is it?”

“Security is not what they’re known for, no.” Daphne paused at the bottom of the staircase, looking out in the ballroom. “But I suppose their party planning committee got a few ugrades for the election.”

“Damn.” Astoria cast her gaze around the ballroom, impressed despite herself. She’d been going to Ministry functions and charity galas and such since she was a small child, but Daphne was right, they had stepped their game up. What once was a hollow, gold-accented room decorated with midcentury chandeliers had become transformed into an elegant festival of lights – multicolored stars twinkled on the ceiling, the white and gold walls and marble pillars seemed to glow with light from inside, and all the round tables sported bouquets of various brightly-colored and exotic flowers as the centerpieces.

There was a stage set up with two couches on opposite sides of it and a third couch facing forward, and a woman hovering around the edge of it with a large camera in her hands. Astoria nudged Daphne and pointed to it in askance.

“That’s where the candidates are going to sit for the dinner,” Daphne explained. “Mother on the green couch, Macmillan on the yellow and… that Sprout lady on the white. There’s only one reporter allowed at Ministry functions, so she’s probably going to interview them while we’re here, stuff like how did the debate go and what their next move is, things like that.”

“Only one reporter?”

“One reporter and I think a team of about three photographers.”

Astoria returned to her inspection of the room, walking deeper into it as Daphne was waylaid by one of their campaign staffers with some minor conundrum or the other. People were already milling about – she spotted Neville Longbottom, dressed in a well-fitted suit with a red tie, at one of the tables, talking to a girl she vaguely recognized from her own year at Hogwarts. It seemed red and yellow were the colors unofficially associated with the Macmillan campaign, as green and blue were for her mother’s side. She wondered what she’d have to wear if she was here with Olivine’s campaign.

There were other purebloods, too – she saw Pansy sweeping into the party, dressed all in black like a mourning widow. A touch dramatic, Astoria thought, but fitting for her. She glared at everyone around her and then took her seat without speaking to anyone else. Nobody bothered her, although several people did cast uneasy glances at her. At another table, the Nott siblings took their seats – Parmenia Nott with her black hair tied up in an elegant knot and her usual somber face, wearing a neutral silver dress, her ward – a seven-year-old boy who had been born to the Death Eaters and taken in by her as his last remaining unincarcerated relative – sitting solemnly next to her, and Theodore Nott, her younger brother and the head of the House now that their father was in jail, in a sharp black suit with a silver tie, his green eyes narrowed as they swept the hall.

He found her across two tables and his eyes widened. Astoria sent him a small smile and was gratified when he went pale – paler than normal – and looked away to talk to his courtesy nephew instead.

Good to know that hadn’t changed.

Her own seat was at an unoccupied as of yet table – people were still filing in from the debates, milling about and talking to their friends who would be sitting at separate tables, and enjoying the cocktail tables in one corner of the ballroom. Waiters walked around with finger foods and drinks, a large dance floor was set up although largely unused in front of the stage, with only a few of the smaller children taking advantage of the empty space and the string quartet playing behind it.

These kind of events would be nicer if she had any friends around here, Astoria thought musingly, and then, as if her brain had manifested that into a reality, she caught sight of a head of red hair not so far from her.

Griselda Goyle, however, was not one of the purebloods she had thought would be invited to these kind of things. The Goyles, like the Crabbes, and a few other openly Death Eater-associated families, had been largely exiled from polite society, either because their patriarchs were in jail or because they had lost all their money in the war trials. Astoria frowned, slipping around her table to get a better view of Griselda and see what she was doing.

Her friend was dressed rather simply, compared to the elaborate, high fashion dresses that Astoria and Daphne were wearing, in a light brown dress that was just a little too small – Griselda was decent as a seamstress, Astoria knew, but not enough to make her whole wardrobe from when she was a teenager still fit her – with her hair falling in her usual auburn waves. She was smiling, talking to someone—

Astoria nearly cursed out loud, if she hadn’t been in public. The man talking to Griselda was Seamus Finnigan, not only one of Dumbledore’s Army, but one of the Aurors assigned to Marcus’ case. They both held drinks in their hands, and Finnigan was smiling, too, looking interested in whatever Griselda was saying…

It took all of Astoria’s self control not to march over there, drag Griselda away, and try and throttle her. What was she doing talking to Aurors after she had already given them Daniel’s name? Was there more she was telling him that Astoria didn’t know? More secrets of the case that would point everything to Daniel?

Astoria snatched a drink when a waiter passed her by, ignoring his odd look, and took a sip of it to calm herself down. She couldn’t go over and interrupt, much as she wanted to. Finnigan would immediately be suspicious. And if she let him know that she didn’t want Griselda talking to Aurors, they would know there was more to the story, and more worth investigating in Knockturn Alley.

Anxiety thrummed through her as she turned slowly away from Griselda and Finnigan, and back to her own table, searching for something else to pretend to be interested in. Dean Thomas had come in, and he was talking to Longbottom and the other girl, and from the looks of their gesturing, all three of them seemed to be seated at her table. Fantastic.

Although, that reminded her, she never figured out Daphne’s problem with Dean in the first place. Looking around for her sister, she found herself staring at a different one than she expected.

Penelope was with the Weasley family, which had arrived to the ballroom as though they were a delegation from a country of only redheads. She was holding George’s hand, talking to one of his brothers—the one married to the Veela champion of Beauxbatons, Astoria thought in vague recognition. The name came to her when she saw his wife, Fleur Weasley, who was even more heavily pregnant than Helena – she looked about ready to pop as she caught the arm of a little redhead boy about five years old and admonished him for trying to run off.

Daphne appeared at her side before she could make a decision on whether to go talk to Penelope or go interrupt Griselda’s conversation with an Auror or not.

“Are you all right?”

Astoria glanced at her sister. “Yes?” she said, a bit uncertainly.

Daphne frowned. “You haven’t spoken to anyone or made introductions or networked.”

“Um.” Astoria struggled not to say anything that indicated she hated all three of those activities. “Was I supposed to?”

“Of course, this is a Ministry event,” said Daphne, as though this were obvious. “There are a lot of very powerful people here. Look, there’s the Head of the Department of Wizarding Arts and Culture, I can introduce you to her—”

“I’m good,” said Astoria quickly. “Hey, what’s with you and Thomas?”

Daphne paused. “What?”

Astoria gestured to where Dean was standing, just a table away, still engaged in conversation with his friends. Daphne’s gaze followed hers and then snapped away in an instant.

“There was a weird vibe. I mean, I know you don’t like any of them, but…”

“But nothing,” said Daphne firmly, and took her hand. “Just don’t spend too much time with any of them. They’re all the same. Goody two shoes Gryffindor sell-outs. Longbottom is the worst of the lot, though, if you end up sitting next to him, just be careful you don’t try and talk about plants. I hear he just got offered Sprout’s job at Hogwarts, which Merlin knows, he should take just so I don’t have to see him around the Ministry…”

Astoria had the distinct feeling her sister was pulling her own tactic of talking in circles until the other person forgot what they actually wanted to talk about, but she allowed herself to be tugged away and into the heart of the party to be introduced to whatever Department Heads Daphne actually liked.

By the time she was allowed to escape, more people had come to her assigned table. Dean was there, not sitting but standing at his seat, chatting with Longbottom and a few other people. Astoria didn’t particularly want to go up to a knot of war heroes, especially because nobody from her mother’s side of the election was at that table yet, so she slipped between two other gaggles to see if she could catch up to Griselda now—she thought she had spotted Finnigan closer to the other war heroes, which meant Griselda would be free…

Someone stepped apart from one of the groups in front of her, a rather loud group featuring a couple of heads of Weasley red hair, what looked like Granger back from her international travels, and—

Astoria stopped short, remembering just in time to stop herself from expressing any sort of disbelief or disgruntlement at the person in front of her.

Harry Potter, a glass of white wine in his hands, stood there, looking at her. She was quite sure now that he had stepped out of his group on purpose, because he didn’t seem startled to see her in his path. Like all the other men here, he was dressed in a smart suit, and like the other Macmillan supporters, he was wearing a red tie. A silver watch glinted on his wrist and behind his round glasses, his eyes were sharp and discerning.

“Miss Greengrass,” he said, inclining his head in greeting. His voice had a tone of amusement to it that would ordinarily have made her bristle, if she wasn’t purposely stamping down on all her default reactions.

“Mr. Potter,” Astoria returned, managing to inject only a small amount of sarcasm into the title. “Lovely to see you.”

There was a significant increase in sarcasm in that statement. Potter clearly picked up on it because he raised his eyebrows, but otherwise didn’t comment on it.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he commented lightly, lifting his glass of wine to take a sip. Over the glass, his eyes remained resting on her.

“Well, it was very important to my mother,” said Astoria, aiming for a breezy tone.

“Mm.” Potter didn’t seem very convinced by it. “Are you sitting at our table?”

“No.” Astoria had never been quite so relieved to not be sitting at a table. “My table is back there. I was just looking for a friend.” Although where her friends – as miniscule as they numbered already – were, she had no idea; Griselda was lost somewhere in the crowds. She wasn’t even sure if Ethan was here yet, not that she could have talked to him anyway without Daphne and his brother throwing fits about it.

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t have any friends.”

Astoria couldn’t stop herself rolling her eyes.

“You got me,” she said with a shrug. “I’m only here to get drunk and cause problems. Is that what you want to hear?”

Potter grinned and took another sip of his wine. “In my experience with these sort of events, that can only be helpful.”

She snorted. “I’m sure. Well, I’ll leave you to your little clique—”

Before she could finish, a woman came up to both of them, the photographer she’d noticed earlier with the huge camera. “Excuse me, can I take your picture?”

Both of them stared at her.

“No,” said Astoria on instinct. “Why?”

The woman seemed astonished that she should question this request. “I’m the event photographer, I need pictures of—”

“No,” Potter said, more firmly than even Astoria had managed.

“Go bother someone else,” Astoria suggested.

Looking affronted, the woman retreated, although whether this was because of Astoria telling her to or because of the look on Potter’s face, it was hard to say. Actually, probably the latter, Astoria thought, glancing back at him. Most people didn’t dare cross Potter even when he was in a good mood.

“Does this happen to you a lot?” she asked. “I would think you’d be used to it.”

Potter sent her a rueful look. “She wanted a picture of us to make front page news for tomorrow so everyone can accuse me of dating any girl I stand next to for two seconds. I’m just surprised she listened to you.”

“I don’t think it was me she was listening to,” Astoria admitted. “I think you scared her off.”

Potter looked contemplative, then smiled. “Good.”

“So how do you avoid constant dating rumors every time you’re seen standing next to someone for two seconds?” asked Astoria, curious despite herself.

His lips quirked. “Are you asking my advice?”

“Asking without intent to take, yes.”

She began walking, in case he decided he didn’t really want to have this conversation with her, but he fell into step next to her, drifting further away from his group of friends, some of whom sent him confused looks, she noticed. Not Weasley, though, which meant she probably ought to be sharp on her feet in case this took a turn for the murder investigation.

“It’s not easy,” Potter said, stopping when a waiter came up to them and took both their finished glasses with him. “Generally speaking, I can’t be within five feet of a woman who’s not already married or otherwise taken—and sometimes, even that doesn’t matter. The amount of times people have tried to start rumors about me and Hermione alone is ridiculous.”

Astoria decided not to mention that probably a good amount of those rumors had been started by her sister and friends.

“So you can’t bring dates anywhere?”

“I would never dream of it,” he said dryly. “I can’t even dance with someone at these parties, unless she’s okay with having her entire personal history published in the Prophet the next day.”

“Seems lonely,” she said, stopping a different waiter and taking a plate with a tiny sandwich on it from him. “You should consider getting a farm up north and never leaving it like I do.”

He shot her a sidelong grin. “That does sound nice.”

“’Arry!” yelled a French voice from somewhere nearby. “Catch him, please!”

Astoria looked down to see ‘him’ – the five-year-old Weasley boy she’d noticed earlier – barrelling through a small gaggle of purebloods, giggling madly as he escaped his mother’s wrath. The purebloods he passed all wrinkled their noses, watching as he headed straight for the string quartet, no doubt wanting to try one of their instruments or otherwise conduct some chaos—

Potter knelt, stretched an arm out, and neatly scooped the child up and over his shoulder as he tried to careen around them, dangling him backwards while the boy shrieked with joy. Astoria watched in mild amusement as another Weasley – this one must be his father, tall and redheaded, wearing an earring and the top button of his suit shirt open – emerged from the watchers to glare at his son.

“Is this yours, Bill?” asked Potter, bouncing the kid up and down. “Or shall I take him home with me and let Kreacher deal with him?”

“Nooooo—!” squealed the boy.

Bill Weasley sighed. “One of these days, I’ll take you up on that offer, Harry. And you, young man, if you don’t stop running away from us, you know your mother can’t chase after you anymore…”

He accepted the burden of the boy from Potter and continued scolding his child as they walked back to where his heavily pregnant wife was sitting at a table nearby. Despite clearly being ready to give birth any second, from what Astoria’s untrained eye could tell, Fleur Weasley still managed to look both glamorous and intimidating as her husband returned with their child.

Astoria watched them thoughtfully, then turned to Potter, who was pointedly ignoring the onlookers that the boy had created.

“Have Weasleys figured out how to clone themselves yet?” she asked. “Or what is going on with all that red hair?”

Potter glanced back at her, then laughed. “I think they were cursed a long time ago. All red hair, all the time, forever.”

“Makes sense,” Astoria agreed solemnly, taking a bite out of her sandwich. Since it was a tiny sandwich, this finished the whole thing off. “Someone must have done it to the Malfoys, too.”

He coughed. “Right. Well, listen, I—”

There was a flash of a camera somewhere near. Astoria turned to glare at the source, but Potter didn’t even bother. With a flick of his wrist, he produced his wand and gave a quick, practiced cross-shaped motion, muttering, “Liquesco,” as he did.

Astoria blinked. “What did you do?”

“Melted her film.” Another flick of his wrist and his wand disappeared into an invisible holster.

“Harsh,” she said, impressed, then paused. “Wait, how come you get to keep your wand?”

“Auror privilege.” Potter grinned at her. “It was argued quite convincingly to the Unity Coalition that some people with wands and sense were still necessary just in case any fights break out.”

Astoria sighed deeply. “That’s so unfair. And they just let you get away with melting photographers’ film?”

“I don’t do it often enough to get caught,” he said, shrugging. “That reporter has been getting on my nerves though. Isabelle something or the other.”

“Oh, her,” said Astoria in dawning recognition. “Isabelle Rookwood. She wrote that stupid story about me and Ethan.”

Potter sent her a speculative glance that she pretended not to notice, but luckily for his own sake, decided not to say anything about that.

“So,” he said instead, more casually than she thought was necessary, “how are your investigations of Knockturn going?”

Astoria took a cocktail drink off a passingby waiter’s tray, dropping her empty sandwich plate off with him, and frowned at Potter over the top of it.

“I hate to tell you this, Potter, but I’m not investigating Knockturn. I used to live there, they’re my friends.”

“Friends?” he repeated, with just a touch of disbelief in his voice. “You’re friends with Anubis Crow?”

“Anubis is pretty annoying,” she acknowledged. “But frankly, less annoying than any of this rabble.” A wave of her hand gestured to the party around them, slowly and steadily filling up with more and more people in fancy suits and flowing dresses, chattering on about useless politics. “I’d take his dead animals over the Parkinsons, any day.”

Potter snorted at that, following her gaze to where Pansy was sitting, glaring at all the war heroes near her table, then to her brother nearby. Euan, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself, with a pretty brunette witch on his arm who must have been his girlfriend—no, fiancée, she recalled. He was shaking hands with one of the older purebloods while his fiancée sipped on a pink cocktail. And Rose… actually, she didn’t see Rose anywhere. Was she allowed to skip this? Probably, her mother let her do anything she wanted.

“I thought you and Pansy were friends,” admitted Potter. “Are you not?”

This felt like a trap. Astoria squinted at him thoughtfully.

“Daphne and Pansy are friends,” she said instead of offering any explanation into her own relationship with Pansy. “That’s probably what you’re thinking of.”

“Probably,” he agreed after a moment. “Where is your sister, anyway? I haven’t seen her yet.”

“She’s running around somewhere,” said Astoria, glancing around to see if she could find her. “I doubt she has any interest in talking to you, though.”

“No,” Potter said, his lips quirking. “Most pureblood girls don’t. Apart from you.”

 “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I have no interest in talking to you either,” she said brightly. “I’m just not allowed to be rude to anyone tonight so I can’t just walk away.”

He stared at her, and then laughed, unexpectedly. “Is that not considered rude?”

“Well.” Astoria thought about it. “Only if you’re offended, I guess.”

“I don’t think that’s how rudeness works.” Potter side-stepped two teenage girls neatly, ignoring their looks at him. “But you could walk away if you wanted to.”

Astoria sighed. “Shunning the Boy-Who-Lived in public would be political suicide. You might never find any pieces of me after my mother was done with me.”

 “It wouldn’t be political—” Potter tried, but Astoria sent him a significant glance. “Okay, well, you can walk away. I promise I won’t even spread any rumors about how much you hate me and want me dead.”

“I appreciate that,” she said dryly. “Good luck with the party, then.”

“You, too.” Potter looked at her for a moment, and then grinned. “I’ll see you when we get that warrant.”

Chapter Text

Distant bells began ringing through the ballroom, sending everyone scattering to their seats. The Ministerial candidates came in last, through different points of entry, all three of them going up to the stage to sit on their designated couches along with their teams. Astoria avoided her mother’s sweeping gaze from her vantage point at Table Seven to catch Olivine’s eye and offer her a small smile of support. Olivine smiled back, dressed smartly in a woman’s suit rather than her mother’s flowing gown, and sat on the white couch, Matthew coming up behind her and depositing Anaïs in her lap.

Daphne was on the stage too, fluttering around their mother and murmuring orders to the campaign staffers. Both of Macmillan’s sons were with him, as well as his new wife and their five-year-old daughter. Astoria wondered distantly if his ex-wife was invited – she had quite publicly endorsed Delia out of what seemed like spite a few months ago, which had kickstarted a very annoying round of press – but figured she’d find out eventually based on who got in a fight. Ethan certainly looked antsy enough for his mother to be here, but that could be for any number of reasons, she had to admit.

“Shouldn’t you be with your mother?” asked the wizard seated next to her as food began appearing on their plates.

Astoria turned to look at him. Recognition did not come to her, although he clearly expected it to from the haughty look on his face. Probably a pureblood, then, but not one of the ones in the family circles, she thought – she at least knew all of them. He had dark blonde hair gelled back from his face and brown eyes set over an upturned nose. His tie was a decidedly neutral black so it was hard to tell which side he was on.

“Who are you?” she asked instead, truly drawing a blank.

He frowned at her, then brightened with what was clearly meant to be a charming smile although it looked more constipated to her, extending a hand. “Zacharias Smith. I went to school with Ernie. I work for the ICW,” he added proudly.

“The ICW?” she repeated, not taking his hand. “Like with Granger?”

Smith scowled. “No. Not with her. We work in completely different departments, she’s not the only one who…” His voice trailed off, because Longbottom was looking at him from the other side of the table. As Astoria glanced over there, Dean Thomas looked up as well, and whatever Zacharias Smith read on their faces, it was enough to shut him up.

“Oh, okay.” Astoria hid a smile as conversation resumed around them and adjusted her napkin in her lap. “So you’re here with the Macmillan side?”

“I haven’t cast any votes yet,” said Smith. “I find it’s unhelpful to declare ahead of time, and both candidates have platforms worth looking into. Wouldn’t you say so?”

Astoria picked up her knife and considered it. “All.”

“What?”

“All candidates,” she clarified. “There are more than two.”

“Oh.” Smith cast a confused look at her, then back at the stage, as though he had to recount the number of candidates sitting there. “I suppose. Not like Sprout’s got much of a chance, does she?”

“Doesn’t she?” asked Astoria mildly, slicing into her fish and popping a bite-sized piece into her mouth.

Smith snorted. “Of course not. Her husband’s a werewolf, for Merlin’s sake.”

He had the unfortunate timing to say this into a lull around the rest of the table. Astoria pressed her lips together to hide both her first and her second reactions as Longbottom looked up again, a quietly irritated expression on his face that he directed straight at Smith. Dean cleared his throat; one or two of their other friends traded significant glances with each other. The purebloods at the table looked around a bit awkwardly.

Astoria freed her hand of utensils and propped her chin on her palm. “What does her husband being a werewolf have to do with anything?”

“Well,” said Smith, looking startled that she would ask, and sent a glance back over at Longbottom, who only continued staring hard enough to make Smith uncomfortable. “I mean – you know, werewolves are—well, they’re…”

“They’re what?” asked Longbottom flatly.

Smith fidgeted with his fork. “They’re not. You know. Human.”

Astoria had realized long ago that there was no use debating idiots who were entrenched in their beliefs. It was something you learned early in Slytherin House, if you were smart, considering how much of the population of the House could be described as idiots entrenched in their beliefs. Even before Daniel had been a werewolf, she’d ended up in detention several times for hexing her classmates who took issue with Hufflepuffs, halfbloods, or anything else of the sort.

It had taken Professor Snape overseeing one of her detentions and waspishly informing her that smart Slytherins did not rise to the bait every time it was proffered but instead let their opponents strangle themselves with their own lines for her to realize to the value of not getting into every fight she could find. She had thought it was quite a rich thing for Snape to say, when he rose to every bait a Gryffindor ever threw at him, but had to admit he had been right in the end.

Unfortunately, she thought, looking around her table, it seemed Professor Snape only gave that lesson to Slytherins.

“What are they then?” inquired Dean in a voice that could be misconstrued as polite, if you were an idiot.

Smith frowned. “They’re wolves. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” said the girl seated next to Longbottom. Astoria looked over at her and realized with a hint of surprise that she did know her – Aurora Clearwater, who had been a Ravenclaw in her year. Her elder sister had died during the war. Had she been in Dumbledore’s Army too – or, no, she remembered, she was a Muggleborn, and they’d gone on the run during the war. Although that didn’t preclude her from having joined Dumbledore’s Army either that year or the next, when the DA had been in charge of the Hogwarts reconstruction programme.

“What?” asked Smith defensively.

“I don’t see any wolves here,” Clearwater said, flipping her long brown curls over her shoulder as she looked left and right dramatically. “Do you?”

Astoria slid another bite into her mouth to hide her smile.

“Well, it’s not full moon,” Smith pointed out. “But they’re still violent and untrustworthy the rest of the month too.”

One of the pureblood men seated next to him was nodding in agreement. Astoria tilted her head to meet his gaze and held it until he shrank back into his seat, his nodding fading away miserably.

“And you know this from your deep and thorough research on werewolves?” inquired Clearwater tartly.

He glared at her. “Were you even at Hogwarts when Professor Lupin—”

“Professor Lupin,” interjected Longbottom in a carrying tone, “was awarded an Order of Godric and a medal of valor for everything he did during the war. What were you awarded, Smith?”

“Medal for running away?” Dean asked innocently.

Smith’s glower intensified in their direction. “Orders of Godric are ridiculous, anyway. Where are the Orders of Rowena or Helga?” he asked, clearly giving up on the werewolf conversation when nobody could be bothered to give him any support.

 Longbottom sent him a long look and then returned to his meal, which was the unspoken signal for everyone else to stop paying attention to the tense discussion, and quiet conversations resumed. Astoria, who was halfway finished with her fish and a good portion of the steamed vegetables around it, frowned as she realized this meant Smith would have to return his attention to her.

“I think that’s on your mother’s platform, by the way,” said Smith in a rather know-it-all tone, having regained some of his composure. “Orders of the other three Founders.”

“Is it?” asked Astoria. Truthfully, she had no idea what her mother’s platform entailed, despite Daphne giving her about five scrolls of parchment to study on the topic.

“Yes, since it’s not exactly fair to only have one. And,” added Smith, shooting a dagger across the table at Longbottom, who ignored him completely, “it was stupid to add an Order of Godric anyway. Since there’s nothing wrong with Orders of Merlin.”

“They’re less money,” Astoria pointed out. “And the Ministry was sitting on quite a lot of gold at the time, since they confiscated every Death Eater’s vault at Gringott’s. They needed to redistribute it somehow or else the economy would suffer, and the goblins wouldn’t be happy about that, and the last thing we needed after the war was another goblin rebellion.”

Smith stared at her, open-mouthed. “How do you know that?”

“My father was a Ministry lawyer,” said Astoria dryly.

“Oh.” He considered this for a moment, carefully slicing into his charred steak which was, Astoria noticed with an internal wince, brown on the inside rather than pink. He didn’t seem to care that it was well done, though, popping a bite into his mouth and chewing. “That’s cool. What do you do?”

“I run a farm.”

Smith blinked at her in the middle of swallowing. “What?”

Astoria raised an eyebrow in an expression she had learned from her mother, to imply the other person was stupid for asking for a clarification.

“You don’t work at the Ministry?” he asked.

“No.”

Smith clearly seemed to struggle with the idea of someone not working at the Ministry of Magic. Luckily, before he could question her further, a projected voice cut across all conversation in the ballroom, announcing that dessert would be served in ten minutes at the desserts table, that Table One – which, Astoria noted, had Potter, Weasley, and Granger amongst the occupants – would be the first to be allowed some, and that dancing would commence shortly.

“Great,” she muttered to herself. At least this party was half over by now, but if she knew her sister, she would be forced to stay until the bitter end.

Desserts time was apparently when everyone decided to get up and mingle, as couples slowly started filling up the dance floor. Astoria was at least glad of the excuse to abandon her table and wander around in an attempt to track down, if not one specific person, then at least someone she knew.

Griselda’s head of long red curls was, however, easily spotted through the crowds and, in a stroke of luck, she was talking to neither an Auror nor a war hero this time around. Finnigan was nowhere to be found, and neither were any of his friends or coworkers. Astoria breathed a sigh of relief and threaded through the crowd around several tables to reach her best friend.

Only to be pulled up short by a different sight. At the other side of the dance floor, away from the people spinning around, was Potter having a conversation with a slender, brown-skinned witch that Astoria, unfortunately, recognized. From the way her hands moved briskly through Wizarding Sign Language as she spoke to Potter, she could tell this was Zoya Shafiq.

She looked up at the star-studded ceiling, closing her eyes briefly. She had to choose. It wasn’t exactly like she could forbid Potter from investigating his leads. She couldn’t tell Zoya what to tell him or not tell him.

But she could do something about Griselda. Priorities.

She grabbed Griselda’s elbow and tugged, ignoring her jump of surprise, pulling them both to a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Astoria!” said Griselda, brown eyes widening. “How are you?”

Astoria glared at her. “What are you doing here?”

Griselda pulled her arm back and frowned at her. “I was invited. They pay people to fill up the audience at the debates, and I signed up.”

“You’re here on a job?” asked Astoria incredulously.

Griselda’s thumb slid around her thin silver ring, inherited from her mother, anxiously spinning it around on her middle finger.

“I needed the money,” she murmured.

Astoria sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you, if you need money—”

“I can’t rely on you forever, Astoria,” Griselda interrupted. “You know I appreciate it. But I have to start making my own money sometime. And Mustardseed’s doesn’t really pay me enough. This will cover groceries for the next two weeks, at least.”

Griselda didn’t eat a lot anyway, Astoria knew. She sighed, leaning backwards on an empty chair, and ignoring the wizard who walked up to try and reclaim his seat. He gave up after a minute of glaring in her direction and stalked off muttering something about manners.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Why were you talking to Seamus Finnigan?”

A furrow appeared on Griselda’s brow. “I was just making conversation—he’s at my table, so we were just talking.”

“He’s an Auror,” Astoria reminded her, with what she felt was a great deal of patience. “He’s a Gryffindor. He’s in Dumbledore’s Army. And he is not your friend.”

“I know that,” said Griselda, frowning more deeply. “But it was just a conversation.”

“What was it about?”

“It was just about the party,” she said, defensive. “And the election. Nothing about—about Daniel.” Griselda lowered her voice, as if speaking his name would get her arrested. “Or the murder. I promise.”

Astoria wasn’t sure she believed her. But whether she did or not, Griselda was saved by someone approaching their corner of the tables.

“Hello, ladies,” said Euan Parkinson, dipping them both a shallow bow of greeting. “How are you doing this fine evening?”

Astoria didn’t hate Euan the way she automatically hated most pureblood heirs – he had never actually done anything questionable enough to deserve her ire, and she felt rather sorry for him sometimes, to have Pansy and Rose as sisters – but at this very moment, she could muster up nothing but a narrow-eyed glare at him for interrupting.

“Euan,” said Griselda with a certain amount of relief. “It’s lovely to see you. Oh, you must be Felicity.”

The witch at his side smiled at Griselda and accepted her handshake. She was tall and very pretty, with long brown hair pulled up into a sleek, high ponytail, wearing a stunning but neutral dress in black and gold. Her face was thin and narrow, and didn’t much look like either of her cousins – Ernie and Ethan both had their father’s rounder face and stout physique. In fact, she didn’t look like much of a Macmillan at all.

“Felicity Macmillan,” she introduced, turning to Astoria. “I’m Euan’s fiancée.”

“I’ve heard,” said Astoria lightly, not offering her own hand out of sheer annoyance at their presence. Neither Felicity nor Euan seemed bothered by her rudeness, though. Then again, he was Pansy’s brother, so it would be hard for him to survive if he was bothered by rudeness.

“Are you two enjoying the party?” asked Felicity, looping her hand back around Euan’s elbow. They made a disgustingly good-looking couple, Astoria thought. “We thought we might go join the dance floor, but there seems to be an excess of Gryffindors and Weasleys out there…”

Euan chuckled. “Perhaps we will wait for some of the more traditional set pieces. I’m sure your mother has instructed the quartet to play pureblood songs in addition to… whatever this is.”

‘Whatever this is’ was a quite lively set piece, which had the dancers on the floor split into groups of eight, each with four couples, spinning in circles, clasping hands, and then switching partners. Based on the music, Astoria suspected it was, in fact, a pureblood song, just sped up to create a brighter atmosphere than the dreary waltzes she had grown up learning.

“I’m sure,” she agreed. “If you two don’t mind, I was just—”

“Oh, actually,” said Felicity, with the kind of graceful interruption that couldn’t be learned anywhere other than at pureblood lessons on how to be a lady – Astoria should know, because she had never learned it – “We were hoping to talk to you about something.”

“I’ll see you all around,” said Griselda, clearly taking the escape that was offered her with a grateful smile and slipping away.

“It’s about our wedding,” said Euan before Astoria could contemplate how much trouble she would be in if she simply snapped the Magilock Pouch her wand was in to tie Griselda to a damn chair so she could actually talk to her. “We understand you offer Queen’s Lodge as a wedding venue sometimes?”

Astoria looked at him in surprise, momentarily distracted from her quest to keep track of where, exactly, Griselda had slipped off to.

“Yes, but only to people who are all right with having flying horses in the background of all their photographs,” she said, then squinted at Euan. “I thought you were scared of them.”

Euan grimaced at the memory she had no doubt brought up for him. “I was, but I was also thirteen. Besides, my lovely lady harbors a fascination with magical creatures.” He bestowed upon Felicity a brilliant smile that made his dark eyes light up. “Plus, it’s gorgeous up there, or so we hear.”

“No, go back,” said Felicity with a laugh, turning to Astoria. “He’s scared of winged horses?”

“He used to ride them,” Astoria told her with a small smile, as Euan made a face at her. “My father took me to the stables as soon as I could walk, pretty much. Euan was there a lot. But then he had a bit of a nasty fall. Swore off horses forever.”

“I was traumatized,” he protested. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Felicity told him, reaching up to brush a strand of his hair back into place. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”

“I was scared of marriage, until I met you,” Euan countered, smiling at her. “So, what do you say, Astoria? Do you have any open dates in the fall?”

“You’re having a fall wedding too?” asked Astoria.

“Well, we haven’t settled on a date yet, obviously, we need to pick a venue first, but…” Euan paused, frowning. “Who else?”

Wordlessly, Astoria gestured past him and three other tables, to where a gaggle of Weasleys had congregated. Penelope’s blonde curls stood out amongst the shocks of red hair, as she laughed at something one of the other brothers was saying, leaning against George who chuckled at whatever the joke was.

“Ah, right,” said Euan in dawning realization. “How is that all going, by the way?”

“About as well as can be expected,” said Astoria. “At least on this side of things. I assume the Weasleys are doing great, very little gets them down. Anyway, yeah, I can try to book you two in. Drop me a letter when you’re free to come and visit the stables. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I see Daphne is about to find me and I’d rather not be findable at the moment.”

Straightening up, she slid around them, tossing them an absentminded wave goodbye that only Felicity returned. Euan dipped his head to murmur something into her ear as Astoria turned away from them, searching through the crowd for a familiar, non-Weasley head of red hair.

Half an hour later, she’d found nothing – Griselda was rather Slytherin when she wanted to be, and she seemed to have disappeared quite thoroughly – although she had successfully avoided several conversations with people who seemed like they wanted to talk to her, including her mother, still sitting on the stage and pretending to engage in polite conversation with Edmund Macmillan, and several Ministry people who she was sure were being set upon her by either her mother or her sister.

She did find Zoya Shafiq again though, and this time without Potter anywhere near her.

“Astoria, it’s good to see you,” Zoya signed, her hands in their usual flurry of motion. “How have you been?”

“Good,” said Astoria back in WSL – she was by no means fluent, but it was a necessary language to speak working at the stables, as she got kids of all sorts riding horses, including deaf ones. “I was hoping to talk to you. How is your brother?”

Zoya smiled, a little sadly, sitting down on a chair at an empty table and gesturing for Astoria to take a seat with her. The layers of her deep emerald skirts fluttered over the floor, and she sighed, turning to face Astoria as she sat.

Her hands came up to her heart to sign. “Raihan isn’t well. He won’t tell me much, but I know Daniel’s disappearance has affected him greatly. And he seems to be dealing with a lot in the wolf community.”

It took Astoria a moment to translate that, but she nodded slowly.

“And you can speak, if you can’t sign,” Zoya added with a flourish of her fingers. “I can read lips very easily. Just don’t look away.”

Astoria smiled, switching to English. “I heard from Raihan recently, but he hasn’t replied to my last letter. I hope nothing’s gone wrong. I know he’s under Fidelius – did he tell you about the disappearances?”

Zoya nodded, her brown eyes going grave. “He did, although not in detail. I think he was worried that whoever was behind the disappearances might go after their loved ones. Although I know Daniel had very few of those left, and you seem to be unharmed.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with it,” Astoria admitted. “I don’t know if the Aurors do either—if they even know. Did you talk to Harry Potter?”

“I did,” Zoya confirmed, twining her fingers together in a quick sign of affirmation. “He wanted to know if he could talk to Raihan, but I told him I could only send a letter on his behalf. Nobody who is not a werewolf can get to their cottage.”

“It’s better for them.” Astoria looked beyond Zoya’s shoulder, to the partygoers still enjoying the dinner and the dances. “Safer that way.”

“Not safe enough,” Zoya pointed out. “I hope they find Daniel soon.”

Astoria sent her a half-smile. “I hope they don’t. Did Potter not mention they want to arrest him?”

Zoya’s eyes widened. “What?” she signed in a flurry. “Why? He’s missing, not a criminal.”

“I tried telling him that.” Across the tables, she caught sight of Potter, engaged in a quiet conversation with Finnigan and Abbott. “But they think Daniel was involved in the murder.”

“The Marcus Flint murder?” Zoya frowned. “That’s ridiculous. What did Daniel and Marcus have to do with one another?”

“What, indeed…” Astoria’s voice trailed off, thinking back on everything Griselda had told her or not told her. Was there a way to figure it out that didn’t involve asking either Marcus or Daniel, since they were both indisposed?

As she considered this, the string quartet began playing a very fast-paced, and evidently quite popular piece. Some of the partygoers – more on the Muggleborn and halfblood sides, she noticed – cheered, and the people on the dance floor gestured for their friends to join them. Astoria signed a goodbye to Zoya, who waved at her, and then stood, edging around the dance floor to get back into the heart of the dinner party, her mind still whirling.

“Would you care to dance?” interrupted someone’s voice near her.

Astoria turned to see a fair-haired wizard smiling at her hopefully. From the neutral tie he wore and the fact that she had no clue who he was, she suspected he was some random Ministry worker. Either that, or her mother had decided to send foreign purebloods after her in the hopes of arranging a match.

“No, thanks,” she said, and stepped past him before she would have to deal with whatever reaction he had.

“You know,” said someone else, a much more familiar voice, rising up from the table she just passed, “He’s actually a pretty important member of the Department of Magical Transportation.”

“Well, that changes everything. He should have led with that, then,” Astoria said.

Blaise grinned at her and offered her his plate of dessert, with a skewer of chocolate-covered strawberries left on it.

“I’m surprised you’re not batting off more men,” he said, following in her footsteps as she continued her search through the hall for Griselda. “The only single daughter of Delia Greengrass, you’re quite a catch tonight.”

“Maybe they’re put off by my personality,” Astoria suggested, popping one of the strawberries into her mouth.

“Probably,” he agreed. “Or by the rumors.”

Astoria rolled her eyes at him. “Speaking of non-single Greengrasses, where is your date? I’ve hardly seen her tonight.”

“By design, I’m sure,” said Blaise, amused. “But I’ve hardly seen her either. This is a work function for her, not an evening to relax and enjoy. I’m sure she’s running around making sure nobody gets an unflattering photograph of your mother or…”

His voice trailed off, coming to a stop where they were. Astoria frowned, turning to follow his gaze to a table near the edge of the dinner hall, away from the happy commotion of the dance floor. Both of her sisters were standing by it, a heated conversation in place. Daphne had her hands curled into fists at her side, and Penelope didn’t look like she was attempting to be as conciliatory as she typically might be—her eyes were narrowed and she wasn’t smiling, a decidedly odd expression on her face.

Daphne was simmering with fury. Astoria traded an alarmed glance with Blaise and then began to walk over there, depositing the plate of strawberries on a random table and seeing out of the corner of her eye George Weasley disentangling himself from a conversation with his brothers to do the same.

Blaise grabbed her arm before she could get more than two paces away.

“Be careful,” he muttered, nodding his head to the side without moving his eyes. “Look who’s watching.”

Astoria’s face twisted at the sight of Isabelle Rookwood and one of the party photographers, who were also engaged in a quiet conversation. From the looks of it, the photographer didn’t seem too keen to capture Penelope and Daphne’s fight, and Isabelle was gesturing towards them in an attempt to convince the other woman. Behind them, on the dance floor, the lively music faded to a softer, slower waltz piece that she recognized from her childhood – as if the band thought they ought to hear the conversation between her sisters as well.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath, so only Blaise could hear. “This will be front page news tomorrow if Isabelle Rookwood gets her grimy little hands on it.”

“And if you interrupt, it’ll only make it worse,” Blaise agreed quietly. “We need to do something else.”

“We don’t have our wands,” Astoria said, her hand going automatically to her sleeve before she dropped it with an impatient sigh. “I could kill Pansy for this.”

George, who clearly did not have a Slytherin’s instinct for sniffing out trouble and figuring out the best path around the issue, had approached his fiancée. Daphne whirled on him in anger, and Astoria knew in her gut that they were about 40 seconds away from disaster, even if the argument was secluded enough that her mother, up on the stage, hadn’t yet seen it.

She cast around for something, anything she could do to steal Isabelle Rookwood’s attention. Without her wand, she was at a bit of a loss.

“Should I go punch a Gryffindor?” asked Blaise in her ear, his voice wry. He jerked his head at a group a table away from them, including Potter, Weasley, Granger, and a few other of their friends, who were slowly becoming aware of Daphne and Penelope’s hissed argument.

“Which one?”

“I could take Weasley,” he said thoughtfully. “Although I’m not sure how much that would help. It would just end up front page news instead, and not for good reasons.”

“Bad idea, Potter has a wand and would Stun you before you got close,” said Astoria. As she said it, though, her gaze crossed with Potter’s, his green eyes catching hers and then looking back at Daphne and Penelope with a hint of concern in his expression.

Astoria blinked. A plan so easy it was almost criminal unfolded in her mind like a map.

“Blaise,” she said softly. “I’m about to do something crazy.”

“How crazy?” he asked in concern.

“Just tell Daphne I did it for her, okay?”

She was moving before Blaise could protest too much, sliding through the gaps between tables, and purposefully hitting her stiletto heel against an askew chair to get some people looking at the noise she made rather than at her sisters. The group of war heroes was shifting, clearly at unease with the confrontation happening that now included George as well, and as she got closer she heard Granger murmur something about going in to stop them—Daphne, she noticed with a quick glance backwards seemed to be itching for her wand, and if she was that mad, she might not stop just because her wand was locked away.

Astoria pulled up in front of them and waited until Potter looked at her, his group’s conversations going quiet as they realized she was there.

“What are you doing here?” asked Weasley suspiciously.

Astoria ignored him.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, dipping him a shallow curtsy. Potter’s eyebrows raised but he didn’t interrupt. “Will you dance with me?”

“What?” demanded at least two other people, neither of whom were Potter.

“I—” Potter started to say.

“Thanks,” said Astoria brightly before he could say yes or no – more likely no – and took his arm by the elbow as if he had acquiesed to her request. Potter was either surprised enough or curious enough that he let her do it, pulling him out of his group and onto the dance floor, where the partygoers were pairing up into couples rather than groups for the oncoming waltz.

The sight of Harry Potter on the dance floor seemed to rejuvenate the people who had been about to head out since the music had changed. Astoria steered him into the center of the floor, ignoring all the looks cast their way and then faced him, smiling faintly as she lifted her hand to his shoulder.

“Should I ask?” asked Potter in a quiet voice, accepting the position of the waltz by taking her other hand in his.

“Probably not,” she said with a half-shrug.

He settled his free hand on her waist and looked thoughtfully around them as the waltz continued on. A camera flash went off nearby and Astoria fixed a smile on her face as it did, so that the front page picture tomorrow might actually be decent.

“Does this have to do with your sisters?”

“You’re smart, Potter,” she said. “You can figure it out.”

Potter glanced back at her, then lifted their joined hands up to spin her around in a movement echoed by everyone else on the dance floor, although most of their fellow dancers were also sneaking looks at the two of them as they passed by.

“You know this is going to destroy you in the press, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I can see it now.” Astoria sought out and found Isabella Rookwood in the crowd easily, scribbling notes down on her parchment pad in furious movements. “She’s got the entire article written in her head as we speak.”

“And… you’re okay with it?” he asked doubtfully.

“I wouldn’t say okay with it.” Astoria tilted her head, gaze wandering behind him until she found Daphne and Penelope again. George had succeeded in pulling them to stand further apart, which limited the potential danger, but they were still talking, and both of them still seemed pissed. “It’s just the lesser of two evils.”

“Hmm.” Potter’s brow furrowed, and she could see him looking from Isabelle Rookwood, to everyone else who was staring at the two of them, and all the whispered conversations sprouting up around the ballroom. “I don’t know if your mother would agree with that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Astoria, clamping down on her annoyance that he was probably right – her mother hadn’t seen the argument between Daphne and Penelope, and all she would see was Astoria making a story of herself by dancing with the Boy Who Lived. “I’d rather get in trouble for this than let Isabelle Rookwood run a story on how dysfunctional my family is. At least this way, it’s all on me.”

He sent her a curious look. “You’d really rather have your entire personal dating history published in the Prophet than… they write a story about your sisters fighting?”

“I have no dating history, so it shouldn’t be a very long article.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put it past them to make some up.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she repeated, holding back a sigh. He spun her out and then back in and then led her around two other couples where she had a better vantage point to see what was going on with Daphne and Penelope. At least now, there was only George really paying attention to the two of them; everyone else at the party was watching and chattering about the two of them.

“I think it matters a little,” Potter said quietly. “The press isn’t always very fair to women.”

“I’d rather they be unfair to me than my sisters,” said Astoria, looking down to watch their steps as the music built up into a swelling crescendo for the climax of the waltz. “I can handle it.”

“All right,” said Potter, although he still looked a little doubtful.

“Can you?” she asked, realizing a little belatedly that she hadn’t considered what Isabelle Rookwood would say about him at all.

He shot her a rueful smile. “I’ve handled a lot worse.”

Far away from the dance floor, in their corner, Daphne drew her wand, although it was still in a Magilock Pouch. Astoria watched carefully as her sister looked down in disgust at her locked wand, then spun on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom. Penelope squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against George. All around them, the music of the waltz became louder and louder, and then plateaued back into the final resolution of the song.

“You know,” Potter remarked lightly as he spun her around in the last few moments of the waltz, “I feel like Daphne has had to deal with worse press than arguing with her sister in public.”

“Maybe,” said Astoria with a sigh. “But it’s not about that.”

“What is it about?”

“If people call me a slut for dancing with you, it won’t be true, so it doesn’t matter,” she said. His eyes followed her as she stepped in and then out in time to the beat. “But if they start poking around whatever Daphne and Penelope are arguing about, that might be true, and that does matter. And I’d rather get called a whore than have Isabelle Rookwood sticking her nose in our family’s business.”

Potter was watching her intently as the music drew to a close and Astoria pulled back from him, dropping her hands and then curtsying again as all the witches around her did to their partners.

“My personal reputation,” she finished, coming back up from her curtsy, “is just not as important as the family’s. Thank you for the dance.”

He nodded, and she turned to exit the dance floor as quickly as she could, ignoring the photographer’s camera and the whispering of everyone around her. Blaise was waiting at the edge of it and he caught her wrist before she could pass by him.

“She’ll have gone home,” he said to her in a low voice.

“Do you want to go or should I?” Astoria asked.

“You should go,” Blaise said, releasing her hand with a sigh. “I’ll do damage control for you.”

Astoria sent him a grateful smile and hurried out of the ballroom, pulling her wand out and breathing a sigh of relief as the Magilock Pouch unbound itself so she could Apparate straight from the doors of the Ministry and away from this damn party.

Summerstone was quiet. Everyone, including the house elves, had been summoned to the Ministry earlier to help her mother with the debate. She’d gone to Daphne’s house first and found it both locked and empty, so she’d taken her next best guess and gone home to their childhood manor, where they had gotten dressed together just a few short hours ago.

Astoria sighed. Whatever had gone on – and she hadn’t been close enough to hear it, mostly because she hadn’t wanted to turn it into a story about three Greengrass sisters bitching at each other, which would definitely have infuriated their mother – it wasn’t something she was looking forward to finding out.

But it was possible it was partially her fault, for bringing up the conversation with Helena to Daphne earlier. And besides, her family was her responsibility.

She unlocked the door with the passcode rune and slipped inside, heading for the wing of the manor where her and Daphne’s rooms were. They’d always been paired together, the closest in age of any of the Greengrass daughters, and their wing was a sprawling hallway with their bedrooms, bathrooms, and the study rooms their father had carefully constructed according to their tastes when they were Hogwarts age.

It was in the study room he’d designed for Daphne that she found her sister. The room was out of use but still spotless, decorated in shades of emerald green and gold, filled with books neatly sorted on the bookshelves and a bay window seat that looked out at their gardens. But Daphne wasn’t sitting, she was standing in the middle of it, her fingers curled around the armchair at her desk, staring out the window at the nighttime sky beyond.

Her back was to the door but she turned when she heard it open.

“What are you doing here, Astoria?”

“Making sure you haven’t blown anything up,” said Astoria lightly, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind her.

Daphne’s shoulders shifted in what might have been a shrug, or her spine stiffening, it was hard to tell. Astoria leaned back against the door, watching her sister – the set of her arms, the way her fingers clenched around the leather armchair. The hot fury practically radiating off of her. Daphne’s hair was coming loose from its perfectly styled and spelled cascade, but she didn’t even seem to notice.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Astoria asked.

“It’s none of your business,” said Daphne.

“Oh, I think it is.” Astoria didn’t move, but she knew the weight of her gaze had worked when Daphne turned slowly around to face her. “This is our family, Daphne. Like it or not, Penelope is our sister. What were you two arguing about?”

“What do you think?” Daphne snapped at her, then seemed to realize with horror at the same time as Astoria that her cheeks were wet. “Her running off and marrying a blood traitor, of course.”

Astoria watched as Daphne swiped furiously at her tears.

“Is that really why you’re so upset?”

“She’s our sister!” Daphne hissed. “She should – she should have chosen us over him.”

That wasn’t it, either. Astoria could tell from the way Daphne’s gray eyes flickered around the room, searching for some point to make that wasn’t the point she was avoiding. She stayed quiet, waiting.

“Don’t you ever get mad at her?” Daphne demanded of her. “She ran away, she left us, she went off to America and now she’s marrying a Weasley, she never even stopped to think twice about us—”

“I don’t,” interrupted Astoria. “Because I’m a fucking adult and I know my sisters’ lives don’t revolve around me. What’s really the issue here?”

“That is the issue!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Of course it’s the issue!” Daphne balled her hands up into fists again. “It’s the only fucking issue! She chose him over everything – everything she’s ever known, our entire family, every single one of us, and she chose him!”

“You’re really this upset about her marrying George Weasley?”

Daphne blinked back furious tears again. “How could she do that?”

Astoria opened her mouth to reply, to bring up the same tired old spiel she’d already tried on both Daphne and Helena, and then paused. How was a different question than Why.

“Probably the same way she does everything else in life,” she said, more quietly than she might have a second ago. “Penelope doesn’t care about all this useless political shit that defines your life, Daphne. He makes her happy.”

“Happiness,” Daphne scoffed. “There are more important things.”

“Like what?”

“Like power.” Her sister’s gaze moved past Astoria to the door behind her, concentrating as if the words were all she had left. “Like influence. Like not letting every stupid boy who looks at you twice into your heart just because you think he’ll make you happy.”

“Is that what you’re really mad about?” Astoria asked after a moment’s pause to make sure she’d heard that correctly. “Because you don’t actually like Blaise?”

Daphne shot her a look. “Of course I like him.”

“Yeah, but you don’t really want to spend your life with him.” Astoria took a step further into the room, brow furrowed as she thought things through – things about her sister, and all her relationships, and how Blaise was so different to all of them. “Is that why you’re so upset about Penelope and George? Because she has found someone she wants to spend her life with?”

“That’s not fucking important, Astoria!” Daphne snapped. “Wanting stupid things like love doesn’t matter, not when you’re one of us.”

“One of us?”

“Yes.” Daphne whirled and stalked to the side of her study room, where three portraits were lined up. All the residents of them were fast asleep, and the plaques beneath the portraits had etched on them the names of Greengrasses throughout history.

Daphne stared at them, eyes narrowed. “We’re the daughters of the House of Greengrass,” she continued, her voice going just slightly softer than before. “We have a responsibility to the future – to our future. Our legacy. We can’t just give that up because—because…”

“Because what?” asked Astoria quietly.

“Because without it, there’s nothing left,” said Daphne.

It wasn’t what she had intended to say, and they both knew it. But Astoria couldn’t be sure what she had intended to say.

“All right.” Astoria sighed. “If that’s really what you think, I can’t change your mind. But I don’t think you’re nothing without the Greengrass name, Daph. And whatever’s going on with you, I don’t think it’s really about Penelope.”

At least, not all the way about Penelope, she thought although she kept that part quiet, because Daphne was turning back to look at her, gray eyes suddenly faraway and furious.

Astoria paused, then added out of curiosity, “What did she say to piss you off?”

Daphne’s mouth twisted down. “She said… I called her boor of a fiancé a blood traitor, and she said there was no such thing as blood traitors, and that if I didn’t grow up and stop letting Mother and Father define my life for me, I was going to get trapped in an unhappy marriage just like them.”

Astoria froze for a second.

“But Mother and Father weren’t unhappy,” continued Daphne, brow furrowed. “And she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about,” she said viciously. “Casting aspersions on our parents’ marriage to make her idiotic choices look better.”

Astoria swallowed and said nothing.

Daphne looked up at her again, some hint of desperation in her face. “And she doesn’t get it, either. She never did. Marriage is a duty. It’s not meant to be for love.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Astoria softly. “Or are you just saying that to make yourself feel better because if it’s not true then that means you have no reason to have been mad at Penelope all this time? And isn’t it better to have a sister than to not have one? What part of our legacy involves cutting off one of our own?”

“The part where she’s making choices for herself, not for the family!” Daphne’s voice rose, shaking slightly. “Everything I do, I do it for the family. She has no idea – you have no idea what I’ve sacrificed.”

Astoria waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.

“What have you sacrificed?”

Daphne gulped down what sounded like real tears. “Just get out of here, Astoria.”

“Daphne—”

“Please.”

Her sister never said please and really meant it. And she never cried. Certainly not in front of people.

“All right,” said Astoria, her voice quiet against the sound of Daphne fighting back tears. “I love you, Daph.”

Astoria turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Daphne alone in the room. Outside in the hallway, she heaved a deep sigh and sank down to the floor, leaning against the door, pressing her hands into her eyes and wondering just how much further her family had to go before they could ever stand any chance of being fixed.

Chapter Text

The sound of a tap-tap-tap on her window at Queen’s Lodge roused Astoria from a deep sleep. She awoke to the sunlight coming in through her curtains, blinking at it until she realized that it meant it was morning and the post was coming in. With a groan, she rolled over and found her wand, flicking the window open so the owl could come in.

It was only when she was sitting up to look at the tiny gray and white screech owl, carrying both a letter and a package, on her desk that she realized it was Sunday, and there was no post on Sundays.

“Now what,” Astoria grumbled, swinging her legs out of bed as recognition of the screech owl filtered through her brain, “is Daphne doing sending me messages at fucking eight o’clock in the morning on a Sunday?”

Deianira, her sister’s owl, hooted softly in agreement, as if wondering why she had to be put to work so early on a Sunday, too.

Astoria unwound the note on Deianira’s leg carefully and fished out some owl treats from her desk for her. It was, she supposed, a good thing in theory because at least this meant this would be her only problem to deal with today – the Daily Prophet would have to wait for Monday to besmirch her name, her sexual history, and her reputation all in one go.

Astoria—

I am not well today. I will need you to step in for my duties. The campaign staffers are mostly off today so you don’t need to worry about them.

But Macmillan’s team was obviously not satisfied with his performance at the debate. They’ve planned a last-minute town hall speech for him at the Falcons’ training grounds in Falmouth. It’ll be mostly his supporters and some members of the press. We’re invited to show unity but obviously we can’t disrupt or ask questions, it’s just to see what goes on.

Normally I would go but I’ll need you to do it for me. It’s today at 3:00pm. Take good notes on what happens and send it back to me.

And don’t get in trouble.

—Daphne

“Well.” Astoria looked up at Deianira after folding the note in half again. “She certainly knows how to keep me busy.”

Deianira shook her head, ruffling her feathers, and stuck out her leg for Astoria to take the package. It was wrapped carefully in brown paper and squished when she pulled it off the owl’s leg. She sighed a little, knowing what it probably was even as she tapped her wand to it to open the package up.

“Of course she doesn’t trust me to dress myself,” said Astoria to Deianira, who looked up at her with an owl treat in her mouth, blinking at her.

It was, obviously, smart of Daphne to think ahead, because Astoria was pretty sure her usual wardrobe wasn’t appropriate for whatever stupid kind of event this town hall would be. She’d sent her a dress – not one of her own, for once, this one was definitely tailored to Astoria’s height – in a dark navy blue, with long sleeves and a tea party length skirt in chiffon, embroidered with light purple lace around all the edges. Pretty and mostly neutral, she noticed, no green or silver to mark her out as a Slytherin going into the lion’s den. Or badger’s den, so to speak.

She jotted down a quick confirmation note and attached it to Deianira, sending her off through the window with a wave. With the dress laid out on her bed for later, she opened her closet to wear more normal clothes for a morning out flying at the stables.

Another owl came in while she was getting ready. It was a scrawny barn owl, not one she recognized, and looked drastically underfed.

 Astoria,

I know I have no right to ask this of you, but there’s someone here in Knockturn Alley – not one of us – who is trying to buy the building. I overheard them talking to the owner about lease loopholes to kick us out. They’re still here, looking over the contracts.

I don’t know what I can do. If you can come talk to them, maybe it will help.

Please,

Griselda

Astoria looked up at the barn owl, who hooted sadly at her. It occurred to her now why the owl was so damn skinny – Griselda must have raced to her brother to borrow the family owl, which probably had no consistent meals since Gregory wasn’t smart enough to allow it to go hunting from where he lived in his mother’s basement, and not rich enough to spend enough money on owl food.

She opened her window more fully and pointed out at the forest. “Go hunt,” she told the owl. “There’s a ton of prey there. Eat whatever you want, just don’t bother my horses or they might eat you.”

The owl swept off in a hurry. Astoria sighed, looking back down at Griselda’s note. It was so very typical of her to ask for a savior rather than figuring out how to do something on her own – but then it was also very Slytherin to understand when you needed someone else’s abilities.

But it was her name on the lease and her money paying for the flat. And she at least owed Knockturn Alley this much.

Sometimes, Astoria reckoned, she could be a bit too sentimental for her own good. As she stared up at the grimy old building she had called home for three years, it occurred to her that the world might in fact be a better place without it. It was, frankly, disgusting, and also home to some of the most odious people she had ever encountered – like the beady-eyed old woman in Number 84 who hawked fake fortunes at everyone who passed by, or the slimy salesman in Number 65 who made a comment about her body any time they happened to get stuck taking the stairs together.

Then again, he had stopped that after one well-placed curse had filled his flat with snakes. And she had just as many good memories here as bad ones.

There were voices in the front office, or what passed for a front office. Really, nothing about the main entrance into the apartment building was anything special – a vending machine that dispensed snacks which had probably been expired by the Lestrange adminstration’s time, a small desk that the witch who worked here pretended to use to write letters that almost never got delivered to the tenants, a hideous carpet that the owner claimed was from the Ottoman empire, but she suspected had been bought at a yard sale in the 80s.

Casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself, Astoria entered her flat’s passcode in the tenant’s side door and slid inside to hear what was going on.

“—could do with some cheering up, and new visitors would certainly…”

“Yes, but, Mr. Lockhart, we have over fifty current residents who would fight every step of the way—”

“Not if we offered them a relocation fee—”

“Perhaps, but they are all quite attached…”

“Nothing money can’t buy.”

The owner – whom Astoria had never actually met, the woman didn’t ever deign to visit the residents of her apartment buildings, but she did sometimes float into the front office to talk with her employees – was engaged in a back-and-forth with a wizard who must be the so-named Mr. Lockhart. He looked as out of place in Knockturn Alley as a hippogriff in a China shop. If the posh accent and neatly-stitched suit hadn’t given him away, the shiny blond hair and straight teeth certainly would have.

She thought briefly that he seemed familiar, but the resemblance to any other pureblood was benign – the Lockharts weren’t, she thought, a traditionally pureblood family, but they certainly were rich enough to marry in from time to time, and he held himself like one. She’d probably seen him around parties.

“This is prime real estate, Ms. Leitch, and I would think a witch of your skills and intellect would be interested in a partnership that could expand—”

“Partnership!” Dellina Leitch certainly couldn’t be mistaken for a fool who would fall prey to flattery, Astoria thought wryly, not with how much money she wrung out of her tenants every month. “Is that what you are proposing? I had thought you were here in the hopes of a real estate conquest!”

A frown furrowed Lockhart’s perfectly smooth forehead. “I assure you, Ms. Leitch, I would never—”

Astoria cancelled her Disillusionment and coughed. Both of their heads swung around in surprise.

“Miss Greengrass!” said Leitch in tones of mingled disgruntlement and appraisal. “What are you doing here? Have you not paid your rent this month?”

“If I hadn’t, I certainly wouldn’t be interrupting your business meetings, would I?” asked Astoria, raising an eyebrow.

Lockhart was staring at her strangely.

“Astoria Greengrass,” she said, although she made no move to offer him her hand.

He hesitated, as if waiting for a handshake but knowing that by the rules of social etiquette, the woman had to offer first, then smiled at her. “Lyall Lockhart. I know who you are.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “What’s a distinguished gentleman like you doing here in this shithole?”

Leitch bristled up, but Lockhart ignored her. He also either ignored or didn’t hear the sarcasm dripping from her tone.

“Actually, it’s great that you’re here—I think this would really benefit your mother’s campaign. I donated to her, you know, she has some wonderful ideas and the wherewithal to—”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Get to the point.”

He looked put out. “That is the point. Rebuilding Knockturn Alley is one of her goals, is it not? I’m here to deliver. Starting with gutting this and turning it into a luxury tourist destination.”

“What tourists?”

Lockhart smiled and then gestured towards the doorway. “Shall we walk and talk, Miss Greengrass? I think you might be very interested to know the history of Knockturn Alley, and why it would be a fortuitous arrangement for us to get an early start on revamping it so it can achieve its full potential.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Leitch snapped. “She’s not in charge of the building. She’s a tenant here, for Merlin’s sake.”

Lockhart sent Leitch a cold look. “And her mother might one day very soon be in charge of the Wizarding World. If I were you, I’d watch my tone when speaking with your betters. Pureblood politics are not for the faint of heart.”

As much as Astoria enjoyed the dressing down of Ms. Leitch – Salazar knew she had tried to do the same many times over the three years she lived at Knockturn, only for the woman to conveniently disappear on a cruise abroad or a trip to Europe anytime things got testy with the tenants – she thought she might hate Lockhart just a little more. He was every smarmy pureblood businessman or lawyer type she had ever hated being introduced to at her father’s work events, and he wasn’t even old enough that she could wish for his death yet – he seemed barely older than her, probably around Helena’s age.

Leitch opened her mouth to, no doubt, barrage him with insults, but Astoria stepped in first.

“Perhaps, Ms. Leitch, you should take a break, and continue your meeting with Mr. Lockhart when tempers are not so quick to rise.”

She injected all of Daphne’s cool precision that she could into her voice, and was surprised to find that the method worked. Leitch deflated like a balloon and sent them both a sour look before stalking off, no doubt to find some employee to verbally abuse. Unfortunately for her, tracking down a working employee in Knockturn Alley was like finding a black cat in a coal cellar.

Lockhart smiled at her. “Some fresh air would do us all well, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” said Astoria dryly, and went to hold the door open before he got any ideas of doing it himself.

“Forgive my candor, Miss Greengrass, but I admit to some surprise that you are a tenant of this place and not the owner,” Lockhart said as they walked out into the chilly morning. Knockturn was always several degrees colder than Diagon. “I had thought, with your money…”

“I don’t need to own a building.” Astoria folded her arms, looking at the narrow, winding path of Knockturn before them. “Why do you?”

He fished out a business card from his coat pocket and handed it to her. Luxury Voyages with Lockhart Incorporated. The font was smart and professional, black against the artificially brightened yellow of the parchment cards. His name and office Floo number were listed underneath.

“The Lockhart family has run a premier travel agency for forty years and counting,” he said proudly. “We also create residences available for rent for weeks or months at a time, in order to facilitate—”

“Hotels,” Astoria interrupted. “You run hotels.”

“Not quite,” said Lockhart, with a twist to his lips that suggested to her that she was, in fact, correct. “They’re more like luxury villas, or condominiums, or even cottages in some of the more rural areas of mainland Europe. Although even our cottages are quite glamorous. If you’re ever interested—”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Well,” he said, gathering himself up with remarkable dignity, “of course, someone with multiple homes, yachts, and holiday houses wouldn’t need that. Forgive me.”

“We don’t own yachts,” said Astoria in a bored tone. “Or holiday houses. We do sensible things with our money, like invest it in the stock market. Now, tell me what you want with Knockturn Alley.”

Lockhart brightened at the prospect of giving her a new spiel. “Well, I know purebloods don’t often come to Knockturn, but it really is rich with history, not just with the last war – had you heard the rumor that the Dark Lord himself used to work here?”

Astoria had, in fact, heard that, because Knockturn loved to whisper about it, but she said nothing, just kept walking, fast enough to make him have to keep up with her when he clearly wanted to meander and look at all the buildings one by one.

