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Chapter Text

Kitty was sprawled across the bench of the Hogwarts Express rattling toward London like a widow in mourning. Mourning what, you ask? Well, Luna and her dad were heading off to Canada on yet another Crumple-Horned Snorkack pilgrimage. (Although Kitty was pretty sure this was actually just Xenophilius’ way to keep Luna safe off British soil.)

Regardless, Kitty was doing her best to soak up as much time with her favourite cherub before she would be Luna-less for the whole Summer.

Unfortunately, her efforts were being thwarted by the fact that Luna and Harry were now officially dating. Initially Kitty had been happy for them—two of her absolute favourites coming together in a surprise ship? What’s not to love!

Alas, now she was faced with the reality of their relationship and its’ unforeseen consequences… that Luna was expected to cuddle Harry instead.

THE INJUSTICE!!!!

Kitty stared mournfully at the way Luna was curled up on Harry’s lap like a sun-drenched cat. Harry looked smug.

Kitty narrowed her eyes at him. The muppet had no idea what war he had just declared. Luna was hers. And this? This was a betrayal of the highest order. Kitty would not—could not—take this lying down. She would fight for Luna’s attention like a toddler competing with a newborn sibling. All she had to do was push the baby (Harry) down the stairs and—bam! Her dominance would be reasserted and Luna’s love re-secured.

But alas, killing Harry Potter would probably have to wait until after the war—he was still needed to end Voldemort. BOO! HISS!

But once Voldy was toast? Oh, you better watch your back, HP. Your days are numbered!

Kitty sighed dramatically and flopped her head against the train window, watching the countryside blur past.

Then it hit her—they were officially entering the Half-Blood Prince era.

Ew, ew, ew, EW!

Worst book title ever!

And why the hell did Snape get a whole book named after him anyway? Who approved that editorial choice? If Severus Snape needed a book title, it could only be Lord of the Incels.

That, or Incellular.

Kitty would accept nothing else.

Besides the dumb title, she didn’t even like this book—it just didn’t slap like the others. Like yeah, she’d watched the movie a hundred times for Tom Felton reasons, but the book? Well, the last time she read the book was probably fifteen years ago.

But she knew the plot from the movie:

• Draco = Death Eater
• Katie Bell = cursed
• Ron = roofied via love potion
• Dumbledore = nuked by Snape

Kitty stared blankly out the train window, wracking her brain and deeply regretting the moment she’d burned her memory-journal-thingie last Christmas.

Was she forgetting something huge about the plot? Maybe, maybe not. She was pretty sure the sixth book was just kinda mid.

Which, if we’re being real, might be a blessing. When you’re the one actually living the plot, a lack of chaos isn’t boring—it’s the dream. For once, Kitty didn’t have to spend the year sprinting around Hogwarts trying to prevent someone from dying a dead death like she had the past two years with Cedric and Sirius.

Although, after Dumbledore Veritaserum’d her into confessing she knew the future, who even knew if the plot was still on track. It was only a matter of time before he showed up to grill her for the juicy details, and she had no plans to gatekeep.

Dumbledore wanted the red pill? Fine. She’d red-pill the absolute fuck out of him. Because if he wanted to know the future then he could also take the responsibility that came with it. The plot wasn’t Kitty’s problem anymore. That was a full-blown Dumbledore Issue now.

Kitty was officially in her 'let Jesus take the wheel' era—and Jesus, in this scenario, was a geriatric homosexual with a thing for lemon drops.

Besides, she’d already done him one massive solid: she warned him not to put on the ring that would’ve slow-burned him to death. That had to blow up the timeline, right? Like, saving Albus Percival Wulfric Mugface Dumbledore had to have a butterfly effect the size of Grawp.

And not only that, but the only fun scene in Book 6—zombie cave—was now basically cancelled because Kitty could just tell Dumbledore that Regulus Black, Patron Saint of Goth Librarians, had already handled it. No need to drink the world’s worst green smoothie thanks to her sensitive emo king.

Actually, if Kitty ever got her little raccoon hands on the Resurrection Stone, she wouldn’t use it to speak to lost loved ones or whatever. No. She would be recalling Regulus from his watery grave to fangirl over his unparalleled book collection. #RIPReggie #GoneButWellRead

Hmmm there was also the whole minor plot point of Death Eaters breaking into Hogwarts, but if Dumbledore wasn’t dying from cursed-hand syndrome, then she seriously doubted he’d still want Snape to yeet him off a tower. He’d probably find some other overcomplicated, emotionally fraught way to protect Draco.

Nothing to worry about. Not her problem.

:)

Kitty launched herself onto Platform 9¾, sprinting full-speed toward her acquired target.

“MOONY!” she screeched, practically dive-tackling Remus Lupin into a hug.

He was standing beside Sirius, who—as always—looked like a Calvin Klein model attending a Black Sabbath concert.

Kitty’s eyes swept over him appreciatively. “Careful Padfoot, you’re looking like a snack and I’m feeling underfed,” she quipped with a wink.

Sirius laughed and swept her into a hug, “Oh stop, you’ll inflate my ego,” he grinned.

“Too late,” Remus muttered.

Harry arrived then, towing Luna through the crowd. “Hey Sirius, you remember Luna Lovegood? You met her in Hogsmeade before the first task last year. She was at the Ministry too.”

“Oh yeah—you’re Kitty’s girlfriend, right?” Sirius said with a charming grin.

“YES,” Kitty said proudly.

“No,” Harry cut in, giving Kitty a flat look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Sirius pivoted like a pro. “Well it’s lovely to meet you again,” he said, smoothly offering Luna a hand.

They shook. Then Sirius stepped back, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes at her. “So Miss Lovegood, what are your intentions with my godson?”

Luna tilted her head, completely guileless. “Most things, sir.”

“I—pardon?”

“The exploration of the physical and spiritual realms,” Luna continued serenely. “Emotional intimacy. Possibly sexual intimacy, but we haven’t reached that step yet.”

Harry looked like he wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole. Remus and Sirius were both frozen, mouths open like malfunctioning portraits.

“Oh! There’s Daddy!” Luna said cheerfully. “Come on, Harry—I need to introduce you.”

Kitty grabbed her friend for one last hug. “Have fun in Canada. Write to me or I’ll die of heartbreak!”

Then Luna floated off toward Xenophilius, dragging a horrified Harry in her wake.

Sirius huffed, “Harry’s first girlfriend! You know, I had a whole ‘shovel talk’ planned for this very moment. Completely derailed!”

Remus just shrugged. “You tried, mate.”

“I wasn’t prepared for her,” Sirius pouted. 

Kitty sighed after Luna, dreamy-eyed. “No one ever is.”

“Alright,” Remus cut in, clearly amused. “Kitty, Sirius will take your trunk to Grimmauld Place. I’ll take you to your flat—we’ll grab the last of your things and have a word with Winky.”

“Sure thing! See you later,” Kitty chirped, giving Sirius a cheeky salute before grabbing Remus’ arm.

With a crack, they vanished.

The door to her apartment swung open before they could knock, and Winky let out a squeal of pure joy, her ears flapping as she jumped up and down. She immediately ushered them inside and before Kitty even got her shoes off, there was tea on the table, biscuits on a tray, and a cushion fluffed behind her back.

God, she was going to miss living with Winky.

Kitty perched in a chair in the kitchen while Remus leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in that dad-mode way that made Kitty feel simultaneously comforted and horny.

She didn’t waste any time.

“Winky,” she said, her voice calm but direct. “Has Barty Crouch contacted you since he escaped Azkaban?”

Winky wrung her hands together, her eyes suddenly enormous and worried. “Master Barty calls for Winky… often.”

Kitty’s heart sank. “Please…” she said softly, “Tell me everything.”

The elf glanced nervously between her and Remus, trembling. “Master Barty has no elf at the Crouch estate. He is needing his Winky to look after him! And he knows Winky misses Missy Cloud when Missy is at Hogwarts. So… he lets Winky talk about Missy while she cleans for him. Good things only, Winky promises! Winky only says nice things about her mistress!”

Kitty’s stomach dropped like she’d swallowed a brick.

“What sort of things did you tell him?” Remus asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“That Missy Cloud likes Greek food, long baths, and that she does not speak to her Muggle family. Master Barty was very happy about that. But he misses Missy Cloud too. Winky tries to cheer him up!”

“What did you say to cheer him up?” Kitty asked slowly.

“He was worried Missy Cloud was lonely because Winky said Missy Cloud has no gentleman companion. But also no lady companion either. That surprised Master Barty very much, but it cheers him up.”

Cool. Barty now knew she was bisexual. Great. And how the hell did Winky get around Kitty’s orders anyway? She should have alerted Kitty straight away when Barty first called her. UGhhhhh

Kitty closed her eyes and pressed her palms to the table, taking a long centring breath. When she opened them again, her voice was soft but steady. “Winky, you’re not in trouble. But from now on, I’d like you not to tell Master Barty anything about me. Okay?”

Winky nodded miserably. Remus was watching her with contemplation, “Winky, is Master Barty living at the Crouch estate?”

Ohhh. He was trying to get intel for the Order. Smart. But Kitty didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear anything about Barty ever again tbh.

“Winky,” Kitty said firmly, turning to her. “I order you to answer all of Remus’s questions truthfully. Don’t try to hide anything from him.”

Then, to Remus, more quietly: “I’m going to get the last of my stuff.”

She left the kitchen before she could change her mind.

They moved the rest of her things to her room at Grimmauld Place that evening. When she finally stood in her new room, Remus pulled her into a long hug.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” he said softly.

Kitty didn’t answer right away. Her chest felt tight, but her mind was focused. She pulled back and looked up at him. “I need to learn how to Apparate.”

Remus blinked. “Sorry—what?”

Kitty rubbed her hands up and down her arms for comfort. “Barty figured out how to get information on me through Winky. Now that we’ve (hopefully) cut that off, it’s only a matter of time before he escalates. He’ll step up his stalking—they always do. He’s not well, Remus. He’s not normal.”

Remus exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired and worried.

“Alright,” he said at last. “I’ll teach you.”

Kitty let out a breath of relief.

“But,” he added, fixing her with a pointed look, “don’t think for one second that this means I approve of the ritual you did. I still think it was a bad idea. I always will.”

Kitty nodded but mumbled, “Agree to disagree on that point.”

Kitty had officially moved fully into Grimmauld Place, which now contained the adorable little family unit of Harry, Sirius, and—sort of—Remus. Sort of because Remus was only around for about one week per month. He only had five more days at Grimmauld before he’d be packing up his little knapsack and vanishing back to the underground werewolf packs. Then she wouldn’t see him for weeks! He said he’d try to be back for Harry’s birthday, but there were no promises and—tragically—no letters allowed. He was on a strict no contact policy while undercover. Digital detox by way of lycanthropy.

So naturally, Kitty spent all his free time glued to him.

They were currently in the middle of a random field while Remus tried to teach her how to Apparate without losing a limb.

“So,” Kitty said, flopping down under the shade of a tree as they paused for a break, “how are things with Tonks?”

Remus immediately looked away, flustered.

CUTE.

“Things are going well,” he said, attempting and failing to sound nonchalant. “We’ve moved on from being casual. We’re, uh… in a relationship.”

“Knew it!” Kitty smugly boasted, like she’d just won a long-running bet and not simply recited something from a book she read.

Although she did pause to wonder why they hadn’t broken up like they did in the books. Maybe because Remus wasn’t spiralling with grief over Sirius? Or maybe because literally no-one outside the Order even knew Remus was a werewolf. Honestly, that alone would’ve been a game-changer.

He gave her a sideways look. “I’m not sure it was that obvious.”

“Probably not to most people,” Kitty shrugged. “But I’m your bestie. It’s my job to know these things.”

He laughed. “We’re trying to keep it quiet,” he admitted. “It’s complicated.”

“You know she doesn’t care that you turn into a bitey murder dog once a month, right?” Kitty said, sipping from her water bottle.

“That’s… not the terminology I would’ve chosen, but yes. I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I have a duty to the Order. My work with the packs doesn’t allow me give her the time she deserves.”

“The war won’t last forever. And anyway, that just means you have to make the time together count.”

Remus looked off into the distance for a moment. When he spoke, it was soft and vulnerable, “I can’t believe she’d waste her life on someone like me.”

“Ugh, Moony,” Kitty groaned, flopping dramatically onto her back in the grass. “That is such a you thing to say. You know what would actually waste her life? Marrying someone boring. She’s in love with you,” Kitty continued, sitting up on her elbows. “And you obviously love her.”

Remus looked self-conscious. “Any suggestions?”

Kitty stared at him like it was obvious. “I suggest you stop being emotionally constipated and embrace happiness when it smacks you in the face. Don’t overthink it. Let yourself be loved.”

He huffed her. “You’re wise beyond your years.”

“Not surprising,” she said, flipping her hair. “I’m a reincarnated 28-year-old Australian muggle who has experienced many great loves and heartbreaks in her life. So yes. Consider me an expert.”

Remus smiled at her, fond and completely disbelieving. “Noted.”

Anyway, back to the Apparition lesson.

It was intense. Magical teleportation was not a ‘chill’ or ‘relaxing’ experience—it was more like ripping yourself through a magical meat grinder and hoping all your limbs came out at the same time.

She only had one major fuck-up, which was impressive all things considered. She left a thumb behind. Just the thumb.

Remus, ever the capable mentor (and deeply unfazed by the sight of detached digits, which raised so many questions), calmly reattached it, soaked it in Dittany, and gave her a sip of blood-replenishing potion like it was just another Tuesday.

Suspicious behaviour.

But the important thing was: after seven hours of magical strain spread over three days, Kitty could officially Apparate!

...Well. Unofficially.

She still had to pass the Ministry’s licensing exam or whatever, but when had something as minor as the law ever stopped her before?

To celebrate, Kitty whipped a gift bag out of nowhere and gave Remus a ridiculously expensive set of luxury silk boxers for every day of the week.

“As a thank you,” she said sweetly, handing them over with a wink.

Remus looked into the bag with utter disbelief. “How on earth do you know my size?”

She shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “I snuck into your room and went through your underwear drawer. Obviously.”

“What—you… Kitty!” he sputtered, then hit her with a fully powered werewolf stare™ in reprimand.

She had to look away in submission. UGH. Evil Moony. One day she would rise up, challenge him, and become the Alpha. MUAHAHAHA. Her time would come!

“Tonks will like them, I swear,” she pouted.

He sighed, long-suffering. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I prefer thoughtful, actually.”

To humble her, Remus insisted she side-Apparate him back to Grimmauld. Kitty had expected it to be easy—she’d mastered Apparition, right?—but she was so, so wrong.

Side-Apparition was like trying to drag an anchor through quicksand. It took serious magical power and razor-sharp concentration.

Now Kitty finally understood why the Weasleys never Apparated anywhere. With that many kids Side-Along would mean either multiple passengers or multiple trips—both of which were physically exhausting and potentially dangerous.

She also gained a whole new respect for Hermione. In the Deathly Hallows, Hermione had Apparated Harry, Ron, and a rabid Yaxley after the Ministry locket heist—then managed to shake Yaxley off and immediately Apparate Harry and Ron again. With only Ron getting a non-fatal splinching? Like… excuse me?? The magical power and concentration that would take?!

Kitty couldn’t relate. She genuinely didn’t think she could handle more than one passenger without accidentally killing everyone involved.

Hermione Granger, you future Apparition beast.

If Kitty had been under the impression that the war wouldn’t properly kick off until Dumbledore died, then she had been tragically, idiotically hopeful.

Apparently, Voldemort hadn’t spent the last year just monologuing about prophecies and stroking his non-existent beard. Nope, he’d been preparing for the exact moment he revealed himself to the wizarding world.

And now that he had? Britain had gone straight to hell.

Within two days of summer holidays, the Daily Prophet was reporting the most appalling headlines you could imagine. Reading the paper was basically just magical doomscrolling. It was awful. Like, genuinely terrible. Zero stars. Would not recommend.

To make things worse, there had been no follow up on the whole Veritaserum interrogation Dumbledore so cheerfully drugged her into. No owl. No Floo call. Nothing.

Like—hello?? Did he not think she could HELP??!

She didn’t see him until a full-blown Order of the Phoenix meeting was called—and for reasons known only to Dumbledore and whatever celestial cloud he lived on, Kitty had been invited. Her and Harry both.

The dining room at Grimmauld Place was absolutely packed. Kitty slipped into a seat in between Harry and Sirius and scanned the room. There were the usual suspects. Snape and McGonagall looked deeply uncomfortable to see her and Harry outside the walls of Hogwarts (same, honestly), and Kitty was—as always—unhappy to be in the same room as Mad-Eye Moody and his disgusting Gothmog face.

Arabella Figg and Aberforth Dumbledore were also present, which was mildly shocking because Kitty had entirely forgotten they were in the Order.

The moment Tonks walked in, Kitty began sending exaggerated telepathic eyebrow wiggles her way: Good job pulling Remus. Is the dick game good?

Tonks caught her eye and smirked like the thicc baddie she was. So good. I’ve never been happier.

Kitty beamed like a proud wingwoman, despite literally not doing anything.

And then—bam. Fleur Delacour.

She was perched elegantly beside Bill Weasley. It took Kitty a full five seconds to blink through the veela allure like she was rebooting her entire operating system. Apparently, her resistance had expired over the last year. 

She wrenched her eyes away—focus, soldier—only to spot Fred and George. After all of Molly’s screeching, Kitty had assumed they'd never actually been allowed to join the Order. And yet here they were. Good for them.

Meanwhile, Professor MacKenzie had arrived and was shamelessly flirting with Sirius from across the table. Kitty found it iconic. Sirius, unfortunately, did not. Still, she respected the hustle.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Dumbledore, rising from the head of the table. “I’d like to introduce our newest members. Aaron MacKenzie, who teaches Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. Fred and George Weasley, business owners in Diagon Alley. And finally, Katherine St. Cloud and Harry Potter—both Hogwarts students who will nonetheless be valued members of the Order.”

There were a few polite nods and smiles—mostly directed at Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived? Expected. Kitty the random Hogwarts student? Not so much.

A man Kitty didn’t recognise—extremely thin and gaunt, so probably Sturgis Podmore fresh out of Azkaban—blinked at her like he thought Dumbledore had misread a name. Meanwhile, Molly Weasley pursed her lips so tightly Kitty was genuinely impressed she hadn’t swallowed her entire mouth.

Still, the meeting moved on. As it unfolded, each member gave a report on their duties. Kitty was surprised how open and communal it all was—people jumping in with questions, offering suggestions, brainstorming like a think-tank. It was actually welcoming.

She listened with fascination as Order members detailed what they’d been doing. But as it went around the table, something began to nag at her. Dedalus Diggle. Emmeline Vance. Sturgis Podmore. Hestia Jones.

She didn’t remember any of them being mentioned at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Did that mean they were doomed to die beforehand? Or just too minor for J.K. Rowling to mention by name?

There was no way to know.

Sirius, seated to her immediate right, had just finished giving his update—explaining that Kreacher had been sent to work at Hogwarts to help close the information leak after his betrayal to Narcissa. 

Then, to her surprise, Dumbledore turned to her.

“Katherine, could you please tell the Order about your proposed safe-house for underage Muggleborns?”

Kitty choked on air and gawked at him.

What the actual fuck? She’d been forced to tell him about that under Veritaserum and had made it crystal clear that everything in that conversation was meant to be confidential. Yet without a single warning or follow-up conversation he apparently felt totally fine sharing her secrets with a room full of people she barely knew.

God, Dumbledore was such a cunt.

Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Sirius casually draped his arm over the back of her chair—whether to man-spread or because he could sense her simmering fury, she didn’t know. Either way, it helped.

She forced a breath, straightened up, and spoke with icy subtext. “I purchased a secret farm. It’s intended as a future safe-house for underage Muggleborns and their families if there ever comes a time where they need a long-term hiding place. I plan to share it's location with select people so they can make their way there if they need help.” 

That got attention. A few heads tilted to give her kudos.

Kingsley leaned forward. “Are your parents involved? Whose name is the property under?”

She shifted with discomfort at the mention of her parents. “No. I’m estranged from my parents. The land is in my name.”

Across the table, Molly practically radiated smug moral superiority—as if everything she’d ever thought about Kitty had been vindicated.

“Is there anything the Order can do to support this effort?” Dumbledore asked serenely, as if unaware of the basilisk glare Kitty was currently shooting him.

She pursed her lips. “Yes, actually. A Fidelius Charm would be incredibly helpful. Also, access to the Hogwarts Book of Admittance so I can contact Muggleborn families. I know most of the students personally and can talk to them at Hogwarts, but I'd like to share the secret with their families and need their addresses to do that.”

“An excellent idea,” Dumbledore said, with that infuriating air of benevolent wisdom. “Perhaps you could work with Professor MacKenzie to contact Muggleborns? I would prefer to share student details with a staff member, rather than another student."

She nodded. That would be helpful, actually. Professor MacKenzie would lend legitimacy to Kittytopia and reassure the Muggle families.

"I have time tomorrow morning to travel there with you and cast the Fidelius Charm on the property. Thank you, Katherine.”

It still felt weird hearing him call her that.

Dumbledore moved on with the meeting.

Eventually, it was Remus’s turn and Kitty finally got to hear a bit about what her bestie was doing.

“I will be returning to the largest pack—in Birmingham—the day after tomorrow. So far, Greyback has not come yet returned to the pack, likely because the Ministry is tracking him too closely. That said, a handful of his most devoted supporters have left the pack, presumably to join Greyback wherever he is.”

Remus took a breath, “The packs will never fight for the Ministry. The best we can hope for is neutrality. Tensions are definitely rising. I wouldn’t be surprised if Voldemort sent an emissary to the pack soon, even if it’s not Greyback.”

Remus glanced briefly at Kitty before continuing. “I’ve also received intel that Barty Crouch has reclaimed his family estate in Manchester. He’s using it as a base to create an army of Inferi. This explains the recent spike in Muggle disappearances in the city.”

The room erupted. Clearly, this was a bombshell.

“Where did you hear this?”
“How do you know?”
“Can we storm the estate?”

Leaning forward and raising his voice, Remus said, “I heard it from the house-elf Winky. She used to serve the Crouch family and now works for Kitty. She’s been summoned to the estate multiple times—Barty’s been using her to spy on Kitty.” He paused. “As we all know, he has an unhealthy obsession with her.”

All eyes flicked to Kitty, and a few people nodded. Bleh. Kitty wasn’t exactly ashamed, but she definitely didn’t love that everyone knew about her stalker.

The Order had probably been aware ever since that creepy Valentine Barty had sent her.

Remus continued, “While Crouch has been using Winky to gather intel, I’ve managed to extract quite a bit from her in return.”

He began listing what he’d learned—details about the impossible layers of wards protecting the Crouch estate, Barty’s movements, and the number and production rate of Inferi.

That sparked a tense debate that lasted for the next twenty minutes.

Just as it seemed like they might finally move on, Fleur raised her voice, “Iz Kitty safe from Crouch? She must be protected from ‘im.”

Kitty blinked in surprise. Of everyone in the room, it was Fleur—whom she’d literally never spoken to directly—who asked if she was safe.

The room fell quiet. A few members exchanged sheepish glances. Clearly, it hadn’t occurred to them.

Kitty realised with rising irritation that it was apparently on her to reassure them about her own safety.

“I’ve moved into Grimmauld Place to live…” she offered awkwardly, gesturing vaguely around her.

Dumbledore turned. “Severus, perhaps you could shed some light on Crouch’s attitude toward Katherine?”

Snape’s expression didn’t change. “Crouch is single-mindedly determined to ‘possess’ Miss St. Cloud, for a lack of a better word. He has spoken repeatedly of a kiss shared in the Department of Mysteries.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Shock and confusion radiated off the table in waves.

Fantastic. This meeting just kept getting worse.

By the way—Snape was a little BITCH for bringing that up in front of everyone.

Kitty met his gaze coolly. If he expected shame, he wouldn’t find it here. “He cornered me after I was disarmed in the Brain Room. My wand was in his robes. I knew he was obsessed, so I used that to my advantage. I distracted him with a kiss.”

She lifted her chin. “It worked. I got my wand back and hid it up my sleeve.”

There was another beat of stunned silence—on her left, Harry was gawking at her. On her right, Sirius was staring into the middle distance like he could pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

Then Tonks muttered, “Fair play, honestly.” Clearly impressed.

Mad-Eye grunted, “Clever move. Wouldn’t have needed to do that if you hadn’t been disarmed in the first place, though.”

Kitty’s eyes narrowed at him in annoyed exasperation. Well that was totally fucking unhelpful, wasn’t it?

The tension in the room began to ease slightly.

“Regardless, Crouch is under the impression that they are soulmates.” The scorn dripping from Snape’s voice practically curdled the air. “He will not stop pursuing Miss St. Cloud until he succeeds—or kills her,” he added flatly.

Kitty mumbled, “Wow. Sugarcoat it, why don’t you.”

Sirius, arm still draped along the back of her chair, brushed his fingers back and forth lightly against her shoulder. A quiet, grounding gesture that she was absurdly grateful for.

Emmaline Vance leaned forward. “And You-Know-Who is fine with that? She’s Muggleborn.”

Kitty might have been annoyed at the tone if she hadn’t known that Emmaline was Muggleborn too.

Snape replied coolly, “As I previously reported, Crouch was granted Miss St. Cloud as a boon for returning him to physical form. The Dark Lord saw no reason to deny his favoured follower.”

UMMM, WHAT??? NO, WE DO NOT KNOW THAT?! That was news to Kitty. She glanced automatically at Sirius for confirmation. He was still stroking her shoulder, staring off into the distance.

Snape continued, “And now after the incident at the Ministry, I’ve been instructed to begin the process of recruiting Miss St. Cloud to the Death Eaters.”

The statement drew sharp intakes of breath from several members of the Order.

“The Dark Lord is intrigued by anyone capable of wielding dark magic at a young age, and her command of fiendfyre was… notable.”

Kitty wanted to smirk at Snape being forced to compliment her—but held back, since a few Order members were now eyeing her with thinly veiled suspicion. Fair enough. Being ‘notable’ with fiendfyre wasn’t exactly a glowing personality reference.

Snape went on, “Furthermore, both Nott and Dolohov suffered prolonged recoveries from the curses she cast. Not to mention Bellatrix’s—” His lip twitched, and Kitty swore he almost smiled—“amputation.”

She exhaled slowly. Damn. This was what happened when you were too competent.

“The Dark Lord has ordered that his followers are not to seek retribution against her unless it’s proven she cannot be turned,” Snape added flatly.

Sirius’s hand squeezed her shoulder, and she leaned into it slightly.

“Could we use this as an opportunity?” Mundungus piped up. “Get ’er on the inside?”

Kitty barely had time to think before Harry blurted, “NO!”

A chorus of voices echoed—firm refusals, murmured disagreements, the unanimous consensus: absolutely not.

Kitty shook her head firmly. “I don’t have it in me. Not to be a spy, and definitely not to deal with Barty.”

There were plenty of things she might be capable of—but that wasn’t one of them. Fuck that.

“I think not,” Dumbledore said, nodding in agreement.

Tonks leaned forward. “When’s Snape going to tell You-Know-Who that Kitty can’t be converted? If all those Death Eaters have a vendetta, she’s basically a walking target. She’s going to need to be ready.”

Kitty sighed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d done her best to handle things back in the Department of Mysteries. And now? Accidentally crowned The Most Wanted Witch in Britain. Perfect.

Hello, actions—meet consequences.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I believe sometime after Christmas is a reasonable deadline. In the meantime, I don’t think Katherine should leave Headquarters without an escort.”

Sirius squeezed her shoulder again, a silent I got you.

The meeting dragged on. After another hour of reports, updates, and uncomfortable stares, it finally wrapped up. Kitty slumped back in her chair, utterly drained.

As people started shuffling out—stretching, murmuring—Mundungus leaned across the table with all the subtlety of Hagrid. “Where’d ye get the money to buy a farm at your age?” he asked, squinting at her like she was the answer to a treasure hunt.

Completely deadpan, Kitty replied, “I sold the hand I cut off Bellatrix.”

The room froze. Sirius burst out laughing so hard he nearly toppled from his chair.

“Eh?” Mundungus squinted harder, clearly questioning his own hearing.

Kitty just sighed and shrugged. “The St. Clouds are old money.”

Dedalus Diggle blinked, genuinely puzzled. “Muggles have old money families?”

“Yes. We call them landlords.”

Chapter Text

Kitty had finished her breakfast and was waiting in the Drawing Room for Dumbledore to arrive. He was meant to escort her to the commune she’d bought so he could cast the Fidelius Charm over the property, as requested.

She had a map spread out on the table with the farm circled to show him the exact location—since, annoyingly, he couldn’t Apparate somewhere he’d never been before.

At least it was a beautiful summer morning. She was determined to enjoy the sunshine even if she had to do it in the company of her least favourite person right now.

She ducked upstairs to grab her bottomless bag and use the bathroom. When she came back down, Dumbledore was already standing in the Drawing Room with Sirius—who had apparently let him in.

“Katherine,” Dumbledore greeted serenely, as though he hadn’t drugged her and then casually revealed her secret war plan to strangers. “If you would accompany me.”

Before she could even say hello—or sass him into another dimension—he took her arm.

Crack.

They Disapparated on the spot.

They reappeared on the outskirts of a sleepy little village, all winding hedgerows and the faint sound of a rooster somewhere in the distance.

“Shepton Mallet,” Dumbledore announced happily. “The nearest village I’ve previously visited. We can fly the rest of the way, I think.”

Kitty pulled her broom from her bottomless bag. Dumbledore conjured his from thin air.

Show-off.

He disillusioned them and they kicked off into the air, wind tugging at Kitty’s hair as they soared above rolling hills and fields. The houses grew sparser, giving way to winding roads and then finally—the sprawling, peaceful stretch of farmland she’d bought.

They landed at the edge of the property. It was only Kitty’s second time seeing it in person, but the sight of the lake, multiple large barns and overgrown apple orchard made something warm flutter in her chest. Sure, it looked like an abandoned suicide commune now—but the potential was huge.

Kittytopia, here we come!

She began walking the boundary line with Dumbledore, gesturing as she spoke. “It’s a pretty big property and I want the whole thing protected—lake, orchard, barns, the driveway too, because Muggle families will be driving here.”

Naturally, Kitty would be the Secret-Keeper. Who else would she trust with that kind of power? (Well—lots of people, actually. But she didn’t want to paint a target on anyone she loved when the Death Eaters started asking awkward questions about where all the Muggleborns vanished to.)

They spoke briefly about the logistics of casting the spell over such a large area, until finally they exhausted that topic and walked in silence for a while.

“I was surprised not to hear from you,” Kitty said at last. “After the whole forced confession thing—thanks for that by the way—I figured you’d have questions. I literally told you I know the future...”

“I have many questions,” Dumbledore replied, maddeningly calm. “Far too many. I suspect I shall be drowning in curiosity for the rest of my days. But perhaps you can tell me what you think I missed?”

Kitty sighed. “You already know about my reincarnation. And honestly there’s nothing useful to you there. Although I would like to know your thoughts on it and whether you think I can ever get back to being Emma one day.”

Dumbledore gave a quiet hum. “I do have thoughts. Though I suspect that’s a conversation for another day.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s skip ahead then. You know this is all based on a book series, right? We’re in the sixth one now. Endgame territory. Voldemort dies. But not before a lot of awful shit happens first.”

Dumbledore kept his face impassive and motioned for her to continue.

“You suspect Voldemort made multiple Horcruxes,” Kitty stated.

Dumbledore suddenly stopped walking.

They were on the far side of the lake now. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a bench. They sat looking out over the water, the surface rippling in the summer breeze.

“I suppose you’ll tell me he has befouled himself with such magic,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“There are seven of them,” she said plainly.

“Seven,” Dumbledore repeated, like he was tasting the word and had immediately decided it was expired. His face twisted with disgust, and Kitty couldn’t blame him.

She remembered reading the books and wondering what the big deal was. So he split his soul—who cares? But once you actually understood the magic of souls—what it meant to rip one—it was, without question, the most deeply fucked up thing a person could do to themselves.

And the fact that he did it more than once was just...

She couldn’t even put it into words.

“The first horcrux was the diary that Harry destroyed in second year with a basilisk fang.”

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation.

“The second is a ring—an heirloom from the Gaunt family. Voldemort’s mother was Merope Gaunt. I’m guessing you know that already.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I had just recently learned this during what I’ve taken to calling my sabbatical.”

Kitty snorted. It was infuriatingly hard to hate the man when he called being wanted for treason a sabbatical. Annoyingly cool of him. But she would do her best to dislike him anyway.

“The ring is hidden in the Gaunt tramp-shack in Little Hangleton,” she continued. “You’re actually due to go there pretty soon to retrieve it. You destroy it with the Sword of Gryffindor.”

Dumbledore hummed in polite acknowledgement.

“But not before you put it on like a dumbass,” she added sweetly.

He blinked. “Why would I do this?”

“Because it has the Resurrection Stone in it.”

That got his full attention. He turned toward her sharply, eyes narrowing, every line in his posture sharpening with awareness.

“The Resurrection Stone?” he repeated, voice low.

Kitty nodded. “Yup. Deathly Hallow itself.”

Dumbledore stared at her like she had just handed him the meaning of life and also the instructions for setting the universe to hard mode. He was quiet for a long time.

“I see,” he said eventually.

“Mhmm.” She gave him a look. “And just FYI, the Stone still works after you destroy the Horcrux part, so don’t go putting it on while it’s still cursed. That’s kind of how you died the first time. Wait until the soul bit is dead, and then you can have your undead reunions in peace.”

Dumbledore exhaled slowly. He looked haunted, which she figured was fair.

Moving briskly on, she said, “The third horcrux is the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Currently sitting in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. I check on it every year just to be sure. It’s always there.”

The diadem, Dumbledore mouthed, his expression tinged with awe. He shook his head slowly, genuinely pained. “Such an extraordinary artifact defiled like this.”

“You haven’t tried to touch it?” he asked suddenly. “Or wear it?”

She snorted. “Hell no. It whispers to me to put it on. Like, ‘you know you want to’ in creepy ASMR. I’m fairly certain it would kill me on the spot if I put it on.”

“Undoubtedly,” he murmured gravely.

“Yup. Also, side note—you’ll probably need fiendfyre to destroy that one. It’s goblin-wrought silver, so it absorbs anything that strengthens it. If you stab it with basilisk venom it might just level up like a Pokémon.”

“Was it destroyed with fiendfyre in the… 'books'?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that was purely accidental. They never got the chance to try the sword.”

He nodded thoughtfully, clearly filing the information away. Then after a pause, he said with a faint smile, “I must admit—it’s rather refreshing to be the one who knows the least in the conversation.”

Kitty was not feeling particularly charitable toward him at the moment. “Yeah… whatever. Anyway, next up is the famed locket of Salazar Slytherin,” she continued breezily. “Tommy-boy nicked it from a witch named Hepzibah Smith and framed her house-elf Hokey for the murder. Not sure we can fix that without tipping our hand…?”

Dumbledore’s expression tightened with discomfort. Exonerating a house-elf from Azkaban wouldn’t exactly fly under the radar.

She went on, “He hid it in a sea cave surrounded by Inferi, and protected by a potion called the Drink of Despair.”

Dumbledore visibly paled.

“But!” she said brightly, “no need to panic. Regulus Black already retrieved it for us.”

His head snapped toward her. “Regulus Black is alive?”

“What? No, of course not. He figured it out ages ago and died retrieving it—ripped apart and drowned by Inferi. Rather Gryffindor of him. You should talk to Kreacher. He was there. He’ll give you the full tragic story.”

She gave Dumbledore a meaningful look. “Also, once you get the Resurrection Stone, I am summoning Regulus for a chit chat. That’s my trade for all this information I’m giving you.”

“And where is the locket now?”

Kitty cleared her throat and looked anywhere but at Dumbledore. “I may or may not currently be unaware of the locket’s precise location.”

Dumbledore looked at her, panic creeping into his voice. “You… lost… the Horcrux?”

“Let’s focus on the positive, yeah?” she said quickly. “You don’t have to battle a horde of zombies. Besides, Kreacher probably knows where it is… I think. Hopefully.”

Dumbledore gave her the most exhausted look she’d ever seen, which was saying something considering the man looked like a fossil on a good day.

“Next one is Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet,” she went on. “That’s in Bellatrix’s Gringotts vault. So we’re going to need a little heist.”

He said nothing, but the faint exhale told her he knew exactly how insane that was going to be.

“And then there’s Nagini,” she added.

Dumbledore nodded grimly. “I suspected as much.”

“Yep,” Kitty confirmed. “Needs killing.”

She glanced back over the lake. It was such a beautiful summer day. She didn’t want to say the last one.

“The last one?” Dumbledore said softly. He already knew.

“Harry.”

The silence that followed was profound. When he finally spoke, his voice was a broken whisper. “I truly hoped I was wrong about that.”

Kitty turned to look at him. “He survives, you know,” she said softly.

Dumbledore looked at her, as if daring not to believe it.

“In the books, Voldemort casts the Killing Curse on him. But it only destroys the soul shard. Harry lives. He’s okay.”

“Harry’s okay?” he repeated, barely a breath.

Kitty nodded. “He’s okay.”

And just like that, the greatest wizard in Europe—Headmaster, war hero, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugface—broke down in front of her. Dumbledore covered his face with one hand, shoulders trembling with silent tears.

Kitty sat frozen beside him, stunned. She felt supremely uncomfortable. And annoyed, too—angry that Dumbledore was so shitty to her but clearly cared so deeply for Harry. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

Eventually, he pulled himself together. “Thank you, Katherine.”

Kitty shook her head, a wry twist at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “You wanted to know everything. Well, now it’s all your problem. The horcruxes were just the beginning. I’m handing you the whole plot—so it’s on you now.”

Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment. And then, with more gravity than she’d ever seen in him, he nodded. “You said we are at the end of the fifth ‘book’?”

“Start of the sixth one now,” Kitty confirmed.

“I would like you to tell me the events that occur.”

Kitty leaned back and took a deep breath, “Okay. So boom—you whisk Harry off to meet Horace Slughorn who’s been living disguised as a couch. You want him to teach Potions again so you can squeeze him for info on Voldemort’s high school phase. But FYI, we don’t actually need Slughorn anymore because I already know everything he knows.”

“Snape finally gets the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, because apparently dreams do come true if you're awful enough.” Kitty pulled a face.

“Meanwhile, Slughorn starts his little VIP club of students he thinks might be famous one day. But AGAIN,” she said, pointing dramatically, “we don’t need this. There is no reason for me to be taught by Professor Snape this year. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

She gave Dumbledore a look so loaded with meaning it could have come with subtitles.

“Anyway,” she went on, waving a hand, “Harry finds this old textbook that belonged to some try-hard edgelord calling himself the Half-Blood Prince. He uses it for academic fraud. Meanwhile, Draco gets his Dark Mark and Voldemort says he has to kill you OR ELSE!! But plot twist—you’re already dying because you put on the horcrux ring like an idiot. You decide that you want to protect Draco’s soul by making an under-the-table deal with Snape where he agrees to kill you when the time comes.”

Kitty nudged him. “But that’s not gonna happen because I saved your life!” she bragged. “Anyway—”

She continued explaining.

And explaining.

And explaining.

“—but then Snape shows up and Avada’s you straight off the Astronomy Tower as you both planned. Rest in peace.”

Kitty exhaled and leaned back on the bench. “And that’s the sixth book.”

Dumbledore was staring quietly out at the lake.

Then finally, in a low voice he asked, “And the seventh book?”

Kitty gave him an incredulous look. “You sure you want to jump into that already? It’s a lot. And I just told you about your death.”

“I have a Pensieve,” he said calmly. “I can revisit this memory and extract specific details at my leisure.”

Kitty paused. The idea of Dumbledore rewatching this whole convo like a Netflix drama was... deeply cursed. “Uhhh. Okay. Hi, future Dumbledore. Ha ha,” she said awkwardly, waving at no one.

“The final book?” he prompted again.

“Okay, yeah so,” Kitty said, clapping her hands together, “it starts with literally the dumbest plan of all time—trust me on this. Harry needs to get to a safe house, right? And the Order decides the safest way to do that is by Polyjuicing six other people into Harry clones. Because apparently, when one person has a massive target on their back the smartest move is to make seven of them.”

She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. “And guess whose bright idea that was—”

Dumbledore didn’t say a word. Just met her gaze with that same maddening calm.

“YEP! You guessed it! Snape!” she crowed, throwing up her hands.

She kept talking.

And talking.

And talking.

“—and then Harry snaps the Elder Wand without even thinking about using it to rebuild Hogwarts. If you can believe it!” She flailed a hand. “You better believe I will be disarming him the second Voldemort goes down and snatching that twig for myself.”

She folded her arms with a huff, then glanced sideways at Dumbledore. “Like, respectfully.”

Dumbledore sat contemplatively, staring out at the lake, clearly deep in thought about everything he’d just learned.

Kitty was getting sick of the melancholy vibes.

“Look,” she said, exasperated, “there’s a hell of a lot more we could talk about, but I’ve been monologuing for like, an hour, and I’m starving. Can we cast the Fidelius now?”

Dumbledore nodded.

And with that, she led him to the centre of the property where she watched him perform one of the most complex pieces of magic she’d ever seen. Yeah, Dumbledore kind of sucked—but holy hell it was impossible not to feel lucky watching him work. It was like witnessing a master painter or a symphony conductor do what they did best.

Kitty would bet good money that there were maybe only ten people in the whole country capable of casting the Fidelius Charm successfully. She suddenly had a whole new respect for Lily Evans, who had been able to recast the charm herself to make Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper. Obviously a terrible choice in hindsight, but still. The magical talent that would’ve required? Flex.

By the time she returned to Grimmauld Place for lunch, Kitty was in a fantastic mood. She’d officially red-pilled Dumbledore—now he knew everything!

She felt like the weight of the world had been removed from her shoulders. Canon? Horcruxes? It was no longer her responsibility. All she needed to do was keep working on her cute little Muggleborn commune.

But who knows, maybe Dumbledore would even stop the Ministry from collapsing! Maybe Kittytopia wouldn’t be needed at all!

She didn’t have to worry about anything!!!

Chapter Text

Over the next two weeks, Kitty settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Her mornings always began with a hearty breakfast that Sirius—shockingly—made for her and Harry. She hadn’t expected him to be the chef-type. In her mind, he was far too cool and aristocratic to know how to boil eggs, let alone make delicious shakshuka?? But there he was every morning cooking up a storm, humming along to his records and casually being good at everything.

Then the three of them would sit around the kitchen table, doomscrolling through the Daily Prophet as they ate, trading grim theories between bites. The deaths and disappearances were piling up fast. Sirius did his best to keep the atmosphere light—cracking jokes, changing the subject, telling old Marauder stories—but the war was here, and it was devastating.

After breakfast, she and Sirius would wave Harry off as he Flooed to the Burrow. He’d taken up semi-permanent residence there during the day—an invitation Kitty had strategically declined.

Once Harry was gone, she’d shoot Sirius a quick wink and then Apparate herself out to Kittytopia.

(She felt a little bad hiding her magical freedom from Harry, but the ritual that aged her up was dark as hell. She didn’t need him looking at her like she was Bellatrix 2.0. Remus did enough judging for both of them.)

When Kitty arrived at Kittytopia each morning, the weight of the morning news lifted almost instantly. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and she had work to do—real, tangible, satisfying work.

Also, Kitty was absolutely thriving under the July sun. The heat on her skin reminded her of Spring in Australia—sweaty, golden, familiar. She was sure she’d never looked more beautiful. Not because she’d physically changed or anything, but because she was blossoming. Flourishing. Getting her daily dose of photosynthesis.

She brought a radio with her, blasting music through the wind as she worked.

And the work was going so well. The commune was coming together faster than she could’ve dreamed. Everything that should’ve taken months was done in a flash thanks to magic. Cutting grass? There was a charm for that. Painting walls? Easy—just a quick colour-change charm. Fixing roofs? Don’t even worry about it.

She was unstoppable. A one-woman renovation hurricane. Grand Designs could literally never.

There were several large wooden buildings scattered across the property—most of them a cross between a barn and a house, each one repurposed with care.

The central structure was already a communal kitchen and dining hall. All she had to do was clean it up a little. There were lots of vegetable gardens but there was no point in growing food yet when she was about to head off to Hogwarts for a year anyway. Instead, Kitty stocked the pantry with enough staples to feed a small army, everything stored under preservation charms to keep it fresh long-term. She even learned how to duplicate food, which was honestly revolutionary. One thing wizards didn’t have to worry about was food security. The fact that global hunger still existed while wizards could literally multiply meals and freeze them in time? Absolute bullshit, in her opinion. Just another example of how little the magical world cared about Muggles.

ANYWAY, another barn had been a cosy recreation room. She updated it to be filled with beanbags, a massive TV, board games stacked to the ceiling, and a growing collection of books—both magical and Muggle. It was the kind of place you could curl up in for hours, which was exactly the vibe she wanted.

But the true stroke of genius was the paddock closest to the food barn. Kitty set up an entire field of magical tents spread across the paddock, each one magically expanded and decked out like a private little home. Every family would get their own tent, complete with actual beds, bathrooms, heating, lighting, and even adorable welcome baskets. Honestly, every Galleon she’d dropped on it felt completely worth it. She couldn’t think of a better use for her obscene wealth.

There was also a communal sleeping barn for overflow—just in case—but Kitty wasn’t particularly fond of it. It was where the original suicide cult had slept and gave hospital ward during the Spanish influenza vibes. It could be jazzed up later if actually needed.

The last building was along the long driveway entrance. There was a small farmhouse cabin that Kitty had transformed into a makeshift administrative hub. Inside, she kept a colour-coded spreadsheet tracking supplies and future allocations, a master list of everyone she’d shared the Fidelius secret with (updated regularly), and—hidden in a locked drawer—slips of paper with the secret written on them, just in case someone showed up needing help when she wasn’t around.

Because the property was Muggle, all the buildings had electricity. Kitty could have both a telephone and a computer in the cabin. The phone would be vital for Muggle families—they could call for directions or advice or emergency support if they needed it. The computer was mostly for older Muggleborns; she was considering placing a discreet ad in the Daily Prophet inviting them in need to email the commune if they needed help.

Of course, most wizards could probably bumble their way through using a phone if they had to—but email? Practically impossible without Imperiusing a Muggle (technically on the table with Death Eaters, but less likely).

Kitty had already decided she’d ask Hermione to take over running the whole operation next year and give the farmhouse to her and her parents to live in. The commune needed a brilliant queen to take the reins. Kitty was more of a visionary founder—big-picture ideas, minimal paperwork. Hermione was a genius. Kitty had zero doubts she’d manage the admin, the outreach, and the vetting process like a pro. If she needed any help, Professor MacKenzie would surely help out.

Once Kitty had finished the essentials and was down to final touches, she realised the property was looking less like a farm and more like a music festival.

She decided to lean into it.

She decked out the whole property with enchanted lanterns, making the whole place feel like a whimsical fairground at nighttime. The lighting really was the undeniable crown jewel of Kittytopia. Totally perfect.

Scattered artfully around the property were hand-painted signs that read things like Live Laugh Love and It’s Always Sunny in Kittytopia.

She may have overdone it when she created a small shrine to herself. A literal, candle-lit Mary Magdalene–inspired altar, complete with a fake oil painting of her in saintly robes and a gold plaque that read MOTHER: Kitty the Based

It was giving cult energy. But like, the fun kind. Non-suicidal vibes only.

And of course, there was the sign. A giant wooden ranch-style archway marked the front entrance, freshly painted in bright, bold lettering: WELCOME TO KITTYTOPIA!

She figured most people would be arriving by car, so the sign would be their first impression. Either that, or she’d just make the designated Apparition point land right there at the front gate—for dramatic effect, obviously.

After weeks of working nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would be so proud), Kittytopia was finally ready.

The next day, Kitty decided it was time to share the Fidelius secret with Sirius.

After waving Harry off to the Burrow as usual, she turned to Sirius with a huge, cheeky grin and said, “Kittytopia is located on Platterwell Lane.”

Before he could ask what she was on about, she grabbed his arm, concentrated hard, and Apparated him straight there.

The second they landed, his jaw dropped. His eyes practically popped out of his head as he took it all in. “This is—Kitty, holy shit—this is incredible,” he said, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in.

She proudly posed under the giant KITTYTOPIA sign, demanding Sirius take at least a dozen pictures with the camera in her bag.

Then, she proudly gave him the full tour. Sirius didn’t say much—just wandered around with his mouth slightly open, awe written all over his face.

The July sun blazed overhead, casting everything in gold. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers, hay, and overripe apples from the orchard. Dragonflies skimmed lazily across the lake’s surface, and the trees swayed gently in the warm breeze.

Kitty had grown used to the magic of the place after weeks of working here every day—but watching Sirius settle into it, she could see the tension melt from his shoulders. The longer he stayed, the more he relaxed. It really was a balm for the war. This place felt untouchable.

Once he’d taken it all in, they ended up tearing around the property like absolute idiots, giddy in the summer heat and duelling with Aguamenti spells, trying to splash each other in a water fight.

Eventually, soaking and breathless, they stripped down to their underwear and ran straight into the lake. The water was freezing and glorious, shocking their skin and clearing their heads. They splashed around for a while before they floated on their backs in silence, watching the clouds drift across the wide blue sky.

When they finally stumbled out, dripping and shivering, Sirius shifted into Padfoot and gave a dramatic full-body shake—spraying her with cold lake water all over again. Then he bounded around like a lunatic, tail wagging, tongue lolling, nearly knocking her over.

She hurled her shoe at his head in revenge. He caught it in his mouth and started chewing it like the absolute idiot mutt he was.

Once he’d sufficiently made his point, he padded over, transformed back into himself, and took the towel she conjured and started transfiguring a nearby log into a stunning outdoor table setup—annoyingly good at Transfiguration, that one.

With a smug smile, he Disapparated.

Ten minutes later, he was back carrying beers, sandwiches, and the most ridiculously oversized punnet of strawberries she had ever seen.

“Lunch is served,” he declared, collapsing beside her with all the flair of a man who’d just saved the world.

They ate lunch trading jokes too stupid to be repeated and laughing like schoolkids. Kitty summoned her radio and belted along to Running Up That Hill, while Sirius charmed wildflowers into her still-damp hair.

When she pouted at him, he just laughed and snapped a sneaky photo before she could stop him.

In retaliation, Kitty enchanted the leftover strawberry stems to wriggle up his arms like tiny, vengeful caterpillars.

Afterward, they laid their towels out on the grass and collapsed, full and content. The sun warmed Kitty’s skin, her limbs pleasantly heavy.

She glanced sideways and caught Sirius with one arm tucked behind his head, eyes closed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His face was tilted toward the sky, completely at ease.

Kitty had to force herself to look away.

This wasn’t a thing.

It wasn’t.

She was just… noticing. From a purely aesthetic angle. Because Sirius was attractive. Obviously. She’d known that for ages. But that didn’t mean anything, because loads of people were attractive and Kitty thirsted after everyone!

This was just a lovely day with a beautiful man whose company she cherished as a friend.

… A very good friend who occasionally stared at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. But that didn’t mean anything—it was probably just habit. Or reflex. Or heatstroke? Yes, heatstroke sounded about right.

Nothing to overthink. Nothing to examine.

Definitely just friendship.

Very casual, extremely platonic

FRIENDSHIP.

The silence stretched between them, warm and peaceful with only the soft rustle of leaves overhead. Kitty let herself drift and oblivion tugged at her edges. She was asleep within seconds.

Chapter Text

By the end of July the Fidelius secret of Kittytopia was ready to be shared, and Kitty was psyching herself up for a cross-country door-knocking campaign to recruit Hogwarts’ Muggleborn students.

But after the latest Order meeting, Professor MacKenzie made a very reasonable suggestion: instead of turning up unannounced on Muggle doorsteps ranting about an impending magical holocaust, it would be far better to start by approaching the students directly at Hogwarts. He proposed holding a quiet, private meeting for Muggleborn students, where—speaking as a teacher—he could explain the situation and encourage them to write to their families themselves. Then he and Kitty could follow up to arrange meetings with those families.

Kitty’s only real concern was the risk of a leak. Hogwarts was a pressure cooker of gossip, and if word got out that all the Muggleborns were being pulled aside for an invitation to a “secret safehouse,” they’d be fucked before they even got started.

Then sweet, happy-go-lucky Professor MacKenzie pulled the most unexpected boss move of the year:

“Didn’t Miss Granger hex a Ravenclaw student with a jinx that prevented her from speaking about your secret club?”

Kitty stared at him with her mouth slightly open. “Sir… I may have misheard you. Surely you’re not suggesting we use a punitive jinx?”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Surely you know that snitches get stitches?”

AYYYYYYOOOOOO.

Apparently, Professor MacKenzie was a certified real one. Wild that the man had ever been in Hufflepuff…

Plus, Kitty was beyond grateful for the decision to pause their plans until Hogwarts—mostly because she’d been working on the Kittytopia property every single day and was absolutely exhausted. The last thing she wanted was to traipse around the country on a door knocking campaign.

But even through the exhaustion, she felt stupidly proud of what she’d pulled off with Kittytopia. Only Sirius, Harry, and Professor MacKenzie had seen the finished product so far—and all three had been gobsmacked. Her ego was thriving, and she was looking forward to the next Order meeting just so she could show off a little. She’d earned the right to be smug.

There had been three more Order meetings since the first one she attended, and to be honest they were all starting to blur together into one long, miserable newsreel.

Nothing but bad news. Always bad news.

It was the nature of war, of course—but still. It sucked.

The last meeting had been especially distressing. It was reported that Ollivander had disappeared. She’d shot a subtle look at Dumbledore—she had told him this was going to happen so why hadn’t he done something?

Maybe it had happened before he had the chance to intervene? Maybe he had warned him, and it hadn’t made a difference?

Either way—not her problem. She’d done her duty by speaking up. Ollivander’s year-long torture sesh was officially on Dumbledore’s shoulders now. Don’t @ her because Kitty was content to leave EVERYONE on read.

Soooo that was the last Order meeting. Which is why she was extra hyped to finally bring good news to the table. Concrete progress to lift everyone’s spirits.

She was ready to be triumphant.

Except she didn’t get the chance.

The meeting opened with possibly the worst news yet—Emmaline Vance was dead, her body dumped like garbage on a street in Muggle London. No one from the Order was even allowed to attend her funeral—Snape forewarned it would be watched by Death Eaters.

Kitty didn’t know how to feel.

She’d spoken to Emmaline directly maybe three times? They were barely acquaintances. But Kitty wasn’t a psychopath—of course she was affected. Still, it hit weirdly. This was someone she actually knew who had died, and for once, she couldn’t twist it into being her fault. She had no recollection of it every being mentioned in the book, so she had no actions to regret.

It was just… death.

And it sucked.

No one was in the mood to celebrate Kittytopia after that—even if they were impressed.

After the meeting, the Order all filed out to have a toast to Emmaline in the Drawing Room. Kitty was about to follow when Dumbledore gently asked her to stay behind. Once the room had emptied, he joined her near the head of the table and cast a silencing charm on the door to keep their conversation private.

Kitty braced herself.

“I’ve been thinking deeply about what you said is coming in the future,” Dumbledore began. “I have some questions, and I would like you to think very carefully about your answers.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Please explain the exact circumstances of Harry’s winning duel against Voldemort.”

Kitty blinked in surprise—hadn’t she already covered this?

Or… had she?

Now that she thought about it, all she’d said was “Harry uses Expelliarmus against an Unforgivable and hopes for the best. It boomerangs Voldemort’s own spell back at him so he dies like an idiot. Destiny fulfilled, love wins, curtain closed.”

Hmm. Yeah. In hindsight, not exactly a detailed battle plan.

She cleared her throat. “Voldemort uses the Elder Wand to cast the Killing Curse at Harry. At the same time, Harry casts a Disarming Charm using Draco Malfoy’s wand. As unlikely as it sounds, the spells collide perfectly midair between them. Because the Elder Wand is loyal to Harry, his spell triumphs over the other. Voldemort’s own Killing Curse is deflected back upon him, and he dies. The Disarming Charm also succeeds—the Elder Wand is pulled from Voldemort’s hand and flies to Harry.”

Dumbledore was silent for a long time, staring into the distance as if playing the duel in his mind.

At last, he turned back to her. “Will Harry still defeat Voldemort if those exact circumstances don’t occur?”

She leaned back in her seat, caught off guard. Kitty hadn’t expected that question. She wanted to say yes—of course Harry would win—but...

“I don’t know,” she reluctantly admitted. “In a lot of ways, Voldemort dies by accident. Even if Harry manages to disarm him without the Killing Curse bouncing back…”

She trailed off, trying to picture it. What would happen if Harry ended up face-to-face with a wandless Voldemort?

Her mind flashed back to the Ministry atrium—to the memory of Lord Voldemort standing right in front of her.

She shivered.

Even without a wand, there was no question that Voldemort was still deadly. Harry would need to act instantly, without hesitation.

But casting the Killing Curse wasn’t just about saying the words. It required genuine hatred and emotional detachment that Harry didn’t possess. She couldn’t imagine him ever managing an effective Avada Kedavra, no matter who he was facing.

So that ruled out the Killing Curse. But if Harry needed to finish Voldemort off quickly, he’d have to use another lethal spell—and that was a problem too. Because any magic powerful enough for an instant kill would almost certainly be considered Dark. And Harry didn’t mess with the Dark Arts.

She sighed. Maybe this was why he was the one in the prophecy—because he wouldn’t cross that line.

She glanced over at Dumbledore, half-apologetic. “He’d freeze,” she said quietly. “He wouldn’t be able to follow through. And Voldemort would Disapparate or fly off to regroup.”

But Dumbledore simply nodded, as if he’d already anticipated that. “What if Harry had the Elder Wand during the duel, and it was loyal to him?”

Kitty frowned, thinking it through.

Then slowly, she shook her head. “Your victory over Grindelwald proves the Elder Wand doesn’t make someone unbeatable—especially if the person using it isn’t willing to kill… right?”

She looked at him with eyebrows raised, waiting for confirmation.

Dumbledore looked distinctly uncomfortable—just as he had when she’d first mentioned knowing about his relationship with Grindelwald.

But after a pause, he gave a small nod.

Yep. You heard it here first, kids. The only reason Dumbledore beat Grindelwald with the Elder Wand was because Gellert couldn’t bring himself to murder his ex.

With that knowledge, she continued, growing more confident in her assessment. “Then even if Harry was willing to kill, the skill gap is still too big. I don’t think it’s actually possible for anyone to beat Voldemort in a fair duel. Maybe you—maybe—but after seeing him at the Ministry? I’m honestly not sure. You and he were evenly matched, and that was with you using an extra powerful wand.”

The more she thought about it, the more certain she became: not even Dumbledore would defeat Voldemort in a fair duel.

She took a deep breath, her voice firm now. “The only reason Harry wins is because Voldemort uses a wand that refuses to fight its true master.”

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Yes, I suspected as much.” He sighed. “It is clear that Voldemort must possess the Elder Wand, but its allegiance must lie with Harry.”

Kitty squinted at him. “So just like canon. How do we make that happen?”

Dumbledore gave a small smile. “We simply follow the timeline—‘canon,’ as you like to call it.”

Kitty frowned. “Okay, but when exactly do we start following the timeline? Voldemort has to believe the wand belongs to him without contest, or he won’t use it.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed.

She looked at him expectantly.

He met her gaze calmly. “Voldemort will never believe he controls the Elder Wand while I am alive.”

Kitty shrugged. “So we fake your death.”

She’d never faked anyone’s death before. It sounded fun!

“I believe it’s safest to follow the original timeline,” he said gently.

Kitty frowned. “But… you die in canon?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said simply.

It took her a second to register what he was implying. Then she gaped at him. “I—WHAT?”  She shot to her feet. “Why the fuck would you volunteer to die?!”

“Language, Katherine,” he said mildly.

“Fuck that! I stopped you putting on the damn ring! You’re saved! If you die, that defeats the whole point of saving you in the first place!”

She began pacing, fingers buried in her hair, dangerously close to spiralling. This couldn’t be happening. Dumbledore was supposed to fix everything. He wasn’t supposed to just roll over and die!

“Why?!” she demanded.

He only smiled at her. “I have lived with this war—this conflict—for nearly thirty years. You have told me there is an indisputable path to victory within two. If my death ensures that future, I can go forth knowing it will all be alright.”

“But we could just fake your death!” she burst out, exasperated.

Dumbledore shook his head, a faintly mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps that may be an option for someone less recognisable as myself. I, however, am rather well known. My body would be thoroughly examined before it was entombed. Trickery would be discovered.”

“Okay, so—Draught of Living Death then! Real body, fake death. Romeo and Juliet-style. I’ll dig you out afterward. Easy peasy.”

He gave her an indulgent smile—the same one he often directed at Harry. “There are many methods to verify one’s death, Katherine. I assure you, the Ministry of Magic would not bury the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot without confirming every single one.”

She resumed pacing, agitated. “No. Just—no. Absolutely not. I know you’ve got a foolproof way to fake your death. You’re just not telling me because you’ve already decided this is the only way forward.”

His eyes crinkled with a smile. “Do you know why I’m still Headmaster at my age?” he asked.

Whelp, that was an obvious deflection. In that case, she’d consider her theory as a resoundingly CORRECT.

Kitty stared at him, deadpan.

He ignored her unimpressed silence. “I am an old man. I would have retired back in 1981, had I not be absolutely sure Lord Voldemort would return. I stayed simply because I had to. But now my time is ending, Katherine—I am at peace with that.”

Kitty let out a frustrated growl. “You decided to die before you even came here to talk this through with me.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed and she scrutinised him. “You’ve already been to the Gaunt shack, haven’t you?” she accused. “You’ve used the Resurrection Stone. You saw Ariana, and now you’re fine with dying because you think you’ll be with her again.”

Dumbledore looked momentarily stunned.

“Smart girl,” he murmured.

Kitty groaned, throwing up her hands as she continued pacing and trying to come up with any other reasoning to prevent him from walking to his death. “Look, it’s all well and good to say follow the yellow brick road, but what about when it leads to Katie Bell getting needlessly cursed, hmm? How d’you like dem apples?!”

Dumbledore looked grave. “You have provided enough information that I will be able to prevent both Miss Bell’s cursing and Mr. Weasley’s poisoning. I would ask, in return, that you do all you can to prevent Harry’s attack upon Mr. Malfoy.”

“Okay, okay…” she pivoted. “But if you’re willing to change the timeline to protect them, then why the hell did you let him take Ollivander?”

“You told me that for almost all of next year, Voldemort is on the continent searching for the Elder Wand,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I do not know what might happen if he remains on British soil instead—but I suspect it would be catastrophic. Unfortunately, Garrick is part of that outcome. And more importantly, I do not want to alter events related to the Elder Wand.”

“But I’ve already changed the timeline a dozen times!” Kitty shot back. “Who knows what I’ve screwed up for better or worse! I might have saved Sirius—but I also saved Barty Crouch! He wasn’t supposed to survive either and he could destroy the final battle!”

Dumbledore stared at her with wide eyes, and spoke very slowly. “Crouch was supposed to die… and you... saved him?”

Kitty stopped her pacing and winced. “Ah. Look, I didn’t mean to. It just sort of… happened…”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shook his head as if forcibly trying to remove that unfortunate piece of news from his brain.

Finally he said, “I appreciate your arguments for saving my life, but I truly believe we should allow the original timeline to unfold. I am afraid you will not change my mind on this, Katherine.”

She rubbed her eyes, already dreading the answer. “So you’d still die the same way? Euthanized by Snape on the Astronomy Tower?”

“Yes.”

“You’d let Death Eaters into Hogwarts?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Unfortunately, there must be witnesses to Severus’s action. You would not know this, of course—but Lord Voldemort still does not fully trust Severus. His position is fragile, especially with Crouch working against him. If Severus kills me, it will solidify his place in the inner circle. And that’s crucial. I cannot risk the Headmastership of Hogwarts falling to any other Death Eater.”

Kitty exhaled shakily. The weight of it all came crashing back—the responsibility she’d carry next year without Dumbledore, the burden of knowing too much while being able to change too little. She sank into her chair, totally drained. Everything felt hopeless again.

Dumbledore must have noticed because he spoke softly. “I commend you for what you have achieved thus far, Katherine. You have handled yourself admirably—even the choice not to tell me until forced was a sound choice. You have sound judgment. Be confident in that.”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t in the mood for compliments or platitudes.

Dumbledore didn’t push the matter. Instead, his tone shifted. “I spoke with Kreacher about the locket. He told me about young Regulus’ sacrifice. I have reviewed Kreacher’s memories of both visits to the cave, and—well—they are rather disturbing. I will not pretend I am not relieved to be spared that particular ordeal.”

He paused, then added, “I will be speaking with Sirius privately about what I learned regarding his brother’s death.”

Kitty nodded. She was glad. It had always been difficult not to blurt out that Regulus wasn’t a complete wanker in the end.

Dumbledore went on, “I also asked Kreacher where the locket is now. Thankfully, he prevented it from being thrown away during Sirius’ renovations. He was keeping it hidden in his bedroom.”

But Dumbledore didn’t look pleased.

Kitty’s stomach sank.

“Unfortunately, a few weeks ago Mundungus Fletcher stole it from him,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Once I explain Regulus’ sacrifice and the locket’s true nature to Sirius, I will be entrusting the search to him.”

Kitty let out a long, exasperated groan. “Good luck to Sirius. I’d bet anything Umbridge somehow ends up with it. That’s just how the plot rolls sometimes.”

Dumbledore gave a weirdly content little shrug.

Ugh. Easy for him to be nonchalant when he wouldn’t be the one to break into the ministry…

She narrowed her eyes. “What about the diadem?”

“To maintain the timeline, I must leave Hogwarts grounds the night Mr. Malfoy brings the Death Eaters through the vanishing cabinet. Instead of retrieving the fake locket from the cave, we could instead destroy the diadem. I thought we might use that opportunity to travel somewhere isolated where we can safely conjure fiendfyre.”

Kitty’s jaw dropped. “Wait, I thought we were sticking to the plot? Not that I’m complaining—” she blurted quickly. “I agree completely!”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “You told me the diadem is destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts under fairly contained circumstances. Do you believe removing it from the board of play earlier would impact the outcome of the battle?”

Kitty shook her head.

And honestly, she didn’t care if it did. She’d been sitting on the damned thing for years. It was about time she got to set it on fire.

She leaned back in her chair, finally feeling a flicker of satisfaction. Then she glanced around at the now-empty dining room chairs the Order had just vacated. “Are you going to tell Snape that I know the truth about your death? That he’s not actually a traitor?”

Dumbledore tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I will. I am in good health, and he will need to understand why I am asking this of him.”

Her head snapped up. “You’re going to tell him I know the future?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Don’t!” she blurted, alarmed.

Dumbledore regarded her calmly. “I understand that you do not like Severus, but your persistent disrespect toward him is neither helpful nor warranted.”

Kitty scoffed, leaning forward in her chair. “Okay. Let me tell you something about Severus Snape.”

She ticked off on her fingers. “I know it all—his abusive Muggle father, being bullied by the Marauders, his friendship with Lily, the descent into the Death Eaters, the prophecy and his so-called redemption arc based on his obsession with Lily. All of it.”

She threw up her hands. “And even knowing all that, I still don’t respect him. Because what did he do when his friend rejected him? He joined the Death Eaters. He literally became a Muggle-born killer. He went to war against people exactly like her.”

Her voice rose. “And the only reason he changed sides was because Lily was in danger—not because he had some sudden moral awakening. You had to blackmail him into joining the Order! You can’t tell me that if Voldemort had gone after the Longbottom’s instead of the Potter’s, Snape wouldn’t have lived and died by the mark on his arm.”

She shook her head in disgust. “If it weren’t for his twisted fantasy of Lily—and whatever mysterious grip you have on his balls—he probably would’ve gone running right back to his precious Dark Lord.”

Her eyes locked on Dumbledore, sharp and unrelenting. “And the way he treats Harry? It’s horrible. He is a sad, sad little man. And frankly, the fact that you allow it is negligent.”

She crossed her arms, her voice closed off. “So if he treats Lily’s son like shit, why the hell would he protect me? And if you’re not around next year, what exactly is going to stop him from deciding I’m a liability and killing me just to shut me up?”

He met her gaze, expression unreadable—stone-faced and calm. Oddly, it put her more at ease. This was the version of Dumbledore she was used to: cool, stern, quietly disappointed in her.

When he finally spoke, his voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “I will not discuss Severus’ private matters with you. Out of respect for you, I will refrain from telling him about your knowledge of the future. But in return, you must promise me you won’t share any personal details about his life with anyone else.”

She shrugged, hands up in mock surrender. “I’ve done it for six years, haven’t I?”

“You have,” Dumbledore said evenly. “And I appreciate that discretion.”

Kitty looked away and sighed, trying to calm herself. She shouldn’t have yelled at Dumbledore. But she would never let Snape find out she knew the future. Not a chance.

After a moment, she asked, quieter this time, “So what now?”

“Well,” Dumbledore said, returning to his usual calm, “I still intend to hold the private lessons with Harry that you mentioned take place this year. However, Sirius is his guardian and will understandably want to be involved. And furthermore, given what Sirius will learn about Regulus, I believe he should be.”

Kitty nodded in agreement.

“And,” Dumbledore continued, “I would like you to join those sessions as well. Once I’m gone, it will be up to the three of you.”

Kitty shook her head. “Harry’s not going to understand why I’m there and not Ron and Hermione.”

Dumbledore considered this. “At the end of last term, you told me that you’d explained to Sirius you have dreams—visions of future events—as a way to justify your future knowledge to him.”

She frowned slightly, trying to recall exactly what she told Dumbledore while on Veritaserum. “Right. Yeah I did. He’ll probably bring it up again after… well, after Emmaline…”

She trailed off.

Dumbledore nodded gently. “I shall speak to Harry and Sirius about your apparent dreams. That will serve as the explanation for your presence. But I do not believe Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley should be told much further. The smaller the secret, the better.”

Kitty felt a flicker of guilt. It looked like Dumbledore intended for her and Sirius to take Ron and Hermione’s places in the horcrux hunt. But... well, she could always tell them after Dumbledore died. He couldn’t complain if he was dead.

“Alright,” she agreed. “Is there anything else?”

“No. I believe that covers it. I will see you at the next Order meeting, Katherine.”

She nodded and went to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Can I make one suggestion?”

Dumbledore inclined his head.

“Obliviate Bathilda Bagshot,” she said bluntly. “And anyone else who could confirm your relationship with Grindelwald. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore was a massive blow to morale. People will need a white knight.”

Kitty was generally against obliviation—but this wasn’t just about one man’s reputation. The smear campaign had wider consequences to the war.

Dumbledore stared at her. At last, he spoke, voice low. “I would advise caution. It is easy to pick and choose events to alter when you know what will come. But playing God is the fastest pathway to arrogance.”

Kitty gave a nod and left to join the rest of the Order in the Drawing Room, the words echoing in her mind.

Did she have a god complex?

Well, yeah. Obviously.

It was hard not to when she was surrounded by people who didn’t even know what a meme was.

Chapter Text

Kitty was finally enjoying her long-overdue rest. She luxuriated in bed, indulged in endless baths, played Quidditch at the Burrow, and even snuck off to visit Dean on the other side of London a couple of times.

But she also found herself pulled into regular sparring duels with an irritable Sirius, who’d finally learnt the truth about Regulus. The tension inside him was palpable, and duelling was his way to release it. It wasn’t exactly her idea of a relaxing holiday activity, but going up against such a proficient opponent meant her duelling was improving in leaps and bounds.

Kitty also found herself on the receiving end of a near constant pouting from Harry.

Dumbledore had told him about her “divinely interpreted dreams”, and he was mildly betrayed that she hadn’t confided in him sooner. To be fair, he wasn’t as angry as she’d feared. Perhaps he might have been angrier if he wasn’t currently dealing with his own prophecy of being the Chosen One.

So, life with the three of them at Grimmauld Place had become a little tense. She was hanging out at the Burrow more than she expected.

Surprisingly, it was Kitty’s first time being invited to see the infamous Burrow. She wondered how she had managed to go this long without an invitation… then remembered that Molly hated her lol.

Contrast that with Hermione, who had been invited to stay for literal weeks.

But Molly adored Hermione, and not in a subtle way. To Molly, Hermione was the gold standard of a teenager: polite, deferential to authority, and eager to learn.

Kitty, meanwhile, didn’t want anyone holding her hand while she stumbled through her life. Like no offense, but Molly had never even used a light switch before. Kitty wasn’t about to let someone who thought the Internet was a was a library in America tell her how to live her life.

Anyway, Hermione had agreed to give up precious time with her parents to stay at the Burrow for a whole month so she could spend time with “Ginny”.

Sure, Jan.

Kitty had eyes.

She’d noticed the shift last year. It was subtle—barely there unless you already knew how things would end. But once you were looking for it, it was clear. Ron and Hermione were beginning to crush on each other!

Funny, really. When Kitty had read the books, she’d hated the idea of Ron and Hermione ending up together. It had felt clunky and unearned.

But watching it unfold in real time? It was actually kind of sweet.

Anyway, Kitty spent her first day at the Burrow getting the grand tour of the house and large property. It truly was beautiful place for a large family of kids to grow up.

The second time she went to the Burrow, she ran into Fleur Delacour who was enchanting the laundry to wash itself.

She gave Kitty a big smile in greeting and waved her over.

Kitty blinked hard to clear her head.

While she was definitely rebuilding her tolerance to Fleur’s veela allure, if she wasn’t expecting it and then bam—Fleur appeared in front of her? Well, Kitty’s brain kind of went glerrrrrg.

Then Fleur walked right up to Kitty and took her by the shoulders. Kitty almost passed out at being so close to her so quickly.

“Kitty, I owe you an apology,” she said gently, in her thick French accent. “For zinking that you were ze one who put ‘Arry in ze tournament. And for being dismissive at ze Ball.

Kitty was not prepared. “Oh my God,” she blurted. “That’s so hot.”

Fleur blinked in confusion.

“I mean fine! That’s so fine! It’s touching! It’s very touching! You’re touching and I’m touched—emotionally—not physically.”

Fleur smiled. And glowed. Literally.

Kitty had to blink several more times to recalibrate her vision. Finally her brain was clear—and it hit her.

French.

She could speak French!

((RIP to original Kitty, who was the one who spent all that time learning French just to be tragically yeeted out of existence by Emma or some other Godly force)).

“Je suis désolée,” Kitty began, halting but determined. “C’est la langue de ma mère, Jolanda. Mais… je ne l’ai pas vue depuis quelques années. Je suis un peu rouillée.”

I’m sorry, it’s my mother Jolanda’s language. But I haven’t seen her in a few years. I’m a bit rusty.

Fleur blinked in surprise, but then a smile bloomed across her face like spring after war. “Tu parles français?”

You speak French?

Kitty launched into a slightly choppy conversation, but Fleur was charmed regardless. Probably because Kitty kept saying things like, “you were the real tri-wizard champion” and, “the second task was rigged” and, “men can’t handle a woman who is beautiful and smart so they try to keep her down”.

“Tu vis au Terrier depuis plus d’un mois maintenant, non? Tu t’y plais?” Kitty asked.

You’ve been living at the Burrow for over a month now, haven’t you? Are you enjoying it?

Fleur’s smile became fixed and she haltingly started to speak before suddenly tears started welling in her eyes.

Kitty panicked. “Shit, was that conjugated wrong?”

But Fleur shook her head and grabbed her hand. “Viens,” she whispered. “Allons dans les vergers.”

Come. Let’s go to the orchards.

They walked to the Weasleys’ overgrown orchard and sat down on a sweet little bench under the pear trees. Fleur sniffed and looked out over the property.

I love Bill with all my heart. Fleur said, voice trembling But I feel alone here. I don’t belong. Molly, Ginny, Hermione—they don’t like me. I didn’t mean to cry but hearing you speak my home language was a reminder of how alone I am.

Unwittingly, Kitty was remembered how Ginny was calling her "Phlegm" for no apparent reason.

Kitty reached over and took once of her hands to hold. That’s not about you, that’s about them and their jealousy. I’ll talk to Ginny and Hermione to set them straight. But I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do about Molly. Kitty squeezed her hand. Molly is a mother-in-law from hell. The Weasley’s stayed at Grimmauld Place last Christmas, and I ended up yelling at her that she doesn’t love Fred and George enough…

You yelled at her?! gaped Fleur.

Kitty grinned sheepishly. Yeah. It’s not as badass as it sounds, though. I was a massive bitch while her husband was in hospital. She shrugged. Also, if Molly sees us getting along, it will make her dislike you more.

Fleur let out a sad, derisive noise.

They decided to wander slowly through the orchard and get to know each other properly.

It was clear that Fleur was headstrong and clever—no wonder she’d been chosen as a Triwizard Champion! She was working part-time at Gringotts, doing dark magic healing for curse-breakers. Kitty honestly didn’t know how everyone had managed to reduce Fleur’s work to something as trivial as “improving her English” when she was so clearly immensely talented.

Like sure, Fleur was a bit of a princess. But so what?! Kitty was prissy too. And what the hell was wrong with girls who cared about having perfect hair anyway??!

The world really couldn’t handle a girlboss winning.

They did two laps of the orchard and went back to the bench. Kitty glanced sideways at Fleur. Can I ask why you chose marriage with Bill? You’re only twenty. You could go back to France and live in peace. Why marry into the war effort?

Fleur laughed warmly. When it’s the right man, you would give up anything to be with him. One day you’ll find someone who will be that for you.

Kitty shook her head sheepishly. Somehow I doubt that.

Then, Kitty finally opened up about something she hadn’t told anyone—about how absolutely and horrifically terrified she was of Barty Crouch.

It turned out that Fleur was the perfect person to talk to. She’d dealt with her fair share of stalkers before and knew her fears intimately.

By the time the sun was beginning to set and it was time for Kitty to return to Grimmauld Place, she had made up her mind.

You and Bill should come over sometime. But mostly you, she implored. I want to be your friend. Please visit me whenever you want.

Fleur’s eyes welled with tears again and reached out to clasp her hands. I would LOVE to be your friend. Then she sighed with the weight of a lifetime of burdens, I didn’t expect today to end this way. Most women hate me because I’m beautiful.

Internalised misogyny Kitty said, voice soft with sympathy. Feminism’s just not where it needs to be in this era.

Fleur reached for her and hugged her tightly.

The next day, Kitty arrived at the Burrow bright and early and barged into Ginny’s room to find her and Hermione sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through The Daily Prophet.

“Sit,” Kitty said, already closing the door behind her. “We’re having a conversation.”

Hermione looked confused. “We’re already sitting—?”

“Sit like you mean it,” Kitty clarified, pointing sternly at the bed.

Hermione sat up straighter, ever obedient. Ginny raised a brow and slouched down just to make a point.

Kitty crossed her arms. “We need to talk about Fleur.”

Ginny groaned theatrically. “Ughhh, Phlegm—”

“Nope,” Kitty cut in. “Her name is Fleur. And I need you to give me one good reason why you don’t like her. Something substantial.”

Ginny scoffed, “Fine. She’s so full of herself! She thinks everyone around her should bow down and kiss her feet! Not to mention she’s constantly hanging off Bill’s arm.”

“Really?” Kitty said flatly. “Or do you just think she’s stuck up because all the men around her treat her differently? Does she stay close to Bill because he’s the only person in the house who’s welcoming to her?”

Ginny raised a derisive eyebrow, clearly unwilling to budge in her opinions.

Kitty turned to Hermione. “What about you?”

Hermione folded her arms defensively. “She’s just—she’s always fussing over her hair, and she talks like she’s so superior, and—”

Kitty laughed despite herself. “Hermione, I fuss with my hair more than she does. And you’re the smartest person in every room you walk into and you act like it too. You can’t honestly say you hate her just because she’s confident in herself.”

She looked meaningfully at Hermione, who wilted ever so slightly, clearly chastened.

Kitty looked back to Ginny. “Here’s what I think is actually happening with you. Bill’s your favourite brother. He’s cool, he’s fun, he’s only just returned after being in Egypt for so long—and now he’s getting married. You’re scared that Fleur’s going to take him away from you, so you’re trying to push her out before that can happen.”

Ginny flushed a deep red. “That’s not—”

Kitty held up a hand. “It’s okay to be jealous. But it’s not okay to be cruel. She’s going to be your sister-in-law whether you like it or not. You should at least try to get to know her.”

She turned to Hermione. “And my darling Hermione, it’s incredibly obvious that Ron is staring at Fleur, and it’s driving you insane.”

Hermione jerked back like she’d been slapped. Her mouth opened in protest—but no words came out.

“I get it,” Kitty said more gently now. “It sucks when the guy you like looks at someone else.”

“I don’t like Ron!” she blurted quickly. Ginny quietly side-eyed her dubiously.

Kitty blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s clearly bullshit.”

“What?! No it’s not!”

“We already know you like him.”

Hermione turned bright pink, groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

Ginny patted Hermione on the back, “Not really.”

Hermione looked up to Kitty desperately. She shrugged, “A bit, yeah.”

Hermione groaned again and threw herself back on the bed. “Okay fine! I like Ron. What do I do?”

Kitty leant back against the door. “Why not invite him to Hogsmeade on a date?”

Hermione looked up, horrified, “I can’t ask a boy on a date! They need to ask me!”

“Ugh! Hermione, it’s 1996! Sisters are doing it for themselves! You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Ginny nodded encouragingly, “Ron’s a total idiot. You’ll need to make the first move.”

“But I can’t!” Hermione cried. “He doesn’t even like me. He stares at Fleur all the time. It’s driving me mad!”

“Staring at Fleur doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you,” Kitty pointed out. “Fleur has veela allure. It takes me good minute to think rationally after I see her.”

“Harry doesn’t stare at her,” Hermione mumbled mutinously.

Kitty snorted. “He’s also sexually repressed and shakes off an Imperius like water off a duck’s back. Of course he’s immune to it! He’s a terrible benchmark to measure against.”

Hermione let out a miserable laugh. “Even then, Ron stares from the moment she enters the room to the moment she leaves it time. It’s like he can’t look away from her.”

Kitty pursed her lips, wholly unimpressed by that. No doubt it was making Fleur uneasy too.

“Then Ron and I are going to have a little chat about not being a creep.” She eyed Hermione deliberately, “But none of this is Fleur’s fault.”

Hermione looked at the floor. “I know. I’ll be nicer to her.”

Ginny sighed, “I’m not saying I like her. But I’ll try for Bill’s sake.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Both of you. We don’t need more women tearing each other down.”

Mission: accomplished.

“Now, excuse me while I go bitch smack Ron for staring at Fleur.”

Kitty spent the next few days basically glued to Fleur’s side, the two of them thriving in the honeymoon phase of their new friendship.

Fleur had shown up at Grimmauld and immediately tore through Kitty’s wardrobe like a woman possessed, shrieking with glee every time she found something she hated… which was the opposite reaction to what Kitty expected, but she was along for the ride regardless.

They did a clothes swap, runway show included. Fleur managed to cobble together the exact outfit she announced Kitty would be wearing to her wedding. Kitty, without hesitation, declared herself head of music and vibes for said event. Title pending, but authority total.

“Don’t even think about hiring a band,” she told her, lounging dramatically on the bed in one of Fleur’s fur-trimmed robes. “You’ll thank me after.”

Kitty then made Fleur swear—like full pinky promise, blood-oath-level swear—that once the war was over, they were going shopping in Paris. Non-negotiable.

Fleur agreed with a regal little nod, then immediately slipped into Kitty’s leather miniskirt and executed a hair flip so powerful it might’ve shifted the earth’s axis.

((Kitty had learned more about the art of hair flipping in the last 48 hours than she had in the past two years combined. Fleur wasn’t just good—she was the Supreme. A menace to gravity and neck stability alike.))

Chapter Text

The Order had planned a Diagon Alley group shopping trip for school supplies, which sounded cute in theory, but in practice? Well, Diagon Alley had officially entered its post-apocalyptic era. Half the shops were boarded up and wanted posters covered every flat surface. Kitty hated it. Everywhere she turned, there was Barty’s deranged face grinning at her. The vibes were rancid.

They had an escort, of course, which helped her feel slightly less murderable. But the security dream team? Molly, Arthur, Sirius, and Hagrid.

Kitty was… quietly unimpressed.

Surely only Sirius had the capabilities to escort the Chosen One? And okay, yeah, Hagrid was basically indestructible, but this was not the level of elite tactical protection she’d envisioned. Where was the SWAT team? The disguises?? The bulletproof Popemobile?!

At one point, the group decided to split up to shop faster, and Kitty—using her very reasonable and very correct logic—pointed out that this just made them easier to pick off.

But APPARENTLY NO ONE LISTENS TO KITTY, OKAY!

Still, she didn’t argue when Molly, Arthur, and Ginny rushed off to Flourish & Blotts for everyone’s schoolbooks while the rest of them headed to Madam Malkin’s. She just sighed deeply, accepted her fate, and followed along.

Hagrid opted to stand guard outside while Sirius, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped in.

Kitty stayed outside too. She didn’t need new robes, and Draco would be in Madam Malkin’s. Call her crazy, but she didn’t particularly feel like being called a Mudblood this morning! And considering she’d chopped off his aunt’s hand, he probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see her.

So instead, for the first time in her life, Kitty made the deeply cursed decision to **shudder** hang out with Hagrid.

They chatted about Abby and the other thestrals while he described a foal learning to fly (and crash spectacularly). Kitty was actually starting to enjoy herself—until the bell above the shop door tinkled behind them.

And then came the scoff. Loud and judgemental. Followed by that unmistakable, nasal whine of pure generational wealth:

“Of course. You’re never far behind Potter, are you?”

Kitty turned around slowly, prepared to deliver something scathing.

When she saw… her.

Holy. Shit.

Narcissa Malfoy was the hottest person Kitty had ever seen.

Tall. Impossibly poised. Luminous, steel-grey eyes glowing beneath her dark lashes. Her thick black hair was pulled back with two platinum streaks running down the sides of her face and God, the art school girlies would screaming to learn that their signature dye-job had been invented by a fascist aristocrat.

She wore traditional, tailored wizarding robes layered under a corset like some evil first lady meets diamond-studded dominatrix.

MOMMY.

Kitty was vaguely aware that Draco had said something offensive again because Hagrid was bristling beside her—but she couldn’t process words.

“We’ve never been introduced,” Kitty blurted, stepping forward with her brightest smile. “Katherine St. Cloud. You must be Narcissa.”

Narcissa looked her over like Kitty like she was gum on the bottom of her shoe.

It should not have been as hot as it was.

Suddenly the door to Madam Malkin’s opened again and Sirius stepped out, his expression stony as he looked at Narcissa. “Why are you still here?” he said flatly.

Narcissa sneered back at him. She placed one pale, elegant hand on Draco’s shoulder to guide him away.

Kitty stared at the fingers. She wanted them on her. In her. Around her throat. Honestly, anything Narcissa was offering—she’d take it.

“Come, Draco,” Narcissa said coolly. “Sirius Orion,” she added with icy disdain, not even glancing back.

They had taken maybe five steps before Kitty called out, unwilling to let the opportunity pass her by without at least trying. “Narcissa! Let me know if you ever want to try doing things the Muggle way!”

Narcissa and Draco both glanced over their shoulders in revulsion.

Kitty wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

They turned again and continued up the quiet cobbled street—but Kitty wasn’t done. The entirety of Diagon Alley stared as she called out loudly.

“Lucius is in prison!” she called after them. “It doesn’t count as cheating!!!”

That did it. Draco froze mid-step and Narcissa turned her head slowly, her glare sharp enough to strip paint. Kitty thought she might actually get cursed, but then, grinding their teeth, they finally swept away.

The silence in their wake was deafening. Hagrid looked at Kitty like she’d sprouted horns.  Even Sirius frowned at her, “What the hell?!”

But Kitty just sighed dreamily, watching them get further and further away until they turned a corner and were out of sight. “What? You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Sirius’s expression twisted. “And that’s the shot you wanted to take? With my shrieking goblin of a cousin?”

Kitty was genuinely surprised. “Of course. Have you seen her?”

Sirius let out a gag-scoff hybrid. “Well sorry to say, Narcissa has always been a class-A bitch.”

“I don’t want her to be nice to me,” Kitty mumbled under her breath.

Sirius’s jaw clenched, and without another word he turned and stalked back into the shop.

Oh.

He seemed… genuinely irritated.

(She made a mental note to NOT flirt with the ghost of Regulus Black.)

She sighed and settled back into her spot outside Madam Malkins.  She glanced at Hagrid, wondering why he hadn’t taken his spot in front of the door again. He was still staring at her like she’d just confessed to wearing someone else’s skin as a hat.

Whatever. They weren’t friends anyway.

They waited in strained silence until the others finally emerged from the shop, Hermione looking like she was ready to strangle Harry with his new robe hem for some reason. The group reassembled with Molly, Arthur, and Ginny to finish the rest of the shopping.

Once that was over and done with, they started heading toward Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes

“So we’ll just have a quick look around and then head back,” Molly said briskly. “We must be close—that’s number ninety-two… ninety-four…”

Kitty almost tripped.

You’ve never been? Molly Weasley had never once visited her sons’ shop when it had been open for two months now??

Kitty had to physically restrain herself from punching Molly in the face. Like, genuinely. You have time to micromanage Fleur’s life but not to visit your sons’ retail empire??? Jail. To Azkaban, ma’am.

Fortunately, the storefront soothed her rage. It looked exactly like the movie version and Kitty could have wept.

Inside, she immediately went on a shopping spree putting products in a basket. The decoy detonators were genius—you set one down and it would scuttle away before causing a distraction somewhere else. She bought a half-dozen.

But the real jackpot? The 17+ version of the Patented Daydream Charms that gave you daydreams of a ‘special nature’.

Kitty grabbed twenty. She hadn't watched porn in six years. SIX. YEARS.

She clutched one of the charms reverently. “This pirate looks so sexy!” she gushed to Hermione and Ginny, flipping the packaging to show a brooding, shirtless captain with well-sculpted abs.

“Haven’t you girls found our special WonderWitch range yet?” Fred asked, swooping in. “Follow me, ladies.”

They followed him to a violently pink section of the shop where some girls were giggling over boxes.

“There you go,” Fred said proudly. “Best line of love potions on the market.”

Kitty stopped dead and stared at him in horror. She had specifically talked to them about this last year! She thought they’d understood.

“Excuse me?!” she said sharply.

Fred didn’t pick up on the steel in her tone. “They work for up to twenty-four hours, depending on the weight of the boy in question—”

“—and the attractiveness of the girl,” George added, appearing out of nowhere.

Kitty’s mouth dropped open. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed. “You’re selling this shit? In a joke shop? Because this is a joke to you?!”

Fred and George looked genuinely confused.

And that was the problem. Love potions were so deeply baked into wizarding culture that no one seemed to question them. Slipping someone a potion when they weren’t interested? Totally normal. Not seen as magical enslavement. Not seen as rape.

Kitty hated it.

Luckily, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione were very much not that type.

But it had taken Kitty months to get Lavender and Parvati off their ‘love potions are romantic’ rhetoric. She’d tried the ethics angle—consent, coercion, all of it—but it hadn’t quite landed. Eventually, in a fit of exasperation, she’d snapped: “Only heinous losers use love potions! Pathetic, desperate, unlovable losers.”