“And apart from that, Knockturn was quite significant in the Grindelwald wars as well, as a hiding base for some of Grindelwald’s English supporters, at least before he spirited them off to Nurmengard to train. Rumor has it there are hidey holes here and also out in the country somewhere that they used to transport themselves and weapons and goods from Britain to Germany to help the war effort.”

Astoria toed a pebble loose from the street and kicked it down the narrow pathway. “You are a master of the art of conversation, Mr. Lockhart. Unfortunately for you, I hated History of Magic. Everyone knows Knockturn is old, what I don’t know is why you want to paper over that history with shiny new projects.”

Lockhart looked at her curiously. “Do you not pay attention to your mother’s platform? People are scared of Knockturn, because of how it’s been used by Dark wizards and witches throughout history. Including You-Know-Who. Rebuilding Knockturn Alley will restore its reputation. It’s something Shacklebolt was never able to do. Macmillan doesn’t care about Knockturn. But your mother—”

“Nobody in Knockturn cares about its reputation, and neither does my mother.” Astoria flicked her hair out of her face, impatient. “Also, the people here are poor, Lockhart. They’re not going to pay you what you want.”

“Well, of course not. That’s why we have to bring in tourists.” Lockhart frowned at her. “But you have money. Why did you ever live here?”

“I like the ambience.”

Lockhart didn’t seem to know what to say to this, and so elected to ignore it.

“Anyway, the idea is to refurbish some of these old buildings and put up a marketing campaign – many people would be interested in visiting Knockturn if they heard more good things about it, you know, and there’s a lot of history to use in selling this place to potential tourists and investors—”

“How much?” Astoria interrupted.

“Er—pardon? How much what?”

Astoria turned to face him, arms crossed. “How much to pay you to get you to stop trying to buy all of Knockturn Alley?”

Lockhart looked at her very strangely, and then an almost amused smile flickered at his lips. It was the first time in the entire conversation that he didn’t look like a smarmy businessman.

“What, you want to buy me off?” His voice was challenging, and instead of feeling like she was facing one of her father’s more irritating lawyers, she felt more like she was facing an opponent in Slytherin, back at Hogwarts.

“I have money. You clearly need it, or you wouldn’t be nosing around in Knockturn’s business. What’s your price?”

He looked thoughtful. “Do you solve all your problems with money?”

The phrase touched off something in her mind, a recent memory—Potter, half-smiling at her, saying ‘I don’t solve all my problems that way.’

Astoria tilted her head. “No. Sometimes I punch people in the face.”

Lockhart seemed momentarily unsure on whether she would or wouldn’t do this to him. She could see him wavering between his businessman persona and the more natural Slytherin aptitude he had expressed. The Slytherin won out, because he looked her over twice and made a disbelieving face.

“You don’t seem like you weigh enough to be able to punch people in the face, Miss Greengrass.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving.” Astoria injected just a light touch of mocking into her voice. “Or didn’t your cousin Gilderoy prove that to us all, when he was exposed as a fraud?”

Lockhart’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you speak of.” The trademark Slytherin sneer ghosted across his lips. “Were you even old enough to go to Hogwarts when Gilderoy taught there?”

She hadn’t been, but this seemed irrelevant. “Everyone knows what happened to him. It seems running scams runs in the family.”

“My business,” said Lockhart in frosty tones, “is not a scam. And I don’t—”

He stopped, because someone had emerged from the apothecary that they had wandered near, to see the two of them there.

“Astoria,” said Griselda, sounding like she might go weak from relief. “You came.”

Lockhart frowned. “Came for what?”

Astoria spoke before Griselda could tell him anything. “Griselda’s ill. I came to help her. That’s why I was in the building.”

It was a decent enough lie, because Griselda always looked a little bit ill. She was certainly skinny and small enough to seem it. She nodded mutely, her brown eyes wide and flickering between Lockhart and Astoria in what seemed like fear.

“Ah,” said Lockhart, still sounding confused. His gaze was sharp as he looked between the two of them. “Well, far be it for me to keep you from a friend in need, Miss Greengrass.”

He sketched her a mocking half-bow and then drew his wand to Disapparate. Astoria stared at the spot he had been, unable to shake the feeling of being lied to somehow.

“He was the one trying to buy the building.” Griselda’s voice was small, and she was twisting the corduroy of her dress in one hand anxiously. “I overheard him when I went downstairs and then I wrote you. Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t thank me.” Astoria felt abruptly tired. “I don’t think I achieved anything.”

“But you scared him off,” Griselda pointed out.

“For now,” said a new voice, crisp and speculative.

Astoria and Griselda turned at the same time to see Anubis Crow walking out of the apothecary. He was carrying a box of potions in one hand, dressed all in black and white as always, a smirk on his face as he approached them.

“How long have you been here?” asked Astoria, raising her wand to cast a quick Privacy Spell around them.

Anubis waved his free hand dismissively. “Long enough. You know you no longer have to protect us poor denizens of Knockturn now that you don’t live here anymore, right?”

“I’m not protecting you.” Astoria rolled her eyes at Griselda, who had squeaked and stepped behind her when Anubis appeared – she had always been scared of him, and he did very little to disabuse her of the notion that he was dangerous. “You don’t even live in our building.”

“And thank Salazar and his great serpent for that,” agreed Anubis solemnly. “Now, about our debt.”

This seemed to break through Griselda’s fear. “What debt?”

Anubis flicked a bored look at her. “None of your concern, Miss Goyle. Run along, now.”

“Don’t tell her what to do,” said Astoria on autopilot, even though Griselda running along was, in fact, what she would have recommended her to do as well, if Anubis hadn’t done it first. “We’ll discuss later.”

“We should discuss now,” Anubis said. “Without… fragile parties nearby.”

His dark gaze shifted pointedly to Griselda for an instant, marking out his disdain. For some reason, this seemed to offend her, because she pulled herself up and visibly marshalled her courage.

“I’m not fragile.” Griselda smoothed down the wrinkle in her dress she had created by her anxious tugging. “And I think we should all be looking out for people like Lockhart. He’s not one of us. We need to protect each other.”

“From a slimy businessman trying to buy a shitty old building?” Anubis leveled a skeptical look at her. “Worse things have occurred in Knockturn Alley than a bit of underhanded business, Miss Goyle. Some of them in that very building you wish to save. Lockhart isn’t a threat.”

“But I think he is,” Griselda insisted, a deep furrow on her brow. She turned to Astoria pleadingly. “Haven’t you seen him before? I think…” Her voice faded away in misery.

Astoria traded a look with Anubis, who returned it blandly but with the same hint of curiosity she felt herself.

“You think what?”

“I think he was Marcus’ friend,” Griselda finished in a whisper. “I think that’s why he’s poking around here.”

“You think he was Marcus Flint’s friend?” repeated Anubis. “Shouldn’t you know one way or another?”

His tone was barbed and Griselda flinched back.

“I don’t know, I just think…”

Astoria sighed. “You know, Griselda, I’m getting a little tired of you knowing things without being able to tell me how you know them. What does Lockhart being Marcus’ friend have to do with anything? Marcus Flint had a lot of friends and a lot of enemies. Any one of his friends could be nosing around here trying to find out what happened. But that doesn’t explain Lockhart trying to buy the building.”

“But it does!” Griselda protested. “Don’t you see – if he buys it, he’ll have an excuse to be in Knockturn! You know people like him don’t ever come here unless they’re buying something shady. But if he has an excuse, he can investigate…” She faltered a little under Anubis and Astoria’s stares. “Doesn’t it make sense?”

“Even if it did,” said Anubis slowly, “what do you expect him to be able to find out? None of us killed Marcus Flint. None of us are werewolves.”

Griselda shivered as his cold words landed in the air between the three of them, then looked around Knockturn Alley, as if expecting a wolf to jump out from between the brick buildings to startle them.

“I just have a bad feeling about him,” she whispered into the quiet.

Astoria had had a deep-seated and unidentifiable suspicion this entire conversation. She moved at this, grabbing Griselda’s arm and turning her so they were eye to eye. Unlike Anubis, Griselda was only a few short inches taller than her, so this was easier than it would have been with most people.

“Griselda,” she said carefully. “If you aren’t just bullshitting this, and you have an actual reason to believe Lyall Lockhart is suspicious, you need to tell me.”

“I don’t have a reason, I just have a feeling!” Griselda seemed close to tears. “I can’t explain it—I don’t even know—”

“The things you do know, Miss Goyle, could fill a children’s coloring book. With some difficulty.” Anubis ignored Astoria’s warning look and continued, “I’m sure Lyall Lockhart seems dangerous to you. A flobberworm in a top hat would seem dangerous to you as well. He is far from the first idiot to swagger in thinking he can reform Knockturn, and he will not be the last.”

“He’s right,” said Astoria with some reluctance. “Lockhart is like every other pureblood brat. He’ll be back and he’ll just try to throw his money around until someone gives him what he wants. If he’s actually investigating the murder, he’s doing a piss poor job of it. Marcus Flint was found way at the back of the Alley.”

“But that’s not where he died,” Griselda murmured, looking up from staring at the ground to both of them. “You know that.”

“We do know that,” agreed Anubis. “And who else knows it?”

Griselda said nothing, just pressed her lips together.

“The Aurors don’t,” Astoria reminded her. “And they won’t find out. And Marcus’ friends never came here for fight club – or did they?” This question she tossed at Anubis, who shrugged.

“I don’t recall Lockhart. One of his friends did come once, though, just to spectate – didn’t bet anything.”

“Which friend?” asked Astoria.

Anubis raised his eyebrows at her. “Come now, Greengrass, you know me better than that. Information always comes with a price.”

Astoria rolled her eyes again, then looked back at Griselda. “Go back home,” she suggested softly. “Or go back to work. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Griselda didn’t seem convinced, and she left rather reluctantly, shooting them both suspicious looks over her shoulder as she went back into Mustardseed’s to finish her shift.

Anubis exhaled once the door closed behind her. “Merlin. Thought she’d never leave us alone. You sure know how to pick your friends, Astoria.”

She ignored this and started walking again, forcing him to keep up with her.

“What do you want, Anubis?”

“Why, you already know what I want. I’m a very predictable man, you know. A little money, a little bit of blood, and I’m happy.”

Astoria sent him a sidelong look. “I already agreed to one fight.”

“One more,” Anubis suggested.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Astoria—”

“I already told you, Anubis,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m out. I’m done with it. I’m only doing this one more fight as a favor to you.”

“I need you.” Anubis’ tone was so plaintive that it made her stop and stare. “You, Marcus, and Daniel were my three best champions. No one else comes close to the three of you. What am I supposed to do now that one is dead and the other is missing?”

“Build up another champion?” she suggested. “Surely you can mess with the books a little.”

He looked offended. “I would never,” he said, although she knew just as well as he did that he would, and did. “I need good fighters. All the other werewolves have been scared away. Quite a few of my regulars were scared away too, with Marcus dying. You’re my last hope for interesting fights.”

“Anubis,” she said with a deep, weary sigh. “I cannot. I’m busy. I have a life. I have two jobs. My mother is running for Minister. I don’t live here anymore, I don’t have the fucking free time to pop in and fight your little wannabe gladiators for you. You and Mortimer need to put your heads together and figure out a plan, because I’m not going to be there to bail you out of this one.”

Anubis frowned at her. “And why not? You certainly show up here often enough to bail out Griselda for every minor little issue. I saw her this morning, running out of her building to go and owl you, you know. You’re her first line of defense. And why do you do it? She’s weak, let her deal with things on her own. If she fails, she fails.”

“I don’t turn my back on my friends,” said Astoria coldly.

Anubis spread his hands. “And I’m not your friend?” he asked. “We’re Knockturn, aren’t we? You and I?”

Astoria smiled humorlessly at him. “I believe it was you who told me, my first month living here, that there are no friends in Knockturn.”

“Come now,” Anubis said with a sigh. “You know that’s not true. We who live here are bonded together. It’s us against the outsiders, remember? We covered for you when your father came asking about you. I healed you myself when you got injured in a fight.”

Astoria stopped at a nearby rickety old bench and propped one foot on it, leaning down to retie her bootlaces.

“And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the years, Anubis. Just as I know you appreciate the same.” She looked at him over the bend of her knee. “But I’m not your champion anymore. You know that time is long past. You’re just trying to hold onto it when you shouldn’t.”

His mouth set in a frustrated line, and then he quirked an eyebrow at her. “So you don’t want more information on Marcus Flint? Or on your werewolf boy?”

Astoria shrugged. “I’ll get it eventually. In fact, I think someone else may know more than you do – a first for Knockturn. But Griselda was right. Lockhart is suspicious. He was lying the whole time he was talking to me.”

Anubis made a face at the idea of anyone, especially Griselda, knowing more about Knockturn than him. “Anyone who comes here is suspicious. She didn’t have any actual reasons, just a feeling.”

“Feelings are powerful,” Astoria pointed out. “And gut instincts are often right. You should know that.”

“I do know that.” Anubis sent her a long look. “And I’ve known men like Lyall Lockhart my whole life. Lying is as natural to them as breathing.”

“Like you?”

“Exactly.” His smile was cold. “He’s not anything special, as far as I can tell. Most of us are better at it than him. Including you.”

Astoria set her foot back down on the ground and then frowned at him. “I agree with you. But Griselda doesn’t usually get freaked out over nothing. I wonder if he did something to her, when she overheard him before. Or maybe she knows him from the pureblood world.”

Anubis shrugged. “Well, one piece of free information, Miss Greengrass – the Lockharts are hardly pureblood. But I assume you knew that.”

“I did.” Astoria crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me which friend of Marcus’ was at fight club?”

“No.”

“What if I find you another champion?”

“And where exactly will you do that?”

Astoria shrugged. “Tell me – you’re not prejudiced against Muggles, are you?”

Anubis blinked in surprise. “Well… not like your family is. But a Muggle wouldn’t be able to come here.”

“Yes, they can,” Astoria corrected. “Any Muggle who is allowed under the Statute of Secrecy to know about magic can come to Diagon and Knockturn.”

“And how will you find a Muggle who is allowed under the Statute to come here?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, once my mother is Minister for Magic,” Astoria pointed out. “And I hate to tell you this, but some of the Muggles I’ve met would clear any of your would-be champions here.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Anubis slowly. “Muggles don’t have magic, so they’re better used to physical violence. Where are you meeting Muggles like this anyway?”

“Here and there.” Astoria smiled. “Just because I quit fight club doesn’t mean I’ve stopped practicing, you know.”

Anubis still looked skeptical. “So that’s your offer. A Muggle champion.”

“You want someone who will shake up the bets, right? What self-respecting wizard would put money on a Muggle to win a fight? You’ll be robbing them blind.”

Anubis did so love to rob people blind, she knew. His eyes lit up at the thought.

“Fine. I still don’t think you can do it, but if that’s your offer, consider me intrigued enough to accept it.” Anubis looked at her speculatively. “And you still owe me a fight.”

“I told you, name the time and date.” Astoria paused, thinking. “And it can’t conflict with my duties for my mother’s campaign.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Anubis dryly.

“Now tell me what you know.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s nothing quite so interesting as Daniel and Marcus exchanging money. The friend who once came to see Marcus at fight club was the Parkinson heir.”

Astoria frowned. “Euan Parkinson?” She’d known the two of them were close, but in all her time in the fight club, she’d never seen Marcus bring a friend there—most people didn’t, it was a strictly Knockturn activity. He would have had to sweettalk Anubis and Mortimer both to convince them to let Euan in.

And Euan had never said or implied anything that he knew the fight club existed. She was fairly sure he hadn’t told the Aurors, either, since they must have questioned him as Marcus’ friend and they hadn’t yet been able to investigate the club.

“Just once,” Anubis confirmed. “In fact… I think it was that day Daniel and Marcus had a fight. A real fight, verbally. Before their match, and before the murder.”

Astoria closed her eyes, sighing deeply. “I’ll talk to Euan. You shouldn’t have let him in.”

“Why not?” Anubis asked, his tone pointed. “We let you in. And Marcus, in fact.”

“Euan’s not like us. He has no loyalty to Knockturn.”

“And you do?”

Astoria spread her arms, frustrated. “If I didn’t, don’t you think I would have told the Aurors everything already, with the way they’ve been hounding me?”

Anubis looked unimpressed by this logic. “You keep a lot of secrets, Astoria. If Lockhart is a pathological liar, you’re a pathological secret-keeper.”

“And, what, you think I’m not loyal to Knockturn?” she demanded. “I won’t keep your secrets?”

“I think you have conflicted loyalties, like any pureblood,” said Anubis blithely. “None of you know what you stand for anymore, not since the war. You proved yourself to Knockturn once, but things can change.” A smile appeared on his face, although it was rather predatory. “And I like you, Astoria. That’s why I let you into the fight club. That’s why I tell you these things. But I know what your world is like. Loyalties shift and change every day. Why do you think Marcus Flint was murdered?”

“You act like you know any more than I do why he was,” Astoria pointed out.

“I don’t know, but I can guess, and so can you.” Anubis’ tone was significant and weighty. “It had to have been one of you, if it wasn’t Daniel. Marcus was intertwined in pureblood society much more than even you are. He kept as many secrets as any of you, possibly more. I’ve seen murders like this before. The causes only seem different on the surface, but deep down, they’re all the same – lies, betrayal, hatred. All things your world has in spare.”

Astoria stared at him, twisting the words through her mind. He was right, but he didn’t know as much as he pretended to, and she knew that. Anubis had eyes and ears everywhere in Knockturn, but if he knew who killed Marcus Flint, he would have done something – even if that was to take a bribe to keep his mouth shut. And she knew everyone here was shaken by the murder, no matter if they pretended not to be.

Reluctantly, she pulled up her last conversation with Olivine and Matthew, and the conclusion they had drawn. You have to find who killed Marcus Flint if you want to clear Daniel’s name.

“Tell me about his mistress,” she said, right before Anubis was about to step away and leave the Privacy Spell. He stopped and turned in mild surprise. “You said he had one. She might know something.”

A small smile curved one side of his mouth. “Ah, I was wondering if you’d remember that. But as it happens, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Last time, he had said it was Knockturn honor why he wasn’t telling her, but Anubis was as much a liar as any of them, and often more…

“Can’t,” Anubis said, and his mouth pulled down, a distinctly sour look overcoming his features. “She’s smarter than I thought. She cursed me.”

Astoria stared at him in shock. “Cursed you?”

“Indeed,” he said grimly. “A Tongue-Tying Jinx. I’m sure you’re familiar.”

She exhaled a laugh. “Anubis, a third year could throw off a Tongue-Tying Jinx—”

He held up a hand. “A jinx, yes, they could. Jinxes are lesser magic than curses, as I’m sure you know. But when you change two of the three fundamentals behind any spell – wand movement, incantation, or intent of power – you can transform a jinx into a hex, or a hex into a curse.” A scowl appeared on his face. “I underestimated her. She put quite a lot of power into it. I cannot even hint at her identity, nor can I act any differently around her. But I can tell you this – she was very much in love with him.”

Astoria rocked back on her heels, mulling this strange twist over. “But crimes of passion exist. And he had a fiancée that he wasn’t about to leave.”

“True enough,” said Anubis, voice neutral.

“And she lives here,” said Astoria slowly. “Or you wouldn’t have found her out in the first place.”

Anubis said nothing, his scowl returning at the thought of the Tongue-Tying Curse upon him. Astoria wondered about it – people in Knockturn were decent with wands, but not generally highly trained. Most of them hadn’t ever gone to Hogwarts, they got homeschooled here in Knockturn. Anubis hadn’t either, but she knew that he was well-read in Dark magic, enough to know the basic magic theories she had learned in her O.W.L year. Turning a jinx into a curse was no small feat. Someone who was Knockturn born and bred would likely have gone for physical violence before magical violence. And with Anubis, everyone knew the best way to keep him quiet was to bribe him.

Her mind drifted to Pansy. Someone who was very much in love with Marcus, who may or may not have been involved with the murder, who had enough power to catch Anubis Crow off-guard and curse him… had she been more right than she knew, when she suggested that Pansy could be in danger?

And if Pansy had killed Marcus, would his mistress want revenge? Or was it the other way around – if the mistress had killed him?

Astoria frowned, frustrated. There were so many tangles here, and she had never been involved in Marcus Flint’s life and love affairs. When she had met him in the fight club arena, neither of them had mentioned the other world they shared. She had never liked him, but she had also never really paid attention to him.

But if she wanted her best friend back, safe and alive and not on trial for murder, she had to figure this out.

“Thanks, Anubis,” she said out loud. “I’ll see you around.”

“Next weekend,” he said, and smiled when she looked at him. “For your fight. Friday night. Be there.”

There was no implied threat, because he knew as well as she did that she would keep her word. Astoria gave him a half-sarcastic salute and let him walk out of her Privacy Spell, back to Niffler’s Necropolis, whistling a half-familiar tune that often played at the White Wyvern on the nights when Elendine turned on the jukebox.

Training her horses managed to occupy Astoria’s fragmented thoughts for the rest of the late morning into early afternoon, until it was already time for the Macmillan town hall that she had honestly been considering if she could somehow skip. Prudence and past experience and logic all told her that she should not, though, unless she wanted Daphne to show up at Queen’s Lodge and hex all her horses so they could never fly again. Which wasn’t something she would put past her older sister.

So it was only with mild reluctance – because she also knew Daphne, even if she really was sick, would somehow figure out if she hadn’t been on her best behavior – that she dressed in the outfit her sister had chosen for her and Apparated to the Falmouth’s training field to watch whatever spectacle the Macmillan campaign had come up with.

She was only a little surprised to find the town hall quite crowded. The bleachers on one side of the Quidditch pitch were filled with people – some ordinary, apparently regular wizards and witches who made up Macmillan’s base or perhaps swing voters, and some quite famous faces indeed. Macmillan himself was on the grass, standing on a podium, with both his sons and his new wife and daughter sitting nearby, along with some members of his team. All of them were dressed professionally, him and his sons in sharp suits, his wife in a long yellow dress, and their five-year-old daughter in pink. Nobody else was wearing suits though, luckily, although most people were dressed smartly and more of the witches were wearing dresses than casual clothes.

She suspected Daphne had given her something overly fancy just because her sister could never not be the best-dressed in a room, but that was only to be expected.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice that interrupted her search for a seat near someone who wouldn’t be likely to speak to her was male, Irish, and distinctly suspicious. Astoria took a second to curse whatever higher power kept forcing her into close encounters with Aurors, then turned and smiled at Seamus Finnigan.

“I was sent here by a great Seer in search of a wizard wearing the most atrociously green shirt ever made in hopes that he could guide me to the convention for idiots. Is that you?”

Finnigan glanced down at his Kenmare Kestrals shirt under his jacket, then back up at her with a scowl.

“Seamus,” interrupted Bethany Abbott, stepping out of the bleachers to stop him from making a scene. “The Greengrass campaign is meant to send representatives to all of our events.” She paused, looking over at Astoria, and frowned a little. “Although I expected your sister.”

“I’ll let her know you missed her,” said Astoria dryly.

Finnigan snorted, presumably at the thought that anyone could miss Daphne. “All the better,” he muttered to Abbott. “At least this one’s not psycho.”

Abbott smiled in an abstracted manner and gestured for him to go past her into the bleachers, where he could take a seat next to some of their other friends, although she stopped where she was, still watching Astoria.

“You can sit with us if you like,” she offered at last, in an uncertain show of extending an olive branch.

“Really? I think your friends might combust if they have to breathe the same air as a Greengrass for very long.”

Abbott’s smile turned into a slight grimace. “Maybe. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Daniel—”

“No,” said Astoria flatly.

“It’s not about the case,” Abbott said. “I was thinking about what you said before.”

“I don’t care.” Astoria cast her gaze around the pitch, filling up with audience members, and one of the campaign staffers stepping up to quiet everyone down on the podium. “Anything about Daniel becomes about your stupid case, and I don’t need an apology or an explanation or whatever you want to say.”

Abbott rocked back on her heels, her face furrowed in lines of deep thought. Astoria wondered how much she really needed to think about how to get someone to give over information; if it always took her this long, it was no wonder they hadn’t solved the case yet.

But she wasn’t prepared for Abbott’s next question.

“Did he have a girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Daniel,” said Abbott in a tone of patient clarification. “Was he ever with someone?”

Astoria opened, then closed her mouth, then opened it again.

“Why, are you interested?”

Abbott sighed. “No, I’m only wondering—”

“Because of the case, right?” Astoria asked. “What, you think he’s hiding out with a secret girlfriend, since he’s not with me? I’m amazed you lot ever solve any murder cases, the way you’re investigating this one.”

“Do you not know or are you just being intentionally obtuse?” demanded Abbott.

“Pick your poison,” Astoria suggested. “Now if you’ll excuse me, the event is starting, and I would hate to miss any of Macmillan’s speech. I’m sure it will be riveting.”

Abbott frowned. “Astoria, I don’t think you understand how serious this is—”

“If this is so serious, what are you two Aurors doing at a campaign event rather than working the case?” Astoria glanced around pointedly at the general atmosphere of buzzy cheer, which did not very well induce good detective work. “Is Potter here, too? Oh, wait, yes, he is.” He was sitting further down in the bleachers, talking with Weasley – Granger was missing, probably out with her work as usual.

“We are working,” Abbott snapped, and Astoria awarded herself a mental point for getting her to break from her placid, polite persona. The Bethany Abbott she knew from Hogwarts was not even close to being placid or polite most times. In fact, she probably had gotten into more fights than Astoria had at one point. But she supposed being an Auror amounted to being a political figure in today’s climate.

“And so am I.” Astoria cast her gaze up and then down the bleachers, and finally spotted a row with minimal people on it, just a couple with a small child who would likely take all their attention and leave none for her. “See you around, Abbott.”

She turned and climbed down the stairs to the semi-empty bench she’d found, arranging herself with the kind of cold uptightness that Daphne always used to make people stop bothering her, and tuned in on the podium where someone was introducing Macmillan. Her sister would want detailed notes on what was said, even if it wasn’t important, so she had to let the anxiety fizzing in the back of her mind stay there for at least an hour.

Then she would have time enough to wonder why Bethany Abbott and the Aurors were looking into Daniel’s love life.

Macmillan yammered on about Muggleborn rights, lowering taxes, the new Department of Magical Culture, and increasing welfare for a full forty-five minutes and only stopped right before the point where Astoria would normally have begun planning either a suicide or a homicide. Lucky that he did, because even as waves of cheers swept up through the bleachers, Astoria could tell that the couple nearby her was about to Apparate away, as their small child was sick of being here, and so were a few other people.

She got up and stepped out to the staircase, sliding deftly around the people attempting to head down to the pitch – some wanted Macmillan’s autograph or to talk to him, others were simply hanging around, as his team had ordered pizza and were handing it out on the field as thanks for attending the town hall.

 There were reporters on the field as well, some with huge cameras, some with quills busily scribbling away notes, and most of them asking questions as they gathered around Macmillan and his family. His daughter – she was only about five, so could be excused for it – started to cry at the attention and her mother quickly swept her up and then handed her off to a house elf that had just appeared to take care of her.

Astoria raised her eyebrows, mentally noting that down as something to tell Daphne. Of course, a family as old and pureblood as the Macmillans would have kept their house elf, even after the House Elf Reform Ordinance was passed a couple of years ago, and probably wouldn’t quibble too much about having to pay them fair wages and give them days off, either. But from what she knew, Macmillan’s new wife was a Muggleborn witch, and part of his image branding had been about how modern his family was since she’d married in, as opposed to his ex-wife, who was both pureblood and apparently hated him.

But his Muggleborn bride – who was, Astoria noticed, maybe ten years older than the eldest of his sons – seemed perfectly content with letting house elves take care of her child, even though that was quite an old-fashioned way to raise a household.

It wasn’t really her business, but it was the kind of thing Daphne liked to know so she could use it against people later on. Astoria caught Ethan’s eye and saw him grimace at some question that had been shouted at them, but figured it was better to not speak to him in public. She got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to where the audience members were slowly drifting off to Apparate away in peace, when someone stopped her.

“Surprised to see you here,” said Potter, appearing nearby with the kind of casualness that Astoria suspected meant he had planned it. He often did this, and she didn’t know how other people didn’t notice. “How are your sisters?”

Astoria stared at him for a moment, before reminding herself that he was one of the only two people privy to the real reason she had danced with him at the dinner party last night. And he had done her a favor so she probably shouldn’t snap at him to start off with.

“You’d know more about Penelope than me,” she pointed out instead, taking two steps back so she was out of the line of a small family bustling through. The parents stopped and sent curious looks at the two of them, but Potter ignored them with the same ease she did. “Daphne’s fine.”

“That’s good.” Potter moved so they were both standing apart from the deluge of people, his green eyes searching. “How are you?”

“Well, I just had to suffer a political speech on Muggleborn rights for almost an hour, so it’s not one of my better days,” said Astoria lightly. “How come your whole team gets a full weekend off to attend these events?”

Potter smiled faintly. “We’re not off, this is work. There’s a lot of people who’d want to do harm to Macmillan and his family.”

“We don’t get Aurors at our events.”

“Your mother hires private security,” he rejoined. “She seems to trust them more than Aurors.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she said. “Do you set up at Olivine’s campaign events, too?”

He looked curiously at her. “I didn’t know you were friends with her,” he said instead of answering the question. She suspected the answer was no, and that the only reason such high-profile Aurors got to work Macmillan events was because Ernie pulled some strings.

“Anaïs is one of my regular youth riders,” Astoria said, glancing around and away from him. On the podium, Ernie Macmillan was getting heated at something a reporter had just said to his stepmother. “One of the better ones, too, although that might be because she’s a werewolf and better at understanding animals.”

“You get a lot of kids at your stables?” he asked in what seemed like genuine interest.

“Most riders start young, so yes.” She paused, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” Potter lifted his hands slightly in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. His wand, she noticed, was hidden up the sleeve of his jacket, one flick and slide away from being in his palm at all times. “I didn’t think you would like spending so much time with kids.”

Astoria took a moment to decide she ought to take offense to that.

“I like kids, as a matter of fact,” she told him loftily. “Much better than adults usually. They’re smarter, for one thing.”

Potter smiled. “Can’t argue there.” His gaze drifted off to the small gaggle around the podium, Macmillan and his wife posing for photographs, Ernie still sending daggers at whatever reporter had pissed him off earlier, and Ethan… was not there.

“Hello,” said Potter, noticing him first.

Astoria spun around to see Ethan standing behind her, looking unusually grave. His eyes flickered between her and Potter, then settled on her.

“Hi,” he said in a perfunctory gesture at both of them. “Can we talk?”

“Me or her?” asked Potter, sounding vaguely amused.

Astoria prayed to whatever god wasn’t watching over her that Ethan wasn’t stupid enough to ask to speak to her alone in front of Potter, who was already suspicious of everything she’d ever said, ever.

“Her,” said Ethan, dashing all her prayers away. “Alone. Please,” he added last-minute to Astoria.

Potter sent Astoria an inscrutable look, then waved his hand, carefully stepping back from the two of them and then melting into the oncoming crowd of people filtering out from the bleachers, finding Weasley somewhere in the throngs of people.

Astoria stared at his retreating back, then turned to favor Ethan a cool glare.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Potter already thinks we’re hiding things about Daniel from him, he’s only going to think that more—”

Ethan was studiously ignoring her, waving his wand in a familiar three whisks and a circle pattern, muttering a spell under his breath. A Privacy Spell settled over both of them and she glared harder at him for have the audacity to make things seem even more suspicious, not that he seemed to care.

“It’s not about Daniel,” he said, forestalling her before she could snap again. “So it doesn’t really matter if Potter thinks it is, does it? I don’t have any information I’m not sharing with him.”

Astoria frowned. “Then what is it about?”

Ethan paced the edges of their Privacy Spell, short quick steps one way and then the other.

“Look, you told me to look into Daniel’s disappearance and rumors around the Ministry, so I did. And I didn’t find anything, nobody there would know – makes sense, since Daniel never really got along with Ministry types. But then I started asking about Marcus Flint. Do you know what his business was about?”

“Dragon breeding,” she said. “The Flint family runs a fighter dragon farm in England, they breed them and export them out overseas.”

“Right.” Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll of parchment. “They don’t do a lot of business in Britain, because of dragon sports being outlawed here. So I tried finding any records involving their farm in the Ministry, and there weren’t a lot, apart from their licenses and zoning and some stuff with the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. But there was something else. And I think you should know about this, if you don’t already.”

He unrolled the scroll and presented it to her. “I copied this from the Minister’s Law Officers’ Department. Records dating back to the end of the war, which was about when Marcus took over the family business.”

Astoria looked over the official-looking notes written on the parchment, etched in the neat, distinct handwriting of a Ministry official quill, which would take notes for their owners at the sound of their voices. She knew well what Ministry official documents looked like, from years learning about…

“My father,” she murmured, her heart stopping at one of the names listed on the parchment. Hector A. Greengrass, under a list of sponsors of the Flint family farm. “He was doing business with Marcus Flint.”

The words came out of her as solid statements of fact, but they left a deep uneasiness in her stomach. Astoria looked back up at Ethan.

“What does this have to do with the murder?”

Ethan’s face was wide-eyed and serious. “Astoria, if they think you’re hiding Daniel and then they find out your father was involved in Marcus Flint’s company – a company that’s up for grabs right now, since Drusilla, I heard, doesn’t want it, and his parents don’t want to hand it off to a cousin – and knowing that your father left you Queen’s Lodge against pureblood inheritance custom…”

Astoria squeezed her eyes shut as the connections Ethan had already drawn came clear to her.

“They’re going to think I used Daniel to kill him to get his company?” It sounded ridiculous as she said it out loud, but Aurors had believed more ridiculous things than that in the not so recent past.

“If not you, then someone. I mean, look at the names on here – I don’t recognize all of them, maybe you do. But I know the Aurors have been fighting your family lawyer to get a warrant so that you’ll have to talk to them, and if they find this out…”

She paused, thinking over her options. “Why haven’t they found this out? Potter and his gang are usually pretty thorough.”

Ethan half-smiled suddenly. “Well, I copied this a few days ago… I might not have been careful about replacing the original where it should be.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Isn’t that obstruction of justice or whatever? Abbott’s always rabbiting on about it.”

Ethan’s smile faded into a frown. “If they find out, I’m going to be in a lot of trouble. But you’ll be in worse trouble, so…”

Astoria folded up the parchment and slid into the pocket of her dress that contained her wand.

“Thanks, Ethan,” she said genuinely. “I appreciate it. And I’ll deal with it.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot anxiously. “Deal with it how?”

“I don’t know yet.” Astoria pressed her lips together. “I’m going to start by investigating Dad’s records. He doesn’t give money to just any old pureblood family friend. Marcus or his father must have given him a good reason to do it. Or, no—it must have been Marcus, the document says it only started after Marcus took over the business. Which is weird, because if Dad was going to donate to anyone, it would be more likely to be his friend, not his friend’s son. But then…”

“It’s Marcus Flint,” Ethan reminded her. “Can’t rule out bribery or blackmail.”

Astoria sighed. “True enough. Thanks for bringing this to me. And… for not telling Potter.”

He shrugged. “You’re my friend. And I want us to find Daniel before they do.”

She crossed her arms, gazing out beyond the boundary of their Privacy Spell – to everyone else, they would just be a patch of invisible air, as if Disillusioned, but she could see the people around them clearly. Potter was still there, him and Weasley at the podium discussing something with Ernie. Abbott and Finnigan were around the edges, doing crowd control.

“You’re more plugged in to the Ministry side of things than I am,” said Astoria, nodding her head at the assortment of Aurors on duty. “Do you think they’re going to arrest him straight up if they find him?”

“No,” said Ethan, rolling his sleeves up and joining her in looking over at his Dumbledore’s Army friends. “Harry’s not like that, you know. But I know he’s their only serious suspect right now. And if they bring a werewolf in for questioning, with all the rumors flying around about who or what mauled Marcus to death, and the fact that Flints already want the murderer’s head on a pike…”

Astoria was able to imagine that circus with very little effort. The public pressure that would mount for an arrest even if all Potter did was bring Daniel in for questioning—she only hoped he really was hiding, and hiding well, and wasn’t currently kidnapped somewhere. But any possibility seemed grim.

Ethan waved his wand to dissipate the Privacy Spell.

“By the way,” he asked casually, turning back to her, “what’s going on with you and Potter?”

Astoria sent him a sharp look. “What?”

He gestured absently between where she was standing and Potter several yards away. “I mean, you danced with him at the party yesterday, and I have never seen you willingly dance with anyone at one of those Ministry functions ever in my life.”

“I wouldn’t call it willingly,” Astoria muttered. “And I trust it’ll be in tomorrow’s papers, so you can read about it then.”

“Really?” Ethan asked, sounding amused. “I just gave you a heads up on your family’s involvement in a dead man’s business and you’re not even going to tell me why you danced with Harry Potter?”

“You are such a fucking gossip hound,” Astoria said, rolling her eyes. “Salazar help me. I only danced with him so the reporters there wouldn’t pay attention to my sisters getting into a fight. And it worked. They must have taken, like, fifty pictures of us, and they’ll all be front page news tomorrow if Isabelle Rookwood has anything to say about it.”

“Oh.” Ethan absorbed this quietly. “That was stupid of you.”

She elbowed him in the side, but he only winced slightly and continued.

“I mean, it was. Do you have any idea how the press treats any girl Harry Potter is romantically linked with? Since he broke up with Ginny Weasley, I mean. It’s insane. He never even goes on any public dates or anything because of how they are. It’ll be just story after story casting aspersions on your life, personality, family tree, everything.”

“You should be thanking me,” Astoria pointed out. “Now they won’t give a flying Fwooper about you and me.”

 “I guess, but this isn’t better for you.”

“Most things aren’t,” she agreed, watching Potter as he ran a hand through his hair and then set off with Weasley for the perimeters of the field. The crowd had dwindled enough that you could hear small pops of Apparation happening at a lower frequency than the fifteen minutes prior. “I do create most of my problems myself.”

“I guess you do.” Ethan looked at her sidelong. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground. You know, I don’t think Daniel did it but have you considered…”

“That he might have been forced?” Astoria’s mouth twisted. “I have.”

He nodded, letting that thought lie there, sickening and unpleasant. “I’ll write you if I hear anything.”

“Thanks,” she said, and Ethan tossed her a wave before heading back to his family, ignoring his brother’s suspicious looks and, from what she could tell, low-voiced inquiry about where he had been and with whom.

At least she had one ally in this mess, Astoria thought with a sigh, reaching into her pocket to curl her fingers around both wand and parchment. And what her father had to do with things, she couldn’t imagine, but at least now, with her position on the campaign, she had reason enough to be sneaking around Summerstone hiding from her mother’s watchful eye so she could investigate whatever the fuck this was.

She turned on her heel and Apparated away, back to her childhood home to figure out exactly why her father had started sponsoring a dragon breeding empire in the last few years of his life.

Chapter Text

Summerstone House awoke at precisely six o’clock in the morning, much to Astoria’s dismay. Although her mother lived alone, she kept two house elves and a number of human servants on hand to take care of the estate, and with the campaign running, the entire household was up early, preparing Delia Greengrass for her Monday morning appointments and event plans.

Astoria wasn’t a stranger to waking up early, since she often did at Queen’s Lodge, but it was quite trippy to be awoken by noises outside her childhood bedroom at the age of twenty-three. She hadn’t wanted to risk upsetting Daphne further by going back to the guest room her sister had offered her to stay in London, though, so she’d slept at Summerstone overnight.

Although ‘slept’ was a bit of an overstatement, since she’d spent most of the night rooting through her father’s old office and all his files, and hadn’t managed to fall asleep until 2 a.m.

“Mistress Astoria?” Forrell the house elf poked his head into her room, making her jump. “Your mother is calling for you, ma’am, down in the drawing room. It is being about the campaign. Please hurry.”

Astoria sighed and waved a dismissal at him. Forrell popped away, leaving her to get dressed and trudge across her and Daphne’s wing of the house, all the way to the main floor and down to the drawing room, where her mother awaited her, along with several campaign staffers.

“Ah, Astoria, you’re up, thank goodness,” said Delia, gesturing her to come sit on a sofa next to two of the other workers. “Your sister hasn’t messaged me yet this morning, I fear she is still unwell. I will need you to look over these interview requests, sort them appropriately, and then run them over to her to double check.”

Astoria frowned as one of the workers plopped a pile of letters in front of her. “Daphne’s still not feeling well?”

“She’s been ill since the party.” Delia whisked her wand and Summoned another pile of papers over to herself, which she glanced through and then levitated to a different campaign staffer to look through. “I trust you can handle this task.”

Normally Astoria would have bitten back at the sarcasm in her mother’s tone, but she was still confused. Daphne never got sick. She’d assumed, yesterday, that it was just an excuse to not have to see Astoria after what had happened at the dinner party. And why wasn’t her mother upset with her? Surely, what had happened at the party was in today’s Daily Prophet. Had it not been delivered yet?

When her mother was distracted by some question someone was asking her, Astoria leaned over to the girl working next to her and asked quietly, “Has today’s Prophet come in yet?”

“What?” The girl blinked at her, as if not expecting to be spoken to. “Oh—yes, it has. Nothing very interesting in it, though. Just a rundown of the debate and the Macmillan town hall.”

Astoria frowned. That didn’t make any sense, either. Or at least, it certainly didn’t sound like the intrepid reporters of the Daily Prophet to not add anything splashy and scandalous to their stories.

The girl resumed her work, clearly not thinking this was a conversation worth happening. Astoria returned to her own pile of letters, more confused now than she had been before.

Around 7 in the morning, Delia called the house elves to serve breakfast. Astoria took the opportunity to get to her feet, despite the fact that she had retained none of the information included in the letters she was meant to be going over.

“I left something at my room in Daphne’s house,” she said to her mother. “I’ll just go check on her while I’m there.”

Delia waved a hand dismissively, absorbed in her own readings of poll numbers. Astoria left the room quickly before her mother could reconsider, grabbing a handful of Floo powder on her way out and heading to the fireplace in the main living room.

The drawing room of Daphne’s house swirled into existence around her as she stepped out of the fireplace. It was quiet, green curtains fluttering lightly at the movement of Astoria appearing in the room. Nobody was there, which was also unusual. Daphne often hosted people over, whether it was for the campaign or part of her social rounds. Maybe she really was sick.

Her office was likewise empty. All her papers were locked away, as they would be if Daphne weren’t home. The calendar wall offered her nothing – there was no event scheduled for her sister today, nothing to say where she might be. Astoria studied the calendar, taking in all the carefully-noted dates and timings of events, then drew her wand.

“Inveniro.”

Her wand twirled around in her hand on its own, a soft yellow light emanating from it, and then, picking up on her thoughts of Daphne, it pointed down, beneath her feet. The glowing light pulsed once, twice, three times, and then Astoria cancelled the spell.

After the war, when Daphne had been on house arrest at Summerstone, she had told her sisters that she never wanted to be stuck at home with nothing to do ever again. When she’d been allowed to move out, she’d bought an old house on the outskirts of London and set about on a two-year remodeling and redecoration journey, which had transformed the slightly ramshackle old Muggle house into the luxurious, modern home it was now.

But her sister had created more than just a house, she’d wanted a sanctum. Astoria found the hidden door to the basement, behind the bookshelves of Daphne’s living room – featuring a carefully curated selection of pureblood authors writing on subjects ranging from history, magical theory, and feminism in the pureblood world – and descended down the stairs. Most people didn’t know this part of the house existed – she wagered, in fact, that even her mother didn’t know.

The stairs ended in a small room, with just one door in front of her. Astoria knocked twice, then tried the handle. The metal glowed slightly pink under her touch, then swung open for her – Daphne must have placed a blood-lock on it so that only her closest family could get in.

Behind the door was what could only be described as an underground conservatory, although it was rather more grand and magical than even most wizarding conservatories. The walls were made of glittering stained glass, which showed off flickering scenes of natural beauty rather than the underground of Daphne’s house. Vines crept artistically over the stained glass, dark green across scenes of red, yellow, and blue. Pressed next to the windows, growing in carefully-cultivated patterns, were all sorts of flowers, on bushes and on trees, creating an aesthetically pleasing array of rainbow flora.

In the middle of the room was an iron and glass table, with four chairs around it, but Daphne wasn’t there. She was way at the other end, tucked up on a bay window seat, reading a book. Astoria could see a copy of The Daily Prophet discarded on the table as she passed it.

“Hi, Astoria,” said Daphne as she approached, as if she’d been expecting her. “How are you?”

Astoria stared at her older sister for a long moment.

“How am I?” she repeated. “How are you?”

Daphne looked up from her book, blinking. Her hair was surprisingly curly today – not as much as Astoria’s, since she’d been using straightening charms on it since she was about fourteen years old, but enough that it was clear she hadn’t done much to it today. She’d swept up in a bun to read, loose golden curls escaping onto her face. Since it was Daphne, she managed to look like a painting anyways.

“I’m much better, thanks.” She sounded surprised that Astoria should even need to ask. “I just needed a day on my own, without dealing with the campaign. How was the town hall?”

“What?” Astoria shook her head, feeling like she was having a prank played on her. “No. Rewind. What are you doing down here?”

“Reading.”

“Why?” asked Astoria with greatly forced patience. “You told Mother you were sick.”

“I was.”

“You don’t look sick.”

Daphne frowned a little, sliding a wooden bookmark into place and putting the book away – Blood and Diamonds: Witches in the Royal Family, she noticed, a slim little dark purple book.

“I wasn’t myself at the dinner party. I need a day to recover. Mother understands.”

“Recover from what?” Astoria demanded. “Getting in a fight with Penelope?”

Daphne’s grey eyes hardened, but she said nothing.

Astoria sighed and crossed the space between them, forcing Daphne to scoot over on the bay window so she could sit down next to her sister.

“Are you going to tell me what really had you so upset you called out of work for two days – something you never do, by the way?”

A small smile played on Daphne’s lips, although it was rather humorless.

“I won’t deny the fight was upsetting,” she said. “I thought – I thought Penelope ought to prioritize us, her family, over anything else, but she obviously doesn’t agree. That was all.”

She said it so clinically. Astoria stared at her, struggling to read the inscrutable emotions in her older sister’s expression. Once, when they were younger, she had known Daphne like the back of her hand. They did everything together – played together, fought together, teamed up against their older sisters together. Learned to fly together, ran around in the Summerstone gardens together. She’d known about Daphne’s first crush on a sixth year Slytherin boy when she was thirteen, learned about getting her period from hushed whispers under Daphne’s bedcovers, taken her side in every blow-up argument against Pansy or Millicent or Tracey.

But now, she was a closed book. Whatever deep wounds were festering in her sister – in all her sisters – Astoria couldn’t seem to get past to help them heal rather than scab over.

“Okay,” she said slowly, because a Slytherin always knew when to strategically retreat from a conversation or a negotiation that was going nowhere. “Have you spoken to anyone else yet today? Or have you just been locked up in here the whole time?”

“Don’t be silly, of course I have,” said Daphne, sounding so much like her old, breezy, calm and collected self, that Astoria wondered whether she’d imagined all her sister’s vulnerability two nights ago. “Dilly’s been around, of course. I can call her for tea if you’d like. And Blaise came by yesterday.”

“How is Blaise?”

“Fine.” Daphne drew her wand and Summoned the copy of the Prophet on her garden table. “He told me about what you did, by the way.”

“Oh. Right.” Astoria eyed the newspaper warily. “How many different ways did Isabelle Rookwood call me a slut, then?”

Daphne offered her the paper. “None, in fact.”

This stumped her more than her sister’s attitude. Astoria looked at the front page, disbelieving, but in fact, it had nothing to do with her. The headline was about the debate, accompanied by a picture of her mother, Macmillan, and Olivine at their podiums, followed by a densely-written article detailing all the points the debate had covered.

“What?”

She took the paper from Daphne and began flicking through the pages. There were lots of random little stories, the usual Prophet fluff pieces, gossip headlines – and then, way back on Page 5, she saw a half-page dedicated to Harry Potter’s night at the dinner party, who he had spoken to and who he had danced with.

She was the only person he had danced with that night. Of course, she thought, she knew that – he had said as much to her, that he never danced with girls if he could help it because of what would inevitably happen to them because of it. The article had been written by Isabelle Rookwood, as she had been the reporter on the scene, but it contained little of her usual barbed notes and stingers casting aspersions on her subjects’ character and history. It stated that they had danced, but didn’t even include a picture, although she knew for a fact that the photographer had taken photographs.

The only picture accompanying it was one of Potter, Weasley, and Granger, talking with each other, nothing salacious at all.

Astoria frowned and began flipping through again, faster, searching for something, anything about Daphne and Penelope. Had Rookwood decided that was, in fact, a juicier story than her dance with Potter? It was hard to think of why she had done that, but maybe…

But there was nothing about them either.

“I don’t understand.” Astoria looked back up at her sister, baffled. “I did that to take the attention away from you, and then – it doesn’t even achieve that? Did I not even need to do it?”

Daphne shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not at all like Isabelle Rookwood to let something like that go. If she smelled blood in the water, she would have pounced. Even if she hadn’t—remember that hit piece she did on Bethany Abbott, when it was rumored she was dating Potter? And she’s done it to a few other girls before, too, after he broke up with Weasley. But maybe something happened, or she changed her mind, or she couldn’t dig up enough information on you to make it worth it.”

“That also doesn’t make sense.” Astoria began going through the paper again, this time more slowly. “She had a hit piece on me. The stupid story about me and Ethan. All she’d had to do was combine that with this and paint me out to be some cheating harlot, leading on two boys to make one of them jealous. It’s the kind of shit she would eat up.”

“Well, just don’t look a gift hippogriff in the mouth,” suggested Daphne. “Better for our campaign that she didn’t write any of that, so don’t go giving her ideas. And please never do anything as stupid as dancing with Harry Potter ever again.”

Astoria sent her a sidelong glare. “I did that for you.”

“I know.” Daphne smiled a little. “And I appreciate it. Now, shall I call Dilly to make tea? Or breakfast, if you haven’t eaten yet?”

Astoria was in no mood for tea, although she should probably eat breakfast, but before she could answer, a distant chiming sound was heard.

Daphne stood, a small frown on her face. “That must be the Floo for a call. But I’m not expecting anyone today.”

Astoria shrugged, set the Prophet aside, and followed her sister through the basement conservatory and back up to her drawing room, where the fireplace was flashing green flames for an incoming call.

Daphne answered it. “Hello?”

“Daphne?” came a muffled, semi-familiar voice in distinct notes of panic and worry. “Can you let me through, please? Something’s come up. It’s urgent.”

Trading confused glances with her sister, Daphne pulled back and pointed her wand at the fireplace, opening it up for Floo connections. The flames brightened and blazed green and then a tall, lanky figure stepped through.

“What’s going on?” asked Daphne.

Joshua Goldstein straightened up, brushing green ashes off his neatly-pressed suit. His face was lined in discomfort and annoyance, and looked almost apologetic as he met Daphne and then Astoria’s gazes. He was, she could admit, rather handsome for pushing forty, with a well-trimmed beard, close-cropped dark hair, and brown eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses—but she still found it difficult to believe he had ever pulled her sister.

There was no hint of his and Daphne’s past history now, though. He grimaced as he glanced between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, which was hardly an auspicious way to start things. “I’d been working on preventing them from getting a warrant to talk to you, Astoria, but, well—Head Auror Robards just confirmed one.”

Daphne was stiff with concern but Astoria had honestly kind of expected this to happen earlier.

“So they want to talk to me?” she asked. “Well, that’s fine, I—”

“No,” Joshua interrupted. “They don’t. They want to speak to you, Daphne.”

For a moment, there was a silence so deep, you could have heard a pin drop in the drawing room.

Daphne’s eyes had gone very wide. “Me? For what?”

“On the Marcus Flint investigation,” said Joshua. “Obviously, I’ll be with you the whole time, but they want you in there now. I was just able to convince them that I would come fetch you, rather than them bursting in through your door themselves. I figured you wouldn’t want to let Potter and the others invade your home.”

“Wait,” said Astoria, looking back and forth between her frozen sister and Joshua, who showed no signs of lying. “What do you mean they want to talk to Daphne? Why?”

“They’ve identified her as a person of interest and want to ask her some questions.” Joshua sighed, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “It is just questions, not an arrest. But they’re insisting. I need to take you to their interview room as soon as possible. If I take too long, they might send an Auror here anyway.”

“But what reason could they possibly have to think Daphne is a person of interest?” Astoria asked, thinking wildly. But very little could connect Daphne to Marcus Flint, she thought – well, she had been helping to plan his wedding, yes, and of course, she was connected to Astoria who they knew was connected to Daniel, but surely that would mean they’d want to talk to her, not to her sister?

“They didn’t include that in the warrant, funnily enough,” said Joshua dryly. “Don’t worry, Daphne, I’ll be there the whole time. Come on.”

He reached for Daphne’s arm, but Astoria interposed herself between them, since Daphne still seemed too shocked to stand up for herself.

“I’m coming with you, then,” she said decisively.

Joshua frowned at her. “They won’t let you sit in.”

“I don’t care,” said Astoria, although she was already planning lines of attack to use to convince Potter and the Aurors to let her do exactly that. “I want to be there. Take us both.”

“All right,” said Joshua dubiously. “Let’s go, then.”

Daphne took Astoria’s hand and clenched it tight as Joshua went for the bag of Floo powder hanging from the fireplace.

“Don’t tell Mother,” she whispered furiously. “We can’t let this get out.”

Of course, even upon being informed she was wanted for questioning in a violent murder, Daphne could only think of the campaign. Astoria stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” she said with an assurance she didn’t necessarily feel, watching Joshua disappear through the flames into the Auror office. “They have nothing on you.”

But she wasn’t so sure, even as she and Daphne went through the fireplace together – Potter was smart, smarter than most people gave him credit for. And so was Abbott; Astoria remembered that from school. If they wanted to talk to Daphne, they surely had a reason.

The Auror office took up most of Level Two of the Ministry of Magic. Astoria was familiar enough with it; her father had taken all his daughters to work at the Ministry when they were younger, and it wasn’t too much changed from back then. It was a wide, spacious room full of cubicles where Aurors sat, doing research or paperwork or Merlin knows what. There were doors all around the edges, leading to various offices and training rooms, and a few set out just for interviews.

They passed the closed door of the Head Auror’s office on the way to one of the interview rooms. Astoria glanced through the closed blinds, but they gave nothing away.

Joshua knocked on a door. It was opened by Bethany Abbott in her Auror robes, her gaze sharpening as she looked from him, to Daphne, to Astoria.

“We only wanted Daphne,” she said.

“Astoria wanted to wait out here for her sister,” said Joshua.

Like hell she would. Astoria stepped forward with a squeeze of Daphne’s hand to start her argument for why she should be allowed in the room—

When Potter appeared behind Abbott, pulling the door further open. His eyes met Astoria’s and a hint of challenge flickered over his face.

“You can all come in,” he said, overriding Abbott who turned to stare at him in alarm. “It’s just questions,” he added lightly. “She’s not in any trouble.”

“Yet,” muttered Finnigan, lounging on a sofa chair inside the room as the three of them entered slowly. Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, but he ignored her.

The interview room was a comfortable place, not at all a scary interrogation cell like she’d thought it might be. There was a table in the center, set out with a vase of flowers, a coffee table book about wizarding art, and a tray of tea. There were two chairs on either side; Abbott took one and Finnigan stood to take the one next to her. Joshua sat across from Abbott, which left Daphne to sit in front of Finnigan.

Clearly, the room had been designed for two Aurors, a suspect, and a lawyer. Astoria stood at the front of the room, wondering if she could just pick a spot for optimization of glaring at Abbott and Finnigan, but Potter waved her over to a couch squished next to a counter that held a coffee maker and a small icebox as well as assorted snacks and books in the cabinets above it. It was side-adjacent to the table, so they would both have a good view of everyone’s faces.

“Is this allowed?” she asked him skeptically. “Six people in an interrogation room?”

Potter shrugged.

“Oh, I forgot, rules don’t apply to you.”

Abbott had a Ministry official quill charmed and ready to take notes. “Please state your full name and age for the record.”

“Daphne Berenice Greengrass,” said her sister in the prim, proper tones that meant she had gone fully over to classic pureblood speech patterns. “Age twenty-five.”

“House and profession?”

“Slytherin. Public relations specialist.”

Finnigan snorted at this but said nothing. Daphne ignored the sound with dignity.

“Can you tell us your relationship with Pansy Parkinson?” asked Abbott.

Daphne blinked at her. Joshua, too, stirred as if he wasn’t expecting the question. The three Aurors remained unfazed, but Astoria sat back in her seat, running her gaze over the scene in front of her and ignoring Potter’s presence next to her. Why would they ask about Pansy?

“She’s my friend,” said Daphne after exchanging a glance with Joshua, who nodded for her to go on. “She’s been my friend since we were young. We were homeschooled together, before Hogwarts.”

“Got it.” Abbott watched her quill take the notes for a moment, then turned back to Daphne. “And what was your relationship to Marcus Flint before he died?”

Daphne looked at Joshua. He frowned a little but motioned for her to go on.

“I knew him. Not as well as Pansy but—”

“Not as well as Pansy knew him, or not as well as you knew Pansy?” asked Abbott in tones of polite clarification.

Astoria could see her sister bristle, although she wasn’t sure, exactly, what the implication had been in Abbott’s clarification. Potter, at her side, seemed only slightly amused.

“Both,” said Daphne with a narrow look at Abbott. “I mostly knew him through Pansy.”

“Mostly?” Finnigan leaned back in his chair, tipping the front two legs up, and leveled a searching look at Daphne. “Not entirely?”

Joshua spoke up. “I’m not sure what your intention is with this question, Auror Finnigan, but I don’t see how my client can clarify any more. Her only interactions with Mr. Flint were through Ms. Parkinson’s engagement with him.”

Finnigan and Abbott traded looks.

“Is that your official statement?” asked Abbott, taking her quill from where it was writing and scribbling something down herself. “Only interactions?”

Joshua’s brow went down in a frown. He looked at Daphne, but she was staring at Abbott as if she had spotted a poisonous snake in her garden.

Astoria, thinking that an interruption to the actual interrogation wouldn’t be too kindly received, turned instead to Potter, who was simply watching the proceedings with very little emotion on his face. She could tell, though, that he was thinking hard, his green eyes sharp as he looked between Daphne and the others.

“Do you three even know what you’re meant to be interrogating here?” she asked him in a quiet enough voice that it shouldn’t bother the other four.

Potter’s gaze flickered to her then back to the tableau. “Yes.”

Abbott was continuing on with her questions, so Daphne or Joshua must have answered.

“What is your relationship with Blaise Zabini?”

Astoria made a faintly protesting noise as Daphne sat straighter up in surprise.

“What the fuck does Blaise have to do with anything?” she asked, partly to Potter, but not bothering to be quiet this time.

Abbott shot her an annoyed look for interrupting, but Joshua spoke first.

“I’d like to know that myself. In less crude language,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Astoria that clearly told her to behave herself. “Is Mr. Zabini involved in this investigation?”

“We only want to make sure we have a full picture of your client’s current lifestyle,” said Abbott in that same placid, calming tone she used when doing this kind of questioning work. Astoria knew it was fake, but Joshua didn’t, and he subsided with another sharp look at Daphne.

“He’s my boyfriend,” said Daphne stiffly.

“How long have you been dating?” asked Finnigan as Abbott’s quill scribbled away.

“How is this relevant?” Daphne demanded.

“Answer the question, please,” said Abbott.

“Eight months.”

“And no ring?” Finnigan dropped his chair back down to all four legs and peered across at Daphne. “Weird.”

She stared at him, her face twisted. “What are you implying, Finnigan?”

He shrugged casually. “Well, you pureblood types move fast, don’t you? Not exactly much for dating and playing the field. So stands to reason, if two healthy young pureblood heirs are together and they aren’t planning a walk down the aisle anytime soon… then something’s wrong, isn’t there?”

Astoria clenched her fist, hearing in worse words her own accusations from two nights ago. Although she had come from a place of caring about Daphne’s feelings, and Finnigan obviously wasn’t. She noticed, in a distant way, that Potter was looking at her sidelong, cataloguing her reaction, and quickly unfurled her fingers.

Daphne was having worse luck containing her reaction. Fury practically fizzed out of her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Finnigan,” she snarled, ignoring Joshua’s attempts to calm her down, “but as it happens, I’m very busy with my job and my mother’s campaign. If I wanted to be engaged, I would be.”

Finnigan leaned away from her. “Alright,” he said in a mild kind of tone that was clearly suppressing some smugness. “Career woman, are you?”

“If we could return to the questions at hand?” Joshua suggested.

“Please,” agreed Abbott, shooting Finnigan a look. Astoria was watching her closely, though, and it didn’t seem to be a ‘please shut up’ look, which she knew well because she was often on the receiving end of those. “Alright, Miss Greengrass, just a few more, then. What was your relationship with Daniel Diggory?”

This time, Astoria didn’t bother to hide her reaction. She sat bolt upright in her seat, then slowly swiveled around to level a glare at Potter. He ignored her calmly, just watching the four at the table instead.

Daphne’s mouth twisted again, but it was a less unpleasant expression than before. “I knew him. We weren’t friends.”

“How did you know him?” asked Abbott.

To her credit, Daphne did not glance over at her sister when she answered. “He was friends with my sister.”

“And what were your feelings towards him?”

“I’m… sorry?” Daphne looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t have feelings for Daniel Diggory.”

Finnigan rolled his eyes, but Abbott answered kindly, “Not romantic feelings. General feelings. What did you think of him?”

“Not much,” said Daphne frankly. Astoria thought she could taste blood on her lip where she’d bitten through it. She hadn’t told Daphne much of anything, although she knew her sister was smart enough to suspect some things. “I try not to think about werewolves. And Astoria’s friends aren’t my business.”

Potter was looking at her. It was a quick glance, a shift of his eyes away from the scene at the table, but she knew he was watching her reactions.

Abbott made a thoughtful little humming noise and took her quill up to make another note. Astoria itched to go snatch the parchment away from her, but she doubted it would be allowed. Finnigan, unlike Potter, did not openly stare at her, and instead focused on Daphne.

“If I may, Aurors,” said Joshua in a smooth voice, “what exactly is the purpose of this line of questioning?”

Finnigan and Abbott exchanged looks, and then Abbott answered.

“We’re just trying to put some puzzle pieces together,” she said. “It’s important to have a good picture of all the relationships at play here.”

Joshua seemed unimpressed. “You are investigating a murder, are you not? I fail to see how my client’s personal relationships matter, apart from her acquaintance with the deceased.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that,” said Finnigan lightly. “Your client’s acquaintance with the deceased.”

“I thought we discussed this already,” Daphne said, sounding very innocently confused. Astoria knew her sister though, and could see the rage simmering beneath the confusion. Something about Finnigan was pushing all of her buttons. And Astoria had the vaguest feeling that the three Aurors had planned this somehow.

“Not quite. Let’s go back a bit.” Finnigan seemed to have picked up an unspoken signal to take over the interrogation. “How would you describe your relationship with Pansy Parkinson?”

“I told you already,” said Daphne coldly. “She’s my friend.”

“A close friend?” inquired Abbott. “Best friend? Where would you place her?”

“If you need silly teenage terminology like ‘best friend’ to understand grown-up relationships, then by all means, Abbott,” Daphne said with a roll of her eyes. “She’s my best friend.”

“That’s interesting,” Finnigan remarked mildly. “Considering you two got in some very big fights at Hogwarts, didn’t you? And again, in the years after Hogwarts a couple of times, at least if the lovely writers of The Corona Chronicle were correct in their reporting.”

Astoria frowned at him. Corona was a small-time gossip paper that stylized itself as an inside look into the upper crust of pureblood society. They had a decent amount of subscribers, but it was all purebloods who were hungry for gossip. Sometimes their reports were true, oftentimes they weren’t. She had never stressed about what Corona might write about her, simply because they reached so many less people than the Prophet.