Not her most eloquent argument, but it did the trick.

Lavender and Parvati wouldn’t be caught dead doing something that might get them labelled heinous losers. In fact, when a Slytherin had slipped Cedric a love potion two years ago, the two of them bullied the girl into oblivion.

(Kitty loved her girlies but holy shit, they could be vicious when they wanted to be. Would she have intervened if the target hadn’t been her favourite golden Hufflepuff? …Unclear. Twilight was off limits.)

She turned back to Fred and George, eyes narrowed. “How much would it cost for you to never sell another love potion again?” she demanded.

“More than even you could afford,” joked Fred. “They’re one of our bestsellers.”

“Well congratulations,” Kitty snapped. “You’re enabling sexual violence.”

George forced an uneasy laugh, “You’re not still on about love potions, are you? They’re just a gag.”

“Oh? If someone slipped Ginny one of these and used it to take advantage of her—that would that be funny?”

The smile slipped from his face.

“Exactly,” Kitty said coldly. “These aren’t jokes.”

Fred rubbed his neck. “People like them. Come on, Padfoot—you’re a Marauder. What do you think?”

Sirius raised both hands. “I’m with Kitty on this. I got love potion’d twice at Hogwarts. One of the girls took it way too far.”

Kitty stepped forward until she was uncomfortably close to both twins. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to pull this stock and destroy it.”

Fred opened his mouth. Kitty cut him off with a raised hand. “Send me a figure and I’ll compensate you fully. But if you keep selling these I swear to God I will destroy all the stock. Right here, right now. Don’t test me.”

Fred looked aghast. “You’re not serious.”

“Sure am. I’ve backed you two for years because I know how brilliant you are. But love potions are sexual assault, and if you keep selling them I'll never forgive you.”

The area around them had gone quiet. The cluster of young girls at the WonderWitch display were staring at Kitty with open mouths and self-consciously putting the love potions in their baskets back on the shelf.

Fred and George exchanged a long look. Fred finally said, “You’re not backing down, are you?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “Stop selling them.”

George sighed. “Alright, alright. We’ll pull the stock.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “Permanently.”

“Permanently,” Fred agreed. “We’ll swap it for something else.”

“Thank you.”

Fred and George turned to start dismantling the WonderWitch display.

Kitty exhaled and looked around at the others.

Ginny’s face was completely inscrutable; Sirius was watching her with contemplative eyes; meanwhile, Ron looked stunned that she’d actually gotten the twins to back down. Hermione gave her the universal facial expression for go off, queen and Harry looked equally confused and alarmed.

Kitty opened her mouth to give them all an explanation for why she was right and the wizarding world was wrong—when something caught her eye.

A cage filled with tiny, round, rolling balls of fluff in varying shades of pink and purple.

She froze. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

“Ginny,” she said urgently, absently groping for her wrist. “Look.”

Ginny looked. “Holy shit,” she echoed, just as reverently.

They rushed forward and pressed their fingers through the bars, and the puffballs swarmed toward them.

“OH MY GOD,” Kitty gasped, already on the verge of tears.

“I want to eat them.” Ginny declared. “What are they?”

“Pygmy Puffs,” George said proudly. “Miniature puffskeins. We can’t breed them fast enough.”

Ginny giggled as one tried to gum her finger. “They’re SO CUTE.”

“They’re fairly cuddly, yes,” Fred admitted, sounding almost disappointed—like this level of adorability had somehow undercut their dignity as prank shop owners.

Kitty turned to Ginny with wild eyes, “NEED.”

Ginny nodded furiously. Like Kitty, she had a deep and sacred weakness for cute animals.

“I’ll get one for you as an early Christmas present!” Kitty offered breathlessly, already vibrating with excitement at the idea of snuggling a Pygmy Puff—even if it wasn’t hers. Unfortunately, there was absolutely no way she could buy one for herself. Hootie McHootface would one hundred percent eat it to reestablish dominance as the superior St. Cloud pet.

Molly joined them suddenly, and the twins launched into a rapid-fire explanation of how to keep Pygmy Puffs alive. Kitty listened with rapt attention.

Not taking Care of Magical Creatures meant that she was slightly uninformed when it came to real creatures.

Blibbering humdingers? Knew everything about them.

Salamanders? Basically just a potions ingredient to her.

When the crash course ended, Ginny picked out a particularly vibrant puff and christened him Arnold. Kitty saluted the tiny terminator and brought him—along with her basket full of Patented Daydream Charms—to the register.

As they moved through the shop, Kitty glanced around and noticed that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gone.

Oop. They must’ve spotted Draco through the window and followed him to Borgin & Burkes.

Sirius was missing, too. Which meant he’d probably gone with them. Good. He’d keep an eye on things.

Kitty exhaled and gave a small shrug. Nothing to be done now.

When they got home and the others had returned to the Burrow, Harry, Kitty, and Sirius gathered around the garden table, basking in the golden glow of a long summer sunset.

Kitty ducked into the kitchen to prep their signature drinks: a comically oversized Aperol Spritz with fresh orange slices for herself, an apple cider for Harry (because he was a bit of a lightweight pussy—bless him), and a Guinness for Sirius, which no one else was ever allowed to pour. Apparently, there was a sacred ritual involved, and Kitty “wouldn’t understand the pour.”

Once they were all settled outside, Harry wasted no time. He launched into an explanation of where he and the others had disappeared to, laying out the beginnings of his theory that Draco was a Death Eater.

Kitty mostly stayed quiet, sipping her drink and watching Sirius and Harry bounce ideas off each other.

To his credit, Sirius was actually taking Harry’s concerns seriously.

Meanwhile, Kitty hated having to play dumb. Hated having to gaslight Harry when he was right. But what was she supposed to say? “Congratulations, you’ve cracked the case!”

Yeah, no. She was stuck.

“Do your dreams say anything about Malfoy?” Harry demanded suddenly. “Have you seen anything?”

Kitty gave a helpless shrug. “No, I haven’t. And you know it doesn’t work like that.”

(It absolutely did. But she wasn’t about to admit that.)

Sirius offered, “You could bring it up with Dumbledore after the next Order meeting?”

“There won’t be another one until term starts,” Harry muttered, clearly frustrated.

There was a pause. Then Harry added, “Malfoy threatened Borgin with Greyback. Who’s he?”

Kitty and Sirius immediately exchanged an incredulous look.

Sometimes, Kitty genuinely wondered if that scar on Harry’s head had knocked a few essential facts loose… or if he was just a sweet, stubborn little himbo when it came to anything not directly in front of him.

“Potts,” she said slowly, “we talk about Greyback at nearly every Order meeting. How the fuck do you not know who he is?”

“Do we?” Harry asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

She stared at him, baffled. “Fenrir Greyback is a werewolf who bites people on purpose. He was sent to Azkaban for literally eating children. Ringing any bells?”

Harry blinked. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

Kitty leaned back in her chair, eyeing him. “It’s lucky you’re good at Quidditch and Expelliarmus.”

Harry just gave a sheepish grin.

Kitty glanced at Sirius. He seemed to understand what she was silently asking because he gave the faintest nod.

So she said, more quietly this time, “Greyback’s the one who bit Moony.”

“What?” said Harry, stunned. “When—when he was a kid, you mean?”

She nodded and looked to Sirius to take over. Remus had told her the story once when she asked—but Sirius would be better to tell Harry.

Sirius set down his Guinness with a sigh. “Moony’s shithead of a father worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—werewolf division. Big advocate for anti-werewolf legislation. Thought ‘the savages’ needed to be kept away from the ‘normal’ population.”

He shot Harry a dry look. “Real fun guy at parties.”

“But Moony is normal!” Harry said fiercely. “He’s just got a—a problem—”

Sirius smiled, pride slipping into his voice. “Of course he’s normal. James used to call it his ‘furry little problem.’ For months, people thought Remus just had a really aggressive pet rabbit.”

“The Curse of the Were-Rabbit,” Kitty mumbled absently. God, she loved that movie. Pity it wouldn’t come out for a few more years.

Sirius’s smile faded. “Anyway, Moony’s dad pissed Greyback off. So naturally, Greyback decided to take revenge by lurking near the Lupin house during a full moon. Lyall managed to chase him off before he could kill Remus, but… not before he bit him.”

His voice dipped at the end.

“Remus was attacked for revenge,” Sirius went on. “But most of Greyback’s victims weren’t. He does it on purpose. Turns people just to spread the curse as widely as he can. Especially if they’re kids.”

Sirius took a drink, then added, more grimly, “And I don’t just mean when he’s transformed. Greyback’s part of the reason there’s so much stigma around werewolves in Britain—more than most places. He’s infamous because he attacks people—children—even when he’s in human form. And then he… eats them.”

Harry looked like he might be sick. “That’s… that’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said quietly. “Back in the '70s, Voldemort promised him victims in exchange for loyalty. Worked like a charm. Nothing terrifies parents quite like the idea of a cannibalistic werewolf stalking their kids. Especially when the Prophet was running the stories front page.”

They all fell silent, nursing their drinks under the soft gold of sunset.

Eventually, Sirius nudged Harry, trying to lighten the mood by shifting the topic to something safer—his new gig as Quidditch captain, and all the mischief he’d stocked up on from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Kitty swirled the last of her Aperol Spritz, lost in thought.

Fenrir Greyback. The Jeffrey Dahmer of Britain’s wizarding world.

When she first read the HP books, she’d somehow skimmed past the fact that Fenrir casually ate people. Like, yeah yeah, big scary werewolf—moving on.

But now? Fully immersed in the HP universe? That detail hit very different.

Werewolves only transformed once a month. This man was out here eating people on his days off. What in the actual fuck? And just to be clear, this was not some werewolf thing. The idea of her gentle, cardigan-wearing bestie Remus John Lupin eating people?

UNTHINKABLE.

(The only person Remus ate was Nymphadora Tonks… ayyyyyyyy 😏)

So yeah. Kitty would like it officially noted that eating people was not normal and Fenrir Greyback was the absolute worst of the worst.

Also, he mauled the hottest Weasley when he attacked Bill.

(She wasn’t proud of herself for thinking this, but honestly—of all the Weasleys, couldn’t it have been Percy?)

No one was out here begging for a Percy spin-off. Be serious.

WAIT.

Holy shit.
Holy shit.

Hold up.

Kitty could save someone this year!

LAVENDER!

Literally the number one on her To Save™ list and she hadn’t even considered the fact that she could save Lavender early.

All she had to do was like, commit a murder.

Specifically, kill Greyback during the Battle of the Astronomy Tower.

Then boom—Lavender survives. That would work, right? Right?? Totally chill. Totally fine. She could kill someone. She could do it.

Definitely not unhinged at all.

She took a long sip of her drink and stole the cigarette from Sirius’ hand for a drag while she thought, completely ignoring his protests.

Kitty had been actively avoiding thinking about Lavender being on her To Save™ list.

She couldn’t quite remember the specifics of book canon—but what she did remember with horrifying clarity, was movie canon. Specifically, that one scene in Deathly Hallows Part 2 where actor-Lavender’s lifeless body is lying on the floor while Greyback is just straight-up cannibalising her.

Absolutely the fuck not.

She didn’t care if it wasn’t technically book canon—some things from the films clearly bled into reality. Like, how else would the Third Task band have played the exact song from the movie??

The point was, Kitty couldn’t take any chances with Lavender’s life.

And hey, killing Greyback now might also save a bunch of unnamed NPC’s he would’ve eaten later—maybe she could even spare Bill’s sexy face from getting mauled!

Besides, it's not like Dumbledore would be around to chastise her for deviating from canon. He probably wouldn't even know!!

Honestly, she should’ve kicked off her murder era ages ago. If she’d just unalived Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries, Remus would already be off her To Save™ list! Ugh!! She was only just realising this now!

But alas—baby steps. Realistically, she hadn’t been emotionally or spiritually ready to murder someone at the Ministry. And if she was staking her intent to kill someone, Greyback seemed like a pretty solid first victim.

Okay. Decision made.

Kitty St. Cloud was going to kill Fenrir Greyback.

Unwittingly, an image flashed through Kitty’s head—Black screen; white text; that iconic It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia music:

“The Gang Kills A Cannibal.”

She burst into giggles, entirely amused by herself.

Harry glanced over. “What are you laughing at?”

“I’ve decided to kill someone,” Kitty said absently.

"WHAT?"

Chapter Text

They were escorted onto Platform 9 ¾ by a group of grim-faced Aurors. Kitty, for the life of her, could not understand why Harry and Ron wanted to pursue that as a career, especially since they would be at the mercy of whoever was in office! Had they learnt nothing from her constant anti-establishment rants?! UGH.

Once they boarded the Express, Ron and Hermione immediately vanished to go do their prefect duties, and Ginny bolted off to find Dean with the determination of a girl who had needs.

Kitty wasn’t about to third-wheel that reunion. She knew exactly how it would end: Ginny getting finger-blasted in the bathrooms. Good for her, honestly.

So, Kitty stuck with Harry as he wandered the train looking for Luna.

It was almost comical how much of a 180 the student body did after finding out he was telling the truth about Voldemort. Every compartment they passed had at least one person sticking their head out like a meerkat, hoping for a glimpse of The Chosen One. A few girls even gave him that slow up-and-down look and bit their lips.

Kitty recoiled. She did not need to witness the moment people started considering him a romantic option.

They eventually found Neville and Luna holed up in a compartment together. Harry immediately went full golden retriever mode—bounding forward, ready to fling himself into his girlfriend’s arms.

Kitty was having none of it. She flicked her wand and casually tripped him with a light jinx. He stumbled into the corridor wall, giving her just enough time to dart past and throw herself at Luna first.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod I missed you SO much! How was Canada?! Did you see a moose? Did you ride a moose?”

Luna giggled and hugged her tightly.

Harry, sulking and possibly bruised, forcibly pried Kitty off Luna. Boo!

Rejected but undeterred, Kitty turned greet Neville, who was looking around the compartment for Trevor. The toad needed an air-tag ASAP. “Nev, my based king! Did you miss me terribly or only medium-terribly?”

“Medium-terribly.”

Ouch.

Meanwhile, Luna had gracefully sat into a seat with Harry. “Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?”

“No point now we’ve got rid of Umbridge, is there?” Harry said, slinging an arm around her and trying to look cool, which was hard given the fact his glasses were still askew from his hallway faceplant.

“Yeah, but we don’t know what the teacher this year will be like,” Neville added as he crouch-walked under the seats. “And it can’t hurt to keep practicing, can it?”

Harry’s reply was cut off by a sudden commotion outside the compartment. A group of younger girls stood on the other side of the glass, whispering and giggling loudly.

“You ask him!”
“No, you!”
“I’ll do it!”

The door slid open and a familiar girl walked in. She was a younger Gryffindor who had tried—and failed—to hook up with Dean at last year’s post-Quidditch afterparty.

…Also known as Romilda Vane.

“Hi, Harry. I’m Romilda. Romilda Vane,” she announced, smiling like she was auditioning for the role of a Bond Girl.

“Why don’t you come sit with us in our compartment?” Romilda asked, her voice syrupy-sweet. “You don’t have to stay here with them,” she added in a loud stage whisper, gesturing vaguely at Neville’s arse (currently the only part of him visible as he rummaged for Trevor), and at Luna, who had just donned her Spectrespecs and now looked like she was decoding alien transmissions.

Then she turned to Kitty, flashing her a bright, insincere smile. “You’re welcome too, St. Cloud.”

“I’m honoured.” Kitty replied sarcastically.

But Harry went full dagger eyes. “They’re with us,” he said coldly. Honestly, Shakespeare could never.

Romilda blinked, caught off-guard. “Oh. Oh! Okay…” She started to back out, hand fumbling for the door handle—

And then Luna spoke.

“Stay away from Harry,” she said serenely, “or I’ll set a Quintaped on you.”

Kitty gawked. Holy shit. Luna Lovegood: lowkey terrifying and weirdly territorial? Who knew.

Romilda scoffed. “Quintapeds only live on the Isle of Drear. That’s unplottable. Everyone knows that.”

Luna tilted her head and gave a slow, vaguely evil smirk. “That’s what you think.”

Romilda paled and quickly left, sliding the door shut behind her.

Luna simply nestled back into Harry’s side like nothing had happened.

Kitty let out a delighted laugh. “Threatening her with a Quintaped? Iconic!”

“People expect Harry to date someone cooler than me,” Luna said matter-of-factly, like she was discussing the weather.

“Impossible,” Kitty declared. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Harry let out a furious, helpless sigh—the kind that came from knowing people were hating on Luna just for dating him. “Yeah. Exactly,” he muttered. “Tough luck for them.”

Then he paused, visibly unsettled. “Also… Luna, please never smile like that again. You looked like Kitty for a second and I just— I can’t.”

“Rude,” Kitty huffed, though she was still grinning. “I thought she’d never looked better.”

Harry actually shivered. “No thank you.”

“Hey! Who wouldn’t want me?? I’m basically a Mary Sue,” Kitty declared, tossing her hair.

“What’s a Mary Sue?” Neville asked.

“A female character so flawless and capable that she’s actually unrealistic,” Kitty drawled smugly.

The compartment was quiet for an offensively long time.

Harry finally said slowly, “And you think that’s you?”

“Duh.” Kitty gestured at herself like it was obvious. “Textbook Mary Sue. I mean, for God’s sake I can control fiendfyre arguably better than Albus Dumbledore himself.”

Another silence. Harry and Neville exchanged a look.

Luna tilted her head. “That’s because you’re a pyromaniac, Kitty.”

“AM NOT!” Kitty cried, scandalised. Excuse me?! Bushfires in Australia were very serious! She would neverrrr set one.

“I would never set the Forbidden Forest on fire!” she protested indignantly.

Neville replied gently, “Being an arsonist and a pyromaniac are two different things. You’re not an arsonist. But you’re definitely a pyromaniac.”

Kitty scoffed. Sure, she was a prodigy at fire magic, but pyromaniac? Her? Absurd.

“Whatever,” she sniffed. “I’m flawless and entirely capable in all areas. Not just fire.”

Neville frowned. “But you’ve been failing Herbology for years.”

“That’s basically on purpose,” Kitty said loftily. “Because I don’t try.”

Luna blinked. “No, you don’t try in Astronomy. You try in Herbology. You’re just not very good at it.”

Kitty pouted. “Fine. I have one weakness.”

Neville added delicately, “Are you sure? You didn’t help at all in Umbridge’s office last year. You just sat in the chair.”

“I was tied up!” Kitty cried.

“Were you? Malfoy had the worst Incarcerous I’d ever seen,” Harry said, starting to laugh.

“All this does is make me a relatable Mary Sue.”

“Hey, remember when you farted in front of Aragog?” Harry mused with a grin.

“I thought I was going to die!” Kitty snapped. “And I’ve since learned to do a nervous poo before embarking on any adventures, thank you very much.”

Harry snorted. “Right. And yet you clogged the toilet two weeks ago with a massive—”

“HOT GIRLS HAVE IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME!” she yelled, deeply offended.

As the train pulled further away from London, they swapped stories about their summers. When it was Harry’s turn, he immediately launched into a full analysis of why Draco was a Death Eater, rattling off every suspicious thing.

Luna nodded solemnly. “I saw him on the platform. The nargles were swarming him. He’s definitely hiding something.”

Shit. Luna was too smart for her own good. Kitty made a mental note to keep an eye on that—wouldn’t want Luna accidentally ruining Dumbledore’s grand finale.

Neville frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Does that… uh, prove anything?”

Thankfully, Ron and Hermione returned from prefect duties just in time to interrupt the conversation. But before anyone could say much, the compartment door slid open again.

A breathless, starry-eyed girl stood in the doorway, gazing at Harry.

“I—I’m supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom, and Harry P-Potter,” she stammered, face flushing as she extended a trembling hand of scrolls tied with violet ribbons.

These must be invitations to the Slug Club. But that meant... oh God.

“What is it?” Ron asked as Harry unrolled his scroll.

“An invitation from the new professor, Slughorn,” Harry said with confusion.

Kitty wasn’t listening. She was too busy mentally screaming. The hiring of Slughorn meant that Snape would now be teaching her DADA, when she specifically asked him not to!!

She stood up abruptly and cried, “FUCK!”

Everyone in the compartment turned to stare at her.

“Slughorn is a Potions teacher!” she cried in dismay.

The whole compartment looked at her in confusion. Then, slowly…

“Wait—Snape’s gone?!” Ron gasped.

“No more Snape???” Harry breathed with desperate hope.

“I wish!” moaned Kitty. “I think he’s the Defence teacher now, which means I’m going to be taught by him this year even though I’ve dropped Potions!” She wailed.

Neville choked in horror. He had also dropped Potions specifically to escape Professor Incel.

“NO!” Harry yelled. “Why after all this time is Dumbledore handing the job to Snape!”

Kitty flopped dramatically into her seat with a moan of despair.

“How do you know this Kitty?” Hermione asked intently.

Kitty was too busy wallowing to come up with much of an excuse. “I overheard Sirius say something. Makes sense now.”

“Well, there’s one good thing,” Harry said savagely. “Snape’ll be gone by the end of the year.”

“What do you mean?” asked Neville hopefully.

“That job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted more than a year—Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for another death.”

Kitty snapped her fingers and pointed at him in agreement.

“Harry!” said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

“He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year,” Ron mused. “This Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn’t.”

Kitty scowled at Ron, “We were never actually taught by Moody, unless you’ve forgotten we had that psycho.”

She caught the twitch in Neville’s jaw as he turned to stare out the window.

“Oh. Yeah...” Ron’s voice trailed off.

They all sank into silence. Then Harry picked his scroll back up and re-read it. “Hey—what about this?” he said suddenly, voice low with excitement. “We could go under the Cloak. Check in on Malfoy. See what he’s up to.”

Everyone was quiet. Hermione rubbed her temples like she was trying to physically massage the conspiracy from the room.

But Harry jumped up and looked at Neville. “You coming?” he asked, already digging the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk.

Kitty watched them leave, unfazed.

She hadn’t expected a Slug Club invite—she didn’t have a fancy bloodline to boost her résumé and given the Daily Prophet couldn’t decide whether she was a dark witch who cursed Harry into a Yule Ball date, or a light witch who single-handedly duelled Voldemort, she figured Slughorn probably didn’t know what to do with her yet.

But she wasn’t taking Potions this year, which meant if she wanted in to the Slug Club she’d have to “accidentally” bump into him and let him experience the full force of her charming, magnetic personality.

Because if Voldemort had taught her anything (besides, you know, trauma), it was that Slughorn was a well of untapped manipulation potential—and Kitty needed another year-long pass to the Restricted Section.

She had murder plans to make. Greyback wasn’t going to kill himself.

And this luncheon seemed like the perfect opportunity to introduce herself.

She went to the bathroom to check her hair (it was perfect) and then she made her way to Compartment C.

She opened the compartment door and paused in the doorway. A round table sat in the centre, groaning under the weight of extravagant food. Every seat was full.

“Oh! And who might you be, young lady?” a man asked.

The first thing Kitty noticed about Slughorn was that he was really fucking old—old and round, a confusing combination that somehow gave off both teddy bear and taxidermy.

“Kitty St. Cloud,” she said brightly, stepping fully into the compartment. “Sixth year Gryffindor and future recipient Order of Merlin recipient.”

She heard a quiet but distinctive “oh no” from one of the students.

Heh. She was notorious.

Slughorn stroked his walrus moustache. “St. Cloud? St. Cloud… that name sounds familiar. Not Katherine St. Cloud?”

She flashed her most dazzling smile—the kind that made old ladies clutch their pearls and teenage boys walk into walls. “That would be me, sir. But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister…?”

“Horace Slughorn!” he boomed, swelling with pride. “I’ve come out of retirement to teach at Hogwarts again.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Professor Slughorn,” Kitty purred. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking for a friend and—oh!” Her eyes landed theatrically on the table, and she ignored Harry’s disbelieving face. “Is that crystallised pineapple? A favourite of mine. Absolute weakness.”

Slughorn chuckled, clearly delighted. “A woman of taste, I see. They’re my favourite too.”

Kitty leaned in, conspiratorial. “Funnily enough, they remind me of something I saw in the Department of Mysteries, but...” she held a finger to her lips and winked. “I’m not supposed to talk about that. Classified, of course.”

That did it. Slughorn’s eyes twinkled.

“Ah yes! The girl who duelled Death Eaters!” he said, suddenly flustered, glancing around the full table. “One never knows what to believe—the Prophet is rather fond of embellishment—but given the number of witnesses, there seems little doubt there was a dramatic disturbance at the Ministry. And you were right in the thick of it with Harry, weren’t you? I’m sure we could find room for you, if you’d like to join us…?”

Kitty feigned modesty, glancing at the crowded table. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude.”

“We would love to have you!” Slughorn boomed, flicking his wand with a flourish. A high-backed chair popped into existence between McLaggen and Ginny.

Kitty slid gracefully into the new seat as if she’d always belonged there. Across the table, she caught Blaise Zabini’s eye.

He deliberately looked her over, his gaze pausing at each part of her outfit. Then the faintest, most imperceptible nod.

Blaise was a lot of things—a Slytherin, a snob, a pureblood supremacist—but he was also Italian. He understood fashion.

She turned back to Slughorn, “Thank you, Sir. I must say your hospitality is unmatched.”

“Why thank you, my dear,” Slughorn preened. “Shall I introduce you to everyone?”

She flashed a radiant smile. “No need, Professor. I know everyone here.”

“Good! Good!” Slughorn beamed. “The Department of Mysteries, you say…?”

Kitty leaned back in her chair. “Yes,” she said, her tone rich with suggestion. “I did explore a number of rooms in the Department of Mysteries, and duelled a number of Death Eaters. Most notably, I successfully disarmed Bellatrix Lestrange. You see…”

She turned the charm up to one hundred and began to spin her tale. Slughorn was riveted, hanging on every word. Within minutes, he was absolutely enchanted, roaring with laughter at her jokes and gasping at the dramatics.

When she finally got to Bellatrix’s amputated hand, Zabini’s eyes gleamed with interest and Slughorn made a few light probes about where the hand might be now.

Ha. Nice try. Get your own hand, suckaz.

When Kitty finally revealed she wouldn’t be taking Potions that year, Slughorn looked genuinely heartbroken.

“Oh no, no, no, Miss St. Cloud—you must reconsider!” he pleaded.

Kitty offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid my schedule’s already dreadfully full, Professor. But who knows?” She winked. “Maybe I’ll see you at another luncheon.”

Slughorn looked like he might faint with hope. “Yes, yes of course!”

Invite to the next Slug Club? Hook, line and sinker.

Finally, Slughorn moved on from her to focus on Harry. He launched into his full Chosen One worship routine. Harry, looking increasingly mortified, kept shooting Kitty pointed looks—Help me, Say something, Rescue me. But Kitty only sipped her drink and smiled sweetly.

He needed to learn how to talk about his fame eventually. Might as well get some practice in now.

When the meal finally wrapped up, she strolled back toward the compartment, chatting with Ginny and Neville as they went. Just before they turned the corner, Kitty glanced over her shoulder.

Harry was gone.

Ah. Off to spy on Draco, no doubt.

By the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry still hadn’t returned—not that Kitty had expected him to.

But the others started fussing, wondering where he was.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go fetch the boy wonder,” Kitty sighed, hopping down onto the platform with a flourish. She scanned the outside of the train, hunting for a compartment with suspiciously closed-off blinds—and sure enough, one stood out like a guilty conscience.

Bingo.

Kitty pushed her way back through the crowd of disembarking students, climbed aboard again, and slipped her wand into her hand as she found the door of the compartment.

She cast a quick Silencing Charm to keep the door from squeaking, then carefully cracked it open.

Draco stood inside with his back to her, unmistakable with that pale blond hair—wand raised.

On the floor lay Harry—completely petrified, his limbs contorted like an overturned frog.

 A reluctant smile grew on her face. Objectively, Harry looked like a total idiot.

“…flash through the air after Zabini came back,” Draco was muttering. “You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I’ve got you here…”

He lifted his foot, about to stomp on Harry’s face.

Kitty’s wand whipped up.

Depulso!

Draco was slammed forward, tripping over Harry and landing in an undignified heap against the seats. He scrambled around looking ruffled, furious, and slightly scared at the surprise attack.

Expelliarmus.

Draco’s wand flew neatly into her hand.

Finite.

Harry’s petrification faded and his limbs immediately relaxed before he sprang to his feet. He grabbed the invisibility cloak and pulled out his wand, pointing it sharply at Draco. Though furious, he looked clearly embarrassed to have been bested.

Draco sneered as he straightened up. “You always need a Mudblood to save the day, don’t you, Potter? First it was your Mudblood mother, then Mudblood Granger, and now the Mudblood Queen too. At least your mother did us all a favour by dying afterward.”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” Harry roared.

Cunt, what??? Kitty had never heard Draco speak so awfully before. The Dark Mark had obviously levelled up his awfulness.

Her eyes glittered with revenge as she raised her wand.

Lex iconfundo!

Draco jerked as the spell hit, but nothing seemed to change—at least on the surface. Then he scoffed, “Can’t even land a spell properly, stupid sexy bitch.”

Everyone froze.

Even Draco looked shocked, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard himself right. Kitty bit her lip, struggling not to laugh.

“What the—what the fuck, sexy bitch?! What did you do to me?!”

Kitty burst out cackling. “Oh, do keep calling me a Mudblood, Draco,” she drawled. “Let’s see where that gets you.”

Draco tried again. “You filthy sexy bitch—no! No! This is vile! You can’t just—”

“Mm, sure can,” Kitty drawled.

Harry laughed outright while Draco stood frozen—furious, humiliated, and bright red. Kitty and Harry strolled out of the compartment together, Kitty casually tossing Draco’s wand over her shoulder like a piece of trash. She didn’t even glance back.

A panicked yelp followed them as Draco scrambled after it.

Draco would probably waste the next few hours trying to undo her hex—but joke’s on him. It was a Regulus Black special, lifted straight from Spite-Based Spellwork: Fuelling Magic with Petty Grudges.

It let her replace any word with any other—so long as her grudge was petty enough.

The counter-curse? Absurdly specific. Obscure. Practically impossible to guess. Sure, the effect would wear off in twenty-four hours… but Kitty fully intended to re-hex him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Maybe she’d even enchant the entire Slytherin table with it…

Pettiness was a lifestyle.

She and Harry leapt off the train and joined the slow-moving line of students being checked by Aurors before entering the school grounds. As they waited, Harry rattled off everything he’d overheard from the Slytherins while hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, begging Kitty to believe his theory that Draco was a Death Eater.

She repeated Sirius’ advice: tell Dumbledore. Let him handle it.

At dinner, Kitty ran straight into the arms of Lavender, Parvati, and Dean, wrapping them all in hugs before squeezing into a seat beside them to catch up on their holidays.

Parvati’s smile faltered as she shared some news. “My parents want Padma and me to leave Britain,” she said quietly. “They want us to move to India with our relatives.”

Dean looked stunned. “Leave Hogwarts too?”

Parvati nodded miserably. “They think we’ll be safer. But I’ll have to re-enrol somewhere else and finish school there. I don’t want to go.”

Kitty offered all the right words—how awful, how unfair, how much they’d miss her if she left—but privately, she agreed. Kitty just wanted her friends to survive, even if that meant missing them.

After dinner, the four Gryffindor girls headed up to the dormitory, chatting as they unpacked their trunks.

“Did you see Ron?!” Lavender gushed. “He’s gotten so tall over the summer. He looks fit!”

Hermione let out a tiny squeak, then spun around to face her bed, pretending to fold her pyjamas—despite having just unpacked them to get changed.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Parvati asked, wide-eyed.

Hermione turned around slowly, like she was preparing for battle. “I—umm… well, you see… I… like… Ron,” she said haltingly, then held her breath.

Silence.

Then Lavender and Parvati shrieked and jumped up and down in perfect sync.

“Oh my god, oh my god!!! This is so exciting! You two would be adorable together!” Lavender squealed.

“I didn’t think you’d ever like anyone again after Viktor!” Parvati cried.

Hermione looked dazed. Kitty had to turn to her trunk to hide her grin.

Did Hermione really think Lavender would throw away a friendship over a boy? Please. Lavender Brown was the original girlboss recruit! Girl gang first, always.

Chapter Text

First thing in the morning, Harry immediately launched into another round of his ‘Draco is evil’ conspiracy.

Kitty was already over it.

Hermione offered a noncommittal “Hmm, maybe,” which was basically code for I have better things to worry about.

Meanwhile Ron dismissed Harry’s theories on the basis that Draco was too much of a pussy to actually be truly evil. Which… honestly Ron might have Draco pinned on that one.

At breakfast, Kitty half-listened as the three of them spiralled into panic over the fact that none of them had signed up for Care of Magical Creatures this year and that Hagrid would probably disown them as traitors or something.

Hermione was truly distressed, the poor little queen. “But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures! I mean, when has any of us expressed... you know... any enthusiasm?” she fretted.

“That’s it, though, innit?” said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole.

(Everyone in the general vicinity grimaced. Kitty retched lightly. She sincerely hoped Hermione would get that situation under control soon.)

Ron went on, “We were the only ones who tried in class because we actually like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the subject. Reckon anyone’s taking it at N.E.W.T. level?”

Kitty hummed. “To be fair, you’ve always said it’s an easy pass grade. Might be a few students are enrolling in it to keep their parents off their back.”

A.K.A. the official fallback class for students who failed out of everything else.

The others exchanged glances, clearly not convinced.

Harry spoke, “I dunno Kitty. You were the only one in Gryffindor who never took his classes. I can’t see anyone wanting to continue with them after the Blast-Ended Skrewts, no matter how easy the grading is.”

Kitty shook her head and looked down at her porridge and mumbled with contempt, “Jesus, why the fuck is Hagrid still teaching if it’s that bad.”

Except she did the fatal mistake—because Harry overheard her.

“Hagrid’s a great teacher!” Harry defended loyally, looking at her in anger and betrayal.

She sighed, “Potts, calm down. Being a shit teacher doesn’t make Hagrid a bad person.”

Wrong answer.

Harry looked ready to combust. “How would you know what kind of teacher he is? You’ve never even been in his class!”

Kitty raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? I’ve listened to you lot whinge about it for the past three years. Based on your stories, he probably has his seventh-years studying Grawp right now.”

Hermione gasped and stared into the distance like she'd just seen the future. “Oh my god, he would do that.”

Harry didn’t argue this point because he OBVIOUSLY knew Kitty was right. But he also didn’t speak to her for the rest of breakfast. Because he was a POUTY LITTLE LOSER who couldn’t handle the TRUTH!

After they’d eaten, everyone hung around waiting for Professor McGonagall to descend from the staff table to hand out timetables. The sixth years were last because Minnie had to clear each of their class enrolments against their O.W.L results.

Lavender was first alphabetically and immediately flounced off to Divination with tears in her eyes after being told Transfiguration was a no-go with only an ‘Acceptable’ O.W.L.

Hermione got approved for seven billion N.E.W.T.s and sprinted off to Ancient Runes like her life depended on it.

Seamus and Neville both proved Kitty’s theory correct by enrolling into Care of Magical Creatures. Kitty, sat smugly in her moment of ‘I told you so’.

Then came Parvati, whose first and only question was whether Firenze—her designated hall-pass on bestiality—was still teaching Divination.

“He and Professor Trelawney are dividing the classes this year. Sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney.” McGonagall said, clearly disapproving.

Parvati looked devastated.

Next, Harry got the shocking news that he could take Potions this year because Slughorn wasn’t a spiteful cunt who only accepted Outstandings. Kitty wondered how many new enrolments would mysteriously appear on that roster over the week now that Snape’s insane standards were no longer gatekeeping everyone.

And then—Kitty’s turn.

“St. Cloud, St. Cloud…” said Professor McGonagall, scanning her notes—then doing a visible double take. “How on earth did you manage to get a T in Astronomy?”

Kitty opened her mouth, smirking. “I—”

McGonagall immediately held up a hand. “Forget I asked.”

Fair. After dealing with Kitty’s bullshit for half a decade now, McGonagall had developed a sixth sense for when her answer was going to be pure crack.

McGonagall continued, “Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Divination, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies—all fine. Your grades in Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy are insufficient, but I see you didn’t apply to study those classes anyway.”

“Right you are, Professor.” Kitty chirped.

“Very well, here is your timetable.” Kitty reached up to take it, but McGonagall didn’t let go right away. Instead, she looked Kitty squarely in the eye.

“On a personal note—I was very impressed with your Transfiguration O.W.L. scores. It was clear you studied hard, and it paid off.”

Kitty practically melted on the spot with an undignified gurgling noise.

Transfiguration praise from Queen Minnie herself?!

She floated off to Divination in a daze, fully prepared to ride that high for the next seven to ten business days.

She climbed up through the trapdoor into the familiar attic of the North Tower and was immediately hit with the familiar scent of incense…and something else.

Booze??

Professor Trelawney was absolutely drunk. Not even had-a-beer-at-lunch tipsy. Like, eyeliner-smudged, silk-shawl-slipping-off-her-shoulder, barefoot drunk. She was draped over a velvet armchair, ranting about how grievously she had been wronged by the administration—forced to share her sacred subject with that “four-legged pony.” (Firenze.)

“The mists of betrayal hang over the castle,” Trelawney slurred.

Girl, what?

Kitty took the table closest to the door and promptly tuned Professor Trelawney out.

She glanced around the room.

Fun fact about N.E.W.T. classes—there was only one class per subject! The more popular the subject, the more packed the room. Charms, for example, would no doubt be bursting at the seams with nearly the entire 6^th Year crammed in. It was slightly more like university because everyone was expected to act like semi-functioning adults.

Divination, being an elective, remained blessedly small even with all four houses lumped together.

Lavender and Parvati were already seated at their usual table. Hannah Abbott (yay!) was sitting with her dormmate Megan, whom Hannah alternated between loving and loathing depending on the month. Kitty had long ago diagnosed it as bisexual panic.

Padma Patil, alone in her Ravenclaw representation, sat straight-backed and dignified. A lone intellectual soldiering through the woo.

There was also a random Hufflepuff bloke Kitty was 97% sure had never existed before this exact moment. She really need to be more observant. Had she lost her touch? Nah. She was just lazy. Anyway, Kitty had no intention of learning his name. He was now known as Guy. 

Most of the Slytherin girls’ dorm was there too. They all sneered at her immediately. Meh. They were all lost causes anyway.

And then—Gregory Goyle. Perched awkwardly on a pouf like someone had dared him to be there.

The trapdoor creaked again. Blaise Zabini climbed up, surveyed the room, spotted the empty seat beside Kitty, and glided over.

Kitty, never one to miss a moment, subtly crossed her legs, tilting her foot so her favourite black Prada loafers caught the light.

A soft, appreciative hum.

She glanced sideways—just a peek.

Blaise shifted, stretched out one long leg, and—well, well, well—Versace oxfords?!

A delighted little mmm! slipped from Kitty’s lips.

She wondered if his idiot supremacist friends knew he wore Muggle shoes.

After Divination, Kitty joined the sluggish stream of students heading downstairs toward Defence Against the Dark Arts. Nearly everyone from Divination was going the same way—which wasn’t surprising. Normally, only a small group signed up for N.E.W.T.-level Defence (because, honestly, the ever-changing lineup of professors had turned it into a joke).

But now that Voldemort was officially back, suddenly every sixth-year thought it wise to learn how not to die.

Kitty knew most students would have only just scraped in with an Acceptable, which would make Snape foam at the mouth. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now.

Kitty stood outside the classroom with Dean and Lavender, chatting idly about who in their year wasn’t taking Defence.

“Surely everyone’s enrolled in it now,” she said. “With Voldemort back, you’d have to be an utter peanut not to.”

Someone behind her hissed.

She turned. Theodore Nott was glaring at her like she’d just shat on his family crest.

“Shut your Mudblood mouth,” he said, low and venomous.

Kitty blinked. Then smiled, all teeth. What was this?? Another Slytherin just begging for the Mudblood -> Sexy Bitch jinx?!

Well, who was she to deny him?

Just then, the classroom door creaked open, and silence swept the corridor as everyone began filing in.

Kitty used the moment to slip her wand out and hit Theodore with a silent Lexiconfundo. He twitched—just slightly—and glanced around, frowning. But there was no obvious cause, so he let it go. God she loved being able to cast spells silently.

The revolution was starting!

Snape (yuck) had clearly customised his classroom for maximum misery. The curtains were drawn tight, only flickering candles lit the room, and the walls were decorated with a charming theme of suffering—pictures of people mid-torture everywhere. One poor guy even had an arm literally growing out of his ear. The feng shui was rotted.

The Slytherins crowded the front rows, while Kitty and Dean settled about halfway back.

Hermione was opening up her textbook when Snape snapped at her, “I have not asked you to take out your books.”

Hermione flinched and packed it away.

GOD, Snape sucked. Like—imagine being mad at someone for opening a book? Chronic hater behaviour.

“I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention,” he continued.

His eyes swept across the class, pausing just a little longer on Harry because Snape couldn’t go a single class without emotionally harassing him. Honestly, get a hobby.

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced.”

Then he added, “It has also come to my attention that one student in this class received the highest grades Hogwarts has seen in this subject in at least two decades.”

Everyone instinctively turned to look at Harry. But Snape’s gaze was fixed on her.

Wait—her?

Hot damn! Two decades?? She knew she’d aced the exam, but wow—she hadn’t realized she’d slayed THAT hard. Honestly, sometimes even she surprised herself.

But there was no way Snape was mentioning this to praise her. The twat probably had some awful scheme brewing.

Snape continued his monologue about how the Dark Arts were like, eternal and unknowable and sexy or whatever, before finally moving on to non-verbal spells.

“Now you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?”

Hermione’s hand shot up. Snape did a petty little lap around the classroom, pretending to ignore her. Then his eyes locked on Kitty, one brow raised, clearly baiting her to answer. But Kitty wasn’t about to steal Hermione’s thunder. She just blinked and looked at him guilelessly.

“Very well—Miss Granger?”

“Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you’re about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage.”

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power, which some lack. You will divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence.”

Then he paused. “But first, we will have a demonstration.”

Snape turned casually toward Kitty, as if he hadn’t been plotting this moment the second he found out she was top of the class.

His voice dripping with disdain, “Let us see what the so-called best student can do—St. Cloud!”

A wave of whispers swept through the classroom. Every head turned toward Harry like it was some kind of scandal—which was exactly what Snape wanted. He was obviously hoping to humiliate Harry by proving the ‘Chosen One’ wasn’t the best, and to humiliate her by besting her in a duel.

Kitty stood slowly, rolling her shoulders back as if she were about to strut down a runway rather than face an ““ex”” Death Eater in a duel.

Snape gestured for her to step to the front of the room, wand already in hand. “You will attempt to repel my spell using a non-verbal shield.”

Kitty took her position and raised her wand.

Then—snap!—Snape flicked his wand.

Kitty’s instincts roared to life as a silent shield burst from her wand. The spell slammed into the barrier and fizzled out.

Snape raised a brow, surprised but deeply annoyed that his attempt to humiliate her had failed. “It seems you’re not as worthless at Defence as you are at Potions. Granted, the bar is low,” he drawled. “Let’s see how you fare in a non-verbal duel. You will be repelling only.”

She couldn’t even fight back? Okay, rude. But Kitty kept her mouth shut, bracing herself—grateful for the hours she’d spent sparring with Sirius over the holidays.

The spells came faster now—one after another.

Kitty blocked furiously and silently as she raised shield after shield. Thanks to all that duelling practice, she held steady. But without the chance to fight back, winning was impossible.

She could hear murmurs of shock ripple through the class at her incredible prowess.

After a while, the magical pressure began to strain. Sweat beaded at her temples. Her last Protego was thinning, flickering dangerously.

It wasn’t sustainable. She needed to change tactics—fast.

Kitty’s wand flicked in a smooth, silent sweep, conjuring a shimmering wall of water between them like liquid glass. She could see through it clearly, but spells couldn’t pass through water without being slightly redirected—theoretically they would be pushed off-course and miss her.

Snape’s curse slammed into the watery barrier, veering off to the left and hitting the wall behind her with a sound like a lightning strike.

The DA members whooped in support. She vanished the shield of water.

Snape lowered his wand, eyes narrowing darkly. He clearly hadn’t expected her to conjure silently, nor fast enough to use the skill in a duel. But joke’s on him—Kitty was a total boss at conjuration.

Atoms? Transfigured ✅

“Not entirely hopeless, then,” Snape said slowly, his voice unreadable.

Wtf! Understatement much?

Still panting slightly, Kitty shot back spitefully, “Thanks, Professor. It’s the Muggle blood in me.”

She heard Ron laugh.

The Slytherins in the front rows all glared, and Snape, of course, gave her his patented sneer. “Sit down,” he commanded.

She returned to her seat, and as she settled in Dean leaned over and whispered, “Fucking boss, Kitty.”

Snape’s eyes gleamed with cruelty as he drawled, “Very well. Let us see how the ‘Chosen One’ compares. POTTER! You will repel me. Silently.”

The room fell silent in anticipation. Of course, Snape wouldn’t let anyone beat him—if he couldn’t humiliate Kitty, he had to humiliate Harry. Snape truly was the worst.

Die in a fire, Sir.

Harry sat frozen, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He didn’t stand up. “I—I haven’t learned non-verbal casting yet, sir,” he said quietly.

Snape tilted his head like a cat toying with a mouse. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I don’t know how to do non-verbal spells,” Harry repeated, a little louder this time.

Snape smiled. It was horrifying. “Then I hope you’ve been paying attention. Perhaps the Chosen One will learn something from his faithful sidekick.”

Clearing his throat, Snape moved on, launching the rest of the class into paired duelling. Students shuffled into pairs, wands at the ready.

Kitty spent the class paired with Dean, helping him cast a non-verbal shield.