They were, however, quite right about the rifts between Pansy and Daphne, mostly through good guesswork, but she knew for a fact those had all been petty teenage drama, and then even more petty post-teenage drama born out of both of them being on house arrest for a year and then struggling to find their footing once released. Astoria knew these details intimately, but she wasn’t sure why Finnigan and Abbott had looked into it so much.

At her side, Potter just leaned back, propping an elbow on the headrest of the couch, showing no sign of discomfort or surprise at all.

Daphne was glaring at Finnigan again. “What’s your point?”

“Just clarifying your relationship with Pansy Parkinson,” he said pleasantly, looking over at the parchment as Abbott added yet more notes. “Anyway, back to the deceased. What were your feelings towards him?”

“Apathy,” snapped Daphne. “He was just my friend’s fiancé. We never spoke beyond wedding planning.”

“Really?” Abbott had a curious note to her voice. Astoria looked at her closely, suspicious of whatever the two of them were planning. “How long did Marcus and Pansy date before getting engaged again?”

Daphne sent an uncertain look at Joshua, who rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

“How is this relevant and why would my client have this information?” he asked.

“Well, you’re best friends,” pointed out Finnigan, a little acerbically. “Surely you would know details about your best friend’s relationship.”

Daphne set her mouth. “They didn’t date, they were betrothed. By their parents.”

“Interesting,” said Finnigan, as if this was no less than what he’d expected. “So your best friend does nothing and lands herself a rich heir as a future husband. And you date another heir – also rich, I must say – for eight months and get nothing in return. No ring, no royalties, no future plans to inherit any family businesses.”

The way he said this was in a significant tone of voice. Astoria sat up straighter, a suspicion solidifying in the back of her mind.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Finnigan,” said Daphne in her coldest, crispest tones. “But I love Pansy and I was very happy for her engagement. I was going to be her maid of honor. I was helping her plan the wedding. As long as Marcus made her happy, I fully supported their relationship. And it has no bearing on my own.”

“No bearing?” inquired Finnigan in a voice that hovered between curiosity and mocking. “I mean, surely it had a little bearing. You and Ms. Parkinson have a history of arguing over relationships – people who went to Hogwarts with you two can testify to that. Like me.”

Daphne looked like she wanted to reach over the table and attack him physically, but Joshua cleared his throat.

“Whatever you are insinuating, Auror Finnigan, it seems to have very little to do with the investigation of who killed Marcus Flint, apart from casting aspersions on my client’s character and her personal relationships.”

“Oh, I disagree,” said Finnigan, glancing once at Joshua and then back at Daphne. “You see, I know your client – a little bit better than you do, I would wager. I was at Hogwarts with her for seven years. And one thing I know about Daphne Greengrass is that she always has to be the best at whatever it is she does – and whatever it is she does is usually attention seeking.

“So I find it interesting that Marcus Flint was once nominally betrothed to your client’s sister, a betrothal she ended abruptly and with no clear indication as to why she was doing it. And then, a few years later, your client’s father began sending money in the form of sponsorships to Marcus Flint’s company. And that then, Marcus Flint was engaged to your client’s best friend, with no prior relationship between the two of them.”

He could have kept going, but he paused to look at Daphne, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes. Astoria felt her wrist twitch, wanting to reach for her wand – but she was sitting next to Potter, who would undoubtedly stop her, and she suddenly thought he must have planned it that way on purpose, because he had to know she would come if he called in her sister.

“What—” Daphne began, but Finnigan wasn’t yet finished.

“And on the other side, I have to look at the fact that your client’s little sister was best friends with a werewolf, whose fur was found on the dead body—” Astoria jumped, startled, but he ploughed on with no regard. “—And your client has an open and outspoken distaste for werewolves and no compunctions about using so-called ‘lesser beings’ in her plans, which I’m sure we all remember from your client’s trials after the war. And the most interesting fact, which I learned from the intrepid reporters at Corona, is that your client has been in a relationship with another man for eight months and yet the relationship remains… shall we say… unconsummated?”

Abbott’s quill was still scrawling notes, although it hesitated at the end of Finnigan’s statement, as if its owner was unsure she should go that far. There was no hint of uncertainty on Abbott’s expression, though, Astoria noticed – she was just watching Daphne, carefully and without judgment. Potter had the same look on his face, just waiting for a reaction. Someone knocked on the door lightly.

Joshua opened his mouth, although Astoria thought he didn’t quite know what to say, because what could he? Daphne beat him to it.

“You think I was cheating on Blaise with Marcus?” she said in the most deceptively soft voice Astoria had ever heard her use.

Finnigan leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “It’s just a theory.”

Daphne placed her hands on the table and propelled herself upwards, her face a mask of fury. Astoria, recognizing the warning signs, was faster, though. She drew her wand before Potter could turn to stop her and cast the fastest nonverbal Silencio she could manage on such short notice.

“Excuse me,” said Abbott, frowning at her when Daphne opened her mouth and then closed it with no sound. “You’re interrupting our questioning.”

Astoria looked at her steadily, sliding her wand back into place as if she’d done nothing wrong.

“I didn’t realize Auror methods involved spouting baseless accusations.”

“Nobody’s accusing you of anything.” Abbott drew her own wand and cancelled the Silencing Spell, but Daphne had taken the warning for what it was and only sank mutinously back down into her seat.

Joshua cleared his throat before Astoria could reply. “If you’ll kindly allow me a minute to speak to my client in private, Aurors. Also, I believe we have a visitor.”

All five of them turned to the door, which was still closed. Astoria didn’t think anyone else had really noticed the knock either.

“Right,” said Abbott briskly, standing up. “Of course, you may have a recess. We’ll come back in ten minutes.”

Astoria stood to join Joshua and Daphne but he stopped her with a small shake of his head. She could see the look on her sister’s face, though, and it wasn’t pretty. If Joshua thought he had a chance of handling that—well, all she could say was good luck to him.

As Joshua erected a Privacy Spell around himself and Daphne, Finnigan began pouring the tea from the teapot in the center of their table. Potter didn’t seem to be in a hurry to deal with whatever had just happened, and Abbott stood to answer the door at last.

“Oh,” she said to the person on the other side. “Hi, Anthony.”

Astoria blinked away from where Joshua and her sister had disappeared behind the spell and looked over at the doorway. Standing on the other side was a wizard who she had known, vaguely, was Joshua’s brother, but she couldn’t remember ever meeting him. She did know him from the war heroes, though, and recognized him from her fifth year at Hogwarts, during the Carrows’ reign of terror – he was, like the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, a mainstay at the hospital wing and constantly getting in trouble.

He didn’t look much like Joshua, she thought. Similar eyes and chins, but his hair was fair and blond where Joshua’s was dark and he had a clean-cut face that made him look younger than twenty-five. He wasn’t wearing Auror robes in that deep maroon, but in a shade of grey lined with red. There was some memory about him that was tickling the back of her mind, probably something to do with the war—

Anthony Goldstein smiled, which made him look even less like his stern older brother than he had before.

“Hey, Beth. Sorry to interrupt, but I have those tests you wanted me to run. Do you have a minute?”

Astoria sat back thoughtfully, the memory coming to the forefront now that she’d heard him talk. It had been a scene in the Great Hall – and quite literally, a scene. Sixth year Slytherins, the year ahead of her, picking a fight at the intersection of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables – because two things every Slytherin knew that year was that they could pick as many fights as they wanted, and the Carrows would reward them for it, and that the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were the ones to go to if you wanted to find a Dumbledore’s Army member.

They’d been taunting Abbott and her older sister Hannah, and then someone had drawn a wand. It had turned into a hexing fight, which happened plenty that year but not so much in the Great Hall, under the watchful eye of the teachers and the not-so-watchful eyes of the Carrows. Astoria had come in to the Great Hall for breakfast right at the end of the fight, although Griselda had informed her in hushed whispers later of what had happened before to start it.

Abbott had taken a curse for her older sister, shoving her out of the way and then collapsing to the ground in what must have been extreme pain. Two tables over, the Ravenclaws rippled, several of them drawing wands, but it was Anthony Goldstein who had stood first. He’d cast a spell that shot an arc of white light straight at the sixth year Slytherins and had nailed all but one of them, who had managed to dodge, with it.

All four of the Slytherins who had started the fight had to go to the hospital wing. She was never sure what Anthony had done, exactly – the spell had been nonverbal, and certainly nothing she’d ever studied, but she remembered being impressed. It was typical of a Ravenclaw to find some esoteric spell to use against their enemies. Less typical for them to stand up for people being bullied.

He'd been tortured for that, she remembered. A month of detention. It was near the end of the year, though, so he’d never served all of them – the members of Dumbledore’s Army had begun disappearing, slow and steady.

Astoria turned to look at Potter, who had accepted a cup of tea that Finnigan levitated over to him, and was drinking it slowly. Abbott had stepped outside with Goldstein, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

Potter looked over at her, with an expression like he was waiting for her to ask a question. But when Astoria opened her mouth, it wasn’t any of the ones she had thought while watching Daphne get interrogated.

“How long has that been a thing?” she asked him, gesturing to the door that Abbott and Goldstein had just disappeared through.

Potter straightened up, a curious look on his face. “What?”

Finnigan glanced up, too, clearly not bothering to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping, since he couldn’t very well eavesdrop on Daphne and Joshua.

“Abbott and Goldstein,” Astoria said, feeling distantly calm about the whole thing even though part of her was twisted in panic still from the questions they’d been asking Daphne.

Potter followed her gaze to the door, then back to her. “Is that really your first question?” he asked in tones of mild bafflement.

“No.” Astoria sat back, noticing Finnigan didn’t bother to make her a cup of tea. “D’you have anything to eat?”

“Snacks in the cabinet,” answered Potter after trading a look with Finnigan. “We have leftover Chinese in the icebox, too, if you want it.”

“Oi,” Finnigan protested mildly. “I was going to have it for lunch.”

“Order more,” Potter advised him, since Astoria had already stood to claim the leftover Chinese.

“Yeah, easy for you to say, you’re made of money,” Finnigan snarked at him.

Astoria scooped out a handful of egg fried rice with a plastic spoon, added a heaping of what seemed like a glazed pork dish to the top, and tapped her wand to her bowl to heat it up. This done, she grabbed an unopened bottle of Otter’s Fizzy Orange Juice and went to sit down next to Potter again.

“So, how many of these little interrogations have you done so far?” she asked casually, spooning up a bite to eat.

Potter and Finnigan looked at each other again.

“As many as we can get warrants for,” said Potter wryly.

She hummed in mock-thought. “And the first Greengrass you got a warrant for was… Daphne?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Should it have been someone else?”

Astoria took a sip of the Otter’s juice, letting it fizz on her tongue for a minute. “Well, it seems a bit of a convoluted theory, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” said Finnigan, tipping his chair back again until even the back legs were unstable. “But you see, of all you sisters, only Daphne has a record of using Unforgivable Curses.”

“But Marcus Flint didn’t die of an Unforgivable Curse,” Astoria pointed out. “Unless you’re hiding something else from everyone.”

“No, you’re quite correct,” Potter said, propping an elbow on the back of the couch behind them. “But we do have to look at people’s records. And potential motivations. And there’s no telling which Unforgivable Curses may or may not have been involved. If, for example, your theory about Diggory’s innocence is true—what might someone with a good grasp on the Imperius Curse do to a werewolf on the full moon?”

His gaze caught and held hers, steady and searching. Astoria stopped herself from glaring, bit back a poisonous response and her instinctual defense of her sister. Here, in their territory, the Aurors were far more controlled, powerful, and intelligent than they normally seemed.

“And your sister had a penchant for the Imperius Curse,” added Finnigan, his mouth twisting in an unpleasant grimace. “Much more so than the other two Unforgivables.”

Astoria looked at him, setting her jaw. “She stood trial for that already. Paid the price. In the eyes of the law, she’s been administered justice. And she’s never done it since.”

“True,” Potter agreed. “It’s just a theory.”

“A theory based on rumors and speculation,” Astoria pointed out. “Corona is run by vipers who never fact-check anything, and they don’t know a thing about anyone’s personal relationships. Worse than the Daily Prophet—” She stopped suddenly, a few other pieces of confusing information fitting together in her mind, and then whirled on Potter, her bowl of Chinese food half-eaten and half-forgotten in her hands. “What did you do?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What did I do… about what?”

“The Prophet,” Astoria clarified impatiently. “This morning. There was nothing in there about us at the party.”

Potter stared at her for a moment, an inscrutable emotion on his face that started off as understanding what she was talking about and then faded to something else. A corner of his lips twitched.

“Maybe Isabelle Rookwood just didn’t find it very interesting,” he suggested, leaning back.

Finnigan snorted. “And maybe flobberworms will grow wings and start flying.”

Astoria glanced between the two of them uneasily. “I’m being serious,” she said, nudging Potter’s foot. “Did you do something to her?”

“Like what?” Potter squinted at her through his glasses. “Blackmail and bribery is your territory, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

He only shrugged. She looked back at Finnigan, who seemed amused, like he clearly understood what she was talking about and knew more than she did.

“What did he do?” Astoria asked him directly.

“Oh, come on, like you’re going to get something out of one of us if the other won’t say,” Finnigan said.

“Well, I don’t—” Astoria stopped as the full weight of what he had just said hit her. “Oh, you are such a little snake.”

This, she directed at Potter, who managed a decent semblance of a confused expression at her, although she greatly doubted that he really was confused. At that moment, the door opened and Abbott reentered, and the Privacy Spell surrounding Joshua and Daphne began dissipating. Abbott looked expectantly at the rest of them, making a ‘shall we continue?’ gesture with her hands.

Astoria stood up, dropping her mostly-finished bowl and bottle on the counter, and then grabbed Potter’s arm, hauling him up with her. He made a protesting noise, but didn’t stop her.

“I think we need to talk,” she said, ignoring Finnigan’s look of alarm and Daphne and Joshua’s confused expressions. “You two can continue the interrogation, I’m sure.”

Potter took a moment to exchange significant glances with Abbott and Finnigan, and then followed her out of the room. Daphne started to say something, but Joshua stopped her, and Astoria closed the door behind them with only a tinge of regret for abandoning her sister like this.

But Joshua would take care of it. He had taken care of every other legal issue the family had ever had. And whatever Finnigan might say, Astoria knew her sister. She had nothing to do with Marcus Flint’s death.

Outside, in the vast Auror office with its fluorescent lights and white-tiled floor, she crossed her arms and looked at Potter. They weren’t in private – there were quite a lot of Aurors in cubicles; she thought she spotted Weasley’s shock of red hair somewhere – but she didn’t care, even though quite a few of them turned when Potter appeared and then immediately started whispering to each other.

She watched the Aurors for a minute, then looked back at Potter with a raised eyebrow.

“Doesn’t that annoy you?”

“What, the constant whispering?” Potter shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“Right.” Astoria eyed him for a minute, suspicious. He met her gaze evenly. “So you’re really not going to tell me what you did?”

Potter walked around her, knocked on a door, then opened it when no one answered. Inside was a small kitchen, in cool shades of blue, with a small dining table that seated four. It smelled of deli sandwiches and Chinese takeout – she suspected they used the spell that would connect all iceboxes and fridges so that you could open one in the building and find the same thing as in any other room.

“What exactly is it that you think I did?” he asked her, leaning against the island counter as Astoria took in the lay of the room.

“A lot of things.” Astoria stepped around him and looked up at an oil painting of a flutterby bush that hung on the wall next to the dining table, adding a pop of purple to the room. “I think you stopped the Prophet from running any story about us, although I can’t imagine why.”

She could, though, imagine a conversation from days ago as she glanced sidelong at him.

 “I’m pretty sure he threw his weight around the Ministry to get them to shut up.”

“Too bad we don’t have a Potter to erase all rumors for our team.”

Potter didn’t confirm or deny this, only looked mildly interested in the topic conversation.

Astoria continued in her circle of the room.

“I think you asked for Daphne because you knew I’d show up, and the things you couldn’t get out of me, you could get out of her.”

Potter continued to say nothing, watching her walk with careful, quietly amused green eyes.

“You know,” Astoria concluded, turning to face him again. “You’re pretty damn Slytherin for a Gryffindor, Potter.”

At this, his lips quirked. “Funny. That’s what the Sorting Hat said.”

She blinked at him, unaware of this piece of Harry Potter lore – although, to be fair to herself, she had never read his tell-all interview with The Quibbler after the war. Maybe it was mentioned there.

“The Sorting Hat thought you should be in Slytherin?”

“Oh, yeah.” Potter sighed, bending his knee and propping a foot on the counter behind him. “It was very insistent. But I told it I didn’t want to be a Slytherin, I wanted to be a Gryffindor, and it let me.”

Astoria stared. “Really?”

“You seem surprised.”

“Not really,” she said after a moment of thought. “Well, not about that. It’s just that the Sorting Hat tried to put me in Gryffindor, too.”

Potter raised his eyebrows, then grinned at her. “That checks out. How did you convince it to put you in Slytherin?”

Astoria braced herself against a chair at the dining table, arms crossed thoughtfully as she remembered that long-ago Sorting, shaking with eleven-year-old nerves underneath the wide brim of the hat, which almost swallowed her up completely – she was short now, and had been small even for a first year.

“I told it that if it separated me from Daphne I would cut it into pieces and string it up as bunting. Then it said a little girl that vicious could only belong in Slytherin.”

Potter’s grin faded into an unsettled expression. “You threatened the Sorting Hat at age eleven?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well threaten it at any other age, could I?” she asked practically.

He stared at her for a moment, then snorted. “Well. I suppose not. Although I had a few encounters with that damned Hat after my first year.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just special.” Astoria studied him more seriously, thinking back on everything she knew or thought she knew about Harry Potter, the Aurors, her sister, the case. “You don’t actually think Daphne had anything to do with this, do you?”

He spread his hands. “Would it matter if I did or didn’t? We have to question her either way. She was planning Flint’s wedding. And if someone Imperiused Daniel Diggory to attack him that night, wouldn’t it make sense for it to be someone who knows him, even a little? Unless you’re going to tell me it was you.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know she did a lot of shit during the war, but it was never this. The Carrows insisted on making the sixth and seventh years practice Unforgivables. She didn’t just use them for her own benefit.”

“No, but she did get the best grades in, uh, Dark Arts class, didn’t she?” Potter’s face was grave, no hint of humor in it anymore. “We have to consider it. Or do you think she was perfectly fine with her little sister being friends with a werewolf? When your parents—”

He cut himself off, perhaps sensing ahead of time that he was going into dangerous territory. Astoria just watched him, not letting any of that age-old anger rise to the surface, keeping it tightly contained. This wasn’t about her. This was a Slytherin game she was playing against a Gryffindor. She just had to win.

“And,” Potter continued, after hesitating a long moment in case she wanted to yell at him, “your father was connected to Marcus Flint, too. Don’t know if you knew.”

She did know, but she only raised an eyebrow. “All purebloods are connected somehow. It’s not exactly a surprise.”

“Mm,” said Potter. “But this was money, not blood.”

The words rattled strangely around in her head. Money, not blood. That was what Ethan had told her, the money connection. Her father and Marcus Flint. What exactly were they doing together? She knew Marcus Flint’s business—at least, she thought she did. The Flints were canny enough to be doing more than just dragon breeding, though.

“Well, you tell me if you find anything,” Astoria heard herself say, as if from a distance. “I can’t help you.”

“Really?” he asked. “Feel like you would know some things about your dad’s business practices. Since you inherited his farm and all.”

This made her smile, coming back to herself and the conversation at hand.

“Wish I did. But that was a bit of a surprise to us all, actually. I wasn’t supposed to get it.”

Potter’s brow furrowed. “You weren’t?”

“No.” Astoria rolled the chair behind her underneath her hands, listening to it creak. “I’m the youngest daughter, right? Helena got Summerstone, so Penelope should’ve gotten Queen’s Lodge, and Daphne the villa in Tuscany. Fourth daughters don’t get much other than a dowry, since even the richest families don’t generally have more than three major properties.”

She paused, thinking about it. Potter was watching her, looking genuinely interested for a change.

“Well,” she amended in fairness, “I suppose families like the Blacks and Malfoys had a lot more property to barter out back in the day. But yeah, not us. Dad overruled everyone with that. Mother was expecting to keep it under her estates for a few more years, since Helena won’t get Summerstone until Mother dies. But he put it under my name. All of a sudden, I went from Knockturn Alley to being in charge of a whole estate.”

“Why did he do that?” Potter asked.

“You’d have to ask him,” she said dryly. “Which might be difficult. He didn’t tell anyone, including me, that he was doing that until we read his will. Mother was furious. She still is furious.”

“I’ve never heard Penelope mention it,” he said, lightly probing.

“No, well, she wouldn’t care, Pen’s not like that,” Astoria said. “None of the other three ever cared much for horses or horse riding. In fact, I’m pretty sure if he’d left it to any of them, it would have been sold for, like, two million galleons as soon as they could find a buyer.” She sighed, dropping the chair back to the ground. “Maybe he left it to me because I’m the only one who’d actually take care of it.”

“Maybe,” agreed Potter neutrally. “Your father doesn’t strike me as someone who made business decisions from the heart.”

“Most people don’t,” she agreed. “And look, he was ruthless. I’m not denying that. I know better than you exactly how low my father could go. And maybe he was connected to Marcus Flint. But he’s been dead for almost three years. I’m not sure what he could possibly have to do with this investigation. And you know what, forget the warrant. If you want me to make a statement vouching for my sister's character, I will.”

Potter raised both eyebrows, a hint of a smile on the edge of his mouth.

“I’m sure you will. But I’m not sure how much that would help us. You’re her sister.”

“You’d rather take Finnigan’s opinion on her?”

Potter was quiet for a moment.

“He hates her,” he admitted. “For good reason.”

Astoria thought about the real reasons her father had left Queen’s Lodge to her. The reasons he had sent a werewolf after her. Whatever reasons Daphne had for being with Blaise Zabini. Every skeleton in her family’s closet.

She smiled tightly at him.

“Everyone has good reasons for anything they do, Potter. They just don’t always seem that way from the outside.”

Chapter Text

Astoria awoke tired and grumpy. It wasn’t unusual, since she was staying in Daphne’s spare room lately, with all that entailed.

Yesterday had been slow after the excitement of the morning. They’d eventually let Daphne go, presumably because Abbott didn’t want to deal with the oncoming blow-up fight that was building between Daphne and Finnigan. Joshua had left for his office with a deep frown on his face, which no doubt meant lots of paperwork to come later. Astoria had, luckily, managed to finish the bowl of leftover Chinese she’d left in the interview room, because she didn’t get another chance to eat for eight hours.

Furious at being interrogated, and at whatever Finnigan had said to make her so mad, Daphne had decided her sabbatical from work was over and returned to her duties with a vengeance. Unfortunately, since Astoria was meant to be shadowing her, she had to go along with whatever Daphne decided needed doing that day. Not all of it was very entertaining—in fact, most of it hadn’t been.

And she’d had no chance to slip back into Summerstone to do more dedicated research on her father’s business files.

At the end of the day, fed up with useless bureaucracy and watching Daphne deal with journalists, she’d asked for a day off. Daphne had informed her in no uncertain terms that she had to do at least one thing for the campaign tomorrow, so Astoria had scrolled through the calendar and picked going to a speech Olivine was holding today, as it seemed the least offensive of all her options.

But that wasn’t till the afternoon, and she needed to take advantage of her morning, since she hadn’t exactly gotten to yesterday.

Sneaking around Summerstone House was like second nature to her. It was such an unbelievably big estate, larger even on the inside than it looked from the outside, thanks to two centuries of magic alterations being poured into the place. When she had been little, and mostly confined to the house, she’d made it her mission to map out every inch of its four separate wings.

Her parents’ wing was the most grandiose, although Helena and Penelope’s shared wing was also vast and spacious. She and Daphne had the smallest wing of the main family, and the actual smallest was the servants’ wing. All of this and more, Astoria knew by heart. What she didn’t know exactly was how to get around the spells on her father’s office—at least, she hadn’t been able to when he was alive.

Unlike Daphne, her father hadn’t left any blood-locking charms that would allow his daughters access. However, he was dead, and dead men’s spells didn’t typically last three years past the time of their death. And more to the point, Astoria had learned a few things from Knockturn Alley about picking locks and getting into places she shouldn’t get in.

Her father’s papers were neatly filed inside various drawers of his great oakwood desk, all of which were locked by different spells. He had been an Arithmancy enthusiast in his life, which meant that all of his security was mathematics-based magic—most wizards and witches, who had never taken Arithmancy class in their life, likely never would have considered using numerology to get past his security. Astoria hadn’t taken Arithmancy either, but there were some things you had to pick up on, being a child of Hector Greengrass.

“Three, seven, twelve,” Astoria murmured to herself, tapping her wand against the first locked drawer. It was one of the most rudimentary sequences in Arithmancy—essentially their version of Alohomora. Where most wizards would think to safeguard against an Alohomara, they might not remember to lock against an Arithmancy sequence. Her father, of course, would have, at least while he was alive.

But his locking spells had been significantly weakened by his death. Astoria finished the sequence – three taps, seven circles, twelve triangles, all overlapping, and at the last triangle traced on the drawer, it began to glow briefly. Carefully, she put a hand to the knob and turned.

It came open under her grasp like it had never been locked.

The others were a bit more difficult, as not all of his security spells had been weakened to the same degree as each other. Astoria only knew about five Arithmancy spells, so she was only able to unlock three of the six drawers, but it was, at least, a place to start.

Her father had always been overly organized. All his drawers were organized by year, month, day and each drawer held a different type of file. Payments out, payments in, lawyer contracts, Ministry contracts. All three of her older sisters had learned the skills of organization from him – even Penelope, with her art, which you wouldn’t necessarily expect – but Astoria never quite had.

She was thankful for it now, though. It made going through his stuff so much easier.

Unfortunately, nothing in his files matched the parchment Ethan had copied for her. A sponsorship donation to the Flint family farm. It was when her father worked for the Ministry, so in the last few years of his life. Maybe he hadn’t copied it over to his personal files, but that didn’t seem like him. And if Ethan was telling the truth, it had been hidden away amongst Ministry bureaucracy over there.

Astoria sat back on her knees, ducked underneath the desk and squeezed between its drawers and the desk chair she had shoved backwards. Her father was the most clinically organized person she had ever known, even in comparison to her mother, or Helena or Daphne. There was no way he’d let something as important as a payment transaction languish in Ministry records instead of keeping a copy for himself.

Unless he didn’t want to. Unless it was something he wanted to hide from his family. Or his wife.

There was only one secret she could think of that was that big. What would be the other?

Her mother was actually skilled enough in Arithmancy to be able to unlock most of his drawers even while he was alive, Astoria thought. But clearly, she hadn’t. The files were gathering dust. The house elves cleaned every portion of the house, so his office was spick and span, but even they couldn’t touch these files.

Astoria pulled out the folded up parchment from Ethan and opened it up, smoothing out the creases. It matched no other payment she could find here. Nothing at all.

Somewhere in one of the other locked drawers, or maybe hidden on his vast bookshelf which touched the ceiling, so high it needed a ladder, her father had kept every letter he’d ever received. Astoria grit her teeth and set to attempting to open one of the other three drawers.

By the time 2 o’clock came around, she was still tired and grumpy, and even more annoyed that she hadn’t managed to find anything. And she could hear her mother’s servants and campaign workers pattering on outside—no one would dare come into her father’s office, but they would also notice her emerging.

Astoria propelled herself out the window, casting a quick charm to make sure no groundskeepers would see her sneaking out, and jumped down to the ground. It was lucky enough that her parents’ wing was on the first floor.

She’d have to try again eventually, she knew. A stray thought passed her mind that Potter seemed to know about her father’s connection to Marcus Flint—either he’d found what Ethan had, or he had some other source of knowledge on business transactions. Maybe she should go to the Aurors with this one.

Maybe later, she decided, and drew her wand to Apparate away.

Olivine’s campaign was smaller and much less intense than her mother’s. It was funded entirely by her and Matthew—and neither of them made much—and donations from their friends. Astoria had quietly donated quite a lot when it began, but she’d had to stop for fear her mother would find out when she started working for her. At her speech, there was a small crowd and one reporter—not Isabelle Rookwood or any of the others Astoria might recognize—looking both very young, and quite bored with his job. Fresh out of Hogwarts, maybe.

Neither Diagon nor Knockturn had agreed to host this speech, so they were gathered here in Miasmick Alley, one of the many little hidden streets all around London that hosted wizarding businesses, restaurants, and homes. Astoria hated it here—even compared to Knockturn, it smelled atrocious at best on most days—but it was much quieter than Diagon or Knockturn, less people, less flashy businesses. It wasn’t the worst place to spend a Tuesday afternoon, as long as she kept a bubble of Air Freshening Charm around herself.

The stage was a dinky little setup up against an abandoned building. She caught sight of Matthew and Olivine at the side of it, waiting anxiously for people to fill up the street and the chairs they had placed there. Anaïs was bouncing on her tiptoes, her braids beaded in rainbow colors, watching all the people pass by. Most people didn’t bother to stop.

When she saw Astoria, her eyes lit up. Astoria waved back at her, smiling, then at Olivine and Matthew, who both grinned at seeing her there.

Out of the view of the reporter, Olivine lifted her hands to sign a quick, “Does your mother know you’re here?”

Astoria grinned. There were enough injuries and disabilities on the dragon reserve that most of the dragonkeepers picked up on WSL.

“I was sent here,” she signed back, parking herself on a seat in the front row. “Meant to spy on you all.”

Olivine smiled and Matthew laughed and then had to put an arm around Anaïs to stop her from running to greet Astoria properly.

There were people milling about awkwardly around behind her, most not willing to take seats in case they got stuck into something boring. Astoria saw a few of the other dragonkeepers—not Charlie, but he was a lead on the reserve, so he would be busy—and one of Matthew’s werewolf friends. Not one she recognized; he was older, Matthew’s age, and had definitely moved out of Silverspire before Daniel had moved in because she didn’t know his name.

The only reason she could spot him in a crowd was the line of livid scars across his chin and neck, disappearing beneath his black shirt. Greyback’s signature. He rarely ever let a victim go without clawing up their faces.

Astoria shivered a little at the memory, pulling her jacket tighter around her. It was the dead heat of summer, but she had always ran cold.

To distract herself, she sent a look around at the stragglers, shaming some of them into taking seats. Her well-practiced Slytherin glare of accountability came directly from Professor Snape, who used it every time he wanted his students to shut up and sit down without having to rebuke any Slytherins in the presence of the other three Houses.

A girl about her age came up to the chair besides her, giving her a once-over and then deciding it was okay to plop down into the seat next to her. Astoria turned to inspect her and surprised herself by recognizing her.

“Clearwater?” she asked.

Aurora Clearwater looked at her, not smiling but not frowning either, the way a lot of the other Houses treated Slytherins after the war. She had her long brown hair up in a ponytail and a book bag that she let slink down to the stony ground under their chairs. It looked heavy, probably freshly bought books from Inky and Tome’s down the alley.

“What are you doing here?” asked Aurora, seeming only mildly suspicious rather than properly suspicious. “Aren’t you on your mother’s campaign?”

“Yeah, I’m here for the campaign,” said Astoria. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you with Macmillan?”

“No.” Aurora sent her a look that implied this was a crazy thing to say. “I work for the Department of Magical Culture. I’m not on anyone’s campaign. And actually, I like Sprout and her platform. Plus, I was in Miasmick anyway to buy some books on magical history.”

“Oh.” Astoria processed this piece of information. “But at the dinner party, you were with Longbottom and all that lot. The war heroes. Macmillan’s crew.”

Aurora shrugged, her mint green cardigan slipping off one shoulder. “They’re my friends. I’m not a Macmillan supporter, though. I don’t think he really has what it takes.”

“Really?” Astoria found herself suddenly interested in this conversation. So many of her old classmates had chosen who to vote for without even looking at anything past the candidate names; Slytherins for her mother, everyone else for Macmillan. She had always planned on voting for Olivine—ballots were secret so her mother would never know—but she hadn’t met anyone else on a similar wavelength. “Why is that?”

Aurora’s dark brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you going to take this back to your mother to use against him?”

Astoria tilted her head, considering it. “Probably not. All due respect, but Mother doesn’t care about your vote.”

“Because I’m a Muggleborn?” Aurora’s smile was grim. “Makes sense. I just think Macmillan is a bit too old-fashioned. I mean, he’s a pureblood too, just like your mum. So was Shacklebolt. Sprout’s at least a halfblood, and her platform is way more based on social justice than just, like, Muggleborn rights and tax initiatives.”

“I thought you’d be all for Muggleborn rights,” said Astoria.

“I am, but I don’t think it’s the only important thing.” Aurora frowned a little. “How selfish would that be? Just wanting to be equal to the purebloods without caring at all for all the other magical beings that are even more oppressed than us? I mean, Muggleborns can at least hold jobs in the Ministry. Goblins and centaurs and even werewolves don’t get that.”

Astoria had to admit, she had so few Muggleborns in her social circle that she had never heard this opinion expressed. The way her mother and Daphne spoke about it, you would have thought all Muggleborns were voting for Macmillan in mindless droves.

“That’s true,” she said, and Aurora seemed surprised at the agreement. “Werewolves still get treated like beasts instead of beings, even though they’re human twenty-nine days of the month.”

“Exactly,” said Aurora, then paused, her face pinching in clear remembrance. “I’m sorry. You know, I wasn’t at school that year, I didn’t hear about it—Daniel—until way after.”

It took Astoria a moment to realize she was talking about the bite seven years ago, not the murder two weeks ago.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said after a moment. “You weren’t at school because you were being hunted. Not exactly your fault.”

Aurora sent her a scrutinizing stare sidelong. “Most of your side would say it was my fault.”

“Yeah, well.” Astoria turned her attention back to the stage, where Matthew was climbing up on it to introduce his wife, casting a Sonorus charm on himself and a nervous look out into the audience. “That’s what they would say about Daniel, too. So I think they’re wrong either way.”

Aurora was quiet, and Matthew started speaking, so the conversation drifted to a close. Astoria found herself wondering about it, though. Aurora was a Ravenclaw, who were generally more mixed politically than the other three Houses, but she was a Muggleborn. Macmillan spent most of his time babbling on about how he would never let Muggleborns be oppressed again. Trotted out his new wife as proof of his plans. Her mother, to counter this, went hard on tradition and pureblood rights and taking back the past, present, and future.

She was never quite sure, even knowing Ethan the way she did, that his father was a good person. A good politician, certainly. A longtime member of the Ministry, a pureblood from a family in good standing. The father of a war hero, and sure, there was much to be said about the way he had raised Ernie and Ethan. They were good people, for whatever measure of worth that was. But Edmund Macmillan, she wasn’t quite as sure about. He, like her mother, had the look of someone who only knew how to get what he wanted by using other people.

It was something about being a pureblood. Even the ones from non-Slytherin families, like the Macmillans or the Shacklebolts. The world they were raised in was so cutthroat, so political from the very beginning of their lives, there was no way to avoid it. Only the families that completely disconnected from it for generations, like the Weasleys, could figure out a way around it. And even then, even them, they had soared straight to the top of the political sphere after the war. There was no way to stop it. Maybe it was inevitable.

Astoria had always hated it, but she’d also never known a way without it. She’d always thought, somewhere, that part of her was always attracted to the people who were so far out of that world, so unable to truly be a part of it, and that was why she’d ended up with the friends she did have. The way a halfblood boy from riding camp had become her best friend. How she had drawn herself to Griselda, who had never figured out how to play the game even in the depths of Slytherin—and how unnatural it was now, to see her doing it. Lying like it was second nature.

Olivine stepped up on stage, wearing a smart blue suit with a sunflower in her buttonhole. Her braids hung long and dark down her back; unlike her daughter’s, she had decorated them with neutral, glossy brown beads. Her smile was sure and confident, the expression of a woman who had wrassled dragons into behaving for most of her adult life.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, and the crowd shifted awkwardly as most of them clearly hadn’t planned on attending. Astoria sat up straight to pay attention, to make sure Olivine knew at least one person was her supporting her. “My name is Olivine Sprout, and I’m here today to tell you that a vote for me is a vote for change.”

“Ain’t things changed enough?” said someone in the crowd, in a tone halfway between wanting to whisper to a companion and wanting to heckle. Astoria turned at the same time as Aurora to spot a Miasmick Alley resident hovering at the edge of the seats.

Olivine, however, didn’t seem perturbed at all. She only smiled at the man, who squinted against the sun at her, his hunchback making him appear shorter although he still managed to be taller than Astoria.

“The war changed all of us,” she agreed deftly, with a nod at the interrupter. “And the Shacklebolt administration certainly made a number of cosmetic changes. Some deep ones, as well. But both of my competitors will tell you that the way forward is to stick to what’s been done in the past. Either the recent past or the ancient past. And I believe the way forward should be brand new, a future built by us that we can really trust in.”

She sent a sweeping gaze out at the crowd, catching and holding the eyes of everyone present. When she got to Astoria, one eyelid dropped in an imperceptible wink.

“That’s not to say we can’t learn from our history, of course. Not just the last war, but all the ones before that. The Wizarding World is built on change—first, it was new ways of magic. Then the Statute of Secrecy. The governments we built out of the old ones. The wars in the Middle Ages, and how they shaped the wars in the twentieth century. We must always learn from our history, but not stay beholden to it.”

Aurora was watching intently. Astoria’s gaze drifted to her, going back over six years—minus one, for when the Muggleborns had been banned from Hogwarts—of classes with the girl next to her. She’d never paid much attention to the Ravenclaws. But she remembered that Aurora had always been the only one who listened when Professor Binns was droning on and on.

“Because history is not always right,” Olivine went on, her voice growing stronger and surer as more people began paying attention. “It paints victims as threats, and oppressors as angels. Our folklore would have you believe that some people are monsters just because of who they are. Our own Ministry has been feeding and perpetuating this cycle of historical lies for generations. Some would say it’s baked into the foundation of who we are as a people. But I don’t believe anyone is incapable of change.”

She paused to take a breath. More and more people were hanging around the edges of the crowd. The chairs behind Astoria and Aurora rattled as people sat down.

“If you vote for me, I promise to always hold accountable the institutions of tradition for what they are – tradition, not the future. Just because they have informed our past does not mean they should necessarily inform our future. I promise to stand up for the people that history has forgotten, shoved under the carpet because of who or what they are or what they might have been. I promise to remember that we are all more similar than we are different, no matter where we might have been raised. That every man is equal to the sum of his choices, not his affiliations, his afflictions, or his abilities. That we all have the capability for good and evil within us, and our paths are not decided ahead of time by where we have been born or who seeks to control us.”

There was a smattering of applause, and Olivine smiled slightly. Astoria glanced sideways and noticed Aurora clapping with her, although the other Miasmick Alley residents seemed more unsure.

Olivine gestured to the side and Matthew stepped back up onto the stage, his broad shoulders blocking out some of the sunlight from above. He caught Astoria’s eye and grinned briefly at her.

“We will now open the floor to questions from the audience,” he announced.

There was a rumbling of murmurs, but no one seemed to want to ask the first question. Around the side of the stage, Astoria could see Anaïs biting her lip as she gazed out into the crowd, full of seven-year-old nerves and excitement.

The reporter from The Daily Prophet stood, apparently deciding he should at least do his job.

“Ms. Sprout, can you please expound on your plans for creating infrastructure in Hogwarts for allowing werewolves to attend the school?”

Astoria exhaled and sank down in her seat; it was an easy enough question that she knew Olivine could answer. She’d expected something pointed or snarky, but the reporter apparently wanted this to be over more than he wanted to cause a fuss.

“You know, it’s crazy they weren’t allowed in the first place,” murmured Aurora. “Muggle schools make space for children with disabilities and illnesses all the time.”

Astoria frowned. “They do?”

“Yes, my older brother was in special education classes since he was a kid.” Aurora looked over at her and, clearly reading the question in Astoria’s face, added, “He’s a Muggle. Only Penelope and I are—were—witches.”

“What are special education classes?”

“They’re for kids who have trouble learning the standard way, or who have disabilities of some sort.” Aurora dug around in her bag and pulled out a book to show Astoria, entitled ‘The Forgotten Children: Unseen Victims of Gellert Grindelwald.’ “I just picked this up at Inky and Tome’s, about how Grindelwald used and abused disabled children in his campaign. There’s a lot of history there that no one cares about.”

Astoria took the book from her, a dusty red jacket on top with a painted picture of two small boys, both dressed in patched green robes with Grindelwald’s symbol pinned on their chests. One of them had red spots on his face; the other boy was missing a left hand.

“I didn’t know about that,” she said, feeling faintly ill as she flipped the book over to read the summary on the back.

“Well, of course not. Not like Binns would ever teach us anything like that.” Aurora tapped the front cover, making the boys’ eyes jump to her. “Grindelwald was a magical supremacist, he believed that wizards and witches were superior to Muggles. So how did he deal with the fact that some wizards and witches weren’t? That they were born disabled, or disordered, or couldn’t use magic properly?”

“By… killing them?” Astoria ventured.

Aurora shrugged. “From all I know about Grindelwald—and I’ve studied a lot—he wasn’t an indiscriminate killer like Voldemort. He just believed in people knowing their places. So disabled people were closer to house elves than real wizards and witches in his eyes.”

“And even house elves have their purpose,” said Astoria quietly. “As long as they know their place.”

“Exactly.” Aurora tucked the book back into her bag. “It’s pretty dark stuff. But the point is, things like that—and things like Voldemort using Greyback as an attack dog to create a werewolf army for himself—wouldn’t happen if we had the infrastructure to deal with special needs children in the first place.”

Astoria turned back to the stage, watching Olivine answer another question about werewolf rights, thinking about how hard it would be to create an environment where children weren’t able to be attacked and abused for who they were. That no one was taking Olivine seriously as a candidate because she was attempting to dismantle an entire institution built on prejudice, rather than working within it the way Shacklebolt did, and Macmillan wanted to.

“There are rumors of a new and improved Wolfsbane patent pending,” the reporter was saying when she tuned back in to listen to him. His tone was dry and banal, as if reciting facts for a school presentation. “If true, would your administration be willing to subsidize the purchase of Wolfsbane for werewolves nationwide? The Shacklebolt administration was able to get legislation passed for the current version of Wolfsbane to be distributed to werewolves, but many members of Wizengamot as well as voters think it’s unwise to spend our tax money on it and there are rumblings of putting it back to a vote.”

Matthew’s brow furrowed just slightly; Astoria caught it only because she knew him well enough to know this was troubling. To anyone else, he simply stood there in silent support, as always. Olivine didn’t even blink at the question, professional as ever.

“The original Wolfsbane potion patent was licensed to the Ministry and to any potioneers who wanted to use it as a base, in good faith from its creator, who only wanted to help werewolves,” she said. “I expect any new and improved Wolfsbane patent to follow that groundwork, but if not, then yes, I believe government has the duty of helping all its constituents, even the ones not as well-off as members of our Wizengamot.”

Aurora leaned over to say, under the cover of the onlookers’ rumblings, “Imagine if the Wizengamot took pay cuts to improve other people’s quality of life.”

Astoria smiled. “It would never even cross their minds. Well, most of them,” she amended. “I think Granger’s been trying to get that changed lately. But you know what they say about her.”

“Muggleborns never understand?” Aurora guessed. “Or something about how of course she doesn’t need money, she has an Order of Godric?”

“More or less,” said Astoria. “Stupid, of course, since it’s not like she was born with an Order of Godric.”

“And it’s not like people have the ability to empathize, anyway,” added Aurora with a grimace. “D’you think Sprout actually stands a chance?”

Astoria considered the question, looking back at the stage as Olivine said a thank you and goodbye speech and people started wandering away from the makeshift stage. Matthew beckoned to Anaïs who jumped onto the stage and ran into his arms so that the photographer with the Prophet’s reporter could take some family pictures.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Macmillan has a lot of outright support, and he has Shacklebolt’s endorsement. And Mother… she has a lot of underground support, people who maybe don’t want to admit it but they want a return to the status quo. And she’s been working on this campaign for years, even though she only announced in January. Building up quiet support and things like that. Olivine doesn’t have the money or the donors backing, and even her mother can’t endorse her because Hogwarts professors have to stay politically neutral.”

“True.” Aurora sighed and picked up her bag, hefting it onto her shoulder as she stood. “Neville told me he’s not too sure about Macmillan, either, but he can’t endorse one way or the other since he’s a teacher now, and Ernie asked for help so he shows up to events and such.”

Astoria stood, too, eyeing Aurora speculatively. It was a nugget of information that she probably shouldn’t have shared with Delia Greengrass’ daughter—that even the war heroes weren’t fully united behind Macmillan. She knew Potter and Granger wouldn’t endorse until closer to the election, Granger had said as much to the press already, and Longbottom wasn’t allowed as a Hogwarts teacher for the past two years, ever since Professor Sprout had decided being Deputy Headmistress was taking enough of her time that she needed to hire a new Herbology Professor part-time.

She was sure he’d be full-time soon enough; Olivine had mentioned to her that her mother planned on retiring before McGonagall would. She had wondered often why Professor Sprout didn’t retire already so that she could help her daughter with her campaign instead, but she supposed there was still plenty to do around Hogwarts, even seven years after the war. Fixing the damage the Carrows and the Death Eaters had done to the education system wasn’t exactly a task for the faint of heart.

Instead of any of that, she said lightly, “Hogwarts professors really get off easy, don’t they?”

Aurora laughed as they turned to walk away. “Honestly, I’d love to be one, but my specialty is History of Magic and we all know how that would go.”

“Right.” Astoria tried to imagine firing Binns and failed. “He’d just haunt your classroom even if McGonagall did manage to legally fire him.”

“Total mood-killer,” agreed Aurora. “Quite literally. Anyway, it was good seeing you.”

“Yeah,” said Astoria, surprised by the sentiment. “You too. I’m sorry we never… you know, after the war and all…”

Even though they’d never been friends—in fact, Astoria couldn’t remember ever having a real conversation with Aurora Clearwater, apart from being paired together in Charms or Transfiguration lessons sometimes—it still hadn’t been right. The way a third of her year had just disappeared in fifth year, barred from coming back to Hogwarts. How they’d all had to be tracked down to come back for sixth year, had to resit their O.W.L.s with that missing year, how silent everyone had been after the war. No one had quite known what to do, least of all the Slytherins, when their Muggleborn classmates had returned.

“Yeah,” Aurora echoed. “It’s alright. I never reached out to Daniel and I should have.” A dark look crossed over her face. “I never even found out until sixth year. I thought he’d be in N.E.W.T-level History of Magic with me, you know, because hardly anyone else gave a damn about that class. There were maybe four of us who even qualified. But he wasn’t. I had to ask one of the Hufflepuff girls and she told me, but no one knew where he’d gone.”

Astoria had to stop herself from an entirely inappropriate fit of laughter. She’d known where Daniel was in sixth year. But she didn’t know anymore. It was funny how things could change so suddenly and so alarmingly.

“Is he alright?” asked Aurora as they passed a kiosk selling knockoff gold jewelry that claimed to be charmed with love spells. “I know it’s been a while since the war, but…”

“I don’t know,” said Astoria bleakly. “He’s—well, he’s disappeared lately. I don’t know why.”

“Oh.” Aurora frowned. “Well, I hope he turns up. Let me know if I can help. I mean, I work at the Ministry, although I’m not really well-connected. But I can try, if you don’t want to involve Aurors.”

Astoria looked at her in surprise. “Thanks. Yeah, I think—I’ll keep in touch.”

“Good.” Aurora smiled back at her. “See you around.”

Meeting Aurora by chance had reminded Astoria of something she’d been putting off doing. There were plenty of people in her Hogwarts class she had never really spoken to or cared about. But there were also quite a few whom she had hated.

Which was why she had never stopped by Gladius Park, the large, sprawling country estate that belonged to the Flint Family, to offer her condolences until now.

Luckily, she thought she’d heard from someone that Drusilla was out of the country, but even still, the Flint parents were not exactly people you met on a whim. Their security guard let her through after a series of quick spells to ensure she wasn’t holding anything dangerous and a house elf led her into the drawing room and offered her a cup of tea while she waited for them.

Astoria looked around as she sipped it, savoring the crisp notes. Gladius Park, like most pureblood homes, was stately and old, built centuries ago and then simply renovated by magic anytime the trends changed. The Flints, like the Greengrasses, were prone to redecoration and prided themselves on moving along with the times. The inside of the manor had sleek, clean fixtures and furniture, like spotless glass tables ornamented with dark wood and bookshelves simply decorated with books rather than stuffed haphazardly full of them. The couch she was sitting on was black leather and the coffee table in front of her held a vase with a single red rose on it and nothing else.

“Astoria, dear!” Althea Flint swept into the room in a graceful swirl of soft beige robes. “How lovely to see you. Thank you for coming by.”

Astoria stood and offered what she hoped didn’t seem like a halfhearted smile. The Flints were some of her mother’s best donors, and Althea Flint was a longtime friend of Delia’s. Neither of their mothers had ever understood why Astoria and Drusilla weren’t really friends, and tended to treat them as if they were anyway.

“Mrs. Flint,” she said, inclining her head. “Thank you for having me. I just wanted to check in on you and express my condolences. Marcus will be missed.”

Althea Flint was a beautiful and intimidating woman when she wanted to be, but in private, around pureblood friends and family, she was never anything less than the gracious host. She accepted Astoria’s condolences with a small smile and a press of her hand, and then waved her wand to open the curtains and let some natural light into the drawing room. A small array of diamond rings—a new one for every anniversary, Astoria remembered her mother telling her father in an unavoidable hint that he ought to do the same—glittered on her fingers as she gestured for Astoria to sit down again.

“Well, thank you, dear, I appreciate that.” She seated herself gracefully in an ivory-colored armchair opposite Astoria. “How are you doing? I hear you’ve taken up working for your mother’s campaign, that must be fun. It’s good to see you back in London, you know we all worry about you all alone up there in the Highlands.”

Astoria tried to remember everything Daphne had attempted to teach her about polite manners and etiquette and acting like a politician.

“Of course, I had to come support my mother as things ramped up,” she said lightly. “And I wanted to thank you on her behalf as well, you know. You and Mr. Flint have been such loyal supporters. And Marcus was, as well. How is the family?”

“It’s difficult,” Althea admitted, looking out the window. Her dark hair fell in perfect gentle curls down her back—Astoria knew for a fact that a photograph of her was on Daphne’s inspiration mirror for when she did her own hair for events—and her face became somber as she spoke. “Your mother has been a great source of support, though. She offered to send her house elves over to help with the funeral as well. Will you be coming?”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course I will,” said Astoria quickly, although she had forgotten entirely about her invitation to that. “When is it again? I’m staying at Daphne’s at the moment, although sometimes I’m still expected back at Queen’s Lodge, you know, to make sure it’s still standing.”

Althea sent her a small smile. “This coming Saturday, July 9^th. It’s only taken so long because the Aurors kept his body in custody for so long. They said they wanted to make sure the potion was cleansed from his system before we buried him, and of course, they had to do it manually since…”

“Yes,” said Astoria automatically, although her mind was on not the realities of getting a potion out of a dead man’s bloodstream, but something else. “Sorry, but why was there a potion in his system? I thought he was… well, you know.”

“Indeed.” Althea’s eyes went dark. “We all assumed that. But no, the Aurors’ forensics team confirmed he had a sedative in his system when he died.”

Astoria hadn’t heard about this, although that was hardly a surprise. She knew full well Potter and the Aurors weren’t telling her everything—and of course, why would they? Their investigation was classified. She leaned forward, trying not to seem too interested in only talking about the gruesome murder of Althea’s son.

“I hope they find whoever did it,” she said, in a genuine statement for once. Althea seemed slightly surprised by her fervency. “Do they have any leads?”

“None that they’ll share with us, obviously.” Althea shook her head. “But Seneca is putting a lot of pressure on them, so I’m sure they’ll turn something up soon. I was quite surprised they put Harry Potter on the case, honestly—seems a bit below his pay grade, doesn’t it?”

“Isn’t it his job?” asked Astoria.

Althea’s smile was twisted. “Well, perhaps. But he and his kind don’t really work for our people, do they? They’d be more likely to assume the worst of Marcus, coming from a family like ours. Pureblood, Sacred Twenty-Eight. They all think we’re evil just because of who we are, even if we were never Death Eaters.”

Astoria thought this was a bit rich, personally. She knew full well the Flints had agreed with the Death Eaters on everything. She’d heard Drusilla parroting enough of her parents’ shit around the Common Room to know that, although even Drusilla had shut up after the war. Most of them had, in fact. All the pureblood families she’d known since her youth had quietly and quickly attempted a massive recalibration, in order to avoid getting sent to prison along with the actual Death Eaters. Some had succeeded better than others, like the Flints and her own family. But that lingering grudge had remained, the idea that something had been taken from them by Harry Potter and his friends. Some intangible sense of power and authority, stolen away by a world shifted on its axis.

“Well, Marcus didn’t do anything wrong,” she said soothingly, although she wasn’t completely assured of this statement either.

“Of course not.” Althea frowned a little. “He was doing great things. The company was making so much money under him, he was an amazing CEO. Do you know, he was about to expand it? He died before he could, and now Seneca doesn’t know who to hand over the reigns to, Drusilla has already said she doesn’t want it…”

Astoria parsed through this information—Althea liked to talk a lot, especially about her children. But in this case, Astoria thought she needed all the gossip about the Flint siblings.

“Expand it… with more dragons?” she asked. All she really knew of the Flints’ business was that they bred fighter dragons. Hard to see how that could be expanded, especially since the sports they were bred for weren’t even legal in the United Kingdom.

“Oh, no, in general,” Althea told her. “He wanted to branch out into more industries, not just animal breeding. And he was right, you know, although it’s quite good money, it’s not enough anymore. The world was changing. Marcus was smart enough to change with it.” Her words held a painful, tight grief, but Astoria’s mind was whirling too fast to offer more than a smile of sympathy.

She would never have described Marcus Flint as ‘smart’ in her years of knowing him, but he did have a business acumen, she had to admit. And he was good at cheating on the Quidditch pitch, that was for sure.

“Well, I’m sure Mr. Flint will figure out the best thing to do,” she said reassuringly. “How is he doing?”

“Oh, you know Seneca.” Althea managed a light laugh. “Throws himself into his work. He didn’t expect to have to be back running the business, so he’s dealing with that now. And all the little power plays, you know, people who want Marcus’ job and are sucking up to him to get it. I really wish Drusilla would accept it, it would be so much better to keep it in the family, but she’s set on her new job.”

“What’s her new job?” asked Astoria.

Althea’s face shifted as if she’d bitten into something sour. “She’s taken a job in America. Amun-Ra Tech, it’s this up-and-coming company that wants to integrate Muggle technology with magic. I have no idea why, but they pay her quite well—you know she was top of her year in N.E.W.T.s? It seems they were looking for recruits from England, since they want to expand out of America.”

After her talk with Aurora Clearwater earlier, Astoria found herself doubting somewhat that Drusilla Flint would have been top of their year in N.E.W.T.s if so many of her classmates hadn’t been forced to retake their O.W.L year and play catch-up—and not even just the Muggleborns, but the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws who had barely studied for anything that year because they’d been busy being used as punching bags for the Carrows. She didn’t say any of that, though. The weirder part was Drusilla willingly working for a mixed Muggle and magical company.

“Good for her,” she said, as this seemed to be the only appropriate thing to say. “I mean, if that’s what she wants to do, of course. Where is she based now?”

“Her company is headquartered in New York,” said Althea. “She comes home so rarely. I think last time I saw her was just after it happened, and then she had to leave immediately.”

Astoria found this strange, since Drusilla’s brother had just been murdered, but maybe her new job was quite demanding. That didn’t sound like Drusilla, though—with purebloods like them, family came first. Everyone knew that. Her brother had died. That wasn’t nothing.

She swallowed her general distaste for Drusilla and offered, “Well, if I see her, I’ll talk to her. I want to express my condolences to her as well. And to Mr. Flint, of course.”

“Of course, dear.” Althea smiled slightly and reached out to squeeze Astoria’s hand. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad to see you’re back with us.”

She meant back in London, in pureblood society, amongst the snakes and vipers of their world. Astoria smiled back tightly, wishing more than anything that she didn’t have to be.

After tea, she told Althea she’d walk herself out after going to the bathroom, since she knew the way, and waved her goodbye. Then she’d ducked into the guest bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror, and concentrated hard.

Apparation was possible to anywhere you’d been before, within the borders of your country. And in this case, Astoria wanted to go only within the borders of this house. But it had been a long time since she’d been allowed up into Drusilla Flint’s bedroom—not since they were little girls, pushed together to play at parties, before Drusilla had decided that Astoria wasn’t very fun as a friend. Which she had been entirely correct about, of course.

With a sharp pop, she appeared in the bedroom. Looking down to make sure she had all her fingers and toes, Astoria was gratified that it had worked—Apparation was much easier when it was to places you’d been often. She wasn’t totally sure she had remembered to visualize Drusilla’s bedroom well enough to sneak in like that. But it seemed she did.

Taking a breath, she drew her wand and quickly placed some silencing wards on the door so that Althea or the house elves wouldn’t notice her. Then she looked around.

Drusilla’s childhood room was much more elegantly decorated than hers. She had a small gallery wall of family photographs arranged on a dark navy blue wall, with the rest of her room in cool shades of cream and light blue. Her bed had closed canopies of soft chiffon around it, fluttering slightly in the small breeze that had been created by her Apparation. There was a large wooden wardrobe, a set of light dressers, a shiny silver-accented vanity, and a seating area next to a bookshelf which, like her parents’ downstairs, was set aesthetically rather than practically.

Unlike Astoria, she had no posters of anything up. A few paintings, expensive-looking landscapes that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a museum. It was a very grown-up kind of room. But of course, she’d lived in it until very recently.

Astoria’s vague sketch of a plan had been to try and find Marcus’ office when she came here, but she couldn’t exactly wander around openly. Someone would find her. And she didn’t know where it was, or if he even had one here—he may have moved out, she didn’t know. She hadn’t even known about Drusilla. So this was the only thing she could think of, to Apparate into Drusilla’s room and work outwards from there.

And in fact, she found herself wondering now about Drusilla instead of just Marcus. She had nothing to do with the family business, that much Althea had made clear. But why was that? Drusilla was smart and ambitious; surely, she would want the company if it made that much money. And it did—the Flints were incredibly rich. Slytherins didn’t give up on a good thing. What was she doing all the way in America?

She tapped the drawers of Drusilla’s vanity with her wand, testing. They were locked and warded, but an Arithmancy unlocking sequence took care of that. Make-up, hair products, and an amount of jewelry that would make an ordinary person green with envy greeted her. Quickly, Astoria closed and sealed them up again.

She moved on to the dresser. Clothes, more accessories, one drawer full of random things like snow globes and gift cards, even more clothes—and then at the bottom, one filled with parchment.

Astoria knelt to look through them. Drusilla’s N.E.W.T. results, her O.W.L. results – all passing grades, of course, mostly Os and Es, with one or two As, including in her Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T, which made Astoria smile. Letters from her parents saved from Hogwarts. A few letters from friends and boyfriends, sent in the summers, probably.

And then, tucked away, a piece of white parchment which stuck out amongst the pile of yellow, with a logo of a sun beneath two crossed wands that turned into… antennae? She thought, maybe. The logo was on the blank side of the parchment, in the middle of two folds. Astoria opened it up to read.

It was an offer letter from Amun-Ra Tech. She skimmed down it—headquartered in New York, just like Althea had said, although they mentioned Drusilla would have her choice of home base since they had locations in fifteen states. It was a very lucrative offer; she would be Head of Digital Marketing, whatever ‘digital’ meant. The start date had been June 27^th, a Monday, but they said they would have her place to live ready a week in advance, wherever she decided.

Astoria traced the start date with a finger, staring down at it thoughtfully. Maybe Marcus’ murder had just happened at exactly the wrong time for Drusilla, in the middle of a cross-continental move. But how strange was that? And she hadn’t even started the job when it had happened, so surely her new company would have given her an extra week or two for bereavement. It wasn’t like she had work to catch up on.

 So why had she been so quick to get out of the country?

Astoria thought back to what she knew about Drusilla and Marcus as she tapped her wand to copy the letter. It wasn’t much, admittedly—Marcus was so much older than them, he had never had much to do with either of them. Drusilla rarely talked about him. She had never had any inclination to play Quidditch, which had been Marcus’ main focus for many years, until he got rejected from every team he tried out for after Hogwarts.

She didn’t think Drusilla was the type to kill her brother. What would her motive even be? If she wanted the company, she wasn’t doing a very good job of taking it, when her parents were practically pushing it into her hands. Did she secretly hate Marcus? Drusilla could be cold and unpleasant, and she was very much only out for herself, but that was her brother.

Penelope’s words returned to her: I don’t think most people are capable of murder. No matter how mean or rude they are.

But someone was. Someone had to be. And, Astoria remembered with sudden clarity, Drusilla had deeply hated her, and Daniel by association. Or maybe it was Daniel she had hated, and her by association. It was hard to tell. She had been awful to both of them, to Griselda, to anyone associated with them. Part of it was just rivalry with Hufflepuff and the other Houses, but some of it had felt very personal.

Did she hate Daniel enough to frame him for murder? Was her brother just convenient collateral damage?

It was hard to picture the teenage girl Astoria had known—snotty, pretentious, and bitchy at times, but not a murderer—as capable of that. But then again, there was a lot that Slytherins were capable of. Astoria had learned that lesson hard during the war.

She dug through the letters drawer one more time, after folding up her copied offer letter and tucking it into her jacket pocket. Everything seemed normal enough—letters from grandparents, a few from Marcus in his untidy scrawl, but nothing incriminating even when she read those. A normal relationship between not-very-close pureblood siblings.

Astoria was putting the letters back in the piles she had found them in, when her fingers brushed the right side of the drawer, which were lined in white-flowered vinyl on the inside.

She stopped. There was a lump there.

It wasn’t visible, she realized after pushing the letters to the left side. It was a glamoured bulge, one you could only find by feeling it. Quickly, she took her wand back out and traced the small circle of the lump.

The vinyl peeled apart from the wood of the drawer. Inside was another pile of letters.

Astoria pulled one out. It was folded up into sixths and magically sealed. Every attempt at opening it with her fingers proved futile. Alohomora likewise did nothing. An Arithmancy unlocking sequence made the letter glow, but it still didn’t open.

She stared down at the secret pile of letters. All of them were like this – yellow parchment folded up so tightly, and so well-sealed, that nothing she tried could open them.

The Aurors would have specialized revealing charms, she thought absently, rooting through the secret letters and picking four out at random. But could she even give away the secrets of a girl she hated to them?

Astoria slid the letters into her pocket and stood. She’d think about it more at home, when she wasn’t at risk of being caught.

There was nothing in the wardrobe except more clothes. She cast a generalized searching spell on the room, but nothing interesting popped up, so she slipped out of the room, locking it behind her, and looked around the hallway. There were more doors, and more branching hallways, but Althea was still around here somewhere, and so were the house elves and the human servants. Astoria had a Notice Me Not charm on herself, but she was still intruding in someone else’s house. And portraits and ghosts could notice things even humans couldn’t.

She decided to risk it only enough to check the rooms, just to see if one was Marcus’. There were bathrooms, guest rooms, one office but after a glance through, she found it was Seneca Flint’s, not his sons’. A rather ornate French double door led to what she assumed was the master bedroom, and left that one alone. Finally, she found a room that must have been Marcus’ bedroom—he did have posters up, of Quidditch stars and teams—but it had clearly been unused for a long while. His drawers were unsealed and thoroughly useless, full of nothing but clothes, random household objects, and old copies of Unicorn, which she dropped with annoyed disgust back into his dressers.

With a sigh, she ducked into a small hallway bathroom and Apparated out of the house, back to Daphne’s, a plan slowly unfolding in her mind.

“You want to what?” asked Daphne in surprise.

“Go to America,” said Astoria again, patiently. “You said it yourself—we need dirt. There are always going to be rumors going on about us, especially with Penelope planning her wedding and you and I being, you know, legally single and all. Better to get stuff now, ahead of the election, than wait until we really need it again, right?”