About halfway through, Snape aimed a curse at Harry—and Harry finally snapped. He fired a verbal Shield Charm that sent Snape flying backward like a fainting lady. Then—THEN—Harry dropped the iconic line: “There’s no need to call me sir, Professor.”

HISTORIC. LEGENDARY. We love to see it.

After class, Kitty was deep in nerd chat with Hermione about non-verbal spell techniques when someone called out, “Harry! Hey, Harry!”

Both her and Hermione turned instantly, attuned to anyone calling out Harry’s name with that urgent purpose. Boy needed like, five eyes on him at all times, lest he did something dumb.

They saw a young Gryffindor trotting up to Harry with a parchment in hand. “For you! I heard you’re the new Quidditch Captain. When’re you holding trials?”

Harry glanced down at the scroll absently. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, right. I was hoping it’d be this weekend—”

But Harry just walked away mid-sentence, no warning, like a diva with somewhere better to be. LOL.

He hurried toward Kitty and Hermione reading a message, then handed it to her. Ron and Hermione peeked over their shoulders.

Dear Harry,

I would like to start your private lessons this Saturday. Both Sirius and Katherine are invited to observe. Kindly come to my office at 8 p.m.

I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.

Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

Righty-O then!!

After lunch, Kitty reluctantly made her way to Muggle Studies. The class had just three other students, all Hufflepuffs.

She flopped into the seat next to Hannah.

Professor MacKenzie greeted them warmly but soon sighed. “It’s truly unfortunate that so few students consider a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies valuable.”

Kitty felt a twinge of guilt. She probably would have dropped the class too, if she didn’t need to collaborate with Professor MacKenzie on Kittytopia.

MacKenzie’s mood brightened when he reached the real announcement: their main project this year would be… drum roll, please… getting their driver’s licenses!! The Ministry even provided cars to let them practice on the Quidditch pitch before moving on to actual roads.

Kitty beamed. She already knew how to drive, so this would be a piece of cake! Plus getting a legal license would be incredibly useful.

Professor MacKenzie was honestly such a great addition to Hogwarts. Not that she was glad she’d gotten Professor Burbage killed by the basilisk in 2^nd Year, but if that hadn’t happened she never would’ve met Professor MacKenzie! So… mixed bag. Silver linings and all that.

After class, Kitty stayed behind to talk with Professor MacKenzie about sharing the Kittytopia secret with Muggleborn students.

He assured her he had everything under control, planning to meet students individually and leave the school on weekends to follow up with their families.

When she asked when she’d need to make time to join him, he smiled kindly. “Kitty, you’ve done so much to set up this safehouse already. It’s okay to share the burden. If you write down the secret, I’ll handle the rest.”

Kitty was extremely hesitant about giving anyone a written copy—if it ever fell into the wrong hands, they were DOOMED.

They talked through safeguards and finally agreed on protections for his written copy.

She carefully wrote on a sheet of parchment: “Kittytopia is located on Platterwell Lane.” Then she charmed it with the same kind of security spells as the Marauder’s Map—the ink would only reveal itself when the password “Valar Morghulis” was spoken. No way anyone would guess that.

Kitty walked out of the classroom feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. Who knew that delegating work to others could make such a difference? Certainly not her!

The next day, Kitty wandered into her double History of Magic class with the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution. She knew there would be no Gryffindors in this class. None.

(Although…… that meant Hermione wouldn’t be there so Kitty was temporarily spared the moral outrage over the Harry’s academic fraud to win the Felix Felicus. Because, of course, the infamous Half-Blood Prince’s potions book had made its appearance after yesterday’s Potions class and Harry and Hermione were already at odds about it.)

Kitty arrived in the History of Magic classroom and scanned the room.

It was a sea of Ravenclaws and Slytherins glaring at her—including Theodore Nott, whose furious stare clearly indicated he’d figured out her Lexiconfundo jinx. The Ravenclaws, though? Well, Kitty was surprisingly unpopular with them for a mix of academic and Luna-related reasons. Neither of which she would ever apologise for.

With the grace of someone thoroughly defeated by life, Kitty plopped down next to the only other DA member in the room—Isobel MacDougal, a Ravenclaw and Dean’s ex-girlfriend.  

Unfortunately, Isobel had been rather hostile toward Kitty ever since Dean dumped her.  

Isobel turned her head precisely three degrees toward Kitty and grumbled dismissively out of the corner of her mouth, “St. Cloud.”

Rude!

…Wait a second—that side-eye Isobel was glaring at her with?

That wasn’t just rude. That was...

…actually quite promising.

Kitty uncrossed her arms and leaned in. Isobel immediately leaned away to keep space between them.

“Isobel, have you ever heard of a girlboss?”

Isobel grimaced. “Is that what Parvati keeps lecturing Padma about?”

Kitty’s lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile. “Oh, yes.”

She placed her hands gently on Isobel’s desk. “Lesson number one...”

Chapter Text

It was Saturday evening, and Kitty was this close to banging her head on the table just to drown out the never-ending argument between Harry and Hermione about the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook. Kitty tuned them out and leaned over to chat with Neville about literally anything else.

Then Harry checked his watch and stood abruptly. “It’s five to eight, we’d better go—can’t be late for Dumbledore.”

“Ooooh!” Hermione gasped, perking up like she hadn’t just spent twenty minutes yelling. “Good luck! We’ll wait up—we want to hear everything he teaches you!”

Together, she and Harry walked through the quiet corridors toward the Headmaster’s office. As soon as they stepped inside, Sirius leapt up from a chair and pulled Harry into a hug. He turned to Kitty, arms opening—

SCREECH.

Fawkes swooped dramatically across the room, flaring his wings like a toddler demanding attention. He hovered between them, then glided down to perch on Kitty’s outstretched arm where he flared his wings dramatically, puffing up with all the self-importance of a phoenix going through puberty.

“Hi, handsome!” Kitty cooed in a delighted baby voice. Fawkes made a warble and fluffed himself even bigger.

Dumbledore chuckled and gestured toward the chairs. “Good evening, Harry, Katherine. Please, have a seat,” he said warmly. “I trust your first week back at school has been enjoyable?”

Kitty nodded as she transferred Fawkes from her arm to the back of her chair.

Harry gave his usual awkward, “Yes, thanks, sir.”

“You must have been busy—detention already, Harry!” Dumbledore said lightly.

Sirius barked out a laugh. “James would be proud.”

Harry grinned, embarrassed but pleased.

“I’ve arranged with Professor Snape for you to serve it next Saturday instead,” Dumbledore continued. “Sirius and I were just discussing what these lessons will entail. You’ve probably been wondering what I have planned?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry.

“Well, the answer lies here.” Dumbledore opened a cabinet to reveal dozens of glittering vials. “These are memories. In this case, relating to the history of Tom Riddle,” he explained, plucking one out.

“Where are we going, sir?” asked Harry.

“For a trip down Bob Ogden’s memory lane,” said Dumbledore.

“Who was Bob Ogden?”

“Tosser,” Sirius coughed into his hand.

“He was with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He died some time ago, but before he did, I convinced him to share his memories with me. We’re about to see one of his more… illuminating visits.”

Kitty realised that this was one of the memories not included in the movie. Exciting! She'd mostly forgotten it.

Dumbledore placed the Pensieve on the desk and poured in the shimmering silver liquid. “After you,” he told Harry.

Without hesitation, Harry leaned in—and full-on faceplanted into the pensieve like he was diving into a swimming pool.

Kitty stifled a laugh. Sirius smiled, “Does he know you can just use your hand?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He just smiled that infuriatingly cryptic smile that absolutely meant no, Harry did not know this, and yes, he found it hilarious.

She and Sirius exchanged a shrug and reached out, touching the memory with their hands like normal people.

Instantly, her feet left the floor. A swirling sensation took over like a very soft, gentle portkey—and then she landed in a bright summer countryside.

“Wow,” she muttered, looking around.

She’d never been inside a pensive before. Everything was vibrant and hyperreal—perfect visuals, crisp sounds… but no wind, no warmth of the sun on her skin, no feeling of the earth beneath her shoes. It was like standing in a really immersive VR simulation.

A few feet ahead, a man wearing the most ridiculous outfit she’d ever seen was examining a signpost. He was wearing a dress with a one-piece striped bathing suit over the top.

“THAT is why Muggle Studies should be mandatory,” Kitty declared, full of horrified disgust.

Harry and Sirius nodded in agreement. Dumbledore looked entirely unbothered. Ahead of them, Bob Ogden took off briskly down a dirt lane. The trio followed.

Kitty was baffled. She’d assumed the memory would just sort of carry them along like a ghostly ride. But nope—turns out if you wanted to keep up, you actually had to jog after the guy.

And they had to walk. For ages.

Eventually, they reached what could only be described as a tramp shack—the Gaunt family home. Kitty stared at it, unimpressed. These people weren’t even squibs! Marvolo and Morfin were supposed to be wizards and this was the best they could manage? Not even a basic Tergeo to clean the filth? Unacceptable.

And then—because apparently this scene wasn’t cursed enough—a man fell out of a tree. He was wearing rags, hissing (presumably in Parseltongue), and swinging a knife around.

Kitty supposed this must be Morfin Gaunt. Charming.

Ogden did his polite Ministry thing, which of course led to him getting hexed in the face with what Kitty could only describe as snotty mustard goo.

Then out came Voldemort’s Grandpops, Marvolo Gaunt. Kitty was floored. Why the hell was Marvolo built like a gym rat?! What on earth was he bench pressing?!

Then, inside the shack, they got their first taste of Merope Gaunt. The incest was strong with this one. Her dress matched the stone floor, her hair matched the dust, and her face matched depression. She was giving… well, she was giving domestic abuse victim. Not something to laugh about.

Marvolo started yelling about the purity of their bloodline. He grabbed Slytherin’s locket which was hanging around Merope’s neck, showing it as proof of their glorious heritage.

Sirius muttered, “Incest is a hell of a drug,” under his breath, and Kitty had to curl her lips inward to stop herself from pointing out that his own family tree wasn’t exactly incest-free.

She was sure he got the message anyway because he huffed and looked back to the memory playing out in front of them.

Thankfully, the hate-speech was cut off by the sound of approaching horse hooves and the posh, clipped voices of none other than Tom Riddle Sr and the fancy society girl he was courting.

Inside the shack, the Gaunts all suddenly switched to Parseltongue. Kitty had absolutely no clue what they were saying, but Harry looked completely engrossed so it had to be juicy.

Then, out of nowhere, Marvolo shrieked, “HISSSSSS?!” (yes, just like that) and lunged at Merope.

Ogden managed to shout Relashio just in time, sending the crusty old bastard flying backwards into some furniture before he could lay hands on his daughter.

That, apparently, was Morfin’s cue to whip out his knife again. Ogden took one look and bolted out of the shack.

Naturally, they all followed him.

Outside was a pristine, open-top horse-drawn carriage—and sitting inside it was the object of Merope’s obsession and Voldemort's Daddy.

Kitty got a proper look at him and—Wow. Yeah, Tom Riddle Sr. was a total babe. Sharp-jawed, dark-haired, and dressed like he’d just stepped off Bridgerton.

If pre-cauldron Voldemort looked even a teeny bit like that, Kitty wasn’t surprised he’d managed to charm half of Britain into the Third Reich.

She was so busy shamelessly staring at Riddle Sr. that she completely tuned out everything else—until she felt a hand on her elbow. Dumbledore was gently guiding her back up out of the pensieve.

The swirling feeling was back as she rose gently.

Back in Dumbledore’s office, Kitty landed on her feet and blinked, disoriented. The room was dim, and outside the window it was pitch black.

She glanced at her watch. They’d been inside the memory for a full hour? TIME WAS FAKE.

She sank back into her chair, trying to absorb everything she’d just seen. No wonder Dumbledore had shown these memories one at a time in canon. They’d barely scratched the surface of Voldemort’s history and already Kitty felt like she needed a spiritual oil change.

She wasn’t surprised the Gaunt’s never made it into the HP movies. Much too The Hills Have Eyes for Warner Brothers.

It was a lot.

They began to debrief. Dumbledore explained that both Morfin and Marvolo had been carted off to Azkaban for attacking the Aurors who came to arrest them after that charming little domestic scene. Then he explained the love potion plot. Although, Dumbledore admitted he didn’t have concrete proof of that part.

“But you think you’re right?” said Harry.

“Naturally I do,” said Dumbledore smoothly. “But I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.”

Huh. That was quite a slay way to say when he fucked up, he fucked up BIG. But Kitty already knew that, considering the fact that he'd spent five years mistrusting her. Big mistake. HUGE.

Dumbledore went on. “In this case, I believe myself to be correct. I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby’s sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son.”

Kitty frowned. She didn’t like Dumbledore’s tone on the matter.

Riddle Sr. wasn’t some deadbeat dad. The man had been drugged and sexually assaulted, then woke up married to a pregnant stranger. Sure, Merope was a victim of her family—but also a perpetrator. In Kitty’s opinion, Riddle Sr. hadn’t abandoned a child, he’d escaped an abuser.

After a moment, Dumbledore said quietly, “I think that will do for tonight. Although I would like to speak to Miss St. Cloud. If you could stay behind, Katherine?”

Kitty nodded, trying not to panic.

Sirius stood up, stretching until his shoulders popped. “I’ll walk you back to the tower, Harry. No more Floo—it’s one of the new restrictions.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of Kitty’s head in goodbye. She let it happen, even though it messed up her hair.

At the door, Harry paused and turned back. “Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you’ve told me?”

Dumbledore’s gaze flicked—just barely—toward Kitty.

Kitty pursed her lips. Why hadn’t Harry asked if he could tell Luna too? Did he not talk to Luna about this sort of thing? Or did he assume she would tell Luna? Was he being a bad boyfriend to Luna? Did she need to bitch smack him?!?!?!

Dumbledore interrupted her completely unnecessary mental spiral, “While Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proven themselves trustworthy, I will have to consider carefully whether the contents of the memory should be shared any further. It would not be wise for word to spread about how much I know—or suspect—concerning Lord Voldemort’s past. For now, you may tell them you viewed a memory. You may not share what it contained.”

“Of course, sir. Good night.”

Harry and Sirius left, the door clicking shut behind them.

Dumbledore raised a Cone of Silence again, and Kitty exhaled in quiet relief. At least he respected her preference for keeping the portraits from eavesdropping.

“So,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, as if they were discussing the weather, “how is the plot progressing?”

Kitty blinked. “Uhhh... same I guess. But for the record, I’m deeply unimpressed to find myself being taught by Snape when there is absolutely no need for it.”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore corrected gently, though with that unmistakable Headmasterly edge.

“I would like you to lead me to the diadem,” Dumbledore continued. “I shall keep it safe in my office until the time comes to destroy it. I have spoken with the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw to craft an appropriate excuse for how it came into my possession.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, cautious. “It’s very malevolent magic. It could influence you.”

Dumbledore nodded and stood, withdrawing a small iron box covered in ancient runes. “It will be safe in here. I would prefer to remove it from the Room of Requirement before Mr. Malfoy begins his work there in earnest.”

Kitty shrugged and stood as well. “If you’re sure.”

Dumbledore held out his arm, and Fawkes soared down to perch on it. Looks like her favourite BBQ chicken was coming with them! Yay!!!!

They walked in silence to the seventh floor, where Kitty summoned the Room of Hidden Things. They stepped into a chaotic sea of forgotten junk. Fawkes cawed and took off, flying around the room to explore.

Kitty led the way through the stacks, expertly weaving through piles of contraband and broken objects.

It had taken her ages to find the diadem in her first year. She’d been working off the movie version where the treasure sparkled helpfully out in the open. But that was not the case.

She stopped abruptly at a corner and spotted the familiar old cupboard with a scorched, blistered surface. The diadem was inside.

She pointed, voice low, “There.”

Dumbledore edged forward and carefully opened the cupboard.

Kitty stayed well back. She had no desire to get close to a Horcrux, especially one that whispered seductive little nothings like, "You know you want it."

You’d think that kind of thing would be hot. It was not.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore levitated the diadem into the iron box. The runes etched into the surface glowed faintly as he shut the lid with a quiet, final click.

They made their way out of the Room of Requirement, Fawkes rejoining them at the door and swooping onto Kitty’s shoulder. He fit there more comfortably now in his teenage form—slightly less majestic, but infinitely more manageable in size.

At the threshold, Dumbledore turned to her. “Thank you. I also believe there is a promise to you I need to fulfill.”

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small black stone.

The mother fucking Resurrection Stone!

The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was faintly visible—though the vertical line, representing the Elder Wand, was cracked straight through. A fracture from when the Horcrux had been destroyed, no doubt.

Kitty stared between him and the stone, wide-eyed.

Dumbledore met her gaze. “When you are finished, give the stone to Fawkes—he’ll return it to me. I suggest you use this room to create an appropriate space to speak with whichever spirit you choose.”

Kitty nodded so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

He placed the stone in her palm. It felt strangely heavy.

They stepped out together. The door closed behind them and vanished back into the stone wall.

Kitty began pacing in front of the blank space, her mind sharp and focused: I need a place to speak confidentially.

A new door appeared.

She turned to Dumbledore, gave him one last nod, then stepped inside—Fawkes still perched lightly on her shoulder.

The room was small and softly lit, warmed by the gentle glow of a hearth. A large mirror hung above the mantel, reflecting flickering firelight. In front of the flames sat a single plush couch, flanked by two modest side tables.

Fawkes glided off her shoulder and landed on the couch, immediately digging his claws into the fabric like a feathery delinquent. Teenagers, honestly.

She gently shooed him off, and a bird perch obligingly appeared in the corner, where he flapped over and settled with a sulky trill.

Kitty moved to the centre of the room. She took a steadying breath, closed her eyes, and turned the Resurrection Stone three times in her hand.

There was a faint rustle in front of her.

She opened her eyes.

Chapter Text

There was a boy standing in front of her.

A very… wet boy?

He wore traditional duelling robes that clung to his slim frame. Water dripped down his face, down his clothes to the hem, but vanished before it could touch the floor.

He wasn’t translucent—there was colour to him—but he wasn’t entirely solid either. Less than flesh, more than spirit.

He allowed her to scrutinise him while his own assessing gaze ran over her in return. The silence stretched as they studied one another.

Finally, she spoke, “Regulus Black?”

“Yes, that is I,” he replied in a perfectly posh aristocratic accent. Then he said accusingly, “Are you wearing my jumper?”

Kitty glanced down. Ah. Yes, yes, she was. She was currently wearing a black cashmere jumper she’d liberated from his wardrobe. Oversized, soft as sin, and technically vintage now—it was perfect.

She shrugged. “You had good taste.”

Regulus let out a scandalised scoff and strutted over to the mirror above the hearth, preening at his reflection.

Kitty barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The peacocking was strong with this one. Still, she couldn’t exactly judge. She did the same thing whenever she passed a reflective surface.

He slicked his wet hair back like first-year Draco—except on him it actually worked.

“I’m Kitty,” she said, flopping onto the couch with zero ceremony.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, eyes sweeping her suspiciously.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Regulus said with a sniff.

“You know me?” Kitty blinked, surprised.

“I’ve been watching over all my family members. You interact with them often enough.”

“What’s the afterlife like? Is it like a TV you can tune into?”

“I don’t know what a… Tee-Vee is.”

“Of course you don’t,” she groaned. “So how do you see your family, then?”

Regulus sat at the other end of the couch like he was holding court. “I drift. I watch. Eventually I began observing you as well. You’ve made quite the impression on my family and are... objectively interesting, I suppose—as someone who knows the future.” He said it like an insult she should be grateful for.

“Huh.” Kitty opened her arms wide to present herself. “So? What do you think, then?”

Regulus stared into her face, seemingly trying to work out if she was teasing him. (She wasn’t).

Finally, he admitted in his ridiculously posh voice, “It’s a shame you’re a Mudblood. You would’ve made an excellent Lady Black.”

Kitty barked out a laugh. “Shouldn’t you not be calling me a Mudblood? Didn’t you like, die to end tyranny or whatever?”

“You’re misinformed. I don't have to associate with the rabble to want the Dark Lord gone.”

“Cut the shit, Reggie. You’re dead. You don’t need to be a wanker anymore.”

He huffed and turned to stare moodily into the fire. “Why did you call me here? I was perfectly content.”

She shrugged, feeling suddenly sheepish that she didn’t have a proper reason or any poignant words prepared. “Wanted to meet the guy who owned Dark Arts for Sensitive Boys.”

He side-eyed her. “It’s a good book,” he grumbled defensively.

“I know,” she said sincerely. “All your books are.”

That seemed to knock some of the wind out of him. The mask of arrogance slipped just a little. “Was that all?” he asked, caught off guard.

She shrugged again. “Pretty much, yeah. I just wanted to meet you. There’s no real point to this.” She gestured vaguely between them.

“Oh…” His voice trailed off, and he frowned back into the fire.

She let him sit with it. He was clearly working through something, and considering she’d yanked him out of eternal peace for no real reason, the least she could do was give him a minute to gather himself.

Plus, it gave her more time to shamelessly stare at him.

She couldn’t believe it—she was sitting across from the Regulus Black!

He looked about her age or younger—far too young to have died. And SO different from Sirius. Sure, they both had black hair and grey eyes, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Something about Regulus’s face—heavy brow, deep set eyes—reminded her of Cillian Murphy.

She was jolted from her staring when Regulus spoke again, his voice quiet. “You should tell Sirius.”

She frowned. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

Kitty burst out laughing despite herself. “I’m not in love with him.”

“You like him, then.”

She smiled, unconcerned. “It’s just a crush, Regulus. Nothing will come of it.”

Sirius was very crushable. She was probably one of many, many women who’d crushed on him over the years.

But Regulus raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and hummed sceptically.

Kitty sighed. “Look, I’m smart enough not to pursue anything with anyone." Her voice dipped slightly, “If you’ve been watching me, you know I lie to everyone.”

Regulus leaned back in his seat on the couch and shrugged. “What’s wrong with lying?”

She gaped at him. “To the people you love? You can’t build a relationship on lies.”

“Why not?”

“… Is that a real question?”

“Yes.”

“Umm, because relationships need trust?! It’s—no, you know what? I’m not doing this. A relationship with Sirius would crash and burn the moment he found out about Emma—assuming you know who that is?”

“SooOOOooo… tell him about Emma.”

“You’re fucking belligerent, you know that? I didn’t call you from the afterlife to argue about your stupid sexy brother. Besides, shouldn’t you want a Mudblood far away from him?”

Regulus looked down at his hands. “You’re good for him,” he mumbled, suddenly looking every inch the young teenager he was when he died.

Then he looked up at her and—was he doing puppy dog eyes?

“Are you seriously giving me puppy dog eyes to get me to shag your brother?” Kitty asked, both incredulous and vaguely horrified.

Regulus let out a dramatic sigh and flopped back onto the couch like a particularly theatrical sloth. The posh pureblood act had completely fallen away into mopey teenager.

“Look,” he whined, “I watched my brother rot in Azkaban for years. It was awful. All I want is for him to be happy. And he’d be happy with you.”

Kitty rubbed her eyes, begrudgingly moved. She decided to humour him. “I don’t even know if Sirius likes me.”

Regulus gave her the most withering, incredulous stare in recorded history.

She immediately began to squirm, and jumped on the first thing that popped into her mind. “Okay, moving on—so, you died by Inferi. That must’ve sucked.”

Regulus stared at her. “You think?” he said flatly.

“Want me to carry out any final requests or whatever?”

Regulus tilted his head in a way so Sirius it made her blink.

“Don’t move the fake locket I left in the basin,” he said. “I want the Dark Lord to find my note and know what I did.”

She nodded. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere near that cave anyway, but yeah—absolutely. It would be annoying to die in a blaze of betrayal and not even get credit for it.”

“RIGHT?!” Regulus bolted upright, eyes wide. “THANK YOU!” He huffed dramatically and flopped back into the couch.

“Soooo,” he said after a beat, “I saw you managed the Corpus Novum per Sanguinis ritual on your own. Impressive.”

Kitty grinned.

Finally, the ice cracked.

They launched into a spirited discussion about the stash of books Kitty had found in his old bedroom. Unsurprisingly, Regulus turned out to be a veritable fountain of knowledge when it came to Dark Magic. But unlike most dark wizards, he was obsessed with soul care—easily the most self-aware Dark Arts practitioner she could imagine. It was kind of inspiring.

About forty minutes passed in what might’ve been the most informative conversation of Kitty’s entire life, when a soft chirp pulled her out of it.

Fawkes, fluffing his feathers, had lifted his head to peer at her pointedly.

Right. She’d forgotten he was even there.

“I should go soon,” she said reluctantly.

Regulus nodded, then hesitated. “There’s a cache of hidden books in my bedroom. Tap the third floorboard to the left of the door with your wand and say Canis Major, then add a few drops of blood from anyone directly born into the Black family… it’ll appear.”

Oooooh, hidden books! She would finally have a worthwhile use for the blood from Bellatrix’s amputated hand, too!

(She also caught the sentimental Sirius reference, but decided to be magnanimous and not comment on it.)

“What kind of books were you hiding, little Reggie?” she teased.

Regulus ignored her tone completely. “Horcrux books.”

“Ah.” Her grin faded. “Why hide them?”

“They were my grandfather Arcturus’ from the family library at the Black Manor. I couldn’t risk my mother finding them. If she’d mentioned my interest to anyone it would’ve rung all the wrong bells.”

Kitty’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the Black family library.

Regulus caught the look and rolled his eyes. “That property’s completely closed to you. It was willed to Narcissa.”

She deflated. “Bummer.”

Kitty stood and stretched, dragging it out. Surprisingly, she felt more than a little sad about saying goodbye. “So… I guess this is it, then.”

Regulus stood with her, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re going to miss me.”

“Fuck off. I’ll be fine.”

He still looked smug.

She hesitated. “Do you want me to call you again? To hang out or something?”

The smirk faded, and he shook his head. “No. I don’t belong here. It’s hard to explain—I feel… stretched. Like my existence is being pulled in the wrong direction.”

Kitty pouted but nodded slowly. “What about Sirius? If he gets hold of the Stone, do you want to talk to him?”

That made Regulus pause. He looked down at the floor. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Just seeing you and knowing you’re at peace would mean a lot to him.” she said gently.

Regulus stared at his feet in silence. After a long moment, he shook his head. “He has other people he’d rather call back than me. I shouldn’t be here. And I don’t want to be. Don’t let him call me. And… don’t tell him you called me either. Please.”

Kitty deflated. She didn’t agree with any of that, not for a second. But she didn’t think it was her place to deny his wishes.

Regulus stepped forward and held out his hand to shake.

Kitty hesitated, then reached out to meet it. Touching him felt strange—like kinetic sand slipping through her fingers, somehow both solid and crumbling.

Fawkes fluttered over and landed gently on her shoulder, nudging her temple with his beak in a quiet reminder.

Kitty reached into her pocket and pulled out the Resurrection Stone, staring down at it in her palm. She understood now—wholly and completely—why someone might never let it go. The pull of it was intoxicating. She didn’t want to give it back to Dumbledore.

She looked up at Regulus. He was watching her, gaze steady and pointed.

She sighed, defeated. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.”

He smiled broadly, and for a second he looked just like Sirius. “Of course it was. I’m a delight.”

Kitty rolled her eyes.

His expression softened. “You too, Kitty. Good luck in the war to come. And…”—his voice dropped to something gentler—“take care of Siri for me. Please.”

“Always,” she said quietly, and meant it.

She raised her hand, holding the Stone up to her shoulder. Fawkes leaned in and delicately took it from her palm with his beak.

Kitty turned her head just in time to see Regulus dissolve—slowly, peacefully—until he vanished into nothing.

Chapter Text

At the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, she had the immense pleasure of witnessing Hermione commit an act of sabotage. Kitty watched in awe as Hermione subtly cast Confundo on Cormac McLaggen, securing Ron a spot on the team.

And honestly? Kitty was too dazzled by the sheer power of the spell to tease Hermione about ethics or rule-breaking or whatever. A long-distance confundo?! That wasn’t even supposed to be possible—those were short-range spells!!

Add this to the ever-expanding list of Hermione Granger’s absurd, terrifying brilliance.

Unfortunately, the high didn’t last. On the walk back to the castle, Lavender Brown announced that McLaggen was, in her exact words, “a total snack,” and that she intended to “comfort” him after his tragic defeat.

Kitty, Parvati, and Hermione could only watch in dismay as Lavender skipped over and began flirting with Cormac like her life depended on it.

Kitty really, really hoped that wouldn’t become a thing.

(It became a thing. They dated on and off for the rest of the year. It was excruciating.)

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year and the morning started with dra-ma.

At breakfast, Kitty slid into the seat beside Hermione just in time to catch the end of Ron’s retelling of how Harry had woken him up with a rogue Levicorpus.

But next thing she knew, Hermione was ranting about how the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook was the devil in literary form.

Honestly, Kitty wasn’t sure how many more of these stooopid arguments she could endure. Harry had already refused to give up the book, and Hermione had already refused to join Harry in his cheating adventures. So why were they still talking about it?! Enough already!

With Hermione going on about the Half-Blood Prince and Harry going on about Draco, Kitty had never been more glad that Luna spent mealtimes with the Gryffindors. Unfortunately, this morning was not one of them, as she had a detention for not doing her Transfiguration assignment.

Kitty took a dignified sip of tea and tried to mentally exit the conversation. But then a thought struck her—this might actually be the perfect chance to intervene before Harry ended up slashing open Draco in the bathroom with sectumsepra! All she needed was the right moment to casually suggest a little spell-testing session…

She tuned back in, eyes gleaming.

“Why does it matter if it’s handwritten?” said Harry quickly.

“Because it’s probably not Ministry of Magic–approved,” Hermione said stiffly.

Apparently, Kitty had trained Harry and Ron too well on anti-establishment rhetoric, because they both rolled their eyes in unison.

“Was there any explanation of what the spell did, or did you just point your wand and hope for the best?” Kitty asked Harry with a smirk.

Harry took a strategic sip of tea in lieu of answering.

“How about this—tonight, you and I can go to the Room of Requirement. We test every incantation in that book. Because you really shouldn’t go around casting unknown spells, Harry.” Kitty said seriously.

His eyes widened slightly at her use of his actual name. (She saved it for special moments like this to make sure he knew she was being serious. It was very effective parenting technique!!)

Harry looked both slightly annoyed and faintly thrilled at the idea. “Okay fine. But I’m telling you, the spell’s a laugh. Even Sirius has used it on me before. You were there—remember?”

Kitty smiled at a memory of Harry dangling over the breakfast table a few months ago.

Hermione jumped back in, “Maybe Sirius does use it Harry, but he’s not the only one. We’ve seen loads of people use it—dangling people in the air, floating them around while they’re asleep and helpless...?”

Hermione was obviously talking about the attack at the Quidditch World Cup. In Kitty’s opinion it was quite the leap to make. But she knew the attack still haunted Hermione so she didn’t refute her.

“That was different. They were abusing it. You just don’t like the Prince because he’s better than you at Potions,” Ron added, pointing a sausage at Hermione.

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” Hermione snapped.

Lmao. It had everything to do with that.

Hermione continued, “I just think it’s very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don’t even know what they’re for—”

“Truth,” Kitty added mildly.

“—and I wish you’d stop talking about ‘the Prince’ like it’s some title. It’s just a stupid nickname—”

“Amen!” Kitty cried, slamming her mug down on the table in passionate agreement.

“—and it doesn’t seem like he was a very nice person to me.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Kitty said, nodding emphatically.

Harry argued, “I don’t see where you two get that from! If he’d been a budding Death Eater, he wouldn’t have been boasting about being half-blood, would he?”

“Not necessarily true,” Kitty pointed out. “The twat might be proud of being a half-blood because it makes him better than Muggleborns.”

“No way,” Harry scoffed.

Kitty side-eyed Hermione. Hermione side-eyed her back.

Kitty pursed her lips. “Do you boys think the only people who bully Muggleborns are Purebloods?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking genuinely confused.

Hermione spoke patiently, “You realise we get teased for our blood status by more students than just the Purebloods, right?”

“No you don’t,” Ron said, with the casual certainty of someone who had never paid attention.

“Yes, we do,” Hermione replied, matter-of-factly. “Tracey Davis is a Half-blood, and she calls us names fairly often.” (Read: every bloody chance she got).

“Pretty sure Umbridge is a half-blood,” Kitty added. “Can’t remember how I know that though…”

Was it canon? Was it fanon? Was it Tumblr’s fault? She had no idea. But the voice was loud.

The boys looked genuinely stunned.

They were interrupted by Ginny, who handed Harry a scroll inviting him to his next private lesson with Dumbledore on Monday evening. He passed it to Kitty who read it over quickly—she and Sirius would be observing again.

After dinner, they headed to the Room of Requirement for a good old-fashioned spell test.

Kitty practically skipped the whole way there—because guess what? Katie Bell had not been cursed into oblivion at Hogsmeade today! Kitty didn’t know how Dumbledore had managed to prevent it, but hey, not her problem. It was nice having someone else handle the timeline for once.

Kitty brought Harry. Harry brought Luna. Hermione insisted on tagging along because she didn’t trust anything involving the Half-Blood Prince. And since Ron was currently in Hermione’s gravitational pull, he came too.

Kitty paced in front of the blank stretch of wall, chanting in her head: I need to test spells on dummies. I need to test spells on dummies. I need to test spells on dummies.

The door appeared, as expected. She swung it open—then immediately recoiled.

“AH! Jesus mother fucking Christ!” she yelped, skidding backward.

Inside, the room was crammed with disturbingly lifelike mannequins—somewhere between fleshy crash test dummies and wax figures. The others crowded in behind her, staring in uneasy silence.

“That’s… unsettling,” Hermione said diplomatically, edging closer to Ron.

Kitty muttered, “This is awful. Like House of Wax or something.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and wished for fewer dummies. Poof. Half of them vanished. It wasn’t a huge improvement, but apparently, that was the Room’s idea of a compromise.

Once the space was manageable, they set up their little operation. Kitty got the short straw—dummy duty—dragging the mannequins into the middle of the room for target practice. Harry was the designated spell-slinger. Luna handled the Prince’s book, flipping through pages for incantations. Ron and Hermione quickly claimed a pair of beanbags in the corner, whispering and smiling with the kind of subtlety that would’ve made Kitty roll her eyes… if it weren’t so ridiculously adorable. Ever since Lavender and Parvati had started giving Hermione flirting tips, Romione was progressing at a speed Kitty hadn’t thought possible.

Anyway—back to the spell testing.

They started with Levicorpus and Liberacorpus, then moved on to Muffliato. Kitty was glad she finally had a legitimate reason to learn it—it was absurdly useful.

Next came a few general counter-curses, and she had to admit (begrudgingly) that young Snape was a genius. One in particular stood out: Vulnera Sanetur. She recognised it from the movies—it was the counter-curse for Sectumsempra. Luna read aloud that it was listed as “cursed wound reversal.” They couldn’t test it without an actual injury, but Kitty memorised the wand motions anyway.

And then, finally, they came across Sectumsempra.

Luna called out, “This one says, ‘for enemies’.”

“I wonder what it does,” Harry mused.

Kitty was already levitating another dummy into the centre of the room. “Well, sectum is Latin for ‘cut’, and semper means ‘always’. So… I’m guessing it’s some kind of continuous cutting hex.”

Harry frowned at her. “How do you know this?”

She gave him the most incredulous look. “My dude, we’ve been learning Latin-based spells for six years. How did you not figure out that Levicorpus meant levitating a body? It’s literally in the name.”

Harry coughed awkwardly and leaned over to peer at the pages Luna was flipping through.

Kitty snorted and magicked the dummy’s feet to stick to the floor so it wouldn’t be knocked back by the spell.

“There is no counter-curse listed here, but it might be somewhere else in the book,” Luna said.

“Well. Have at it, Potts.” Kitty gestured toward the dummy.

Harry raised his wand. “Sectumsempra!”

The spell hit the dummy, and a sound like fabric being shredded filled the air—a low, tearing whisper. The dummy convulsed.

Long, clean gashes carved themselves across its chest—first diagonal, then horizontal—like invisible blades working with surgical precision. A deep X bloomed from shoulder to ribcage, followed by a smaller one across the face: cheek to jaw.

“Bloody hell!” Ron yelped from somewhere behind them.

And then the slashes moved. Each cut twitched, as if the air itself was still sawing at the wounds. The edges flexed and deepened in a slow, unsettling rhythm, almost like the dummy was breathing through its own injuries. Wisps of grey stuffing curled out from the gashes, drawn as if the spell was hungry. If it had been a person, the floor would be slick with blood by now.

Every few seconds, the dummy’s body jerked, reacting to cuts that weren’t finished.

They all stared. Harry looked horrified.

It was an incredibly violent spell—but nothing Kitty hadn’t seen before. She’d tested plenty of spells that were much nastier. But her little goody-two-shoes Golden Trio? They tended to panic at the mere mention of dark magic.

After about three solid minutes of ripping noises, the last cuts tore clean through. The torso toppled off the legs with a dull thud.

“I—I…” Harry sputtered, completely lost for words.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron demanded.

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “But I guess now we know why it said ‘for enemies’.”

“That was dark magic!” Hermione’s voice was sharp with outrage.

Kitty rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. They were acting like they’d never cast a dark spell before… actually, maybe they hadn’t. Not everyone was a hardened badass like her. Still, Hermione was usually the least squeamish—she just hated losing to Harry in Potions.

Harry—who genuinely hated dark magic—looked alarmed. “We don’t know that for sure!” He turned to Kitty, hopeful. “Right, Kitty?”

She shrugged. “That seemed dark to me. But I’d have to test it myself to be sure.”

Harry went pale. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“See! This! This is exactly what I’ve been saying all along!” Hermione threw up her hands. “There’s something wrong with that Prince person. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Jesus fuck—not another fight about the damn book. Kitty and Ron exchanged long-suffering eye contact.

“No, I don’t think you were,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Harry, how can you still defend that book after what that spell just did—?”

She tuned them out and went to inspect the dummy. It was properly mangled. Draco was damn lucky Snape had been nearby when this got cast in canon.

When she turned back, Hermione was trying to wrestle the book out of Harry’s hands, and Harry was gripping it like it was the last Choccy Milk on Earth. Ron glanced at Kitty with a silent plea—clearly, he’d just spent the last half hour flirting with Hermione and didn’t want to ruin his shot by siding with Harry.

“Okay, okay. Both of you, stop.” Kitty raised her hands. “I think we can agree that, out of all of us, I know the most about dark magic, yeah?”

Harry and Hermione spun toward her and nodded—both hoping she’d side with them.

“Well, just because someone uses dark magic doesn’t make them a bad person.”

Unbidden, she thought of the time she’d blown out Cedric’s kneecaps. Perfect example of dark magic for good. Or… for the greater good, at least.

She glanced at the shredded dummy. “I’d probably use this spell in a duel with a Death Eater. I know I’d use it on Crouch if I got the chance.”

"BUT—” she raised her voice as Hermione opened her mouth, “—there’s a big difference between casting and creating. You don’t spend weeks fine-tuning a spell unless you plan to use it often. And Potts,” she looked at Harry, “I’m almost completely certain these are all original spells.”

She rubbed a hand over her face.

“Look, the book isn’t evil just because it’s got a dark spell in it, but it would be smart to treat it with caution from now on. I can only put myself in the Prince’s shoes, and all I’ll say is: I’d never try to invent a spell like that.”

(Not when there are already a million other god-tier spells out there, ayooo.)

Hermione huffed, unconvinced.

Kitty sighed. “You need to make a decision, Hermione. Harry’s not giving it up, and you already refused to share it during class. So either turn him in, or move on.”

Hermione stared at her.

“Are you going to turn him in?” Kitty asked pointedly.

Hermione stamped her foot—just slightly. “Ugh. No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Great. Then can we please stop? Oh, and while we’re at it—can we please stop talking about Draco too?”

Harry blinked, offended. “What does Malfoy have to do with this?”

“I swear it’s all you and Hermione ever talk about anymore. You talk about Draco, she talks about the book. I’m so bloody sick of it guys. For my sanity— please stop!”

She expected that to defuse things. Instead, Harry and Hermione gave her identical looks of betrayal, then stormed out in matching huffs.

Kitty groaned. “Ughhhhhhhhhhh.”

Well—at least Harry now knew exactly what the spell did and wouldn’t be using it on Draco anytime soon. Plot averted.

Ron just shrugged helplessly. “Wanna duel?” he offered.

“Fuck it. Why not? You in Luna?”

"Of course!"

Two days later, Kitty and Harry met Sirius in the Entrance Hall and the three of them made their way up to Dumbledore’s office for the next private lesson.

And look, she knew she was acting weird.

Even Harry had frowned at her like something was off—probably because, for the first time in recorded history, she didn’t immediately flirt with Sirius the moment she saw him. She didn’t wink. Didn’t ask to lick him. Not even a passing comment about his hair. (Tell Sirius he’s hot: it was basically their handshake.)

And it was all Regulus Black’s fault!!! The ghostly little menace had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and now she couldn’t forget what he had said about her and Sirius being together.

So yes, maybe she stared at Sirius a little longer than socially appropriate. But that was because Reg’s words were lodged in her brain like a damn splinter.

By the end of the evening though—after an hour of watching a creepy orphan child receive his Hogwarts letter—Kitty had shaken off the awkwardness and reminded herself of her girlboss-dom.

Yeah, she liked Sirius Black. But there was a war coming (not romantic vibez), and the moment the war ended she was fucking off back to Australia to find Emma’s family. So there was no point in worrying about anything—ever! Regulus, wherever he was, could suck on a lemon.

When Sirius walked her and Harry back to Gryffindor Tower afterwards, she made sure to nudge his arm and say, “By the way, your hair looks particularly sex-tousled today Padfoot. Very rock n’ roll.”

Sirius gave her that delicious slow grin of his. “Thank you, darling. I was wondering if you’d notice.”

They both ignored Harry’s sigh.

Chapter Text

Kitty kept attending Slughorn’s little dinner parties, working them like a seasoned politician—boasting, posturing, flattering, and name-dropping her way through every evening.

She knew that if she asked, Slughorn would probably give her a temporary pass to the Restricted Section without a fuss. But Kitty wasn’t after a one-night stand with forbidden literature. Oh no. She wanted commitment—a long-term relationship.

A year-long pass was almost impossible without a teacher’s total trust, and since she didn’t even take Potions, she had to work twice as hard to convince Slughorn she wasn’t just looking to get her hands on naughty books for some nefarious plot. (Like, say, planning the murder of Fenrir Greyback.)

But she’d put in the work. And now it was time to collect.

It was the last day of term, and Slughorn was throwing a Christmas party for his Slug Club and invited guests.

Her only problem: she had no idea who to bring! Ginny was bringing Dean, Harry was bringing Luna, Lavender was going with McLaggen, and Hermione was bringing Ron because they’d finally started dating (woohooo!).

That was when Kitty realised, with a slight sting, that she was actually slightly bothered that she didn’t have a date to go with. She pouted a little before deciding to just invite Parvati. Sure, Parvati would almost certainly ditch her at the first opportunity to mingle with famous people, but Kitty could hold her own just fine.

Much like the Yule Ball, Ginny and Luna joined them in their dormitory, and they spent the whole day in a flurry of hair, makeup, and gossip. Kitty was convinced that getting ready with her girlies was the best part of EVERY night out.

She ended up in a dress she could only describe as wicked—devilish red, with a corset bodice that made her feel like she belonged in a witchy fashion magazine. If there was one thing Kitty could appreciate, it was wizarding corsetry.

By 8 p.m, the girl gang was ready. They headed to the common room, where Kitty promptly strong-armed Colin into taking pictures of them. She noticed with smug satisfaction that each of her boys was wearing dress robes she’d personally chosen for them over the years. Truly, she carried the fashion sense of her friend group on her back.

She almost teared up when Harry and Luna, Dean and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione, posed for their wizarding prom photos. Her little ducklings were growing up and leaving the nest!

The sentimentality vanished when Lavender shoved Cormac into the frame for their own photo. Not cute. At least Cormac had the decency to offer everyone shots of firewhisky before they left, which Kitty gratefully accepted.

And with that, they made their way down to Slughorn’s office.

The place had been transformed. The ceiling and walls were draped with rich hangings to make the room look like a tent, bathed in the warm red glow of ornate golden lamps dangling from above—inside which actual fairies flitted around like fireflies. (Fucking unethical, if you asked her.)

From a far corner came raucous singing accompanied by what might’ve been a mandolin. A hazy cloud of pipe smoke hovered over a knot of elderly warlocks locked in heated discussion. House-elves darted between legs, balancing enormous silver platters piled high with food.

Not even top thirty on Kitty’s lifetime party list—but in the wizarding world, she’d take what she could get. Muggles still threw better ragers.

They had barely stepped inside when Parvati squealed and bolted toward some famous witch or wizard. The rest were about to follow when Slughorn appeared, already swaying with drunken cheer. Perfect. The man was primed for negotiation.

“Harry, m’boy! Come in, come in! So many people to meet! And Katherine—my lady—don’t you look radiant in red! Come, come.”

He looped Kitty’s arm through his own with all the tenderness of a proud uncle. Harry got less tenderness—Slughorn grabbed his arm like he thought the boy might make a run for it (and, to be fair, he might).

Harry, already radiating get me out of here, latched onto Luna’s hand and dragged her along for moral support as Slughorn herded them toward a stocky man with tiny glasses.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires! And of course—his charming companion, Sanguini.”

Worple beamed as he shook Harry’s hand. Sanguini—tall, pale, and sunken-eyed—gave Kitty a slow, deliberate nod, eyes flicking to her neck, then back to her face. She couldn’t tell if he was hot or just a vampire. More investigation needed.

“Harry Potter, I am delighted!” Worple gushed. “Just the other day I said to Horace, ‘Where is the Harry Potter biography the world so desperately needs?’”

“Er… were you?” Harry said flatly.

Kitty resisted the urge to pinch him. Such a tragic little anti-celebrity, he was.

“Modest, as ever! But truly, dear boy, the public is craving your story. If you granted me a few interviews—four or five hours apiece—we could have it finished in months! And the gold you’d make—millions!”

“I’m definitely not interested,” Harry said, voice like steel. “And I’ve just seen a friend—sorry.”

He melted into the crowd with Luna, abandoning Kitty. She covered smoothly, flashing a dazzling smile. “He’s so humble, isn’t it endearing?”

Slughorn jumped in. “Yes, yes! Allow me to introduce Katherine St. Cloud—the best student I’ve never taught!”

Kitty laughed, eyes bright. “You do know how to make a girl feel special, Professor.”

She pivoted into conversation with Worple, charm dialled up to eleven—asking thoughtful questions about his work, nodding earnestly at vampire anecdotes. Meanwhile, Sanguini kept inching closer. Was he going to kiss her or drain her dry? Both had potential.

Finally, she pounced. “I’ve been dying to read more on vampires from the Restricted Section, but I’ve never been able to get access. I was hoping for a year-long pass but—” she looked up at Slughorn, wide-eyed, lower lip trembling “—Professor Snape doesn’t like me much.”

Slughorn, teetering on the brink of sentimental meltdown, waved his arms. “Oh, you poor thing! Yes, I’ve heard Severus isn’t your biggest fan—can’t imagine why, you’re an absolute delight!”

He whipped out his wand, conjured a quill and parchment—both slightly wobbly—and scrawled an official year-long pass to the Restricted Section.

“Here you are, my dear girl!”

Kitty clutched it to her chest. FUCKING FINALLY. She tucked it into her clutch before he could realise what a terrible mistake he’d just made.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said sweetly, quickly making her escape before he tried to hug her (he looked dangerously close).

Her stomach growled. She was suddenly very aware she hadn’t eaten since… well, whenever it was she’d forgotten lunch. No wonder she was tipsy from Cormac's Firewhiskey. Across the room, a house-elf toddled by with a tray of mysterious golden deep-fried spheres. Kitty intercepted it, popped four into her mouth in quick succession, and mumbled, “Mmm—arancini?” Yum. She loaded another couple onto a napkin.

She scanned the party, trying to figure out how to make bland party fun without getting totally smashed. That’s when she spotted Sanguini the vampire, staring at her from across the room.

Hmm. Hooking up with a vampire? Dangerous—absolutely. But that only made it sexier. And seeing all her friends paired off had left her feeling a touch reckless.

She shifted her stance into the angle she knew made her body look stunning, and winked at him.

Suddenly—

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice cut through the air.

She shrugged, unrepentantly. “Sticking out my gyatt for the rizzler.”

Harry stared at her flatly. “Sometimes I have no idea what you’re saying.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay fine—‘gyatt’ comes from ‘gyatt damn,’ as in god damn, look at that arse. In this context, it just means arse. ‘Rizz’ is short for charisma, in a flirting sense. A ‘rizzler’ is someone with charisma and good flirting game. So—'sticking out my gyatt for the rizzler’ means I’m sticking out my arse for a guy with game.”

She looked at him expectantly.

Harry just blinked. “What even goes on in your brain?”

“A lot of unlicensed activity,” she said breezily.

He shook his head and walked off toward Professor Trelawney and Luna.

Rude.

She glanced back across the room—only to find Sanguini gone. She consoled herself with another arancini ball. And another. She was happily chewing, wondering if there were more, when—

Tap tap.

She turned—and found herself face-to-face (well, chin-to-forehead) with Sanguini.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Hello.”

“I wondered,” he intoned in a voice low and dramatic, “if you might accompany me for a turn about the room?”

Kitty nearly laughed out loud. A turn about the room? What was this—Bridgerton?

“How could I possibly say no to that, good sir?” she said, trying to keep a straight face.

He nodded faintly, and they began circling the room. Sanguini wasn’t much of a talker—just broody silences and the occasional dramatic sigh, like he was auditioning for a black-and-white art film.

“So,” Kitty ventured, “how long have you been nocturnal?”

“One hundred and four years,” he said gravely, fixing her with a piercing stare.

“Right. And was that, like… by choice?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in just a little too close.

Kitty took a step back. “Whoa there, Dracula. It’s barely our first turn around the room. Buy a girl dinner first.”

He leaned in again, this time staring at her throat like it was a five-star meal. “Your neck is… exquisite.”

“Thanks,” she said cautiously. “It’s attached to my head, so I’m rather fond of it.”

He moved closer again and then suddenly gagged. Gagged. Full-body flinch, eyes watering. He reeled back and coughed into a velvet sleeve. “What… what is that scent?”

She frowned in offence. “My perfume, dickhead?”

Sanguini took another step back, arms raised like she’d drawn a crucifix. “It burns. The stench—it is unholy.”

“Well fuck you dude! I smell great! Oh—” Kitty lit up with realisation. “Oh my god, the arancini balls! They were full of garlic!”

He stumbled backward into a candelabra. “You should have warned me!”

“I didn’t think I had to!” she argued. “They’re party snacks, everyone’s eating them!”

He hissed at her—actually hissed—and turned on his heel to disappear into the crowd, cape flaring dramatically behind him.

Kitty watched him go, vaguely concerned she’d accidentally pepper-sprayed a vampire with garlic breath. But also, the guy clearly wanted to eat her, so she didn’t feel that bad.

She shook it off, grabbed a drink, and set off to find the rest of the Gryffindors. Nothing else for it. She was getting those losers drunk.

Kitty's Christmas party dress!

Chapter Text

The train back to London on the first day of the holidays was pure hangover hell. Kitty felt like death warmed up, cooled down again, reheated in the microwave, and then dropped on the floor. Twice.

And she wasn’t the only one. After her not-so-subtle campaign to get everyone plastered at Slughorn’s Christmas party, the entire compartment looked like death. Hermione was compulsively stroking a disgruntled Crookshanks like she was on autopilot. Ginny was lying face-down on the seat and moaning for the sweet release of death. Harry had pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie as tight as they could go to block out the light. Ron kept dry-heaving every time the train rocked.

The rocking of the train, incidentally, wasn’t helping anyone.

Basically, the compartment was rough. The only one who looked remotely alive was Luna, who didn’t drink. Not that Kitty would ever describe Luna as “sober.” She was constantly high on her own brainpower—a truly admirable state of mind to exist in.

At some point, a muffled croak emerged from under Harry’s hoodie: “I heard Malfoy talking to Snape in the corridor outside Slughorn’s office.”

“Huuunnghhhh,” was the general response from everyone.

Harry, bless his persistent little heart, tried to elaborate. Something about Snape making an Unbreakable Vow. Kitty slurred out a half-coherent explanation of the magic behind it—because Ron was insisting that Fred and George had almost tricked him into one when they were kids.

(And for the record, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: that was absolutely not possible. Children could not perform Unbreakable Vows! The twins were just fucking with him, which honestly was even funnier that Ron was insisting he almost died.)

Harry interrupted the world’s most hungover argument. “Guys can we please just agree that Malfoy is up to something?”

Everyone grunted in agreement, too apathetic to do much more. Except Luna, who perked up brightly. “Draco tried to kill Katie Bell,” she announced matter-of-factly.

There was a confused pause.

Considering the fact that Katie Bell was completely fine, the rest of the compartment returned to their thousand-yard stares writing it off as just another Luna-ism. Everyone except Kitty, who was now staring at Luna with the reverence of someone watching a prophet descend from the heavens.

Luna. Bloody. Lovegood. Literally the smartest person in the school and nobody even knew it!

Kitty was quietly grateful everyone else was too hungover to ask any follow-up questions for the rest of the journey, or she’d probably have to do some damage control.

When they finally staggered off the train at King’s Cross, Remus and Sirius were waiting to shepherd her and Harry back to Grimmauld Place. Kitty didn’t even hesitate—she launched herself at Remus and clung to him like a koala.

(Hungover hugs, in her professional medical opinion, were the highest form of treatment. Hydration who? She was all about that human-shaped paracetamol.)

Kitty frowned as she realised just how bony Remus felt under all those winter layers. She leaned back and gave him a slow, critical once-over. He looked worryingly close to his Third Year Aesthetic™ again—gaunt, hollow-eyed, and about one missed meal away from becoming a scarecrow.

Yes, she understood that Remus had to be undercover with the werewolf packs, but still—seeing him like this again was upsetting. It was easy to forget how rough he used to live before Kitty came into his life. (And yes, obviously Sirius, Tonks and regular meals, had an effect on his lifestyle but MOSTLY meeting Kitty).

Remus clearly sensed a lecture incoming because before Kitty could start mother-henning him, he very smoothly shoved her sideways into Sirius. She pouted but allowed herself to sink into the comfort that was Sirius Black’s arms.

…it was an effective distraction. Damn you, Moony!

Cheeky fucker even had the gall to smirk.

Once they were back at Grimmauld, Kitty finally got the chance to dig into Regulus’ SUPER secret stash of books.

She did feel a bit guilty about keeping the whole “oh by the way I had a chat with your dead little brother” thing from Sirius. It seemed like the kind of info you should definitely share with someone… but Regulus had asked her not to! And she wasn’t about to break a promise to a ghost. Bad karma.

She found the hidden compartment easily enough and opened it with blood she’d preserved from Bellatrix’s dismembered hand—there wasn’t much blood left (duh, it bled out), but enough to activate the hidden compartment.

Viola! The compartment clicked open.

But it wasn’t just Horcrux books inside. Nope. This was Regulus’s entire “hide this from Mum” collection: diary, private letters, even photographs. Kitty was floored that he’d trusted her with all of it. And it was solid proof that the spirit she’d spoken with really was Regulus Black and not some weird phantom her brain had coughed up.

She leafed through the stash with the solemn decision that she’d eventually hand it over to Sirius… but only once she was done with her totally necessary snoop-fest! (Because, yes, she absolutely intended to read every last thing).

She started by cracking open his diary. It was… a cocktail. A very weird, very strong cocktail. One page: chilling accounts of his time as a Death Eater (yikes). Next page: heartbreaking laments about his mother’s mental spiral, from garden-variety unstable to full-on batshit. Then—bam—wistful asides about missing Sirius. And sprinkled liberally throughout? An ungodly amount of existential whining about the eligible pureblood girls paraded in front of him.

Spoiler alert: Regulus was not impressed.

Like, at all.

And if Kitty hadn’t already pieced it together when she met him, the diary spelled it out in neon lights—Regulus was gaaaaay.

No wonder Kreacher had been so adamant that Regulus wouldn’t want her in his bed.

Once she’d finished snooping through all the wildly personal stuff (zero regrets, ten out of ten, would invade his privacy again), she finally turned to what Regulus had actually wanted her to see—the Horcrux books. Otherwise known as: pure, uncut nightmare fuel.

One book was basically a DIY guide to ripping your soul apart. She forced herself to read it because, you know, Horcrux knowledge = crucial for the plot. But no lie, she puked afterward and didn’t sleep properly for days.

No wonder Voldemort came back looking like a humanoid snek-man. He was basically just a vessel for a shard of broken soul.

She couldn’t help but wonder if the horcruxes were why Voldy loved hanging out with Dementors so much. He barely had any soul left to snack on—like, why would Dementors waste calories chasing after him when they could have a proper three-course meal somewhere else?

Anyway, once she finally finished reading her way through the stash, she handed it all over to Sirius. She claimed she’d accidentally tripped and dropped Bellatrix’s severed hand on the floorboards, and boom—secret compartment unlocked.

Sirius gave her a look so sceptical it could’ve curdled milk, but then he caught sight of Regulus’ diary and instantly forgot to interrogate her. Priorities.

It was Christmas morning at Grimmauld Place, and Kitty, Harry, Sirius, and Remus were exchanging presents like a cute little family before Remus would slip off to spend the day with the Tonks’.

At lunchtime, Sirius Apparated her and Harry into the Burrow’s delightful chaos, and Kitty’s eyes practically went into orbit the moment she spotted Fleur. For one dangerously unhinged heartbeat, she got walloped by the full blast of Veela allure—Fleur’s hair shimmering like spun silver under the fairy lights, her skin glowing like moonlight on fresh snow—but Kitty shoved it down. Friends first. Magically irresistible sirens second!!

Fleur floated forward with a radiant smile, and they collided in a hug, automatically slipping into French. They soon found themselves tucked into a corner by the Christmas tree, giggling like co-conspirators as they caught up on their months apart.

“So,” Kitty murmured, lowering her voice even though she was 100% sure no one else in the Burrow spoke French, “how’s it going with the mother-in-law-from-hell?”

Fleur’s face twisted with frustration. “Bill has tried so many times to speak with her. But nothing changes! She not only treats me terribly, she is pushing away her own son. I have never met a more judgmental woman in my life. Nothing I can do is good enough. I’m finished with trying to please her.”

Kitty squeezed her hand firmly. “Good. Fuck that. You don’t need her.”

Fleur’s mouth curled into a sly smile. “I’m glad you are here today. Now I am not the only person who didn’t receive one of her famous Christmas jumpers.”

Kitty looked around in confusion and yep! Everyone—literally everyone—except Fleur and her were wearing a Molly-knitted jumper. Even Sirius had one. The petty was LOUD.

Kitty scoffed. “Well, we clearly win best dressed.”

Their conversation was cut short by the call for Christmas lunch, so they hurried into the kitchen and grabbed chairs as far away from Molly as possible. Sirius plopped down on Kitty’s other side, and she couldn’t help but think she had officially claimed the best seat in the house—safely sandwiched between her best friend and her… other best friend.

Everyone was eating happily when Ron had reached for the last bread roll just as it zipped through the air and landed neatly on Sirius’s plate.

“Oi! I was gonna eat that!” Ron protested.

“And I was unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years,” Sirius said sanctimoniously, already buttering the roll. “I think I deserve it.”

A collective groan went around the table.

“Sirius, you can’t keep using Azkaban as an excuse to steal the last piece of food,” Harry said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Au contraire,” Sirius replied, waving the bread roll around. “I think I’ll be having the last bread roll for the rest of my life.” He beamed like he’d just won an award and winked at Kitty.

Kitty was still giggling when a sharp shriek cut through the merriment as Molly jumped to her feet. Kitty’s hand shot to her wand like reflex.

“Arthur! Arthur—it’s Percy!”

Huh???

“What?” Arthur said sharply, rising halfway out of his chair.

She whipped around with everyone else and stared out the kitchen window, breathing hard and trying to calm her poor heart with the knowledge that they weren’t being attacked.

There was Percy, marching stiffly across the yard with Rufus Scrimgeour. Kitty recognized him from the endless Daily Prophet articles.

Did this happen in canon? Obviously it must have, or it wouldn’t be happening right now. Duh. But she had zero memory of it! 

The back door swung open, letting a blast of cold air rush as Percy and Scrimgeour stepped inside.

“Merry Christmas, Mother,” Percy said stiffly, like he was reading off a cue card.

“Oh, Percy!” Molly sobbed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around him.

He did not hug her back.

Kitty blinked, genuinely baffled. Was he trying to make a statement? Prove a point? Audition for the role of coldest human alive?

Scrimgeour lingered in the doorway, “You must forgive the intrusion. Percy and I were nearby on Ministry business, and he couldn’t resist dropping in to see you all.”

Meanwhile, Percy continued his masterclass in Rigid Statue 101, making it very clear that the “couldn’t resist” line was total bullshit.

Molly, blissfully incapable of reading social cues, was about to combust with joy. “Please, come in, Minister! Have some purkey—or tudding, I mean—”

“No, no, dear Molly, I wouldn’t dream of imposing. Wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to visit so badly…”

Molly sniffled and planted a kiss on Percy’s cheek. He did not respond. Fucking psycho.

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. “We’ll only stay a moment. I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you all catch up with Percy. No need for me to interrupt—unless someone would care to show me the garden?”

He glanced around, eyes landing very deliberately on Harry. “Ah—looks like that young man’s just finished. Why doesn’t he walk with me?”

The room instantly lost about ten degrees in warmth.

But Kitty felt a faint memory nudge her brain—something about Harry being the Ministry’s poster boy?? She really should have read the damn book.

“No.” Sirius said firmly, like he was daring Scrimgeour to try anything.

“It’s fine, Sirius,” Harry said, rising from his chair.

Sirius had half-risen too, probably to argue or demand a spot as escort.

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, pointedly, brushing past him.

Scrimgeour clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Just a quick turn around the garden, and then Percy and I will be on our way. Carry on, everyone!”

Harry followed, the door clicking shut behind them. The kitchen fell into a weird, tense quiet as Molly fussed over Percy, smoothing down his collar like he was an eleven-year-old at his first day of Hogwarts.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to be calm. “Son… do you… mean to stay? Join us for Christmas dinner?” Kitty could see the muscle in his jaw working.

“Yes, yes, let’s get you a plate, darling. You must be starving—” Molly cooed.

“No need, Mother,” Percy said stiffly. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Oh, but—Percy—are you sure? It’s Christmas!”

Percy shook his head. “This is just a… courtesy call.”

“A courtesy call?” George interjected flatly, “To your own family?”

“Ministry’s pet comes home for Christmas,” Fred muttered. “Do they let you off the leash now, or did Scrimgeour bring the collar?”

Percy snapped, “You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under. I came here in good faith.”

Molly began wringing her hands frantically, muttering a stream of panicked protests for everybody to be nice to each other.

“Oh, good faith, was it?” mocked George. “You haven’t written, you haven’t visited, and last time we saw you, you were helping Fudge lie through his teeth—”

“You’re the one who turned your back on us,” Fred growled. “But now that the Ministry’s having a meltdown, suddenly we’re worth a ‘courtesy call’? Fuck off.”

“Language!” Molly yelled. “Boys! Having Percy here is a gift! Don’t ruin Christmas!”

Ginny then grabbed a spoonful of mashed parsnips from her plate. “Ruining Christmas? How ‘bout this?” She flung the parsnips across the table where they splatted onto Percy’s cheek, then dripped down onto the front of his robes.

Molly shrieked in horror, “GINNY!”

The twins immediately sent their own spoonful’s of mash, landing on Percy’s shoulder and glasses respectively.

“STOP!” Molly gasped, clutching the edge of the table. “Stop this at once!”

Percy bellowed, “Is this how you behave? Like unruly, uncivilized—” and started toward the door, clearly staging his grand exit.

“NO!” Molly lunged, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him away from the door.

The fuck?!

Percy tried to rip his arm from her, and Arthur darted forward trying to extract Molly before someone got hurt. With Arthur restraining her, Percy wriggled free, flung open the door, and ran out.

Molly tore after him, sobbing and shouting, with Arthur jogging behind her. “Percy, wait! Please, Percy—don’t go like this!”

Kitty’s eyes followed the chaos with full appreciation.

Sirius leaned down to murmur in her ear, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You could at least try to hide your smile, Kitty Kat.”

That’s how she realised she had a wide, manic smile on her face and quickly tamped it down, trying to look appropriately respectful for an outsider witnessing an emotionally devastating family meltdown.

She leaned closer. “I know you’re enjoying this just as much as I am, Padfoot.”

“I would never,” he said, eyes wide and perfectly innocent.

Kitty snorted, but the sound was cut off by Molly’s return, sobbing so violently the kitchen seemed to quake. Arthur had her wrapped in his arms, murmuring soothingly, trying to anchor her from total collapse.

Ron leaned forward hesitantly, “Don’t worry, Mum. Percy’s such a prat. It’s not really a loss, is it?”

Molly wailed and ran upstairs to cry in peace.

Kitty snorted as Ron looked around guiltily. She would die for that kind of comedic timing. This family didn’t appreciate the comedy king living under their own roof.

Arthur sighed, running a hand over his face. “Let’s give your mother some space, alright, kids?”

A chorus of murmured agreement followed as Arthur went to sit back down, the kitchen slowly settling back down.

Then the door swung open again, and Harry stormed back in, face thunderous—and somehow completely oblivious to the entryway being plastered in dripping parsnips. He dropped into his chair with a grim look.

“Scrimgeour wants me to endorse the Ministry,” he said. “Said it would boost morale if I was seen backing them.”

“They think they can use you like a poster boy?” Ginny demanded, eyebrows practically slicing the air.

“They’re desperate,” Arthur muttered, his voice sad and low.

Harry shrugged, scowling. “That’s not even the worst part. Umbridge is still working there.”

The room erupted into instant protest. Voices overlapped, outrage bouncing off the walls.

Kitty’s gaze flicked down, automatically, to the pale letters scarred into the back of her left hand: Live Laugh Love. She joked about them endlessly, but truthfully she hated them. But then she’d see Harry’s smooth, unmarked hand and tell herself that last year went fine. She’d taken the hit. No regrets. Not even a single letter.

Arthur gave a weary nod. “She’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, working on Azkaban security since the Dementors left.”

Kitty flexed her fingers, said nothing, and let the rest of them spend the remainder of lunch cursing Umbridge out.

After lunch, everyone drifted into the living room. A sniffly Molly reappeared, offering everyone eggnog.

Kitty eyed the creamy concoction and decided it looked like someone had already drunk it, then regurgitated it into the bowl to feed a litter of baby birds. Hard pass. Instead, she eased onto the arm of Sirius’s chair and began stealthily stealing sips of his firewhiskey every time he set it down. He didn’t even notice—or maybe he did and was just letting her get away with it.

Fleur and Bill plopped down beside them, and the conversation quickly turned to hopeful post-war travel. Kitty’s eyes practically sparkled—she and Fleur had already been scheming a trip to France, and now Bill was talking about whisking Fleur off to Egypt and Romania.

What really made her blink, though, was discovering that Bill and Sirius had somehow become besties in Remus’s undercover absence. Apparently, these two had been hanging out after Order meetings. It shouldn’t have surprised her—of course Bill and Sirius would get along! Even seeing them stand next to each other was like two sides of the same rock-chic coin.

The four of them were debating France, Romania, and Egypt, and tossing around ideas for other countries to visit. She desperately wanted to blurt, “And Australia!” but paused because as far as anyone knew Katherine St. Cloud had only ever been to Australia as a child and therefore wouldn’t know her way around. So she swallowed the urge and smiled, letting herself be swept up in the excitement of travel dreams, and the sheer joy of plotting adventures with people she loved.

When it was time for them to leave, Kitty made Fleur promise that she’d come over tomorrow so they could have a proper hang out.

Perhaps Kitty’s age-up ritual was finally catching up with her, or maybe Fleur was just that great, but Kitty was craving Fleur’s company over her school friends and she didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

Unfortunately, New Year’s Eve wasn’t the celebration Kitty had pictured. The Order had been planning a small party at Grimmauld, but celebrations were cancelled when news broke that morning that a swarm of Dementors had attacked a group of boy scouts on a wilderness camp in Ireland.

The Dementors had kissed every single one of them.

Calling the situation sad was like describing Fleur as “pretty”—technically true, but such a gross understatement it may as well be a lie.

Thirty Muggle children having their souls sucked out was so far beyond what Kitty had ever thought possible in this war. No wonder it wasn’t in the HP books. Nothing child friendly about that. The news was completely heartbreaking and wholly demoralising to everyone. If Kitty didn’t already know that Harry would eventually beat Voldemort, she’d probably have at least considered giving up and leaving the country by now. 

But she knew they would win. So, she did what she did best.

Compartmentalise!

Because Kitty was excellent at compartmentalising. All the deaths, all the disappearances—they got tucked neatly into a box in her brain labelled Do Not Open Unless Canonically Necessary. She was a willing resident of Denial Town, population: blissfully ignorant.

(Nothing bad had ever happened from ignoring your emotions, right? RIGHT?!)

Anyway, Kitty spent most of the day and night hiding in her room, avoiding the Order members rushing in and out with updates simply because she didn’t want to know.

But just before midnight, Kitty bundled herself in a blanket and slipped out to the back garden. If she couldn’t have a NYE party, she could at least hear the muffled shouts and laughter of Muggles in the surrounding neighbourhood. Maybe she’d even catch a glimpse of fireworks over the rooftops.

What she wasn’t expecting was Sirius.

He was already outside, sitting on the very bench she had been planning to perch herself, with a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He nodded at her in wordless greeting.

“It’s a bit cold for brooding,” she said in a questioning tone.

Instead of replying, he just held out the cigarette between two fingers.

She leaned in and took a drag, exhaling the smoke slowly into the night air. Sirius watched her the entire time.

She handed it back, their fingers brushing.

He took one last drag, stubbed it into the snow, then crooked two fingers at her. “Come here. I need some of that blanket.”

Kitty pretended to sigh in exasperation but sat down immediately, opening the blanket so it draped over them both. Sirius wasted no time sliding an arm around her, pulling her snug against his side. She melted against him and cuddled up as close as she possibly could under the guise of ‘being cold’.

His cheek brushed the top of her head, resting there casually. Thank God he couldn’t see her face, because the stupid smile she had to bite back would’ve given everything away.

For a while, they said nothing, just sitting in the stillness, listening to the faint thump of music and the occasional drunken shout drifting from parties around the neighbourhood.

Eventually, Kitty’s brain started to catch up with her.

What was she doing?

This was too intimate for ‘just friends.’ And she had decided that Sirius could only ever be just a friend. No matter how good it felt to be close to him like this.

She didn’t even notice she’d started tearing at her cuticles until Sirius’ free hand caught hers. He stilled her restless picking, his fingers flexing around hers, before tapping her knuckle with his thumb.

“I know today was hard,” he murmured. “How are you holding up?”

Kitty exhaled, thankful he thought her nerves were about the Dementor attack and not… well, everything else. “Alright, I guess. Just want this whole war to be over already.”

Sirius hummed, distracted.

Guilt pricked her chest. She hadn’t even asked how he was doing. Dementor attacks always shredded him—echoes of Azkaban that all the healing at St. Mungo’s couldn’t scrub out.

“What about you?” she asked quietly.

“Fine,” he said automatically, though his thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the back of her hand. His voice cracked when he added, “I just fucking hate Dementors.”

His voice held bone-deep weariness.

“You never talk about Azkaban…” she said carefully.

She felt his cheek twitch against her hair. “Nor will I.”

“I’m always here if you need someone,” she murmured, nudging his shoulder gently with her cheek.

After a long pause, he said quietly, “I’m glad you are.”

Kitty tilted her head up to look at him. He looked so, so unbearably sad. His eyes were heavy with hopeless exhaustion.

“I’ve been fighting my whole life and I’m so fucking tired.” His throat worked as he added hoarsely, “Dumbledore told me not to ask about your dreams. But I need to know—” His grip on her hand tightened. “Is there even a point? Will we win? Or is it just… more people dying?”

Kitty squeezed his hand back, like she could anchor him to hope. “Hold on, Siri,” she whispered fiercely. “There’s so much good coming if we can just endure the bad right now.”

His eyes searched hers desperately. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” she said, steady, firm, certain.

Because Sirius would find happiness, even if it killed her. She hadn’t saved his life just for him to die later. He would live to see a world without Voldemort.

Sirius exhaled sharply, relief visible in the puff of white air.

Suddenly the night air was alive with sound: fireworks crackling and distant cheers. It must have hit midnight. Kitty tilted her face up to the sky, listening to the celebrations she couldn’t see.

When she turned her head, Sirius was watching her with impossibly soft eyes. Her stomach swooped.

“Happy New Year, Siri” she whispered.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Happy New Year, Kitty Kat” he returned.

His hand lifted slowly, tracing the line of her jaw. Her breath caught as his thumb brushed lightly across her bottom lip. For one reckless, suspended second, Kitty thought he was going to lean in…

But then—“You should get some sleep,” he rasped.

His thumb skimmed her lip one last time before he let his hand drop to his lap.

Kitty blinked hard, trying to clear the haze fogging up her brain, and nodded absently like a bobblehead. She gingerly slipped out of his arms, muttered a strangled goodnight, and all but fled inside—leaving the blanket draped around his shoulders.

Back in bed, she tried to give herself a stern lecture. Don’t get excited. It wasn’t even a kiss. Almost-kisses don’t count. But her brain wasn’t listening. How was she supposed to sleep when Sirius was out there doing shit like that? She wasn’t thinking about sleep—she was thinking about climbing onto his lap and finding out exactly what he tasted like!

But no. NO. Absolutely not. Kissing Sirius would be a disaster waiting to happen. He’d hate her the second he learned how much she’d lied. And besides, she was leaving for Australia anyway.

She forced herself to breathe. In. Out. Ignore the beautiful man. Focus on the war.

She stared at the ceiling.

…Yeah, not happening.

Chapter Text

After the Christmas holidays, students were allowed to Floo back to Hogwarts—which made absolutely zero sense to Kitty. Like, sure, let’s just connect the most important school in the country directly to every random fireplace in Britain?? Brilliant security, guys. But hey, she wasn’t the one in charge.

From the moment she got back to Hogwarts, Kitty had been counting down the days until the 12th of January—her birthday!!! She was extra excited for this one because she was finally turning seventeen (cough twenty cough) and would at last be free to do magic outside school without all the sneaking around.

Kitty woke up extra early on her birthday to find a pile of presents at the end of her bed. She unwrapped cards and gifts that were all ridiculously heartfelt and lovely, including a friendship necklace from Fleur, who held the matching one. (Any reports of Kitty tearing up were vicious, unfounded rumours and should be ignored immediately.)

She nearly snorted when she opened Sirius’s gift: a badass black leather jacket. She was sure he’d picked it out because she’d tried on his over the holidays—and she definitely hadn’t imagined the way his eyes had gone all dark and dangerous. HA. His card, of course, couldn’t resist being cheeky, wishing her a twentieth birthday and a dramatic farewell to teenagehood. Naturally, she’d have to burn it because Lavender and Parvati would 100% be rifling through her presents and cards the moment they woke up, and there was no way she was letting them get their grabby little hands on that piece of evidence.

Then she tugged a heavier package toward her, wrapped in sleek black paper—and unwrapped it to find a stack of Dark Arts books. Not just any Dark Arts books, either. This was the kind of collection she hadn’t seen since rooting through the ‘To Burn’ box in Regulus’s bedroom. In fact, one of them was Necromancy for Beginners, which she’d known was in his collection but never got the chance to read.

Which was… confusing. Because unless she’d missed a resurrection memo, her favourite dead librarian was still very much dead. So who the hell…?

She tore back through the discarded wrapping looking for a card—and the moment she found it, her stomach dropped straight through her ass.

On the front of the card was a hand-drawn image of her and Barty Crouch Jr. in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries—literally the exact moment where he had her pinned as a hostage, hands groping her while Neville writhed under the Cruciatus Curse.

That was the cover art.

Her stomach lurched. She forced down the disgust clawing up her throat and flipped the card open.

Dearest Kitty,

Happy 17^th Birthday, my love.

Seventeen, at last. I have counted every day, every hour, every heartbeat until this moment. Now you stand at the threshold of adulthood, and the world will finally recognize that you are not a child but a woman.

My equal. My destined. Though soulmates do not need permission slips of age, now there are no more barriers between us. And how I ache for you. Every night I go to sleep waiting for the day we are reunited again…

I’ve chosen these books carefully, each one will bring you a step closer to your full potential.

With all my undying devotion,

B.C.

Kitty stared at the words until they blurred. So much for enjoying her birthday.

With the weary sigh, she dragged herself out of bed, the card pinched between two fingers. Sure, it would be infinitely easier to just torch it and forget it ever existed, but she had to bring it to McGonagall to report it. 

As for the books… well, she’d pretend she burned them immediately. Maybe scatter some ash around the dorm for dramatic effect. Because come on—they were too interesting to give up! Fucking Slytherins and their impeccable taste in literature. Ugh.

She was just about to make her escape when a wild Parvati appeared, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!—Woah, what is that?!”

Kitty wished she’d slipped away earlier, because by breakfast all her friends knew that Crouch had managed to put a serious damper on the celebrations.

The first Saturday of February brought the first official Apparition lesson that every 6th year had signed up for. Totally useless for Kitty, of course, but skipping it would’ve been a glaring red flag that she wasn’t supposed to know Apparition yet—illegal and all that. So, she dutifully showed up looking devastatingly good (as always), despite the weather serving Scottish depression.

How many weeks of fake attempts would it take before she could casually flex on everyone and show off her perfected Apparition? Three lessons? Four? It had taken hours to master the skill with Remus. She just needed to make it look like she was learning, while still radiating genius prodigy energy. Sighing, she braced herself for a full hour of twirling in a circle like a complete amateur.

The Great Hall had been cleared out. On the dais stood the Heads of House and their special guest: the Apparition instructor, who looked exactly like Leslie Jordan. (RIP, king. Taken too soon. Truly the moment.)

“Good morning. My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to prepare you for your Apparition Tests in that time. As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment—purely within the Great Hall—for one hour, so you may practice. You will not be able to Apparate outside this Hall. Don’t try it unless you’d like to end up inside a wall. Or a toilet.”

Kitty frowned. How the heck could the wards let you Apparate within a room of Hogwarts but block anyone from coming in? Did that mean the Great Hall was basically a glowing target for a surprise attack? Surely not. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow that.

She made a mental note to ask Hermione about apparition wards later, as the Great Hall erupted into shoving as students jostled to stand exactly five feet apart.

Kitty ignored Twycross’ instructions, waiting for his countdown to twirl—because if she was going to be forced to spin like an idiot, she refused to look like an idiot.

“ONE—TWO—THREE!”

Kitty executed a perfectly noncommittal yet graceful twirl.

The rest of the class? Hot, glorious chaos. Neville somehow toppled backward for reasons no one could explain. Ernie Macmillan launched himself into his hoop like a surprisingly enthusiastic ballerina. Dean didn’t even bother twirling at all and just stood there cackling at everyone.

“Adjust your hoops and try again!” Twycross called.

Kitty spun again. Still fake; still flawless.

By round four, things got juicy. A blood-curdling scream cut through the Hall, and suddenly Susan was standing in her hoop… minus her left leg!! The missing leg sat five feet away, giving off serious dismemberment vibes. The Heads of House converged in a flurry, fixing everything and vanishing the very impressive amount of blood.

Twycross, utterly unphased, explained: “Splinching occurs when your mind lacks sufficient determination. You must be focused. And deliberate. Like this...”

He gave a demonstration that helped absolutely no one.

“Try again. One—two—three!”

CRACK.

Kitty vanished—automatically, no thought required—and reappeared perfectly inside her hoop.

Shit. She hadn’t been paying attention—distracted by Susan’s splinching—and had Apparated for real. Whatever. Better to own it.

She blinked around innocently. “Did I do it right?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just shown up the entire year level with her effortless skill.

Silence.

“Excellent work, young lady!” Twycross said, stepping forward. “Clean exit, no splinching, no stumble. Remarkable for a first-timer!”

Kitty widened her eyes like the sweet little girl she absolutely was not. “Oh! Thank you, sir. I was just trying my best.”

The Hall buzzed with impressed murmurs, and Flitwick even clapped and jumped up and down because he was a supportive king. But McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, like she somehow just knew Kitty was fucking with everyone but couldn't work out how.

Next to her, Hermione was openly gaping. Kitty shrugged innocently. “Beginner’s luck?” she offered, giving Hermione a tiny, patronizing pat on the arm—as if Hermione were the underdog in this situation. (She would savour it while it lasted. Hermione Granger: future Apparition beast.)

Unfortunately, she had to spend the rest of the class pretending that it had been a fluke, because being perfect at Apparition straight away just wasn’t realistic. So, she twirled lots and made sure she looked cute doing it because others were surely looking at her for tips now.

When she got to the common room, Kitty expected at least a little praise for her flawless Apparition performance. Instead, she was bulldozed by Harry, who was practically vibrating with excitement over some conversation he’d overheard from Draco that was, in Kitty’s words, soooo sus. Something about Crabbe and Goyle acting as his personal lookouts. There was nothing anyone could do now—Harry was fully committed to the stalk. He proceeded to monitor the Marauder’s Map at every possible opportunity, practically living through it.

Kitty huffed at the complete lack of attention she was receiving and swivelled toward Hermione. “How did Dumbledore lift the Apparition wards in the Great Hall without opening it to outsiders?”

Hermione straightened immediately, as she always did when in lecture mode. “It was actually just the standard Apparition ward. As far as I’m aware, only Hogwarts and Ministry offices block Apparition entirely, both in and out.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yes. The way it normally works is this: if you’re outside, you can’t Apparate in. But once you’re already inside, you can Apparate from one room to another. The Practical Guide to Domestic Warding explains it all."

Kitty tilted her head thoughtfully. “You can Apparate out though, right? If you’re inside already?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not usually. The standard ward prevents people from Apparating out—otherwise you’d get thieves stealing something and vanishing before you could stop them. You can’t Apparate out of most shops in Hogsmeade, for example. You can't Apparate out of Diagon Alley at all, for the same reason.”

Kitty was listening with wide-eyed attention, her mind flicking to the escape from Malfoy Manor. “What about houses, though? Old estates?” She asked carefully.

“That would depend on the owner. The more security-conscious the owner, the stronger the warding. High-security homes will almost always block Apparition out as well.”

Kitty hummed absently. She desperately wanted to ask about house-elves, because how had Dobby managed to pop in and out of Malfoy Manor if Apparition was barred? Could all prisoners have called a house elf to escape? Or was it just that Dobby used to work for the Malfoy family? But alas, Hermione had never truly forgiven her for bonding to Winky, and Kitty wasn’t about to reopen that can of worms.

Instead, Hermione leaned forward with a disappointed frown. “Shouldn’t you already know this? You’ll need Apparition wards for your Muggleborn safehouse.”

Kitty shrugged. “Dumbledore set up all the wards to match Grimmauld Place so I never had to think about it. And the Fidelius Charm is the big deal there, anyway. Plus most of the residents will be Muggles who can't Apparate."

Hermione gave her a list of recommended reading anyway.

Thanks little queen!!

Chapter Text

On the morning of Valentine’s Day, Kitty had been drafted to help Harry tackle his ridiculously huge stack of valentines. Now that he was officially the Chosen One, his fame was reaching record heights. At least all the mail this year was automatically being screened for curses, so there was zero chance that either he—or Kitty—would end up hurt.

Harry, too busy cuddling with Luna, delegated the entire card-and-chocolate disposal operation to Kitty, fully aware she would enjoy burning them.

But then her eyes landed on a suspicious box of chocolates labelled: From Romilda ❤️

Kitty nudged it over to Harry and Luna, “Guess what, I’m 99.9% sure Romilda laced this with a love potion.”

Hermione, cuddling Ron across the other side of the table, nodded sagely. “I overheard her talking about love potions with her friends a few months ago. I wouldn’t be surprised,”

Kitty’s grin went full evil. “So… shall we fuck with her?” she said, practically bouncing in her seat.

Luna extricated herself from Harry and leaned forward to examine the chocolates, opening the lid and sniffing them delicately. Then she gave Kitty a serene little smile, “Leave her to me, please.”

Kitty stilled. “Huh?”

“I think I’d like to deal with this myself. But I appreciate your dedication to revenge.”

Kitty blinked, then pouted. “What are you going to do to her? Can’t I help?” She knew she was whining, and didn’t care.

Luna shook her head serenely. “The sun is in Aquarius. You know this.”

Kitty groaned. “Plausible deniability, I know, I know.”

Everyone else just stared, thoroughly confused. Kitty narrowed her eyes at Harry. He’d been dating Luna for almost eight months and still didn’t speak her language? Unacceptable. Then again… thinking wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Why don’t you look through your own pile of Valentine’s?” Luna suggested innocently, all the while swiftly tucking the laced chocolates into her robes.

Kitty’s eyes narrowed. Well played, Luna. Well played.

She huffed and dragged her own pile in front of her. With a practiced flick of her wand, she murmured her usual curse-breaking charm over the whole lot. A brief shimmer passed over the envelopes. All clear. Yeah, they’d already been checked, but old habits die hard.

She started opening them, pleasantly surprised—overall, the standard was a definite upgrade from last year. Then she found an unadorned envelope and cracked it open. Plain parchment with no embellishments, just the words in now familiar handwriting;

Dearest Kitty,
Happy Valentine’s Day.
We’ll be together soon.
Love, B.C.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered under her breath.

She shoved it back in the envelope and threw it onto the table in disgust. She cradled her head in her hands, taking a moment to breathe and pretend she was just tired and not completely terrified and fed up with the deranged obsession this psycho had for her.

And then—

“BLOODY HELL, KITTY! Did Crouch send you another card?!”

Ron’s voice could not have been louder if he’d used a Sonorus Charm. Kitty’s head snapped up to see him and Hermione across the table reading the parchment. Hermione immediately smacked him. “Ron! Keep your voice down!” she hissed, eyes darting around.

But it was too late. The entire Great Hall was staring and muttering.

Kitty looked around for a beat, then snatched the parchment from Ron’s hand. She stood, stalked toward to the staff table and dropped it in front of McGonagall with all the drama of someone submitting evidence in a murder trial.

“Courtesy of Barty Crouch Jr,” she said, voice sweetly sarcastic. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.”

And with that, she turned on her heel, snatched the rest of her Valentines and strutted back to her dorm before the first class of the day.

The whole Hall was whispering feverishly behind her, presumably because her exit was so incredibly theatrical.

The rest of the week was not fun.

Despite her dramatic exit being nothing short of perfect, the Hogwarts rumour mill was merciless. She was now being stopped in the corridors to be asked if she was dating a Death Eater.

Yep. Idiots, the lot of them.

There was a small consolation in the fact that Romilda Vane was currently tiptoeing around the school looking scared out of her mind. When they all asked Luna what the hell she did to the girl, Luna just smiled guilelessly and hummed a little tune.

Kitty was fairly certain this version of Luna was her favourite kind. Terrorist Luna for the win!

Anyway, it was Saturday, a Hogsmeade weekend, and Kitty was determined to have some fun. Everyone else was using it as an excuse to go on dates—after all, it was the weekend closest to Valentine’s Day—but Kitty had issued a formal decree to all Girlboss recruits: mandatory Galentine’s brunch first, then they could all go off and snog whatever deadbeat boy they pleased.

She corralled Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Hannah, and Isobel into Madam Puddifoot’s, where they proceeded to have an adorably cute morning tea, brimming with girl power and enough giggles to make the whole shop vibrate.

Midway through brunch, the girlies spotted a young man sitting alone by the window sipping coffee. He looked sort of like Dev Patel. YUM. Even better, he kept eyeing their group! They couldn’t figure out which of them had caught his eye, but unanimously decided it must be Isobel.

Naturally, they all nudged her to approach him.

She sauntered over to introduce herself, said something none of them could hear and got politely brushed off.

It was a bit of a bummer because Isobel was definitely still hung up on Dean, and Kitty could tell she’d struggled with spending the morning with Ginny.

Eventually, brunch wound down and everyone drifted off to their respective dates. The Three Broomsticks again? Groundbreaking. BARF.

Kitty floated through Hogsmeade looking for something to do, when she spotted a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost—Tonks!

“Oi, lover girl,” Kitty grinned, skipping over. “How’s the local crime scene?”

Tonks gave her a crooked smile, “Wotcher! Nothing too exciting, which is both a blessing and a shame. I’m just doing the rounds.”

“What’s it actually like?” Kitty asked, tilting her head. “Being on Auror patrol, I mean.”

“Hmm… daytime’s usually quiet. It’s the nights that are shit. I’ve been assigned here because I’m staying with my parents—it’s easier if I have to respond quickly.”

Kitty nodded. “Makes sense. How’s Remus?”

Tonks’ smile softened. “He managed to come back for Valentine’s Day. He has to go back soon but I’m… well. You know.” She looked at the ground and toed the snow shyly, “Glad he’s here now.”

Kitty whistled suggestively but smiled softly, “And how is he, really?”

Tonks’ expression dimmed. “Not good. The packs are awful, and he’s convinced his cover’s about to be blown in both worlds.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s on thin ice with the packs because he keeps disappearing to give Order reports. And he’s sure his werewolf status is about to be splashed across the papers.”

Kitty was aghast. “What? Why?”

“All the Death Eaters know he’s a werewolf thanks to Snape and Pettigrew.” Tonks’ face twisted at their names. “He feels like it’s only a matter of time before the Death Eaters out him publicly. Anything to undermine Dumbledore, y'know?”

Kitty’s heart sank. That actually sounded very likely.

She opened her mouth to respond but—

BANG!

A noise like a gunshot echoed across the square.

Both women whipped around, instantly on alert. At first Kitty saw nothing—then noticed the faintest puff of smoke curling from beside a house near the far side of the square. Barely anything, but Tonks was already moving.

“Stay here,” she barked, sprinting toward the source with her wand out.

Kitty nodded. It was probably nothing. There weren’t any Death Eater attacks in Hogsmeade in the HP books—and if there had been, that absolutely would’ve made the cut.

… and then a hand clamped around her right forearm.

She gasped, twisting around to face whoever had her in an iron grip and instinctively trying to wrench herself free—

It wasn’t a masked Death Eater. It wasn’t even some shadowy Ministry creep.

It was the man from Madam Puddifoot’s. His eyes were locked on hers, burning with something sharp and hungry.

“What?” Her voice was panicked. “What’s happening?”

Who was this guy? She was so confused.

“Kitty,” he said, almost gently.

Then his tongue flicked out to the corner of his mouth in a nervous tick.

Her stomach turned to ice.

“Get off me!” she snarled, struggling against him with all her might, but he didn’t budge. She dug in her heels and twisted again trying to reach down to her wand, whipping her head around toward the square.

“TONKS!”

Tonks had reached the cottage door. She was holding the source of the smoke—one of Fred and George’s decoy detonators. Then her eyes met Kitty’s.

And her expression morphed into horror.

“TON—”

But the rest of Kitty’s shout was ripped away as the world folded inward on itself. With a loud crack, she was pulled into the vortex of Side-Along Apparition.

She was spat back out, and the moment her feet were on solid ground she managed to wrench herself away from him and reach into her jacket to get her wand when—

“Imperio.”

Bliss.