Daphne tapped her French-tipped nails on her desk, looking at Astoria thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m pleased you’re taking initiative. But what’s your plan? The Ginny Weasley thing? How will you find her?”

Astoria had no real plans to track down Ginny Weasley, but she knew her sister would ask this.

“Well, she works at New York University of Magic, doesn’t she? Shouldn’t be that hard. There’ll be records of her on staff. I’ll hang around and find someone who knows her, knows where she hangs out. And,” she added, remembering her own Hogwarts days only a year below Ginny Weasley, “if I know her at all, she won’t have stopped practicing Quidditch just because it’s summer vacation.”

“True.” Daphne leaned back in her armchair. “So, okay, that’s at least half a plan. What if you can’t track her down, though?”

Astoria shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. I’ll just poke around a bit, see what else I can find. Draco Malfoy’s still out there, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll find something on him.”

Daphne’s face turned serious. “You can look, but I don’t think we can use anything on Draco Malfoy. You remember when his parents’ divorce hit the presses a few months ago? Mother was over at Narcissa Malfoy’s every weekend to help her through it. She won’t want to hurt Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Damn.” Astoria slouched back.

“I know.” Daphne’s lips twisted in a half-smile, half-grimace. “But if you do see Draco, give him a hex from me.”

Astoria laughed. “Will do.”

“Also, you’re going to have to find a way to get to America on your own, and soon, because we have a lot on our plate coming up. I’d look into getting you an International Portkey, but they’re not exactly fast with these things, and they won’t expedite it for me. Don’t forget, Marcus’ funeral is coming up, and we have to be there for that.”

“Like you said, I’ll ask Penelope,” said Astoria. “She had that job at that magical art museum over there. I’m sure she has connections.”

Daphne looked annoyed. “Right. I’m sure she does.”

Astoria eyed her carefully. “Are you ever going to talk to her again?”

Daphne didn’t meet her gaze. “Leave it, Astoria.”

“I’m not going to leave it.” Astoria leaned forward in her chair on the other side of Daphne’s desk. “You’re my sisters. You can’t make me choose between you two—”

“I’m not asking you to choose,” snapped Daphne. “I just don’t want to talk to her, or about her. But if she can help you, by all means. Go for it. You know Mother believes in utilizing all our resources.”

“Right,” said Astoria dubiously. “Okay. So I have your permission if I can get a portkey to America?”

“Of course. Just don’t waste too much time out there. Ginny Weasley is not a priority.” Daphne’s gaze softened. “And I’ll make sure you never have to do anything as awful as dancing with Harry Potter for my sake again.”

Astoria grinned at her. “I’d do worse for you.”

“I know.” Daphne smiled. “Anyway, I had a meeting with Mother earlier. Things are going well with her poll numbers—she’s still behind Macmillan, but not by as much as she used to be, and we’re closing the margin of error. I think we really just need a few more big flashy events to get people’s attentions. Maybe a charity gala or something. Can you think of anything?”

“Um.” Astoria screwed up her face in thought. She wasn’t much for the numbers side of things in politics. “I mean, you could always borrow Queen’s Lodge and throw something together for winged horses or the Meteorics or other tournaments if you want. People like that sort of stuff. Not really a charity, though. I’ll think about it.”

Daphne nodded. “See if you can. Oh, and Mother wanted to ask me if you’ve done anything about some jewels?"

Astoria grimaced. "Ugh. No. I told her, I don’t know where they are, and I don’t know how to find them.”

“You should really look into it,” said Daphne gravely. “I know Queen’s Lodge is all under your name, but I don’t think those jewels are. Mother was meant to get all of the jewelry in the family, apart from what Father gifted to the four of us. Which didn’t include any of that, I don’t think.”

“I know.” Astoria sighed, dropping her head back to hit the chair. “I just don’t have time, you know? I’m basically working two jobs, between Queen’s Lodge and this.”

“Well, maybe ask someone for help,” suggested Daphne. “Maybe not your staff, since any of them could have stolen the jewels. What about the portraits, or the ghosts? Don’t we have one—Great-Great-Aunt Euthalia? Is she still there?”

Astoria sent her a despairing look. “I think she’s a bit more great than just our great-great aunt but yeah, she’s still there. Flies around muttering to herself about how I’ve let the place go and trying to shove her autobiography onto anyone who comes to visit.”

“Sounds like her,” said Daphne with a smile. “You never know, though. Ghosts sometimes know a lot more than we think they do. They just don’t tell us things because it doesn’t occur to them that we might like to know.”

Chapter Text

In her fleeting career as a winged horse rider, Astoria had visited quite a few farms around the continent. Some on even more majestic estates than Queen’s Lodge, and some that sprawled across muddy banks and flower fields. She’d seen horses and other animals in all sorts of conditions, ranging from impressive to mediocre to ‘ought to be shut down if the government cared at all.’

She’d rarely felt her skin crawl more than when she stepped foot onto the Flint family’s dragon farm.

It was much smaller than Queen’s Lodge—although not, she thought, because they couldn’t afford a bigger plot of land, because they certainly could. Dragons, in her experience, were large and hard to control creatures; part of her initial frustrations with the Scottish dragon reserve was that their legal sky field was so much larger than hers and she couldn’t do anything about it because they needed the space.

These dragons weren’t large. They weren’t even as big as some of her heaviest horses. They were about the size of cows, with sharp-tipped leathery wings and wide, dilated eyes. Their scales ran the gamut between glittering crimson and shimmery navy and every color in between, which was perhaps the only point of similarity between them and the great, marvelous beasts she saw at Skyfire Sanctuary.

But Skyfire was a reserve, and this was a breeding farm.

Astoria picked her way through the field, boots grinding in the dirt, as the dragons ambled around in the enclosures. They were strange, unnerving creatures, bred only for one purpose—to fight. One of them, a sleek albino one in all white, eyed her curiously as she reached the office building standing detached from anything else in one corner of the field. Its eyes were wide as saucers, probably from whatever unearthly diet was being pumped into it to keep it in shape.

Unlike Skyfire and Queen’s Lodge, there was no house here. No place to rest for humans or for dragons. Just the stables, the fences, and what little sky field they had.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the girl at the front desk, sounding bored.

“I’m here to see Tracey Davis,” said Astoria with practiced ease in lying. “Tell her it’s Daphne’s little sister.”

The girl’s eyes widened in recognition, and she quickly scribbled off a paper memo. Astoria leaned against the desk, pretending to look bored, as the girl tapped the memo to fold it up into the shape of a bird and sent it soaring off through the office to find its target.

Inside, there was just her and the small main entryway, and closed glass doors leading to offices and cubicles. It was clearly the kind of place that was attempting to be modern even though it was built in the middle of nowhere. Once, it had probably been a dilapidated barn, but the Flints had upgraded it over the years so only the stench of farm manure remained. Everything else wouldn’t have been out of place in the richer areas of London.

It was so like them, Astoria thought, to just cover up the ugliness and pretend that made it okay. A very pureblood line of thinking.

A paper bird returned, and the girl unfolded and read it, then nodded and said to Astoria, “Follow me.”

She led her through a door into a small hallway lined with even more doors, beige walls blank of any kind of personality, and then into an office. This one, at least, had some color to it, with wood and gold accents and an upholstered brown desk chair behind the desk.

Sitting in it was Tracey Davis, who looked up and offered Astoria that bland, polite smile of secretaries everywhere. She was only a year older than Astoria, but her slicked back bun and make-up gave her the severe appearance of a woman at least six or seven years older.

“Hi, Tracey.” Astoria took the seat the front desk girl indicated for her, on the other side of Tracey’s desk. “How are you?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” said Tracey, letting her smile drop and treating Astoria to a more suspicious look as the door closed behind the other girl. “What are you doing here? Running errands for Daphne?”

Astoria pretended not to notice the sarcasm in referring to her as an errand girl.

“Kind of,” she hedged. “Just wanted to check in. I was actually speaking to Mrs. Flint the other day, and she mentioned that Marcus had been wanting to expand the company and since I also work with magical creatures, I thought maybe I should come check out his plans, see if I can help. Thought I could get a tour, maybe?”

Tracey frowned at her. “You want to go into business with us? I’m not really the person to talk to about that. We have a Chief Financial Officer.”

The thought of going into business with the Flint dragon farm made her feel sick but Astoria smiled pleasantly at Tracey regardless.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I know my father used to make a sizeable donation to the farm. I’d have to consider my options, though. So I just wanted to take a look around. Plus, Marcus was one of Mother’s top donors, and I just don’t want to lose the relationship now that he’s sadly gone.”

Tracey didn’t seem overly sad about this fact, but she nodded and looked through her papers.

“I can take you on a quick tour, but I have a lunchtime meeting, so I have to be back before then. Come on.”

Astoria stood to follow Tracey out of her office and back out into the farm. In the grim daylight, Tracey looked very unprepared to trek through the field, in her pencil skirt and heels, but she only cast a spell—a Cushioning Charm, maybe, or something similar—on her shoes and began to walk, Astoria trailing after her.

“Have you ever seen a fighter dragon before?” asked Tracey, leading her over to a pen with two sleeping dragons inside it. “They’re quite different from regular dragons, if you’ve ever seen those.”

Astoria shrugged. “I’ve only seen real dragons at the Triwizard Tournament,” she lied. “How are they different?”

“Much smaller, obviously.” Tracey deftly unhooked the gate and beckoned Astoria in. “We keep them on a strict diet of ashwinders and raw cow meat, to help enhance their natural genetics. They’re faster, stronger, and smarter than normal dragons.”

Astoria knelt down in the pen next to a sleeping dragon, curled up in a ball of silvery scales. “Ashwinders?” she asked. “Doesn’t that affect their fire?”

“Mmhm.” Tracey walked past her to check on the other dragon, making a face at the stench. Astoria was used to working with farm animals, so it didn’t ever bother her anymore. “Shorter, hotter bursts of fire. I’m told it’s useful for their fights. It’s not very interesting if two dragons are simply breathing fire at each other the whole time. So the ashwinders’ magic in their systems means they don’t breathe fire as often. Very dangerous when they do, of course.”

Astoria reached out a hand to lightly touch the scales of the dragon sleeping near her. She’d seen and touched dragons before, even helped feed some of them the raw meat that was their usual diet at the reserve—not just cows, but chickens, goats, all sorts of other animals. Those dragons were kept full and healthy, and allowed to exercise whenever they wanted.

This one, even in sleep, seemed to be vibrating with energy. She wondered how much else was pumped into their systems in order to turn them into killing machines. Real dragons had wants and needs, different focuses and fears. Some of the little ones were scared of flying, some of the older ones were too tired to fly every day. She remembered Charlie and the dragonkeepers introducing her to their beasts, the way she would introduce anyone to Rhea or Arion or Xanthus—as friends, not tools.

Were these dragons allowed to live? She got to her feet as the dragon stirred, looking around at the little field they were confined to, kept enclosed by wards invisible to their eyes.

“Over here, we keep the ones who don’t make it,” said Tracey with a lazy flick of her wrist at a closed stable. “They’ll get shipped out for potions and wand ingredients.”

Astoria could tell just from the stench emanating from that stable that she did not want to see what was inside it. A long time ago, she remembered a dragon keeper named Mika raging against Charlie about sending a recently deceased dragon off to a butcher to be shipped out for parts to potioneers. And she remembered the wandmaker from the continent who had come to her farm, to ask her for winged horse feathers for his work. The way his face pinched when she had told him, ‘Only from the ones who give it willingly.’

Wizards were such creatures of taking.

“So this operation makes a lot of money, then?” she asked after a moment.

“Oh, of course.” Tracey brightened at the prospect of telling her something she clearly knew better than how to take care of dragons. “Profits have doubled each year since Marcus took over, and so have our sponsorships. If you’re interested in sponsoring, I can connect you with—”

“That’s okay,” said Astoria quickly. “I have someone who takes care of those things for me.” That was a bald-faced lie, since she only had Jason and it wasn’t his job to expand the business, but Tracey didn’t need to know that. “Tell me more about these games. Where are you shipping the dragons to?”

“All over.” Tracey closed the pen behind her and locked it with her wand, then began leading Astoria out to the more open field. “Well, only places it’s legal, obviously. We get a lot of orders from Spain and Italy, and then some of the smaller countries like Austria or Moldova.”

Astoria squinted against the sun, watching the albino dragon amble around on the grass.

“I thought dragon breeding was illegal, full stop.”

“It is. These aren’t classed as dragons, legally.” Tracey shrugged. “Marcus’ great-grandfather had that loophole written in when he was on the Wizengamot, apparently. They’re too small to be dragons. I think legally we call them dragonlings, they’re meant to be a separate species.”

“Dragonlings,” Astoria repeated. “I guess it has a certain ring to it. But they are dragons?”

“They were.” Tracey pointed at one that was flying, a stable hand watching below in anxiety. Its wings were spread in glittering green, beating against the wind. “Somewhere way up there in their family tree is a real dragon. But it’s been generations. This is what they are now.”

As if it was unchangeable and immutable. Not something men made in order to have power over beasts that were famously more powerful than them.

Astoria tilted her head up as if she was just idly watching the dragon soar, swallowing down her disgust.

“I remember my father had a business deal with Marcus,” she said casually. “Do you know about that?”

Tracey shook her head. “That was before I started working here. I do have the records, but obviously, the money stopped when your father died and your mother took over the estates. I understand she needed it for her campaign. Ever since then, Marcus was talking about expanding the business, in an effort to get more sponsors—a lot of people find dragon breeding a bit unseemly, so he thought it would help.”

Astoria frowned. “Expand it how?”

“Into other magical creatures, ones that are a little more… stable and predictable. Sponsoring anything to do with dragons is a bit of a risk, you know. And there are even more rare magical creatures that we could breed for use as potions ingredients or wand cores. His best friend had some good ideas. You remember him, I’m sure? Pansy’s older brother.”

“Euan?” Astoria struggled to remember what exactly Euan did for a job – the Parkinsons had some big business, but usually, trying to remember any corporate facts about her family friends was an exercise in futility. “Is he part of this company?”

“Oh, no, it was for a partnership,” said Tracey. “The Parkinsons work in pharmaceutical potions. Expanding the farm into other beasts that could be used for potions ingredients, that kind of thing. We were working on this stable over here, before Marcus passed.”

She pointed to an empty, half-built stable a long distance away from the dragon pens.

“There were a lot of ideas floating around, but now that he’s gone, it’s going to take a while to get them going on. Mr. Flint is much more focused on figuring out who to appoint as the next CEO.” Tracey eyed Astoria. “I don’t suppose your horses—”

“No,” said Astoria quickly. “Thanks for the tour, then. I’ll let you go.”

“Give Daphne my best,” said Tracey, with only a note of mocking insincerity in her voice.

Astoria couldn’t get out of the Flint farm fast enough, but unfortunately, her next location wasn’t exactly much easier to bear. Luckily, Mrs. Parkinson wasn’t in – she was almost always somewhere doing something for her mother’s campaign – but she knew Pansy would be, since Pansy wasn’t working and was also still pretending to be a grieving widow.

True to form, she was sat in the living room dressed all in black when the servants let Astoria into Greywing Hall.

Pansy’s face twisted when she saw her, her book snapping shut in the middle of the page she was reading.

“What do you want?”

“I thought I’d stop in for tea,” said Astoria blandly.

Pansy rolled her eyes.

“You’re not even going to offer?”

“Tea is for guests,” Pansy said. “Not nuisances. What do you really want?”

Astoria shrugged. “Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to express my condolences for your great loss?”

Pansy stared at her, then opened her book again.

“Or what if I told you I know where Marcus’ mistress lives?”

Pansy looked up again. “Do you?”

“I might have a guess.” Astoria smiled pleasantly at her. “Just a guess, of course.”

It was a risky move, when she didn’t know the name of the mistress. Pansy’s eyes narrowed, assessing. Every conversation in Slytherin House was like this, a constant push and pull in search of having the edge over on someone. Astoria hated it, but you had to learn to be good at it.

“What makes you think I care?”

“Well, I just assumed you’d like to do something with your time besides pretending to be in mourning over your dearly departed fiancé,” said Astoria. “Like hunting down a girl who might know why he’s dead.”

Pansy closed her book again and leaned forward, pressing her elbows on her knees.

“Do you have a name or don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t give you a name whether I had one or not.” Astoria inspected her nails. “Plausible deniability, you know how it is.”

Pansy scoffed. “Okay. Fine. What do you want?”

“My information for yours.” Astoria slid herself around an armchair and sat down in it, facing the fireplace. “I need to know anything you know about Marcus’ business ventures in the last three years.”

“How would I know that?” Pansy asked. “I wasn’t part of his company. He didn’t want me involved. And we haven’t been engaged for all that time.”

 “Come on, Pansy. You and I both know you’re way too smart to be some guy’s trophy wife. Marcus was raking in money. I know you would have involved yourself whether he wanted you there or not.”

Pansy stared at her for a moment, then laughed, shaking a strand of loose hair out of her face.

“You think you’re so much smarter than the rest of us silly little pureblood girls, don’t you? Too smart to be someone’s trophy wife, but if you were smarter than you are, you’d know that’s exactly where you’d want to be.”

Astoria blinked at her.

“Men like Marcus… they want power,” Pansy continued, ruthlessly. “Power, money, glory. Their wives are just a part of that quest. But for us, it’s a way to rule the world without our husbands ever knowing. So you’re right. I do know about his business ventures. He would never tell me. But that’s why I was his fiancée, and you need my help. If you had stayed here, if you had built power for yourself rather than running away to Scotland to play with the horses, you’d know how to do it on your own.”

Astoria bit back on two or three offensive retorts.

“This has nothing to do with me, I’m trying to solve your fiancé’s fucking murder.”

“Of course it has nothing to do with you,” Pansy said in a tone of deep disgust. “You have nothing to do with any of us. By your own choice. You sit there in your farm and think you’re better than us because you refuse to get married, or play politics, or listen to your mother. Trophy wife isn’t a real thing, but of course you’d think it is.”

“Oh, sorry, how would you describe it?” Astoria asked. “Gold digger?”

Pansy’s face pinched, but she kept herself from drawing her wand, through some miracle of self-control.

“Call it what you want. I agreed to marry Marcus because I wanted to, not because I was bartered off for the highest bidding.”

“Right.” Astoria decided not to point out exactly how the engagement had happened in the first place. “Whatever. Did you know about him going into business with your brother?”

“Of course I did.” Pansy picked up her book again, returning to looking bored. “They’d been discussing doing a partnership for a long time, but they couldn’t figure out exactly what the best angle would be. Why does it matter?”

“I just think someone might be after you,” said Astoria, lowering her voice to impress upon Pansy the seriousness of this. “Your fiancé, your brother, their businesses. Something about this has you at the center of it.”

Pansy frowned. “And what, you think the girl he was fucking has something to do with it? She wants my life?”

“I don’t know her,” Astoria said. “I don’t know what she wants. But don’t you think there’s something suspicious about this murder happening right when Marcus and Euan are about to have a real partnership between their incredibly lucrative businesses? Right before your wedding would have tied them together personally as well as professionally?”

Pansy tilted her head. “No.”

“Pansy,” said Astoria with a sigh. “Will you just listen—”

“I don’t think it’s suspicious, because we already know a werewolf killed him,” Pansy interrupted. “And werewolves have nothing to do with either Marcus or Euan. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Astoria, just because you don’t want your little wolf boy to have done it. But you should be looking at him and his friends instead of my family.” She paused, glancing down at her book, then looked back up again. “Actually, you should stay out of it and let the Aurors handle it.”

“The Aurors are useless,” Astoria snapped. “Or did Daphne not tell you what they did to her two days ago?”

“What?”

“They brought her in for questioning because they had a theory that she was sleeping with Marcus and wanted his money.”

Pansy stared at her, stunned.

“They didn’t have any evidence for this, of course,” Astoria continued. “But it made me think maybe they were onto something, just going about it the wrong way. Because obviously it wasn’t Daphne but maybe it was someone else with the same motivation.”

Pansy looked sideways at the fireplace, her face stony. When she looked back at Astoria, a mask of placidity was in place.

“What makes you so sure it wasn’t Daphne?”

“Merlin, Pansy, you really think she was fucking your fiancé?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” muttered Pansy.

Astoria stared at her. “First time… for what?”

“Her trying to steal one of my boyfriends,” Pansy said, raising her eyebrows. “Or hasn’t she told you that story before?”

Astoria groaned. “You cannot still be hung up on shit that happened when you were seventeen.”

“I’m just saying, she has a history of being…”

“Being what?”

“Being a slut.”

Astoria squinted at her. “You sure talk a lot about how women are more than just trophy wives for someone who calls her best friend a slut at the slightest provocation.”

“Guess I’m not invited to the feminist club meetings,” said Pansy dryly. “It’s only a fact. She sleeps with anyone who compliments her the right way. Whether they’re taken or not. But no, Astoria, I don’t think she was sleeping with Marcus.”

“Because she wouldn’t do that to you?” Astoria hedged.

Pansy sent her a look of tolerant amusement. “No, because she doesn’t need him. Daphne would never fuck someone just for money. That’s so gauche.”

Astoria didn’t think she would ever understand their friendship.

“Okay, great, so we’re in agreement. Do you have any access to Marcus’ files that haven’t already been given over to the Aurors?”

“Yes, but I can’t give them to you, either.” Pansy flicked the page over in her book, despite the fact that she most definitely had not been reading. “His files are under lock and key. I told the Aurors they could look them over, but they weren’t able to break the password spells.”

“Marcus is dead,” said Astoria. “His password spells ought to have stopped working.”

Pansy shrugged, disinterested.

“Can I at least see them? Where are they?”

“At his apartment in London. I can give you the key to that, but the Aurors have already investigated every nook and cranny of it. And besides, you need to fulfill your end of the bargain first.”

Astoria sighed and got to her feet. “Knockturn Alley.”

“What?” asked Pansy.

“The girl you’re looking for? She’s from Knockturn.”

Three hours and a long search of Marcus’ luxury penthouse apartment later ended with Astoria, exhausted, knocking on the small red door in Diagon Alley that belonged to her sister.

She hadn’t found anything of use; Pansy had been right that all his files in his office were still spell-locked. But those protections ought to have started fading upon his death, which meant that Marcus had either specifically guarded them against intruders, perhaps suspecting he might die, or that someone had renewed them.

It could be his unknown mistress. Astoria felt a flash of guilt for pointing Pansy straight at some girl from Knockturn when she didn’t even know who it was, but not too guilty. Anyone who slept with Marcus Flint was probably a piece of work themselves.

She wondered about her father’s place in all of this, whether he had maybe taught Marcus those protections himself when they had been in business together. So many secrets of so many dead men. Astoria wished for just one instance that she didn’t live in a world so controlled by men’s hunger for power.

George Weasley opened the door. “Astoria! What are you doing here?”

Astoria shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I just wanted to talk to Penelope. Is she in?”

George waved her in. “She’s on a Floo-call with her friend, but she’ll be right out. Can I get you anything? You look dead tired.”

“I’ll take tea or coffee, whatever you have,” Astoria said. “Thanks. I’ve been… working all day.”

“Sounds rough,” he said sympathetically. “So have I but I figure my job is less soul-sucking than yours.”

Astoria smiled slightly, sitting down on a stool at the kitchen island while George put the kettle on.

“You have no idea.”

“So what’s been going on?” George asked, whisking his wand to steep the teabags instantly into three cups. “Anything we need to be worried about?”

“I don’t know, I…” Astoria sighed. “I was hoping Penelope would help me out. Daphne wants me to go to America for a day.”

George blinked. “What, just for fun? Little day trip?”

“Something like that,” said Astoria. “I kinda offered because I just really need to get away from this fucking campaign.”

“Can’t you just quit?” asked George. “I mean, your mother would be mad but from what Penny tells me, you have some experience dealing with that.”

“A little bit,” Astoria agreed, accepting the cup of tea and the sugar bowl he passed her. “But I can’t quit on this yet. I’m trying to, you know, heal the family and stuff. Won’t happen if I…” She took a sip of the tea and swallowed against the hot liquid, wincing a little. “Run away to Scotland again.”

“Well, between you and me, there are upsides to running away to Scotland,” said George, leaning in conspiratorially. “Charlie actually took me in for a few months there, right after the war. They were setting up the reserve and I couldn’t…” He glanced around his flat, considering. “I couldn’t be here. Not after Fred. He let me have all the time I needed. It was nice up there.”

“Yeah.” Astoria crossed her arms on the kitchen island and propped her chin on them. “It is nice. I miss it. How is Charlie doing, by the way?”

“Good.” George paused, taking a sip of tea. “They got in a new dragon from the Hungarian reserve the other day. One of theirs had a whole clutch, they didn’t have space for him. He was asking about you, actually.”

“The dragon?”

George laughed. “No, Charlie was. Says you haven’t been there to visit in a while. Thought he might have done something to piss you off.”

“Oh.” Astoria lifted her head up to take another sip of her tea.

George eyed her curiously. “Has he?”

“Has he what?”

“Pissed you off somehow?” George asked. “I thought you two were friends.”

“We are.” Astoria shrugged, pulling the sleeves of her jacket down to cover her hands. “We were, I guess. He’s… too close with people I can’t trust.”

George made a knowing noise and stepped back from the counter with his mug of tea.

“You mean Harry.”

He didn’t state it as a question, so Astoria didn’t answer.

“You know I’m closer with Harry than Charlie is, right?” asked George.

“Yeah, I’m not at your house by choice,” Astoria told him. “You just happen to be engaged to my sister.”

“Harsh.” George squinted at her. “Charlie’s a good guy. He’s not going to, like, betray you or anything.”

“No, Gryffindors never think of it as betrayal.” Astoria swallowed another mouthful of tea. “You’re always doing things for the greater good or whatever. Anyway, it’s not that I think Charlie would betray me. It’s just that I can’t give him the chance to.”

“Right. Is that a Slytherin thing?”

“You’re about to marry one, shouldn’t you know?”

He grinned at her. “She’s not much like the rest of you. Obviously.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. Penelope emerged from the living room at that moment, brushing green flecks of Floo embers off her dress.

“Astoria! I wasn’t expecting you.” She came over to give her a side-hug, then gratefully accepted the cup of tea George had made for her. “What brings you here?”

“I need your help.” Astoria summoned up her best little-sister smile. “I’m meant to go to America to do something for Daphne, but I need help getting an international portkey. I thought since you had that job over there, you maybe knew a guy or something?”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, taking a seat on the stool next to her.

“I mean, I know some guys, but not international portkey kind of guys. Can I ask why or is this a top secret campaign mission?”

“Something like that.” Astoria shifted her eyes to George. “He might need to leave the room for this.”

“Wow. I see how it is.” George leaned over to kiss Penelope on the cheek. “I’ll be play-testing some new products if you need me.”

Penelope smiled at him, then turned back to Astoria once he left.

“So what is it?”

“It’s stupid,” Astoria warned her. “You’re going to laugh.”

“If Mother and Daphne are involved, I’m sure I will. Tell me.”

She sighed and took another sip of tea. “Daphne wants me to go to America and track down George’s sister. Try to find some New York gossip to offset some things in the press about us.”

“Ah.” Penelope leaned back against the kitchen island. “A very Daphne plan, then. Overly complicated for no reason and all to take down another woman.”

Normally, Astoria would have let that slide, but after dealing with Pansy earlier calling Daphne a slut, it made her bristle.

“Come on, she’s not trying to take down anyone. It’s campaign and media politics.”

“It’s… ridiculous,” said Penelope patiently. “Ginny Weasley has nothing to do with this election and yet here Daphne is trying to drag her into it in order to, what, get one over on the Macmillan campaign? Thinking she’s playing chess instead of checkers but she’s actually just playing Gobstones against herself.”

Astoria stared at her, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had never, in twenty-three years, heard Penelope speak about their sisters that way. Either of them but especially not Daphne, who was her little sister.

“What happened to you two? I don’t know if you forgot but she is still your sister—”

“She made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be.”

“Pen,” Astoria sighed. “Whatever she said, she was just mad. You know how she gets when she’s pissed off.”

Penelope smiled sadly at her. “You know I love you, but you work too hard at trying to get Daphne to see people other than herself as human beings. And all this business with the campaign and the media and insane gossip plans… it’s not you. It’s Daphne. You’re letting her change you on the off-chance that she might figure out how to be a decent person. And it’s not working.”

Astoria’s mouth opened, then closed.

“You don’t know what I’m doing,” she said finally.

“Okay, then tell me.” Penelope set her teacup down on the island. “Because this is nothing like you. I know you’re not really planning on running off to America to investigate a gossip lead because Daphne snapped her fingers. And if you are, you’re too far gone for me to help.”

Astoria stared at her older sister for a long moment, weighing her options. Penelope met her gaze, calm and even as always. She had always been so steady against the tidal waves that were their sisters, their mother and father. It was impossible to crash into her because she just wouldn’t let you.

And whether she liked it or not, she needed help. Big sister help.

“I can’t tell you everything,” she warned. “I’m trying to find Daniel, and I think I need to talk to Drusilla Flint and she’s in America.”

Penelope sat back, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

“See, that’s more like you,” she said. “Why do you need to talk to Drusilla Flint?”

“I don’t know yet.” Astoria took another sip of her half-finished tea, frowning down at it in frustration. “It’s something to do with Marcus Flint, I don’t know—but I want to find out about his business, the family business. I don’t know how Daniel was involved or wasn’t. Drusilla is the only lead I have right now.”

Penelope nodded slowly.

“Alright. I don’t know if I can help with that. I quit my old job, so I can’t just snap my fingers and get a portkey anymore. But if this is about the Flint investigation… well, I know someone who can help. But you’ll have to trust me. And you’ll have to tell him at least part of the truth.”

Astoria blinked. “Tell who—oh, no.”

Penelope smiled at her. “Just trust me. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not trusting Harry Potter with anything.”

“Then you’re not getting to America,” said Penelope. “Because last I checked, he’s the only person in the Ministry with the kind of pull to get you an overnight international portkey without raising any eyebrows. And you know what, if you tell him why, he might actually help you. He wants to find the truth as much as you do.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Astoria said. “He wants to solve the case so that he and the Aurors can wipe their hands of this business. I want Daniel back.”

“Will you just look at this objectively for a second?” Penelope demanded. “You have a lead. I know you’re not suspecting Drusilla for no reason. He needs a lead. Right now, his lead is Daniel. You want him to investigate someone else, tell him why. He has more information than you do, so get it from him. Think like a Slytherin for once, instead of a Gryffindor.”

“I am thinking like a Slytherin,” said Astoria, offended. “Slytherins don’t let Gryffindors get involved in their business if they can help it.”

Penelope shrugged. “Take it from someone who knows, it’s not as bad as you think. Look, I don’t know as much as you do, but I talked to Zoya. She doesn’t think Daniel did it either. But he’s the best lead they have. And they are still investigating Daniel, you know that. You need to find a new lead, and if you have one, you need to tell the Aurors.”

Astoria sighed deeply and then inhaled the last of her tea.

“Merlin. Fine. I’ll ask him. But if he annoys me and I kill him, it’s your fault.”

Penelope laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to be the thing that topples Harry Potter. I’ll go get George.”

It took Harry Potter half an hour to arrive via fireplace into George and Penelope’s living room. In that time, Astoria had a second cup of tea, ate a bowl of a curiously Muggle and overly sugary cereal, and won a game of Gobstones against George.

He came in right as the last marble exploded in George’s face.

“Ouch.”

Astoria got to her feet, letting Penelope clean up the explosion from her fiancé.

“Potter,” she said.

He inclined his head. “Nice to see you again. George told me you wanted to talk to me.”

“I do.” Astoria crossed her arms and glanced over at her sister and George. “How much did he tell you?”

“Not much.” Potter dropped down into an armchair facing her and after a moment of reluctance, she took her seat again. “Just that it was important.”

“Should we not be here for this?” asked George, although he made no move to leave.

“Uh, I’d rather not give her the opportunity to attack Harry Potter alone,” said Penelope quickly.

Astoria shot her a look.

“I’m not going to attack. I actually do need your help.”

Potter spread his hands. “I’m all ears.”

Astoria had been weighing how to tell the story for the entire half-hour since she’d given George the go-ahead to go call him. The truth, unfortunately, seemed more likely to work than any of the lies she’d come up with.

“I was at the Flints’ house yesterday,” she said carefully. “I talked to Mrs. Flint and… I noticed something I thought was weird.”

She paused, waiting for him to ask what she was doing there or something else, but he didn’t, just looked at her expectantly.

“She said Drusilla had been overseas almost the entire time, since right before Marcus died. And she also said that they wanted to give her the family company, but she refused. And I thought that was weird – the Flints are super rich, she’s their only child left, why wouldn’t she want the company? Apparently, she has a new job in America.”

Astoria pulled out the copy of Drusilla’s offer letter from Amun-Ra Tech and slid it across the coffee table to him. Potter picked it up and gave it a cursory glance over.

“She hadn’t started it yet when Marcus died. So why was she overseas at the time?”

Potter made a thoughtful noise. “You think it’s a fake alibi?”

“I don’t know if it’s fake, it’s actually weirder if it’s true. She was in America on June 22^nd, moving house? Why? And why wouldn’t she come back and stay when her brother dropped dead? She hadn’t started her job yet, it’s not like she was busy with work. But she stayed there, only came back to talk to you lot once.”

“It was weird,” he acknowledged. “But her alibi checks out. Her company approved a portkey for her on June 21^st to start moving her things to America. Besides, what motivation does she have, if she won’t even accept the business?”

“I thought that, too. That’s why I want to go to America to talk to her. And you’ve already questioned her, so you can’t exactly talk to her without a warrant, but I can.”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “I can question her again if I want to. Also, doesn’t she hate you?”

Astoria scrunched her nose at him. “Where did you hear that?”

Potter grinned. “You were both in Beth’s year, remember?”

“Right.” Astoria sat back in her chair with a sigh. “We’re still, you know, old family friends. Besides, all that was Hogwarts drama.”

“Sure.” Potter picked up the offer letter again, looking over it more carefully. “I agree with you that it’s strange. But it’s not strange enough for me to go and get you an international portkey to America right now. And certainly not enough to let you go alone.”

Astoria said nothing for a moment, watching him as he studied the letter, then looking over at George and Penelope, who were both watching in concern.

“Sorry,” she said to them. “Can I have a moment alone with him? This is more sensitive.”

Potter glanced at her, although he didn’t protest. Penelope and George exchanged a look and then slowly got up to leave.

“Be nice,” Penelope warned her as she stood.

Astoria smiled at her. “I’m always nice.”

Potter snorted but said nothing else until George and Penelope were back in their bedroom.

“What’s so sensitive?” he asked.

Astoria hated playing her aces, but she dug into her pockets anyway, pulling out the folded up letters she’d stolen from Drusilla’s drawers and scattering them on the coffee table.

“I found these too. See if you can open them.”

Potter sent her a puzzled look, then picked one up and tapped his wand to it. Nothing happened. He frowned and muttered another spell. Nothing. A third.

He looked back at her.

“What are these?”

“Secret love letters?” Astoria suggested. “A coded plot to kill her brother? Hell if I know. They were in her drawer of letters. There was a lot of them. I grabbed some to see if I could get them open, and I couldn’t.”

“Hold on,” said Potter. “You stole these from her room?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her, aghast.

“Astoria, I can’t accept these as evidence.”

“Then don’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t care about your evidence. That’s my evidence. I think she’s hiding something. That’s why I want to go to America and find her. You are only involved because Penelope told me I should do the right thing and tell the Aurors. If I could get there without you, I would.”

Potter drew back, his mouth twisted, although he seemed a bit like he wanted to laugh at her summarization of events.

“Okay. Merlin. So, you found… secret love letters in Drusilla Flint’s private drawers. Which we have no legal reason to investigate and so no way to enter these into evidence. And yet, they exist and now I know about them.”

“You don’t have to do anything about them,” she pointed out. “Just work some Harry Potter magic and get me an international portkey for New York. For tomorrow morning. I’ll go talk to her and see what I can find out.”

Potter sent her a disbelieving look. “Yeah, and then what? You keep it a secret like you do everything else? I don’t think so.”

“What do you want, then?”

He adjusted his glasses, taking a moment to think.

Finally, he said, “You can go. But I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Astoria stared at him. “No. She’s not going to say anything with you there.”

“She’s not going to say anything to you either,” Potter said. “She hates you. But if you’re going to be snooping around her office, I at least need to be there to make sure you’re finding things we can actually use. If you’re going to be part of the investigation, you actually need to be part of it. That means working with a partner.”

“I don’t want to be a part of your investigation,” she protested.

“Then why did you show me these?” He tapped one of the locked letters.

“To get you to get me a portkey!”

“And I will.” Potter grinned at her. “It’ll be fun. It’s like a field trip.”

Astoria blinked at him for a moment, then decided to ignore that.

“Listen,” she said slowly. “My sister—Daphne—thinks I’m going to America to do something for the campaign. But if she finds out you’re there too, she’s going to get suspicious—”

“How will she find out?” Potter interjected. “I can keep a secret. So can George and Penelope. Can you?”

“Of course I can.”

“Then Daphne won’t find out, we’ll go to New York tomorrow morning, check out Drusilla’s office, chat with her, and be home before dinner.” Potter leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “What could go wrong?”

“At least fifteen things before breakfast,” said Astoria.

“Are you in or not?”

She stared at him for another long minute, studying him. He looked back at her, earnest as ever, his hair sticking up and his eyes bright green behind his glasses. She was under no impression that he actually wanted to help her; he only wanted to follow a new lead. And she had no idea what Drusilla Flint would say when she saw them. There were so many things wrong with this plan, it had to be a record for her.

“I’m in,” she said at last.

Potter extended his hand. After a moment’s reluctance, she accepted it to shake.

“Oh, and if we’re going undercover together, you should probably start calling me Harry,” he suggested. “Make it less obvious that you hate me.”

Astoria leaned back in her chair.

“I don’t hate you.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“No?”

“You’re doing me a favor.” She smiled slightly and then pushed herself to her feet. “I appreciate it. See you tomorrow, Potter.”

“It’s Harry,” he reminded her.

She waved a hand. “Tomorrow’s problem.”

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley in the early morning was a whole different beast than it normally was. Most shops were still setting up for the day, the street kiosks were half empty, and only very few customers were wandering around, aimlessly since most shops weren’t open yet.

Astoria was perched on the stair railing in front of George and Penelope’s flat – it was locked, since George was at his shop and Penelope was at her new job at the Magical Art Museum of Wizarding London, but it was where she and Potter—Harry, she reminded herself with an internal sigh of reluctance—had agreed to meet.

“Morning,” he said, climbing up the stairs. “How are you?”

He was dressed casually, much like her, in jeans and a t-shirt and jacket, with a cap pulled low over his face so nobody would look too carefully at him and recognize him. He wasn’t holding anything, and she frowned at him.

“Did you get a portkey?”

“Of course I did.” Harry checked his watch. “We have five minutes though. How’s your day?”

Astoria stared at him, trying to figure out why he was attempting small talk for a good thirty seconds before she replied.

“Well, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to all day, so it’s not going great so far.”

He leaned against the railing on the other side from her and looked at her carefully.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “this isn’t going to work if you’re just going to be mean to me all day.”

Astoria crossed her arms.

“Really? Because I think Drusilla will be even more suspicious if she sees me being nice to you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because she thinks I’m a massive bitch.”

His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but didn’t.

“Are you?”

“Decide for yourself,” she suggested. “When are we leaving?”

“Four minutes.” Harry reached into his back pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. “Honeyduke’s finest. It’ll take us to the magical terminal of JFK.”

Astoria pulled her plait down over one shoulder, running a hand over the escaped curls. “Great. And then what, we just walk into Amun-Ra Tech?”

“Sure, why not?” he asked blandly.

“You think they’ll just let us through?”

“’Course they will.” He turned the chocolate bar around to inspect the lettering on the front of it. “Because I made an appointment.”

Astoria blinked at him. “You made a what?”

“An appointment,” he said patiently. “At Amun-Ra Tech, with Drusilla Flint.”

Astoria said nothing for a moment, just stared at him to see if he was being serious.

“I thought we were going undercover,” she said at last.

Harry shrugged. “Rule number one of being an Auror, you have to do things the legal way first.”

“Right,” she said dryly. “So if you’re doing things the legal way, why am I here again?”

He looked up from the chocolate bar to her.

“This was your idea,” he reminded her. “I’m just tagging along.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We both know you can go to New York without me. Why aren’t you bringing your little sidekicks?”

“Not my sidekicks,” he said. “They have their own lines of investigation to look into. Besides, this isn’t our only case.”

For a moment, her mind flashed back to the missing werewolves, who had been occupying her mind all week. She wondered which Aurors were on that case. Looking at Harry Potter now, she wondered if he would tell her if she asked. But somehow, she wasn’t so keen to tell him how many of his Auror secrets she already knew. She’d been too forthcoming about her Drusilla suspicions already.

“Oh, I’m sure raiding Death Eater houses and flirting with Goldstein keeps them busy.”

His lips twitched again, but this time he did smile.

“Three minutes,” said Harry, checking his watch again. “So are you going to tell me why Drusilla hates you before we actually meet her?”

Astoria looked over at him skeptically.

“You’re really interested in ten-year-old Hogwarts drama?”

“If it’s relevant to the case, yeah.”

She sighed, swinging her feet.

“She’ll be polite to me, since you’re there. But she hates me because when we were twelve, I bought a potion off owl-order to put in her shampoo that made all her hair fall out. Constantly. For two weeks.”

Harry looked, somewhat despite himself, amused.

“Why did you do that?”

“I was twelve,” she said with a shrug. “Do I need a reason?”

“You were twelve and a Slytherin,” he pointed out. “They usually do have reasons. Unless you were just, like, an unrepentant bully.”

“Maybe I was.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Or you just don’t want to tell me the reason.”

“Look,” said Astoria, hopping down from the railing. “Twelve-year-old girl drama is not your problem, Potter.”

“It’s Harry.”

“Right,” she said. “Harry. What’s your actual plan for dealing with Drusilla? You think she’s going to tell you anything straight up?”

“Obviously she’s not, since she didn’t fess up to those secret letters.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the one letter she had let him take in order to see if the Aurors could break it open. “But we do still have to ask her questions the normal way first.”

Astoria raised an eyebrow. “First?”

“Mmhm.” Harry turned the little folded up letter over in between his fingers. “And then we’ll go from there.”

“So you don’t have a plan?”

“I tend to figure it out as I go.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gryffindors.”

He tucked the letter back into his pocket and sent her a challenging look. “You have a better plan?”

“Several. Plans with plans inside, actually,” she said. “But we’ll do it your way first. How much longer?”

“Ninety seconds. So enlighten me, what are your Slytherin plans?”

Astoria lifted a hand to count down the steps. “Find her office. Sneak inside when she’s not there. Go through all her stuff. Copy whatever seems useful. Leave before she comes back.”

Harry squinted at her. “And no part of this plan involves just… talking to her?”

“Talking to Drusilla is basically the same as waging psychological warfare,” she told him. “Not worth it.”

“And how is that different from talking to you?”

She pressed a hand to her heart in mock-pain. “I cannot believe you’d ever compare me to Drusilla Flint.”

Harry chuckled and extended the chocolate bar to her so she could hold onto the end of it.

“Well, I did spend six years of my life being psychologically tortured by Professor Snape, so I think I’ll survive.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, right before the portkey activated to take them to New York.

The magical terminal of JFK Airport smelled like shit.

Of course, that could also be because portkeying over large distances, like across the Atlantic Ocean, tended to be even rougher on your senses and stomach than regular portkeying. Astoria was fairly used to it, since her family took holiday trips often when she was a child, and always to some Mediterranean or Caribbean locales, but Harry looked faintly ill when they landed in the designated portkey zone.

“You good?” she asked him as he steadied himself against a helpful railing that separated them from the rest of the travelers walking briskly past to other portkey zones or international Floos.

“Yeah.” Harry coughed once. “I haven’t done that in years. Not since we had to chase some Death Eaters…” He paused and looked over at her. “You seem fine.”

Astoria shrugged, pushing open the railing gate to step outside their zone.

“My family took a lot of international holidays. And I used to visit Penelope when she lived here. You get used to it.”

“Do you get used to that smell?” he asked.

“No,” she said, wrinkling her nose as they began walking. “But New York always smells bad. No idea how Pen survived here for so long. It’s worse outside.”

“Is it?”

She glanced sidelong at him. “You haven’t been here before?”

He pulled his cap off, since people didn’t seem inclined to stop and stare at him here, she guessed, and tapped it with his wand to make it disappear.

“Should I have been?”

“Doesn’t your ex-girlfriend live here?”

Harry grimaced.

“That was after we broke up.”

“Oh.” Astoria had known that, but it seemed as good an opening as any to discuss the pretense she had given Daphne for coming here. “Are you two, like, not friends anymore?”

He exhaled, then clearly made a decision to ignore her.

“Come on, we have to catch the train.”

She let him have five minutes of silence on the walk out of the terminal and to the underground magical subway that transported wizards and witches all over New York. He had a card with him, presumably from the Auror department, because it had their logo on one side and he scanned it onto a machine twice to let them enter the train without fuss. Other passengers shoved coins into the same machine, or scanned their own cards, which lacked the Auror logo, to join them.

“So,” said Astoria, crossing one leg over the other as they took their seats on an empty bench inside the train. “Must be weird for you. Being in her city.”

Harry propped his elbow on the back of the bench and looked over at the small family of three on the bench opposite them instead of at her. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of his wand underneath his sleeve and his mouth moving in a spell—a Muffling Spell, she guessed, because suddenly everyone around them was looking elsewhere.

“Are you going to annoy me this entire train ride?” he asked.

“Seems likely,” she said. “Are you going to avoid answering the entire train ride?”

He shot her a sidelong glance.

“Seems likely.”

“Okay.” Astoria drummed her fingers on the edge of the seat as the train started rumbling into motion. “So why did you really break up?”

He laughed. “Come on, do you think I’m this stupid?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No, you definitely do.” Harry turned to look at her, adjusting his glasses as he did. “I know how you Slytherins work. Anything personal I say to you gets sent right back to your sister and her spy network, doesn’t it?”

Astoria hummed in mock-thought. “Spy network is a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“All Slytherins are melodramatic,” he said. “Sneering melodrama… ferrety melodrama…” He looked her up and down and added, “Horse girl melodrama.”

“Wow,” she said. “Everything I’ve said and done to you and all you can come up with is ‘horse girl’?”

“Sorry, what would you prefer?”

“I happen to think I am the exact right amount of dramatic, thank you very much.”

Harry grinned. “You all think that. And you’re all wrong.”

“Right, well.” Astoria drew her plait down again and then pulled off her hair tie to unbraid it. “If you’re not going to tell me your deepest secrets, what else do we have to talk about?”

“I don’t know, not like we’re on a mission right now or anything,” he said wryly. “What exactly are you planning on asking Drusilla? Are you just going to show her those letters?”

“Merlin, obviously not. You Gryffindors have no sense of decorum. You think I’m going to tell her I was snooping around her room? She might kill me.”

Harry tilted his head. “I’d like to see that.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, but ignored that.

“Anyway, we’re going into her place of work, which means she has the power in the conversation. Best thing to do is to be polite and not let her know we’re onto her.”

“Power in the conversation?” he repeated slowly. “Sorry, and you think you’re not melodramatic?”

“Oh, get over it.” Astoria ran her fingers down her curls in a futile attempt to smoothe out the tangles. “It’s just how Slytherins work. What do you think those letters are, anyway? I mean, we could be onto the wrong thing entirely. Maybe they really are secret love letters from a Muggle boyfriend or something.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But in itself that could be a motivation. If Marcus didn’t want her to see her secret boyfriend, so she…”

“Killed him?”

He shrugged. “There are worse reasons to kill someone.”

“Your own brother, though?” Astoria sighed, deep in thought. “Look, Drusilla is ruthless and ambitious and a right bitch. I don’t know if she’s a murderer. But I do think she knows more than she’s letting on.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because she’s a pureblood girl and we always know more than we’re supposed to.”

Harry had been watching the adventures of the small child in front of them, but he turned to look at her again at this statement.

“You know we did question Drusilla already,” he said slowly. “She was pretty shaken up. And her alibi checked out and everything. She seemed really upset.”

“Hm.” Astoria pulled her hair back to gather it up into a ponytail. “She’s a good liar.”

Harry leaned back. “Like you?”

“Exactly.”

“Great.” He tipped his head backwards until it hit the wall of the train. “Anything else I need to know about her before we speak to her?”

“Uh, no, I think I covered the basics,” said Astoria. “Bitchy, mean, ruthless, hates me. Oh, and she also hates, y’know, Muggleborns and halfbloods and werewolves and all the usual stuff.”

“Naturally,” he said, then looked at her thoughtfully. “Why don’t you?”

Astoria paused in the middle of tightening her ponytail. “Sorry?”

Harry waved a hand. “You and Daniel. It’s not exactly normal for a girl like you to be friends with a halfblood anyway. How did that happen?”

She shrugged. “We were kids.”

He waited, but she offered nothing else.

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.

“You’re pretty judgy for a guy who’s had the same two friends since he was eleven,” she shot at him.

He held his hands up, a brief laugh escaping him.

“Okay, fine. Is that why Drusilla doesn’t like you? Because you were friends with Daniel?”

“No. I told you why she doesn’t like me.”

“You told me something you did, with zero context or explanation,” he said. “Not exactly the same thing.”

“If you want my life story, you’re going to have to tell me some of yours, too,” she said pointedly. “And when does this train get off?”

“Soon.” Harry looked up at the flashing sign on the ceiling. “Next stop, actually. Also, everyone knows my life story. You know, Dark Lord, dead parents, Halloween, that whole thing?” He pointed at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “May have heard of it before?”

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“How about this?” she suggested after a moment of very uncompaniable silence. “I won’t ask you about Ginny Weasley all day, as long as you don’t ask me about Daniel.”

Harry paused.

“I don’t think that’s a fair deal.”

“Why not?”

“Well, firstly, because we’re on a murder investigation and Ginny has nothing to do with it and Daniel does.”

Astoria sent him a look.

“What’s the second reason?”

“The second reason is that you, Daniel, and Drusilla were all in the same year, which makes him more relevant to our adventure today than anyone else.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Not an equal trade. Try again.”

Astoria sighed deeply.

“Fine. You’re wrong.”

“Wrong about what part?”

“Me, Daniel, and Drusilla. Not everything in my life revolves around men. The reason Drusilla hates me is because of Griselda.”

Harry frowned. “Griselda Goyle?”

“Mmhm,” she said. “In our second year, she and the other girls in our dorm were bullying Griselda quite badly. Her mother cheated on her father with someone twenty years younger than him. It was the talk of society all summer. Drusilla and her friends thought it would be funny to terrorize Griselda for it. She was so shy, she was an easy target.”

His frown deepened. “And you…?”

“I told you that part already,” said Astoria, picking at a thread on a hole in her jeans. “I made her hair fall out. Every day for two weeks. Among… other things.”

 “Other things… like what?” he asked slowly.

Astoria smiled at him. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of time in Professor Snape’s classroom serving detentions that year.” She paused. “And also in third year. And fourth year.”

“And fifth year?”

Her smile faded. “No. Fifth year was the war.”

“Oh.” Harry leaned back again. “Right. Damn, okay. So she actually is a piece of work.”

“Did you think she wasn’t?”

He shrugged helplessly. “She seemed like a normal girl when I spoke to her.”

Astoria studied him for a moment, then declared, “Men are useless.”

“So I didn’t tell you something earlier,” said Harry as they walked the streets of New York City, a summer breeze circling around them. “The appointment to meet with Drusilla is at 11:30.”

Astoria stopped in the middle of the street and turned to stare at him. A man knocked into her and scowled and shouted at her over his shoulder but she ignored him.

“Are you kidding? Why are we here so early?”

“Because I got the portkey before I got the appointment, and I couldn’t change it.” He smiled, only half-apologetically.

Astoria stepped closer to him. “I could have had breakfast at Daphne’s house. Her house elf makes the best poached eggs I have ever had in my life.”

“We can have breakfast here,” said Harry placatingly. “Look, there’s food all around.”

“I don’t want breakfast in this stupid country,” she muttered, turning to walk in a different direction, her ponytail whipping furiously behind her. “We’ll just meet up at 11, then.”

“Seriously?” He had to walk fast to catch up with her. “Where would you go?”

“Nowhere, just trying to spare you from my presence. And vice versa.”

Harry grabbed her arm before she could round the corner. Astoria turned around to shoot him a death glare and he quickly dropped it.

“Look, that’s not how investigations work,” he said, lowering his voice so the people crowding around them wouldn’t overhear. “We stick together.”

“I’m not a fucking Auror,” she snapped.

“You asked for my help,” he reminded her. “You said you’d do things my way first.”

Astoria sighed deeply, staring up at the cloudy summer sky. “Merlin. Fine. Whatever. Let’s go get breakfast.”

He smiled slightly, then glanced around at the street.

“Do you know any good places around here?”

At the hole-in-the-wall bagel shop that Penelope had introduced her to a few years ago, Astoria stared down at her breakfast of choice – smoked salmon bagel sandwich, and a hot coffee on the side – and felt very un-hungry even though she had been starving ten minutes ago.

“Are you not going to eat?” asked Harry, unwrapping his own bagel – avocado, scrambled egg, and bacon. It smelled far more delicious than hers.

They were seated at a high top table right next to the window, with Muggles scurrying to work outside on the street. There weren’t that many people inside, but there was a hum of quiet chatter—and, she knew, another Muffling Spell to stop anyone overhearing their conversations.

“I will.” She prodded at her bagel. “I hate America.”

“Because of the food?”

“Sure.” Reluctantly, she picked it up to take a bite. “Because of the food.”

“Mine’s pretty good,” he said after a moment. “Wanna trade the other half?”

Astoria eyed him. “No. And being nice to me is not going to make up for the fact that you stranded me in this stupid country for an extra five hours I could have spent at home.”

“Okay,” he said with a half-laugh. “Clearly, you have some unresolved issues with this country. You could’ve just let me come on my own.”

“Yeah, right. You wouldn’t even know about those letters without me and then you wouldn’t have this lead.” Astoria took a sip of her coffee, made a face at the taste, and peered at him over the top of it. “And why don’t you have unresolved issues with this country? Didn’t your girlfriend ditch you for it?”

Harry said nothing for a moment, just picked up his coffee to drink from it.

“Careful,” he said at last, “if you’re going to bother me about my ex-girlfriend the entire time we’re here, I might start to think you’re interested.”

She squinted at him, then grinned. “You wish.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on this. Astoria set about opening up one half of her bagel sandwich and methodically picking out all the fresh dill they had placed on top of the smoked salmon, gathering it into a little pile on her plate so she could enjoy her food unencumbered by it.

“So, I assume you have a plan for dealing with Drusilla?” she asked once she finished her bagel dismemberment project. “Since you insisted on doing it your way, whatever that means.”

“Yeah, I was just planning on asking her if she killed her brother,” he said. “Then I thought we could all go shopping together once she confesses. Sound good?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit your heroic tendencies, Potter,” Astoria informed him. “Also I want it on the record that I don’t think she killed her brother.”

Harry took a sip of his coffee. “Noted. Anyway, no, I think we need to be nice. Ask her how she’s holding up, offer help or support or whatever she needs. Then see what she tells us from there.”

“Hm.” Astoria took a dill-less bite of her bagel. “So you’re just playing the good cop again? Am I meant to be the bad cop here?”

“I’m not playing the good cop,” he protested.

“Oh, come on, I know your tricks, Potter.” She set her bagel down and leaned over the table, forcing him to meet her eyes. “The whole ‘I’m Harry Potter and I’m just here to help’ act. The Gryffindor golden boy charm. It’s not going to work on Drusilla, she’s way too smart for you.”

“Like you?”

“Well, I’m stuck here with you and she’s not, so on balance, I think she has me beat.”

He stared at her, then exhaled a breath of laughter. “Wow, okay. So what do you suggest is the best way to deal with her?”

“The best way to deal with Drusilla Flint is to not deal with her, first of all,” said Astoria, shrugging. “But we’re doing it your way, remember?”

Harry smiled slightly. “You might be surprised. The Gryffindor way has always worked for me so far.”

“Right, that’s why you have no leads on this murder investigation.”

“I have leads, you just don’t want to hear them.”

Astoria lifted up her bagel again, examined it closely, then set it back down and wrapped it up in the patterned paper it had come in.

“Really? Because somehow I doubt your department head would have approved an impromptu trip to New York if you were close to an arrest back home.”

He opened his mouth, then clearly decided against it and closed it again.

“Are you not going to finish your bagel?”

She slid off the stool, bagel and coffee in hand. “I’ll get it to go. I need a walk.”

“Wait,” he said. “You’re just going to go off on your own? I thought we agreed—”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said pointedly. “I’ll meet you at Amun-Ra Tech later.”

Harry didn’t seem content to let that stand, though, because he gathered up his half-finished bagel and coffee from the table, too. A couple that had clearly been eyeing their spot next to the window swooped in immediately when he stood from his stool.

“How are we going to communicate if you’re wandering around New York?” he asked her, catching up to her at the doorway to the shop.

“I told you, we’ll just meet—” Astoria stopped right as she crossed the threshold back into the summer heat of the day, then turned to narrow her eyes at him. “Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“This whole trip,” she said, waving a hand between them. “Agreeing to come with me. Forcing me to stay with you. You’re not actually here about Drusilla, you’re here to ply me for information.”

Harry looked at her for a minute, then rolled his eyes.

“Do you think of everything as some elaborate Slytherin plot?” he demanded, hurrying to catch up with her as she started walking away from him. “You know what the real Gryffindor way is? It’s working together, instead of always thinking everyone’s out to get you.”

“Great, I can add ‘Harry Potter lectures me on the joys of working together’ to my resume,” she said dryly. “Look, why don’t you just ask me whatever it is you want to get out of me, I can refuse to answer, then we can go our separate ways?”

He paused.

“Not much point if you refuse to answer.”

She stopped at a nearby bin and tossed the stupid bagel in.

“You know something,” she said, half-turning to send him a speculative look as they walked. “You think I’m lying to you all the time but I’ve actually told you more of the truth than probably anyone else involved in this investigation. And more about me than most people know. And yet I don’t think I know a single thing about you that isn’t already public knowledge.”

Harry frowned at her, sidestepping a group of teenagers attempting to have an argument in the middle of the street. Astoria went the other way around them and then they had to stop at the road to let cars pass.

“Okay,” he said slowly. The group of people waiting to pass at the light milled around them. “What do you want to know?”

“Surprise me,” she said dryly.

He was quiet for a moment. A car honked loudly nearby for no reason Astoria could discern.

“Alright,” said Harry as the light turned green and people started walking. “If you want to know why I’m here, it’s because I think your ideas have merit. I don’t think Daniel did it—at least, I don’t think he did it alone. I can’t ignore forensics evidence in favor of your character witness but I do think there’s more going on here. And I agreed to bring you because I think you know more than you’re letting on, and keeping you involved will be more helpful than letting you run around investigating on your own. So you’re right on that.”

Astoria lifted her coffee to her lips to take a long, thoughtful sip, watching the people pass by around them.

“I’m right about more than that,” she told him after the silence stretched for a minute.

He shot her a look. “Yet to be proven.”

“Fine.” Astoria shook her head, brushing loose curls from her ponytail out of her face. “But we can’t just walk around New York until noon.” She gritted her teeth as a girl nearly barged into her, trailing an overstuffed bag full of papers behind her. “I hate it here.”

Harry barely managed to avoid laughing at the look on her face.

“How about we go somewhere with less Muggles?” he suggested. “There’s supposed to be a magic market somewhere uptown.”

“I thought you hadn’t been here before,” she said suspiciously, following him as he switched their walking path to take a sharp right.

He hesitated. “I haven’t.”

Astoria sent him a sidelong glance.

“Didn’t we just discuss this whole lying thing?”

Harry kept his gaze ahead as they walked, taking a drink from his coffee cup before he cleared his throat to reply.

“If I tell you things, are they just going to end up with your sister?”

“It’s a risk you’re going to have to take,” she said solemnly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine. I came here last Christmas. Just for a day.”

“Why, because you couldn’t resist the smell of urine in the streets?” she asked, kicking at a trash bag some bar had left out on the street from last night.

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment so long, she almost thought he wasn’t going to tell her anything more.

“I came to see Ginny,” he said finally, right as they came upon the front door of another tiny hole-in-the-wall shop that read ‘Mr. Prizm’s Magical Pawn Shop’ in glaring red letters above the door.

Astoria raised her eyebrows in interest, but he was stepping through into the dusty, mostly empty pawn shop before she could press forward.

“Over here,” said Harry, ignoring the girl at the front counter who, in turn, ignored him, busy on some sort of device in her hands. He stepped in between two aisles of knickknacks near the back of the shop, and the air around him seemed to converge, squeeze, and then he vanished.

Astoria sighed. She hated New York’s Apparation points.

The air pulled tight around her, popping her out of existence in the pawn shop, and when she reappeared, it was in the middle of what looked like a farmer’s market, spread out in an open air town square. The street was no longer concrete but cobblestones, and there were much less people here than there had been in Muggle New York, although it was still fairly busy for morning time. Nearby, a woman at a green-draped booth held out wares for a small child to look at which involved an amulet that could speak and a wooden toy of a dragon that spread its wings and looped twice around the little girl’s head.

“Oh, I’ve been here before,” she said, remembering a visit at age fourteen, when Penelope had just barely moved here. Harry was just in front of her, watching a group of teenagers set up for what looked like a street play in the center of the square. “The 13^th Street Greenmarket. It’s a lot more exciting when you’re a kid.”

He glanced at her briefly. “Yeah.”

She binned her mostly-finished coffee and walked over to him, sliding her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

“So why are we here? Because if this was, like, your last date with your ex or something, then I think we need to leave.”

Harry took another sip of his coffee to avoid answering her.

“No,” he said at last, starting to walk down the lines of street kiosks hawking enchanted objects and magical foods at them. “I didn’t see her.”

“I thought you said you came to see her,” said Astoria, following him at a slower pace, amusing herself with looking at snake rings that moved and a vendor claiming to sell real unicorn wine.

“I did.” Harry stopped at a food stall one down from her and looked over the frankly disgusting assortment of soups simmering in pots. “I got here and I realized I was acting crazy. So I…” He glanced around, waving a hand to encompass the market. “Wandered around New York for a day and then went home.”

Astoria stopped, turning to stare at him. He frowned down at the soup, ignoring the old lady attempting to offer him a free sample, and finally looked up to meet her gaze when she didn’t say anything else.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she informed him. “You got all the way here, chickened out of talking to her, and then just went home? What kind of a Gryffindor are you?”

He rolled his eyes and began walking again.

“I didn’t tell you that so you could judge me for my House, you know.”

“Why did you tell me that then?”

“You said,” he began, turning to look at her behind him and making her stop in her tracks, “that you didn’t know anything personal about me. So there you go.”

“Well, thanks. It’s good to know you’re as pathetic as every other guy I’ve ever met. Fearsome defeater of the Dark Lord and all.”

Harry looked for a moment like he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or to laugh.

“Good lesson for you, then,” he said at last, picking up his pace again. “Now do you at least trust me enough to spend the next four hours in my company or am I just going to have put a Tracking Spell on you?”

Astoria made a face at the back of his head.

“You wouldn’t be the first to try that. Anyway, if we’re doing trust exercises, I have a few more questions.”

He sighed. “If they’re about Ginny, I swear to Merlin—”

“No, I’m clear on that,” she said breezily. “You’re still not over her and you’ve spent the past seven months moping about it.”

Harry stopped and turned, making two teenagers have to quickly swerve to avoid bumping into either of them. Astoria pulled up short, meeting his gaze with a smile. He studied her for a moment, then exhaled deeply.

“You’re messing with me.”

“Am I?” Astoria leaned over to the booth closest to them, picking up a cane with a head shaped like a dragon and examining it. “Are you sure?”