Chapter Text

Kitty woke slowly, her body heavy.

Huh? What? Sleep?

She was disoriented, and lying on something so soft it threatened to pull her right back into oblivion. As consciousness crept in, fragments of memory pricked through the fog.

Taken. She had been taken. She’d been kidnapped by Barty Crouch wearing Polyjuice Potion. That much she knew.

Fuck.

She blinked against dim light and realized she was lying in an unfamiliar four-poster bed, the curtains drawn tight around the bed, preventing her from seeing the room outside.

Kitty didn’t move. She forced her breath slow and even, though her pulse thundered. Silence pressed in from every side—but quiet didn’t mean safety. Someone could be just beyond the fabric, waiting for her to stir. Watching.

Think. Think. THINK.

She remembered being Apparated somewhere and then put under the Imperius Curse. Even though Barty had been Polyjuiced, it was his real voice she heard giving her instructions in her head;

Give me your wand.
Hold onto my arm.

Another gut-wrenching pull of Apparition. Then—

Hold out your arm.
Drip your blood on the gate.
Walk through the gate.

And then nothing but darkness.

An altogether ominous set of instructions in what was certainly a worst-case scenario for her.

She sat up slowly, trying to disturb the sheets as little as possible. The first thing she noticed was that her shoes were gone. So was her winter coat, gloves, scarf, and beanie. And no wand, obviously.

She tried to think through how to get herself out of this situation. She didn’t know where she was but Barty had taken her, so he’d go to his estate right? That seemed logical.

She opened her mouth to call for Winky—she’d order her to Apparate Kitty straight back to Hogsmeade. But then she tried to speak, no sound came out. For fuck’s sake! She had been silenced! Probably for this exact reason.

Her brain was starting to scream at her, the panicked voices getting louder and louder. This wasn’t supposed to happen. THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. This was not canon. No narrative safety net. No plot armour. No guaranteed rescue.  

Tonks knew she had been taken, so Dumbledore was probably raising hell to get her back right now but they had no idea who had taken her or where she was! And it wasn’t like she had Liam Neeson for a dad. Pretty sure she was on her own for this…

She then realised with a jolt of fear that she didn’t even know how long she had been asleep!

In a bid to calm herself, Kitty tried to run through a mental checklist;

1. She was silenced, meaning no house elf help.
2. She didn’t have her wand, which meant no patronus for help and no fighting back.
3. She couldn’t do wandless magic.
4. But she could Apparate!! And the only people who knew that were Remus and Sirius! YES. A solution!

A breath of pure, unadulterated relief flew through her. She would have to stand on solid ground to Apparate, but if she jumped out of the bed and twisted quickly then anyone on the other side wouldn’t be able to stop her.

Okay, game time.

With a deep breath, Kitty braced herself, then ripped the curtains of the bed open and jumped out—to find an empty room.

But movement caught her eye. A portrait of a woman hung on the wall. The woman eyed her, then walked out of the frame.

Shit. She was probably going to get someone.

Kitty closed her eyes and focused hard on the square in Hogsmeade. She twisted—pressure slammed into her like she was being dunked underwater—but nothing happened.

Weird? Maybe (hopefully) Hogsmeade just had Apparition wards up?

She closed her eyes, pictured the green fields of Kittytopia and twisted—the pressure returned but nothing happened and she spun in place.

The panic slammed back into her, and she began to look around with wild eyes. The room was lavish in that old-money English way: heavy velvet curtains, a fireplace crackling.

She tried again, this time aiming for the other side of the room.

CRACK!

She stumbled, startled that the Apparition had worked.

With dismay, she realised the wards must be just like how Hermione explained—she could Apparate around the property but not out.

But that wouldn’t be helpful, would it?

What the fuck should she do???

Knock, knock, knock.

Kitty’s blood ran cold. Before she could do anything, compose herself, scream, cry, anything; the door creaked open and in walked Barty Crouch Jr.

He was no longer Polyjuiced. It was just him, smiling like a fucking lunatic. He looked at her with the same intensity he always did—like she was some priceless relic he'd unearthed.

She stared at him, frozen in her fear and willing herself not to cringe at the reappearance of her least favourite smile on the planet.

“Kitty, how do you feel?”

Horrifyingly, it sounded like he actually cared about the answer. She offered a brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes and tapped her throat to indicated that she was silenced.

“Oh! Of course.” He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

“Finite,” he said lightly. His brow furrowed at her reaction. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you without cause.”

...That was nowhere near as reassuring as he seemed to think it was.

Barty lowered himself into an armchair by the fire with the ease of someone who thought this situation was completely normal. He gestured to the other chair and then, of course, with a flick of his wand a full tea service appeared, steam curling from the pot. Biscuits, too. Winky’s signature biscuits!!!??? Her stomach dropped. Okay. FUCK Winky. Even if she had nothing to do with her kidnapping Kitty was off her.

Kitty perched on the edge of the stiff armchair, legs crossed, every movement forcibly casual. Panic wouldn’t save her, but charm might. She cleared her throat and made her voice level. “I’m fine. Just… a tad confused. Where are we?”

“This is the Crouch estate; my home.” His eyes softened. “And now it’s yours too.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You do,” Barty countered softly, like he was scolding a child.  

“You’re seventeen now,” he murmured, like he’d been anticipating it for years. “I waited, and I waited, and I waited. I kept my distance because you weren’t ready yet. But no more waiting...”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I did say I’d come for you.”

He leant back and spread his arms wide, triumphant. “And here I am.”

She sat frozen, horror crawling over her skin. Slowly, she reached for the teapot between them, pouring herself a cup just to delay any response. Her hands shook so violently the china clinked against the saucer.

She was trapped with a psycho who was in love with her. It was one thing to live out Harry Potter, it was another thing entirely to live out fucking Manacled!!!!

She’d read enough fanfiction to guess what would happen.

She would kill him. She’d have to kill him. She didn’t have a wand, so she’d need to do it with her bare hands. The muggle way.

The realisation settled and she suddenly felt oddly calm.

All she just needed the right moment.

She picked up the teacup and sipped carefully. “I’m very dedicated to my education,” she said, probing cautiously. “Can’t I finish my NEWTs first?”

It was a long shot, but hell—she had to try everything.

Barty slid off his chair so fast it made her flinch, tea sloshing over the rim and scalding her leg through her jeans. She ignored the pain, too focused on his approach as he crawled toward her.

He stopped in front of her, plucked the cup from her hands, and set it back on the tray. Then he leaned his face on her leg like a begging dog.

“I know, Kitty. I know how much you love learning magic. But you’re not safe at Hogwarts anymore. You’re not safe anywhere other than by my side.”  

“Why not?” she murmured softly.

“There are a number of my colleagues who want your blood after your incredible curses at the ministry.” He looked like he was incredibly proud of her for that.

“My Master ordered Severus to turn you to his cause.” Barty’s face twisted with open disgust at Snape’s name, and Kitty had the startling realization that Barty hated him just about as much as she did. How peculiar.

“But Severus failed.” Barty scoffed, sharp and derisive. “He fails at most things. So my Master has decreed you’re fair game for whoever gets there first.”

Kitty’s breath stuttered. Wasn’t this exactly what Tonks had advocated for in an Order meeting months ago—that Kitty should be told the moment Snape reported her as “unturnable”? Had Snape just… kept it to himself? Had he fucked her over by hiding that crucial piece of information?

“Oh.” Her voice was thin.

Barty perked up instantly. “Oh, don’t worry, my love. It’s why I got to you first.”

He finally leaned back off her legs, gesturing grandly around like a showman. “This is your room.”

Kitty rose slowly, using the excuse of looking around to put distance between them. The carpet was squishy under her socks, and the lack of shoes made her feel horribly exposed. She drifted to the window, staring down at a snow-dusted courtyard.

Behind her, Barty kept talking in a tone of absolute certainty. “I know you don’t support my Master yet, but you love me enough for that to change eventually.”

She forced a smile, hoping it touched her eyes, and turned back with confidence. “You’re absolutely right, Barty. Love can do anything.”

He let out the most nauseatingly lovesick sigh she’d ever heard and crossed the space between them in a few strides. Kitty’s instincts screamed at her to back away, but she locked her knees.

Play along. Play along. Play along. Kill him later, but play along.

Barty reached her and cupped her face reverently in his hands and then leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

In the back of her head, Kitty distantly noted that it was way harder to pretend to enjoy kissing him when she wasn’t mid-duel in the Department of Mysteries. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

She pulled back and giggled slightly, trying to be coy and not disgusted. “Well, do I at least get a tour of our new home?”

Barty bounced up and down like a child and grabbed her hand to pull her over to the portrait of the young woman who was watching them silently.

“Kitty, this is my mother, Elizabeth. Mother, this is Kitty.”

The portrait looked her up and down with an assessing gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam Crouch,” Kitty bleated automatically. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this.

The portrait sniffed, eyes narrowing in judgment before she looked back at Barty and spoke as if Kitty wasn’t there. “Barty Bear, she’s very pretty, but are you sure? Just look at what she’s wearing! Muggle clothes!”

Barty whined and tugged Kitty closer, wrapping an arm tight around her waist. “Ugh, Mother! You’re always like this. She can get new clothes!” He turned back to Kitty. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll come to love you as much as I do.”

Kitty smiled sweetly. “I sure hope so,” she lied.

Barty kissed her cheek. “Come. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

“Could I get my shoes first?” she said lightly. “It’s a bit cold to walk around in socks.”

“Oh, yes—of course, of course!” He darted to a wardrobe and flung it open. Inside hung her winter coat, scarf, and beanie, neatly arranged, her boots set underneath. Her stomach twisted. He hadn’t just brought her here. He’d moved her in.

She slipped on her boots quickly, feeling the faintest whisper of security—at least now she could run if the chance came. She didn’t dare ask for the coat. That would scream escape plan.

Shoes on, Barty guided her into the hall, his arm firm around her waist. He chattered happily, pointing out what felt like every ornate detail and family portrait. And the portraits were everywhere—eyes following her from every room. Unhelpful didn’t even begin to cover it.

Kitty’s mind raced. Winky’s loyalty might be questionable, but now that she had her voice back, calling Winky was her best shot at getting out. A direct order should do it. Not in front of Barty, though. He’d shut that shit down instantly.

They passed a bathroom, and Kitty hesitated before asking, her voice cautious. “May I use the bathroom?”

“Of course!” Barty replied cheerfully—but then, with a flick of his wand, he said, “Silencio.”

Her eyes went wide. She stared at him, disbelief and panic clawing up her throat. Did he somehow know she’d been planning to call Winky?

He grinned, a little too pleased with himself. “Sorry, my love. Until I can be sure of your devotion to my Master’s cause, when I’m not with you, you’ll be silenced. I, of all people, know what an incredibly resourceful witch you are.” Pride practically radiated from him.

Kitty just nodded, forcing herself to move.

She went into the bathroom. Her gaze swept the space, noting with relief that there was no portrait here. Perfect. If he tried to attack her, she’d Apparate straight to this bathroom and hope he believed she’d somehow skirted the wards. It wasn’t a long-term solution but she’d take what she could.

She peed quickly then washed her hands. Somehow, seeing herself in the mirror above the sink was very weird. She’d been kidnapped. She was a prisoner. By a madman straight out of a book series. She was living in a book series. If she died, would she end up in Lord of the Rings next? Or just… die?

She’d never really thought much about dying as Kitty St. Cloud. She’d always assumed she’d survive long enough to see the end of the war. But… perhaps not.

With a sigh, she practiced a quick smile in the mirror and stepped back out to rejoin Barty. He removed her silencing charm and continued with the tour, showing her room after room. She exclaimed appropriately at various things and tried to ignore his hand lightly stroking her hip.

After about an hour of touring the sprawling manor—and mentally cataloguing any vases heavy enough to bludgeon Barty to death with (there were more than enough, which cheered her mood considerably)—they reached a set of massive wooden doors on the lowest level.

Barty stopped in front of them, chest puffed out like a peacock. “Behind these doors is my pride and joy—second only to you, my love,” he said, giggling cheekily.

Kitty forced a smile, utterly convinced that whatever lay behind this door was something she wanted nothing to do with.

He tapped the handle with his wand and whispered an incantation too quick for her to catch.

The double doors swung inward to reveal pure blackness.

Then a wave of the most horrific stench hit her nose. It was death itself—rotting flesh, blood, and decayed magic. She coughed and retched uncontrollably, stumbling backwards away from the door, but then—suddenly her nose cleared as quickly as it had been assaulted, leaving her blinking away her watering eyes in confusion.

Barty was waving his wand, hovering over her like an anxious mother hen, hands flapping. “Oh, my darling, my love, I’m so sorry! I’ve spent so much time in here that I’m used to the smell now. But don’t worry—you’ll get used to it soon!”

Kitty highly doubted that.

A few steps in front of her, Barty flicked his wand and the room inside the doors lit up. It was enormous and had clearly been a ballroom in its past life, except now the floor sunk into a massive stone pit leaving a three-meter-wide walkway around the edges. The architecture was seemingly impossible, clearly built by magic.

She hung back from the doors, too scarred by the smell. But Barty gave her an encouraging nod, so she shuffled forward apprehensively. Finally, she reached the double doors and forced herself to look down.

(She wished she hadn’t.)

The pit yawned at least seven meters deep… and it was crawling with Inferi.

Kitty had seen illustrations in textbooks, but nothing could have prepared her for this—the real thing was simply incomparable.

The Inferi were naked, their ashy grey skin stretched tight over ribcages and concave stomachs. Any hint of who they had been in life—gender, age, identity—had been erased entirely, leaving only skeletal forms. Their limbs were long and spindly, fingers curling like claws as they reached upward toward her. Their eyes were completely milky white, lacking iris or pupil, unseeing yet somehow locked onto her like hunting dogs. Their mouths gaped wide but silent, and all of them were eerily identical—except for slight height differences and the occasional wisps of hair clinging to the waxy skin of their skulls.

They shuffled and scrambled over one another, limbs tangling, bodies colliding with hollow, fleshy thuds that echoed through the pit in their futile efforts to reach her above them. And there was so many of them. At least fifty.

She was relieved that she couldn’t smell them anymore, but the oppressive dark magic still clung to her skin, curling into her lungs and making every breath feel suffocating. It was like the opposite of high-altitude—the air was so heavy she could choke on it.

“My children.”

Kitty jumped, startled, not realizing Barty had moved to stand beside her. He was staring into the pit with something like reverence.

“Wha—?”

“These are my children,” he repeated, his gaze locking onto hers with earnest sincerity.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

She was going to die here.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

He waited, expectant, clearly wanting a response, and she had absolutely no idea what to say.

“I… I…” she gaped at him. What the fuck was she supposed to say when standing in front of an army of zombies?

Barty’s grin stretched wide. “Yes! They’re quite indescribable, aren’t they? My Master is very impressed with them.” He puffed out his chest.

“Your Master?” she echoed, dumbly. Kitty no-compute.

He nodded. “In September, I travelled to Russia to retrieve an artifact from Dolohov’s old contact, since he’s in Azkaban and couldn’t do it himself.”

Ah. So the Inferi army hadn’t existed in canon because Barty hadn’t been there. Damn. Had her rescue of Barty from the Dementor’s Kiss in 4^th Year really doomed all these people?

Her stomach twisted in regret.

Because they had been people, not long ago. People who had lives and families and hopes and dreams… and now they were turned into this grotesque facsimile of life.

“What do you know about Inferi?” Barty asked, eyes fixed on her expectantly like she was back in a classroom under his scrutiny.

She blinked and tried to centre herself. Do not get distracted by the zombie army! You’ve been kidnapped. Focus, soldier.

Clearing her throat, she recalled the book Barty had given her for her birthday—Necromancy for Beginners. It was chock full of knowledge on the topic. In hindsight, the reason for the gift was obvious.

Channelling Hermione, she said, “They’re reanimated through a form of necromancy, but it’s not truly bringing the person back. The soul is already gone. It merely animates the body and gives it a set of instructions to follow. But they don’t function like regular corpses because there’s no decomposition…”

She paused, swallowing down the urge to glance at the pit. “The only way to kill them is by fire—”

She noticed Barty’s slight frown at the idea of killing them and quickly switched gears.

“—They can be made by enchantment, and that works best for individual an Inferius but is impractical for large numbers. There are a few dark artifacts throughout history that can create large numbers of them.”

Barty’s grin stretched wide. She fought not to cringe. Ugh, that smile.

“Correct as always, Miss St. Cloud!” he teased. “My children were created by an artifact—that’s what I retrieved from Russia.”

He nodded, encouraging her to continue. She licked her lips, trying to guess what Barty wanted to hear.

“They remain dormant until they sense movement, then attack without thought,” she said cautiously. “An Inferius made by enchantment can be instructed not to attack its creator and be given basic commands like ‘start’ and ‘stop,’ but that’s about the extent of their coherence.”

She poked carefully at the words, letting the realization sink in. “Artifact-created Inferi are… just mindless killers.”

Wait… she could just push Barty into the pit, and he’d be killed, right? Right? Surely it wouldn’t be that easy to kill him…

“Good girl,” he cooed. “So stay away from the edge, Kitty, my love. My children will attack anyone they get their hands on. They won’t spare you. Why, they’d even attack me if they could.” He giggled, as if that were the funniest thing in the world.

Oh he was definitely going in that pit.

They were standing at the doors, the edge of the pit only three meters away. She needed to get him closer. She hadn’t forgotten how strong he was and he still had his wand. He would have to be completely off guard.

Kitty began to stroll forward along the side of the pit, pretending to examine the Inferi. Her gaze swept over them casually, though her mind raced. She needed a topic—something to distract him, to draw him in.

“What time is it?” she asked, all polite.

Wow. Brilliant. Stellar. A+ conversational skills. What a riveting topic, you absolute dumbass.

Barty glanced at his watch. “It’s five o’clock.”

HUH?

“Wait—what?” Kitty blurted. “How long was I asleep for?”

He smiled and stepped closer, the pit yawning right next to him. “A few hours. I had to update my Master of my success and didn’t want you to wake up alone without me.”

She froze. “Update him… about what?”

Barty giggled. “About you, of course.”

“Oh…” She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “And does he have any… particular thoughts? On me being here?”

Barty shrugged, utterly unworried. “He’s coming tomorrow to make his own judgment.”

Kitty froze. Right. Well. She was officially on a timeline. If she couldn’t kill Barty before tomorrow morning, she’d have no choice but to swan-dive into the zombie pit rather than let Voldemort rummage through her brain for spoilers.

Barty must’ve sensed her panic, because he stepped forward and tried to soothe her. But he was careful to stop two meters away. He was definitely aware of his vulnerability in this room.

“Don’t worry, my love. Only my Lord has access to Crouch Manor—none of the other Death Eaters can enter.”

Huh. He’d completely misread her panic, but that was useful information. No Bellatrix surprise visits. But also… no Snape rescue. Not that she’d been banking on that cunt, but a girl could dream.

She tilted her head, “Why is that?”

“Do you know much about blood wards?”

She shook her head.

“Ah, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Barty said airily. “Just know that the only people who can enter the property are myself and the Dark Lord.” He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, “And you, I suppose. But you can’t leave, so it hardly matters.”

Kitty gritted her teeth and humoured his delusion. “I know it’s not ‘safe’ for me to leave—but what do you mean I can’t leave?”

Barty stepped back, drifting along the edge of the Inferi pit like he wanted more space between them. In response, Kitty casually wandered the opposite way around the room, feigning disinterest as she trailed her gaze over the pit. She needed his guard down. Maybe when they met after doing a full lap of the room?

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Barty said lightly. “But since I’m Lord of the Manor, and I’ve declared you cannot leave… well, you can’t.” He shrugged, like it was the simplest fact in the world. “Until I’m no longer Lord of the Crouch Estate, you’ll never cross the boundary line.”

Kitty nodded absently. Translation: if she ever wanted to leave, Barty had to die. Honestly, the universe was making it too easy to justify homicide at this point.

They walked in silence, circling the pit until they ended up opposite one another. From across the room, Barty looked completely at ease—wand hidden away, hands shoved into his pockets, smiling at her with dreamy contentment.

God, if only she were behind him. One push, and… WAIT.

Holy shit. She knew Apparition—and he had no idea.

A grin split across her face, wide and excited. Barty sighed lovingly, clearly mistaking her joy as being directed at him rather than his rapidly approaching demise.

Kitty glanced down into the pit. The Inferi were divided—half reaching for him, half for her. Dozens of skeletal hands stretching upward to her, eager to grab hold and taste that supple flesh she was carting around.

Although, Inferi didn’t actually EAT people, they just sort of… tore them limb from limb. Ha, ha so much better…

She looked back at Barty in an almost clinical way. Should she say something? Some final line, poignant or badass? Hey twat! I’d rather be finger-fucked by Edward Scissorhands than ever see your stupid smile again!

…No.

No.

Fuck him.

He didn’t deserve anything.

Kitty took a breath, looked into Barty’s face and smiled sweetly, gave him a cheeky little wink—and twisted.

CRACK—CRACK!

The sounds of her disappearance and reappearance were near-simultaneous. Her feet hit the floor, still unsteady—no time to breathe, no time to think.

Before Barty could even glance over his shoulder, she lunged and shoved with all her strength.

His startled yelp split the air as his body toppled forward, tumbling into the pit.

He didn’t even get a chance to hit the floor at the bottom. The Inferi surged the instant he fell into their reach. Dozens of hands latching onto him as he was pulled at by the writhing mass.

He screamed, but the sound was muffled almost immediately as one Inferius dug its fingers into his throat. His limbs jerked violently as he kicked, but it didn’t matter—there was no solid ground, no leverage, nothing but a sea of grasping corpses. Fingers sank into his clothes, ripping fabric apart. His shirt was shredded in seconds, exposing pale skin of his back. Within two second, that too was gouged and torn.

One Inferius grabbed his leg and twisted until Kitty heard the crack of bone snapping. Another yanked his arm back at a grotesque angle until his shoulder tore open. His gurgled screams went high and animalistic, echoing in the stone chamber, until it suddenly cut off as more hands clawed at his throat.

Kitty’s stomach rolled with nausea at the gruesome sight. And yet… watching him disappear piece by piece, she couldn’t look away.

She needed to know her monster was dead.

After a few more agonizing seconds, his body went limp under the clawing hands, and she knew.

Barty Crouch Jr. was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

He was fucking DEAD.

YAAAAASSSSS.

And then—oh god—the smell hit her. His masking charm had ended with him, and every rancid note of rot, blood, and death rushed her at once. Kitty gagged and staggered back, one hand pressed to the wall as she half-crawled, half-stumbled toward the double doors. Her eyes watered, and she forced herself to breathe through her mouth. But even through the world’s worst smell, Kitty couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She could barely believe it. He was fucking gone.

She stumbled into the corridor, eyes darting at every unexpected noise—until she realized the shouting echoing through the walls was coming from the portraits. They must’ve sensed it. The magic had shifted. The Lord of the Manor was no more.

Wild, breathless, she let out a laugh. “Okay… time to get the fuck out of here,” she murmured, grinning.

She headed for the front door but then froze. She couldn’t leave an army of Inferi alive. Besides, those poor people deserved to be put to rest. But for that… she needed her wand.

Hmmmmm…

“Winky!”

CRACK!

“Missy Cloud calls for Winky! Oh, it’s been so long!”

Kitty was relieved that Winky didn’t seem to realise Barty was dead. She hoped to keep it that way.

Kitty spoke fast. “Do you know where my wand is?”

Winky nodded, but her expression was uneasy.

“Can you bring it to me?”

Winky squeaked, “Master Barty says Missy Cloud does not need her wand yet.”

Kitty blinked, unimpressed. “Winky, I order you to bring me my wand.”

“But Missy! Master Barty said—”

“Bring me my wand right now!” Kitty yelled, her voice edging toward hysterical.

Winky squeaked, startled, and popped off. Kitty told herself she’d feel bad later, but right now, charity was not on the agenda.

CRACK!

Shivering in anxiety, Winky edged forward and handed Kitty her wand. The moment it was back in her hand, a sigh of relief escaped her. A buzz of magic shot through her—her wand was home.

“Wait here,” she commanded softly.

Then she cast a smell-masking charm on herself and slowly edged back inside the room. She braced herself and peaked over the edge from as far back as she could manage.

GAG.

She would not be making that mistake again. There was blood everywhere, and absolutely nothing left of Barty.

She pointed her wand over the edge of the pit without looking.

“Incenido!”

The pit erupted in a firestorm. She kept the fire contained to the pit and happily siphoned away the smoke. While she waited for the it to burn through everything, she realised she should send a patronus to Dumbledore sooner rather than later.

She closed her eyes and let the memories rise up: Christmas on the hot beach. Sneaking out to ride Thestrals with Luna on a full moon. Facemasks with her girlies in their dormitory.  Fashion shows with Fleur. Swimming in the lake with Sirius at Kittytopia. Laughing with Dean at the Yule Ball. Hidden waterfalls through the eucalyptus trees. Australia. Home.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A burst of pure silver light shot from her wand, twisting and morphing into her dolphin. Kitty felt her chest swell with joy, relief, and happiness all at once.

“Take this message to Albus Dumbledore: Hi sir, I’m okay. I’m at the Crouch Estate—wherever that is. I don’t know the exact location. Could you please come meet me outside?” She paused, realizing something.

“…It’s Kitty, by the way.”

She released the spell, and her dolphin did a little flip, frolicking like it was riding waves before swimming off.

She sighed, savouring the comforting hum of magic in her chest, and cast a charm to smother the fire. Once the crackling died away, it revealed sobbing and wailing echoing from the corridor. Damn. Winky must’ve realized Barty was dead.

Kitty wandered out into the hallway and closed the double doors on the room, releasing a sigh as she did so. Then she tilted her head and looked at the doors. Voldemort would be coming here tomorrow. She could be a bit cheeky for him...

She pulled out her wand and cast a charm to write on the doors, big and bold, just like how it was in Episode 1 of The Walking Dead—

DON'T OPEN DEAD INSIDE

She admired her work, and turned around to take in Winky, still wailing on the ground.

“Winky, you can stay here to mourn for three hours, but by then you must leave this estate and never come back, do you understand?”

Winky nodded through her frankly, overdramatic wailing. Kitty knew she was being callous, but she couldn’t risk Winky being discovered by Voldemort.

Wait. The artifact! Voldemort could pick it up tomorrow and rebuild another Inferi army!!

Fucking hell. Did she have to do everything herself?

She tilted her head and decided to gamble. “Accio Inferi-artifact!”

Whoosh! An ornate box was soaring toward her.

She smiled to herself. Mary-Sue who????? HER!

She quickly made it hover in front of her rather than touch it. No way was she handling that directly. She studied it, trying to figure out the safest approach, then shrugged and concentrated hard on her bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

“Amoveo Locum.”

With a soft flash of white light, the artifact was banished into her bedroom.

She cast another patronus. “Take this message to Sirius Black: Hi Siri, just FYI I had to banish an artifact that creates Inferi. It’s currently on my bed, so please don’t touch it with your bare hands. Thanks—oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her dolphin swam off, and Kitty exhaled, utterly exhausted. It had been a long-ass day.

She summoned her winter coat, scarf and beanie from the room upstairs and layered up. Then finally, she opened the front door and walked outside.

She was shocked to see it was proper nighttime outside. She lit her wand and followed the path to the front gate.

On the other side, Dumbledore, Tonks, and about thirty Aurors were milling around, looking confused. They obviously couldn’t see her through the wards.

Hoping she hadn’t glitched herself into a permanent manor trap, she gingerly reached forward and unlatched the gate. It swung open, and she stepped through the wards, finally free onto the street beyond.

Chapter Text

The moment Kitty stepped dramatically out of the wards and loudly announced that Barty Crouch Jr. and his army of Inferi were dead, chaos erupted.

It was delicious.

In an instant, the contingent of waiting Aurors surged forward like a tidal wave. Apparently, the Ministry hadn’t even known there was an Inferi army to begin with. Sorry to burst your bubble, babes!

Kitty actually shrank back a step under the onslaught (ugh, embarrassing! It’s not like she was traumatised or anything, she was just a bit jumpy, okay?).

Tonks managed to break through the crowd, flinging her arms around Kitty and crying apologies. Meanwhile, the Aurors were all yelling, demanding details, wanting her to let them into the wards of the estate (like, how fam?? She didn’t know anything about wards!)

Then—click! flash! click! Reporters had somehow materialised. And—wait! Was that… Rufus bloody Scrimgeour standing among them, looking like he’d bitten into a lemon?

Kitty was halfway into arranging her perfect front-page smile when Dumbledore shifted into full Grandpa Mode™. His voice boomed over the crowd, calm but ironclad.

“My student will not be taken to the Ministry tonight.”

The protests started instantly but Dumbledore’s expression snapped into pure do-not-try-me steel.

“She will provide her statement in the safety of Hogwarts, accompanied by a small escort.” He really dragged out small, glaring until even the toughest Aurors visibly shrank back.

For an old man with a partiality for fuchsia robes, he could be scary as hell when he threw his weight around.

In the end, “small” translated into Kingsley Shacklebolt, Scrimgeour himself, and some other ministry muppet who was apparently Pius Thicknesse, the current Head of the DMLE. Kitty had to remind herself that he wasn’t under the Imperius Curse yet. At this moment, he was just a regular anti-Voldemort bureaucrat. Pity he wouldn’t stay that way…

The five of them caught a Portkey straight to the Hogwarts gates, where they were immediately checked by the security stationed at the castle gates. They then began the long trudge up to the school. Kitty considered starting her story right then, but the path was uphill and—like, yes, she was a cardio girlie, but everyone knows uphill storytelling kills the drama! She needed maximum impact, not gasping and panting between every sentence.

By the time they reached the castle, Kitty realised it was past curfew. Damn! She had been hoping to swan through the dinner crowds with her escort.

Being knocked out for most of the day had really fucked with her perception of time today…

Anyway, the group made their way to the Hospital Wing, where Professors McGonagall and Snape were already waiting with Madam Pomfrey.

Pomfrey swooped in at once, settling Kitty onto a bed and pressing a vial into her hand. “For shock,” she said briskly.

Kitty thanked Madam Pomfrey politely, set the potion on the bedside table without so much as sniffing it, then turned to her audience with a grin. Time to blow their tiny little minds.

With gravitas, she launched into her tale—starting from Polyjuice-Barty in Madam Puddifoot’s. She took great care to highlight Tonks’s professionalism during the whole Decoy Detonator fiasco (the last thing she wanted was her friend in hot water for something that was very much not her fault!!)

She leaned into the storytelling hard—dramatic pauses, whispered asides, widening her eyes at just the right beats. Honestly, thank god for Madam Pomfrey, who at least knew when to gasp and clap in all the right places. Because the rest of the crowd? Tough audience.

Still, no one interrupted her, which was a blessing. She spun through the whole mess, even managing to pass off her Apparition as a total fluke, because as far as anyone knew, she’d had exactly one lesson. 

The longer she spoke the weirder Kitty started to feel. She knew she was talking but she wasn’t exactly sure what was coming out of her mouth at this point. Almost like auto-pilot set to ‘entertain the masses with a fun story at a dinner party’.

When she finally reached the end of her saga, she sat back, spread her hands, and delivered her closing line with all the smugness she could muster:

“…Long story short, that’s how Barty the Cringe was obliterated by me, Kitty the Based.”

She looked around at everyone. They all had blank faces, except Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, who both looked really sad for some reason.

Wanting to avoid… that, Kitty looked at Snape, wondering what he was thinking.  His face was doing that thing it always did—aka, looking like someone who’d never once enjoyed a sunset or a normal human emotion.

Then Dumbledore broke the silence with a gentle voice, “Katherine, could you please reconsider taking the potion Poppy offered you?”

Kitty smiled and waved him away with a dismissive hand, “I’m fine, Professor. I’m a verified badass, so none of this is a big deal.”

Why did I say that? I literally killed someone—this is the definition of a big deal.

“You went through a terrible ordeal,” Dumbledore pressed, slow and steady. “You need to get care as soon as possible.”

“Even badasses can get their shit rocked, Sir,” Kitty said with a shrug. “I’ll be alright.”

The silence that followed was so loud. Everyone just… stared at her. Was there something on her face? Had she said something too weird, even for her? 

Finally, she threw up her hands. “Please, just take my memory of it. I’ll answer any more questions afterwards.”

Dumbledore nodded, stepping forward to extract the memory from her mind. He left the Hospital Wing flanked by Snape, Kingsley, Scrimegour and Thicknesse.

Madam Pomfrey bustled away to fetch pajamas, but Professor McGonagall lingered to hand her the potion on her bedside table with a very flat, very non-negotiable command of, “Drink, St. Cloud.”

With a huff, Kitty obeyed. Just as predicted: gross. Why did all medical potions taste like pond water mixed with toothpaste spit? Twisting her lips in disgust, she accepted the pajamas from Pomfrey and shuffled into the bathroom to change.

When she came back, everything felt wrong. Not bad, but wrong like she was drifting off the edge of herself. She perched on the bed, staring at nothing, the weirdness and the badness bleeding together.

She thought she might have heard McGonagall’s voice asking if she wanted anything. Kitty’s mouth betrayed her, mumbling, “Mum.”

But it wasn’t Jolanda she was thinking of—it was Emma’s mum, the mother she hadn’t seen in six years and was counting down the months to see again.

She sat there for a while, empty and blank, until a sudden call of her name snapped her attention back to reality like a rubber band.

Remus?

He was standing in the doorway of the Hospital Wing, chest heaving, hair mussed, clearly having sprinted the whole way from the front gates. The second their eyes met, he strode forward.

Scooping her up, he arranged her so that she was lying curled up in his arms like a cat. The moment she was settled, the dam burst.  All the bravado, all the quips, all the stubborn defiance dissolved. She sobbed, cried, and wailed into his shoulder.

She had been kidnapped.

She had killed someone.

She had witnessed a person torn limb from limb.

After what felt like an eternity, her sobs slowed into sniffles. She burrowed deeper into Remus’s arms, clinging to him. He was warm and steady, but even through his thick jumper she could feel how thin he was, bones too sharp under her cheek.

“They’re n-not feeding you enough when y-you’re on assignment,” she managed, her voice thick and broken. “It’s not h-healthy.”

Remus let out a wet laugh that sounded just as frayed as she felt. “Only you would get kidnapped and still worry about whether I’m eating properly.”

Her lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite form. After a pause, she whispered, “How are you here?”

She felt him press his cheek into the top of her head, nuzzling in a way that felt distinctly wolfish.

“I just found out I’m listed as your official guardian at Hogwarts,” he murmured. His tone shifted lighter as he poked her side. “Any idea how that might’ve happened, trouble?”

She made a small sound and snuggled closer into him. “The St. Clouds don’t care about me,” she admitted, voice so quiet it almost got lost in the fabric of his jumper.

His arms tightened, crushing and fierce, until she squeaked against his chest. His voice was rough with conviction. “You’re part of my pack, Kitty. As long as I’m around, you’ve got family.”

She fell asleep like that.

Kitty woke up the next day feeling much improved. She didn’t think she’d ever forget watching Barty get torn apart, but the crushing fear he’d posed to her (and the timeline) had lifted. She felt lighter with that knowledge. He could never hurt her, never send another fucking Valentine ever again.

In her good mood, she poked Remus awake. He blinked blearily at her, then—in a move of pure anti-morning grumpiness—shoved her straight off the bed.

She hit the cold floor with a shocked EEEP!

From the bed came a drowsy, confused, “Huh?”

Then Remus was looming over her, wide-eyed and horrified. “Shit, Kitty, I’m so sorry!”

He’d woken up enough to remember the previous day and immediately scooped her back under the blankets, smothering her with frantic apologies. Kitty basked in them with petty satisfaction before pouncing on the opportunity. She declared that the only reason she’d survived yesterday’s kidnapping was thanks to the Apparition he’d taught her, which meant—duh, duh, DUH—the very dark age-up ritual she’d done last year had actually been necessary.

Remus looked severely unimpressed, but after a great deal of grumbling he couldn’t deny the logic. If she hadn’t done the ritual, she probably wouldn’t have escaped. At last, he muttered that maybe—maybe—the Corpus Novum per Sanguinis ritual had been useful.

Kitty’s answering grin was downright shit-eating.

That was when Dumbledore reappeared, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His fuchsia robes were wrinkled, his face drawn. He conjured a plush chair and a tea service for them.

“I am pleased to say that Sirius will not be facing any charges,” he announced.

Remus let out a harsh breath of relief.

Kitty, meanwhile, nearly inhaled her own tongue. “Charges! What on earth did he do?!”

Dumbledore blinked at her in mild surprise, then inclined his head in sudden understanding. “Ah. My apologies, my dear. I am so used to you being three steps ahead of everyone that I momentarily forgot…”

Kitty and Dumbledore ignored Remus’ confusion.

He continued, “Yesterday, when Nymphadora alerted the Order to your disappearance, both Sirius and Miss Delacour were… passionate… in their effusion that you should be found.”

Remus made a disbelieving noise, clearly unimpressed with how understated Dumbledore’s phrasing was. He cut in, “Fleur was stationed in Diagon Alley when she lured Tiberius Nott into a private room at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Kitty whipped around to stare at Remus in disbelief. “She did what?!”

Remus looked uncomfortable. “She says she didn’t plan it. He just walked past while she was searching for you and… well, we all know he’s a Death Eater even if the Ministry didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him. She said it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Kitty was equal parts horrified and impressed. “Fleur did this on a whim?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Miss Delacour used her Veela allure to encourage Tiberius to accompany her into a room in the Leaky Cauldron. There, she subdued him and sent a Patronus for Sirius to join her, before she left them together. Sirius questioned him, thoroughly.”

Kitty’s jaw hit the floor. Holy fucking shit. Sirius had tortured a well-known wizard in the Leaky bloody Cauldron? That was mind-numbingly reckless, even for him.

“Did he get anything useful?” she asked.

Dumbledore’s disappointment at her lack of condemnation for torture could’ve curdled milk.

“Tiberius was not aware of your kidnapping. However, Sirius did extract extensive intelligence about his overseas activities. It seems Tiberius had been lobbying politicians of other European nations, arguing that provided Voldemort does not breach the Statute of Secrecy nor attempt foreign invasion, his activities are strictly a domestic matter.”

“Damn,” she muttered, grimacing.

She already knew that in the HP books, foreign governments didn’t take action to help Britain after the fall of the Ministry even though they were committing public war crimes with the Muggleborn Registration Commission. It seemed now she knew why.

Then a stone dropped in her stomach. “Wait… Sirius got caught in the middle of all this?”

“Yes…,” Remus said in a light, weirdly restrained voice.

Confused, Kitty frowned at his unusual tone, until—

“Sirius was torturing Nott when room service opened the door.”

Kitty’s face went tight with tension as she willed herself not to crack, while internally she was laughing so hard she nearly pissed herself. She and Remus held each other’s gaze a fraction too long, before they both turned to Dumbledore, desperately trying to look solemn at the news of Sirius’ war crime.

She let out a tiny, restrained mmhmm, the only concession she could make without losing it completely.

Dumbledore looked appropriately distressed. “Sirius absconded to Grimmauld before he was apprehended, while Tiberius was taken to St. Mungo’s for treatment. Thankfully, the new laws require healers to remove all glamours at during treatment, and his Dark Mark was revealed. After Tiberius’ arrest, Scrimgeour wasn’t eager to charge Sirius for actions taken against a Death Eater and wishes to keep his… activities discreet. It also helped that Sirius used Muggle methods of extraction rather than magical.”

Kitty’s eyebrows shot up. “What, like, waterboarding or cutting off toes or something?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore said wearily.

She opened and closed her mouth, completely at a loss for what an appropriate response might be.

The three of them fell silent for a moment, until Remus nudged her, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You know, a bunch of us were called to Grimmauld Place to hear what Sirius learned from Nott. And right in the middle of his explanation, a bloody dolphin swims into the kitchen to announce that an artifact capable of creating Inferi had landed on your bed.”

The smile she had been holding off broke across her face.

“You cannot imagine how perfect the timing of it was,” Remus added dreamily, as if he were admiring a masterfully executed prank.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Incidentally, I went to Grimmauld Place early this morning and collected the artifact. It has been destroyed by the Ministry.” He turned his gaze to Kitty. “Thank you for your foresight in retrieving it, Katherine. The results could have been catastrophic.”

“Just doing my civic duty for my country, sir.” She gave him a ridiculous little salute and wink.

Dumbledore set down his teacup with a faint sigh, as though weighing whether or not to pretend that hadn’t happened. Then he looked at Remus, “I am sorry to interrupt your morning, Remus, but I have a Portkey that will take you to Birmingham, if you are ready to leave.”

Kitty’s eyes bugged. “What? Birmingham already?”

“I need to return to the colony as soon as possible,” Remus said apologetically. Then he leaned forward, his hand firm on her shoulder. “But Kitty, if you need me to stay, I will. I don't care about my cover being blown if you need me.”

She gaped at him, floored by the sheer seriousness of the offer.

Behind him, Dumbledore’s eyes practically screamed: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT MAKE HIM BLOW HIS COVER.

Grudgingly, Kitty let him go—with the added condition that he actually eat more food. (Spoiler: he absolutely would not.)

After squeezing in as many hugs as she could, Remus finally left, and the hospital wing seemed to exhale with him.

Dumbledore continued to sit in the chair he had conjured and sipped his tea thoughtfully. The room felt both emptier and heavier at once. Finally, he spoke gently, “I wanted to personally assure you that after the events of yesterday, all trips to Hogsmeade will be cancelled for the foreseeable future.”

He hesitated, “Minerva mentioned you asked for your mother. Current security restrictions do not allow Muggles to enter Britain via Portkey. However, if she were to arrive by Muggle means—plane, perhaps—I could facilitate a meeting with her.”

Kitty gave him a faint smile and shook her head. “I appreciate the offer sir, but I didn’t mean Jolanda. I meant Emma’s mum—the one in Australia.”

“I see,” he said quietly.

Kitty considered him. “Did you ever have any theories about me? About what happened to Emma and the original Kitty?”

He folded his hands in his lap and regarded her carefully. “I believe you are Kitty St. Cloud, entirely and unequivocally.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I believe your soul was given the gift—or perhaps the burden—of another’s memories. Not a fusion, not a possession. You are not Emma inhabiting Katherine’s body. You are Katherine… with additional memories pressed gently into your mind like a bookmark between pages.”

Kitty stared at him. “Did you just make that up? That sounds completely made up.”

“Most things worth believing are,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Can you just—” Kitty huffed, throwing her hands up before forcing herself to breathe. “Okay, fine. What makes you think I still have Kitty’s soul and not Emma’s?”

“Well, most obviously, you do not possess an Australian accent.”

She froze.

“Had you never wondered why you sound English?” he asked politely.

“I—I never really questioned it,” she admitted sheepishly. “Mostly I just thought it was funny.”

He hummed. “Tell me, do you, as you are now, behave as Emma once did? Do you respond the same way? Move through the world in the same way?”

Kitty frowned. “Emma didn’t like confrontation. I… kind of thrive on it now, I suppose. And—ugh!”

She buried her face in her hands. How could she be so stupid?

“And?” he prompted, maddeningly gentle.

She groaned into her palms. “Emma was a lesbian. I’m not.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “And this did not, perhaps, raise… questions?” His tone was just shy of patronizing.

Fair.

“I thought I was going through a bisexual phase!” she blurted. “I transcend sexuality, alright? Someone’s either hot or not. Gender is irrelevant.”

His lips pressed together, and Kitty could see him fighting a laugh.

Desperate to distract him, she scrambled: “What about the memories I have of Kitty’s childhood? They’re flat—like a movie I watched, not something I lived. I connect much more with Emma’s.”

“That would make sense.” He tilted his head. “Young Katherine St. Cloud was, by all accounts, something of a sociopath.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” Should she be offended right now?

“Not in the dramatised sense,” he said calmly, sipping tea. “But in the technical sense. When you told me of your reincarnation, I reached out to your primary school teachers for their impressions of Katherine pre–eleven years old. The feedback was almost unanimous: a child incapable of meaningful attachment. No empathy whatsoever.”

Kitty squinted at him, incredulous. “You’re saying I was a psychopath until Emma’s memories gave me a personality transplant?”

“I would phrase it more gently,” he said with infuriating calm, “but yes.”

She wasn’t sure she agreed with all that. She felt way more like Emma Smith than she did Katherine St. Cloud—even if she was comfortable with her new name and face.

Dumbledore’s theory sounded to her like a theory. The conspiracy kind.

Ugh, she would like to have a word with whoever was in charge of this reincarnation business.

She pursed her lips in doubt, “There was no ‘Kitty St. Cloud’ in the Harry Potter books. Not even as a background character…?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly. “Would it not make sense that she rejected her invitation to Hogwarts? That she slipped away from the story before it began? I believe she would have rejected her Hogwarts letter without Emma’s memories. Many Muggleborns do.”

“Really?” That was a surprise. Kitty couldn’t imagine turning down the chance to learn magic.

“Indeed. Almost half of the Muggleborn enrolments decline Hogwarts.”

Kitty’s jaw dropped. Half?! “But—But… God, just imagine how much better the wizarding world would be if all those kids joined it!” She sputtered indignantly.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, “Indeed. But try not to dwell on what could be. For now, it would be best if you rested. All your friends are very eager to see you this afternoon when you leave the hospital wing.”

Kitty slumped back against the pillows, blowing out a long breath. “So. I really am Kitty, then.”

She supposed it didn’t really matter either way.

“Guess I’ll just have to convince Emma’s parents to love Kitty as a family friend or something,” she muttered.

Dumbledore shifted slightly in his chair, his expression turning cautious. “Have you ever attempted to find Emma’s family—through Muggle channels or otherwise?”

“I always stopped myself before I could.” She said shaking her head. “I knew if I found them, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself—I’d leave Hogwarts and I’d leave Harry.” She shrugged, “I’d run to them and never look back.”