“That one’s from colonial times,” said the shopkeeper, flashing a smile at her that showed off exactly how many teeth he still had left—ten, not all in a row, some of them golden. Astoria blinked at him and quickly put the cane back.

A look of amusement seemed to be hovering on Harry’s face.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “You’re very good at saying things that aren’t true as if they’re fact, though.”

“Hmm.” Astoria joined him at the next kiosk, where a woman wrapped in a purple shawl offered them an assortment of dumplings in a bamboo pot. “Gotta say, I’ve never gotten that compliment before.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” said Harry dryly, accepting one of the dumplings as a sample and popping it into his mouth.

“Sure it was.” Astoria did the same and was glad for it a second later – the dumpling was actually good, and washed away the earlier taste of the smoked salmon bagel completely. “Anyway, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Harry picked up a box of dumplings, pretending—or possibly he actually meant it, she wasn’t sure—that he was interested in buying it for the sake of the saleslady who eyed him hopefully.

“You said I’m not over her.” He put the box down, offered the saleslady a smile that seemed to smoothe over her oncoming annoyance at them not purchasing anything, and began to walk again. “Not true.”

“Oh, sorry for drawing a conclusion based on things you told me,” said Astoria, matching his pace. “Or did you tell me that in the hopes that I might counsel you on how to win her back?”

He coughed on what sounded like a laugh. “Like you know anything about that.”

“So you do want to know?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t take romantic advice from you.”

“Why not?” Astoria paused to let a small child race past her with a balloon, then quickly walked forwards before she could be stopped by the rest of the child’s balloon-carrying friends. “I could be great at it.”

“You could be, but you’d definitely just give me bad advice on purpose.”

Astoria tilted her head, considering.

“Okay, fair point.”

She caught up to him, allowing him to walk in silence for a few minutes, and then outpaced him, turning in towards the center of the market where a small fountain decorated the cobblestone pathways, a few kids on one side tossing coins into it, which made the frog statue at the center spurt water out of its mouth and delight them. There were a few benches arranged around the fountain, facing outwards to watch the hustle and bustle of the rest of the market.

Harry looked at her in concern when she sat down. “You good?”

“Just wanted to sit for a minute.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’ve had nothing to eat today except coffee and one small dumpling.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said with a short laugh, although he was right. “I’ve done much more than this on an empty stomach.”

He hesitated, then sat down on the bench next to her, facing a trio of booths that all sold a different, wildly colorful assortment of clothing.

“Like what?”

“Uh, lots of things.” Astoria scrunched her face up. “My O.W.L.s, for one, but that was because it was hard to eat anything that year. For the obvious reasons and also because I think the house elves were refusing to give the Slytherin table good food out of protest.”

Harry blinked at her. “For real?”

“Yeah, or one of the Carrows set their back up and we all got punished for it, I don’t know.” Astoria shrugged. “House elves freak me out so I didn’t ask.”

His lips twitched suspiciously into a smile.

“They’re not that freaky if you get to know them.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said with a sigh. “Savior of the oppressed, aren’t you?”

“What else?” he asked, propping an ankle on his knee and leaning back on the bench.

“What, you want my whole life story?”

“Just making conversation.”

Astoria rolled her eyes and pulled one leg up, bending her knee against her chest and dropping her chin on it as she watched a gaggle of pre-teen girls giggling about their purchases from some stall nearby that promised ‘true love, radiance, and fortune’ if you bought a magic mirror of some sort.

“I did the Meteorics on an empty stomach,” she said absently.

Harry paused. “You did the Meteorics?”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m sure you have all that in my file in your office somewhere.”

He looked at her sidelong. She ignored him, waiting. One of the girls she was watching shrieked at whatever the little magic mirror showed her and all the other girls crowded around to see what it was.

“Okay,” he admitted. “But there wasn’t that much information on you, believe it or not. Your lawyer keeps things very locked up. Did you, uh, win anything?”

“Mmhm.” Astoria leaned her head sideways against her leg to look at him. “Gold.”

Surprise flickered over his face.

“You won gold at the Meteorics?”

“No need to sound so shocked,” she told him. “I don’t run the best winged horse training facility in the United Kingdom for nothing.”

Harry exhaled a laugh. “No, I suppose not. It just… wasn’t mentioned anywhere.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Astoria said, shifting her gaze back over to the people wandering around the market. “I gave it back.”

He stared at her, openly surprised this time.

“Sorry? You gave back your gold medal?”

“Yeah.” Astoria’s mouth twisted, thinking back to the 2000 Meteorics in St. Petersburg. She drew her leg back down and slid her hands underneath her thighs. “I won gold for racing and silver for individual jumping. The boy who won gold for individual jumping, he was from Austria. And the way he treated his horse—I was already pissed off because the Meteorics were keeping our horses in this tiny little stable, not even enough room for them to spread their wings. And then I found out the boy who won gold was using performance enhancement potions on his horse, the kind that change the horse’s heartrate and muscles. He was using so many, I knew his horse would be dead within three years.”

She took a deep breath, not looking over to her side, although she could feel Harry’s gaze resting on her, intent on her story.

“So I went to the committee and I asked them to reconsider—they had rules against that sort of stuff, but the rules were written hundreds of years ago. The potions the Austrian was using then, they hadn’t even been invented when the rules were set. Those potions didn’t qualify as cheating under the rules. The committee told me no, they wouldn’t be reconsidering and that he won his gold fair and square. I asked them to at least change the rules for next time, and to get the horses a bigger stable, and to talk with the I.C.W. for more regulations on horse riding.”

She was quiet for a longer moment, and Harry shifted next to her.

“They said no to that, too?” he guessed.

Astoria smiled bitterly. “Not only did they say no, they suggested that I ought to look into Austria’s training methods for my horse, so that I could win gold next time for both events. I told them I didn’t even want gold this time and they could take their stupid fucking medal and shove it up their asses.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “Did you really say that?”

“I did,” she confirmed. “I threw it in their faces, actually. Obviously, they stripped my medals. And then they banned me from competing for the next twenty-five years.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Twenty-five seems a bit of an arbitrary number.”

“It was completely arbitrary,” she said. “Most champions are young. They don’t expect me to still be riding into my forties. Which is stupid, obviously, there’s nothing that prevents you from getting on a horse when you’re forty-three, but it’s just how the sport works.”

He nodded, going quiet for a bit. Astoria readjusted herself to lean back on the bench, tilting her head up till her ponytail hit the backrest and staring up at the cloudy summer sky.

“I’m sorry,” Harry offered after a moment’s silence.

“For what?”

“For losing your medal?”

Astoria brought her head back down to look at him.

“I don’t give a fuck about a medal, Potter.”

“Okay, then I’m sorry about the horses.”

She studied him carefully. His voice and face were both earnest, and he didn’t look away from her even when she let the moment stretch long enough into uncomfortableness.

“Thanks,” she said finally. “Don’t go telling that to Granger or anything. Last thing I need is for her to get a bowtruckle in her bonnet about the Meteorics and it getting traced back to me.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back and dropping his elbow on the back of the bench behind her.

“Don’t you want things to change?”

“Sure I do. But you Gryffindors march in with your wands blazing to every situation that requires more subtlety and finesse.”

He shot her a significant look.

“And was it subtlety and finesse you displayed when you threw your gold medal at the Meteorics committee and told them to shove it up their asses?”

Astoria grinned.

“Believe me, I could’ve been worse. Professor Snape spent four years attempting to teach me the value of shutting up sometimes.”

“And did you?”

“Obviously not.”

“Obviously.” Harry stretched a leg out, watching the pre-teen girls in front of them scatter to a different part of the marketplace. “That was a very Gryffindor solution from you, actually. I’m impressed.”

“Well, as long as I have your approval.”

He grinned at her.

“Hey, there’s a stall over there making fresh pancakes on the spot. Should I go get some for you?”

Astoria followed where he was pointing to a colorful tent under which a man was flipping pancakes singlehandedly to an audience of delighted children. Bottles of maple syrup and honey and whipped cream floated around his head, dripping onto the finished pancakes as soon as he plated them.

“Sure,” she said. “No whipped cream.”

Harry saluted her and stood. Astoria drummed her fingers on the edge of the bench, watching as he sidestepped a large family attempting to find a grassy area for a picnic and a group of teenagers racing wooden toy horses with their wands.

Overhead, the sun slid through the cloudy skies, the slight chill of the morning slowly turning into the heat of a summer’s afternoon in New York City.

Chapter Text

Their appointment with Drusilla came sooner than she thought it would, as they spent the next four hours wandering around and trying different things at the 13^th Street Greenmarket. Astoria was on her second cup of coffee – this one much better than the last – when they approached the Muggle building that housed Amun-Ra Tech.

It was, in fact, a Muggle building almost entirely. A large steel and glass structure that shot up into the New York skyline, with important-looking businessmen and women walking around in suits carrying briefcases as they came out of the revolving doors that opened into the building.

“Amun-Ra Tech is all up on the top floor,” Harry said to her as they walked in. “The Muggles think it’s under construction up there.”

“Interesting,” said Astoria, looking around. “How do we get up there?”

“We use the lifts.” Harry pressed the button for one and stood back until the light started blinking and one of the lift doors opened. Inside, the buttons numbers 1 through 12. Three employees were already in there, either looking stressed or looking through their little Muggle devices.

Harry hit the button for the 12^th floor. The lift stopped at floors 3, 7, and 9 for the employees before approaching theirs. As she watched, he pressed the button again before the doors could open. Something started beeping.

“This is the annoying part,” said Harry. Carefully, he pressed in a sequence of buttons – 4^th floor, 6^th floor, 10^th floor, then repeated the buttons backwards – then hit a green button off to the side. The lift flashed a green light at them from up top and then began ascending once more.

Astoria crossed her arms, watching their reflections in the mirror on the opposite side of the lift.

“So, why are they in a Muggle building?” she asked now that they were alone.

“They’re a Muggle-magical technology company,” Harry said. “They probably work with those people downstairs.”

 “That doesn’t sound like Drusilla at all,” she remarked.

“Well, people change,” he pointed out.

“I guess.” Astoria turned to look at the door as the lift opened up onto the thirteenth floor. “It’s just a weird fit for her. The Drusilla I knew would have jumped at the chance to run her father’s company.”

Harry made a thoughtful noise as they walked out into the main floor of Amun-Ra Tech. It was just as sleek and clean as the Muggle company downstairs, and even up here, Astoria noticed, the wizards and witches were on their devices of various sizes.

“What are those?” she asked him quietly, nodding at a witch clicking buttons on a large black device that was hooked up to wires going underneath her desk.

“Computers,” said Harry. “And the smaller ones are cellphones.”

“What are they for?”

“Uh, communication, mostly,” he said. “Muggle devices. Amun-Ra Tech is working on making a magical version to sell to us. Ones that don’t run on electricity.”

He stepped up to the woman at the front desk, who glanced up from her… computer and offered him a bland smile.

“Hi,” he said politely. “Harry Potter. I have an appointment with Drusilla Flint at 11:30?”

It was weird that the witch seemed to have no instinctual recognition of him, Astoria thought. Had this been a British company, people would have scattered at the sight of him, scrambling to make sure he had exactly what he needed. She’d noticed it earlier too, at the market, when nobody had pointed and whispered at him, even though he’d been walking around without a disguise.

“Wait here,” said the witch, gesturing to a small seating area with comfortable beige couches arranged around a glass coffee table. “I’ll have you in to see her in a minute.”

“Is it weird?” asked Astoria, sitting down on one of the couches and picking up an American magazine from the center of the coffee table to browse through. “Nobody knowing who you are?”

Harry sat down next to her and shrugged.

“No, it’s nice,” he said. “I hate being recognized.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at her with a half-grin. “Why do you think I wear so many hats?”

The front desk lady came back in record time and ushered them through the hall of glass-paned office doors, taking them deeper into the thirteenth floor until she came upon a large glass door leading into a new office.

“She’s expecting you,” said the witch. “The door is unlocked.”

Harry knocked and then opened the door. Astoria followed him inside to a crisp white office, decorated sparingly with one landscape portrait on the wall of a coastline somewhere. Inside was a glass and metal desk with a comfortable armchair behind it and two more uncomfortable-looking chairs in front for guests, one of those strange computer devices set up in the center of it.

Drusilla Flint stood from the chair behind the desk, a picture perfect smile on her face.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” she said, gesturing from him to come in. Her gaze shifted from him to Astoria next to him and the most miniscule of storms flashed over her eyes. “Astoria. What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting,” said Astoria in the same placid tone of voice that Drusilla had been using to greet Harry. “How are you?”

The front desk witch quietly shut the door behind her, leaving the three of them in the room together.

Drusilla’s smile flickered. She didn’t look much different from five years ago when they had graduated Hogwarts, Astoria thought. Same glossy black curls, same upturned nose and narrowed eyes. She carried herself differently, though – less queen of the world and more calm and in charge. Maybe it was the new job. She was wearing a Muggle style dress in soft pink, and it made her look almost normal compared to her usual robes and excessively luxurious dark-colored gowns she wore for parties.

“Thanks for seeing us,” Harry said to Drusilla.

“Please, sit down,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t expecting… two of you.”

Harry sent Astoria a look that she clearly translated to mean ‘don’t speak and let me handle this.’

Being herself, she ignored him.

“Well, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a Slytherin class reunion, could I?”

Rather than sitting down, she circled around the room, eyeing the black metal bookshelf tucked away next to the window that overlooked the streets of New York. None of the books were recognizable; some of them, she thought, peering closer at the titles, may even have been by Muggle authors, judging by the titles.

“Uh, Astoria wanted to come to express her condolences in person,” said Harry quickly, sitting down in front of Drusilla. “And I wanted to thank you for your time. I know it’s been really rough on you.”

“Thank you for that,” Drusilla said, tapping her wand to her computer and making it disappear so there was nothing on the desk in between them when she sat down. “Are you here because they’ve found a new lead on the investigation?”

“We might have,” he said diplomatically. “In fact, we were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

Drusilla’s gaze cut to Astoria, now observing the ceiling fan. Astoria smiled at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you were an Auror now, Astoria.”

“She’s helping with the investigation,” said Harry before she could make it worse.

“Out of the goodness of her heart?” asked Drusilla.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” Astoria advised her.

Drusilla’s mouth twisted. “Happily. But, Mr. Potter, I’m afraid I’m not comfortable with her being here if this is about Marcus’ murder.”

She was using the tone of voice that had always gotten her to instigate a teacher getting another student in trouble – the ‘I’m an innocent bystander and I witnessed a rule being broken’ façade after she had set someone up to take the fall for her.

Harry met her gaze and offered her a sympathetic smile. “I understand your concern. Can you tell us what you know about your brother’s handling of the family business?”

Drusilla blinked three times at him, looking mildly confused that it hadn’t worked.

“I don’t know anything,” she said after a moment’s awkward silence. “Marcus never involved me in the business. Neither did my father. If that’s all—”

“What he didn’t mention,” Astoria cut in, “is that I’m here because I was talking with your mother. She wants you to come home and take over the family business.”

Drusilla sat back in her chair, the black leather an odd contrast against the pink linen of her dress. She leveled a look at Astoria that quite clearly implied she was lying.

“I am aware my mother wants me to return home,” said Drusilla coolly. “But it’s only empty nest syndrome.”

“Empty nest syndrome?” repeated Astoria. “Your brother just died. You can’t take a break from your new job to go home and comfort your mother for a month? Or even a week?”

“Oh, you’re going to lecture me on not being there for my family?” Drusilla demanded. “The girl who ran away to Scotland after her father died?”

“Hey,” said Harry loudly. “That’s enough of that.”

Not for the first time today, Astoria wished she hadn’t agreed to work with such a goddamn Gryffindor.

Drusilla stared at him for a moment as if she’d forgotten he was there, then shook her head and looked back at Astoria.

“Are you just here on my mother’s behalf to convince me to return home?”

“Well, I wanted to see what has you so enamored by America,” said Astoria, glancing pointedly around the rather empty office. “Have to say, I can’t see the appeal.”

For a second, Drusilla looked like she wanted to say something else. Then she smiled and rose from her chair.

“I would love to give you a tour, actually, while I have you here,” she said, coming out around the desk. “Especially you, Mr. Potter, I think there are a lot of things here at Amun-Ra Tech that we can take back to the Ministry. Stepping into the new century and such.”

Harry stood with her, and sent Astoria a concerned glance.

“I’m afraid I’m not really in charge of any of that,” he said to Drusilla. “But we’d appreciate a tour.”

“Your word is worth quite a lot,” said Drusilla serenely, walking to the door of her office. “And you can tell me about this new lead while I show you around the office.” She paused, looking over at Astoria. “You can stay here if you want and… learn how to read.”

Harry coughed.

“Oh, no, I’d love a tour,” said Astoria in exactly the same tone of voice, walking over to the two of them. “I’m sure your mother would be interested to know what’s so captivating about working in a Muggle company in America for you.”

Drusilla’s gaze narrowed slightly as she opened the door for them.

“It’s not a Muggle company, first of all,” she said pointedly, her heels clicking on the tiled floor of the hallway. “We are a fully magical company, we just have partnerships with Muggle companies to be able to use their copyrighted technology in order to make our own.”

“Muggle copyright applies in the wizarding world?” asked Harry.

“In America it does,” said Drusilla, leading them down and then taking a left into a large open room lined with computers, screens on the wall, and wires everywhere. “They live a lot more closely with Muggles here, so their government has laws for every facet of life where our worlds combine. This is the computer engineering room.”

Astoria stared around at the room, which was filled with employees dressed in business casual, tapping away on keys attached to the computers, only one or two of whom looked up in interest at their arrival. She traded a look with Harry.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice politely quizzical, “you engineer… computers here?”

“Among other things,” confirmed Drusilla. “Our goal is to make a computer that runs entirely on magic rather than electricity. And some other gadgets. Have you heard of cellphones?”

“Yes,” said Harry at the same time as Astoria said, “No.”

Drusilla slid a hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out one of the small silver devices Astoria had been seeing on everyone since she’d arrived in New York. It was compact and shiny, and she flipped it open to reveal a screen and a set of keys with numbers and letters on them.

“They’re used to communicate, like owl post except a lot faster and more convenient.” Drusilla offered the cellphone to Harry who took it. “These were actually the first to be converted to run on magic instead of electricity, and pretty much every wizard in America has one of their own now.”

“Must be helpful,” said Harry, turning it around in his hand.

Astoria frowned slightly. “So you came here to use cellphones and computers?” she asked. “Like a Muggle?”

“Not like a Muggle,” Drusilla corrected, accepting her cellphone back and turning to walk down the other side of the hallway. “Better than Muggles. They have no idea the things we could do with their technology. The trouble, of course, is getting wizards and witches to stop relying so much on the things they’ve relied on for centuries. Like owls or Floos.”

She pointed at offices as they passed by. “We have people working on every aspect of the electricity to magic conversion, plus the actual sale and design of the products. My job is to try to get people to switch over to something new.”

“When did you start this job again?” asked Astoria.

“Last month,” said Drusilla.

Astoria glanced at Harry, who said nothing, but she could tell he’d picked up on the same thing she had.

“Before or after your brother was murdered?” she asked.

Drusilla stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to stare at her.

“Before,” she said, her voice cold. “I’m sorry, am I under suspicion for something?” she asked Harry.

“No, not by the Aurors,” he said lightly. “We’re just trying to figure out a timeline. We think it’s possible Marcus may have made some shady business deals that led to his death.”

Drusilla shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. I told you, I wasn’t involved in anything to do with the business.”

“Well, is it possible that, if the reason for the murder was business, you might be a target next?” asked Harry. “We want to be sure you’re getting the right amount of security.”

Astoria had been pretending to survey a gallery wall of inspirational quotations on the side of the hallway, but turned in time to see a flash of worry in Drusilla’s eyes.

“I think I’m perfectly secure in another country,” said Drusilla, banishing whatever that emotion had been from her face. “But thank you for your concern. If it was a business deal gone wrong, I don’t see why anyone involved in it would care about me.”

“They might now,” Astoria said. “Now that your father wants to give you the business.”

Drusilla laughed shortly.

“I’m not interested in the farm.”

“Right, I forgot you hate magical creatures.”

Another inscrutable emotion passed over Drusilla’s face, but she washed it away with a smile.

“Let me show you our canteen, it’s really amazing. Have you two eaten yet?”

“Actually, I need to use the loo,” said Harry. “Is there one around here?”

Drusilla pointed him down the next hallway. “Second door from the end.”

He sent Astoria a look before he left, and she smiled tightly at Drusilla as they were left alone in the hallway.

“So,” said Drusilla, starting to walk again. “What are you really doing here, Astoria?”

“Well,” Astoria said in the exact same tone of irritating superiority—which, to be fair, Drusilla did a lot better than she did—“If you want the truth, I hitched a ride with the Aurors because I wanted to talk to you. And I did actually speak to your mother, if you were wondering.”

“And he just let you do that?” asked Drusilla skeptically.

“I didn’t give him much choice,” Astoria lied. “Anyway, forget Potter and the rest of them. The Auror investigation is full of nothing but dead leads.”

“So, what, you’re going to find out who killed my brother single-handedly?” Drusilla drew her wand and circled the air around them, a quiet Notice Me Not Spell going into effect. “Because, I hate to break it to you, Greengrass, but the Aurors are actually trained in stuff like this.”

“Merlin, don’t tell me you’ve become a fan of the Aurors as well as Muggles and America,” said Astoria in mild disgust. “What happened to you?”

Drusilla shook her head, flicking a long dark curl over her shoulder as she did.

“I grew up,” she said shortly. “What happened to you? Since when do you give a damn about my brother?”

“I don’t,” Astoria admitted. “I just had to see what got you so spooked you ran away.”

Drusilla scoffed, a sound that somehow managed to be as elegant as it was disdainful.

“Please. I always planned on moving away, once I realized my family was never going to entrust me with anything important. It was just unlucky coincidence that it happened when it did.” She stopped at a corner and turned back to look at Astoria, who had trailed after her at a much slower pace on purpose. “Don’t misunderstand me. I grieve my brother deeply.”

“Yes, I remember you two were always so close,” said Astoria dryly. “Pretty sure I attended more of his Quidditch games than you ever did.”

“Quidditch is a primitive sport,” Drusilla told her loftily. “Anyway, if you’re trying to accuse me of something, I’d prefer you just come out and say it.”

“Surprisingly, no, I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” Astoria stepped up to her, annoyed as always that Drusilla’s height meant she towered a good seven inches above her, although her boots gave her two of those inches back. “I’m trying to solve this murder and since it’s your fucking brother, I thought you might have some leads.”

Drusilla narrowed her eyes. “What kind of leads?”

“You don’t know anything about the things he was working on? Your mum said he was trying to grow the business, move away from dragons into other magical creatures.”

For a second, there was no change in Drusilla’s expression. And then, so fast she could’ve blinked and missed it, Astoria saw the barest flash of real, deep fear. It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Sometimes, she thought grimly, knowing someone since you were five years old had its advantages.

“What kind of magical creatures?” asked Drusilla slowly.

“I don’t know, I guess hippogriffs and runespoors? You’d know more than me.”

“I really don’t know anything.” Drusilla turned and began walking again, more swiftly this time, and led her into what appeared to be a small common area, with beanbag chairs, plush sofas, and a dining table next to a mini kitchenette. There were other people sprawled around, but nobody noticed them thanks to the spell.

“Okay, can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Marcus?” asked Astoria. “Any business partners? Friends? Jilted ex-lovers?”

“No,” said Drusilla shortly. “Don’t the Aurors have a lead already? That’s what Father said last time we spoke.”

“I told you,” said Astoria. “They’ve got nothing but dead leads.”

She couldn’t tell Drusilla about who they suspected. Grown up they might be, but she didn’t trust that Drusilla’s schoolyard hatred of her and Daniel wouldn’t reappear with a vengeance if she told her Daniel was their lead suspect.

“Look,” said Drusilla, opening up the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water. She offered one to Astoria, who accepted it without a thank you. “I’ve told the Aurors everything I know. But I was busy with getting this job when it happened. And I have nothing to do with the dragon breeding. Father would never let me, and neither would Marcus. So if it’s related to that, I’m not the person you want to talk to.”

Astoria almost asked ‘Who is then?’ before stopping herself. The obvious question was rarely the right one in these kinds of conversations. Drusilla opened her bottle of water rather grimly and took a dainty sip as she watched her.

She leaned against the wall separating the kitchenette from the rest of the common room, surveying Drusilla carefully. She’d never liked this girl, but she knew her. Well enough to know that the amount of emotion in Drusilla’s voice was uncharacteristic, that everything about this situation – Drusilla being in America, thousands of miles away from her family, working a job next door to Muggles – was perhaps as bizarre as her brother’s murder.

“Is that why you came here?” she asked instead. “Your father wouldn’t let you join the family business?”

Drusilla’s answering smile was bitter. “Well, not all of us are lucky enough for our fathers to die and leave us the estate,” she said. “But no. That’s not why.”

Astoria tilted her head, waiting for a real answer.

“I know you think I’m a bitch,” Drusilla started.

“And you are,” Astoria said.

Drusilla shot her a long look. “But,” she continued emphatically, “the war changed everybody. Not just you.”

She started to walk around Astoria, and she turned to keep her in her eyesight.

“I never said anything about the war.”

“Everything’s about the war, Astoria,” said Drusilla with an impatient sigh. “For Circe’s sake, you’re here with Harry Potter. And by the way, I don’t know what you’re playing at with the Aurors, but he’s not someone you can trust.”

“I don’t trust him,” Astoria said. “I told you, I’m not here to help his investigation. I’m here to figure out what the hell you’re doing here when your brother just died.”

“Well, sorry, I didn’t want to stick around for endless condolences and my mother crying all over the house!” Drusilla snapped. “You know what, I need to go check on Potter and make sure he hasn’t gotten lost. Stay here.”

“I’m not staying here,” said Astoria, affronted. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’d rather not spend more time in your presence,” Drusilla said, and stormed out of the room, casting a nonverbal spell behind her as she went.

Astoria started for the door of the common room and stopped. An invisible ward pushed her back inside the boundaries of the room.

“That fucking bitch,” she muttered to herself. Withdrawing her wand, she began to trace out a spell that would tell her what kind of ward it was. One of the other people in the room, still not paying attention to her, slipped out past her and walked out without a care in the world.

Astoria stared at the girl who’d just left. Drusilla had locked her in with a keyed ward set to her only.

She narrowed her eyes, then cancelled the Notice Me Not spell and turned to look at the rest of the employees – there were only three now, one woman intensely studying some papers and two men arguing about something that went right over her head.

“Hey,” she called, bringing all of their attention to her. “You lot work with Drusilla Flint?”

One of the men, who looked only a few years older than her, with a wiry beard and square-rimmed glasses, looked at her in confusion.

“She works here, yeah, but we don’t really work with her. Why? Who are you?”

“I’m a visitor,” said Astoria. “And she’s locked me in here. So I either need one of you to undo her locking spell or else I need you to stand clear in case I have to blow this room up to get out.”

“Whoa,” said the other man, shooting to his feet. He was, unfortunately, about seven feet tall and nearly bumped his head into the ceiling. Astoria usually enjoyed tall people getting what was coming to them but in this case she was too pissed off to appreciate it. “You can’t just blow this room up. What’s the locking spell?”

“It’s a ward keyed to me,” said Astoria, poking at the ward with her wand. The tip of her wand fizzled as it bumped into it. “I can’t get out.”

“Why did she lock you in here?” asked the woman in what seemed like genuine curiosity. She had dark skin and curly hair and, Astoria thought, seemed like the smartest person in this room, even though the two men had been arguing furiously about quantum physics or whatever just a minute ago.

“Because she hates me.”

“Well, you must have done something to make her hate you,” the woman pointed out.

“I’m sorry, do you know a different Drusilla Flint than I do?” asked Astoria, even though this was perfectly true. “She hates a lot of people.”

“We don’t really know her,” she answered. “She’s head of marketing, she doesn’t have much to do with us techies. And she’s not here that often.”

Astoria frowned. “She’s not?”

“No, but you should be able to bring down the ward with a seventh-level Arithmancy sequence.”

Astoria blinked at her. “What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary. So I have no idea what that is and since I definitely can’t do it, I’m actually just going to blow this whole room up.”

“Hold on,” said the really tall man, sounding frazzled. “We can help you. But since the ward is keyed to you, it needs your blood.”

Astoria sighed. All three of them were looking at her earnestly, and she’d been friends with Hufflepuffs for enough of her life that she knew they would actually help her. Regardless of the fact that she didn’t particularly want to learn a seventh-level Arithmancy sequence, whatever the fuck that was.

“Fine,” she said, aiming her wand at her palm and muttering the smallest Cutting Charm she could. A tiny spurt of blood appeared in her hand. “What do I do with it?”

 Mary packed up her papers with a wave of her wand and stood. “You want to use it in the spell you’re about to do. A seventh-level Arithmancy sequence requires blood, the number twelve, and concentric circles.”

Astoria stared at her blankly.

Mary pulled her curls up into a ponytail and then pointed her wand at the door, closing it with a whisk. Carefully, she drew one circle, and then another circle inside it.

“Traditionally, and the easiest way to do it, is to do six points on one circle and six on the other,” she explained, adding dots at equal points along each of the circles.

“What am I doing with these circles?” asked Astoria.

“Well, it varies based on person, age, and magical power,” said the guy with the beard. “How old are you?”

She looked at him. “Twenty-three.”

“You’re pretty short, though,” said the tall guy musingly. She narrowed her eyes. “So you can probably get away with a more basic version of the sequence. Put your blood on each point of the circles. Outer first, then inner. And wherever you start, you have to follow the sequence exactly for the second circle.”

“Right.” Astoria made a face at the concentric circles, then touched the tip of her wand to the blood on her palm. With the other three watching her, she carefully start placing drops of blood on the dots that Mary had marked. As each one settled into place, the circles began to light up, glowing faintly as she completed each part of the sequence.

“Now what?”

“Have you ever had an M.Q. test?” asked beard guy.

“What is that?”

“You Brits are really behind the times,” said tall guy. “It’s how we measure a person’s magical power. Students here take the test every three years while going through school, and then after that, you can pay to take one any time from the government.”

“That’s insane,” Astoria told him frankly. “Why do you need to measure it? Isn’t it obvious?”

“To make sure children aren’t falling behind their target M.Q.,” explained Mary. “But it would help to know which version of the sequence you should do. Arithmancy takes magical power into account, is all. We can’t tell just by looking at you how much power you have to recommend a sequence.”

“But essentially,” said beard guy, “you have your blood, you have the circles, now you need to use the number twelve in a sequence. So if a child were doing this – not that they could, higher level Arithmancy sequences are discouraged for children – they would do something simple, like touch each dot twelve times each. But to put more power into the sequence, you could add eleven more drops of blood to each existing dot.”

“Is that it?” asked Astoria. “Just…one hundred forty-four drops of blood?”

“No, blood, concentric circles, and the number twelve are just the elements of the sequence,” said tall guy. “After that you gotta put a lot of power into the sequence to activate it.”

Mary sighed. “Thomas is right, but,” she stressed, “the amount of power you put in should be directly proportional to the version of the sequence you used. Too much or too little power in an Arithmancy sequence and the whole thing will go up in flames and you’ll have to start over. That’s why knowing your M.Q. would be handy.”

“So basically it doesn’t matter, I’m going to blow this room up anyway?” asked Astoria.

“Not if you do it right,” muttered Thomas. “You ought to know your own power better than anyone else.”

“Right.” Astoria took a breath, watching the circles pulse with glowing light as her blood pooled on the dots. “Here goes nothing.”

She cut her palm open again and carefully dripped eleven more dots of blood onto each existing dot straight from the tip of her wand. The glowing increased in light; she could sense the other three moving away from her in case something went wrong. She thought she heard Mary casting a warding spell, but she was too focused to turn around and check.

The circles started glowing red instead of yellow with the more blood she added. It was a fairly morbid sort of scene, she thought distantly, as she finished up the droplets of blood on the inner circle. Then, she pressed her wand right to the center of both circles and concentrated.

A rush of power escaped her wand like the feeling of a wind blowing through the room. She rocked back on her heels, eyes wide.

“You did it,” said beard guy in amazement. He was at her side, drawing his wand to run some tests. “No keyed wards here.”

Astoria looked over at him and then sank to the floor.

“Shit,” Mary said, rushing to her side as she fought for consciousness. “Power miscalculation. Was it not enough or too much power for her?”

Astoria inhaled, then exhaled to try to speak but her eyes were closing too fast for her to remember how to make words form, her heartrate somehow too slow and too fast at the same time. She could just barely hear them speaking as they gathered above her.

“Looks like not enough,” Thomas said, his voice distant, the shape of his wand over her head tracing diagnostic spells. “She should have picked a more powerful sequence to match her level. Either way, she’s going to need—”

“Hey,” said a different, much more familiar voice. “What’s going on?”

With a great deal of effort, Astoria managed to blink her eyes enough to see who was kneeling at her side.

“Who are you?” asked Mary.

“I’m here with her,” Harry said, his arms sliding underneath Astoria and picking her up off the floor. “What happened to her?”

“She pulled off a seventh-level Arithmancy sequence with no preparation, expertise, or understanding of how it works,” said beard guy.

“How did she pull it off if it was a power mismatch?” asked Thomas, confused.

“No, her power matched the sequence, it just didn’t match what her M.Q. is,” Mary said to him. “If we had known that, we would’ve recommended a higher power—”

“Will you all shut up and tell me what just happened?” Harry snapped, getting to his feet with Astoria still in his arms. “Why did she have to do an Arithmancy sequence?”

“She got locked in here,” said Mary. “Keyed ward to her. We were helping her take it down.”

Astoria coughed, attempting to say something, although her brain was still too foggy for words.

Harry looked down at her in concern. “Is she going to be okay? Who locked her in here?”

This much, Astoria was able to get out.

“Drusilla.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Which is weird,” Thomas said into the quiet. “Because she’s never even here.”

Astoria felt Harry moving rather than saw him, as her eyes closed in exhaustion. A moment later, she was being pressed down onto the nearest couch, a soft pillow underneath her head. Annoyed at her own body for trying to shut down, she managed to pry her eyes open enough to see what was going on.

“Okay, I need you three to answer some questions, so don’t go anywhere,” Harry was saying. “First, how do we help her?”

“It’s just magical exhaustion, it’ll go away on its own,” Mary said. “Here, get something in her. Has she eaten today?”

“Uh, pancakes and two cups of coffee,” said Harry.

He reappeared at her side on the couch after a minute and she felt the cool press of cloth to her forehead.

“Can you drink water?” he asked her worriedly, offering up an ice-cold bottle.

Astoria squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing the exhaustion away, and then managed to cough out, “Yes.”

“Good.” He opened the bottle and passed it into her hand. “If you’re okay with it, I’m going to run a healing spell on you.”

Astoria squinted at him, clenching her fingers around the water bottle.

“What—spell?”

“Amazing that you look like you’re on death’s door and you still have the energy to question me wanting to help you,” he told her. “It’s just going to give you some strength back. You’re not the first case of magical exhaustion I’ve ever seen on the field.”

“Sorry, where are you two from?” asked Thomas.

Harry circled his wand above Astoria’s head, barely even looking up to answer. “We’re from England.”

“No, I got that.”

“Scotland,” Astoria coughed out, a second too late.

“Right,” said Harry, sending her a look. “She lives in Scotland. Anyway, we’re here on Auror business.”

“Not—an Auror.”

“The spell must be working,” Mary remarked. “She couldn’t get any words out when she collapsed.”

“She could literally be dead and she would come back just to correct me,” Harry muttered. “Feeling better?”

Astoria blinked her eyes open, grateful that they no longer felt like they had heavyweights on top of her eyelids forcing her to close them.

“Slightly.”

“Great.” He looked at her a moment longer, and then whisked his wand twice over the length of her body, murmuring another spell. Almost instantly, Astoria felt like her muscles could move again, where before they’d felt weighed down by sand. “That should help, too.”

“So, uh,” said beard guy. “What’s her name and what’s an Auror?”

Harry frowned. “You don’t even know them?” he asked Astoria.

She struggled to a sitting position and finally got the bottle of water up to her lips.

“How—would I know them?” she said, breathing hard. “I just—got here.”

“Right.” He seemed unconvinced, turning back to the three of them. “I’m Harry. She’s Astoria. Now why did she get locked in here?”

“Don’t know,” admitted Thomas. “One minute she wasn’t here, the next she was, and she was saying Drusilla locked her in.”

Astoria waved a hand to stop him from talking more, gulping down the water and then pausing in her rehydration.

“We were under—a Notice Me Not,” she explained. “We got in a fight. She told me to stay here.”

“Alright,” said Harry slowly. “We’ll circle back to that. How did she lock you in?”

“Locking ward keyed to Astoria’s DNA,” Mary said. “Not that many ways to unlock it without, you know, exploding something. Which she threatened to do.”

“And clearly she could have,” Thomas added. “We helped her figure out a seventh-level Ari—”

“Arithmancy sequence, yeah, I got that,” Harry interrupted. For the first time, now that she could notice other things properly, Astoria could see how tense he was. “You all work for this company?”

“Yeah,” said beard guy. “I’m Kyle, this is Thomas, and that’s Mary. We’re engineers. Did you say your name was Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Like Harry Potter?” asked Kyle. “The, uh, famous guy from Britain? With the whole Dark Lord thing?”

Astoria swallowed another gulp of water and nearly choked on it, but this time it was because she had found some reservoir of energy to laugh at him.

Harry shot her a look.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “That’s me.”

Renewed slightly, Astoria sat up straighter. “Where’s Drusilla?”

“She left for lunch,” he told her. “She told me to go fetch you and we could leave. Said she had a meeting with a client or something. Yes?”

This wasn’t directed at her; she followed his gaze to see Thomas half-heartedly raising a hand to interrupt them.

“Um, so, I don’t really know what’s going on with you all from England or whatever, but… Drusilla doesn’t exactly work here.”

“What?” asked Harry and Astoria at the same time, in much the same tone.

“No, well, she does,” Thomas clarified quickly. “But not here here. That’s why I thought it was weird. This is just the main headquarters, but most of the senior officers work close to their home base. Drusilla just started so I don’t know where she’s based, but it’s not New York.”

Astoria traded a look with Harry.

“Okay,” he said. “I hope you all don’t have to go to work soon because I’m going to need you to answer some more questions.”

“Well, we’re on lunch break, so we do actually have to go back to…” Kyle stopped talking, apparently taking note of the expression on Harry’s face. “No, yeah, we’re good, we can definitely answer questions.”

Half an hour later, Astoria felt much more like her normal self. Mary had been right, the magical exhaustion would have gone away on its own, but Harry’s spells had sped up the process considerably. The other three had left the break room to return to their jobs after answering all of Harry’s questions, and Mary had gotten her some lunch from the vending machines – instant noodles in a cup and a bottle of soda.

“This is literally just salty water,” Astoria commented, twirling up another forkful of noodles.

Harry ignored her, leaning back in the chair at the table he had commandeered to interrogate Mary, Kyle, and Thomas. He’d taken his glasses off to rub his eyes and the effect made him look quite a lot younger, which was an odd contrast with the deep thought on his face.

“So, what are we going to do?” she asked him after a moment of silence. “Track down Drusilla in the streets of New York City?”

He put his glasses back on and looked at her knowingly.

“Is that what your Slytherin self-preservation instincts are telling you to do?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I thought it would be fun to see things from the Gryffindor side of the grass.”

He snorted. “What’s your actual idea?”

“I break into her office, you go sweet talk some nice administrator girl, and then we meet back here to discuss what we’ve learned.”

Harry considered it. “That’s not a bad idea. Why do I have to sweet talk someone though?”

“Um.” Astoria gestured at herself. “Have you met me?”

“Good point.” He picked up the small bag of colorful sweets that Kyle had gotten him from a different vending machine and looked inside it. “How are you going to break into her office?”

“A seventh-level Arithmancy sequence, apparently,” said Astoria acerbically. “No, obviously, I’ll do it the old fashioned way. Transfigure some hair pins and stick them in.”

“The Muggle way?”

“Sometimes they have a bright idea or two.” She paused, noticing the amused expression on his face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Harry slid a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek silver card. “Or we could just use the key card I got from one of those nice administrator girls I already sweet talked.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“When did you have time to do that?”

“When you were busy pissing Drusilla off,” he said. “You didn’t think I actually had to go to the bathroom, did you? I went at the market.”

“I don’t pay attention to you,” she said. “Was she cute?”

“She was fifty-five.” Harry got to his feet and grinned down at her. “You shouldn’t underestimate how much help a middle-aged woman will give you. Come on, are you strong enough to walk?”

“I’ll manage.” Astoria dropped her plastic fork into the cup of noodles and tossed what was left of it into the bin. “So that card opens up her office?”

“It should.” Harry turned it over in his hands. “I told her I was Drusilla’s boyfriend and I wanted to surprise her with flowers.”

“Very Slytherin of you, Potter,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.” He sent her a sidelong look as they walked out of the break room – carefully warded once the employees had left to casually repel anyone else from coming in. “And speaking of not being a Slytherin, how exactly did you piss Drusilla off so much she locked you in the break room?”

Astoria shrugged, curling and uncurling her hands into fists to make sure she had all her range of motion back now.

“It was just a stupid fight,” she told him. “Drusilla is just like that. Major overcompensation anytime she gets moderately annoyed. One time a girl in our year got a better grade than her in Transfiguration and she locked her in a closet during a Slytherin party and left her there overnight. Put up a repelling ward and everything so nobody noticed the closet for a day, until Snape got there.”

Harry eyed her in concern. “That girl wasn’t you, was it?”

“I would literally never,” said Astoria firmly, “get a good grade in Transfiguration. McGonagall once told me that a drunken cow could do a better job at turning a mouse into a goblet than I could.”

He laughed unexpectedly.

“How do you get a cow drunk?”

“I asked her that. She said I could drive the cow to drink in despair if I showed it my grades in her class.”

“Sounds like her,” he said, rounding the corner back the way they had come from Drusilla’s office not so long ago. “Alright, this is it.”

Harry slid the key into an opening on the doorhandle. It beeped, flashed green, and then clicked. Slowly, he pressed down and opened the door into the office, exactly the same as it had been before.

“Amazing.” Astoria stepped inside and turned in a circle. “For a girl who knows that many locking wards, you’d think she’d have better security in her office.”

“Maybe because she never uses it,” Harry pointed out. “Also, there’s, like, nothing here to investigate. Five books on this shelf and then whatever’s in her desk.”

“Plus that…computer thing.” Astoria looked at it in distaste – it had reappeared at some point since Drusilla had vanished it. “But I don’t know how to use it.”

“I can try to figure it out.” Harry headed over to the desk. “Think you can break in here?”

“Please.” Astoria knelt down next to the chair, where the desk’s locked drawers were. She tapped her wand to the handle, testing what kind of locks were on it. Next to her, Harry pulled out the armchair Drusilla had been using and sat down, pressing a button on the computer that made the whole screen light up.

“Well, that’s step one,” he said, mostly to himself. “I didn’t even know these things were so popular here.”

“What, computers?” Astoria began tapping out a more rudimentary Arithmancy unlocking sequence on the desk. “Americans are weird. I can’t believe Drusilla wants to bring these things over to our world.”

“Drusilla’s a bit weird,” Harry said. “You said she hated Muggles, right?”

“I don’t know, she sure said a lot of shit about them when we were at school.” The first sequence hadn’t worked, so Astoria moved on to another one, grimacing slightly. “But she may have just been parroting her parents. A lot of kids did. I find it hard to believe she changed her mind so suddenly, though.”

“From that offer letter, they’re paying her a lot of money to pretend to care about Muggle things,” Harry pointed out. “I guess that would make anyone change their tune, especially if they were bitter about their parents not leaving them the family business.”

The drawer clicked and came open under her grasp. Astoria smiled in satisfaction and pulled it open.

“Who knows what goes in Drusilla’s mind?” She leaned over the top of the drawer, sitting up on her knees, to rifle through what was inside. It was only one folder, opened up to reveal multi-colored tabs inside and a couple of papers. “She’s crazy.”

“But crazy in a weird way,” said Harry, frowning at the computer screen. Astoria looked up to see him carefully moving a small round object that was connected with a wire to… somewhere underneath the desk, behind the drawers she was rooting around in. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of crazy purebloods in my time, but they’re usually, like, psychotic. They don’t work with Muggle things.”

Astoria took the folder she had found, got to her feet, and then hopped up onto the desk to sit next to the computer, facing him.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing with that?”

Harry looked up at her ruefully.

“Not a clue. I’ve barely ever used one of these before.”

“Wow, and here I thought you were a Muggle-lover.” Astoria peered through the files she had on her lap. “There’s really nothing here. It’s all, like, basic company protocols and stuff. I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

“We might have to ask around to see where she actually works, then.” Harry frowned at the computer screen, which was showing a placid picture of an ocean somewhere. “D’you know an unlocking spell for a computer?”

“I don’t know if that exists, but you could try a basic Arithmancy unlocking sequence,” she suggested.

Harry glanced sideways at her. “What is it with you and Arithmancy? Did you take it at Hogwarts or something?”

“Don’t you think if I had, I wouldn’t have fainted earlier?”

His lips quirked. “You didn’t faint. By sheer force of will apparently, but still.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, well, the answer is no, I did not take Arithmancy. I only know the basics because Dad was a lawyer. He taught us all this stuff, it comes in handy. Here, try three, seven, twelve. It’s the most basic sequence. Should unlock things that haven’t been heavily warded, just against Alohomora.”

“Three, seven, twelve, what?” he asked.

“Anything,” she said. “Arithmancy is about using numbers in magic. Doesn’t matter what you do. Three taps, seven swipes, twelve circles. Or switch them around. Whatever works.”

Harry looked a little skeptical but he tapped his wand to the computer screen three times, then did the seven swipes and twelve circles.

At the twelfth circle, the computer screen began to glow. The picture of the ocean faded away into a plain blue screen with one small picture of what looked like a notepad piece of paper in one corner.

Harry peered at the screen. “It says read me dot t-x-t.”

“It says read me?” Astoria repeated incredulously. “Why is it talking to you?”

“I think that’s just what it’s called.” Harry shifted the small round thing on the desk and Astoria watched the little pointing arrow move with it.

“Is that magic?” she asked.

He glanced at the device he was using. “Uh, no, not magic. This is a mouse.”

“That is not a mouse.”

“A computer mouse,” he clarified. “They move on the screen when you move it here.”

“So… it is magic?”

“It’s technology.” The arrow on the screen hovered over the little notepad picture and then he pressed down on the… mouse. Astoria watched in morbid curiosity as the notepad popped open into a white square with small black letters on it.

“Seems like magic,” she muttered, sliding off the desk and turning around so she could read what was on the screen better. “What does it say?”

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted. The letters were all tiny and squished together, and full of random punctuation in places that punctuation had no business being in. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s some sort of manual for starting the computer, though. Let’s copy it and I can ask one of the Muggleborns at the office about it later.”

“So that was pretty useless, too,” Astoria said. “And we still don’t know who Drusilla’s secret boyfriend is.”

“We could always go back to your original plan of stalking her through the streets of New York City,” he suggested wryly.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed,” she said, getting to her feet properly and stretching one arm across the other. She’d regained proper feeling in her limbs some time ago, but the memory of feeling weighed down and drained still lingered. “I know she’s hiding something but I have no idea what.”

“Whatever she’s hiding, it’s not here,” said Harry, waving his wand to conjure a piece of parchment and then tapping the screen to copy the words over. “They were right, she really doesn’t use this office. Come on, let’s go talk to the front office and see if they can give us a better city to track her down.”

Chapter Text

Astoria tapped her fingers on the glass counter. The lady who had been working it had left to go talk to someone for them, leaving the two of them alone in the front office with just a few other administrators busily tapping away on their computers.

“So,” said Harry, turning to look at her rather than at the large screen in the office that seemed to be showing some sort of game show. “How do you fancy a trip to Chicago?”

“What, now?” asked Astoria. “Don’t we have a portkey back to England set for today?”

“I can probably get it extended.”

She scrunched her face. “Right, I forgot, everyone bends over backwards to do what you want.”

Harry ignored this, looking down at his wristwatch. Fiddling with the dials on the end, he said, “I can see if we can get a ticket to Chicago today instead.”

Astoria had already been mentally rehearsing what kind of excuse she might have to give Daphne to get her to let her go to Chicago for a day.

“From here?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” He pressed one of the dials and the face of his watch popped open. Astoria stared at him, but he just lifted the watch to his mouth and said, “Call Bethany Abbott.”

Silver mist began swirling inside the hollow underneath the watch face. It was only a small amount, but she could see when it solidified into the shape of something feline.

Abbott’s voice echoed from it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Beth, can you do me a favor?” Harry said into the watch. “We’re still chasing this lead but we need to go to Chicago instead. Can you make some calls for me?”

Her voice crackled on the other end. Astoria didn’t even pretend not to be eavesdropping.

“Why Chicago?”

“Turns out she was lying about working in New York.”

“That’s weird.” A rustling through the cat-mist. “Her parents think she lives in New York.”

“They don’t seem to know a lot about their daughter,” said Harry dryly.

“Well, I’ll ask Robards. He wasn’t thrilled about this trip, though, you know.”

“He’ll get over it. Can you also talk to the D.M.T. and get my portkey extended if necessary?”

“On it.” Abbott’s voice sounded slightly amused. “But if Robards gets mad at me, I’m throwing you to the pixies.”

“Thanks,” he said with a laugh. The cat made of mist floated away and his watch face shut automatically, going back to a normal wristwatch.

Astoria waited out the process, then said, “What the fuck is that?”

“Auror communication,” he said, shaking his wrist. “It’s brand new, they’re calling it a mistwatch.”

She squinted at him. “Who’s they?”

“Oh, the Department of Mysteries,” Harry said. “Their magical artifacts division is always coming up with new things. It’s linked to your patronus, just a more convenient form of sending a messenger patronus.”

“Right,” she said slowly. “So you have a super special magical watch and you can get international portkeys adjusted for you at the snap of a finger. How have you not solved this case already?”

He sent her a look. “Maybe because you won’t tell me anything about my lead suspect.”

“That is not true,” she said. “I’ve told you, like, five whole things about Daniel. Anyway, can I use that?”

“It’s keyed to my patronus, so no, you can’t,” he said, then looked at her in suspicion. “Why do you want to use it?”

“I want to talk to Beth.”

Harry made a face like he knew he was about to regret asking what he was going to ask.

“Why?”

 Astoria smiled at him. “I just want to tell her to get over herself and fuck Goldstein already.”

This surprised a laugh out of him.

“Well, tough luck. You can’t, and also, she can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“They’re coworkers, it’s frowned upon.”

“Wow.” Astoria heaved a deep, overdramatic sigh. “Forbidden love. Honestly, I think that would just make it sexier. Which is hard, since it’s Goldstein, so she should take the opportunity while she has it.”

The witch working the front desk returned before he could figure out a rejoinder for this.

“Once again, we would like to express our apologies for the incident,” she said to Astoria, managing a credibly sympathetic smile even though Astoria was sure she didn’t actually care. “I’ve spoken to our managers, and to make up for it, we’d like to give you both premiere tickets to the baseball game this afternoon, in the dub-box.”

She offered up the two tickets and both of them stared at her.

“What’s a dub-box?” asked Harry.

“What’s baseball?” asked Astoria.

The witch looked between the two of them as if unsure who to help first.

“The dub-box is short for W-box, the wizard box where we can watch baseball above the stadium,” she explained. “And baseball is a Muggle American sport. It’s very enjoyable, though. Is it your first time in America?”

“No, but—” Astoria was about to say something about not coming to America to watch sports, but Harry interrupted before she could.

“Thank you, we appreciate it. And thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome, and please be assured, we’ll launch an H.R. investigation into the incident.”

Astoria waited until they were out of earshot before asking, “Do you get the feeling they won’t be investigating anything?”

“I’d be shocked if they did,” he admitted, holding open the door for her. “Although they really should, considering their employees coached you into doing a blood magic spell to get out of that.”

“Hey, without Thomas, we wouldn’t even know Drusilla doesn’t really work here,” she reminded him. “So you should be thanking them. Anyway, we’re not really going to a… baseball game, are we?”

“No.” Harry checked his watch again. “But we should probably get something to eat while we wait on word from the higher ups on if we can get to Chicago.”

A while later, Astoria sat in a window booth of a small pizza parlor, eating perhaps the greasiest piece of food she had ever seen, watching in casual curiosity as two men came up to the register to speak to the employee there, who then ran off to get his manager. When the manager returned, he greeted the two men excitedly and pulled them off to the side to talk in quiet tones.

There were only about five other customers in the parlor. She glanced at Harry across from her, surveying his third slice of pizza like he wasn’t sure he wanted to eat it or not.

“This place is definitely a front for something.”

“Definitely,” he agreed. “Think we should do something about it?”

Astoria stabbed a fork into the point of her second slice and lifted it up to watch the cheese pull, then looked up at him in overly-exaggerated incredulity.

“I cannot believe the depths of your hero complex extend even to America.”

He snorted, picking up his slice and taking a bite from it.

“What’s your issue with America anyway?”

She twirled the cheese onto her fork, ignoring the bread part of the pizza entirely.

“I don’t have an issue with it, I just don’t like it.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“For no reason?”

“Do I need a reason? It’s overcrowded, it smells bad, and everyone uses cellphones for some reason.”

“Well,” he said, amused, “I don’t think that’s all of America. That’s just New York City. And you wouldn’t judge all of England on London, would you?”

“No, I would,” she assured him. “And I do. Why do you think I left?”

“I thought you left because your father gave you a farm to live on.”

“Hmm.” Astoria surveyed her cheesy fork. “I did tell you that, didn’t I?”

Harry looked at her, clearly waiting for more, but Astoria was much more skilled at what Helena called ‘the art of Slytherin conversation’ and easily outlasted him.

“Is that not the reason?” he asked finally.

She glanced up from deciding if she was actually going to eat an entire bite of nothing but cheese.

“Come on, Potter, use your brain,” she chided him. “My father owned Queen’s Lodge for decades and never uprooted the family to Scotland. He hired people to run the farm for him.”

His brow furrowed. “So why did you move?”

Astoria gave up on the cheese and reached for one of the garlic breadsticks they had ordered as a side instead, dipping one end of it into the strange but delicious red sauce it came with. She took a moment to debate if she wanted to answer that or not.

‘Not’ won out.

“How come you don’t hate America?” she asked instead. “Didn’t it steal your girlfriend from you?”

Harry stared at her, then sighed, a sound that turned into an incredulous laugh partway through.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to say that to me.”

“No, well, I’d be shocked if I was,” he said frankly, reaching for his glass of what they called soda here. “And America didn’t steal my girlfriend from me. We broke up, then she decided to move here. Two separate actions.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Astoria doubtfully, sitting back and chewing on the garlic bread. “If I dumped the most famous guy in the country, I’d want to get the fuck out, too.”

Harry made a thoughtful noise as he sipped his drink.

“Is that why you left London? Bad break-up?”

“Mm,” said Astoria, putting down her breadstick. “Good guess, but no. Never had a break-up, I don’t date.”

He blinked at her. “What, ever?”

She took a sip of her soda – she’d gone for the green one in their crazy machine, and it was nice although overly caffeinated.

“Didn’t I already tell you the story of how when I was sixteen, my father sent a werewolf after a boy I wasn’t even dating?” she asked. “Makes it a bit hard to get around.”

Harry paused, looking annoyingly like he wanted to express sympathy but could clearly tell from the look on her face that he should not do that.

“Your sisters seem to have managed,” was all he said instead.

Astoria laughed.

“Yeah, right. Helena got an arranged marriage and Penelope didn’t ever admit to dating the man she is now marrying until several years after Dad died. And you heard how Mother reacted to that. It’s just easier not to deal with it.”

“Hm,” he said, squinting at her over his glass. “So, you and Ethan Macmillan, that’s you not dealing with it?”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him.

“Very good segue, Potter. And no, I’m not dating him.” She paused, trying to remember exactly what lie she had said or implied about that whole situation, then smiled lightly at him. “It’s just sex.”

He coughed. “Right.”

She took the little bowl of red sauce and dumped half of it onto her plate so she could dip into it more easily.

“You don’t believe me?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean… in the least crude way possible, I know Ethan and we all hang out at bars together and… if he was getting consistently laid, it would be a bit more obvious.”

Astoria stared at him for a moment long enough to make him shift under his gaze, then made a face.

“Men are gross.”

“True,” he agreed. “But come on. I’m here in New York with you because I believe you can help with this case. You could at least tell me what you and Ethan have been talking about. Pretty sure you weren’t having sex on the Falmouth Falcons’ Quidditch pitch the other day.”

She thought over her conversation with Ethan that day, then everything they’d been attempting to find out today.

“Fine,” she said after a minute. “He told me that my father had been giving money to Marcus Flint’s company before he died.”

Harry nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything, just motioned for her to keep going.

“Now apparently it was all above-board, because these were Ministry records, but I didn’t find any hint of it when I was going through my dad’s files,” she continued, after another bite of her breadstick. “And I don’t know, something is just off to me. We don’t have any major family connection to the Flints. Dad doesn’t just give money away for no reason. And it wasn’t because of Mr. Flint, because this was well after Marcus took over the company.”

“What do you think is off about it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Astoria admitted, spinning her glass of soda around in her hands. “Dad kept a lot of secrets. But this one is just so random. And then… if Daniel is being framed by someone, that’s even more random. You know, he doesn’t really get in trouble. He minds his business. So why would someone go through all the trouble to frame some random guy in a murder? I mean, the only really weird thing about him, apart from being a werewolf, is…”

“That he’s friends with you,” Harry finished when she trailed off.

Somehow, him saying it made it much worse than when she was just thinking it. If this tangled knot of pureblood politics and death somehow led back to her again, if Daniel was in trouble because of her again…

“Look,” he said carefully, crossing his arms on the table and leaning towards her. “This is the kind of thing we can help you with. With Auror resources. Whatever your connection your father had to Marcus Flint. We just—”

Astoria rolled her eyes, cutting him off.

“Yes, yes, I know, you don’t have to extoll the virtues of the Auror office to me. Merlin.” She sent him a slightly scornful look. “Considering you and your stooges very recently interrogated my sister for no reason, can you understand why I wouldn’t tell you financial secrets about my family?”

Harry hesitated. “It wasn’t for no reason—”

His watch started chiming before they could have this argument. Astoria sat back and waved a hand for him to answer it when he looked down at it, then back up at her. He pressed the dial to open it and the mini cat patronus formed inside the watch face again.

“Hey, Harry,” echoed Abbott’s voice out of the mist. “Robards okayed it but I talked to the New York D.M.T. and they could only get you two tickets for the train to Chicago tomorrow morning. Nothing tonight. Are you able to stay there an extra day?”

“What?” Astoria demanded.

Harry shot her a look to shut up.

“Do you have a hotel we can stay at?”

“Yeah, I called around. It’s a Muggle hotel but it’s really nice. You have your card, right, so you can pay for it?”

He grimaced. “As long as it gets reimbursed, yeah. I know your taste.”

Abbott laughed on the other end. “I think you’ll be fine. You’ll have to find something to do for the rest of the day though.” Her voice got quieter. “Are you alone?”

Harry looked over at Astoria. “No.”

“Okay, well, call me when you are.”

“Sure. Thanks, Beth.”

Astoria waited patiently while he closed his watch.

“Why can’t we go to Chicago today?”

“This is an official investigation. We have to talk to the American government before we just go running around. Also, I don’t think it’s that easy to get from New York to Chicago. American states are very finnicky about their magical borders, you can’t just Apparate across state borders.”

“Okay, well, I am not an Auror,” she pointed out. “Can’t I just go buy a train ticket to Chicago right now?”

“And what’s your plan, Astoria?” he asked. “You get off the train at Chicago and do a locator spell for Drusilla? A girl who, as we know, is incredibly skilled with all kinds of locking and repelling wards? Who clearly knows how to keep herself safe, already doesn’t like you, and won’t want to tell you anything?”

Astoria glared at him.

“All we have to do is find the Amun-Ra Tech office in Chicago—”

“And what?” Harry interrupted. “Demand an appointment with one of their senior-level executives? Or are you going to cast a little Notice Me Not Spell and go sneaking around and hope you don’t caught in one of Drusilla’s wards again? There might not be friendly employees there to help you out this time.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that my only option is to spend an extra day here, with you, because you have all the answers?” Astoria snapped. “In case you haven’t realized, I have a job. How am I supposed to explain to my sister why I’m staying in America for two days? She already doesn’t know why I’m really here.”

“Well, then, you better figure out a lie,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “Because you can go to Chicago today if you want but how are you going to get back without an international portkey?”

Astoria’s mouth twisted. “I can buy an international portkey.”

“Not on rush order,” he reminded her. “Isn’t that why you asked me for help?”

She took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound too overly reluctant. “Fine. We’re stuck here for a day. What’s your plan, since you’re so great at coming up with them?”

Harry smiled slightly. “Well, we can go check into the hotel soon, I’m sure. I’ll call Beth to get the details. And then, I don’t know, we could always go to that baseball game tonight.”

Astoria sighed. “Right. Sure. And I’ll just write Daphne and tell her, sorry I won’t be coming home tonight, I’m out watching a Muggle sport with Harry fucking Potter.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Harry said with no trace of irony.

Astoria picked up the crumpled up ball of white paper that her straw had come in and threw it at him.

Two hours later, after a hotel check-in at a rather fancy Muggle hotel and after waiting for Harry to have a call with Abbott that he took out on their room balcony with the door warded against eavesdropping spells, she finally discovered exactly what a dub-box was.

It was a rather literal box, made entirely of glass walls, kind of like if a lift was really wide and rectangular. It fit about thirty people comfortably inside, and had benches lining it, where people sat with their containers of popcorn and large jugs of soda, along with an assortment of other food Astoria had barely ever seen in her life. You accessed it from a lift, much like at Amun-Ra Tech, because it was floating above the rest of the stadium.

She’d been to America before, of course, but never to the Muggle side of it – Penelope had only ever arranged tours of various wizarding spots in New York when she lived here, and the closest to Muggle she had gotten was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where she had worked underground in the magical wing.

“What in Salazar’s name is that?” she asked Harry.

He followed her gaze to a man with two small kids, who was holding in his hands a tray of food that seemed to just be a long bun with a sausage inside it and yellow and red sauces on top of it. The children were fighting over who would get to eat it while the man valiantly tried to offer one of them his popcorn instead.

“Uh, I think they’re called hot dogs,” said Harry, gesturing for her to slide into the empty bench up top first. “American delicacy.”

She sat down at the edge of the bench and then sent him a suspicious look.

“You know a lot about America for someone who only came here once to stalk his ex.”

Harry passed her the bucket of popcorn he’d bought for them out in the Muggle stands and shrugged.

“Not the only time. Just New York. My friend Luna was here for about a year back in 2003. She was studying in the Appalachians, so nearby.”

“The Appa-what?” asked Astoria, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

Harry set two cups of soda—this time, she’d gone for the orange one, and he’d stuck with the black one he’d had earlier—down on the bench between them.

“The Appalachian mountains,” he explained. “She studies magical creatures, flora and fauna, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh, you mean Luna Lovegood,” said Astoria in dawning realization. “The crazy one who believes in fake animals.”

“She’s not crazy,” he protested.

“All your friends are crazy,” she said dismissively, scooping out a handful of popcorn.

“Okay, your best friend is currently under suspicion of murder,” Harry reminded her. “And you don’t have any other friends.”

“That’s how I avoid surrounding myself with crazy people.” Astoria finished off her handful of popcorn and then offered it back to him. “This stuff is really good.”

“You’ve never had popcorn before?” he asked in amusement, accepting it from her.

“Have you never met a pureblood in your life? We don’t eat shit like this.”

“Uh, I’ve met Ron, and he definitely does eat shit like this.”

She waved a hand.

“Weasleys don’t count.”

“Maybe next you should try a hot dog,” Harry suggested.

Astoria made a face, but before she could answer, there was a tap on the glass next to her. Looking over, she saw another wizard, this one dressed in a striped apron and hat, wearing a tray of food around his neck. He was standing on a floating piece of metal and when she reached over to touch the wall to see if there was any kind of handle, the top half of it simply melted away like a window.

The wizard poked his head into the dub-box. “Pretzels, anyone?”

“What are pretzels?” asked Astoria.

“These.” He lifted up a twisted piece of bread, half of it wrapped in paper, from the tray he was wearing. “First time in America?” he asked, clearly noticing her accent.

Two little girls squeezed themselves through the end of the box and waved American bills in the employee’s face.

“Two please!” one of them said.

“And mustard too,” added her sister.

A line began to form at the window. Astoria winced away from the people crowding it and turned back to look at Harry.

“You want one?” she asked him.

He had been surveying the field below them, filling up with Muggles in the stands, but looked back at her at the question.

“Sure, yeah,” he said, digging around in his pocket. “Can you use this?”

‘This’ was a shiny black card. Astoria took it between two fingers and frowned at him.

“What is this?”

“It’s how they pay for things here,” he said. “I got that from the Auror department, so be careful with it. Just give it to the vendor, he’ll know what to do.”

“Oookay,” she said, turning back to the line. “Excuse me.”

The vendor happily took the card, swiped it on a little machine, and then offered it back to her along with a small tray which carried one giant pretzel and a small container of a yellow sauce to go along with it.

“Mustard,” said Harry, opening up the sauce container. “You wanna try?”

“I think I’m good,” she said, taking the popcorn back from him so he could have his pretzel. “So have you been to a baseball game before or what?”

“No, not like this, but I stayed with Luna for a week up in Pennsylvania when she was there. They’re just as crazy about sports there as New York. You can’t really avoid it.”

“Even wizards, though?” Astoria asked, picking up her cup of soda to take a swig. The taste was so fake, she coughed on it. “I mean, there are so many of these dub-boxes, and this is entirely a Muggle sport, right? Nothing magical about it?”

“Yeah.” Harry peered to where she was pointing, at the five other floating glass boxes visible to them but not to the Muggles down below them. “Quidditch isn’t as big in America as it is in England, so I guess they use Muggle sports to fill the gap.”

She dropped more popcorn into her mouth and then sent him a sidelong glance.

“It must be decently big here, though,” she pointed out casually. “Since Ginny Weasley came here to coach Quidditch, didn’t she?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, pretending to be absorbed in dipping a chunk of pretzel into the mustard and then eating it. Astoria waited.

“Looks like the game is starting soon,” he said instead of answering.

Astoria let out a breath of laughter. “You know, you do talk a big game about me needing to trust you for someone who won’t open up at all.”

“My personal life isn’t really relevant to the case. Unlike yours.”

“Oh, and going out to a baseball game is so relevant?” she retorted. “Your problem is that you don’t really trust me as far as you can throw me, but you have to pretend you care about my shit so I’ll tell you all my secrets, right?”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“How am I supposed to trust you? You lie to me all the time and I’m pretty sure anything personal I say to you is going to end up with your sister, who hates me and would love to see me suffer. And besides,” he continued, more defensively than before, “there’s literally nothing to tell. You know the story. She broke up with me, she moved here to teach Quidditch, the end.”

The mention of Daphne, unfortunately, had reminded her exactly what her sister had sent here to investigate.

“Right, okay,” she said to him. “So is she dating anyone?”

There was a significant pause.

“How would I know that?” Harry said at last, although she could tell from his voice that he was struggling not to sound too annoyed at her question.

Unfortunately for him, Astoria knew a secret when she heard one.

“Well, you seem to keep pretty good tabs on her,” she said lightly, watching the screens around the stadium light up in front of them. “Since you followed her all the way here without her knowing. I just figured you’d know if she’s, y’know, moved on.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him tensing the more she spoke. He was quiet for another moment, taking a way too big gulp of his soda to cover up the silence. Around them, the noise grew rapidly as the baseball teams began to come out from… somewhere, and onto the large green diamond field beneath them.

“Can you just drop it?” he asked finally, under the cover of the thunderous applause that started when the New York team ran out onto the pitch.

Astoria popped another kernel of popcorn into her mouth, thinking.

“No.”

Harry glared at her.

“I mean,” she continued, “you didn’t exactly drop the Ethan thing, did you?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You and Ethan are connected to the case. Ginny isn’t.”

Astoria tilted her head.

“So she is dating someone, isn’t she? You wouldn’t be so evasive if she wasn’t.”

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Is it someone we know?” she pressed. “Is that why you’re so cagey about it?”

“Just watch the game,” he managed to get out before she could fire off another question.

“Okay, but you did just sign yourself up to spend tomorrow with me, too,” Astoria said, and popped another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

The baseball game, against all odds, was actually pretty interesting. Astoria had been to the Meteorics, and watched quite a few sporting events aside from Quidditch in her time there, and she did remember the Americans at the Meteorics being very, aggressively, overwhelmingly vocal about their champions. Americans loved sports.

That seemed to be true for Muggle Americans as well. There were raucous cheers every time the home team – the New York Yankees, she found out, from scanning the tickets that Amun-Ra Tech had given them – scored a ‘home run’. There were commentators on the screens all around the stadium during breaks, and she found herself paying attention enough to pick up on some things that were happening. The dub-box itself completed several circles around the stadium as the game wore on, trading places with the other dub-boxes as if they were all on a high line.

The Muggles obviously had no idea there were roomfuls of wizards and witches cheering them on as well, but the dub-box went crazy for the Yankees and booed whenever the opposing team, the Cleveland Indians, scored anything.

She’d finished her entire box of popcorn—Harry had let her have it, since he had the pretzel—and all of the fake orange soda by the time the game finished. Different vendors had popped by during breaks in the game, and Harry had purchased some snack bags of peanuts for both of them to munch on as the game drew to a close.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, as they got out of the lift to take them back down into the Muggle part of the stadium, where everyone was exiting in excited droves, off to celebrate at afterparties or just drive home.

It had gone quite late into evening, so it was dark outside with stadium lights and street lamps to brighten up the warm New York evening. People rushed past her, talking about sports things she still didn’t understand, and in the distance, fireworks started lighting up the sky to celebrate the victory.

“Pretty fun,” she admitted, not even reluctantly. It had actually taken her mind off everything to do with the murder, and the case, and Drusilla being a bitch. “You know, I expected this to be a day trip, so I don’t have anything to spend the night here.”

Harry nodded, walking more slowly than everyone else around them, observing the festivities sprouting up around them.

“I’ll talk to the hotel front desk, get us some toothbrushes and stuff.”

“And clothes?” she reminded him.

“I don’t know if they give pajamas,” Harry said. “But we can always transfigure the ones we’re wearing.”

Astoria looked down at her outfit, which would have been okay for sleeping in but probably not preferable, since she was wearing jeans.

“Unfortunately, clothing transfiguration is not one of my many skills.”

He cracked a grin at her. “I can do it for you. We had to do it often enough back when we were regularly staking out Death Eaters.”

She was about to respond to this but they passed a vendor running a little booth out on the street and he called out to them, making them stop.

“Tourists, eh?” he said, gesturing to his array of paraphernalia. “We got a lot of souvenirs for the Yankees here.”

Astoria was about to walk away but Harry had paused to survey the assortment of hats and sunglasses.

“What, you actually want one of these things?” she asked as he pulled two caps out to look at them.

He shrugged. “It helps, back home.”

Obviously, he couldn’t say he was wildly famous back in England in front of the Muggle salesman, who only looked at them in mild curiosity, and then began rattling off prices. To amuse herself while Harry paid for one, Astoria picked up a pink cap with ‘NY’ written on it in white embroidery. There was no mirror, so she turned to him to check.

“How much do you think my sister would kill me if I came home in this?”

Harry laughed. “Uh, depends. Does she like the color pink?”

“You can put your hair through it,” the vendor explained helpfully to her, clearly keen to make another sale.

Astoria reached around the back of her head, trying to see what he meant. The cap flattened down her ponytail considerably.

“May I?” asked Harry. She blinked at him, then nodded, and he leaned over, carefully lifting the cap slightly up with one hand and sliding the other underneath her ponytail, pulling it up and then through the hole in the back of the cap.

“Better?” she asked when he drew back.

“Yeah,” he said, hesitating a little before turning away to the vendor. “How much for hers?”

“You don’t have to pay for me,” she protested, although she didn’t exactly have American currency or a shiny card that apparently worked everywhere. “I’ll just come back and get it another time.”

She had no intention of this, but in any event, Harry ignored her, offering the card up to the vendor, who took it happily and swiped it for the price of both caps.

“It looks good on you,” he said, once they started walking again. “I didn’t wanna say it in front of him, but I do think your sister might kill you for wearing something so Muggle, though.”

“Yeah,” Astoria laughed slightly, turning it into a grimace. “She definitely does not need to know anything about this. She’s already mad enough about your investigation, she would go nuts if she knew I was helping.”

Harry sent her a sidelong glance. “I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Which part?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Interrogating my sister over a bullshit theory, or only doing it to bait me into showing up at your office?”

He coughed, although it sounded more like a laugh.

“Both. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you’d be asking for my help a few days later.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Penelope forced me to do that.”

“But you listened to her.”

“Last time I do that,” she muttered.

Harry chuckled. “Come on, we’ve learned some things. We know Drusilla is definitely hiding something, which at least bumps her up on the suspects list. You ought to be glad, since right now it’s just Daniel.”

Astoria couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t really glad of that at all. She hated Drusilla, but the thought of one of her old classmates having committed this murder—a murder that involved either using Daniel in a frame job or cooperating with Daniel somehow—and, in Drusilla’s case, against her own brother was too chilling to be glad for more suspects.

He looked at her curiously after a moment of silence. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Astoria sighed and reached up to adjust her cap. “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of Drusilla having done it, honestly. I don’t like her, but it doesn’t sound like her at all. And if she is involved, that makes this all even more sinister than it already is.”

“Yeah,” he agreed grimly. “I don’t like it being his sister either. But from what I know, Marcus was a pretty terrible person.” He glanced at her. “You told me that, in fact.”

She winced. “I mean, he was… but did he deserve to die?”

“Well, we don’t know why he died yet,” Harry said after a moment’s thought. “Maybe we can figure it out in Chicago.”

They got back to the hotel late, having to navigate the Muggle public transportation system to get from the Bronx to upstate New York, next to a lot of drunken celebrators and tired people heading home from work.

“So what are you going to tell your sister?” Harry asked her when they were back in their suite.

Astoria sighed, sitting on the couch and unlacing one of her boots. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” she said. “I’ll just show up tomorrow and make something up. She’ll get over it. Probably. Unless I’m missing some huge campaign crisis right now.”

Harry draped his jacket over the back of the desk chair, dropping his baseball cap on the table.

“Well, hopefully not,” he said. “A campaign crisis for you usually means trouble for the rest of us, too.”

“Mm,” she said, uninterested in discussing the finer points of Daphne’s massive campaign undertakings with him.

There was silence for a moment as she pulled off her boots. When she looked up, he was fiddling with things on the desk – a notepad and a little holder with Muggle pens and pencils in it – clearly debating saying something else.

“What?” she asked.

“I…” He hesitated. “Look, I feel bad about the two-day trip thing. If you want, I can call Bethany and get her to send Daphne a message from you.”

Astoria stared at him and, realizing he was serious, had to stop herself from laughing.

“Yeah, I don’t know how well that would go over,” she said. “But thanks.”

“I mean, we wouldn’t tell her it was coming from Bethany, obviously,” he said, and he clearly noticed she thought it was stupid because his voice had an edge of defensiveness.

“I appreciate it,” she said dryly. “You don’t need to worry about me and my sister, though. I’ll figure it out.” Once she’d pushed her boots off to a corner, she got back to her feet. “I always do.”

“Right.” He still sounded slightly dubious, but she ignored this.

Astoria crossed the suite to the bathroom they would have to share. “So, how exactly are you going to transfigure my clothes?”

“Oh,” he said, seemingly having forgotten he’d promised that. “Uh, well, I could try to do it while they’re on you but I don’t think I’m good enough for that.”

“Seems dangerous,” she agreed. “I’ll go take a shower and give you the clothes while I’m in there, then.”

To be honest, that also didn’t seem like the best idea—not that she thought the most chivalrous Gryffindor of all time would try anything untoward, but she still didn’t like the situation—but it was where she was it. She slipped into the bathroom and carefully pulled out her hair tie, removed her leather bracelets, and then her clothes. Wrapping herself in a towel, she opened the door holding her clothes.

“Here you go,” she said.

Harry got up from where he was leaning against the desk chair and came over to accept her shirt and jeans, hesitating a little before he took them from her. Astoria stood in the doorway, watching him lay them out on the bed so he could transfigure them, since she needed them back before she showered.

“Mutatio vestis,” he murmured, casting the spell once on her shirt and then again on her jeans. As she watched, they transformed from her day clothes into a softer cotton shirt and sweatpants.

“Thanks,” she said, as he gathered them up to give them back to her.

Harry stopped at the door to the bathroom, offering the clothes to her. His gaze dived sideways to her bare arm, but she took the clothes before he could figure out anything to say and closed the door on him.

Inside, she started the shower running with her wand and met her own gaze in the mirror before she got into it. Her hair was wildly frizzy from being out in the heat all day, in desperate need of shampoo and conditioner. She glanced down at her arm.

It had been so long, she often forgot what other people saw when they looked at her. She barely registered it anymore, except for the fact that she wore long sleeves whenever possible. The twisted spiral of scars running down her left arm were seven years old at this point, but had yet to fade beyond a muted red. She didn’t think they ever would.

When she emerged from the shower, she found Harry sitting on the couch, brow furrowed, bent over his mistwatch. There was a Muffling Spell up that sounded like incessant buzzing to her ear. He noticed her quickly, though, and said a goodbye to whoever he was talking to—probably Abbott again—and canceled the spell.

“What is that?” she asked, still hearing the remnants of the buzzing in her ear.

He smiled apologetically at her, standing and coming over towards the bathroom. “Muffliato. Sorry, it does that.”

Astoria sat on the bed, facing the mirror above the desk in front of her, and conjured a hairbrush to run through her dripping wet curls. “It’s horrible. Don’t you Aurors have better soundproofing spells?”

“Uh, probably, but that one’s more effective,” said Harry, half-grinning. “Snape actually invented it.”

“That sounds like him,” she muttered. “Make life easier for himself and piss off everyone in the vicinity.”

Harry chuckled but his laughter faded after only a second as he looked at her.

“What now?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said hastily. “I just… can I ask?”

She glanced up from the mirror to where he was standing in front of her, a half-hearted gesture towards her arm dropping from his hand.

“Can you ask what happened?” she clarified. “You already know that.”

The shirt she’d been wearing under her jacket was short-sleeved, so the night shirt he’d transfigured for her was as well. Even if he hadn’t already seen them, the scars were stark on her skin coming out from underneath the sleeve and wrapping around to her forearm.

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed next to her carefully.

“This was Greyback?”

“Yeah.” Astoria brought all her hair down over one shoulder to brush the ends of it, ignoring the fact that it was getting water on her shirt. “You can touch them if you want. They don’t hurt anymore.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then gently touched one particularly vicious scar at her elbow.

“I thought…” Harry paused. “I thought he was only after Daniel.”

Astoria smiled slightly, although the memory was bitter.

“Oh, he was. In fact, he was under strict orders not to hurt me. So the first thing he did was push me away.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Like I was going to let that happen. He did this the second time I tried to get in between him and Daniel. Clawed me up and shoved me down so I couldn’t stop the bite.”

“Shit,” he said in genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked. “You didn’t send him after us.”

“I’m sorry your father did,” said Harry after a moment of considering silence. “Did… did they know he attacked you too?”

Astoria set the brush away and began separating her hair out to make a braid.

“They found out,” she said with an almost amused, mostly grim laugh. “Actually, Greyback had said something—he was pretty pissed I tried to fight him. So when he was leaving he growled something about how he was going to charge my father extra for this.”

“Pretty lucid for a werewolf on full moon,” Harry remarked.

“Yeah, I don’t think the full moon did anything to him,” Astoria said. “Except give him the ability to pass on the werewolf curse. He was just like that. But anyway, obviously, we were at school, so after we’d gone to the hospital wing, and our parents were contacted… well, Daniel’s showed up to remove him from Hogwarts. But mine didn’t.”

She started twining her hair into a braid, ignoring the fact that her hands were trembling just thinking of that night.

“I don’t know if they were busy, or they didn’t want to see me injured, or what. Or maybe they just didn’t want to face me knowing how upset I was. So once Pomfrey cleared me to return to class, I knew I had to get myself sent home somehow. I asked Slughorn first, but he said only the Headmaster’s Floo was working. Some sort of security measure, I think because the D.A. had started disappearing and the Carrows thought they were using the Floo network to go home.”

She paused, glancing at him, but he was only listening closely. “I assume they weren’t, by the way?”

“Oh, yeah, no,” said Harry, exhaling a breath of almost laughter, although he seemed surprised she didn’t know already. “They weren’t. They were hiding in the school.”

“Yeah.” Astoria stopped halfway down her braid, staring at herself in the mirror. “Well, either way, I had to get to Snape to go home. And he wasn’t the most accessible Headmaster. So I staged a scene. See, with the Carrows around, you could do literally anything to Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, or Ravenclaws and get away with it. They stopped McGonagall from giving detentions to any Slytherin who got caught bullying. So obviously…”

“You had to do something to the Slytherins?” he guessed.

“Exactly.” She half-smiled. “Time-delayed Color Changing Charms in the showers of the fourth, fifth, and sixth year Slytherins. At breakfast, they all turned the colors of the other three Houses. And I confessed to it before they could try to punish the other Houses.”

“Not seventh year Slytherins?” Harry asked curiously.

She shot him a look.

“I was trying to get sent to the Headmaster’s office, not have Daphne murder me in my sleep.” Astoria glanced down at her scarred arm, and Harry’s gaze followed hers back to it. “Anyway, I raised a big fuss with the Carrows, told them my father would retaliate if they tried to put me in detention, until they got fed up and decided to pass me over to Snape. And when I got there, I told him I wanted to go home.”

She paused, thinking back to that day in fifth year. Harry waited quietly at her side, his hand hovering awkwardly over her arm before he dropped it back down onto the bedsheets.

“It was weird,” Astoria said after a moment. “I think he knew what I was doing. He asked me why I did all that just to go home. So I pulled up my sleeve and showed him and said that I needed to talk to my parents about it and they hadn’t come. He knew about the attack, obviously, even though the Carrows hushed up Greyback actually being on campus. But I was the only one who knew what Greyback had said, about charging my father for it. So I told him that.”

Harry’s brow was drawn down. “What did he say?”

Astoria shook her head.

“Not much. But I don’t think I’d ever seen Snape that angry. Not at me—he’d been angry at me plenty of times, but not like that. He just grabbed the Floo powder, put in my address, and then stepped in with me. And when we got home, my parents were there—he grabbed my father and dragged him out of the room to talk. I don’t know what they said.”

“I can guess,” said Harry slowly. When she looked at him, he managed a small smile. “I know it didn’t seem like it, but Snape was doing all he could to protect his students that year. The fact that your father sent a werewolf onto campus to attack his students would have pissed him off. And you were a Slytherin, on top of that.”

“Maybe.” Astoria found it weird to imagine Snape caring that much, but she supposed he had. “Anyway, I showed Mother what happened, and she started crying. I don’t think she knew all the details, Dad had just told her that he had a way to get Daniel away from me. When Snape brought him back, Dad apologized to me. And Mother begged Snape to heal my scars, and he said werewolf scars don’t heal.”

“They don’t,” Harry said quietly. “Not these ones.”

“No.” Astoria sighed and finished off her braid, tying her hairband around the end of it. “There are other cosmetic procedures – permanent glamours and stuff. Mother wanted me to get them done, but I wasn’t seventeen yet. And I told her I didn’t want to anyway. I wanted them to be reminded of what they did to me every time they looked at me.”

She stopped, staring at herself in the mirror, remembering how it had felt to have that much spite and rage and pain simmering inside her. It had been overwhelming, all-encompassing. She thought Snape had recognized it, because when he took her back to Hogwarts, he’d wordlessly handed her a Calming Draught from his personal stash, and then the next day, Pomfrey had prescribed her a routine for the next month.

Harry was still watching her though. She turned back to him, sensing he wanted to ask a question from the way he looked.

“But you do cover them up?” he asked in a careful tone.

“Yeah, well.” Astoria half-smiled. “It was fine for Knockturn, but I work mostly with kids now. It kind of scares them. And Daphne gets upset when she has to see them.”

“Mm.” Harry didn’t seem like he thought too much of Daphne being upset that her younger sister had been permanently scarred by their father. “Thanks for telling me.”

Astoria looked at him, trying to figure out if he was pulling his earnest Gryffindor game on her again. He did look earnest, but still genuine.

“It’s not a secret,” she said after a moment. “They’re just scars. Everyone has them.” She lifted a hand to tap her forehead, mirroring where his scar was. “You would know.”

Harry laughed slightly. “Yeah, I guess.” He shifted on the bed, clearly trying not to look at her scarred arm again. “Is that why you’re so touchy about people grabbing your arm?”

“I don’t like people touching me,” she corrected. “But yes.”

“Right.” He sent her a rueful look. “Sorry.”

Astoria shook her head and then pushed herself up off the bed. “You should shower. I’ll take the other room.”

“Oh, uh, you can take this one,” Harry offered, getting up as well and glancing around the main room of the suite. It was connected to another, smaller room through a door. “The bed’s bigger.”

“Yeah, you’re like a foot taller than me,” Astoria pointed out. “Don’t be so chivalrous all the time, Potter. Take the bigger bed.”

He squinted at her, although he was half laughing. “How tall are you?”

“Five feet,” she said on her way to the connecting room. “Good night.”

“Night,” he called after her before she closed the door between them.

Chapter Text

“What time will we be back in England?” asked Astoria, sitting on a cushioned chair on the train next to Harry.

It was the magical underground train so there was no need to hide their conversation from curious Muggle onlookers; the other wizards and witches on the train also didn’t seem to care about either of them, preoccupied with their phones and conversations.

“Beth got the portkey extended to midnight tonight, so we can activate it anytime we want today,” Harry said. “Why, do you have a deadline?”

She made a face. “Probably.”

Her fight at Knockturn, mandated by Anubis, was tonight, but the last thing she wanted to do was make Harry suspicious again when he’d let the fight club question lie dormant the past day. She didn’t think he was stupid enough to have forgotten, though, and it was too risky to bring up needing to go to Knockturn tonight.

“We’ll probably be home by early afternoon,” he assured her. “You can buy your sister something shiny to make up for it.”

“She’s not a Niffler,” said Astoria, mildly offended. He was right, though, it would probably work on Daphne.

Harry grinned at her. “Isn’t she?”

“Shut up.”

The train rumbled along to its destination, a one-way trip from deep underground New York City straight to the heart of Chicago, with several stops along the way. Harry and Astoria had gotten on it bright and early, eating breakfast at 6 a.m. at the hotel and then heading straight to get the tickets Bethany Abbott had arranged for them. It was a high-speed rail, much fancier than the trains they’d been taking just to get around New York.

There was no one sitting in the chairs directly opposite them, so Astoria put her feet up underneath the table. At her side, Harry messed around with his mistwatch, but didn’t call anyone. There was nothing much to do for the duration of the train ride. The witch who’d given them their tickets had said, in the tone of someone delivering a fun fact, that if they were on the Muggle rail system, it would take them a full day to get there. Within the magical underground, it was only two hours, as the train passed through several portkey tunnels that made it faster than anything Muggles could dream up.

It hit another portkey tunnel now, just twenty minutes into the ride. Astoria winced slightly at the sensation of feeling the train get sucked in through the portkey and then pop back out on the other side.

“These things are so weird,” Harry muttered, seeming again much worse for the wear than she was. He reached for his water bottle, gulping it down quickly once the train had settled back onto its tracks.

“Portkey tunnels?” she asked. “Yeah, they fell out of fashion in Britain for a reason. I guess America still likes them.”

“You’ve been on them before?”

“Yeah, we…” Astoria trailed off, realizing belatedly that telling an Auror about her family’s secret underground portkey tunnel to mainland Europe probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. “We used to go on holidays when I was little.”

He looked at her a little suspiciously, but let it go.

“You wanna play Gobstones?” she asked after a few minutes.

Harry sent her a look.

“No, I’ve seen how you play Gobstones, thanks.”

“Wow,” she said. “Just because George is a sore loser.”

He chuckled. “Are you coming to their engagement party?”

Astoria sighed at the reminder. “Unfortunately.”

“Why is it unfortunate?” he asked.

“Because I’m the only Greengrass invited,” she said. “If I don’t go, Penelope will be upset. If I do go, Mother and Daphne and Helena will be mad at me. Lose-lose situation. Plus I’ll be surrounded by Weasleys all night.”

“They’re not that bad.”

She turned her head sideways against the seat cushion to look at him. His tone of voice was determinedly casual, but she didn’t think he particularly wanted to go to the engagement party either.

“Isn’t your ex going to be there?”

Harry said nothing for a beat too long, and Astoria turned back, assuming he would fob her off with another non-sequitur again.

Instead, he said, “Yeah, she is.”

Astoria hummed thoughtfully but didn’t say anything more. If he wanted to talk about it—and he clearly did—she figured it would come easier if she didn’t press.

And it was fun to make him break first.

“Really,” said Harry after a moment, “you spent all day yesterday badgering me about Ginny, and now you’ve given up?”

“Sorry for giving you the wrong impression, Potter, I don’t actually care that much about your love life.”

“Right,” he said dryly.

Astoria dropped her feet down from the opposite chair and turned again to look at him. He was staring out the window, spinning his water bottle absently between his hands on the table in front of him. With a sigh, she dug around in her jacket pocket and fished out a galleon.

“Okay,” she said, getting his attention. “You obviously want to talk about something without seeming like you want to talk about it. So let’s play a game.”

“I don’t—” He stopped at the look on her face. “What kind of game?” he asked, only semi-reluctantly.

She slid the galleon over to his table. “It’s like truth or dare but without the dare part. You take turns flipping the galleon. Wands or scales. Wands, you ask me a question. Scales, I ask you a question. And reverse when I flip it. You get three passes, no questions asked. First one to use a fourth pass loses.”

Harry stared at her for a minute. “This is a game people play?”

“It’s more of a girls’ sleepover kind of game,” Astoria said.

“You get invited to a lot of those?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, if you don’t want to play and just want to stare out the window thinking about your ex-girlfriend for two hours, you’re more than welcome to do that.”

Harry shook his head and reached out to take the galleon. “I wasn’t doing that,” he said. “I’ll play but I need limits. You can’t ask me about Auror classified things.”

“That’s no fun,” said Astoria. “What are Auror classified things?”

“You know what they are,” he told her. “What do we get if we win?”

“Usually just bragging rights.”

“Hm.” Harry observed the galleon. “Should I go first?”

She spread her hands to gesture him forwards. He flipped the coin up in the air, caught it neatly and turned it over onto the back of his hand. When he drew his hand away, the wizard imprinted on one side of the galleon gleamed up at her.

“Wands,” she said, leaning back and propping her feet up again. “You ask me a question.”

Harry looked thoughtful, passing the coin back to her and settling back in his seat. She didn’t look at him, taking the coin and absentmindedly flipping it up and down in the air on her thumb and forefinger.

“Why do you hate America?” he asked finally.

Astoria raised her eyebrows.

“Going for the easy ones first?”

“Is it easy?” he countered. “You wouldn’t tell me yesterday.”

She shrugged. “It’s not really any of your business. But fine. When I was fourteen, my sister moved away to America. That’s it.”

Harry looked skeptical, although sympathetic at the same time.

“That’s it?”

“Not everything is some dark and tragic backstory.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Have you told her?”

“That’s a second question.” Astoria flipped the coin herself and let it fall onto her palm before turning it over. She sighed at the dragon on it. “Scales.”

He grinned. “That means I get to ask you another question, right?”

“Is that your question? About Penelope?”

“No.” Harry took the coin back from her and ran a thumb around the ribbed edge of it. “This game doesn’t seem very fair. Theoretically, you could flip the coin so that every time, it’s just the same person asking the questions.”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes we add other rules,” said Astoria, remembering childhood sleepovers gathered in Daphne’s bedroom in a circle of girls on the floor. “Like if one person asks three questions in a row, the next turn is everyone in the circle gets to ask them a question each.”

“Interesting,” he said, looking down at the coin. “Alright. Who’s your favorite sister?”

Astoria stared at him. “That is a deeply stupid question.”

“You said anything goes, right?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re doing,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re starting me off with stupid questions so you can build up to the ones you really want to know.”

Harry sent her an amused look. “And what is it I really want to know?”

She lifted a hand and counted off. “Who I think really killed Marcus, what am I not telling you about Daniel, why I’m helping my mother’s campaign, what was Daphne and Penelope’s fight about at the dinner party, and what’s really going on with me and Ethan.”

He blinked at her, opening his mouth, then seeming to think twice about it.

“That’s not…” Harry paused. “Entirely accurate.”

“No?” Astoria took a sip of her water. “What am I missing?”

“Well, you’ll find out when I ask you,” he said. “Are you going to pass on the question?”

Astoria considered it. “Daphne.”

“Of course.” He didn’t sound surprised. Flipping the coin again, he turned it over onto the back of his hand and then displayed it to her. “Wands.”

Astoria waved a hand. “Go on, then.”

“That’s three times in a row I get to ask a question,” Harry pointed out. “Do you get to do something? What are the rules when it’s just two people?”

“I’ve only ever played in groups,” she admitted. “I don’t know, it’s whatever. I don’t care that much. Ask what you want.”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” he remarked.

“Fine, buy me a chocolate bar.”

Harry looked amused. “Alright. Um…” He seemed to be casting around for a question to ask her, but Astoria rather suspected it was just for show. “What’s really going on with you and Daniel?”

Astoria blinked up at the ceiling for a second, then brought her head down to look at him.

“What?”

He spun the coin casually between his fingers.

“I told you it wasn’t entirely accurate.”

Astoria pushed herself up straight to glare at him more heavily. Harry didn’t look at her but he did stop spinning the coin, which was at least somewhat gratifying.

“We’re friends,” she said coolly. “What exactly do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was light when she slanted a narrow-eyed look at him. “You seem pretty intense about him.”

“Oh, right, okay, because if Granger was accused of murder, you’d just stand by and let it happen?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing.” Astoria reached out and caught the coin right as he tossed it up into the air, stealing it from him. “You’re not in love with her, are you?”

“Look,” Harry said, more firmly so she couldn’t interrupt him. “I just want to make sure I’m not dealing with a conflict of interest here.”

“Conflict of interest?”

“Yeah, it’s different bringing you into this if you’re in love with him.” He shrugged when she glowered at him. “People in love do crazy things. Crazier than you, even.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Right. Well, rest assured, I’m only a normal amount of crazy. And I’m not in love with him.”

Harry turned his head slightly to look at her. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She tossed the coin, flipped it over, and breathed a small sigh of relief at the wizard imprint. “Wands.”

He looked slightly nervous but gestured for her to go ahead.

Astoria leaned forward, propping her elbow on the table and her chin on her palm, pretending to think about it.

She let the silence go a minute too long, watching out of the corner of her eye as Harry shifted in his seat and then reached for his water bottle when it seemed like she was going to be quiet even longer.

“Have you gotten laid since you and Ginny Weasley broke up?”

He coughed on his water. “What?”

“Just wondering,” she said lightly. “I mean, it would be pretty sad if you hadn’t but since you’re still so obsessed with her—”

“Okay,” Harry interrupted loudly. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

He glanced at her sidelong, looking mildly annoyed and somewhat amused.

“I’m not still obsessed with her,” he said carefully. “And yes, I have.”

“Wow, really?” She widened her eyes in mock-shock. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“That’s a second question.”

He held his hand out for the galleon and she passed it over with a grin.

“Just making conversation,” she said, echoing his words from yesterday.

Harry shot her a look, but said nothing, just flipped the coin up in the air, pressing it over his hand. It was wands again.

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“Galleon must like me,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” she agreed with only a hint of acerbity in her voice.

Harry hesitated a second, not as long as her, and then said, “What’s your favorite subject?”

Astoria squinted at him. “What kind of boring ass question is that?”

“I thought this was a get to know you game,” he pointed out. She raised an eyebrow and waited a moment. He half-grinned at her. “I just feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad, it’s just a game,” she advised him. “And it was Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Really?” he asked in surprise.

“You can’t tell from the fact that I own, like, fifty winged horses?” Astoria accepted the galleon back from him and flipped it. The coin landed on scales. “Wow.”

Harry laughed slightly at the disgust in her voice, but his expression was thoughtful when she looked back up at him.

“Why do you pay Griselda Goyle’s rent after you moved out?”

Astoria frowned. “Who told you that?”

“She did,” he admitted. “Well, she told Seamus…”

“Ugh.” Astoria wrinkled her nose, remembering the conversation between Finnigan and Griselda at the debate dinner party. She knew he was just plying her for information. “Pass.”

He looked at her in surprise. “I thought that was an easy question.”

Astoria said nothing, just surveyed the golden glint of the galleon between her fingers.

Harry shifted over, putting his elbow on his headrest so he could face her.

“Are you just not telling me because you don’t want to admit you do nice things for the hell of it?”

“Is that your hypothesis?” she asked dryly. “That I’m secretly a nice person deep down and I just need a big strong Gryffindor to show me the right path?”

“No,” Harry said, amused. “I know you’re a nice person. Your best friend is a werewolf and you didn’t cut him off after he turned.”

She scoffed. “That’s, like, bare minimum.”

“You’re good with kids,” he pointed out.

“Part of my job.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Astoria. You pay your friend’s rent in an apartment you don’t live in because she can’t afford it. You’re going to your sister’s engagement party to a blood traitor even though your entire family cut her off. You danced with me at the party specifically to take attention away from your sisters fighting.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, then held up the galleon between their faces.

“Your turn.”

Harry sighed and took the galleon from her. He flipped it over and then held out his hand, showing the dragon imprint on the side.

“Scales,” he said, rather pointlessly since she could obviously see it. “What’s your question?”

Astoria scrunched her nose. “I don’t know yet. Go buy me a candy bar while I think.”

He stared at her for a minute, then laughed and passed the galleon back.

“Fine. But this game was your idea.”

She dropped her legs down so he could go past her, waving him off. He sent her one more look of amusement before stepping out into the aisle and then down to find a train employee with the candy cart.

Astoria watched him go, twirling the galleon between her fingers, then slid over to claim his seat next to the window.

“Thought of a question yet?” he asked when he returned, dropping a Hershey’s chocolate bar in front of her and then a pack of that same colorful round candy that he’d gotten from the vending machine at Amun-Ra Tech for himself. He didn’t seem bothered by her stealing his seat, just took the opposite seat in front of her, next to the window on the other side.

“Yeah, actually.” Astoria pulled the table out again once he was sitting down and absently spun the galleon in a circle on it. She watched it for a minute, then looked up to meet his gaze. “Do you believe me? About Daniel?”

Harry opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He closed it after a second, studying her carefully. She held his gaze, still spinning the galleon every time it tried to stop and fall down.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment.

She pressed her lips together and sat back in her seat, looking away and out towards the window. There was nothing out there, since they were underground, just dirt walls zooming past.

“Look,” said Harry, waiting a beat of quiet before he spoke again. “I want to believe you. I don’t want to believe the worst of a guy I don’t even know. But his DNA was at the crime scene—”

“I didn’t ask,” Astoria interrupted. She stopped the galleon, then tossed it in the air. It landed on the table with a clang. “Scales. Your turn.”

Harry paused for a moment and then reached across the table and carefully flipped the galleon over.

“Wands.”

Astoria stared down at it, then up at him.

“What invasive question would you like me to ask you?” she asked. “Who are you voting for, why did Ginny Weasley dump you, what really happened when you died?”

Harry shrugged. “You can ask me any of those.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And I don’t know who I’m voting for,” Harry said, then paused for a second when she looked at him. “Ginny broke up with me because she didn’t want to marry me, and I went to King’s Cross and saw Dumbledore.”

Astoria blinked.

“Seriously?”

His lips quirked.

“To which part?”

“All of it,” she said. “I mean, first of all, Dumbledore?” Thinking about it more, she added, “And King’s Cross?”

“I couldn’t tell you why either,” he said with a laugh. “But yes. That’s what happened.”

“Weird.” Astoria picked up the galleon off the table and studied it for a minute, then looked back at him. “She really didn’t want to marry you?”

Harry reached for his bag of sweets and slowly prised it open. “Mmhm.”

“Like… she told you that?”

“Yes.”

She digested this quietly as he popped some of the rainbow colored candy in his mouth.

“Damn,” she said after a moment. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It did.”

“Well.” Astoria set the galleon back on the table and spun it. “I asked you three questions, so… what do you want from me?”

Harry looked slightly startled at this.

“Uh, nothing,” he said. “I mean, you can’t really pay for anything here with British currency.”

“So call it an I.O.U. for when we get back,” she suggested.

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Astoria kicked him lightly under the table. “Don’t be such a noble Gryffindor. I’ll buy you a pony.”

Harry grinned at her.

“I don’t think that really has the same value as a bar of chocolate.”

Astoria picked up the bar he had gotten for her and considered it.

“Some chocolate,” she said sagely, “is worth everything.”

“Not this one,” he assured her. “It’s American.”

She snorted and opened up the bar, breaking off a piece of chocolate for herself.

“Do you have any other games?” Harry asked, after she’d spent five minutes working through half the bar.

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, we could conjure some cards. Millicent used to do tarot readings at Daphne’s sleepovers sometimes but I’m pretty sure she was making it all up. Oh, and Griselda had a phase where she insisted we do palm readings every time we were at each other’s house, and the person who had the worse reading had to eat her mum’s horrible excuses for snacks.”

Harry blinked. “What were the snacks?”

“Mrs. Goyle is a health nut,” said Astoria. “Not that you would know it from looking at her son. So it was shit like, boiled asparagus. Two almonds. The most tasteless cake you’ve ever had because she made it with zero sugar.”

“Yikes.” Harry grimaced in sympathy. “My Aunt Petunia was pretty bad, but not that bad.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, I didn’t have to live with her.”

“Yeah.” He popped more candy in his mouth. “So it was palm readings like they do in Divination?”

“Well, we were, like, ten, so… kind of?” Astoria laughed a little, breaking off another piece of chocolate. “She would read about it in magazines and then want to try it out on me. She was, like, obsessed with finding my love line because I always swore I’d never fall in love. And she’d just pick a different line on my hand every time and come up with her own story for who I was going to fall in love with based on the line.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds fun.”

Astoria bit into her chocolate, considering.

“Not really. Divination is bullshit even when it’s not being done by ten-year-olds.”

“Trust me,” he said wryly. “As someone whose entire life was ruled by a prophecy made before he was born, Divination is, unfortunately, not bullshit. At least not all the time.”

“Just most of the time, right?” Astoria put the rest of her chocolate bar back in its wrapper and covered it up, drawing her wand to clean her fingers off quickly. “You want me to do a palm reading on you, Griselda-style?”

He laughed, extending his free hand to her. “Sure.”

She took his hand in one of hers and tapped the fingers of her other hand on his palm, pretending to be working magic. His fingers flexed automatically, curling and then quickly uncurling when he realized.

“Looks like this one is your love line,” said Astoria in her best pretentious tones, tracing one line that curved up from the side of his hand up towards his fingers. “It’s over halfway across your palm which means you’ll have multiple lovers every year.” She moved her finger over to a line closer to the center of his hand. “Unfortunately, your life line is much shorter, so you won’t get to enjoy your bounties of love for very long until you die.”

“Wow,” said Harry, rolling his eyes when she looked up at him. “Thanks for that.” He was half-laughing, although his hand was unmoving underneath hers.

“It’s okay,” she said in a mock-bright tone. “Because this one here…” She trailed her finger down to the edge of his hand and traced a long line upwards into his palm. “Is your head line, and since it’s so long, it means you need to learn a lot more things, really fast. Since you’re going to die soon.”

He shook his head, still laughing.

“Didn’t you take Divination? You should be better at this.”

“Yeah, but I’d say I’m pretty good for someone taught by Trelawney,” she said, then paused with her hand still on his, slowly looking up at him. “Did I tell you I took Divination?”

Harry paused. “I mean, yeah, you… mentioned it.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Astoria, squinting at him. “You read that in my fucking file, didn’t you?”

“Um… maybe?”

The train chose that minute to hit a portkey tunnel, the air becoming pressurized for a minute. Harry’s hand spasmed at the jolt and then curled around hers. Astoria stopped moving, glancing down at their hands as the train swept out of the tunnel, into whatever new city they were in, going back to its usual rolling rhythm after a few bumps.

Harry drew his hand away. “Sorry.”

Astoria blinked, then pulled her hands back to herself. “It’s fine,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. “So what’s in my file?”

“What?”

“My file,” she reminded him. “What’s in it?”

“Uh.” Harry seemed baffled that she wanted to know. “Pretty basic stuff, to be honest. Parental history, wand core, O.W.L.s and N.E.W.Ts. Nothing scandalous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t like people knowing things about me.”

“They’re classified,” he said. “If that helps.”

“No.”

“Well.” Harry picked up his half-empty bag of candy and peered into it. “You did just play a game where the entire purpose was for me to ask you things about yourself.”

Astoria made a face at him and he grinned.

“Me telling you things is different from reading them in my Auror file, genius.”

“Okay,” he said, almost laughing. “Do you want to read my file in return, or what? Or maybe the unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter? Would that help?”

Astoria hummed in thought.

“Just answer one more question, then.”

He looked curiously at her. “What is it?”

She crossed her arms and leaned forwards in her seat.

“What did you do to Isabelle Rookwood to stop her from printing that story about us?”

Harry paused.

“Who said I did anything?”

Astoria kicked him under the table again. “Come on, Potter.”

He laughed slightly, although he moved the leg she had kicked up to his seat, bracing his arm over his knee.

“I may have just gone down to the Prophet’s office before they started for the day. Found her draft, read it, marked it out with red quill, and… told her to cut everything I’d marked.”

“And that worked?” she asked skeptically.

“Of course not.” Harry ran a hand over the ridges of his water bottle. “But her boss is scared of me, so she had to listen to me. I guess she decided without all the scandalous bits, it wasn’t worth publishing at all.”

Astoria wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer to her question, but she asked anyway.

“What did it say?”

Harry hesitated, looking at her.

“You can tell me,” she added. “I can handle it.”

“Uh, just what you’d expect,” he said slowly. “The usual cheating and lies and… she tried to imply you weren’t your father’s daughter.”

Astoria nodded, glancing down at her half-finished chocolate bar.

“Hey,” he said, making her look back up at him. “Nobody would have believed it.”

“Oh, people would have believed it,” she said, half-smiling at him. “Thanks.”

“Well, nobody who matters.” Harry shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me. You did something nice for your sisters. I didn’t think you deserved to have your reputation slandered for it.”

She sighed, settling back in her seat. “You are such a Gryffindor.”

He grinned.

“So, you wanna play Gobstones?”

Amun-Ra Tech in Chicago was not all that different from Amun-Ra Tech in New York, except for the fact that it was underground rather than on top of a skyscraper. But inside could have been the exact same office duplicated, sleek and shiny and mostly glass and metal, full of people walking around wearing important-looking clothes doing important-seeming tasks on their little cellphones and computers.

Before they walked in to the front office, Harry pulled her to a side corner of the underground of magical buildings they’d arrived in from a secret lift.

“Here,” he said, pulling out something bundled up inside his pocket.

Astoria blinked at it. There was nothing there, but somehow, it seemed to expand in his hands regardless.

“What is that?”

“My invisibility cloak.” He offered it to her. “I’m going to talk to whoever’s at the front desk, but I doubt they’ll let me in without an appointment. This is our backup plan.”

Astoria took the cloak from him, running her hands over the soft, invisible material. It was the strangest thing, to be holding something you couldn’t even see.

“This is the invisibility cloak?” she asked. “Like, from defeating the Dark Lord and all?”

“Yeah, so don’t lose it,” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “I’m trusting you with it.”

“Why don’t we switch, and you use the cloak and I talk to the front office?”

There was a moment of significant silence.

“I don’t see that going well for us,” Harry said.

She sent him a look and then opened up the cloak in front of her, feeling rather than seeing the swish of the material as it expanded.

“So you just keep this on you at all times?”

“It comes in handy.”

He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small compact mirror. She watched as he opened it up and murmured what must be an activation spell, and then suddenly in front of her was the brown-haired, blue-eyed man who had pretended to be named James in Knockturn Alley again.

“That comes from a mirror?” she asked in disbelief. “You don’t just use a normal charm?”

“Glamour Charms are hard to do on your own,” Harry said, although he didn’t look that much like Harry anymore. “They require specific runes. This just makes it easier.”

“I could’ve done one on you,” Astoria suggested.

Harry leveled a long look at her. “I don’t trust you that much.”

She grinned and swept the cloak over herself, looking down to watch her body disappear from view and then pulling the rest of it up over her head until she was completely invisible. Harry walked over to the door leading into Amun-Ra Tech and pulled it open, letting her slip in quickly before anyone else thought it was weird he was holding the door for nobody.

The wizard at the front desk looked bored when Harry came up to it. As tempted as she was to just go off and explore, Astoria waited by it to see what information he could get from the man.

“Hi,” said Harry pleasantly, in a voice that sounded just slightly off from his usual. Voice Glamours were hard, Astoria knew, so the mirror must be specialized Auror equipment to do it so easily. “I’m looking for Drusilla Flint?”

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the wizard.

“No, I’m an old friend of hers from England and wanted to surprise her. She works at this office, right?”

The receptionist frowned slightly.

“She does, but you’ll have to make an appointment. What’s your name? I’ll get you booked in.”

“James,” he said easily. “James Dursley. Listen, I don’t want to make an appointment because I want to surprise her. Can you at least let me know when she usually works?”

“Afraid I can’t, it’s against the law—”

Astoria’s eyes widened; she had noticed Harry drawing his wand but the worker hadn’t because he was covered by the desk. In two seconds and one flick of his wand, a murmured “Confundo” and the receptionist’s eyes glazed over.

“She’s in Room 12 down the hall,” he murmured absentmindedly.

“Thanks,” said Harry, sliding his wand back into his Auror holster. He began walking down the path the man had gestured to him, and Astoria caught up with him once they were out of the front office, casting a quick Notice Me Not Spell herself so that they could speak freely.

“Is that legal?” she asked.

“Uh, no.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for Confounding innocent people?”

Harry shrugged. “Only if you tell someone.”

“Damn, Potter,” she said, rounding the corner ahead of him. “That’s cold.”

“It’s just a Confundus,” he reminded her, stopping as they neared Rooms 10 and 11. “He’s a full grown wizard, he’ll shake it off and be fine in five minutes. All right, obviously, if I go in, Drusilla might get suspicious. We’ll have to wait for someone to open the door and sneak you in.”

“Or,” Astoria said slowly. “You do it the Slytherin way and Confound someone else to do it right now. Since you’re okay with a little lawbreaking.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at roughly the patch of air where she was standing.

“First of all, I’ve definitely broken way more laws than you.”

“That’s not fair, you were on the run for a whole year. Way more opportunity.”

He grinned. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

It took another two minutes for a hapless employee to walk down the hallway. Under the Notice Me Not Spell, she didn’t even see them before Harry had Confounded her to drop in on Drusilla. Astoria was waiting at the door when it opened, and inside before either Drusilla or the other girl could sense anything amiss.

Inside, she stopped in surprise. This office wasn’t much like the room they had seen in New York, apart from having the same sleek shininess that all of Amun-Ra Tech did. Instead of just one desk, a couple of chairs, and a bookcase, it was an expansive room with a full seating area – a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table all facing a giant screen on the wall in one corner – and bookshelves lining another wall. The main part of her office was a massive, metal-edged glass desk that hosted a computer that looked far newer and bigger than the tiny block of nothing she’d had in New York.

Behind the computer, Drusilla was sitting in a tall black leather armchair, her dark hair up in a high ponytail and her brow furrowed in concentration as she tapped things out on the board in front of her computer. It was the same thing Harry had attempted using back in New York, except she was clearly a master at it. Her acrylic nails clicked with every tap, and she barely noticed the employee who had come in except to look up and then wave her out when it was clear she didn’t need anything.

There was no way she was getting behind the computer with Drusilla still there. And she had no idea how long she would be working here. The desk had locked drawers, the same as her last office, but there was no way to access them.

Astoria headed for the bookshelf, keeping her footsteps as light as possible. Drusilla was focused on her screen, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look up and sense something amiss at any moment.

All the titles on her bookshelf – and there were quite a lot, much more than there had been in her New York office, which made Astoria think this must be her real personal collection – were complicated. Most seemed to be about magical theories, some were by magical authors but about Muggle topics like bioengineering or computer science, based on their titles.

Astoria frowned slightly. Drusilla was smart, always had been, but this stuff was way out of any witch’s comfort zone. From what she knew about the Muggle world – significantly more than most of her pureblood peers, thanks to her friends and her forays into Muggle Britain – this was highly advanced work, that they needed years at university to study.

Then again, she thought, Drusilla was the kind of girl to keep ostentatious titles on her bookshelf to make people think she was smarter than she was.

There were some classics, too – magical historical fiction, a copy of Hogwarts: A History, one of Nature’s Nobility. Typical books for a pureblood library.

Something started ringing, a loud and cheerful tune. Astoria winced, turning around from the bookshelf to see Drusilla glance up from her computer.

But she didn’t look over to where Astoria was standing anyway. Instead, she picked something small and silver up off her desk and flipped it open.

“Hello?” she said into the cellphone. “Oh, hi, I was just about to start wrapping up for lunch.”

Her voice had changed the second she’d started talking to whoever was on the other end of the call, softening in a way that Astoria might have said was completely out of character for her.

“Should we go get Italian?” Drusilla leaned back in her chair, a smile on her lips. “Okay. I’ll meet you there in an hour. Love you.”

She flipped the cellphone shut again and refocused on the computer.

Astoria knew she didn’t have an hour. Harry would send in another employee to let her sneak out sooner rather than later. As carefully as possible, she walked around the perimeter of the office to end up behind Drusilla, able to see her computer screen.

The screen held a lot of text. Drusilla was typing, too, what seemed to be a message to someone. As Astoria peered closer, trying to see it without stepping too far into Drusilla’s personal space – she didn’t trust that a Notice Me Not Spell would hold up to Drusilla’s senses –she could see the words ‘To:’ ‘CC:’ ‘BCC:’ and ‘Subject:’. Drusilla was typing what seemed like a lengthy missive into a large box underneath the subject line.

All of it, she noticed after a minute of reading, was about Amun-Ra Tech.

Within five minutes, the door was opening again, with a new employee looking in to check on Drusilla.

Astoria darted out as quietly as possible, although she noticed Drusilla reacted with more suspicion to this employee than she had the last one.

Harry—as James—was still waiting down the hall, able to be seen since the Notice Me Not Spell had been cast over both of them. Astoria got up to him and tapped him on the arm to get his attention.

“How did it go?” he asked in a low voice. There were no employees around, and they wouldn’t notice the two of them anyway, but it never hurt to be careful.

“Pretty useless,” she said. “But I do think the secret boyfriend theory is the right one. Should we get out of here?”

“You don’t want to sneak around anywhere else here?”

“No,” said Astoria with a sigh. “I think this whole place and job is actually legitimate. There’s something else going on with her though. We need to debrief.”

Chapter Text

“So,” said Harry, hands shoved in his pockets as they walked down the bustling streets of downtown Chicago, “she definitely has a secret boyfriend.” He paused. “Or girlfriend?”

Astoria thought back to Drusilla at school.

“I would be very surprised if it was a girlfriend,” she admitted. “But boyfriend, yeah, I’d say so. I’ve never in my life heard Drusilla speak that nicely to someone. She would never say ‘I love you’ to a friend.”

Harry nodded. “Has she dated people before?”

“One or two boys in Hogwarts,” said Astoria. “I haven’t kept tabs on her since we left, though. Probably some more. She likes to show up to events on someone’s arm. They’re always very appropriate, pureblood gentlemen types.”

“High odds this one isn’t, then,” Harry pointed out. “If she’s keeping those letters locked like that. How is she so good at locking wards, by the way?”

“She’s a paranoid bitch, that’s why,” Astoria muttered. “And she took Ancient Runes.”

“Hmm.” Harry swerved to avoid a burly man shoulder-checking him. “You’re not telling me something.”

Astoria shot him a look, but he just kept walking.

“One of these days, you’re going to guess that and you’re going to be wrong,” she informed him loftily.

One corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin.

“Not today, though?”

Astoria sighed, tilting her head up to watch the clouds move over the Chicago skyline.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said after a minute of walking past little cafés and businesses. “You remember how I told you she used to bully Griselda?”

They pulled up to a stoplight next to a teenage couple getting in an argument about the boy texting another girl. Harry glanced over at them, mildly amused, then looked back at her.

“Yeah.”

“Well, Griselda is pretty… easily bullied,” said Astoria with a grimace. “But sometimes, she can stand up for herself. Not often, but sometimes. Anyway, we were in third year, and Drusilla had done something… I don’t even remember at this point. Could’ve been anything. She was a piece of work. But Griselda went and found her diary in her trunk.”

Harry winced. “I think I can guess where that’s going.”

“Yeah,” Astoria agreed. “Griselda pulled out pages and spread them around our year. And honestly, they probably weren’t even that bad. I mean, we were thirteen and fourteen, so you can imagine. But Drusilla had a meltdown, obviously. Snape had to get involved. Not fun for anyone. She locks things down very efficiently now.”

“Too efficiently,” he muttered as the light turned green and people began walking again. “And you had nothing to do with that?”

Astoria shrugged.

“Not that time. Look, I don’t like Drusilla but… I’ve known her since we were little kids. I wouldn’t have done that to her.”

“Just caused all her hair to fall out for weeks instead, right?”

She grinned.

“See, physical harm is above board. Psychological warfare is different.”

“Right.” Harry looked dubious. “Well, good to know the inner machinations of thirteen-year-old Slytherin girls are haunting my investigation.”

“You should never underestimate a thirteen-year-old Slytherin girl,” she agreed solemnly. “Anyways. What do you think that whole secret boyfriend business has to do with Marcus?”

“Could be anything,” he said, speaking slowly as he gathered his thoughts, even though his pace was fast enough to match the Muggles around them. “Maybe Marcus found out about it and tried to stop her seeing him. Maybe Drusilla really does want the company and she’s playing the long game with it. Maybe her secret boyfriend wants the company and he’s pulling the strings. Unfortunately, we’d need to ask either Marcus or Drusilla to get answers on these, and somehow, I doubt she’s going to tell us.”

“She might tell you if you bring her in for official questioning,” Astoria pointed out, then glanced around. “What’s our plan, should we wait for lunchtime and try to do a locator spell on her?”

“Somehow, I don’t think a locator spell will work on her, but we can try.” Harry dug into his jeans and pulled out the folded up, locked up secret letter Astoria had liberated from Drusilla’s drawers. “And the small problem with questioning her is that I’m not supposed to have this. It wasn’t exactly obtained legally.”

“But you have it now,” said Astoria, taking it from him and surveying it as she walked.

“Yeah, I can’t exactly go to Robards and tell him I accepted evidence from you breaking into her room and going through her stuff,” he said dryly. “This is why we have to follow the rules.”

“Merlin.” Astoria turned over the parchment between her thumb and forefinger. “What happened to breaking the law all the time?”

“I’m an Auror,” he reminded her. “I am the law.”

“You just Confounded not one, not two, but three people to sneak me into her office,” she said pointedly.

“Yeah, that falls under the undercover investigation rules.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Well.” Harry shrugged, taking the letter back from her. “It does if you’re me.”

Astoria rolled her eyes.

The locator spell, as expected, didn’t work, even though Harry did it standing right on top of where they knew Amun-Ra Tech was. He frowned slightly when his wand lit up glowing red at the end.

“It was blocked,” he said. “If it failed because she wasn’t in the perimeter of the spell, it would’ve been yellow.”

“I know how locator spells work.”

Astoria crossed her arms, looking out over the little downtown plaza they were standing at the edge of, hidden under a privacy spell so they could do magic. Someone was busking with a guitar in the center of the square, and there were tall office buildings lit up in the windows on all four sides. A few small cafés with cheerful outdoor seating had people coming in and out for lunch, and the benches in the square were being filled and then vacated as workers stopped by to eat their lunches and then go back into the buildings.

Harry was trying the spell again. Astoria ignored him, watching the Muggles weave in and out of the plaza, chattering about work and marriages and weekend plans as they went. Quite a few of them were on their phones, holding calls or stopping at a bench to tap out a message.

“Hey,” he said, and she realized he’d been trying to speak to her.

“What?”

“Do you want to go home now?” he asked. “I can activate the portkey. I don’t know if we’re going to get anything else from here.”

Astoria stared at him for a minute.

“You don’t want to keep looking for her?” she asked, baffled.

“How do you suppose we do that?” Harry asked. “Try to find her in the address book?”

“No. I don’t know, you’re the Auror, don’t you have resources we could use? Her DNA on file to try a locator rune or something?”

“I mean, no, we wouldn’t have her DNA on file unless she had a record. Just her basic Hogwarts file. But even if we did, I couldn’t do that without due cause. And we don’t have that.”

Astoria took a deep breath.

“Potter,” she started, then paused. “Harry. You are the most famous person in our world. You say jump, the Wizengamot says ‘how high?’ If anyone can find a legal reason to track Drusilla down, wherever she’s hiding, it’s you. That’s the only reason I asked you for help.”

Harry sighed and leaned down to sit on the armrest of a small bench nearby.

“I know that, but unless we just stake out Amun-Ra Tech for hours, I don’t see what we can do here. And even if we do that, she’s just going to Apparate home. We can’t follow that.”

Astoria closed her eyes, trying not to let the frustration she was feeling escape onto her face. She was sure he could tell anyway.

“So, what, we just give up and go back home? There’s nothing else to investigate?”

“Astoria,” he said, his voice gentle enough that she opened her eyes just to glare at him. “Sometimes investigations are dead ends. It happens all the time.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said. “I’m not an Auror, okay? I’m not going on other investigations. Merlin, I don’t even care about Drusilla, I just…”

“Want to be sure that it wasn’t Daniel, right?” Harry finished.

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

He looked at her seriously.

“Do you really think it was Drusilla?”

“No,” she admitted.

Harry nodded. “Do you have any other suspects?”

He was quick enough with the question that for a moment, she couldn’t help but think of Griselda.

“No.”

He said nothing for a minute, but she didn’t think he believed her.

“Well, if you do think of someone, you can come tell me,” he said after a beat of silence. “I’m at the Auror office most of the time. And I do have someone working on unlocking those letters, so maybe…”

“Yeah.” Astoria sighed, feeling defeated, then glanced around the plaza square. “We should at least get lunch here first.”

Harry blinked at her.

“We should?”

“Yeah.” Astoria looked over at the busker thoughtfully. “I want to try a hot dog before we leave America.”

Harry laughed slightly and got to his feet.

“Well, you’re in luck. Bethany gave me the addresses of some magical food trucks we could check out if we had time.”

In all her trips to America to visit Penelope over the years, Astoria had never come to somewhere quite like this. It was the middle of the day, so it was quite busy at the parking lot that Abbott had apparently said was the hidden site of magical food vendors in Chicago. They had to squeeze through two cars to get there, and it was concealed from Muggles by wards, because they all passed it by without comment, either walking or in their cars.

Inside the parking lot, picnic benches had been set up all across the way. There were a few cars, although Astoria wasn’t sure why—maybe wizards and witches in America drove more than they did in England. The vendors were all in stationed food trucks, which were decorated in colorful graphics and were heaping food onto plates for the people waiting in their lines.

“So, is Abbott basically just your travel agent or what?” she asked Harry as they walked to the first food truck to check out what it was selling.

He sent her a reproachful look.

“No.”

“She booked your train tickets and your hotel for you,” Astoria reminded him.

Harry ignored her, looking over the menu of the food truck—it was Chinese, serving noodles and chicken prepared in various ways—and then walking forward to the next one.

“And this place,” she added, catching up to him after stopping to see someone else’s order, which looked delicious, to be fair.

“Well, I would’ve planned better, but I didn’t know we were coming to Chicago,” he pointed out. “She can do research from the Ministry. Plus, her family is in the hospitality business.”

“In the hospitality business?” Astoria repeated. “What does that mean? She’s going to inherit a hotel?”

“No,” said Harry, shooting her a look. “Her Uncle Tom runs the Leaky Cauldron. It just means they know people. That’s how she got the hotel for us. You might want to send her a thank-you note, by the way.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Astoria paused, watching a witch order something called ‘tacos’ from the next food truck. “I didn’t know Leaky Tom was her uncle.”

“Please tell me you don’t call him that to his face.”

“You want me to lie to you? After everything we’ve been through?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Here’s the hot dog truck,” he said, gesturing to the one they’d just come up on. “What do you want?”

The menu was simple – plain or Chicago-style, along with a variety of beverages. The vendor was a grizzled old man who leaned out the window of the truck, his beard stained with mustard, wearing a baseball cap like the ones they had bought in New York.

“You from out of town?” he asked her. She nodded and he said, “Get the Chicago-style.”

“It looks a little…” Astoria paused, studying the picture on the menu that was drawn up on the side of the truck. “Intense?”

Harry glanced at her sidelong, amused. “Are you scared?”

Astoria elbowed him to push him away from her and he winced.

“That kind of bullshit only works on Gryffindors,” she told him. “I was going to get it anyway.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll get one too. Any drinks?”

“Just get me a soda I haven’t tried yet,” she said. “I’ll go find us a bench.”

A few minutes later, Harry approached the bench levitating a tray with two Chicago-style hot dogs and two soda cups in front of him, settling it down onto the table carefully.

“That was quick,” she remarked, taking the little holder for her hot dog off the tray to place it in front of her. “What is this drink?”

“Uh, it’s called… Mountain Dew, I think,” he said.

Astoria took a sip out of the straw and made a face. “That’s disgusting. I don’t know how Americans drink this stuff regularly.”

“And yet you always drink the whole cup.”

She shrugged, taking another sip, then turned a critical gaze onto the hot dog. It looked kind of like the ones she had seen in New York, except those had just had mustard and ketchup on top. This one was piled high with things like pickles, onions, tomatoes, and peppers. It did smell delicious, freshly grilled inside a soft bun, but picking it up and biting into it seemed intimidating.

As she carefully lifted it up out of its container with both hands, a memory drifted into her mind, one from years ago, when she and Daniel had been twenty, hanging out on the pier where he worked.

“If I can ever get out of here,” he said, tossing rocks into the water, “I’d go to America.”

“Ew,” Astoria said. “Why? They have horrible food.”

He laughed. “It’s not about the food. Do you know they have jobs specifically for werewolves? Like, accommodations and everything. And there’s a lot more packs there. They live more closely with Muggles than we do so the magical community actually protects werewolves rather than casting them out.”

“Sounds nice,” she admitted. “But everything you love is here.”

Daniel sighed. “Yeah. We should go, though, just for fun. Check out the werewolf underground there. I hear that in the cities, they live in places like abandoned train stations and malls.”

“Way better than a cottage in the woods, right?”

Harry was looking at her curiously, and it took her a moment to realize it was because she’d taken a bite without saying anything, rather than because he could read her mind and knew she was thinking about Daniel.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s good,” she said on instinct. “Mother would actually kill me if she could see me now.”

He grinned. “Good thing she can’t.”

Astoria lifted the hot dog back up, then stopped. She wasn’t hungry, and it had nothing to do with how good the food was or wasn’t. The feeling of defeat hadn’t stopped gnawing at her the entire time they’d been walking to this parking lot, and it was getting worse the longer she sat here with him, talking about nothing.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him quietly.