There was a long pause as Kitty picked at her cuticles.

“I looked for them,” Dumbledore admitted at last.

Her head snapped up.

“I used every method available. Magical and Muggle means… even the Resurrection Stone. I tried to call them.”

Her breath caught. No, no, no, no.

“There is no record of your parents, your grandparents, not in Australia, not anywhere. No family matches, no digital trail, no Muggle documents. Nothing.”

She stared at him, heart hammering.

“It seems,” he continued gently, “that this world is not your own. Not merely another timeline, but another universe—one where the life seen in Emma’s memories never existed.”

His words crashed into her like a tidal wave of dizziness.

“My parents? My sister? They’re… gone?”

“They were never here to begin with,” he corrected softly.

If Kitty was being honest, she didn’t remember much after that conversation. She’d had what one might clinically call a complete fucking breakdown.

Madam Pomfrey had swiftly ushered her into a private room, where Kitty proceeded to rotate between exactly two states of being: staring blankly at the ceiling like a broken doll, and full-body, scream-crying-vomit sobbing. There was no middle ground. No in-between. She felt nothing and everything in varying waves.

It was as though every single thing she had repressed over the past six years had caught up to her, and her reality had finally cracked in half.

In a perversely practical way, it was lucky that the news about her family’s non-existence had come right on the heels of her kidnapping—everyone could just chalk her collapse up to Barty being a psycho.

She assumed Dumbledore had helped that assumption along too.

Not that she gave a single shit what anyone thought anymore.

The Daily Prophet kept landing on breakfast trays she ignored. She didn’t read them, but she saw her own blinking face plastered across the front page a few times. Normally, she’d be whooping with triumph over finally scoring a front-page spread. Now she couldn’t even muster the energy to read the headline.

She didn’t feel like she had a reason to care. She just wanted to be left the hell alone.

Not that it stopped Luna. Every morning, she’d sneak into Kitty’s room under the invisibility cloak. She never demanded attention or response, just talked softly about whatever mundane topic crossed her mind. Luna’s presence could have been balm, but more often it was a complicated weight. Luna knew that Kitty was reincarnated, but Kitty didn’t have the strength to look at Luna’s face and watch her reaction to the news that Kitty’s family wasn’t here.

The days blurred, and while Pomfrey’s remedies dulled the edges, it didn’t fill the hole.

A week later, in the middle of another fit of ugly, hopeless sobbing into her pillow, Kitty heard the door creak open, then quietly click shut again. She didn’t bother looking up. If she pretended to ignore them hard enough, maybe whoever it was would get the hint and leave her to drown in peace.

She heard a soft rustle of magic and then—

Click, click, click, click.

Soft paws padded across the stone floor. Then came the rustle of blankets shifting as the mattress dipped under new weight. Something warm and shaggy wriggled insistently against her side until, before she knew it, her arm had flopped over a large furry body.

“Padfoot?” she whispered hoarsely, still not opening her eyes.

A thump-thump-thump answered as his tail wagged against the bed, and a tongue licked the tears straight off her cheeks. For the first time in nearly a week, Kitty felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward into the ghost of a smile.

Padfoot stayed with her like that—fully transformed—for three whole days. He just existed at her side: warm, steady, breathing proof that she wasn’t entirely alone. Somewhere in that cocoon of quiet company, with his fur tangled in her fingers and the weight of him anchoring her to the bed, the words finally slipped free.

She told him the truth. That she wasn’t just Kitty. That she’d once been Emma—an ordinary twenty-something from Australia who’d died and inexplicably woken up in the body of a child. She told him about Emma’s life in detail: her family, her friends, the jobs she worked and the heartbreaks she weathered, as well as the NYE accident that ended it all. And then she told him about the unbearable ache of remembering people who, according to Dumbledore, had never existed here at all. A whole life that had slipped through her fingers without even a single picture to help her remember those she loved the most.

Padfoot listened like only a dog could: without words or judgement. His great dark head rested on her stomach, and his steady eyes watching her. She couldn’t tell what he thought about anything she said, but she knew it was helping her to say it anyway.

(It never even crossed her mind to mention the Harry Potter books. Who gave a shit about prophecies and plots when your family had been erased?)

By the time her voice finally broke into a rasp, Kitty shuddered, tears leaking hot and helpless as she felt flayed raw.

She braced herself for Sirius to finally shift back, to ruin it with a platitude—something asinine like time heals.

But he didn’t.

He stayed as Padfoot and shoved his big, stupid dog face into her arms, demanding more pets.

Greedy mutt.

God, he was perfect.

It seemed that opening up to Padfoot was a turning point for Kitty. Once Pomfrey was certain she wasn’t on the verge of completely unravelling anymore, Padfoot was told it was time for him to go.

When Pomfrey gave them privacy to say goodbye, Padfoot hopped off the bed and stretched with an exaggerated groaning yawn. Kitty’s mouth twitched upward, the faintest flicker of a smile.

Then, at last, he shifted back into his human form.

Sirius stood there in rumpled clothes, hair messy and eyes soft. Without hesitation, he pulled her out of the bed and into his arms, holding her so tightly it was like he thought he could physically keep her from falling apart.

“You might not be glad you left Emma’s life behind,” he murmured against her hair. “But I am. And maybe that’s selfish of me—I know it’s selfish of me—but I can’t regret it. Because you’re here with me now. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

When he drew back, his hands stayed firm on her shoulders. Then, with the same stubborn, mischievous light in his eyes he always had, he declared, “I’m still calling you Kitty Kat.”

He kissed her forehead before slipping out of the room without another word.

Chapter Text

Two days after Sirius left, Kitty felt like she could start breathing again. She was nowhere near fine, but Madam Pomfrey had declared she’d be discharged tomorrow and expected back in lessons on Monday.

That afternoon, she was minding her own business—brushing her hair for the first time in ten days—when panicked voices and shouting erupted outside her door.

Kitty shuffled over, curiosity prickling. She cracked the door open a sliver just enough to peek through.

Her mouth dropped open.

A nightmare was unfolding before her. A crowd of students and staff clustered around one of the hospital beds, voices overlapping in a storm of panic. Through the gap, Kitty had a clear line of sight: Draco Malfoy lay sprawled on bloody sheets, his chest carved open so savagely she could see his rib cage.

Snape was bent over him, wand moving in frantic arcs as he tried to seal the wounds. But they were so deep.

There was also a smaller, shallower slash across Draco’s face that Pomfrey was trying to heal.

Kitty yanked the door shut, pressing her back against it. She didn’t need a closer look to know what spell had done that.

Which meant Harry had attacked Draco.

But… why? That duel wasn’t supposed to happen for months. And even then—why on earth would Harry use Sectumsempra? He knew it was deadly dark magic. He’d seen the curse tear apart the practice dummy as clearly as she had.

And this wasn’t just bad—it was ten times worse than in canon.

None of it added up. The butterfly effect must have decided to drop by.

Kitty flopped back onto her bed, listening as the shouting outside softened, voices slipping into steadier, calmer tones. She soothed herself that at least this must mean Draco was going to live.

Idly, she thought she ought to be more disturbed after seeing someone cracked open like that. But compared to Barty being torn limb from limb, this barely even scratched the surface.

It was the middle of the night when Kitty slipped out of her room, her bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. She padded softly down the Hospital Wing corridor and eased herself behind the privacy screens set up around Draco’s bed.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, careful breaths beneath the thick white bandages that wrapped him from shoulder to waist. The wounds on his face must not have been deep—there were no gashes left, only the faintest traces of a scar that would likely vanish by morning.

Kitty settled into the chair beside his bed and simply watched for a moment. As her eyes traced the faint scar on his face, she realised how young he looked. His blonde hair was tousled against the pillow, his features softened by sleep, the sharpness of his usual expression dulled into something almost fragile.

But even then, it was impossible not to notice the dark circles under his eyes and how much weight he had lost.

Her gaze drifted to his left arm, pale and unblemished atop the blankets. Without thinking twice, she slipped her wand from her dressing gown and whispered,

“Revelio.”

Her stomach dropped as a Dark Mark bled into view on his skin.

It looked almost exactly like she remembered from the movies, yet it was unlike any tattoo she’d ever seen. It seemed almost alive, malignant in its intent. For a moment she could swear the skull stared straight at her, taunting her, aware that she was looking.

Shivering, she quickly re-cast a glamour over it, hiding the Mark from view once more.

Watching it dissolve back into smooth, unbroken skin, Kitty picked at her cuticles, a small, nervous motion that barely masked the guilt twisting in her chest.

There had once been a time—so long ago, back in first year—when she had dared to hope she could prevent Draco from becoming the person he had turned into. It had been naïve, of course; a foolish, fragile hope held by someone who had only just entered the wizarding world and didn’t understand how deep the anti-Muggle prejudice ran.

And yet, she couldn’t help the twinge of shame that lingered. She had essentially given up on him the moment he snubbed her friendship in second year. Maybe it had been self-preservation, or stubbornness, or just teenage pride—but now, having seen the Dark Mark branded on his arm, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had failed him. Especially since she had noticed how sharply his health had declined after the Christmas holidays. The cocky swagger that she usually associated with Draco Malfoy was disappearing day by day.

Would she have reached out to help Draco if Dumbledore hadn’t forbidden her from interfering?

Even with all her guilt and shame, Kitty couldn’t be sure.

Because this wasn’t some fanfiction Draco who harboured secret softness. No. She had gone to school with Draco Malfoy for six years, and she knew—deep down, without a doubt—how thoroughly he believed in Voldemort’s ideals.

This was the boy who thought his Dark Mark was a badge of honour. The boy who had held Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse for an entire year. The boy who had hurled a fully-formed Cruciatus Curse at Harry.

And Unforgivable Curses were not exactly a walk in the park. Even now, Kitty couldn’t cast an effective Imperius Curse. For Draco’s Unforgivables to work, there could be no trace of remorse, no hesitation—and she shivered thinking about it.

She would never have guessed it back then, but if there was one thing Kitty could take from Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince now that she was a witch herself, it was that Draco Malfoy was dangerous.

But still… she couldn’t help wishing she had tried harder.

She let out a forlorn sigh, much louder than she intended.

She froze in shock when Draco’s eyes fluttered open. Glazed and unfocused, they settled on her face. She tensed, bracing for the familiar sneer. Instead—

“Are you an angel?” he slurred.

An incredulous smile tugged at her lips. Dangerous who?

“You’re absolutely off your head on pain potions, aren’t you?” she said, her tone half-amused, half-relieved.

Draco gave a dopey little grin, then blinked slowly like an owl. She let out a soft laugh, reassured by the fact that he was three sheets to the wind and wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

“St. Cloud?” he mumbled, uncertain.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She paused, letting her gaze fall to the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. “You probably don’t believe me, but… I’m really glad you’re okay.”

They sat in silence, Draco blinking repeatedly as he tried—and clearly struggled—to focus on her face. Kitty wouldn’t have been surprised if he was seeing double.

Suddenly, he slurred out, “I remember in first year… when we were in the library together… and I asked you about your pen. You looked at me like I was the dumbest creature to ever crawl out of the lake.”

Kitty had no idea what the fuck he was talking about but decided to humour him. She sighed dramatically, “It’s just a ballpoint pen Draco, not an artifact from Merlin’s tomb.”

“You scoffed,” he said, grinning like a dazed puppy. “Said, ‘fucking hell, what do they teach you people in the Manor?’ I remember it because of your swearing. Never heard a first-year swear before.”

She huffed a laugh, “That sounds like me.”

“I liked you back then,” he said honestly. “You were cool. And scary.”

Her smile softened, and her eyes glazed over with memory. “You taught me how to fly, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. I saw you practicing with Weasel King earlier this year. You should be a chaser.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Draco went on, rambling with strange, unfiltered honesty. “You were so funny. I liked when we talked about our mums.”

Kitty smiled at the irony. “Oh yeah, how could I forget? Narcissa and Jolanda, two peas in a pod. You know, I once asked Jolanda if Harry could come over and she said, ‘orphans are dirty.’”

They both dissolved into quiet giggles.

“You tried to shag my mum,” Draco piped up matter-of-factly.

“Yeah… sorry about that. I won’t try again.”

“If you do, I’ll shag your mum to make it even.”

“Good luck finding her. She ran off back to Switzerland. I haven't heard from her in years.”

He raised a hand to wave her off and, in typical high-drugged fashion, smacked himself right in the face. “I’ll shag your friends then—ouch!” he let out a pitiful little whimper as he slapped himself in the face.

Kitty couldn’t help laughing harder, shaking her head at just how ridiculous—and endearing—he was in that moment.

Kitty tilted her head, deciding to ask him a question that had plagued her for six years. “Crabbe and Goyle are such chads. Why are you even friends with them?”

Draco shrugged, eyes half-closed. “They don’t talk much. It’s relaxing.”

“But they don’t understand the drama like you and I do!” she whined. "How can you choose them when Pansy and Blaise are right there?"

He gave a wheezy little chuckle, eyes fluttering shut again. “Fair.”

Kitty hesitated but then pressed on, quietly confident he wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

“I missed you a lot, you know? When you stopped being friends with me in second year… I felt…” She trailed off, struggling for the words. “I felt surprised at how upset I was that you abandoned me for my blood status, even though I knew it was fairly inevitable.”

Draco’s eyes flickered open again, as he blinked at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was croaky. “When Father learnt I was friendly with a Mudblood, he threatened to kill Perseus.”

Kitty’s brow furrowed faintly—Perseus was the name of his owl, right?

“That’s awful,” she murmured.

He lolled his head to the side, which she took as a shrug. “I would have stopped being friends with you anyway. Mudbloods and Purebloods shouldn’t mix.”

“Charming,” she said dryly.

You could pump the boy full of pain potions, and yet he still managed to be racist.

“You’re the worst Mudblood I ever met,” Draco added.

“Wow. Gee, thanks,” she said, deadpan and wholly unimpressed.

He scoffed, managing to sound dramatic even while sprawled in bed. “Don’t get pissy. You’re the opposite of what a Mudblood’s supposed to be. You’re terrible at it.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco slurred out what he probably thought was a reasonable explanation for hating her. “Mudbloods are supposed to be grateful to be included in our world. But you… you make fun of us for not knowing Muggle things. You’re not ashamed of your blood. It’s… weird.”

“You Slytherins spend way too much time thinking about my muddy blood,” she sighed.

He waved a lazy hand. “See? Y’just proved my point. Y’don’t even care when you get called a Mudblood. That’s why we all call you Mudblood Queen. ‘Cause you’re hot, rich, good at magic, and…” He paused, frowning as if hunting for the right word. “…unapologetic.” He emphasized each syllable with exaggerated care.

“Damn Draco, thank you for the compliment.”

Draco frowned at her, genuinely confused. “S’not a compliment. Being a Mudblood is bad. Being the queen of them… that’s insulting. Tha’s why we say it.” His slurring was getting worse, eyelids drooping with every word.

Kitty sighed, shaking her head. “You really went full villain arc, didn’t you? Still… this is nice, I guess. Talking to you like this. I didn’t realize how much I missed being friends with you until now,” she mused absently.

“You gotta be careful,” Draco slurred sleepily. “Dark Lord’s coming f’you. I was coming f’you too… ’m sorry”

Her stomach swooped but she held her smile. “You really shouldn't call him the Dark Lord. It makes you sound like a Death Eater,” she teased.

“Y’really shouldn’t call him by his name,” Draco countered, eyes closed. “Makes y’sound like an idiot.”

She smiled, shaking her head in soft exasperation.

Kitty sat in silence for a while longer, watching as Draco’s breathing evened out and the room returned to silence.

She wished—perhaps foolishly—that he would remember this conversation in the morning.

She knew he wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

When Kitty was finally released from the Hospital Wing the next morning, she trudged up to Gryffindor Tower—only to be immediately swarmed by the entire house enjoying a lazy Saturday. Everyone wanted to know what had happened during her kidnapping, and what “horrible injury” had kept her holed up in a private room for over a week.

(Considering that even the most brutal Quidditch injuries rarely sidelined someone for more than four days, her two week absence was eyebrow-raising, to say the least.)

Her girlies quickly picked up on her reticence to talk about herself because Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione elbowed everyone out of the way and quickly escorted her up to their dormitory.

Kitty was amused to see a massive pile of letters on her bed that appeared to be almost entirely from Fleur.

They all settled onto their beds, and Kitty listened as Parvati proudly displayed the collection of newspaper articles that spoke about Kitty's actions at Crouch Manor. The sweetheart had saved all of them. Hadn’t missed a single one.

Encouraged by the others, Parvati launched into a dramatic reading of the articles. According to the press, Kitty was a brave student who had been kidnapped, fought her way out, destroyed an entire army of Inferi, and taken down a top Death Eater lieutenant in the process.

Technically true—but hearing it recited like that made her sound like some kind of legendary hero. And yet, it was hard to feel heroic when she’d barely thought about her kidnapping in the past two weeks. She supposed she’d just have to get used to it.

When Parvati finished, Lavender cautiously brought up the topic the others had been tiptoeing around.

“There are rumours,” she began delicately. “About why you were in the Hospital Wing for so long. Some people think you were attacked by Inferi and left disfigured. But then, a few days ago, The Prophet somehow found out that Crouch was in love with you and sent you all those Valentine’s… and, well…” She cleared her throat, voice soft. “They speculated about what happened before you escaped. They even suggested… that he might have forced himself on you.”

Kitty sank back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. Not an unreasonable assumption—but damn. The hits just keep on coming, don’t they?

When it was clear she wasn’t going to respond, Hermione cleared her throat. “And, um… yesterday, there was an incident. Did you see Malfoy in the Hospital Wing?”

Kitty propped herself up on her elbows and nodded.

“We were all waiting to go into Charms, and he started saying—” Hermione hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “He said you got what you deserved.”

Wow. Fantastic. She had shared a rare, almost human moment with Draco last night only to discover he apparently thought she deserved to be raped.

What a cunt.

Kitty let out a sharp scoff, trying to mask how deeply it stung.

Hermione continued, voice low. “There was a huge fight. Neville, Dean, and Ron went after Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Harry and Draco were duelling—and it got bad. Harry used that Sectumsempra spell.” Hermione shivered, haunted by the memory.

“We all thought Malfoy was going to die. Flitwick showed up and got him to Snape. Everyone had to give statements. Since Harry used dark magic in front of basically the whole year, he’s got detention every Saturday for the rest of the year—which also means he can’t play on the Quidditch team anymore.”

Kitty hummed in acknowledgment, her mind already overloaded. She wasn’t even sure she had it in her to feel gratitude for the boys stepping in to defend her.

She sat up suddenly. “Are you girls okay?” she asked. “You weren’t hurt in the duel?”

They all smiled fondly at her. Parvati shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. “You don’t need to take care of us, Kitty.”

Lavender squeezed her hand gently. “Forget about everyone else for once. Focus on yourself. Please?”

“Do you want to talk about what happened at the Crouch Estate?” Hermione asked bluntly.

Kitty let out a slow sigh. “I only want to tell the story once. So let’s go to the boys’ dormitory—that way they can hear it too.” She looked at Lavender and Parvati. “After that, I’m leaving it up to you two to spread the true story through the rumour mill.”

They nodded firmly and set off together toward the boys’ dormitory. Only Neville and Dean were in there so the girlies slipped away to find the others, leaving Kitty alone with them.

Dean immediately swept her into a huge hug that she melted into. Neville followed, holding her tight.

When had her little ducklings gotten so tall?

Pulling back, Neville murmured, “I’m so glad he’s gone. Is it bad if I say thank you?”

Kitty smiled at him, glad that she didn’t need to pretend to be demure or regretful over Barty’s death. “It’s a relief, isn’t it?”

Neville nodded earnestly.

Kitty settled herself on Dean’s bed to wait a few minutes before Harry, Ron, and Seamus arrived, the girls in tow. Then—whoosh—Luna slipped off the Invisibility Cloak and appeared from thin air, sliding in to sit beside her.

Everyone found a place to sit, cross-legged or leaning against bedposts, a sea of concerned faces turned toward her.

Kitty took a breath and launched into the story. From the moment she’d left the Galentine’s brunch at Madam Puddifoot’s, to her capture, the manor, the Inferi, the fire, and finally giving her statement to the Minister for Magic with Dumbledore.

When she finished, there was a long pause. Then, of course—

“I don’t get it—why’d you stay in the Hospital Wing for so long?” Ron asked, entirely too bluntly.

Hermione immediately smacked his arm but turned to Kitty too. Clearly, she wanted to know as well.

Kitty sighed and let her head rest against Luna’s shoulder. “It was just all too much for me. I’ve been holding onto two years of constant fear, waiting for the day Crouch would come after me. And suddenly—it was over. I could finally let go. I needed time to myself to deal with it.”

The girls all nodded in supportive understanding.

“So you weren’t raped, then?”

“OH MY GOD, RON!”
"RON!"
"Merlin, why would you say that out loud?"
"For Merlin's sake!"
"Mate seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Weirdly, it made Kitty start laughing. Really laughing—hunched over, shoulders shaking, full hysterics—and then suddenly she was crying again.

Because she was so fucking glad that Barty hadn’t touched her. She had dreaded that possibility since he’d assaulted her in the Death Chamber. She was sure that even her boggart had even changed to reflect that fear.

Everyone stared at her, looking increasingly worried.

“He didn’t touch me,” she choked out through her tears.

...Not the most reassuring delivery.

Harry awkwardly scratched the back of his neck as he tried to change the subject. “Did Hermione tell you? Fleur sent Dumbledore a Howler.”

“Wha-?” Kitty blinked at him, startled out of her crying spiral. Dean handed her a tissue box.

“She tried to visit you in the Hospital Wing but wasn’t allowed past the security check at the front gate. Then she heard Sirius had been let in see you, and she flipped.”

A small smile grew on Harry’s face, “The Howler said something like—she demanded to be allowed onto Hogwarts grounds immediately so she could see you herself. At least, that’s the gist. It was entirely in French, so we had to get a translation from Angelina.”

Kitty blinked through her tears, a smile tugging at her lips.

Fleur Delacour, honestly. A woman after her own heart.

Chapter Text

Falling back into the routine of eating meals in the Great Hall and sitting through classes was just as tedious as Kitty had feared it might be. Everybody and their bloody owl wanted to hear the story of her daring escape from the inferi first-hand. But Kitty wasn’t exactly in an indulgent mood. If she had a Galleon for every time she’d said, “Fuck off and mind your business before I hex you, nosy cunt,” she’d have thirty-five Galleons. Or however the saying went.

The scrutiny from her peers was possibly at its worst during Divination, where Professor Trelawney spent nearly every lesson waxing poetic about how ~she alone~ had foreseen Kitty’s kidnapping. The worst part was that a lot of her old ramblings suddenly did line up in undeniable ways.

And Kitty was like !!! Babe! If you suspected I was gonna get stolen, why didn’t you tell me??

The attention in Divination had another drawback too, because Zabini stopped sitting with her. She was fairly sure he’d only sat there in the first place because they were both pretending the other tables were “too full” or whatever—but still, she was genuinely sad to see him purposely walk past their table to sit with Pansy and Daphne.

(Smart of him, though. If he wanted to fly under the radar for the war keeping his distance was the way to go.)

Other than that, she was mostly just trying to catch up on classwork.

… Sort of.

Honestly, she couldn’t be arsed anymore. She wasn’t even sitting N.E.W.T.s next year, so why bother pretending exams mattered now? And after her breakdown, it wasn’t like her teachers would give her detention for a missed assignment. Even McGonagall was treating her like glass. The only classwork she actually had to keep up with was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape might have stopped meeting her eyes (guilt, methinks?), but he was still insufferably insistent that she’d get detention if she didn’t make up the work she’d missed.

Cunt.

Because of all the aforementioned shenanigans, Kitty spent most of her time holed up in the Restricted Section—and no, she was not hiding how dare you make that accusation!—she was simply indulging in her year-long pass to the naughty books.

And within the pages of her naughty books, Kitty was slowly stitching herself back together with a brand-new purpose in life… (drumroll, please)… planning the neutering of Fenrir Greyback!

A healthy coping mechanism? Absolutely. She was very confident about that.

Kitty’s first draft plan looked something like this—

Operation: Little Red Riding Hood

Step 1: Find Greyback during the Battle of the Astronomy Tower (preferably before he mauls the hot Weasley).
Step 2: ???
Step 3: Greyback dies.
Step 4: Fleur gets to enjoy her hot fiancé; Lavender lives; the timeline wobbles BUT Kitty gets bonus karma points from the universe for doing the world a favour.

…Look, she knew the first draft wasn’t exactly strategically comprehensive, but killing a person with Lycanthropy was fucking hard!! They had insane reflexes that made duelling them a nightmare, not to mention those spidey-senses that tingled whenever someone was watching them—sneak attacks were basically impossible.

It was why Voldemort had such a hard-on to bring the packs over to his side. An army of people with lycanthropy was nearly impossible to beat unless you were a trained duellist.

((Kitty hadn’t forgotten Remus when he came to rescue them in the Department of Mysteries. He had duelled so fast he was almost a blur AND he knew she was watching from across the room. At the time, she had been absurdly grateful for it all. Now, the thought of facing that kind of speed made her stomach twist with nerves.))

Not that she was letting it stop her, though! This was just a fun new challenge!

So, Kitty threw herself into reading everything she could find in the Restricted Section on killing werewolves, and because people were arseholes, there was a lot of material. She eventually came across a published journal by a wizard named Urquhart, who had devoted his life to hunting werewolves. The journal was seriously fucked up and Kitty almost felt like she was betraying Remus by reading it, but there was no denying that Urquhart’s method was far more effective than anything else she’d found. His book was full of strategic advice for confronting them when they were human, and, most intriguingly, the creation of his own specialised doggy-murder spell—Exlupatio Caedere.

The thing about Exlupatio Caedere was that it didn’t actually aim to injure the body at all—it latched onto the lycanthropy curse itself and vaporized it. Kitty didn’t fully understand the medical mechanics behind it, but she was fairly certain that Greyback would explode.

It was better than any ol’ exploding curse too, because it travelled at a velocity far greater than ordinary, making it nearly impossible to dodge even for someone with supernatural reflexes. Plus, because it targeted the lycanthropic curse, firing it at an ordinary human wouldn’t be lethal. It would just trigger a massive adrenaline rush. Not that Kitty intended to test that theory because it sounded like getting jabbed with an EpiPen for funsies. But it made her feel safer casting it during a messy duel where a friend might accidentally end up in the line of fire.

With that in mind, Kitty was confident she’d found the perfect murder-spell for Greyback. All she needed to do was practice.

So she copied down the wand movements and pronunciation, and headed straight for the Room of Requirement. As usual, the room produced one of those disturbingly life-like cursed dummies it loved so much—seriously, why?!

Kitty planted her feet, raised her wand, and declared, “Exlupatio Caedere!”

…Nothing.

(Because she’d definitely butchered the wand movement. Oops.)

She tried again.
And again.
And again.

Until finally—BANG! The dummy was hurled backward so fast that she almost missed the flash of yellow light.

Because the dummy didn’t have lycanthropy (DUH), nothing actually happened to it beyond the dramatic launch. But Kitty chose to ignore that technicality and instead celebrate the fact that she’d successfully cast a highly advanced spell.

Then she turned her focus inward. After chatting with Regulus about all things dark magic and soul-related, Kitty had developed a pretty decent sense of her own soul. And sure enough—she felt it: a faint nudge. Nothing dramatic, just a little tug under the diaphragm.

Yep. Confirmation: the spell was Dark Magic.

Well, that certainly explained why Snape had never mentioned it during any of his anti-werewolf rants over the years. She bet he’d practically foamed at the mouth knowing he couldn’t teach a spell like this back in third year.

Probably his favourite spell, the incellular freak.

Kitty was wandering the library stacks, hunting down some dreary book Snape wanted for an essay, when—

“Kitty!” a familiar voice hissed.

She spun around.

What the actual fuck? Harry Potter alone in the library?

Arching a brow, she sauntered over to his table and leaned against it, one hip cocked, arms crossed. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Harry Potter, working without Hermione’s guidance? Furthering his education? Alert the press—this is an exclusive.”

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, “I do study without Hermione.”

“When?” she scoffed, tilting her head.

“Right now,” he huffed, pulling out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

Kitty plopped into the seat with a very dubious “mmhmm.”

Harry leaned forward, voice lowered. “We’ve got another lesson with Dumbledore and Sirius. Saturday, eight o’clock.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, a little indifferently.

“I also meant to tell you—we had another lesson a few weeks ago, when you were in the Hospital Wing. I was supposed to fill you in, but…” Harry looked sheepish, “It didn’t feel like the right time.”

“All good. What memory were you shown?” she asked.

Harry launched into a grim explanation of being shown Kreacher’s memory of going with Voldemort to the cave to plant the locket. Kitty was surprised initially because she knew that didn’t happen in the books/movies, but she supposed it made sense so she nodded along diligently.

(In hindsight, it wasn’t exactly shocking that Kreacher had ended up a permanent resident of Crazytown after downing that green potion.)

“But then, when we came out of that memory, we went into a second one of Kreacher’s,” Harry continued. He explained that Dumbledore had shown them the memory of Regulus taking Kreacher back to the island, retrieving the locket, and leaving the fake in its place only to be attacked by the inferi.

WHAT?!

Kitty couldn’t fathom why Dumbledore thought Harry needed to witness Regulus’ death—probably some grand lesson about self-sacrifice. Personally, she disagreed completely. She was grateful she hadn’t been there.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she murmured.

Harry shook his head. “I was more worried about Sirius.”

Kitty’s mouth dropped open in horror. “Wait—Sirius was there? He had to watch his brother die?”

Harry nodded sadly.

Kitty shook her head in disgust. “Why is Dumbledore like this?”

Harry shrugged awkwardly, “Sirius wasn’t right after that. Said he was going to see you in the Hospital Wing and just walked out of the office.”

“Oh—that’s why he came to see me? I thought he’d gotten special permission to visit or something.”

Harry shook his head. “No. But I can’t imagine Dumbledore would deny him after… after what we saw.”

Well of course not. He’d just watched his little brother die and couldn’t stomach going back to Grimmauld Place alone.

A pang of guilt caught in her throat. She’d been so wrapped up in her own misery she hadn’t realised he’d been hurting too. No wonder he stayed as Padfoot the whole time.

And Harry—well, his outburst at Draco made a hell of a lot more sense now. After watching Regulus drown in that cave of horrors, he must’ve been wound tighter than a bowstring, and since he wasn’t allowed to tell Ron or Hermione about their lessons he’d just been stewing on Regulus’ death all alone. No wonder Sectumsempra had come flying out of his wand the next week.

Not for the first time, Kitty wished Harry could talk to Ron and Hermione about the horcruxes. These days, it felt like the only thing she and Harry ever talked about was Dumbledore’s lessons. He needed someone else to talk about this stuff with.

Speaking of the lessons with Dumbledore, here was a little summary of how they were going~

SEPTEMBER LESSON: Gaunt family nightmare. Enough said.

OCTOBER LESSON: Creepy orphan receives his Hogwarts letter.

NOVEMBER LESSON: A memory from Morfin Gaunt (and when tf did Dumbledore even meet Morfin??) of teenage Tom visiting the tramp shack before he stole the Ring and killed the Riddle family.

This memory was honestly useless because almost the entire thing was in Parseltongue. It was just two people hissing at each other like Kitty was supposed to be entertained by that?? (She wasn’t).

DECEMBER LESSON: Teenage Tom hustling Slughorn for information about horcruxes. Dumbledore must have leveraged Slughorn because they had the full memory without any cheeky little tampering.

After that memory, Dumbledore gave a big explanation about what horcruxes were, and his suspects about the diary, Nagini, and the Ring.

JANUARY LESSON: Hepzibah Smith flirting with a post-Hogwarts Tom while she flaunted her ownership of the locket and cup.

Then they went into another memory where Lord Voldemort was now a red-eyed freak and was being rejected for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship.

FEBRUARY LESSON: Kitty missed it because she was in the Hospital Wing. Duh! She already said this! Keep up, kids.

MARCH LESSON:  ~~~~

Kitty, Harry, and Sirius were sitting in Dumbledore’s office. For once, Kitty couldn’t believe it—she was in a room with Dumbledore and wasn’t the source of disappointment! Instead, he was shooting Harry and Sirius the classic I’m deeply disappointed in you stare. Apparently, Harry cursing Draco and Sirius torturing Tiberius Nott still weighed heavily on his mind.

Kitty decided to make things extra awkward. She sat up straight with a wide grin. “Good evening, Headmaster! Isn't it just a beautiful rainy Scottish night? Love the robes, by the way.”

(She didn’t, of course. Dumbledore usually looked like a fashion disaster.)

But he softened slightly. “Thank you, Katherine.”

Kitty received a grandfatherly smile in return and sank back into her chair, smug at being the favourite child for the evening.

His tone cooled as he turned his attention back to Harry and Sirius. “I have no more memories to share. This meeting will be to consolidate the information we possess about Voldemort’s horcruxes—a brainstorming session, if you like.”

Kitty’s smile dimmed. ‘Brainstorming’ meant ‘lying through her teeth while pretending she didn’t know anything’. She was used to shielding Harry with lies, but lying to Sirius about the horcruxes? That felt… wrong. She didn’t want to.

Pursing her lips, she studied Dumbledore, trying to figure out his plan for the evening. On the table before them, he conjured a parchment and neatly wrote out a list, then turned it around so they could read it.

1. Diary – destroyed.
2. Ring – destroyed
3. Slytherin’s locket
4. Hufflepuff’s cup
5. Unknown Ravenclaw artifact
6. Nagini
7. Unknown

Dumbledore spoke, “As the first two are destroyed, we will turn our attention to the locket. Sirius, I spoke to you in August about locating it. Do you have any updates?”

Sirius grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “When we renovated the house, Kreacher took it into his bedroom. Then he said Mundungus stole it. I tried to contact Mundungus, but he was off the grid for a while. And then we got the news that he’d been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for impersonating an Inferius.” Sirius scoffed.

Dumbledore sighed. “Indeed. He will be released in June.”

Harry's jaw dropped. “Months in Azkaban for that? That’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

“Scrimgeour’s new laws are harsh,” Dumbledore said gravely. “The charge was inciting terror.”

“Can’t we just visit him in Azkaban and ask if he has the locket? Surely you could get access being the Chief Mugface?” Kitty pointed out.

Dumbledore smiled faintly but shook his head. “Access to Azkaban is closely monitored by individuals whose intentions I do not trust. Drawing attention to Mundungus by visiting him could create more problems than waiting.”

Kitty pulled a face.

Dumbledore continued, “So, we wait for Mundungus to be released from Azkaban before following up on the locket.”

He jotted a small note on the list.

“Now, onto number four: Hufflepuff’s cup. We currently have no leads on its whereabouts, but I am investigating.” He nodded firmly, as if the matter were settled.

Kitty crossed her arms over her chest to keep from arguing with his choice not to tell Harry or Sirius what she already knew.

“Moving on to the fifth horcrux,” Dumbledore said, looking up and fixing them all with a steady gaze. “Considering that we’ve already identified items from two different founders, it is reasonable to deduce that Lord Voldemort would have chosen an artifact belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw. There is only one item I believe fits that criterion: Ravenclaw’s lost diadem.”

“What’s a diadem?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore explained what a diadem was and described its appearance in detail.

Sirius jumped in, “But it’s lost, innit?”

“Not entirely,” Dumbledore replied. “The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower is Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena’s daughter. I have spoken with her extensively, and she shared this story…”

He then recounted the tale of the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron, explaining how a teenage Tom Riddle had charmed Helena’s ghost to reveal the diadem’s location in Albania.

Harry and Sirius hung on his every word.

“I believe he planted it at Hogwarts when he came to interview for the Defence position. He knew I would never grant him the professorship—so why would he lower himself to beg for a job he did not want?”

“So he could hide the Horcrux…” Harry whispered.

“Indeed. Whether it is the diadem or the cup, I am not certain. But I am currently working with the House-Elves to search for it.”

Kitty leaned back in her seat and looked away. This was just blatant lying. Why couldn’t he tell Harry and Sirius that he already had the diadem? She didn’t understand the point of pretending otherwise.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll see what I can do about Nagini, then,” he said briskly, as if dividing chores.

“No.”

The word burst out of her mouth before she even realised she said anything. Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her.

She swallowed and pleaded to Sirius lowly. “It’s too dangerous, Siri. She’s his pet. He’s never going to leave her unprotected. We should leave her for last.”

Sirius frowned and looked to Dumbledore for his opinion.

“Quite right,” Dumbledore said, definitively. “Now, for the last one,” he continued. “I have a few theories. The first being that there never was a seventh Horcrux. That final piece is merely the shard of soul that resides within Voldemort himself.”

“But if that isn’t the case, shouldn’t we be looking for something from Gryffindor?” Sirius asked.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Harry said absently.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “I believe Tom sees himself as ‘above’ Gryffindor house. But what’s more, the two famous artifacts of Godric Gryffindor are both in this very room.” He gestured happily to the Sorting Hat and the sword. “Thankfully, neither of them are contaminated with such magic.”

Dumbledore then leaned over the list and made some updates before showing them again:

1. Diary – destroyed.
2. Ring – destroyed.
3. Slytherin’s locket – Mundungus.
4. Hufflepuff’s cup – Hogwarts?
5. Unknown Ravenclaw artifact Ravenclaw’s diadem – Hogwarts?
6. Nagini – last to be destroyed.
7. Unknown / Original soul shard?

“This is where we stand for now,” Dumbledore said. “I will reconvene if there are any updates. Otherwise, I do not anticipate another meeting until the end of the year.”

He dismissed them, and Kitty asked Harry and Sirius to give her a moment while she ran a quick question by Dumbledore. They obliged.

The moment the door clicked shut, Kitty whirled on Dumbledore. “How will we know what day Draco fixes the cabinet? I think it was a Saturday, but I have no idea. All I remember is it was near the end of the year, and Trelawney tried to hide empty bottles in the Room of Requirement and got thrown out—which, by the way, makes NO sense. Why didn’t she just put them in a bin OR vanish them OR have the house-elves throw them out?”

She was rambling, wasn’t she?

“Just… we don’t know when it happens,” she concluded lamely.

Dumbledore smiled serenely. “Please leave that to me, Katherine.”

“Oh.”

Kitty shrugged.

“Okay, then!”

She loved it when other people did the hard work for her!

“All right. Goodnight, sir!”

She swanned out of Dumbledore’s office and caught up with Harry and Sirius. As she arrived, Sirius looped his arms around both of them.

“So are you two coming to Grimmauld for the Easter holidays?” he asked.

Harry pouted. “I’ve got to stay here and study for my exams. NEWT’s are sooo hard.”

Sirius made a face. “Tragic.” Then he turned to Kitty. “What about you, darlin?”

She hesitated, weighing her options.

Before she could answer, Sirius cut in with a wry grin. “If you don’t come back, Fleur’s going to flip her shit.”

Kitty snorted. Well, when he put it like that…

“Fineeee. I’ll come.”

Besides, now that Barty was dead and Winky no longer had split loyalties, she wanted to check in on her apartment. Not that she planned to move out of Grimmauld until the war was over—but still. A girl liked to know her lair was in order.

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Express rattled its way toward London, the sky outside a sullen grey, the windows streaked with drizzle.

Everyone else was staying at the castle for the holidays except Luna, so Kitty was basking in some long-overdue Luna time as they shared a compartment. Still, she couldn’t quite shake the ache in her chest. Ever since Luna started dating Harry, she’d gone from Kitty’s friend to Harry’s girlfriend. Massive bummer. Still, Kitty was determined to enjoy the rare, uninterrupted hours together.

About halfway through the journey, Luna dropped a bombshell:

“Daddy wants us to move to America.”

Kitty choked. “I’m sorry, WHAT?”

Luna nodded serenely, gaze drifting out the window. “He’s thinking of setting up a Quibbler office in New York. Once I’ve finished my O.W.L.s, he wants me to do my N.E.W.T.s at Ilvermorny.”

Kitty was shocked. “And how do you feel about this? Do you get a say?”

Luna shrugged sadly. “I was almost sorted into Gryffindor and my moon is in Aries.”
(Translation: I want to stay and fight against the tyranny of Lord Voldemort.)

Kitty sighed and reached across to squeeze her hand. “Your dad just wants you safe, you know that right?”

She stroked Luna’s hand, reeling from the news.

But was it that shocking? Xenophilius wasn’t alone in wanting to dip. Half the wizarding population seemed to be fleeing Britain these days. And with the Lovegood’s still flush from their windfall at the Quidditch World Cup, moving across the Atlantic was hardly out of reach.

Luna turned from the rain-streaked window. “Is there any reason I should stay in Britain?” she asked, her voice soft but knowing.

Kitty’s throat went tight. She wanted to blurt yes of course there was! Stay, because you’ll fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. Stay, because I’ll miss you and I don’t want to lose you to another continent.

But the reality was more bleak. Luna was barely sixteen and she didn’t belong in the middle of a war. She didn’t belong in a dungeon at Malfoy Manor. She didn’t belong in a school run by the Carrows.

Kitty swallowed, shook her head and forced the words out, “I’m sorry Luna. But I think you should leave.”

Luna only nodded, serene as ever. “Alright. Please don’t tell our friends yet? I’d like Harry to hear it from me.”

And then, as if she hadn’t just shattered Kitty’s chest wide open, she drifted off into a ramble about heliopaths.

Kitty was scooped off Platform 9 ¾ by a very, very excited Fleur Delacour and a very, very exasperated Bill Weasley.

They accompanied her back to Grimmauld Place, where Fleur immediately hijacked her from her greeting with Sirius, dragged her upstairs, and demanded Bill provide room service while they made a home-spa.

The evening turned into a full-blown sleepover, where they caught up on everything and Kitty declared that Fleur’s kidnapping skills of Tiberius Nott were so top-tier she ought to consider a side hustle as a bounty hunter.

Fleur looked like she might genuinely consider it.

They eventually drifted off to sleep after Bill delivered dinner to them in bed. He mentioned he’d be downstairs with Sirius if they wanted to join. (They did not. They wanted GIRL TIME!!)

The next morning, Fleur was packing up her things to return to the Burrow when she dropped terrible news—Remus’ cover in the werewolf packs had been blown a few days ago.

Apparently, Greyback and his lackeys had shown up and pointed him out as one of Dumbledore’s spies. Remus’ fellow lycanthropes did not appreciate being reported on, and he had barely escaped with his life. He was now being nursed back to health by Sirius and Tonks.

Absolutely horrified, Kitty didn’t stop to think—she sprang out of her own bedroom, leaving Fleur behind her. She raced down the flight of stairs two at a time until she reached Remus’ bedroom door. Without pausing to knock, she yanked it open and burst inside.

Inside, Remus lay in bed curled around Tonks. Tonks was so small in comparison that she was almost entirely swallowed up. Both of them blinked up at her, bleary-eyed and clearly startled from sleep.

“Whaa…?” they croaked in unison.

But Kitty’s gaze was locked on Remus’ torso where a thick bandage covered his right shoulder. 

Her bestie was hurt!

She marched over to the other side of the bed and climbed in, pressing herself against Remus’ back. Nestling in snugly, she wrapped herself around him, effectively taking the role of the big spoon so that Remus was now sandwiched between her and Tonks.

Remus’ voice muffled against Tonks’ hair. “Kitty… what are you doing?”

“I’m being your big spoon,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Remus’ voice was a mix of exasperation and fondness. “…Why?”

“Because I’m your bestie, silly. And anyway, everyone deserves to be the little spoon sometimes—even 6’5” scarecrows like you.” She pressed a quick kiss to the back of his bandaged shoulder.

Tonks chimed in, “Hey! I try! But it’s not my fault he’s too tall for me to properly spoon!”

Then Sirius strolled in through the open door carrying a breakfast tray that was obviously meant for Remus.

His eyes widened at the sight of the cuddle pile, and he blinked for a beat. Then, with zero hesitation, he set the tray down, marched around the bed and lay himself on the other side of Kitty. He pulled himself under the covers and tucked her body against his.

“Ah,” Sirius declared dramatically, wrapping an arm around her, “now it’s a proper spoon train. All aboard!”

Kitty tried very hard to ignore how delightfully perfect it felt to have Sirius wrapped around her and speaking into her neck.

Remus groaned, buried further into Tonks’ hair. “You two… get out!”

Kitty giggled, snuggling even closer. “No can do, Rem. The more spoons, the merrier!”

There was a shuffle of blankets, and Tonks’ head popped up from the other side of Remus. She took in Kitty and Sirius wedged together behind her boyfriend and snorted. “Huh… that’s actually quite sweet.”

Remus grumbled again, resigning himself. Suchhhh a grump in the mornings, their sweet Moony was.

“We’re having a party now that you’re no longer stuck in the packs, Moony,” Kitty declared into his back. “The moment you’re healthy again, we’re all getting drunk.”

“YES!” Sirius practically yelled into her ear.

“It’s 9 a.m—how can you two even think of drinking right now?” Remus protested.

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Sirius said. “We’ll do it next Saturday!”

Kitty poked her butt back at Sirius. “Oi! You realise the train goes back to Hogwarts on that Sunday? I’ll be hungover for the journey. Can’t we pick another night?”

“No,” Sirius said snobbishly. “It’s the only night Bill is free.”

Remus snorted. “Oh, sooooorrrryyyy, Padfoot. We forgot about your boyfriend.”

“Hey! Branching out with my friendships is healthy, thank you very much,” Sirius shot back.

“Yeah, yeah…” Remus grumbled. Kitty could practically hear his eye roll.

“Don’t be jealous, babe,” Tonks teased from the other side.

“I’m not jealous!” Remus protested immediately.

All three of them let out loud, disbelieving scoffs at that blatant lie.

Remus muttered under his breath, “Should’ve locked the bloody door.”