Harry blinked at her. “About what?”

Astoria circled a hand to gesture around them.

“About this. Drusilla, in Chicago. The investigation. Everything. What happens when we go back to England?”

“Well,” he said carefully. “I will continue to look into whatever we can find out about Drusilla. And the rest of the investigation will continue as normal.”

“Right.” Astoria reached for the plastic wrapped napkin and utensils and opened it sharply, pulling the flimsy fork out and picking up a pepper from her hot dog with it.

“What’s the matter?” asked Harry.

“Nothing.”

“Clearly, something is,” he said, putting his hot dog down. “Come on, I thought you were talking to me now.”

Astoria looked up from her soda to him. He was watching her, looking slightly as if he was afraid she might snap. And, she realized with a start, he was right to be. She did want to snap. He was looking at her as if all she had to do was be honest with him, and everything would be alright. The patented Gryffindor hero look.

“I have been talking to you,” she said after a moment. “I’ve told you a lot of things. But you’re not going to tell me anything once we go back, are you?”

Harry paused, that earnest Gryffindor look slipping into something else. If she were feeling uncharitable, and she was, she might call it guilt.

“You’re not an Auror,” he said finally. “I’m not exactly cleared to tell you things…”

“Oh, please.” Astoria picked up another pepper and twirled it around on her fork rather than eating it. “You said it yourself, you make your own rules. You could do anything, it’s not like you’re going to get fired. You could tell me whatever you wanted, but you won’t because you don’t trust me.”

“Should I trust you?” he shot back. “You keep a lot of secrets, Astoria.”

“I told you about those letters,” she pointed out. “That’s evidence in your case that you wouldn’t have without me.”

“You told me about them because you needed something from me.”

“And what is it you need from me?”

There was a moment of silence as he stared at her, and Astoria carefully unclenched her other hand from where she’d been squeezing her soda cup.

“I don’t…”

“No,” she interrupted. “Don’t give me that. Just tell me. That’s why you’re here, right? That’s why Abbott has been so accommodating? Your plan was always to get something out of me. What do you want?”

Harry exhaled a soft breath, shaking his head.

“You are so unwilling to trust anybody, it’s actually impressive.”

“No, just you,” Astoria shot at him. “And you’re deflecting. Come on, out with it. What is it you’ve been wanting to ask me this entire time?”

He opened his mouth, looking as if he was going to deny it again, then closed it at the look on her face.

Finally, he said, “Bethany thinks you know something about the Knockturn Alley fight club.”

Astoria stared at him.

“She thinks what?”

“She thinks that you know something or are a part of something, and that’s why you stopped us from talking to that couple in Knockturn Alley that day, and that’s what you’re hiding from us about Marcus and Daniel,” Harry said with a sigh. “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

Astoria blinked several times.

“Okay, so,” she said after a moment thinking about it, “you think I’m part of some mythical underground fight club in Knockturn Alley. And you didn’t ask me about it on the train when I gave you free reign to ask me anything, because…?”

He half-smiled. “I figured you’d pass.”

“No.” Astoria sat back and folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “You wanted me to trust you first.”

“Well, can you blame me?” he asked. “You don’t exactly trust easy.”

“You’re an Auror,” she said sharply. “You’re not exactly easy to trust.”

Harry sighed in frustration.

“What do I have to do to prove it to you? I’m here because I trusted that you were telling the truth about Drusilla, because you thought she was hiding something—”

“And I was right,” Astoria interjected.

He shot her a look.

“Yes. So can you trust me on this? That I’m not out to get you, I just want to find the murderer?”

Astoria looked searchingly at him, thinking about Daniel—out there somewhere, Salazar knew where, either hiding or missing, with only her looking for him with good intentions. About Griselda, clearly keeping secrets she had never kept before, sending the Aurors after Daniel as if she’d had no choice in the matter. The way she had had to force the truth out of Griselda, about the fight and the deal for the money. The secrets that Anubis Crow was still keeping, deep in the heart of Knockturn. Secrets that could turn Daniel from a suspect into a murderer in an instant.

“No,” she said finally. “I can’t.”

Harry drew back, looking genuinely disappointed.

“Astoria, I really do need to know—”

“I don’t know anything about a fight club.”

He studied her for a moment.

“You’re lying.”

“Oh, you think you know when I’m lying?” she asked. “I have told you the truth over and over since we’ve been here and this is the first time you’ve actually admitted something about the case to me. Who’s the one lying here?”

Harry pressed his lips together, then glanced around them before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a galleon.

“Fine,” he said, placing it on the table between them and then drawing his wand to cast a privacy spell around them. “Let’s do wands or scales for it. Case-related questions only. You go first.”

Astoria nearly laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he assured her. “Go on, then.”

She shook her head, but picked up the galleon after only a moment’s reluctance and flipped it over onto the back of her hand.

“Wands.”

Harry looked at her expectantly.

She passed the galleon back onto the table and picked up her hot dog again, taking a slow bite while she thought over all her questions.

“What was the potion in Marcus’ body when he died?”

He stared at her.

“How do you know about that?”

Astoria smiled slightly.

“It’s not your turn.”

Harry looked a bit like he already regretted this, but he took a breath.

“It was a high-level Sleeping Draught called Mollitorius. Enough to knock out a grown man for a day.”

Astoria’s brow furrowed. “Marcus was asleep when he died?”

“That’s a second question,” he pointed out. “But yes, he was knocked out. It was over fourteen hours old, though.”

Astoria took a sip of her soda, thinking it over. “So that’s why you’re after Daniel, you think it was premeditated.”

“It was definitely premeditated,” Harry said, reaching for the galleon. “The question is by whom.”

He flipped the galleon while she took another bite of her hot dog, finishing it half-way. When he displayed the coin to her, it showed the dragon.

“Scales,” he said. “You get another.”

She propped her elbow on the table, ignoring a lifetime’s worth of etiquette lessons from her mother screaming in her head as she did.

“What exactly did Griselda tell you that made you think it was Daniel?”

Harry squinted at her.

“You know a lot more about this case than I thought you did.”

Astoria shrugged, picking up her fork again to eat a pickle off the top of her hot dog, waiting for him to answer.

“She said that he and Marcus had gotten in a fight the day before he died,” Harry admitted. “It was something to do with money, she didn’t seem very sure on it. She said apparently Daniel wanted money from him, that he was in debt or… something, I don’t even know. But she said they were going to meet up the night he died to exchange the money.”

Astoria had narrowed her eyes as he spoke. It lined up with what Griselda had told her, but sounded much worse coming out of Harry’s mouth. Griselda, at least, had tried to soften the blow.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “First of all. Daniel wouldn’t even take money from me, he would literally never take Marcus Flint’s money.”

“Even if he was desperate?” asked Harry.

“Why would he be desperate?” she demanded. “He had two jobs, okay, not great jobs, but he managed. He had a place to live. I don’t believe that his life was bad enough that he had to resort to extorting money out of Marcus.”

“True,” Harry said musingly. “But circumstances can change. Maybe he lost his jobs and didn’t want to tell you.”

“I guess,” she said grudgingly. “I mean, it’s possible, but I doubt it. And Griselda doesn’t know Daniel as well as I do.”

“Right,” he said, sending her a significant look. “That’s why it would help if you gave us an official statement.”

“This is my official statement,” Astoria said. “I think you’re all idiots.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just flip the coin.”

She flipped it and it landed on the dragon again.

Harry was halfway through his hot dog, but he paused before his next bite, seeming to think it over. She didn’t know why, the question was pretty obvious since he had just asked it not five minutes ago.

“Was Daniel in the fight club?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Astoria…”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Oh.” Harry set his hot dog down, staring at her seriously. “You’re under a vow.”

“Mmhm.” She smiled slightly. “How do you think it’s been kept a secret so long?”

He paused. “If it’s not an Unbreakable Vow, we can break it for you.”

“Really?” she asked dubiously.

Harry nodded. “Hermione wrote one for Dumbledore’s Army, way back in the day. I assume you signed something? If anyone can break that, she can.”

Astoria sighed, looking up at the sky for a second. Was she really going to agree to that?

But he was close enough to the truth that he would get it out of someone eventually. And she needed to know, too, the truth of what went down between Marcus and Daniel at fight club.

“Okay, look,” she said at last. “Can you give me this weekend? I’ll see if I can get out of it myself. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll let you do it after Penelope and George’s engagement party on Sunday.”

She at least needed to do the fight tonight. She wasn’t going to break her promise. Even if, she thought guiltily, even discussing the idea with Harry Potter was breaking a whole lot more promises to Knockturn Alley itself.

“Alright,” said Harry simply, making her look at him in surprise. “You can have the weekend.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t say I don’t trust you,” he said pointedly, and flipped the galleon again. “Scales.”

Astoria drummed her fingers on the table in thought.

“You said you found his DNA at the crime scene,” she said. “What was it?”

Harry reached for his soda again, looking sympathetic.

“Werewolf fur on the body.”

Astoria stared at him in disbelief.

“Werewolf fur? How do you know it was his?”

“His parents put him in the werewolf registry during the war,” Harry told her. “We have his thumbprint on file. The DNA matches.”

“Great,” Astoria said with a roll of her eyes. “All those reforms you guys keep pushing through, and you still have a fucking werewolf registry?”

“I’m not in charge of that,” he protested. “But you’re right. We should get rid of it.”

There was a moment of silence where she took a grudging bite of her hot dog and he sipped his soda, watching her carefully.

Finally, he said, “Do you still believe it wasn’t him?”

Astoria frowned.

“Of course I do. Would you believe Weasley capable of murder based on finding red hair at a crime scene?”

Harry hesitated, although he looked slightly amused before speaking.

“You have a very Gryffindor sense of loyalty, you know that?”

Astoria narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t ever say that to me again.”

He laughed. “Alright, your turn.”

“Actually,” she said, picking up another pickle with her fork. “I think I’m out of questions.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Astoria studied the pickle as if it had done something to her. “I just wanted to know why you thought it was Daniel. Now I do.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Now you do. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Go home to England. Beg my sister for forgiveness for missing two entire days of work. Make sure nobody’s killed one of my horses.”

Harry nodded, finishing off his hot dog with one more bite. Astoria reached for her soda instead of eating the pickle.

“What does your sister think you’re doing in America, anyway?” he asked.

“Oh, that.” She had almost forgotten what she’d told Daphne. “She thinks I’m here looking for gossip about your ex-girlfriend.”

Harry blinked at her. “What?”

“Yeah.” Astoria took a long sip of the Mountain Dew, although it didn’t taste any better than it had before. “It was meant to be something to distract the press from me and Ethan, but I don’t even know if she needs that anymore.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, still sounding disbelieving. “Your sister sent you all the way to America to… stalk Ginny? What was she expecting you to find out?”

“I don’t know, is she dating anyone new? Something juicy.”

He was quiet for a minute while she finished eating another pepper off her hot dog.

“You didn’t look for her very hard.”

She shot him a look. “Merlin, do you think I’m enough of a loser that I came all the way here to stalk your ex-girlfriend for real? It was just a pretense.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Was it a pretense when you were asking me all those questions about her?”

Astoria stared at him, baffled.

“Are you actually mad? I could have done a lot worse than ask you annoying questions that I did not make you answer, by the way.”

Harry’s jaw worked for a moment, then he exhaled.

“I just mean—I did tell you things. So if you’re going to go tell your sister, I’d at least appreciate a heads up.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to trust me,” she said with a shrug. “Or don’t.”

“Astoria.”

“What, like you can’t survive a spate of gossip about your ex-girlfriend? Surely you’ve heard worse.”

She made to push herself up from the table but Harry’s hand shifted across the picnic table to hold her down. His fingers flexed on top of hers as she stared down at it, then at him.

“Astoria,” he said again, more warningly.

He looked actually worried. In the sticky summer sun, his eyes seemed a brighter and more earnest green than ever. She wondered if he was more worried how the stories would affect him or how they might affect Ginny.

“You don’t actually think I’m going to try to smear your reputation by leaking that you took a frankly stupid trip to New York seven months ago, do you?” she asked.

Harry said nothing, searching her face for something—some proof of intention maybe.

Gingerly, Astoria shook his hand off of hers.

“Relax,” she said, swinging her leg up and over the bench. “Nobody would care that much even if I did.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” he objected.

“You’re right, your fanclub at Witch Weekly might be a bit pissed off.”

Harry rolled his eyes, following her up as she went to the nearby rubbish bins to drop off her hot dog, levitating the rest of their food behind him.

“I’m being serious.”

Astoria tossed the remnant of her hot dog in.

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” she said again, turning around and finding herself much closer to him than she anticipated. Harry didn’t immediately move aside, though. “Come on, you can’t intimidate me into—”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you, I’m trying to figure out if I can trust you—”

Astoria took a breath. “Look, I—I don’t tell everyone off the street how I got these scars, okay?”

Harry stopped, rocking back a little, although he didn’t step away from her.

“Don’t you think,” continued Astoria, looking over his shoulder, “that finding out her dead husband sent a werewolf after their daughter might hurt my mother’s campaign?”

His face shifted, looking distinctly horrified.

“I would never tell anyone that.”

She pressed her lips together.

“You are such a Gryffindor.”

For some reason, this broke through whatever he was thinking about. Harry grinned at her, slightly ruefully.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She pushed past him so he could put down their plates and sodas.

“Can we go home now?”

Harry dug around in his jeans pockets and pulled out the chocolate bar portkey, but before he held it out to her, he stopped, looking at her searchingly.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I’m not still in love with her.”

“Okay,” said Astoria, a bit impatiently. “Can we go home now?”

Home actually turned out to be a Portkey Arrival Point at the Ministry of Magic. Astoria brushed herself off as she straightened up, seeing out of the corner of her eye Harry grimacing in distaste at the portkey sensation before he gathered himself up.

“Well,” she said, reaching back to make sure her ponytail was tightened—portkeys had a way of ruining your hair, much to Daphne’s dismay. “Thanks for the trip.”

Harry sent her an amused look.

“You’re welcome. Are you heading home?”

“Probably,” she said. “Where’s the lift?”

“We have to go through International Arrivals first,” said Harry, pointing down the hallway to a glass door they had to enter before they could get to the rest of the Ministry.

Astoria frowned. “We didn’t have to do this on our way there. Or in America.”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely, setting off for the office.

“You pulled some strings, didn’t you?” she accused.

“Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes at his back.

“I can’t believe you don’t abuse your fame more.”

“Well.” Harry swung the door open for her and gestured her in. “I only abuse it as much as I have to.”

The International Arrivals office was a wide, brightly-lit space with several desks surrounded by glass, lines marked out on the floor to indicate where travelers should stand, and Ministry employees behind each desk, taking people’s wands to bring up their profiles. There was a modest line – three people waiting and a couple at each desk – when she and Harry got in.

The witch in front of her, a tall curly-haired lady in yellow robes, turned to see them and nearly fell over in surprise when she saw Harry standing there.

“Oh my stars,” she gasped. “You’re Harry Potter.”

An immediate wave of whispers and wild-eyed looks swept through the office. Harry’s face was frozen in what could maybe have passed for a smile if he wasn’t so obviously grimacing instead. Astoria watched him in amusement, but he said nothing in response.

“Excuse me,” said the spiky-haired wizard behind one of the desks, his eyes wide as he looked at Harry, “please move aside to let Mr. Potter through!”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” Harry started.

Astoria rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and dragged him past the fluttering witch and the whispering couple with a small child ahead of her in the queue.

“Don’t be a martyr,” she informed him. “Hi, we’re coming back from America.”

The spiky-haired wizard, whose name tag read ‘Norman Bennett’, barely gave her a glance before looking back at Harry.

“It’s an honor to have you, Mr. Potter, just an honor,” he babbled instead of replying to her. The other employees at their desks were shooting him either awed or furious looks, probably at him stealing Harry from them by letting him skip the queue.

“Yes, thank you,” said Harry. “Our wands?”

“Wow,” breathed Norman Bennett, as Harry drew his wand. “Is that—is that the one you used when…”

“No,” said Harry flatly.

Norman’s face fell. “Oh.”

Harry pushed his wand through the gap in the glass towards him. “Check the wand, please. We came from America.”

“Er, yes.”

Norman picked up the wand—his hands seemed to be shaking—and tapped it to a small box covered in runes sat in front of him. A small cloud of light blue floated up into the air and then disappeared.

“Yes, yes, looks like that is coming from the United States,” he said, scribbling something down on his scroll of parchment as Harry claimed his wand again. “And, er, do you have anything to declare?”

“Mr. Potter,” interrupted someone from behind them—a teenage witch who had been standing at one of the other desks, but seemed to be done with her arrivals process and had made a beeline straight from them. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen. “Could I please get a picture with you?”

Her friends, still at the arrivals desk, burst into nervous giggles behind her—Astoria assumed it was because she was the only one bold enough to ask.

“I’m in the middle of—”

“Yes, of course he can,” said Astoria brightly.

Harry glared at her.

“Don’t keep your fans waiting,” she said. To Norman, she added, “Here’s my wand. If you need it.”

“Oh,” said Norman, who seemed to have forgotten she was there at all. “Yes, well, thank you.”

“Actually,” said the girl, “can you take our picture?”

She procured a small camera from her purse and handed it to Astoria, who blinked at her.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“…Sure,” said Astoria, taking the camera from her grasp and opening up the lens. “Smile.”

The expression on Harry’s face could not reasonably be called a smile. Astoria suspected it was because, while she lined up the photo, the girl’s friends had convened upon them and were eagerly awaiting their turn.

“I don’t have time, I’m sorry,” said Harry, only half-apologetically to them. “I’ve got, you know, meetings. Come on.”

“Wait,” said Norman to her as Astoria reached for her wand. “I need your name.”

“No, you don’t,” said Harry. “Put her under mine.”

“O-okay, but sir, Mr. Potter—can you sign my—”

Harry all but pushed her out the door before she started laughing, closing the door firmly on the crowd in International Arrivals and leading them both into the hallway of the Department of Magical Transportation.

“Stop laughing,” he told her, annoyed, as they started walking into the cubicles.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding it even a little. “Does that happen everywhere you go?”

He winced. “Kind of.”

“And you just deal with it and don’t start hexing everyone out of your way?”

Harry shot her a look. “Don’t have much choice, do I? Oh, hey, Dean.”

Astoria turned to see one of his friends, Dean Thomas, heading towards the lifts as well but coming from the side where an office was.

“Heading out for lunch late?” asked Harry.

“Yeah,” said Dean, smiling a greeting at Astoria. “They’ve got me working overtime for that charity gala at M.A.M.O.W.L. later this month. Not that I mind, of course, but it just gets intense.”

“Where do you work?” Astoria asked.

“The new Department of Magical Culture,” Dean explained. “It was one of the things purebloods wanted after the war, to make sure not all their traditions were lost.”

“Dean and his team have kinda taken it over for their own ends, though,” said Harry with a grin.

“Well, we gotta work within the system we have, right?” Dean chuckled. “What about you, what are you doing here?” he asked her.

“Oh, uh, campaign recon,” said Astoria quickly. “Trying to get votes.”

Dean looked puzzled.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to campaign inside the Ministry?”

Before she could figure out how to lie her way out of this, Harry was speaking.

“How do you know that?” he asked, pressing the button for the lift as they approached it.

Dean hesitated. “I think Ernie mentioned it. Probably.”

Astoria eyed him curiously.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” she said. “I guess I’ll just get in trouble for it.”

“Careful saying that to an Auror,” said Dean as the lift dinged and they all stood aside to let a crop of people—several of whom threw worshipful looks at Harry, a few of whom tried to say hi—past them before getting on it.

“Why, are they going to arrest me for campaigning?” asked Astoria, sliding in ahead of Harry and Dean. The space inside the lift magically expanded to the amount of people getting on, and since it was only three of them, the lift was quite small.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Please don’t get her started,” he said to Dean. “If I was going to arrest you, don’t you think I would have done it by now?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t,” said Dean before she could reply. “She’s the daughter of a Ministerial candidate. Delia Greengrass would raise literal hell if you did.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows, impressed at the reasoning. “True.”

Harry shot Dean a narrow look. “Thank you for that.”

Dean grinned. “I’m just saying.”

The lift stopped at another level to let more people in and the conversation faded, since Astoria didn’t particularly want to talk about getting arrested or the campaign or her mother in front of so many people. One witch who was definitely at least ten years older than them attempted to give Harry her office Floo address on a flimsy pretense, and she amused herself watching him try to get out of that without offending her completely in a lift full of people.

“Damn, Harry,” said Dean, laughing as they piled out on the first floor. “You could’ve just said yes and not gone.”

“I start saying yes to one thing, I have to say yes to everything else,” said Harry, grimacing. “You need some company for lunch?”

“Oh, no, that’s alright, thanks,” said Dean. “I’m meeting a friend.”

“Who are you meeting?” he asked, walking with them towards the Apparation points.

“You don’t know them,” Dean said.

“Them?” Harry inquired.

Dean looked slightly flustered. “Well—”

“As riveting as this is,” Astoria cut in. “I do have to say goodbye. Good luck with… whatever it is you two are doing here.”

Dean seemed relieved to say goodbye. “Bye, Harry. Bye, Astoria.”

Harry waited till he walked away to the Apparation point, then turned to Astoria.

“Was it just me or was he hiding something?”

“No, he was definitely hiding something,” Astoria told him. “But it’s none of my business and I doubt it’s yours.”

He looked at her in amusement. “Since when do you avoid sticking your nose in other peoples’ business?”

“Since I don’t care about your friends,” she said lightly, tossing him a wave as she headed off to Apparate away. “See you around, Potter.”

Chapter Text

Knockturn Alley was usually a welcome respite from the political chaos that governed Daphne’s home or Summerstone, but walking into it now, at the approach of nighttime, Astoria felt nothing but dread.

How was she going to figure out her way out of this? She’d told Harry to give her a weekend to break the spell, but it wasn’t the spell she wanted to break. She couldn’t just betray her friends to the Aurors. Not even Anubis, as annoying as he was, deserved for that to happen, or her old shitty boss Mortimer Grimrose.

But at the same time, Marcus had died here. And the Aurors didn’t know that, although she was sure they’d guessed he hadn’t been murdered in the Knockturn graveyard. What happened underground was significant enough for Marcus to have been killed over it.

She didn’t believe Daniel had done it. But Daniel always used Wolfsbane, and a wolf on Wolfsbane on the full moon could be Imperiused. It was a chilling possibility.

And if he had been forced into doing it, what would that do to him if they ever found him for a trial? The people the Death Eaters had Imperiused during the war had been let off, since it wasn’t their fault. But the law never worked the right way for werewolves. She still remembered reading the trials of Greyback’s pack. Even the ones who hadn’t been part of the full moon murder sprees had been imprisoned.

Astoria pressed her foot into the brick in the door to the underground room that doubled as their main fight club place. The brick glowed yellow, reading her footprint, and then the door swung open slowly. A prickling feeling went down her spine as she stepped through.

“Astoria!” said Anubis, appearing out of the shadows. “Glad you made it. We were starting to get worried about you.”

She severely doubted that; Anubis always had back-up plans upon back-up plans. Instead of replying, she looked around the fight club, a space she had once dominated. It was a cool, silvery-lit underground cavern, built into the secret passageways that Knockturn residents used to get around quick. There were three stages with ropes around the edges, for practice, although Anubis would get rid of all but one for big fights. A small crowd was usually present, but since this was a real fight, not just practice night, there were quite a lot of Knockturn regulars and friends of friends wandering around the stone bleachers.

“Who am I fighting?” she asked.

Anubis, dressed in his usual flowing black robes edged with silver, the ones that made him look like a crow when he swept through the underground tunnels, looked at her with a small smile.

“Lucien,” he said, gesturing to the middle stage. At the foot of it was a tall, deep-skinned man working on his punches with a friend of his. “He’s the reigning champion this season. At least since Marcus, you know.”

Astoria studied her opponent carefully. Lucien Howell was a werewolf who lived in one of the other apartment buildings in Knockturn. She knew of him, although she’d never fought him – he had risen in the fight club ranks after she had quit last year. He didn’t work in Knockturn, although that wasn’t much of a surprise; werewolves were welcomed as patrons and fighters, not so much as employees, even around here. He’d been turned by Greyback, and had had to go through the war trials with the rest of the pack, but he’d only spent two years in jail based on his crimes.

He was well-built, probably around thirty-five, with long arms and a fierce scowl on his face as he got into fighting mode. His friend was encouraging him, holding up a pad for Lucien to punch over and over. The impact almost made his friend skid backwards on the stone floor, but he held himself up admirably.

Astoria shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the coat hook near the front door, starting to head over to the stage, with Anubis and one of his little bookie lackeys following after her.

Anubis looked at her in concern. “Are you fighting in that?”

She glanced down at her outfit, the same things she wore everyday. A black Weird Sisters concert t-shirt that Daphne had told her to throw away a million times and her faded jeans. Lucien, by contrast, was dressed in fighting spandex.

“Yeah.” Astoria rolled her shoulder. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“I don’t know, Astoria, you might be out of practice,” warned Anubis.

“Come on, start the count. Let’s go.”

She watched as his trainee bookie rushed away to collect names and numbers and bets from the onlookers, Anubis looking on with a sharp eye to make sure nothing went wrong as they set up the stage.

Astoria met Lucien’s gaze and smiled at him, then leaned over to Anubis. “After this fight, I need a word with you.”

“Sounds ominous,” Anubis remarked, flashing his canine-sharp teeth at her.

She said nothing, just got up to the foot of the stage and grabbed onto the lowest rope around the perimeter, hoisting herself up and onto the stage in one motion.

On the other side, Lucien climbed up and looked at her warily.

“You got me fighting a girl, Anubis?” he called down to the gaggle of watchers forming around the edge of the stage.

Anubis smiled slyly.

“Not just any girl, my friend,” he said, but didn’t elaborate as the lights started dimming to shine a spotlight on their main stage. “Lucien Howell and Astoria Greengrass! Three, two…”

“ONE!” yelled quite a lot of the onlookers together, with some of the newer watchers jumping in belatedly.

Although he was a werewolf, and clearly worked out, Lucien didn’t seem prepared to fight a five-feet-tall girl at all. Astoria caught his first punch and twisted his arm, forcing him to drop halfway down with a wince.

“Come on,” she said, kicking at his knee. “You can do better than that.”

He glared at her, pushed himself off the floor with his other hand, and this time aimed a kick at her stomach.

Astoria took it, just because it was easier for her to bend into it, grab his leg with both hands, and spin him back down to the ground. Her stomach was aching with the impact—Lucien was good at throwing his weight around, even if he wasn’t quite as skilled at martial arts—but she straightened up anyway and shook her hair out of her face.

“That’s one,” she said, walking to the other side of the stage and accepting a water bottle from one of Anubis’ lackeys.

Lucien growled, but he took his water from his friend too, taking an aggressive sip and then apparently deciding to charge when their ten-second break was over.

Astoria dodged, spun around, and kicked at his back. He grunted, his body thrown off-balance, and she took advantage of the motion to hit him again, pushing him down to the floor.

“That’s two.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Anubis didn’t tell you?” Astoria backed away, letting him get back up to his feet. Normally, she felt more pride in the oncoming victory, but right now, all she could think about was the fight club, the Aurors, and the werewolves who had gone missing.

Lucien spit onto the floor, gathering himself back up.

“He said I was fighting an old champion.”

“He was right.” Astoria inspected her nails to see if anything had broken during the fight. “2002 to 2003, in fact.”

She looked back up with a smile just in time to block a punch that would have landed squarely on her jaw if she hadn’t been paying attention.

This time, she blocked, pushed his hand away, and then jabbed him twice on either side with her fists, finishing off with a kick to his chest. Lucien stumbled and fell from the impact and a new round of cheers and boos went up in the audience.

“That’s three,” said Astoria, although she hadn’t really had any doubt on what would happen. Anubis had said it himself, his new crop of fighters weren’t anywhere near as tough as she had had to deal with in years past. Marcus in particular had been ferocious the only two times she’d ever faced him on the stage, and Daniel was hard to beat, too. They also didn’t underestimate her.

Lucien, despite being older than her, and a werewolf of seven years, just didn’t quite measure up.

She offered him a hand up and he took it grudgingly. Down on the floor, she could see Anubis smiling that smug smile he did whenever he knew he was about to make a lot of money. Of course some of the people who placed bets on fights knew her name and reputation, but not everyone did. It was easy money.

“Good match,” he muttered as they disembarked onto the floor. “Are you fighting tomorrow?”

“No, this was a favor to Anubis,” said Astoria, ignoring the small crowd of people calling out to her in an attempt to celebrate. “You’re pretty good. I’m sure you’ll make the championship round.”

Lucien looked at her skeptically.

“I’m more than good,” he told her, accepting another water bottle from his friend. “How long have you been fighting?”

“Since I was sixteen,” she said. “Hey, listen, are you still in touch with your pack?”

His gaze turned cautious as he took a long gulp of his water.

“Why?” Pausing, he put down his water bottle and added, “And why aren’t you drinking water?”

“That was a thirty second fight,” said Astoria. “Don’t worry about me. I wanted to know if you or your pack has heard anything about the missing werewolves.”

Lucien stopped. Astoria looked at him steadily, scrutinizing. He didn’t seem confused, just suspicious.

“Yes,” he said slowly, gesturing with a hand for his friend to move away from them. “I have. But I don’t know where they are, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Astoria cast a glance around at the club, still milling with people – she spotted one of Anubis’ lackeys getting people hyped for the next hour’s fight. She drew her wand to cast a quick privacy spell, not very potent but it would be effective enough for now. “But I need to know what you know.”

“Why, are you looking for them?” asked Lucien.

“I think one of my friends is missing,” she told him. It didn’t always pay to be honest in Knockturn Alley, but in this case, she knew how werewolves were about each other. “Have you heard of him? Daniel Diggory?”

Lucien looked at her warily.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Diggory. You think he’s missing?”

“I know he’s missing, I just don’t know if it’s on purpose or if he was kidnapped.” Astoria turned to look at him straight in the eye. “Lucien, whatever you know, I need to know. The Aurors are looking for him too.”

Even though she’d just bested him in a fight, Knockturn honor ran strong. Lucien sat down on the edge of a nearby bench, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I don’t know much,” he warned her. “But yeah, people have been going missing. My old packmates—well, I ain’t still in the Greyback pack, but we keep in touch, y’know? It started in January, just after the first full moon of the year.”

Astoria frowned.

“After the full moon? Not during?”

“No, not during.” Lucien’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. “We’re weak the morning after. Wolves have been getting snatched – never too many at once, though. Two in January. One in February. One in March. And then, two months ago, in May, two more. Those are just the ones I know.”

Astoria stared at him, feeling as if her world was spinning.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Six wolves? You haven’t reported this?”

“To who?” he asked. “Aurors won’t give a shit about Greyback pack wolves. Most of ‘em live in the woods or in caves, you know. Ain’t no one to report them. I only know because we used to be friends, I go into the woods sometimes to catch up. But lately, everyone’s been hiding.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Lucien, I need names. I need to know who’s gone missing.”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up. “You’re getting into things you’re not involved in, Greengrass. The wolves won’t welcome a savior.”

“Don’t you want to get them back?” she demanded.

“’Course I do, but what the fuck are you going to do? You’re not a wolf.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m sure as hell not going to sit here underneath Knockturn Alley getting into meaningless fights—what?”

The last word she snapped at someone on the edge of her privacy spell, apparently trying to get her attention. It was a girl with long dark hair in two thick braids, who had been trailing after Anubis learning all night. Astoria cancelled the spell with grudging impatience.

“Sorry, miss,” said the girl, her voice a breathy Knockturn drawl. “Your winnings.”

She held out a bag of galleons to her.

“I don’t want those,” said Astoria, then jerked a hand at Lucien. “Give it to him.”

The girl faltered. Lucien straightened up in surprise.

“Um, I can’t do that, miss, you won the match.”

“I don’t care. Merlin.” Astoria reached out, took the bag from her, then deposited it in Lucien’s hands. “There. Are we good?”

Anubis appeared silently and coldly behind his lackey.

“Astoria,” he said warningly. “You won the match. You can’t go around—”

“I promised you a fight, that’s all,” she told him. “I don’t need money. If you don’t want to give it to him, fine, put it back into your betting pool. Like I give a fuck.”

“I’ll take it,” said Lucien, clearly favoring practicality over pride.

“Anubis,” said Astoria, as he made to leave. “Stay for a second. I just need to finish this conversation. You can leave,” she added to the girl, who looked offended.

“Go on,” Anubis urged the girl. “Practice those attendee spells. I need demographic information for analysis.”

The girl’s lips twisted, but she nodded and stalked off.

“Look, Greengrass,” said Lucien, weighing the bag in his hands. “I appreciate the money but… I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help.”

Astoria shook her head, frustrated.

“Howell, there’s nothing anyone can do to help if no one knows what the fuck is going on. Look, I’ll give you my list of names. I know Connor O’Malley, Amaris Zeller, and Diana Grey. All werewolves, all missing.”

Anubis was watching in interest, and Lucien stared at her in shock.

“…I don’t know any of them,” he admitted after a moment. “They’re not Greyback wolves.”

“No, they’re not.” Astoria felt her mouth set in a grim line. “That means, with your count included, we’re up to nine. Ten, with Daniel.”

He hesitated, looking at her carefully, then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll check with my friends. I’ll get you the names.”

“Thank you.” Astoria turned to Anubis. “We need to talk. Somewhere more private than this.”

“Anything for a champion,” said Anubis, with only the smallest touch of sarcasm. He waved his wand in a circle around them as Lucien stepped out of the way, and a layer of grey smoke curtained them off from the rest of the club. “High impact privacy spell, at your service.”

Astoria sighed. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say, anymore than she liked saying it.

Before she could speak, Anubis interrupted her thoughts.

“Is this about the Marcus Flint murder?”

“Yes,” she said. “But it’s not just about what happened. Anubis… the Aurors know about the fight club.”

He stared at her, his brows drawing down dangerously.

“No, they don’t,” he said. “How do you know that?”

“Because they’ve been asking me about it. And you know I haven’t been here in over a year now.”

Anubis’ face cleared for a moment.

“Just because they’re asking you doesn’t mean they know shit, Astoria. You know what they’re like. Nosy fucking dicks. They’ve been asking around Knockturn for years, every time crime goes up. They’ve never found us. They never will.”

He sounded confident, but Astoria had known him for years.

“Okay, fine, they probably don’t know where it is. But they know it exists, which is more than they used to. And it’s Harry Potter on the case, Anubis. Have you ever seen him meet a secret he couldn’t crack?”

This made Anubis falter.

“He doesn’t…”

“He figured out how to kill the Dark Lord,” Astoria reminded him. “It’s only a matter of time till he figures this out. You need to do something.”

“I’m not abandoning the club,” Anubis snapped. “It’s taken years, all the money, the people here—”

“What’s more important?” Astoria asked. “The fight club or you?”

He stopped. She could see him working through that. Anubis was Knockturn to his core, born and bred. He’d killed his own parents when they abused him and his siblings. He would never choose anything over himself.

“Me,” he said finally, reluctantly. “But Astoria—I have a million protection spells up. Everyone’s signed the papers. There’s no way they break through that. Not soon.”

She shook her head.

“Maybe you’re right. But I need you to take me out of the books anyway.”

“What?” Anubis frowned at her. “Why? You’re a champion.”

“If Harry Potter and his team come in here and raid this place, I don’t want my name in there.”

“So what, you’ll leave us all to rot as long as you get out of her clean?” he demanded.

“I am asking you for a favor,” Astoria said. “Because we’re friends. I am literally trying to get you all out of here clean, and you’re not listening to me.”

“Okay, say that you’re right,” Anubis said with sudden alertness, as if only by the strength of her appeal had he realized she was deadly serious. “When will the Aurors come?”

“I don’t know.” Astoria glanced out at the club, visible through the layer of grey smoke. It had been her home for so many years. One of the only places she had an outlet for all the anger inside her. She didn’t need it anymore, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see it go up in flames. “They’re working really hard on this case, Anubis. And you and I both know Marcus died in here. They’ll figure it out eventually. Could be next week. Or next month. Or tomorrow.”

Probably closer to next week, but she didn’t say that. She could see Anubis thinking it over, his gaze sharp and his mouth set.

She softened her voice. “I’m not saying you need to throw it all away today, I’m just saying—”

There was another disturbance at the edge of their spell. Anubis sighed and flicked his wand, revealing and then letting in that same girl who’d bothered her earlier.

“What is it, Elsa?” he asked.

Elsa looked much more frazzled than she had when she’d run off earlier.

“Sorry, sir, but I was just running the attendee spells you were teaching me yesterday. But the count’s off on the rune.”

She offered a slab of grey stone, on which several runes were etched, to Anubis to check. Astoria looked over it in mild curiosity; she knew this was some of the protective magic he used on the club, and one of the runes counted and then displayed how many people were currently underground. She wondered if it could work retroactively, tell them how many had been in here the night Marcus had died.

“This says one hundred and seven,” said Anubis blankly. “That’s normal.”

“Yes, but my spells keep coming up one hundred and six,” said Elsa. “I thought they were supposed to match.”

“They are. You must be doing them wrong.”

“But…” Elsa trailed off miserably.

“But what?” snapped Anubis.

“But I went around and counted by hand,” she said. “Just now. Including you two, there’s one hundred and six.”

Anubis stared at her, then at the rune slab, then whirled his head around to Astoria.

“Were you followed?”

“Was I—” Astoria stopped herself, eyes widening as she recalled the prickly feeling that had passed her when she’d entered. As if someone under a Disillusionment—or an invisibility cloak—had gone past her. “Fuck. They put a tracker on me.”

They, as if she didn’t know exactly who it was. Her mind scrambled back to the day earlier in Chicago, then at the Ministry. She didn’t think he’d touched her at all, but could she be certain his hand hadn’t passed over her back in the lift? He’d seemed distracted by the other people in there, but she knew Harry Potter well enough now to know he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed. And in New York, and on the train… he’d had a million opportunities.

“Don’t panic,” said Anubis sharply to Elsa. “We’ll handle this. Astoria, did anyone know you were coming here tonight?”

“No, but Potter’s been investigating me because of Daniel,” she said. “He probably sent someone to follow me around. Fuck.”

Anubis paced the edges of the privacy spell. “We need to get everyone out of here.”

“Wait,” said Astoria. “Whoever is tracking me, they can’t hear us right now. If we start acting out of the ordinary, they’ll know we’re onto them. We need to play it smart. They’re probably waiting for me to leave.”

Anubis’s mouth twisted in thought.

“Then you have to leave,” he said. “As if everything was normal.”

“I need to leave and I need to…” Astoria stopped, trying to think it through. “I’ll need backup.”

“Why? You’re not going to confront the tracker, are you?” he asked suspiciously. “That’s going to make it worse.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” said Astoria, looking between him and Elsa. “What if we can control what they tell the Aurors?”

“If you use the Imperius Curse, you’re going to jail regardless,” Anubis pointed out.

“No, not that.” Astoria reached over and took the rune slab, gazing over the runes on it critically. She hadn’t taken Ancient Runes, but she’d spent enough time in Knockturn to know some of these. “You have us all under the Tongue-Tying Jinx, right? Adjusted, of course, so it’s not exactly the same as a typical jinx, since it has to work for a large amount of people.”

“Yeah, but we can’t put someone random under the runic protections,” said Anubis. “They have to sign the papers willingly. And even then, there are things you can say because you have to be able to invite people to the club. That’s not heavy protection.”

“But we can change that, right?” Astoria looked up from the slab to Anubis, thinking hard. She could see his thoughts racing over his face. “You said yourself, someone put you under a Tongue-Tying Curse because they changed two of the three spell fundamentals to make it stronger. I can probably do that.”

“Probably is a big word for a very delicate situation, Astoria.” Anubis took the slab from her, running his fingers over the rune she was talking about. “But even if you did do that, your curse would run up against my runes. And my actually heavy protections.”

“So you have to take down the protections,” said Astoria softly.

He jerked his head up.

“What? No—we’d all be fucked.”

“Anubis,” she said. “Be smart. I told you the Aurors were coming. Now we know they’re closer than they’ve ever been before. You take down the protections, dismantle the club. I’ll draw out the tracker and confront him, and put a Tongue-Tying Curse on him. Or something else so that he’ll only tell the Aurors what I want him to tell them. You can always rebuild the fight club, but you can’t do it from jail.”

Anubis grit his teeth, but she knew he knew she was right.

“How did he even get in? Even if he followed you, he should have needed permission from me or Mortimer…” His voice trailed off, a look of dawning horror on his face.

“What?” asked Elsa, who Astoria had admittedly forgotten was still standing there.

Anubis muttered several swear words under his breath, some so colorful, even Astoria hadn’t ever heard of them.

“The night Marcus died. He asked me to change the runes for him so he could meet Daniel. I put a hole in my fucking protections, and I thought I’d patched it up but clearly, I fucked up somewhere. Because that night, I had to allow them to go underground into the club without me or Mortimer there.”

It wasn’t like Anubis to fuck up like that, but Astoria didn’t think they had time to go over it.

“Okay, well, it happened and now we need to deal with it. The most important thing is not freaking anybody out. I’ll draw the tracker out to the alley. Who do you have that can go with me?”

Anubis cast a glance over at Elsa.

“Take her and her sister. They’re crafty.”

“They’re children,” Astoria pointed out. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” she said, jutting her chin up. “And Opal is nineteen. But we can fight.”

“I didn’t doubt that, but we have no idea what we’re dealing with here,” said Astoria.

“They’ll behave,” Anubis assured her. “Elsa, go get Opal and tell her to be ready to do whatever Astoria says when dealing with the tracker. And then send someone to find Mortimer.”

He looked back at Astoria.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he told her.

She summoned up a smile much more confident than she felt.

“Just get me out of the books and I’ll handle it.”

Outside, in the cold light of Knockturn at night, Astoria wished she’d asked for more than just two people for back-up and a favor from Anubis. The Orravera sisters, like Anubis had said, were crafty but very young. And somehow she had to trust both of them to pick up her cues, do what she wanted, and not mess things up further.

Both of them were trailing her in the shadows, under privacy spells. Astoria hadn’t seen hide nor hair of whoever her tracker may be—with her luck, it was Harry Potter himself, but somehow she doubted that. He was in charge of the investigation. This could be Finnigan, Abbott, or even someone more junior than either of them.

She stopped in the middle of the Alley, several shops down from the White Wyvern. If Anubis acted fast, and she knew that he would, he was sending the inhabitants of Knockturn’s underworld scrambling through the secret passageways back to their homes, unbeknownst to anyone standing on top of the street.

A black kneazle slunk out of the sidewalk, clearly sniffing her out. She was the only one out here—usually, Knockturn was fairly busy at night, but tonight had been fight club night, and she was sure Mortimer Grimrose had put out the signal to get inside and stay quiet once Anubis had contacted him. And whatever else you could say about him, people in Knockturn listened to Mortimer Grimrose.

Astoria knelt down, offering her wrist for the kneazle to scent, and then pulled out her wand to conjure a small bowl of cat food. It licked her hand, then nosed around the bowl, testing it out.

She watched it for a minute, then turned around. The wind whistled through the Alley and she brought her wand up, thinking, Expelliarmus as quickly as she could.

She’d told Elsa and Opal to have shield charms ready. The wand that flew out of thin air shouldn’t be either of theirs.

Astoria caught it in her other hand and thought briefly to herself that it was ironic she was using Harry Potter’s own move against either him or his underling.

“Come on,” she said into the unnatural stillness. “Who are you?”

There was no response. Astoria studied the wand she’d caught. It wasn’t Harry’s, she knew that from spending the last two days with him. It was short and springy, in a light colored wood.

“Oh, right,” she said after a minute, looking back up into the darkness. “You can’t cancel your spells now. Finite Incantatem.”

The spell surged out from her wand and blanketed a patch of air in light. When it faded, a boy was standing there—probably a year or so younger than her, she thought, so maybe not a boy, although he certainly had a boyish face. He was mousy and short, matching his wand’s vibes in many ways, with light brown hair and a round face. He was wearing casual clothes, and his mouth was twisted in dismay and displeasure, eyes wide as he looked at her.

She had no idea who he was.

Astoria stepped closer, watching him closely. He didn’t seem about to run—although, she figured, he wouldn’t until he had his wand back.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

The boy looked around as if one of the stray kneazles might help him.

“How did you know I was there?”

“I have my ways,” said Astoria lightly, pocketing her own wand and then twirling his around between her fingers. “You want this back, don’t you?”

He hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Then tell me your name.”

“Dennis,” he said after a moment.

“Dennis what?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Well, it’s only polite,” Astoria pointed out, tapping her chin with his wand thoughtfully. “I mean, you know who I am. Since you’ve been following me around all day.”

Dennis looked around again, apparently debating if he was stupid enough to make a run for it. Astoria flicked the fingers of her free hand and he froze when two wands pressed into his back.

“Let’s not do this the hard way, Dennis,” she said pleasantly, walking forward and using his wand to cast a Lumos so he could see Elsa and Opal on either side of him. “I don’t recognize you, so you’re not a pureblood. So what’s your name?”

His jaw worked, but he finally opened it and said, “Dennis Creevey.”

“Hm.” Astoria recognized the name Creevey, although it was hard to tell why. There had been a lot of names that had suddenly become important after the Final Battle. “What House were you in?”

He lifted his chin. “Gryffindor.”

“Of course,” she said with a sigh. “ They always are. Come on, walk with me, Dennis. Let’s have a little chat about what you’re doing in Knockturn Alley.”

Elsa prodded him forward with her wand. He stumbled, but straightened himself up quite quickly.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked warily.

“Of course not,” said Astoria. “You’re an Auror, aren’t you? I’m not stupid.”

She gestured him forward and reluctantly, he fell into step next to her, Elsa and Opal trailing behind him.

“D’you always walk around Knockturn with backup?” Creevey asked when she was a silent in thought for a moment.

“No.” Astoria glanced over her shoulder at the girls. “Only when I think I’m being stalked. Which I was, so.”

He said nothing for a minute, then asked, “What do you want?”

“From you? Nothing particularly.” Astoria stopped at a stone bench and dropped down into it, motioning for him to sit down next to her. “Maybe some information. Who sent you after me?”

He looked surprised.

“You don’t already know?”

“I can take a guess,” she admitted. “But I want to hear it from you.”

Creevey paused, thinking.

“The Auror department is investigating Knockturn Alley,” he said, obviously choosing each word carefully.

“Obviously,” she said dryly. “I want to know the name.”

He hesitated again, this time looking out at Knockturn. Elsa and Opal had transferred to stand behind the bench, overseeing him.

“Harry Potter,” he said. “But you knew that.”

Astoria hummed thoughtfully.

“How did he know where to find me?”

“He didn’t,” Creevey said. “He told me to stake out Knockturn Alley and wait for you here.”

Astoria frowned. “He didn’t know I was coming here tonight?”

She had thought he might not have, since she certainly hadn’t told him. Maybe it was a lucky guess.

“Not specifically,” admitted Creevey. “I was supposed to stake it out all weekend. But you showed up, so…”

Astoria narrowed her eyes out into the chilly darkness. She hated how smart he was.

“Um,” said Creevey after another long moment of silence. “If you’re not going to do anything to me, can I have my wand back?”

Astoria glanced down at his wand, still clutched in her hand.

“No,” she said shortly, turning to face him. “What exactly are you going to tell Harry Potter if I let you go scurrying back to him?”

Creevey blinked. “I…”

Opal poked her wand into the back of his head and he winced.

“I’m going to tell him what I saw,” he snapped. “The fight club, you, Anubis Crow. What do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Astoria lightly.

His eyes widened. “What—what are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t worry.” Astoria tapped his wand against his cheek and smiled at him. “It won’t even tickle.”

She honestly wasn’t sure about that, but it was worth it to see the look of fear in his eyes. The rest of her mind was preoccupied with the spell she had to cast. A Tongue-Tying Jinx, she could’ve cast easily at age thirteen. It would work, too, make his tongue roll up if he tried to speak about the fight club.

But a spell that was easy to cast was easy to break. And Anubis had told her a curse was more potent than a jinx, as long as you changed two of the three fundamentals. It was complicated magical theory, but she could change the incantation easily—endless Latin lessons as a child made that easy enough, and Mimblewimble was a baby spell anyway—and the intent of power was the second thing she could control.

She just needed to hope Anubis had held up his end of the bargain, or else it wouldn’t work. The intent she was putting into the spell was a direct counter to his runic protections on the fight club. But he was a fast worker, and she had already stalled Creevey enough.

“Ligare Lingua,” she murmured. A bolt of yellow light hit Creevey in the mouth. He cringed back from her, but nothing outwardly happened to him besides that.

“Now,” said Astoria, leaning back into her seat. “Let’s talk about exactly what you’re going to say to Harry Potter.”

She arrived home to Daphne’s house, exhausted in ways that she hadn’t even remembered she could be exhausted by. Lucien had been an easy fight, comparatively speaking to all the men—werewolves and otherwise—she used to fight when she lived in Knockturn Alley, but he packed a punch. Or a kick, more accurately. The ache in her stomach muscles had turned into a knot.

In the kitchen, she rooted through the potions cupboard for some mild pain reliever. There was one in a small bottle, a Pain-Eaze Potion in bubbly pink. It had Parkinson Pharmaceuticals logo of a flower blooming over a cauldron on it along with the name, which at least explained the stupid spelling.

She drank half the bottle and replaced it back into the cupboard. It would help her sleep, at the very least, and she’d be fine again in the morning.

On her way out of the kitchen, she stopped. The light in Daphne’s office was still on.

Cautiously, she stepped through. Daphne was sitting at her desk, her hair thrown up in a bun with just a claw clip, which was very unlike her. She had papers scattered liberally across her desk, and her brow was drawn down in concentration, scribbling away with her quill.

“Daph?” asked Astoria. “Why are you still awake?”

Daphne looked up with a start.

“Where have you been?” she demanded instead of answering.

“I came by after lunch, but you weren’t here,” said Astoria. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere. I had a meeting.” Although these answers seemed contradictory, Daphne didn’t look like she’d noticed, instead casting her gaze over the parchment rolls on her desk. “I’m working on a presser and it has to be done tonight because it has to go out tomorrow because Marcus’ funeral is tomorrow and I just… I don’t even know if I should go.”

“What?” Astoria moved over to the desk, silently thanking the Pain-Eaze Potion that motion didn’t make her stomach hurt. “Why would you not go?”

Daphne collapsed backwards into her seat and pressed her hands into her eyes, rubbing at them ferociously.

“The Aurors already think I was sleeping with Marcus and they’re obviously going to be there, you know, for protection or whatever, and I don’t know if Pansy wants me there.”

“Hey.” Astoria shifted some scrolls over and perched herself on top of the desk, ignoring Daphne’s grumble about it. “Of course Pansy wants you there. You’re her best friend. And fuck the Aurors. They let you go, didn’t they? They have no legal leg to stand on anymore since they didn’t arrest you. And you weren’t sleeping with Marcus, so…”

Part of her had to resist the idea of adding a ‘Right?’ at the end of that statement. Daphne had slept with a lot of men she probably shouldn’t have in her time. But her best friend’s fiancé was beyond the pale even for her. And the last thing Astoria wanted was to have her sister caught up in this mess, when it seemed like every other part of her life already was.

Daphne was twisting one of her myriad of rings around on her middle finger anxiously.

“No, but if everyone believes that… it wouldn’t be a good look. But it might be worse if I don’t go and then everyone’s wondering why I’m not supporting Pansy.”

“Nobody believes that,” Astoria assured her with great conviction if not total honesty. “And you should go. It’s the right thing to do.”

Daphne sighed, tendrils of blonde hair escaping from her bun and falling into her eyes, making her look impossibly her age rather than five years older.

“You’re right. But either way, I need to finish this presser.” She paused and looked up at Astoria sitting on her desk. “How was America?”

“It was good,” said Astoria in an attempt at breeziness. “I tried a hot dog for the first time. Their food is generally pretty vile.”

Daphne cracked a grin. “Yeah, I know. Pansy and Millie and I went to Vegas on a girl’s trip two years ago.” Her face grew serious. “Did you find out anything? About Ginny Weasley?”

Astoria picked up one of Daphne’s quills, playing with the deep purple plume to avoid looking at her sister. The things she had learned about Harry and Ginny, she knew her sister would want to know. Even if she couldn’t exactly start a smear campaign against him, she could get his name in the press for a cycle that would overshadow any other stupid rumors. It was how it always worked. Harry Potter’s name was gold.

And he’d told her that he’d chased after his ex-girlfriend seven months ago. That he’d proposed to her. That she’d rejected him. She could even say, with some believability, that Ginny Weasley was seeing someone else.

“No,” she said at last. “I didn’t find her. She wasn’t in New York.”

“Oh.” Daphne sighed again, sinking down. “Well, that’s alright. It was a far-fetched hope. Anyway, I don’t know what you did to keep that story about you and Potter out of the papers, but it seems to have made every other rumor about you disappear too.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Astoria. “Means you can stop stressing about it.”

Her sister shot her an annoyed look.

“Means you can stop spending time with Ethan Macmillan.”

Astoria sighed.

“I’m serious, Astoria,” Daphne insisted. “I know you two are… friends or whatever. But his father’s running for Minister—”

“Okay, okay,” Astoria interrupted, not wanting yet another version of this lecture. “I’ll stay away from Ethan Macmillan. Promise.”

“Good.” Daphne gathered up her parchments with a wave of her wand. “And while you’re at it, stay away from Harry Potter, too. I don’t want you involved in this murder investigation. No more dancing with him, okay? Not even for me.”

A smile twitched at her lips. “That’s an easy one. Pretty sure he didn’t enjoy it any more than I did.”

“I don’t know,” said Daphne musingly, getting to her feet once her papers were sorted and put away. “You’re pretty, and he’s single. A lot of girls would kill to dance with him. And a lot of guys would kill to dance with you.”

Astoria made a face.

“Don’t think I’m his type.”

“Any man would be happy to have you look twice at them,” Daphne told her. “He could do much worse.”

Astoria laughed slightly.

“Yeah, okay. I think you’ve stayed up too late. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

Chapter Text

The funeral was a solemn affair, although not without its share of whispers, sniffling, and a guest list that, to be frank, would put one of her mother’s Christmas galas to shame, Astoria thought. Marcus Flint hadn’t exactly been beloved, but with his death happening right in the middle of an election, and his parents being as wealthy and powerful as they were, they’d apparently roused not only the entirety of the pureblood families, including the ones who’d left after the war, but also several major politicians.

Astoria sat several rows back, fidgeting with the hemline of the black dress that Daphne had bullied her into, next to Helena and Huxley. Daphne was up front, next to Pansy, along with Millicent and Blaise, all of them pretending to comfort Pansy through whatever crocodile tears she was shedding.

It was actually, all considered, a nice and tasteful funeral. Gladius Park held a family mausoleum on its vast, sprawling estate grounds, just like most pureblood family ancestral homes, and so they had set up a courtyard with chairs and an aisle for the pallbearers to come lay the casket to rest on top of the stage they had built for him. Two of Marcus’ cousins, along with Euan Parkinson and, slightly to her surprise, Lyall Lockhart carried the casket down the aisle.

There were Aurors and private security lining the perimeter of the courtyard but Astoria didn’t look at them. Drusilla was here, too, sitting in between her parents with a faintly sad, mostly stony look on her face as she watched them set her brother down on the stage. It was closed casket, since Marcus’ injuries were so visceral.

Almost every pureblood family Astoria had ever known growing up had showed up, and also many foreign purebloods, including Althea’s family from the Philippines. Seneca Flint was a very powerful man, but she hadn’t realized how many people would want to come pay their respects to his son. When they finished the speech and announced the wake would be outside and in the sunroom, with food for everyone, she realized that a few rows behind her were the Malfoys—all three of them, back from wherever they spent their time swanning around.

Minister Shacklebolt was here too, along with his husband who cradled their infant son in his arms. Near him, Edmund Macmillan with his new wife and all three children. The five-year-old daughter must have had a Silencing Charm put on her, same as the Shacklebolt baby, because none of the kids disturbed the funeral proceedings at all.

Her own mother was at Mrs. Flint’s side as soon as everyone stood up, of course. Astoria figured she wasn’t needed for whatever pictures Daphne would try to take to send to the Prophet later, so once they announced the food, she headed back towards the sunroom along with the swarm of people lining up at the buffet table.

Halfway to the sunroom, she stopped at a strange sight – all three Goyles were here. She’d expected Mrs. Goyle, who after all, was still a pureblood and liked to pretend she was still part of old society, even with her husband in jail and most of her money gone. But Griselda and Gregory were there with her.

Astoria couldn’t remember the last time she saw Gregory Goyle out and about anywhere. After his best friend’s death, and after Malfoy ran off to wherever he was now, he’d basically locked himself up in the small flat he and his mother had moved to and rarely ever came out. He didn’t look entirely comfortable now either, dressed in an ill-fitting suit that must have been his father’s old one, because it was too tight on him, with a fixed scowl on his face. He had his arm around Griselda, though, and she looked drawn and gaunt and on the verge of tears.

Mrs. Goyle separated herself from her children to go say hello to one of her old friends, and Astoria switched tracks to go talk to them, weaving through the milling people murmuring condolences around her.

“Astoria!” said Griselda, as if it was some sort of a surprise that she was here.

“Hi, Griselda.” Astoria glanced at Gregory, trying to gauge how he felt here. It was almost impossible; Gregory had never expressed an emotion other than anger in all the years she’d known him. “Hi, Greg. How are you?”

He grunted in response.

Astoria pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling. At least some things would never change.

“It was a beautiful funeral, wasn’t it?” she tried, although both of them seemed nonresponsive for different reasons.

“Yes,” said Griselda, putting a handkerchief to her nose and sniffling. Her face still looked teary—in fact, Astoria was pretty sure there were actual tear tracks on her cheeks. “It’s so sad.”

“Very sad,” agreed Astoria blandly. Griselda sniffled again. “Are you two heading for food?”

“Oh, no,” said Griselda quickly. Gregory looked like he wanted to disagree but she continued on, “We should go find Mum.” She tugged her brother’s arm, offering a halfhearted smile of goodbye to Astoria as she pulled him away. This was a bit tricky, since he towered over her and also weighed twice as much as her, but Gregory let himself be pulled, a bit reluctantly.

“Good to see you too,” said Astoria to their backs.

Instead of going straight to the buffet table, though, she stopped at the drinks table to pick up a glass of deep red wine, then went searching through the courtyard. The Aurors, she could see out of the corner of her eye—including Harry, although he wasn’t looking at her, talking to Finnigan and Abbott about something—were apparently also invited properly, not just as security, because they were speaking to some of the guests. The security wizards stayed on the perimeter though.

She sighed and cast a glance around, looking for Daphne. Her sister was still with Pansy, although their friend group had split off for food. Pansy had a veil on her hat—of all things—and it at least covered up the fake crying.

Ethan was standing with his father, who was speaking to Minister Shacklebolt. His brother was somewhere else, but his little half-sister was clinging to his leg since her parents were both playing politics at the moment. He looked up from Emily and caught Astoria’s eye. His lips quirked in a small smile, although she could see the question in his eyes. Did you find anything out?

She couldn’t exactly talk to him now, in front of everyone, especially with Daphne hovering around, so she just returned the smile and turned away to look for someone else she could talk to who wouldn’t annoy her too much.

Standing there, it occurred to her that she really didn’t have many friends left. Daniel was missing. Griselda was avoiding her. Ethan may have been helping her, but their parents running for Minister meant they could never really talk or even act like friends in public. And everyone else, even the kids she had known forever, like Gregory Goyle or Drusilla Flint, weren’t her friends.

How sad was it, she thought, that she didn’t know how many people would genuinely come to her funeral? Not because of her surname, but because they liked her and wanted to pay respects?

Then again, how many people were genuinely here for Marcus?

Her gaze traveled along the crowds of milling, murmuring people and landed on Harry again. He was talking to a senior politician, she thought it may have been a D.M.L.E official, or a retired one. It didn’t seem to be serious, so perhaps the official was just here to pay respects as well.

He caught her eye. From the distance, she couldn’t tell what emotion flashed across his face, but she doubted it was anything good.

Ignoring him, she took a sip of her wine and turned away. Harry Potter wasn’t her problem right now.

“Astoria, dear,” said a drawling, familiar voice from behind her. “Have you seen your mother?”

Astoria took a moment to school her expression. Of all the people who might approach her at this funeral, she hadn’t expected it to be Amaryllis Parkinson.

“She’s with Mrs. Flint,” she said, turning around with one of her fakest smiles on her face. “I’m sure they’ve just stepped inside for some privacy. It’s a very emotional time.”

Amaryllis Parkinson’s mouth twitched in the approximation of a smile, although it certainly wasn’t a nice one. She was a tall, elegant woman, draped in traditional black funeral robes like most of the elder generation here, with her long, dark hair spilling down her shoulders, sleek and shiny enough to put even Daphne to shame. Her nails were painted black and artificially elongated, tapping on the stem of a half-empty wine glass she was holding.

There were few people Astoria hated more than Amaryllis Parkinson. Her daughters were one thing. Pansy and Rose were rude and frustrating, but even then, she could have decent conversations with them. Amaryllis was something else.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Amaryllis remarked, lifting her glass to take a sip of her wine. “Aren’t you very busy on your farm?”

Astoria tilted her head and smiled sweetly.

“I came to support Drusilla and the Flints,” she said. “But in fact, since you mentioned it, I had something I needed to talk to you about on the farm.”

Amaryllis’ gaze flickered, momentarily uncertain. She obviously hadn’t expected Astoria to rise to the bait like that.

“It’s about Rose’s horse,” Astoria continued in a casual tone. “She seems to have misplaced his papers.”

“Oh, yes,” said Amaryllis, her face clearing. “She mentioned that. Well, we don’t have them, they would be with your accountant.”

“My accountant is the one who flagged the issue,” said Astoria. “You bought Arion, so you would have the papers. Maybe you should ask your accountant for a thorough look.”

Amaryllis’ eyes narrowed just the slightest amount.

“Rose is working on it,” she said tightly.

“Good. Because I’d hate for her to lose Arion after all these years,” said Astoria pleasantly. “Especially with training about to start for the 2008 Meteorics.”

Amaryllis took another elegant sip of wine, in quite a good attempt at remaining lighthearted.

“Unlike you,” she said, “my daughter knows what it takes to be a Meteoric champion.”

If she was expecting that to hurt, she was mistaken. Astoria simply raised her glass in a mock toast.

“I do hope so,” she said. “You should check the sunroom for my mother. I’m sure she and Mrs. Flint would welcome your company.”

Amaryllis clearly decided to pretend she didn’t hear the sarcasm in that statement, because all she did was sniff and sweep off in a swirl of black silk robes. Astoria watched her go for a moment, then turned to walk back towards the buffet.

Only to nearly run straight into Rose Parkinson.

“Merlin’s quill, Rose, you scared me.”

Rose’s expression was unmoved, although there was just a hint of worry in the wrinkle in her brow.

“I was just talking to your mother about your papers,” added Astoria, in a reasonable, or so she thought, attempt at conversation.

“Yes,” said Rose. “I heard.”

There was a moment of silence. Rose was dressed much more simply than either her sister of her mother, in just a black dress and dark tights, which was almost the same as Astoria’s own outfit. She had on heels, though, where Astoria had finagled Daphne into agreeing to let her wear boots. Her hair was braided down her back and threaded with silver to match her jewelry. In her heels, she towered six inches above Astoria, accounting for the two inches that her boots added to her height.

“Did you… have any updates?” prodded Astoria after a minute.

“No.” Rose’s frown deepened only slightly. “I don’t have the papers in my records. Mother won’t go through hers. She’s too busy with the campaign.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Astoria said, taking another sip of wine. “You need those papers to compete.”

“I know that.”

Conversation with Rose was so difficult. Astoria sighed.

“Look, I’m not going to take Arion away from you, but you need to find those papers. I have my accountant looking into it, too.”

“Get me a meeting with him,” said Rose. It was neither a question nor a suggestion, and Astoria would have bristled automatically in the past, but she’d had to deal with Rose in a professional capacity for years.

“I’ll give you his address,” she promised, and then glanced around. “Oh, look, it’s Mrs. Malfoy. I should go say hi, haven’t seen her in ages.”

She didn’t think Rose was fooled, but at least Narcissa Malfoy was only standing a few feet away. Rose said nothing, didn’t even turn to look as Astoria stepped past her, with no intent of going to talk to Narcissa Malfoy—in fact, it wasn’t even true that she hadn’t seen her in ages. She’d been back in the U.K. just in April, Astoria recalled.

But she’d spent that visit gossiping with her mother and attempting to set Astoria up with her son, so it hadn’t been a pleasant time for her. Looking at the people near Narcissa, she was surprised to find that her husband—no, ex-husband, she recalled, remembering what Daphne had told her—was nowhere near her.

Her son, however, was, looking sharply-dressed and extremely uncomfortable as his mother chatted with one of the other pureblood mums.

Astoria might have gone to rescue him if it was Blaise or even Gregory, but she had no particular affection for Draco Malfoy, so she made to step around their circle. Unfortunately, he turned at the wrong moment and saw her there.

Clearly seeing a way out of his current conversation, he sidestepped his mother and appeared in front of her. Astoria had to stop herself from sighing again. She hated pureblood events.

“Hello, Astoria,” said Draco Malfoy, adjusting his tie and seeming quite out of place and uncertain. They weren’t emotions she was used to seeing on him; her whole life, he had been the sneering, self-centered pureblood heir, who always had to be the center of attention at any party they were at. It was only since the war that everything had crumbled for him.

“How are you?”

“Fantastic,” she said dryly. “It’s a funeral, Malfoy.”

“I know that,” he said defensively. “I was just making conversation. I haven’t seen you since…”

“Since… our mothers tried to force us to get married, yes, I remember, I was there,” said Astoria blithely. “What are you doing back here?”

Draco scowled at her.

“Marcus was my friend.”

“He was?”

“Yes, we played Quidditch together,” he said. “He was my captain.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” said Astoria, pretending to remember. “He started that very impressive five year streak of Slytherin losing the Quidditch Cup.”

Draco’s mouth twisted, but he almost looked like he wanted to laugh.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” he said. “And that wasn’t our fault. It was—”

“Harry Potter, yeah, I know,” Astoria said with a roll of her eyes. “Responsible for Slytherin losing the Quidditch Cup, the House Cup, and our Head of House.”

Draco shook his head. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Being tormented?” she suggested. “I don’t know. Daphne made me come.”

“You still listen to her?” he asked, sounding both surprised and amused.

Astoria shot him a dirty look.

“No. If I listened to her more, we would be married, in case you forgot.”

He coughed, choked a bit, then managed a strangled laugh.

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Are you kidding?” she demanded. “I had to talk Mother down from that myself, you did nothing to help me.”

“Well, I would have, but you seem to have handled it,” Draco retorted. “What was it you said? Oh, yes, ‘I would rather marry an Erumpent.’”

“Still true,” she told him. “Did you ever get your mother to stop going on about it?”

“Obviously, yes,” he said, shooting a glance over his shoulder at his mother, who was preoccupied in her conversation with Mrs. Urquhart. “Don’t you think you would have heard by now if she was still trying to marry us off?”

“I don’t know,” said Astoria, sending a suspicious glance at Narcissa Malfoy. “Your mother and mine are the two craftiest people I know. They could have plans that go on for years.”

Draco acknowledged this truth with a tilt of his head. “No, Mother’s stopped for now. I actually, er, have a girlfriend, so that’s why.”

“Wow.” Astoria looked at him as if she was judging him for a pageant. “You found someone attracted to the scent of hair gel?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“What about you? No one willing to put up with horse manure all the time?”

Astoria took one last sip of her wine and placed it on a nearby chair.

“Still looking,” she told him cheerfully. “You can send all applicants to my mother.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Draco. “Although I don’t know why any man would ever willingly agree to spend the rest of their life with you—” His voice changed completely. “Potter.”

Astoria turned. She hadn’t even felt him come up behind her, but there he was. Dressed in a suit rather than his Auror robes, same as Abbott and Finnigan, his eyes flickering between her and Draco with no sense of what he might be thinking written on his face. His gaze settled on Draco after a moment.

“Malfoy,” he said, inclining his head, the picture of politeness. “Do you mind if I steal Astoria from you? I need to talk to her.”

Draco looked equal parts puzzled and, if she was being honest, slightly scared. She supposed that was to be expected, though, given his history with Harry.

He took a step back and sent her a questioning look. “She’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” Astoria said to him, disgruntled.

Draco looked briefly like he was debating staying just to hear what was going on, but then he looked at Harry again, and whatever he saw there made him quickly turn around and leave. Astoria watched him hurry back to his mother, and although she hadn’t expected any great help from Draco Malfoy of all people, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

Harry had his hands folded behind his back and said nothing for a moment, watching Draco walk away. His expression was hard, although, she thought, maybe a little thoughtful, too.

“Do you mind?” asked Astoria, bringing his attention back to her with a sharp look. “I was enjoying a conversation with an old friend.”

“Yeah, you seemed real friendly,” said Harry wryly. “We need to talk.”

“Is it about how your glasses are too big for your face?” she asked.

“No. What?” Harry stared at her. “No.”

“Because I know a guy who’s really great with—”

He drew his wand. Astoria stopped talking, but all he did was whisk it around them and mutter, “Muffliato.”

“Real subtle,” she said.

Harry glared at her.

“What the fuck, Astoria?”

“What?”

“You put a curse on one of my Aurors,” he said, in a tone of voice that suggested he was being incredibly restrained. “You stole his wand, terrorized him, sent him back with an Obliviated story—”

“Hey, I didn’t Obliviate him,” Astoria protested. “It was a Tongue-Tying Jinx.”

He looked unimpressed.

“So you admit you did that, and you also participated in an illegal fighting ring, and you helped Anubis Crow get away.”

“Is that all?” asked Astoria. “How do you even know all that if you think I Obliviated your little underling?”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job,” he informed her. “We broke your stupid jinx. Which was not a jinx, by the way, it was way more powerful.”

Astoria shrugged. “Seems like you have it handled.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up when it had been almost normal for the funeral, looking frustrated.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“Yeah, I thought we did, too,” said Astoria coolly. “You agreed to give me this weekend, but instead you put a tracker on me.”

“And clearly I was right to do that,” he snapped. “Since the first thing you did was run off and warn Crow.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” she said. “You really think you were about to outsmart Anubis Crow? You and what idiot army? Creevey couldn’t even handle me, and Anubis is way scarier than I am.”

“You know, somehow, I doubt that,” said Harry. “I think you’re way worse than all of them.”

Astoria stepped back, feeling herself brush up against the edge of his Muffling Spell. She wondered if anyone else could see them – he hadn’t put up any other type of ward, so they were still visible. She hoped Daphne was distracted.

“Well, if you think that, then I don’t know why we’re still talking.”

“I just want to know why,” he said. “I thought we were working together now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a laugh. “You’re lecturing me about working together? Do I need to remind you that you had me stalked because you don’t trust me?”

“I obviously don’t trust you because you’re apparently loyal to Knockturn over anyone else.”

“Really?” Astoria crossed her arms and leveled a critical look at him. “Did Creevey tell you that?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, narrowing his eyes at her. “He also mentioned that you had backup holding him down. I didn’t realize I was speaking to the fucking princess of Knockturn.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “You are so full of it.”

“I’m full of it?” he asked incredulously. “All you do is lie.”

“You are the one who didn’t trust me enough to let me handle things myself,” she reminded him. “You are the one who put a fucking tracker on me like five seconds after I left your company. All I did was throw a little jinx at your boy Creevey.”

“A Tongue-Tying Curse,” said Harry. “So that he wouldn’t tell us what he saw you doing. Which was stupid of you, by the way, you had to know we would break it.”

Astoria pressed her lips together and said nothing.

For a second, Harry’s anger faded on his face. He looked at her, then around the funeral, where people were mostly gathered in the sunroom, eating from the buffet. Slowly, he glanced back at her.

“You had to know we would… break it,” he repeated slowly. “You knew we would break it.”

“Hmm.” Astoria lifted her hand, pretending to observe the ring on her middle finger. “You did mention that to me, didn’t you?”

Harry squinted at her, seeming caught between surprise and annoyance, and stepped closer.

“You knew we would break it,” he said again. “You cursed him with that on purpose because… why?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Astoria said lightly.

“Okay.” Harry shook his head, as if attempting to clear it. “You sent him back to us under a Tongue-Tying Curse, which you knew we would break, because I’d told you that before. You knew we’d get the truth out of him and then…”

“And then what?” Astoria prompted. “What’s your great heroic Gryffindor plan?”

Harry was quiet for a beat.

“Should I tell you what it was going to be?” she asked, and continued before he could say anything. “You were going to send in a team to raid the fight club, now that you know where it is. And you would’ve put together a special ops squad of your best and brightest Aurors, and you all would have broken into the White Wyvern and gotten underground, and you all would have died in those tunnels.”

His mouth opened slightly, but Astoria didn’t let him speak.

“Because Anubis Crow is the smartest person I know,” she said sharply. “And he is a master at Ancient Runes and Dark magic. And he has put the fight club under layers of protective runes and spells so detailed, and some of them so archaic, that you would need the best Cursebreakers on the planet to get through them. And that would take you months.”

Harry stared at her, this time with no animosity, only open confusion.

“But then what—”

“I told Anubis to bring the protections down so that I could curse your boy,” said Astoria, exhaling a sigh. “The curse wouldn’t have worked if he still had the protections up. And he didn’t, and he doesn’t. You’re welcome, by the way,” she added, since Harry seemed incapable of saying anything. “I saved you either several dead Aurors or several months of work.”

He opened and closed his mouth, blinking at her in surprise.

“What—when did you even have time to plan this?”

Astoria shrugged.

“Uh, I had about thirty seconds between realizing I had a tracker on me—thanks for that, by the way—and talking Anubis into my crazy plan. Which could have gone wrong in so many ways, because if there’s one thing you Aurors will do, it’s fuck up a perfectly good plan.”

She glanced around the funeral pointedly, then looked back at him.

“Can I go now?”

Harry stared at her. “No. What’s your plan now? We can go into the fight club?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” she said brightly. “I’m sure that’ll go great for you. Just barge into Knockturn, piss everyone off, very smart, Potter. I’m shocked you ever solve any cases with plans like that.”

“Okay,” he interrupted before she could go on in the same vein. “I get it. What would you suggest?”

Astoria sent him a blank look.

“I’m sorry, are you asking for my help? I thought you didn’t trust me.”

Harry looked up at the sky, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you when you went out of your way to seem untrustworthy.”

Astoria made a face at him.

“That is not an apology.”

He sighed. “No. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not trusting you,” said Harry slowly. “And for putting a tracker on you. And for yelling at you.”

Astoria smiled at him.

“Well, don’t be too sorry. You did help me out. Anubis never would’ve listened to me if he wasn’t panicked about a tracker getting into the club.”

Harry sent her a thoughtful look. “So, what’s Anubis going to—yes?”

This was directed behind her, and Astoria looked around to see Ethan standing there, one hand pressed to his ear and wincing at the buzzing he was hearing from Harry’s Muffling Spell. Fortunately for him, Harry drew his wand and canceled the spell, making him gasp in relief.

“Is this important?” asked Harry, sounding annoyed. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Ethan, not sounding very sorry at all. “I just thought Astoria would like to know her sister is about to fight Seamus.”

“What?” Astoria demanded, pushing past him to see what he was gesturing towards.

Daphne was standing with Millicent, who didn’t seem very inclined to step in, although she certainly could have. Her face, which Astoria could see from her view behind Finnigan, was frozen in lines of fury and she had her wand clenched in her hand. Finnigan, to his credit, didn’t have his wand out, but if Daphne attacked first, who knew what he would do?

“Fuck,” Astoria muttered under her breath. “What is she doing?”

She began to walk towards them, pushing past a small group of elder purebloods, ignoring the dirty looks she got. Ethan caught up with her, and, she noticed, Harry followed too, likely to stop Finnigan from doing something stupid.

“Astoria,” said Ethan in concern. “If you get in the middle of that, she’s going to explode on you.”

“Better me than an Auror,” said Astoria.

“He knows better than to fight her in public,” said Harry, although he seemed worried that Finnigan did not, in fact, know this.

Astoria reached Daphne first and pointedly shoved her shoulder into Finnigan’s from the back to startle him out of the conversation. She grabbed Daphne’s wand wrist and carefully pulled her sister’s arm down. Millicent took the opportunity to quickly scamper away from the mess.

“What is going on?” she asked as Ethan and Harry came up behind Finnigan.

“Ask her,” said Finnigan. “She’s the one holding a wand.”

“He,” said Daphne at the same time, in a voice shaking with anger, “called me a slut.”

“Seamus,” said Harry warningly.

“I didn’t say that!” he protested. “I said any guy who sleeps with you will have to compete with the mirror.”

Ethan coughed on a laugh, and Astoria glared at him.

“You wish you were so lucky, Finnigan,” Astoria snapped, wresting Daphne’s wand away from her before she could hex him.

“No, it’s a good thing she’s with Zabini,” said Finnigan, shrugging off Harry’s hand on his arm to pull him away. “Saves every other guy from her. I mean, how many—ow!”

Astoria stepped on his foot. As he reached down to massage it, glowering at her all the while, she carefully shepherded Daphne away from the D.A. boys, shooting Harry a pointed look over her shoulder.

“Control your fucking friends, Potter,” she said to him, keeping a tight grip on Daphne’s arm. “Come on, Daph. He’s not worth it.”

Behind her, she heard Harry, in his most quelling tones, saying, “Stop talking, Seamus,” so that was at least a mild relief as she took Daphne’s wand and Apparated them both home without any regard for what the other funeral attendees might think of it.

“Okay,” said Astoria, pushing a tall glass of water laced with Calming Draught into her sister’s hands. “Talk.”

Daphne took a sip, made a face, clearly noting the potion in there, but kept drinking.

“I hate him.”

“Yeah, I got that. What happened? You never lose your cool in public like that.”

Daphne’s mouth twisted, and she shoved a lock of her blonde hair away from her face in frustration.

“He was pissing me off. He kept making all these comments about guys I’d slept with.”

Astoria furrowed her brow.

“What, out of the blue?”

She didn’t like Finnigan, but she had to admit, she didn’t think a Gryffindor like him would just go up to a girl and start calling her names for no reason.

“No,” muttered Daphne, and took another gulp of the potion water.

Astoria sank down into a soft armchair across from her sister with a deep sigh.

“Start from the beginning,” she said. “Why were you even talking to him in the first place?”

Daphne cupped both hands around her glass, setting it in her lap and staring down at it. Every line of her body was rigid with tension.

“I wasn’t, I was looking for you. And then I saw you with Potter—and I told you to stay away from him,” she added sharply.

Astoria shrugged. “He came up to me.”

“Well, you should have avoided him better,” said Daphne. “Anyway, I was going to go up to you guys, but Finnigan stopped me before I could. He said it was an important Auror conversation and I told him to fuck off, because Potter doesn’t have the right to just drag you into an Auror conversation in public like that. And then he made some crack about…” She stopped and swallowed. “I guess Goldstein—the younger one—had told him about… about me and Joshua.”

“You and Joshua?” asked Astoria in surprise. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Daphne said. “Doesn’t matter. But he made a comment about how he was surprised I was here with Blaise instead of… scoping out all these older, richer men.”

Astoria waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.

“And what did you say?” she asked. She knew her sister too well to think Daphne would have just let that lie.

Daphne frowned slightly and looked up at her.

“I told him at least my taste in men was better than his mother since she fucked a Muggle farmer who had no money.”

Astoria groaned. “Daphne.”

“What? He called me a slut—”

“He implied you were a slut, that’s different, and you should have risen above it, not resorted to attacking his mum! For Merlin’s sake, Daphne, we were in public. You’re lucky there were no reporters there and Mother was inside!”

“Okay!” Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, then lifted up her glass and swallowed the rest of the drink whole. “I get it. Merlin.”

There was a moment of silence as Astoria tried to figure out how to fix this. Daphne seemed only slightly calmer, despite the potion in her water, and she kept curling and uncurling her fingers where her hands lay in her lap.

“What else did he say?” she asked quietly.

Another, longer moment of silence, before Daphne spoke.

“He said… he suggested… that everyone there knew I was cheating on Blaise.” Her voice broke into an exhalation of a humorless laugh at the end. When she looked up, there was a tear prickling the corner of her eye.

“Daph, he’s just talking shit,” said Astoria. “Trying to get under your skin. No one thinks that.”

“No, but people do think I’m a slut,” Daphne pointed out. “Even you.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Yes, you do. You gave me so much shit about Joshua—”

“He was our family lawyer, Daph, I mean, that was crazy!” Astoria protested. “I like Blaise. I think he’s good for you.”

For some reason, this didn’t cheer Daphne up. Instead her face crumpled.

“What’s the matter?” asked Astoria, reaching out to take the empty glass from Daphne and put it on the coffee table.

“What if he’s not?” Daphne breathed in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What if… who’s not? What?” Astoria paused, thinking it through. “Did Blaise do something to you?”

“No!” Daphne looked alarmed she would think that. “No, I just mean… what if he’s not the one?”

“Then… he’s not the one?” Astoria found it hard to keep her confusion out of her voice. “Just break up with him if you don’t like him. Don’t listen to my opinion. Or anyone else’s. You don’t have to get married, for Circe’s sake..”

“I know that,” Daphne said. “I just…”

“You just what?”

Daphne slumped down into the couch, miserable.

“I just thought people would stop thinking of me as a slut if I stayed in this relationship, and it’s been eight months, and they still haven’t. And I’m not stupid, okay, I know what people think of me because of stupid shit that happened when I was a teenager, or when I was twenty, or whatever. But I…”

She faltered, grasping around for words. “I want to get married, okay? I want to be married and I want it to be real and I don’t want people to think of me as a stupid girl who—who sleeps with men too old for her and cheats on her boyfriends, just because I used to be like that. But they still do and they always will, even Pansy, Penelope, everyone—”

Astoria reached over and took Daphne’s hands in hers.

“Alright, calm down,” she said. “Just breathe. I don’t think that, okay? And fuck Finnigan.” She went back through what Daphne had just said. “Did Penelope say something to you?”

Daphne didn’t look at her.

“She said I was hurting myself screwing around with guys who don’t care about me.”

Astoria had to stop herself from agreeing.

“When did she say that?”

A small, bitter laugh escaped Daphne.

“At the dinner party.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Astoria with a frown.

Daphne laughed again, more helplessly this time. “Because you always take her side!”

“I’m not taking her side—”

“Yes, you are! You’re going to her fucking engagement party tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Merlin. Fine, if you don’t want me to go, then I won’t go,” said Astoria. “I’m on your side, Daph. No matter what. That’s what being a sister is. I wouldn’t cut you off for marrying someone I don’t like either, by the way.”

Daphne stared at her, an inscrutable emotion crossing her face.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Of course not,” said Astoria, squeezing her hand. “I’m your sister.”

For a long moment of silence, Daphne just sat there, staring at their hands intertwined on her lap.

Astoria broke it. “And tell me what you want me to do to Finnigan, because I’ll get it done.”

This, at least, made Daphne crack half a smile.

“No,” she said softly. “Don’t do anything to him. He’s just mad because of… stuff I did to him in seventh year.”

Astoria sighed.

“I can still put ants in all his shoes.”

Daphne shook her head. “No. But you should go to Penelope’s engagement party.”

Astoria looked searchingly at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Daphne gave her a rueful smile. “At least one of us should be there.”

Chapter Text

“Mistress Astoria?” squeaked Dilly the house elf. “There is someone at the door.”

Astoria looked up from her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, freshly prepared by Dilly just ten minutes ago, and frowned.

“It’s Sunday,” she said. “The campaign team should be off work today.”

“It is not the team, Mistress Astoria.” Dilly’s voice lowered in the house elf approximation of a whisper. “It is Harry Potter, miss.”

Astoria stared at her, then looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes for a second.

“What is he doing here?”

“I do not know.” Dilly wrung her hands. “But he is asking for you, Mistress Astoria. And he is bringing a friend.”

“What?” Astoria reluctantly got up out of the breakfast nook in Daphne’s kitchen. “Does Daphne know?”

“No, miss, she said not to disturb her unless it was an emergency. She is in her office.”

“Great. Okay. Thanks, Dilly.”

Astoria stopped to wash her hands at the island sink before heading to the front door. She somehow wasn’t surprised that Harry Potter had gotten past her sister’s security wizard, but it was mildly annoying that she was the only one at home to deal with it. And it was eight in the morning. She needed more bacon.

When she opened the door, Harry was standing on the other side with Seamus Finnigan next to him. Neither of them were wearing their Auror robes, both dressed in casual wear. Finnigan wore a scowl on his face and Harry looked halfway between resigned and amused.

“Hi,” said Harry.

“What do you want?”

Harry sent a significant glance at Finnigan, who only sighed.

“Seamus is here to apologize to your sister,” he said. “And we also wanted to talk to you.”

Astoria looked between the two of them, trying to decide if she was being pranked.

“You’re here to apologize to Daphne?” she asked Finnigan.

“Yes,” he said with, to his credit, only a hint of a grumble in his voice.

“…Do you have a death wish?” asked Astoria in confusion.

Finnigan glared at her.

“Can we come in?” asked Harry. “Or do we have to do this on the front doorstep?”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you into Daphne’s house, are you kidding?” Astoria said. “She’d kill you both and then kill me. Stay there.”

She closed the door in their faces, took a deep breath of exasperation, then headed to Daphne’s office. It took three knocks for the door to open.

“Astoria, I told Dilly, only bother me if it’s an emergency,” said Daphne, looking irritated.

“Okay, how does ‘there are two Aurors on your doorstep’ rank on the emergency scale?” asked Astoria.

Daphne blinked at her. “What? Who? Why?”

“It’s Potter and Finnigan, and apparently, they are here to apologize to you.”

“What?”

“Now you know just as much as I do,” said Astoria.

Daphne stayed blank faced for a moment, then shook herself out of it.

“Fine. Merlin’s beard. Let’s go deal with that.”

She slid her wand out of her sleeve, locked the office door behind them, and strode down her hallway towards the front door, Astoria trailing in her wake like she used to do when they were kids and she wanted to watch Daphne dress someone down. She pulled the door open with gusto and glared at the two Aurors on the other side of it.

“What do you two want?”

Astoria pulled the door open wider so she could see them properly, leaning against the side of it while Finnigan scowled and Harry nudged him sharply in the arm.

“I wanted to apologize,” said Finnigan grudgingly. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Daphne stared hard at him. Finnigan shifted under the weight of her gaze, sending Harry a look as if to say ‘See? I did it’ which Harry dutifully ignored.

“Wow, that was heartfelt,” said Astoria after a moment where Daphne didn’t speak. “Daph, do you have anything you want to say to him?”

Daphne took another moment to stare at him, then said, “No.”

Astoria watched her sister walk back down the hallway, to her office around the corner, and slammed the door loud enough to be heard by all three of them.

“Well,” she said after a minute. “That went great.”

Harry and Finnigan traded looks.

“Can we come in now?” asked Finnigan. “Because we still need to talk to you.”

“This isn’t a great time,” said Astoria.

“It’s eight in the morning on a Sunday, what could you possibly be doing?” asked Harry.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Eating breakfast in the comfort of my home?”

“It’s important,” he insisted. “It’s about Knockturn.”

“Isn’t everything?” Astoria sighed and stepped outside onto the front step, carefully closing the door behind us. “Fine, start walking. We can talk in the garden. Daphne will actually kill me if I let you two go in there.”

She herded them out of the front porch and onto the neat stone-lined path that led into Daphne’s garden. It was a well-manicured space, with carefully trimmed green grass, magically enhanced so it wouldn’t go brown in the heat of summer, with little benches around the walkway and flowering bushes chosen more for their aesthetic than their seasonality. Daphne’s two groundskeepers were usually around somewhere, so Astoria took the time to cast a mild Muffling Spell as she walked out into the main sitting space, with a picnic table nestled next to a small tree.

Finnigan looked around almost admiringly. “Nice garden.”

“I’ll let her know,” said Astoria dryly. “Now what do you two want?”

Harry glanced at Finnigan, both of them seeming to debate who was going to ask the question. Astoria pushed herself up to sit on top of the picnic table, letting her legs swing down over the bench as she waited.

“We need to know your plan,” said Harry. “About the fight club.”

“What makes you think I have a plan?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“The girl who manipulated Anubis Crow into dismantling all his protections? If you don’t have a plan, I’ll get a Death Eater tattoo.”

Finnigan snorted.

“I’d love to see that,” she admitted. “But anyway, I actually don’t. It’s all you guys. You’re the ones who wanted to investigate it.”

“Right, but we need to know how to get in to investigate it,” pointed out Finnigan.

Astoria shrugged. “Seems like an Auror problem.”

Harry was watching her with a thoughtful look. When Finnigan paused to look at him for help, he spoke up.

“What do you want?”

Astoria smiled at him.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the picnic table, tilting her head musingly. “Let’s set the terms first. What do you need from me?”

“We need to get inside the fight club,” said Finnigan slowly. “We need to find the people who ran it or were there the day of Marcus Flint’s murder and ask them questions. We need to find Anubis Crow, he’s completely disappeared—”

Astoria shook her head.

“Actually, that brings me right to my first condition.”

“Which is what?” asked Finnigan suspiciously.

“You can’t arrest Anubis.”

“What?” Finnigan demanded.

Harry held up a hand before he could go on.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because all he has is information and you can get it without arresting him, but more importantly—” Astoria narrowed her gaze to Harry directly. “Because I risked my friendship with him and my reputation in Knockturn by betraying him. And he can’t find out. So you need to let him go, and you need to find a way to get the information he knows out of him without arresting him, which will throw Knockturn Alley into absolute chaos. And nobody wants to see that.”

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other.

“Okay,” said Harry. “How do you propose we get information out of him without arresting him?”

“Harry, you can’t be serious,” protested Finnigan. “He’s a criminal. He was running an underground fight club!”

“I don’t know,” said Astoria, ignoring Finnigan and making him glower at her. “I guess you could always ask one of his champions.”

“One of his champions… as in you?” asked Harry.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Why is talking to you like talking to a fucking sphinx?” Finnigan groused.

“Probably because you’re stupid,” said Astoria.

“Hey,” said Harry before Finnigan could snap back. “No insulting each other.”

“Where is the third of your merry band of idiots, by the way?” asked Astoria, ignoring this. “Doesn’t she usually keep him in line?”

Finnigan glared at her. “She’s off today.”

“Lucky her.” Astoria paused, thinking about it. “Is that why you’re here? You can’t solve mysteries without a woman in your group?”

“Shut up,” said Finnigan. “Will you just tell us what you know about the fight club already or are we going to have to wring it out of you with Veritaserum?”

“Seamus,” warned Harry.

“Oh, you don’t want to see me on Veritaserum,” Astoria assured him.

“Well, consider yourself lucky we’re not bringing you in for questioning,” Finnigan snapped. “Considering how many laws you broke, participating in an illicit fight club, stealing Dennis’ wand—”

“I disarmed him. Totally valid, not stealing. And I gave it back.”

“You taped it to his forehead and shoved him in a Floo,” said Finnigan.

“None of which is illegal,” Astoria pointed out.

“You put a curse on him!”

Astoria glanced at Harry. “Are we still on this? You didn’t explain anything to him?”

“I did,” said Harry, shooting Finnigan a look. “I already told you, she did that—”

“Yeah, so Crow would dismantle the protections, I heard, but how do we know she isn’t lying about that?” Finnigan said. “She lies about everything else. Not like we have any way to check.”

“Anubis disappearing isn’t proof enough for you?” asked Astoria.

“She’s not lying,” said Harry with a sigh. “I went to Knockturn last night. It was a fucking ghost town.”

“You can go into the fight club anytime you want now, Finnigan,” Astoria told him. “It’s underneath the White Wyvern. Just put together a little raid team and go busting down doors. Although I’ll warn you that you probably only have a week before Anubis comes back and starts things up again. And it won’t be under the Wyvern next time.”

“Stop arguing,” Harry said when Finnigan took another breath. “How do we get into the fight club?” he asked her.

“Secret back door in the Wyvern,” she said. “Pretty easy to spot once you get past Lila.”

“You seem very accommodating today,” said Finnigan in tones of suspicion.

Astoria rolled her eyes.

Harry looked at her seriously. “Did Marcus die under there?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Damn it,” muttered Finnigan. “I knew there was something fishy about him being in the graveyard.”

“However,” said Astoria, raising a hand. “That’s second-hand information and no way to confirm it. Only two people ever even saw his body in there, and they’re not going to tell you the truth.”

“Anubis?” asked Harry.

“Surprisingly, no,” she said. “It was the Wyvern staff who found him under there and moved him rather than risk Aurors finding out about the fight club. But Anubis does know more than he’s letting on.”

“What does he know?” Finnigan asked. “He told us that Marcus and Daniel got in a fight the day before the murder. Was it a, you know, fight club thing?”

“Both,” she said. “They were both champions, so they did do matches a lot, but apparently it was a real fight, too. A verbal one.”

“About what?” Harry asked, brow furrowed. “Griselda said it was money-related.”

Astoria sighed. “Griselda doesn’t know anything.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Finnigan doubtfully. “She knows some things. She’s the only one who saw the werewolf leave that night.”

Astoria stopped. Neither of them reacted to this as if it was anything momentous, but Harry turned to her in concern when she didn’t speak for a minute.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Astoria slid off the picnic table and walked up to Finnigan.

“She told you she saw a werewolf?”

“Yeah,” said Finnigan, trading an uncertain look with Harry. “I thought you knew, aren’t you friends with her?”

“No, she didn’t mention that.” Astoria turned and paced down the length of the walkway, from the tree to the rosebushes. “And she’s the one who gave you Daniel’s name.”

“Right,” said Harry slowly. “We all know that part already. Can we focus on the fight club?”

“Ugh, no. Hold on.” Astoria paced back towards them, arms crossed, thinking. “Griselda and Daniel are friends. Were friends. Why would she tell you these things to make you think Daniel did it?”

“Uh, probably because it’s the truth?” Finnigan suggested. “We need to move off your ‘Daniel is innocent’ theory, it’s got too many holes in it.”

Astoria lifted her head to glare at him, then continued walking.

“You don’t get it. Everything she’s told you doesn’t make sense. Why would a wild werewolf get underground, kill one person, then run away? Conveniently with only one person to see him? Knockturn is full of humans. Wild werewolves attack humans.”

“This werewolf did attack a human,” Finnigan reminded her. “Quite viciously, in fact.”

“Right. One human.” Astoria pressed her lips together. “It doesn’t make any sense. And why would Griselda… it’s like she wanted you to think it was him.”

“We would have thought it was him anyway,” Harry pointed out quietly. “We found his fur on the body.”

Astoria stopped and turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“And you don’t think that’s suspicious?”

“Maybe it is,” said Harry. “But in that case, we’re still looking for someone who would frame Daniel.”

“If he didn’t do it,” muttered Finnigan.

Astoria glared at him.

“He didn’t. And even if he did, even if it’s the stone cold truth that Griselda saw a werewolf run out of the alley that night, why would she tell you that?”

“Maybe because, unlike you, she’s a moral and upstanding citizen?”

Astoria sighed. “I can’t deal with him anymore,” she said to Harry.

“Seamus,” said Harry. “Can you at least try to work with her? She’s the only one who knows about the fight club who’s willing to talk to us.”

“She’s too stuck in her own stupid theory to focus on the fight club!” Finnigan said. “We need to go investigate a crime scene, not get a new statement from Griselda Goyle. Who, as far as we know, has told us nothing but the truth, unlike you, Greengrass.”

“I don’t care if you believe me,” Astoria told him coldly. “And you’ve already got what you wanted from me. Go investigate the fucking fight club. I told you, it’s open, no protections, just go barge in. Anubis isn’t there to stop you.”

“Astoria,” Harry said with a sigh. “We need to know more about Marcus and Daniel at the fight club. If there’s anything you know that you haven’t told us—”

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Don’t you think if I did, I’d have more answers than this?”

“Then maybe you should come with us,” he said, shooting Finnigan a glance to preemptively make him pipe down. “Check out the fight club. See if you can—”

“See if I can what?” Astoria interrupted. “Find proof for you that my best friend murdered a man?”

“Astoria, you have to at least consider the theory,” Harry said, less patiently than before. “All the evidence points to him. Unless you’re suggesting Griselda Goyle framed him for some reason known only to herself—”

“No, I am suggesting that the wool is being pulled over your eyes!” Astoria stopped and took a breath, attempting to regain some measure of calm. “You know what. I can’t do this. You go investigate the fight club. I’m sure you’re capable of doing it without my help.”

Harry stared at her, clearly debating whether or not to keep pushing. Then he sighed and looked over at Finnigan.

“Seamus, go start putting a team together,” he said. “We need to do this fast. And we have George’s engagement party this afternoon.”

“I’m sure you would hate to miss that,” said Astoria acerbically.

He shot her a look.

Finnigan shrugged. “If you’re sure. Are you not coming?”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harry waited as Finnigan tossed another doubtful look at her over his shoulder, then walked out of the garden and Apparated away once he was beyond the wards of Daphne’s house.

“What?” asked Astoria once he was gone. “You don’t want to go with him?”

“No, I will.” Harry paused, frowning slightly as he studied her. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Harry shrugged, walking forward to the picnic table she’d been sitting on top of earlier and taking a seat on the actual bench.

“Well, I don’t know. This stuff is pretty stressful. You seem… kind of stressed out.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the Aurors knocking on my door,” said Astoria dryly. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll handle it.”

“How?” he asked. “Are you going to solve the case single-handedly? Bring in a murderer you don’t even know is still in the country or not? Look, I’m trying to be nice. Murder investigations aren’t easy, and you haven’t been trained in them.”

“Shut up, Potter,” she said with a sigh. “As much as I appreciate your Gryffindor instinct for ‘being nice’, I don’t need it. We’re not friends. You don’t even like me. You only wanted information this whole time, now you have it. Go deal with it.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, his brows drawn and his gaze searching. Astoria ignored him, picking out a dead flower from one of the rosebushes to Vanish it away.

Finally, he said quietly, “Alright. Is that all the information you have? Go into the White Wyvern and find the fight club?”

“Pretty much.” Astoria shrugged. “It’ll be deserted. Anubis sounded the alarm, nobody will touch it without him there. There is one more thing, though.”

“What is it?”

“It’s that…” Astoria sighed and took a seat next to him, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “There are a lot of criminals and crime in Knockturn. Some of them are even murderers. But… Marcus wasn’t Knockturn, anymore than I am. You know that. We’re born and bred purebloods, we exist in this world. Both of us are Sacred Twenty-Eight—which doesn’t mean anything, really, but names hold power. And Knockturn Alley, for all its faults… they don’t touch purebloods. They’re scared of us. The Dark Lord made sure of that during the war.”

Harry nodded, his eyes focused and thoughtful as he looked at her. “So what are you saying? Someone from Knockturn couldn’t have done it?”

“No, they could have. Don’t think I’m unaware of who Anubis Crow or his family and friends are. They’re not nice people. But I don’t think it’s likely.” Astoria glanced down at her hands, twisting her leather bracelets around her wrist as she thought. “Marcus Flint dying under Knockturn Alley is a message. I don’t know to who, or why. But whoever did it wants to make sure that you are looking at Knockturn, and not anywhere else.”

“Where else should we be looking?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “His family. His business. His friends. Anywhere.”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “And Daniel was from Knockturn?”

“He lived in Knockturn since he was fifteen,” she said. “Since the bite. His parents disowned him, it was the only place he could get on short notice. So no, he wasn’t Knockturn the way everyone else there is, but he lived there longer than I did. And Knockturn knows Daniel. Why do you think only Griselda gave up his name?”

 Harry studied her. “What’s your theory? Someone from the pureblood world killed Marcus, and they’re using Knockturn Alley to cover it up?”

“Something like that. I don’t expect you to believe me, I don’t have proof. But it makes more sense than someone from Knockturn going crazy, or a werewolf only killing one person during a wild rampage.”

“Okay, I don’t think I really understand these Knockturn Alley dynamics,” Harry said after a minute. “They’re scared of purebloods, but they seem fine with you?”

“I had to prove myself,” Astoria told him.

“How’d you do that?”

“Yeah, it’s for the best if you don’t know that.”

Harry blinked, then grinned at her.

“Probably true.” He glanced up around the garden and began to say, “If it helps, we’re following a few leads—”

He stopped suddenly. Astoria followed his gaze and had to bite back a groan. Daphne was striding towards them, wearing her outdoor shoes rather than her slippers, a frown etched onto the lines in her face.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked Harry. “And where’s Finnigan?”

“Uh,” said Harry, trading a glance with Astoria. “He went back to the office. I was just… leaving.”

Daphne leveled the force of her glare onto Astoria.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” said Astoria mildly.

Harry looked confused. “Why are you staying away from me?”

“She thinks you’re trying to involve me in a murder investigation,” Astoria said, smiling at Daphne, who only glared more. “Obviously, that’s a crazy idea.”

“Obviously,” Harry agreed.

“I’m serious,” Daphne insisted. “The last thing we need is for people to think you’re involved in this. They might think you’re a suspect.”

“We haven’t ruled her out,” muttered Harry.

Astoria shot him a look, then got to her feet.

“He was just leaving,” she assured Daphne.

“Well, good he hasn’t left yet.” Daphne sighed, squared her shoulders, and turned to face Harry. “I want to go to the Auror office with you.”

Harry blinked at her. “…Why?”

Daphne glanced at Astoria briefly. “I want to apologize to Finnigan. Seamus. I owe him one too.”

It was so quiet in the garden, you could have heard a pin drop, Astoria thought faintly. Both she and Harry stared at Daphne in stunned silence for a long minute.

“Um,” said Harry. “Uh, why… have you—”

“Have you been Polyjuiced and replaced by someone else?” Astoria broke in. “Since when do you apologize to Gryffindors?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit in her direction.

“Well, I thought about what you said,” she said primly. “I should have risen above it. If I’m going to be in politics, I need to be the bigger person.” For a second, she switched her glare to Harry. “But I don’t appreciate you two knocking on my door at eight in the morning. Or talking to my sister alone.”

Harry glanced between both of them. “Oh, well, sorry, I assumed Astoria could talk to whoever she wants since she is, y’know, an adult and all.”

“Debatable,” said Daphne, ignoring Astoria’s annoyed look. “Anyway, I don’t need you corrupting her.”

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at Astoria. “Um. Corrupting her how?”

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“She thinks because I was almost put into Gryffindor, that any time I hang out with one of you, it’ll unearth my latent Gryffindor tendencies.”

“…Right,” said Harry.

“And it will,” Daphne said pointedly.

“Only one of us is about to go apologize to a Gryffindor,” Astoria reminded her.

Daphne ignored this with dignity. “Shall we go? You can use my Floo.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Harry said, looking both amused and baffled. “Can I just have one minute with Astoria?”

Daphne frowned. “Is it about the murder investigation?”

“No,” he lied, very convincingly, Astoria thought. “It’s about… the engagement party. Today. Are you two going?”

Daphne looked unconvinced. “Fine. Meet me inside in two minutes.”

Astoria waited till she was out of earshot before turning back to Harry with an exasperated look.

“She’s obviously not going. You couldn’t come up with anything better?”

“Well, I don’t know why you’re lying to her,” Harry protested. “She clearly knows this is about the murder investigation.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Astoria said. “You should go, though. She might change her mind between here and the Floo.”

Harry laughed slightly. “Yeah, well, that’s okay. Seamus was out of line in the first place.”

“She did insult his mother,” Astoria pointed out. “Although really, he should be grateful. I’ve seen Daphne when she’s really mad, and she doesn’t stop at people’s mums.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Do you want to come see your sister apologize to Seamus?”

Astoria laughed.

“Yeah, no. I need plausible deniability if she ends up killing him, if I’m there, then Mother will absolutely blame me for not stopping her. Good luck with them, though.”

Of all the places she wanted to be on a Sunday morning, Miasmick Alley wasn’t one of them. Granted, neither was Penelope’s engagement party, and she had to go to that in a few hours, too. So maybe it just wasn’t destined to be a good Sunday.

Astoria knocked on the front door of the ramshackle little house, a bubble of Air-Freshening Charm around her head to make sure she could breathe. Down this way, deep into Miasmick, it smelt like rotting fish and saltwater, because the alley let out into the Muggle world near a river.

A teenage boy opened the door, looking bored. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and wore ill-fitted clothes, but she could also see the knives he had tucked away inside his outfit.

“What?” he demanded.

“Is Anubis here?”

He glared at her. “Who’s asking?”

“Astoria,” she said. “Astoria Greengrass.”

The boy blinked at her, then slammed the door in her face. Astoria waited, crossing her arms and gazing out around what passed for a neighborhood in Miasmick. It was a row of dingy houses, blocked in with failing businesses at the very edge of the alley. Even Knockturn had more charm than this place.

The door opened again, and without a word, the boy gestured her in through the house. It was cramped inside, falling-apart wooden beams and a set of rickety stairs upon which a girl, probably his sister, sat, knitting something horrendously red. Only magic seemed to keep the fading photographs up on the wall, most of them not even framed.

Anubis was sitting at a small kitchen table that only seated four, drinking. He looked up when he saw her, but his expression didn’t change. His dark hair was falling into his face, unstyled, and he’d lost his canines and sharpened fingers, probably from not keeping up with their spells.

“What now?” he asked.

Astoria slid into the seat opposite him, the chair creaking under her weight.

“The Aurors are raiding the fight club right now.” She reached out and tapped on his glass. “Who drinks beer at eleven in the morning?”

“I do.” Anubis narrowed his eyes at her. “How did you even find me?”

“I know you,” said Astoria. “You have family out here. Wasn’t too hard once I described you to a shopkeeper. Anyway, that’s not important. What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” he demanded. “The Aurors won’t stop at fight club. They’ll be looking for me. I can’t come back until it’s safe.”

“Something being safe has never stopped you before,” Astoria said. “But you know why they’re really there. It’s not about you. It’s about Marcus.”

“I know,” said Anubis through gritted teeth. “And if I could find who the fuck killed Marcus, I’d go kill them myself for exposing us to all this shit.”

“Okay, well, let me do it for you.” Astoria sat back in the chair, ignoring the extra creaking. “I need to know whatever you know about Marcus and Daniel and his murder. Now.”

Anubis shook his head. “Astoria, I know you’re trying to stay one step ahead of the Aurors, but I’ve told you what I know. Which is more than what I told them. And if they’re still on Daniel, then it’s useless.”

“No,” insisted Astoria. “It’s not useless. It can’t be. Fine, just tell me what you told me before, from the top. I need to try and put some pieces together.”

Anubis shot her a strange look. “It’s not going to help, but whatever.” He sighed and took another gulp of beer. “Marcus and Daniel were scheduled for a match on June 21^st. Pretty standard, champion rematch. Big turnout. They got in a fight before the match. I don’t know what it was about. Marcus won the fight, I told him I’d have his prize money the next day. It was twenty thousand galleons, so I had to rustle up some people.”

He paused to drink again, and Astoria watched him thoughtfully. She’d known all this more generally, but she thought the alcohol must be loosening Anubis’ tongue more.

“He said fine. Then he went and talked to Daniel. He put a Muffling Spell up, but it’s my club. I could get impressions through the spell. It was something to do with the prize money. Now, obviously, I needed to know what that was about.” Anubis stopped to send her a narrow-eyed look. “Can’t have my champions giving away their winnings, you know.”

Astoria shrugged carelessly. “You knew I didn’t want the money. Shouldn’t have offered it to me in front of him.”

Anubis made an irritated noise, but continued. “Either way. I cut into their Muffling Spell. Turns out, Daniel agreed to take the money from Marcus. I don’t know what Marcus wanted or what the terms were. But that was what they agreed on.”

His eyes were clouded over. Astoria frowned, not sure if she should be worried. Was it the alcohol? It seemed like Muggle beer, which was about par for Miasmick Alley, so it shouldn’t be getting him drunk this fast.

“Next day, Marcus comes to me in the afternoon. For the money, but he also asked me a favor. Wanted me to leave the club unlocked so he and Daniel could meet under there tonight. Now, it was a full moon, and Daniel was going to transform, so they had to meet before that happened. I close the club early on full moons anyway, because of all the wolves. Wasn’t much of a problem, although obviously, I got something from him in return.”

“What, money?” asked Astoria.

“It ended up being money, yes,” said Anubis with a sour look on his face. “I asked him to take off the damn curse his lover laid on me. He said he couldn’t, though. Only the one who cast it can remove it.”

Astoria frowned. “That can’t be true. The Aurors broke the curse I put on the one who was tracking me.”

“Well.” Anubis lifted up the cup and took a large swig. “Harry Potter does always get what he wants.”

“We need to get that curse off you,” Astoria said, tapping her fingers on the table. “I’ll look into it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” muttered Anubis. “Doubt you want those answers. Anyway, that was the last I saw of Marcus. I locked up the club, put a hole in my protections to leave the passageway open for him and Daniel, and the next thing I know, he’s dead and Daniel’s in the wind.” He paused, peering at her. “How sure are you that he didn’t do it?”

“As sure as I am that you didn’t,” Astoria retorted. “What would be the motive?”

“Something went wrong with the deal?” Anubis suggested. “They stayed down there too long arguing about the money, Daniel transformed and went crazy? It’s been known to happen. Werewolves aren’t the best at control.”

“Daniel took Wolfsbane religiously,” said Astoria. “You know that. And even if he didn’t, even if he was an uncontrolled, transformed werewolf, why would he stop at Marcus? Why wouldn’t he tear up the alley looking for people to kill?”

“I don’t know, do I?” Anubis grumbled. “Look, that’s all I know. I told you that before. And now, because of what idiotic things Marcus and Daniel did or didn’t do, my fight club is being raided and the Aurors are going to be looking for me.”

“Don’t worry about the Aurors.” Astoria pushed herself to her feet, paused to let the chair creak rather dangerously, then looked at Anubis again. “I’ll handle it.”

“I doubt you can control the Aurors,” said Anubis doubtfully. “And don’t forget, you still owe me a champion.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“For the new fight club?”

Anubis smiled grimly. “Exactly.”

“How are you going to start it if you’re sitting here in Miasmick moping with your little cousins?”

“I’ll figure something out.” Anubis exhaled, took another swig of beer, and leaned back in his seat, squinting up at her against the weak sun coming in through the window behind her. “I always do.”

The Wyvern was a ghost town on bad days; today, walking in felt like going into a catacomb. Even the ghosts didn’t want anything to do with what was happening here. Astoria found Elendine and Lila both at the bar, an unusual enough occurrence, with Lila wiping down the bar and Elendine pretending to do work while actually just chattering away, as she always did.

“Astoria,” said Lila, looking up at her. “You shouldn’t be here. Aurors are here.”

“I know.” Astoria pressed her hands to the bar but didn’t take a seat. “I’m here to see them, actually.”

“Why?” Elendine jumped down from where she’d been sitting atop the bar, ponytail swinging. “Are you still trying to convince them Daniel didn’t do it?”

“They’re not going to be convinced,” Lila warned. “I wasn’t down there long, but it didn’t seem good for him, the way they were talking.”

“No, it’s not about that.” Astoria looked between the two sisters, thinking hard. “Before I go, do either of you know anything about Marcus having a mistress here?”

“What? No.” Elendine’s eyes widened in surprise and the delight of new gossip. “He had a mistress? Who?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

Lila shrugged when Astoria glanced at her in question.

“I don’t know about a mistress. I’m still shocked he even had a fiancée in the first place.”

“Why shocked?” asked Elendine. “He’s so rich. I’d marry him easily.”

Lila shot her little sister an exasperated look.

“You wouldn’t need money if you showed up to all your shifts. And Marcus was a horrible person. Don’t you remember how he used to treat his opponents before and after matches? Anubis had to tell him to stop, it was messing with his fighters.”

“But he’s hot,” said Elendine.

“Is that all you care about?” asked Lila.

“No, I also care about the money.”

“Well,” Astoria interrupted. “Thank you for that, Elendine. Can I just go down?”

“Suit yourself,” said Lila. “You know the way.”

Astoria tossed her a salute and headed into the back, through the door that led directly underground the Wyvern. It was unobtrusive, looked like a regular employee’s entrance, but behind it was a damp staircase with a single flickering candle light on the wall. Down at the end of it was another hallway, wide enough only to fit two people side by side, and it forked off at the end.

You could get lost under here, if you didn’t know the way. Part of Anubis’ protections, so that outsiders would find themselves in a maze. Astoria took the right turns, and stopped at the doorway with the brick inbuilt into it, kicking at it with her foot.

The Aurors were everywhere. Most of them stopped when they saw her, wands raised, but Harry waved them down.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said, stepping around two Aurors who were tracing runes onto the floor to get to her.

“I wasn’t going to,” said Astoria, folding her arms and watching the rest of them work. “How’s it going here?”

“Uh, not great. They’re running Pensieve investigation methods right now.” He gestured at the two runecasters. “But the last two times we tried, we didn’t get much.”

“Pensieve investigation?” Astoria repeated. “I thought that was, like… fake.”

Harry cracked a smile. “It’s very cutting edge magic. Runes are finnicky, you know?”

“Mm.” Astoria walked deeper into the fight club, looking around at the empty cavern that had once held hundreds of people watching her on stage. “Are you going to be done in time for the party?”

“Not the worst thing in the world if I’m late,” he said, following her over to the center of the room, where the stage had been taken down. “What are you doing here?”

“I need a favor.” Astoria turned to look at him. “How did you break the curse I put on Creevey?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Astoria sighed and pulled her wand out, casting two Muffling Spells so that the Aurors would stop giving them looks.

“Have you heard anything about Marcus having a mistress?”

He blinked. “That sounds like two completely different things. Uh, no, I haven’t. Did he?”

“Apparently.” Astoria slid her wand away and turned to look at a group of Aurors going through Anubis’ books at a conjured table nearby. “Anubis knows who it is, but she put him under a Tongue-Tying Curse. I need to break it.”

“…Right. You need to break it.” Harry came closer to her, his face serious. “Astoria, you’re not investigating this.”

“I’m the only reason you’re here, Potter,” she said sharply.

“I know.” Harry sighed, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. “I appreciate your help, but you can’t just do that. I need to know if this is a potential suspect. And how do you know where Anubis is?”

“I don’t.”

“Astoria…”

“What?” she asked, still watching the Aurors with the books. “You want me to give him up to you? Again?”

“You didn’t exactly give him up the first time,” he pointed out. “You warned him to get away.”

“I owed him that.” Astoria took a breath and glanced over at him. “I’m asking you for a favor. What do you want in return?”

Harry let out an incredulous exhalation of a laugh.

“I’m not a Slytherin, Astoria. I don’t deal in favors and bribery and blackmail the way you do.”

“Really?” Astoria narrowed her eyes. “I asked you to help me get to New York, you forced me to bring you with me. I asked you for a weekend to sort things out in Knockturn, you said yes and then turned around and stuck a tracker on me. Either you’re more Slytherin than you want to admit or I’m starting to think you like me.”

He stared at her for a minute, lips pressed together, then shook his head, releasing the tension in his shoulders with another laugh.

“Look, I can’t just let you run around behind my back and investigate this on your own.”

“I’d do that anyway,” she pointed out. “At least this way you know it’s happening.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“We can break the curse but you need to bring Anubis in to us, then.”

“No,” said Astoria, turning to him. “I told you, that was one of my conditions—”

He held up a hand. “For questioning. Not for an arrest.”

“How do I know I can trust that you won’t arrest him?”

“I promise.”

Astoria scoffed. “Right. You promise. I’ll just hand over a friend to the Aurors and hope for the best and by Harry Potter’s grace, he’ll be fine. That’s what you want with Daniel, that’s what you want with Anubis. I mean, Merlin, is there any friend of mine you don’t want me to turn in to you?”

Harry’s gaze slid from her face to the space behind her.

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with so many criminals.”

Her wand was in her hand before she could blink. Harry reacted faster, though, reaching out and grabbing hold of her wrist and pointing the wand away from him towards the nearest wall.

“Hey,” he said warningly. “None of that. You don’t want to fight me.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Astoria said viciously. “No one wins against the Chosen One.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Harry released her hand and she shook it off, sliding her wand back into her sleeve and glaring at him. “You’re not actually mad at me. You came here to ask me for a favor, and I’m telling you I’ll do it in exchange for Crow. Isn’t that how you Slytherins work? What’s the problem?”

Astoria made a frustrated noise and began to walk away, towards one of the last remaining bleacher stands they had left up for taking breaks in the corner of the room. The two Aurors sitting on it, eating lunch, didn’t notice her under her spells.

Harry followed her after a minute, watching as she sat down.

“You want to know the problem?” she asked, looking up around the stone ceiling of the club. “I can’t guarantee you Anubis Crow.”

His brow furrowed and he moved forward to sit next to her on the bench.

“You’re obviously close with him.”

“No,” she said. “Do you have any idea how fast I had to think to manipulate him into giving this place up? So that you could be here? Anubis doesn’t trust me. That fight I did was a favor I owed him. And I owe him another one still. And I am not going to be the one who turns him in. Knockturn would never forgive me.”

Harry braced his hands on the bench and leaned back.

“What’s the other favor you owe him?” he asked after a minute.

Astoria sighed. “He wants me to find him another champion. I told him I’d get him a Muggle since we’re running a little low on werewolves and wizards since the murder.”

He looked at her in question. “Where are you going to find a Muggle?”

“That’s not your problem, Potter.”

“Okay.” Harry turned sideways to face her. “I don’t see another way out of this, Astoria. We need to know who Marcus’ mistress is, or was, and if Anubis Crow is the only one who knows, then we’ll break that curse. But he has to come in and talk to us. You’ll have to get him to us.”

“And what, you think he’ll come if I bat my lashes and ask nicely?” she asked.

Harry paused.

“Worked on Ethan.”

“I will hex you,” Astoria warned. “Chosen One or not. Ethan helped me because Daniel was his friend. And he wasn’t a fucking criminal. It might surprise you from my lack of friends, but other people liked Daniel too.”

He stared at her for a moment, green eyes searching behind his glasses. She ignored him, leaning forward onto her knees to stare out at the Aurors conducting the raid.

“Alright,” he said at last. “Then let me help you too.”

“What?”

“We’ll work together on Anubis,” said Harry. “We can—”

“No,” she said. “I told you, I’m not bringing him to you.”

“Then bring me to him,” he said. “Neutral ground. Wherever he feels safe. And I’ll help you with whatever favors you owe him. If we present it as a deal, he’ll have to negotiate with both of us.”

Astoria blinked at him in surprise.

“What do you want in return?”

Harry sighed. “Merlin, Astoria. I want to solve the fucking case. And I want to help you.”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“Is it so hard to believe I’m trying to do a nice thing?” Harry stopped, clearly reading the look on her face, and added, “Call it doing things the Gryffindor way. No bribery, no blackmail.”

“No… stalking me through Knockturn at night?”

He laughed slightly. “No more trackers. I promise. But you do have to bring me with you when you go around investigating. Or at least tell me what you know.”

Astoria tilted her head, considering it.

“I don’t like it,” she said after a moment.

“What part don’t you like?”

“The part where I have to trust you.” Astoria made a face at him. “But fine. We have a deal.”

“Good.” Harry extended his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Astoria met it with hers and shook it. “Then you can consider me a friend.”

“Friends are supposed to like each other,” she reminded him.

He grinned at her.

“Friends in training. But I do have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

Harry readjusted himself on the bench, pulling one knee up to rest his foot on the seat.

“You told me about when Greyback attacked you and Daniel. You said he spoke to you. But it was a full moon and he was a werewolf. How is that possible?”

Astoria looked at him curiously. “Does this have to do with the case?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Or a few other open cases we have.”

“Oh, I thought you were best friends with Remus Lupin,” she said pointedly. “And you hunted most of Greyback’s pack deep underground after the war. Surely you figured it out from one of them.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Okay, come on. Obviously, you were right, I don’t know as much about werewolves as you do.”

Astoria couldn’t even find a shred of self-satisfaction at winning their long-ago argument. She drew her knees up to her chest with a shiver.

“Greyback wasn’t just a werewolf. He was a monster. And he was also a wizard. He became an Animagus.”

Harry stared at her. “A what?”

“An Animagus,” she repeated patiently. “A wolf Animagus, to be precise. He wanted to be… the monster in every child’s nightmares, ten times over. Every day of the month.” She looked down at her hands, thumbing the embroidery on her leather bracelets. “It was kind of an open secret amongst the Death Eaters. They used him to strike fear into their kids’ hearts. Most of us weren’t prepared for war. That’s where he came in. I got it out of my dad, after the attack.”

He was watching her closely, his brows drawn down. “Your dad wasn’t a Death Eater, though?”

“No,” said Astoria. “He wasn’t. But it didn’t matter. He was friends with them, he knew them, and he was a very powerful man. He got what he wanted. And I asked him, how he could have set an unthinking monster after me. He said, because Greyback transformed into a wolf before the full moon, and then a werewolf from that form… he could control it better. He said he would never have bitten me.”

Harry frowned. “And… did you believe him?”

“Hard to say,” said Astoria, looking up at him. “My father was an accomplished liar. But he was also a man obsessed with his legacy. Which was us. His daughters. He would never have wanted to effectively sterilize me.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay either way.”

Astoria shot him a look, then pushed herself up to her feet.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” asked Harry, following her up.

“The whole savior thing,” said Astoria, waving a hand. “What happened to me, happened years ago. I’m fine. I only told you that in the first place so you’d understand why I’m trying to find Daniel.”

“Okay,” he said, looking almost amused. “I’m not trying to save you. Do you think expressing sympathy for horrible events is something strange or unusual?”

She folded her arms and glared at him.

“Anyway,” Harry continued. “You’re trying to save Daniel. Aren’t you? I’m only offering you help.”

There was a moment of silence while Astoria studied him, eyes narrowed. He shifted his weight on his feet but didn’t do anything else, meeting her gaze evenly.

“Right,” she said after a beat. “I guess I’ll see you at the party, then. If you’re still coming.”

“Of course I’m coming,” said Harry, taking a step down from the stands back onto the ground.

Astoria stayed where she was, only turning around to face him.

“Really? Because you kind of have the perfect excuse to skip it.” She gestured around at the Auror raid. “Murder investigation and all. Salazar knows, if I had to go to a party with my ex, I’d come up with any excuse.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t date, how do you have exes?”

“Very nice way of avoiding the question,” said Astoria, jumping down two steps at once to land on the floor.

He shook his head, letting out half a laugh. “It’s just not like that. I mean, it can’t be. I’m friends with all her brothers. It would be a dick move to cut them out just because we broke up.”

Astoria hummed in thought as they walked back towards the front door of the club.

“I don’t know. I would.”

“Would you?”

“Yeah.” Astoria stopped in front of three Aurors gathered around a conjured table, analyzing the runes slab. “But you probably don’t want to take advice from me on break-ups. Last time Daphne broke up with a guy, I filled his office with fanged puffskeins.”

Harry blinked at her. “What? Why?”

She shrugged. “I hate her boyfriends. By the way, you should tell your Aurors… the slab is upside down.”

Harry looked from her to the Aurors who were wondering aloud what kind of runes Anubis had put on the slab.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “Also, don’t tell me things you do that are borderline illegal.”

“I thought we were friends?” asked Astoria.

“In training,” said Harry. “I’ll see you at the party.”

Astoria grinned. “Good luck with the investigation.”

Daphne was back to her usual bossy roots when Astoria returned to her house, which usually meant more meaningless paperwork she fobbed off on her, but for once, Daphne had other plans.

“I’m not wearing that,” said Astoria flatly, holding out a hideously purple ruffle-y dress at arm’s length.

“Well, then, pick something else. Because I refuse to let you attend the engagement party looking anything less than the best-dressed one there. You are representing the Greengrasses.”

Astoria shot her sister a significant look.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you would apologize to her and come with me.”

“No,” said Daphne, rifling through her closet. “I think you should at least stick to purple. It brings out your eyes.”

Astoria eyed herself in the mirror, watching her bafflement reflected back at her.

“My eyes are blue,” she pointed out, although not, she felt, with much purpose, because Daphne was ignoring her. “Seriously, does nobody know how colors work?”

“I would be hard-pressed to find a color that could match your attitude,” the mirror informed her tartly.

"And I would be so sad to find pieces of you all over the floor,” Astoria told it.

“Don’t be mean,” Daphne chided. “How about this one?”

Astoria turned to look at the dress and made a face. “You can’t honestly think I would say yes to orange.”

“It’s peach!”

“It’s disgusting.”

“You are so picky for a girl who lives in Muggle clothes,” Daphne said.

“At least in these, I don’t look like a citrus fruit,” Astoria pointed out. “Come on, Daph, I have dresses. I’ll just wear one of my old ones.”

“Ew, no.” Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Never recycle outfits. Try this one?”

The dress she held out this time was a neutral shade of sage green, which at least made it inoffensive to the eyes. Astoria cast a critical gaze over it, then sighed.

“Fine, I’ll wear that. I don’t know why you’re so worried, anyway. It’s at the Weasleys’ house. That place is warded to hell and back, there won’t be any reporters or photographers there.”

“Regardless of photographs, I expect you to dress according to your status to remind everyone there that you are simply better than them,” said Daphne with a smile. “Plus you never know who might be there. The Weasleys are very well-connected. I’m sure Minister Shacklebolt will make an appearance. It can’t hurt to make a good impression. They might even have eligible pureblood boys there.”

“Eligible pureblood boys are literally my least favorite people in the world,” Astoria reminded her.

“Yes, well.” Daphne folded up the dress, laid it on her bed, and whisked her wand over it in three semi-circles. “We all have to make sacrifices for our life, Astoria. Including spending time in the company of people we might not find pleasant. At least try to be nice today.”

“You would complain if I went around and hexed every ginger in that house?” asked Astoria, watching as the dress levitated into the air and unfolded, wrinkle-free, and smelling faintly of vanilla. “Also, I hate vanilla.”

Daphne sighed and slashed her wand sideways over the dress again. Now the smell was lavender.

“Acceptable?” asked her sister, hanging the dress and offering it to her. “Now, go get changed and come down so I can do your makeup.”

There was just no use fighting her. Astoria reluctantly accepted the dress and went to leave Daphne’s room, but stopped at the door.

“How did it go with Finnigan and the Aurors today?”

“Fine,” said Daphne disinterestedly, rooting through her vanity, presumably for makeup that would work on Astoria’s skin tone.

“Really?” asked Astoria. “You went and apologized and he accepted it and everything’s fine and dandy now?”

“Of course,” said Daphne, looking up after triumphantly pulling out a glass bottle of foundation. “I mean, what else is there to say?”

Astoria stared at her sister.

“Seven years of antagonism and you’re just fine with Finnigan now?”

“I’m not fine with him.” Daphne opened another drawer and began collecting lipsticks out of her organizers. “But you were right. We’re living in a new world now. We have to be able to deal with things like this.”

“Uh, okay,” said Astoria, wondering vaguely if her sister really had been Polyjuiced and replaced.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Daphne as Astoria opened the door to her room. “Ginny Weasley is back in town for this party. I suggest you see what you can find out about her now that she’s in England. It’ll be good to have in our back pocket as things heat up with the election.”

“Is she even voting in the election?” asked Astoria. “She lives in America now.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Daphne’s smile was sharklike in its intensity. “Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter are back in the same place. And there’s no reporters there which means it’s up to you to get the gossip.”

“Great,” said Astoria. “Any other lives you want me to ruin?”

Daphne laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s not about ruining their lives. It’s about winning.”

“Can’t we win without being bitches?”

Her sister shrugged elegantly.

“No.”