The next week at Grimmauld Place was the most fun Kitty’d had in a long time. Remus was home. Tonks had taken time off to stay with him, and Fleur popped over every other day. Sirius was there every day too—officially on Order duties assigned to be guarding Kitty from Death Eaters or something.

Bill was the only one still working full time, but he made a point to come by for dinner most nights.

It was almost like there wasn’t a war raging outside. (Almost.) They still had Order members coming through to give reports. Sadly, it seemed like Remus’ status as a werewolf was becoming something of an open secret at the Ministry. It was only a matter of time before there was some kind of article written about it in the Daily Prophet.

As a result, Remus was in a real low. He felt as though he’d failed in every aspect of his life and had climbed aboard his familiar train of self-hatred. Kitty told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he so much as thought about doing something stupid—like breaking up with Tonks to ‘spare her’ from being tied to a werewolf—she would personally smack him. After that, the rest of them made it their mission to lift him up, spending the week rallying around him, cheering him on, and making sure he slowly found his way back to himself.

One day, Tonks and Sirius took her back to her apartment—a place she hadn’t set foot in for agesss. Sirius and Tonks poked around, looking for any evidence that Death Eaters had been there. When they found nothing, they set about reinforcing the wards Remus had put up last year, making sure the place stayed safe.

Meanwhile, Kitty was greeted by Winky, and the two of them launched into a long, intense conversation about Barty Crouch Jr. Winky was not doing well. She’d started drinking again, and Kitty wished she could bring Winky to Kittytopia to help care for the property to help her sober up, but she just didn’t trust her anymore. Logically, Kitty knew she shouldn’t blame Winky for what had happened at Crouch Manor—but emotionally… well, she kind of did. And if she wasn’t worried that Winky might actually hurt herself, Kitty would’ve fired her on the spot.

Instead, she told Winky to go work at Hogwarts and try to quit drinking again, hoping it would be a start toward getting back on track.

It was Saturday night—Kitty’s last night of the holidays—and she and Sirius were determined to throw a proper Welcome Home party for Remus.

Sirius had whipped up an absolute storm of paella, the kind that made your mouth water just by looking at it, while Kitty set the table and played bartender, mixing fancy cocktails for everyone.

Finally, Tonks, Remus, Fleur, and Bill joined them to sit down to dinner. Kitty was a little embarrassed at how strong she'd made the cocktails—but Remus was a werewolf, after all! He needed a little extra kick just to feel tipsy, thank you very much.

By the end of dinner, everyone had migrated to the drawing room with bottles of wine, listening to music and laughing at Bill’s story of the ridiculous questions Fred and George had come up with for their imposter checks.

Remus and Tonks were sprawled across one couch, Fleur and Bill cuddled on another. Kitty and Sirius occupied the third, sharing a cigarette while siphoning the smoke away with their wands. Kitty couldn’t help but notice how it looked—three couples, even if she and Sirius weren’t together.

Time to distract her brain!

“I need some imposter questions!” Kitty blurted out. “Bill, Fleur—you didn’t even check it was me at the platform! I could have been anyone!”

Bill gave her a look that said really? “You wouldn’t have gotten past the Fidelius charm if that were the case, genius. But hey! You didn’t check us either.” He laughed.

Fleur flipped her hair, perfectly unbothered. “Kitty doezn’t need a question to know it iz me.”

“What why?” Kitty asked.

Fleur rose gracefully from her chair and knelt in front of Kitty, lifting her hands to cradle Kitty’s face. She gazed deeply into her eyes, and for a moment, the room fell silent, and then…

~~~

Kitty blinked stupidly and look around in confusion. Fleur was back sitting with Bill. And… wait… was that drool on her face?!

“What the fuck just happened?!” Kitty squeaked, flailing a hand toward her cheek.

“Zat iz my full veela allure.” Fleur said smugly.

“You were totally mesmerised for about 30 seconds,” Sirius laughed.

Bill looked impressed. “You broke out faster than I expected. Props for that. But she’s right—there’s no way anyone but Fleur could have that effect. Even someone Polyjuiced as her couldn’t replicate Veela magic.”

“I guess,” Kitty mused, still feeling slightly dazed and confused. It didn’t help that she was drunk.

“On another note,” Bill added lightly, “I had no idea you were bisexual.”

Kitty scoffed. “I’d like to see any straight girl try to go up against that, thank you very much.”

Tonks jumped up and bounced up and down on the balls of her toes, “Oh! Do me! Do me!”

Fleur walked over, her gaze locking onto Tonks’ eyes as she took her face in her hands, and Kitty watched from the side. The air around Fleur seemed to shimmer, almost like magic was bending around her.

Tonks pulled back, slightly unsteady, blinking rapidly, but otherwise okay. “HA!” she crowed triumphantly.

Kitty pouted. “Fine. Point disproven. Whatever.” She pivoted toward Sirius. “Okay, what’s your imposter question, Siri?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, set his drink down, and smoothly shifted into Padfoot—suddenly a massive black dog was sitting regally on the couch next to her. Just as quickly, he morphed back, grinning smugly.

“Was that enough for you, darlin? There’s only one dog like me.” He winked and she couldn’t help but giggle at how ridiculous he was.

“You’re suuuuuch a fucking wanker Padfoot,” groaned Remus from the couch, voice muffled behind his drink.

Sirius scoffed. “Alright, fine—let’s see yours then, Moony. You can't do better than that. I’m the only animagus here.”

Remus set his drink down and stood, eyes locked on Sirius. He stalked over, radiating dominance in the most powerful display she’d ever seen. Truly, Kitty thought she’d seen the werewolf stare before, but this was like… werewolf maxx.

She shrank back even though Remus wasn’t looking at her—just the intensity of his focus on the person next to her was enough to make her want to hide away. Meanwhile, Sirius had actually transformed back into Padfoot and was showing his belly. It was wild.

Finally, Remus stepped back with a wide, smug smile on his face. The room collectively exhaled and Sirius changed back, running a hand through his hair and chugging down his wine from the stress.

“Fucking Merlin,” Bill muttered.

Kitty shivered, “Jesus Christ, Rem… just get your massive cock out, why don’t you.”

Tonks jumped up and flung herself into Remus’ arms, hanging on like a tipsy koala and sending a cheeky wink Kitty’s way.

Kitty huffed and leaned back. “Wait—Tonks, you’re a Metamorphmagus! You can just transform yourself for an imposter test. So… does that mean it’s just Bill and me who actually have to figure out questions?”

“Yep!” Tonks bragged, smirking.

Bill raised his glass in a mock salute, shaking his head with an amused grin. “Here’s to us.”

Tonks snuggled into Remus’ arms. “Speaking of massive cocks… I think I’m ready for bed.”

They all cracked up while Remus swatted her on the arse and carried her out of the room while she cheerily waved at them over his shoulder.

Bill then announced that he and Fleur they should get back to the Burrow—if they arrived too much later, Molly would undoubtedly freak out.

Fleur pulled Kitty into a long hug. Their goodbyes dragged on for what felt like five minutes, both of them pouting, fussing, and squeezing each other until they finally had to let go. Both promising they’d count down the days until the end of term when they’d be reunited again.

Then, it was just her and Sirius left. Kitty wandered over to the record player to change the music. She truly wished it was as simple as a Spotify playlist, but swapping vinyls was a whole production she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to.

As she flipped through the albums to pick something out, her mind drifted to Remus’ werewolf secret being outed at the Ministry. She imagined Snape’s smug satisfaction. Ugh. She still hadn’t followed up on whether he’d deliberately withheld information about her safety from the Order. Did it really matter though? Soon enough all of them would think him a traitor anyway…

When she finally sat back down on their couch, she stretched out against the armrest and threw her legs over his lap to get comfortable. Sirius was lazily puffing on another cigarette, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her.

“What are you thinking about?” he prodded.

“Professor Incel,” she sighed, stealing a long drag of his cigarette.

“Fucking knew it,” Sirius snorted. “You only make that face about two things: love potions and Snivellus.”

“What face?” she protested indignantly, handing him the cigarette back.

He stubbed out the cigarette and waved her off with a flick of his hand. “Just a face you make.”

“You can be really annoying sometimes,” she huffed.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, flashing his slow, delicious grin at her. “I try.”

Kitty sighed in defeat and slumped back against the armrest, shutting her eyes to avoid being blinded by his stupid, infuriating smile. She could feel shifting of the couch and the warmth and weight of his body against hers. Was he lying on her? Was that his head on her stomach?

Resolutely, she kept her eyes shut.

Finally, his voice interrupted the quiet music:

“Are you ignoring me?”

Kitty didn’t respond, ignoring the how his low voice sent a vibration through her stomach from their contact.

A finger poked her cheek. “Hey, don’t ignore me! You know I need attention.”

She couldn’t stop the snort that escaped. “Now that we can agree on.”

She opened her eyes and saw Sirius had shifted so his head was resting on her stomach, staring up at her.

“What can I say? I’m worth it,” he teased, happily letting his weight settle on her in an obvious showing of how comfortable he was.

Her heart skipped. This man was unfairly attractive. A dangerous level of handsome, in fact. She looked into his beautiful grey eyes that were framed by dark lashes, marvelling at how luminous the grey colour was.

“Kitty Kat?”

“Hummmh?” she managed, feeling ever so slightly embarrassed at being caught getting lost in his eyes like a fucking damsel or whatever.

He frowned ever so slightly, “Do you remember when you told me that good things are coming, as long as I can get through the bad right now?”

Kitty thought back to their conversation on New Years’ Eve. The almost-kiss at midnight. It seemed so long ago now.

“Yeah…?”

His eyes searched hers. “Are you one of those good things?”

Huh?

Her confusion must’ve been obvious, because Sirius let out a deep sigh and sat up, raking a hand through his hair. She pushed herself upright as well. He tried to look casual, but she knew him too well not to notice the vulnerability bleeding through underneath.

His grey eyes fixed on her steadily. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Kitty couldn’t breathe.

“Like… um… family?”

A disbelieving snort escaped him, “No.”

Then he tilted his head, brow quirking. “Well—I am a Black, so maybe cousins I suppose. But no. I mean something more.” His tone was wry.

Oh.

“Oh,” she said lamely.

She stared at him. Surely he couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying? There was just no way. He was Sirius fucking Black. She must be wrong…?

“I—I don’t understand…”

“What?” Sirius arched an eyebrow, all challenge and lazy confidence. “That I’m in love with you?”

Her nervous laugh burst out too loud and strained. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am, and you love me too,” he said smugly.

Her jaw dropped and she gasped, “That’s—you—arrogant fuck! How could you even know that?”

“Because I drink and I know things,” he replied haughtily.

She spluttered in indignation as he used Game of Thrones against her. “I’m the one who taught you that phrase!”

“And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life, if only so I can use it against you.” he said, grinning like the devil.

Kitty let out a strangled little scream and pressed her hands over her face. Much easier to hide that way—if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.

She mumbled into her palms, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Sirius scoffed. Kitty peeked through her fingers, blinking at him.

“Be with me,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. Not world-upending at all.

She dropped her hands, frowning. “Shouldn’t you be going on about how I’m too young and innocent to be corrupted by an old dog like you?”

He recoiled, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “Excuse me—I’m a healthy twenty-four!”

“You’re thirty-seven,” she deadpanned.

“Lies and slander, and I challenge you to produce any documentation that says otherwise,” he said smoothly.

“Besides,” his voice dropping as he leaned in slightly, “one thing you most certainly are not is innocent.”

The silk-and-smoke quality of his voice made her shiver.

She swallowed and her stomach went into free fall. Her heart was hammering. Her brain screamed run, but her body betrayed her, leaning just a fraction closer.

Sirius noticed—of course he noticed. The slow grin that spread across his face was unbearably self-satisfied.

“There she is,” he murmured, as if he’d caught her in a secret she didn’t even realise she’d been keeping.

Kitty shook her head sharply, pulling back to the armrest of the couch. “This isn’t a good idea,” she said firmly.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned back to study her, his eyes unreadable.

“I did used to think that way,” he admitted quietly. “About our ages. It’s why I kept my distance and quietly hated myself for being attracted to you. I spent months trying to talk myself out of this. Every bloody day, I failed—despite how young you are. But then you told me about your past-future life thingy.”

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “How many years have you lived again?”

Kitty tried doing the math in her head, then gave up because she was shit at math. She very embarrassingly counted it out on her fingers.

“I’ve consciously lived thirty-three years,” she said. “But I’ve got eleven years of memories from Kitty’s childhood, so… maybe forty-four?”

His smile was triumphant, yet soft and hopeful around the edges. “See? Thirty-seven and forty-four. That’s a barely an age gap.”

Kitty shook her head and sighed helplessly. “You don’t get it…”

This was wrong, wasn’t it? Sirius couldn’t be with her. Not when he didn’t know about Emma…

Wait a second.

Fuck.

She’d actually forgotten that he knew about Emma! He hadn’t been treating her any differently so it completely slipped her mind. And she wasn’t running off to Australia anymore when Emma’s family didn’t even exist! The people around her were the only family she had now. Didn’t that mean there was nothing stopping her from being with Sirius anymore…?

Her breath started to come fast and uneven. She wanted to reach over and kiss him so badly it was unbearable, but that only made her more afraid. Because instead of the giddy warmth that should have been bubbling up, an irrational fear took root in her chest.

Intrusive thoughts slammed into her:

What if I mess everything up for him and his relationship with Harry? What if he dies because of me? What if this is temporary? What if he leaves me? What if he's not actually into me, but I'm just convenient because I'm living in his house? What happens when he realises I'm not who he thinks I am?

Kitty remembered the way her stomach had twisted in Dumbledore’s office when she’d been forced to lie to Sirius about the Horcruxes.

What happens when he finds out I know all about the future and am letting the bad things happen anyway?

Her eyes burned, the ache of being so close—yet so impossibly far—from letting herself love him tightening around her chest.

Sirius reached out and took her hand, concern etched into every line of his face. His voice was gentle, “What’s going on, Kitty Kat? What’s got you all twisted up?”

She shook her head, pulling her hand free. “You wouldn’t want me if you knew what a liar I am,” she choked out.

Sirius studied her warily. “What? What do you mean?”

“I know so much of the future, Siri.” She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm, gaze fixed on her lap. “Something big is going to happen soon, and I’m not going to stop it. And you’re going to hate me when you find out what it is.”

He looked deadly serious, “Does someone die?”

Kitty nodded. Tears slipped hot and silent down her cheeks, and she swiped them away with shaking fingers.

His brow furrowed, indignation sparking in his voice. “Have you even tried to save them?”

Kitty let out a harsh laugh. “Of course I have! I spelled it out for them in excruciating detail. They don’t want to change anything.”

“If you told me,” Sirius pressed, eyes intent, “could I save them?”

She shook her head. Dumbledore wouldn’t listen to Sirius any more than he listened to her.

Sirius leaned away from her back into the couch, jaw tight as he sank into thought. Kitty fought to steady her breathing, but the tears slipped anyway. This was it—this was how she lost him.

She took a long sip of wine, willing herself to hold it together. Just make it through this conversation—she could fall apart later when she was alone in her bedroom.

Then his voice broke the silence. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?!” she croaked, raw disbelief in her voice.

Sirius exhaled slowly. “Divination’s a tricky bitch. My great-aunt Cassiopeia was obsessed with it—insisted on teaching us herself. Drove herself mad in the end, raving about the downfall of our house.” He gave a humourless laugh. “And she was right. Almost everything she warned about came true. But it didn’t matter—even with her warnings, nothing changed.”

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

“I’m saying that even if I’d known I’d end up in Azkaban, would I have stopped chasing Peter that night?” His eyes burned with intensity. “Probably not. I’d have told myself I knew better.”

He leaned back, forcing a roguish smile. “So no—I’m not angry at you for keeping the future to yourself. I’d rather live in the moment.”

The recklessness in his tone set off something volatile inside her, part longing, part terror. She wanted to shove him away, to sabotage this so could see how little he truly understood.

“I knew Harry was being lured into a trap at the Department of Mysteries, and I let it happen anyway,” she blurted. “I let him walk into the Ministry knowing Death Eaters were there.”

Sirius choked, staring at her in horror. “What the fuck, Kitty! Why?”

She hesitated in the face of his distress, and Sirius’s hands closed hard around her shoulders. He gave her a small shake, eyes blazing. “Why?” he demanded.

“Because—because it was the only way to force Voldemort to reveal himself—to get proof and send a bunch of the escapees back to Azkaban,” she stammered.

Damn, of all the examples she had chosen the one that put Harry in the most danger. But no—he needed to know. She deserved his anger. It was called self-sabotage for a reason.

He released her, leaning back with a ragged exhale, dragging a hand through his hair before rubbing at his eyes. The tension in his shoulders eased, though his sigh was weary. “Shit… shit, that’s a bloody good reason.”

She stared at him in shock.

His voice dropped as he steadied himself. “People needed to see the truth. We’d be utterly fucked by now if Voldemort hadn’t been exposed so publicly.”

Kitty was stunned. Was he seriously forgiving her for putting Harry in danger—just like that?

“You’re not… angry at me?” she whispered.

He barked an incredulous laugh. “Oh, I’m fucking furious—at you, yes, but mostly at the universe. You’ve been handed a hell of a burden. It’s not fair that you have to carry it.”

How? How could this man be so forgiving? So understanding? So impossibly kind to her? She didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t think I deserve your forgiveness,” she whispered.

His gaze softened. “Dumbledore said you share all your dreams of the future with him. Is that true, or are there things you hold back from him too?”

“Dumbledore knows everything,” she confirmed.

“And this big bad thing that’s coming? He knows about that as well?”

She nodded, still unsure what he was getting at.

Sirius let out a long sigh. “Then I completely support you keeping the rest to yourself. If Dumbledore knows, you’ve done your part. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done everything you need to.”

“That’s it?” she blurted, stunned. “You’re fine with me knowing things and not telling you?”

Sirius nodded, utterly earnest.

Kitty just gaped at him.

He sighed softly, “Come here.” Slowly, he reached over and pulled her into his arms.

Kitty’s body went limp the moment he held her, and she melted into his chest, a rush of relief crashing over her like a tidal wave. She realized with dizzying clarity, that he wasn’t going to leave her.

They stayed like that for several quiet minutes.

Eventually, one of his hands lifted, brushing her hair back before cupping her chin. He tilted her face up toward him with a careful, deliberate motion. Their noses nearly touched, and she her breath hitched.

His eyes flicked down to her lips.

Her body ached to close the distance, but her brain was still screaming at her to run.

Something must have shown on her face, because Sirius’s expression twisted.

“Don’t,” he pleaded, raw and desperate. “Don’t talk yourself out of this. Don’t hide behind another excuse for why we can’t be together.”

Sirius Black, a man who hated to weakness, was begging.

“Please,” he whispered, eyes searching hers with a fierce kind of hope. “Please Kitty, just be with me.”

She wanted to say yes. But fear wrapped around her throat like a noose, choking the words before it could leave her lips.

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “I can’t,” she whispered miserably. “I just can’t.”

Sirius’s face shattered, all bravado stripped away until only devastation remained.

“Why?”

She opened her mouth, and before she even realised it was the truth, the words tumbled out. “I’m not ready.”

For a long moment he just stared at her, breathing hard. Then with a sigh, he leaned forward. His lips brushed her forehead gently. Without another word, he drew her against his chest, tucking her close like something fragile. She let herself collapse into him as his arms encircled her, even as the hurt lingered between them.

His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “It’s late. You should get some sleep. I’ll take you to the station tomorrow at 10:30.” There was a blunt edge to his tone. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was Occluding.

She pressed her cheek against his chest for a moment longer, letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat seep into her, and then reluctantly untangled herself from his arms and stood up from the couch.

“Goodnight,” she said, a little awkwardly.

“Goodnight,” he replied, already standing up and walking over to the record player.

She nodded at his back, then turned and left the drawing room, closing the door softly behind her.

Unsurprisingly, Kitty slept terribly that night. At least her trunk was already packed, so she didn’t have to worry about much in the morning.

She came downstairs to find Remus and Tonks making breakfast, along with the last hangover cure potion in the house. Thankfully, they seemed too groggy to notice that she wasn’t her usual cheeky self.

After eating, she went back up to her room to shower, get dressed, and ready herself for the return to Hogwarts. She perched on the edge of her bed like a Sim without a task, lost in thought—until there was a knock at her door.

“Come in.”

Sirius appeared in the doorway, looking perfectly composed, not at all emotionally wrung out—the bastard. He gave her a chipper smile, as if nothing had happened.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded. He grabbed her trunk in one hand and held out his arm with the other.

CRACK!

She was whisked into the familiar vortex of apparition and they reappeared in the designated apparition area of Platform 9¾.

The platform was nearly empty as most students had stayed at Hogwarts for Easter, especially as it was currently considered the safest place in Britain.

Sirius walked them to one of the train doors and lifted her trunk up the step. Kitty jumped up after him and turned to face him, standing in the entryway.

He flashed her a wicked smile, “I’ve been told I’m annoyingly persistent, you know. A veritable menace to society.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Uh… yes, I’m aware.”

“Right. So,” he said, grinning, “I’ve made a decision.”

“A decision?” she repeated sceptically.

“Yep. While I accept that you’re not ready, I do not accept defeat.”

She blinked at him. “Wha—what?”

Sirius rocked on his heels and held out his arms as if presenting himself, “You’ll give in to me eventually. I just need to be patient. And while patience is not one of my many virtues, I’ll make it work.”

She shook her head, incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

He stalked closer, and she instinctively stepped back—only to find herself pressed against the wall of the train. Her breath hitched, every nerve alert as he loomed over her. Her hands went to the wall behind her, fingers splayed as if to keep herself from reaching out.

He tilted his head, looking her up and down.

His voice dropped into a low, gravelly rumble, each word deliberate, each movement calculated. “That’s me—incorrigible,” he murmured, reaching up and twirling a loose strand of her hair around his finger.

“Indomitable,” he added, tracing a fingertip down the curve of her jaw.

“Irresistible,” he whispered, tilting her chin up ever so slightly.

“Insatiable,” brushing a fingertip lightly over her lips.

“Inevitable,” he concluded, looking deeply into her eyes until a shiver ran through her.

The cadence, the husky tone, the darkly playful edge—each word dripped with deliberate subtext and promise.

Kitty was panting softly, utterly pinned in place. She could feel the heat radiating through the thin space that separated their bodies.

Sirius brushed his thumb lightly back and forth over her bottom lip, then with a sly look, pushed it gently into her mouth. Instinctively, she closed her lips around it, sucking softly.

She actually saw the moment his pupils dilated.

“Hmm… that’s what I thought,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Then he removed his hand and stepped back, walking to the train door, leaving her standing against the wall—flushed and breathless and confused. He glanced over his shoulder, taking her in with a mischievous grin.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he said knowingly.

With that, he jumped off the train onto the platform and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Kitty blinked, shaking herself out of the daze he’d left her in.

“BASTARD!” she yelled after him.

From somewhere on the platform, his barked laugh echoed back at her.

She stood there trying to pull herself together. Sirius Black was going to be the fucking death of her.

A few seconds later Luna hopped onto the train, her eyes lighting up when she saw her. “Oh, Kitty! Hello! How are—woah.”

Luna stopped mid-sentence, staring at her with those massive, unblinking eyes.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Kitty asked nervously. Did she have something on her face the whole time? Was her hair fucked up?

Luna reached out and patted her shoulder consolingly. “You’re absolutely swarmed by Nargles.”

Kitty exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “Tell me about it.”

Chapter Text

Kitty spent an obscene (like, medically concerning) amount of time trying to untangle her feelings about everything Sirius had said.

He loved her. He actually loved her.

She’d never even let herself daydream about a relationship with him being real. And now what? Suddenly Sirius Black, sexiest man alive, part-time dog and full-time menace wanted to be with her? Her. Kitty St. Cloud??

This was insane. Batshit. Utterly bananas.

It was like her brain physically couldn’t pass the Bechdel Test anymore—Sirius this, Sirius that, Sirius Sirius Sirius. He was the crack in her feminism, the Achilles’ heel of her girlbossing!

She told herself she was only thinking about him because he’d dropped the love bombshell on her. Except… every day apart from him, something small inside her softened and she surrendered another inch of ground. She was losing a war against herself without even realising she’d enlisted.

She still wasn’t convinced being with him was wise (spoiler: it wasn’t), but she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to resist him if he tried again, either.

Not that her anxieties had evaporated. Oh no, those were alive and well. And surely, surely he was stewing over the little bombshell she’d dropped about just how much she knew about the future. He’d said he didn’t care that she’d risked Harry’s life at the DoM, but what if he was starting to change his mind?

And what would he say when he realised that the ‘bad thing’ coming was the death of Albus Dumbledore? You know—that tiny detail? Just the single biggest loss of the entire war besides Harry himself. No biggie.

After weeks of tearing herself to pieces—spiralling, analysing, mentally writing and shredding pros-and-cons lists—Kitty decided to visit some therapy animals to help her relax.

She grabbed a sack of apples and a pile of raw steaks from the kitchens (weird combo, but the house elves didn’t even blink). Then she trekked out past the forest edge to where the Thestral colony lived.

They greeted her excitedly. Abby—the scarred mare Kitty always thought of as hers—nudged her shoulder affectionately, and Kitty scratched the spot just beneath her jaw in return.

Because it was late spring, the clearing was full of foals. Tiny, bony-legged little weirdos, impossibly precious despite looking like someone had crossbred a grim reaper with a horse skeleton. Even better—one of the little bebez was Abby’s!! She was a mommy! Kitty was instantly obsessed. She promptly christened the foal Orlando (after Orlando Bloom, obviously) and spent the next half hour feeding him apples until he collapsed in her lap in a sugar-drunk coma.

She stroked his sleek little wings.

And because the universe was cruel, this was exactly the moment her brain decided to circle back to Sirius Black.

She sighed.

Kitty finally decided it was time to take her own advice. After all, she was the smartest person she knew (and the prettiest, but that was beside the point). Who else could she trust with such an important decision other than herself?

So she closed her eyes, all dramatic, and thought: If one of my friends came to me with this exact problem, what would I say?

Because she was a genius, the answer came immediately. She remembered what she’d told Remus at the start of the year.

Her own voice, in her own smug, self-righteous tone, played back at her in perfect clarity:

“I suggest you stop being emotionally constipated and embrace happiness when it smacks you in the face. Don’t overthink it. Let yourself be loved.”

“Goddamn it,” she groaned.

She stared down at Orlando sleeping peacefully in her lap, and realised there wasn’t a single part of that sentiment that didn’t also apply to herself.

“Fuck,” she muttered, realising her path.

Decision made.

Well—half made. She wasn’t a complete idiot. She’d keep her heart on lockdown until after Sirius realised the ‘big thing’ was Dumbledore’s death. If he could accept her after that, then she’d happily climb the man like a tree.

Once Kitty finally yanked her head out of her ass, it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders. Not that she stopped thinking about Sirius every minute of every day (because she absolutely did), but at least now she was a semi-functional member of society. And with that tiny boost in functionality came a thunderbolt of realisation: this was her last term at Hogwarts. EVER.

She didn’t waste a second. She was going to have as much fun as humanly possible and drag everyone else into it whether they liked it or not.

Despite all her friends being locked away cramming for exams, Kitty declared war on boredom and launched her own personal campaign of enjoyment.

Step One: Abduct Luna from the library and march her down to the lake, where they waded in the shallows hunting for gulping plimpies and tossing snacks to the giant squid like it was some oversized pond duck.

Step Two: Spend an entire Sunday with Seamus on the lawn by the lake, comparing their favourite fire spells. Kitty finally taught him her signature Balrog Fire Whip, with strict instructions never to share it. He took the oath so seriously that she was pretty sure the man wouldn’t even crack under torture. By the end of the day, both were sent to the hospital wing, singed and sweaty but utterly jubilant.

Step Three: Allow herself to be Neville’s guinea pig for a herbology project. 24 hours later, she was still blissfully high on magical herbs. Absolutely fantastic.

Step Four: Sneak into the kitchens with Ron to absolutely stuff themselves with everything edible for midnight snacks.

Step Five: Transform the dormitory into a cozy HQ for a series of pampering sleepovers with her girlies, full of gossip, face masks, and endless laughter. As Lavender, Parvati, Hermione, and Kitty sat cross-legged, painting each other’s nails and sharing ridiculous stories, Kitty felt a small, proud warmth bloom in her chest. She remembered that if she hadn’t forced the issue back in 3^rd Year, none of this would exist—Hermione wouldn’t be friends with Lavender and Parvati, and they certainly wouldn’t all be laughing together like this. Seeing Hermione so genuinely happy, so relaxed and playful, made Kitty’s heart swell that she’d changed things for the better.

Step Six: Spend time with Dean, who—freshly broken up with Ginny and feeling gloriously reckless—was the perfect partner in crime. Together, they unleashed hell on the blood supremacists of Hogwarts. Their pièce de résistance? The Mudblood → Sexy Bitch jinx on the entire Slytherin table. And when they were caught? Not a single consequence!! After all, using the word Mudblood was against the rules anyway. Dumbledore, the Gryffindor tragic that he was, actually awarded them points

But they didn’t stop there. Crabbe, in particular, had been getting way too excited about the tragedies in the morning news (and Kitty hadn’t forgotten the AK he’d sent at Hermione in the Deathly Hallows). So she and Dean quietly made it their mission to ruin his vibe: a trip here, a hair mishap there, whatever small chaos they could inflict.

Dean proved to be alarmingly creative—a genius of low-key havoc. And Kitty, of course, couldn’t help but delight in every devious plan they executed together.

Step Seven: Pry Harry out of his Draco-stalking mania. After sending Dobby to tail him, Harry had discovered that Draco had been sneaking into the Room of Requirement—and he hadn’t been quite right since. Feverish and wide-eyed, he practically radiated obsession, and Kitty suspected Luna was wisely holding off on telling him about her upcoming transfer to Ilvermorny. Dropping that bomb would’ve guaranteed another Sectumsempra incident.

Kitty decided an airborne intervention was in order: she dragged him onto his Firebolt and insisted they take to the skies whenever the pitch was free. Wind in their hair, sun on their faces, and Harry finally began to relax. Kitty felt deep satisfaction knowing she was injecting a little fun into both of their lives.

And while Gryffindor didn’t win the Quidditch Cup—probably because Harry had been off the team since February—Kitty made absolutely sure the end-of-season party went off in style.

Step Eight: Finally, after their last Charms class on a sunny Friday afternoon, Kitty corralled the Gryffindor sixth years under the beech tree by the lake.

“Everyone,” she declared, hands on her hips, “stand together. We’re taking photos so that when you’re old and miserable, you can look back and remember this exact moment.”

Her friends groaned but complied, robes slightly askew, hair catching the sunlight, the lake sparkling behind them. Kitty charmed the camera to click automatically, capturing the perfect snapshot of their little cohort.

She grinned to herself, imagining this photo one day in a post-war history book:

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Kitty St. Cloud, circa June 1997.

The day after their final class, during the last weekend before exams, Kitty received an unexpected invitation: breakfast in Dumbledore’s office. She was surprised by the request, but more than happy to accept. After all, the Battle for the Astronomy Tower would surely be coming up soon.

When she arrived, she found a charming little table set on a balcony she hadn’t even known existed, overlooking the lake. Kitty could (reluctantly) admit that Scotland was quite beautiful in June. Dumbledore sat comfortably in a high-backed chair with Fawkes perched on the armrest, calmly sipping tea as he stroked the phoenix’s scarlet feathers.

“Ah, Katherine, please sit!” he greeted warmly.

She dropped into the chair with ease, immediately sinking into the cushions. “Did you conjure this yourself?” she asked, gesturing at the obscenely comfortable seat that seemed to be hugging her from all sides.

“Indeed,” he replied with a pleased little smile.

Kitty shook her head in awe. “How do you make the stuffing this soft?”

Dumbledore—eccentric old peach that he was—lit up at the question, launching into a cheerful explanation about the finer points of transfiguration theory and the superior properties of goose feathers.

Kitty nodded along, genuinely interested. It was the first time she’d really seen Dumbledore in his natural element as a Transfiguration teacher, and damn he was good at it.

“—but I digress!” he exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I called you here to discuss our plans for this evening.”

“This evening?” she questioned.

“Yes. Tonight we will be destroying the diadem,” Dumbledore said serenely, as though announcing supper.

Kitty stared at him, nodding slowly. Woah. It was happening tonight. This was it. Dumbledore’s last day on earth.

“What’s the plan?”

“After tonight’s curfew, I will Apparate you and Harry to a safe location where I will destroy the diadem with Fiendfyre.”

“Sirius isn’t coming with us?” she questioned. Damn her lizard brain for always thinking of him.

Dumbledore shook his head. “He will be a part of the Order team patrolling the school.”

Despite the literal life-or-death circumstances, Kitty stomach swooped with excitement that she would see him again tonight.

Dumbledore continued, “After it is destroyed, we will then return to Hogsmeade, where we will inevitably see the Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower. Incidentally, please ensure you bring your extended bag with your broomstick, in case Rosmerta does not have enough.”

He fixed her with a stern look. “When this happens, I will send you directly to the Hospital Wing.”

She nodded while mentally confirming that she would absolutely not be flying to the Hospital Wing. No—she would be going straight to end Greyback’s whole werewolf career.

“I will keep Harry with me, and we will fly to the Tower together.”

But another thought intruded, and Kitty had to advocate for Harry. “Does he have to be with you? It’ll be incredibly traumatising for him to watch you die. I really don’t want that for him.”

Dumbledore’s expression softened, “As I have said many times, I do not wish to alter the events that originally occurred. Moreover, you told me Death Eaters would be roaming the halls tonight. I would not risk Harry being caught by them. He will be safest hidden on the Astronomy Tower.”

Kitty grimaced. From what she remembered, Thorfinn Rowle would be making his dramatic little Death Eater debut tonight. The twat showed up flinging about five hundred Killing Curses and hitting exactly none. Like a stormtrooper. And she meant that as the deepest insult it was.

She had to admit Harry was physically safest hidden on the Astronomy Tower, even if it would scar him emotionally.

She pressed on. “And Professor Snape? He knows what’s happening tonight?”

“Not the particulars. But he does know you are aware of his true loyalties, and of the plan to kill me.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow. He must love that,” she muttered.

Dumbledore looked apologetic. “Because of this, if you are ever captured, Severus will try his hardest to kill you. Better that than risk you being forced to reveal the information you know.”

Damn. A ruthless motivator to make sure Snape kept her either safe or dead, with no in between.

Probably for the best, really.

Kitty took a long sip of her coffee before asking something had been gnawing at her. “Does Snape know about the Elder Wand? That Voldemort will kill him, if he’s the one who kills you?”

Dumbledore looked down at his hands. “No. He does not.”

Kitty wasn’t sure how to feel about that. While she wasn’t about to stick her neck out for Severus fucking Snape—he was a complete bastard and she had zero interest in ‘fixing him’—but being sentenced to death just for doing his part felt very unfair.

Maybe—maybe—she’d add him onto the very bottom of her To Save List. Pending review.

Kitty took another bite of her breakfast and chewed slowly, mulling it all over before blurting, “Are you sure you want Draco to have ownership of the Elder Wand? Wouldn’t it be smarter to pass it off to someone else? Safer, at least?”

“Why, my dear?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

She sat opposite Dumbledore with her fingers steepled, hoping she looked like a proper supervillain. She certainly felt like one.

“You must know I have absolutely zero intention of letting Harry get captured by Snatchers and dragged off to Malfoy Manor,” she began bluntly.

Dumbledore inclined his head gravely. “I do know this.”

“And you remember that it was at Malfoy Manor that Harry disarmed Draco—claiming ownership of the wand?”

“I remember.”

“So how will Harry gain the Elder Wand’s allegiance if I stop him from being captured?” Kitty pressed.

Dumbledore reached out to stroke Fawkes, who answered with a soft trill. “Magic, destiny, and prophecy are curious things,” he mused gently. Then, with a faint smile: “I have faith the wand will find its way into Harry’s possession, one way or another. Perhaps he will disarm Draco during the Battle of Hogwarts…”

Kitty’s brow furrowed. “That’s an awful lot of faith to have on unfixed events, Professor.”

“I have already told you—I do not wish to change any of the events that unfold this evening. And I stand by that decision.” His voice was quiet, but unyielding.

Kitty exhaled shakily. “How do you do it, sir? How can you have so much faith? I…I’m constantly terrified my presence will make things worse—that Voldemort will win, or that someone I love will die. How can you be so sure it’ll all work out?”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened, and a faint smile touched his face. “Why, Katherine… because I have faith in you.”

She was dumbstruck. “What?”

He regarded her warmly. “Harry may be the one destined to strike the final blow against Voldemort—but prophecy is rarely carried by one person alone. It takes courage, perseverance, and the quiet determination to keep moving forward, even when the path is treacherous.

In Harry, I see the catalyst to end Lord Voldemort. But in you, Katherine… I see the strength to make sure that end can even come at all. If Harry stumbles, I have faith that you will be there to help him to his feet. If something fails, I have faith that you will be there to correct it.”

He smiled again, gentle and proud. “I have no less faith in you than I do in Harry. Each of you, in your own way, is the reason I believe this war will end.”

Kitty looked away, blinking back the tears. It was strange how much those words meant coming from Albus Dumbledore—someone she had never really even liked that much. But the man certainly had a way with words, and they struck her deeply.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Dumbledore nodded, smiling gently, and returned to his breakfast.

Kitty mirrored him and for a while they ate in companionable silence, letting the soft breeze drift over the balcony.

When they both had finished, Kitty looked up at him. He was stroking Fawkes, utterly calm, composed and at peace.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”

Kitty’s breath caught. Holy shit! He said the thing!

Without realising the shock he’d just dropped on her, he added more practically, “But yes, in all other matters, everything is in order.”

She let out a small, nervous giggle, then swallowed hard as the weight of the moment settled. This would be the last time she’d ever be alone with Albus Dumbledore.

She watched him a moment, committing to memory the image of him sitting with Fawkes against the backdrop of the Hogwarts grounds.

“I know I can be disrespectful toward you, but…” she trailed off, unsure how to phrase the enormity of her feelings. “It’s been an honour to know you. Truly.”

Dumbledore’s eyes lit up and he beamed at her. “It has been an honour to know you as well, Katherine. I wish you well in the war to come.”

She nodded and rose from her seat. “Thank you for breakfast, Professor.”

“Rest in peace…” she said, trailing off, unsure how to end a goodbye to someone she knew would die tonight. “Or don’t, I suppose. Totally your call.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly and waved her on. Kitty slipped through the door from the balcony back into his office, shaking her head at her own awkwardness and made her way back toward the dormitory.

Chapter Text

Kitty returned to Gryffindor Tower feeling pretty weird. But it was a weird situation! Dumbledore was taking “greeting death like an old friend” to a whole other level.

She spent the rest of the morning in her dormitory, meditating on everything she knew about the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. Which, admittedly, wasn’t much given it all happened off-screen.

Kitty wished she knew how many Death Eaters would show up. Greyback, Rowle, the Carrow’s were certain. Draco and Snape would be floating around too. But beyond that? No clue.

And then there was Bellatrix—she’d been in the movie, but Kitty was pretty sure that wasn’t book canon. Still, better to be ready to face the crazy bitch just in case.

On the other side, there would be both Order members roaming the corridors—but she had no idea how many! Bill, Remus, Tonks, and now Sirius, for sure. But beyond that she couldn’t bloody remember!!! And would Dumbledore assign more now that he actually knew Death Eaters were coming? He claimed he didn’t want to change the timeline, but surely he’d bring in Moody and Kingsley, right?

At least she knew where the fight was happening. The Tower itself would be sealed off somehow, leaving the duelling to break out in the corridors between the Room of Requirement and the Tower entrance.

That was only two corridors leading to a staircase, and then one long corridor that had the Tower entrance at the end.

At lunchtime, she took a walk to scout out exactly which window she could fly through. The two corridors near the Room of Requirement had zero windows—NONE! Which meant her only option was one of the windows just below the Astronomy Tower. Not exactly ideal for a covert entrance, but the alternative was flying down to a lower floor and sprinting up a ton of stairs. That didn’t sound great either.

Hmm. If she was going to make a splash of an entrance, she might as well make it properly memorable…

Kitty drew her wand and, after double-checking the coast was clear, began surreptitiously transfiguring all the glass into jelly, then freezing it in place. Now she could fly straight through the windows without so much as a scratch!

She stepped back to admire her handiwork, quite pleased with herself. Then, brimming with satisfaction, Kitty trotted happily back to her dorm and promptly slept the entire afternoon away. She had a big night ahead. Sue her.

Around 5 p.m., she headed down to the Great Hall for an early dinner and absolutely stuffed herself. Full to the point of waddling, she returned to her dorm to enact what she was now proudly dubbing her “Pre-Operation Routine.”

Step 1: (as always) the nervous poo. A time-honoured tradition that had never once failed her, and she wasn’t about to abandon it now.

Step 2: Shower and hairstyling!! She attempted her signature Dutch braids, but thanks to a haircut from Parvati last week, her classic messy bob was… bobbing. Tragically un-plaitable. Still, she looked stunning, and Fleur had taught her a charm to keep hair out of her face while duelling. Absolute game changer.

Step 3: Covert but sexy duelling gear on. Extended bag packed with the essentials: broomstick, warm cloak, water bottle. She wasn’t entirely sure where the Fiendfyre adventure would kick off, but she did know Scotland got cold at night, even in Summer.

Step 4: Stretches!! She doubted there’d be much (if any) running, but the last thing she needed was to pull a muscle while dramatically rolling out of the way of a curse. Talk about embarrassing.

Once she was finally ready, Kitty grabbed some homework and wandered down to the common room to track down Harry. He was sitting with Ron working on a Herbology assignment. Kitty plopped into a chair, cracked open a textbook, and proceeded to not read a single word.

That was when Hermione swooped in, slapping a newspaper article onto the table (Kitty would never get over Hermione’s god-tier research skills) and launching into her airtight theory about Eileen Prince being the Half-Blood Prince. 

Kitty stared at the photo of Eileen Prince. Snape’s mum was… unfortunately looking. Let’s just say it ran in the family.

Harry, however, was being a complete bitch about the possibility of Eileen being involved. So Kitty cheerfully made a bet that Eileen Prince was definitely related to the Half-Blood Prince, just to spite him. Harry rolled his eyes, Hermione stomped off to pout, and Kitty went back to pretending to read her book.

About fifteen minutes before curfew, one of the Gryffindor Beaters came over with a note for Harry.

“Thanks, Jimmy… hey, it’s from Dumbledore! He wants me to go to his office as fast as I can!” Harry said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“What about me?” she asked, confused.

Harry shook his head. “It just says me.” He gave her a slightly awkward look. “Uh… I better go, then!”

And off he went, practically sprinting out of the common room.

Kitty sat there in shock.

“Why d’you think Dumbledore doesn’t want you?” Ron asked.

“I… don’t know,” she said slowly, sinking back in her chair and trying to think.

OOHHH, of course! Harry was about to bump into Trelawney and discover that it was Snape who’d given the prophecy to Voldemort. Dumbledore probably didn’t want her there in case she accidentally interfered with that earth-shattering revelation.

Damn, tonight was going to be rough for Harry.

Kitty just shrugged at Ron, who was still confused (his natural state of being) and went upstairs for a final pee break and to grab her extended bag, which she slung across her body.

Five minutes later, she was back downstairs, where Ron and Hermione were canoodling on the couch. The cuties!

Hermione looked up. “Why do you think it’s just Harry this time?” she asked, worry etched across her face. Fair enough—Harry was basically a magnet for danger.

Kitty shrugged. “Not sure. But we did know that if we got called to his office again, it would probably be to… um… leave campus.” She cursed the fact that Ron and Hermione still didn’t know about Horcruxes.

“I’ve grabbed my bag just in case,” Kitty added, patting her crossbody like a pro.

Hermione frowned, looking extremely dubious, but nodded anyway. The three of them settled into silence, pretending to work.

About twenty minutes later, Harry burst through the portrait hole looking frantic.

Hermione jumped up immediately. “What is it? Harry, are you okay?” She took in his crazy-eyes.

“I’m fine,” Harry said sharply, racing past them. “Kitty, we’re leaving—now! Get ready to go!”

And just like that, he dashed up the stairs and into his dormitory. Kitty stood, shrugged at Ron and Hermione, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Ready or not, apparently, the night had officially begun.

Then Harry came flying back down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of them.

“I’ve got to be quick,” he panted, words spilling out. “Dumbledore thinks I’m just getting Kitty and my Invisibility Cloak. But on the way to his office, I ran into Trelawney. She’d just been kicked out of the Room of Requirement by someone who was… whooping... inside. I told her to go tell Dumbledore, and on the way she let slip—it was Snape who gave Voldemort the prophecy about me. Snape… he’s the one who sent Voldemort after my parents…” His voice cracked.

Hermione stepped forward, hand on his shoulder, but he waved her off.

“Look, Dumbledore is about to leave the school with Kitty and me. We have to go somewhere remote to destroy…” He eyed Kitty meaningfully and then huffed in frustration at not being able to tell Ron and Hermione. “We have to cast Fiendfyre!”

“Fiendfyre?!” Hermione yelped. “Why on earth—”

“It’s not important. Just… don’t you see what this means? Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s got a clear shot at whatever he’s scheming.”

Both Ron and Hermione opened their mouths, probably to say, Bro, we’ve been over this!

“No, listen to me!” Harry hissed, shoving the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. You’ve got to watch him—and Snape too. Use anyone else you can rustle up from the D.A. Those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know how to bypass it. He won’t expect you to be on watch, will he?”

“Harry—” Hermione began.

“I haven’t got time to argue,” he cut her off curtly. “Take this too.” He thrust a pair of socks into Ron’s hands.

“…Thanks?” said Ron, blinking. “Er… why do I need socks?”

“You need what’s wrapped in them—Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves, Luna, anyone else who helps. And we’d better go—Dumbledore’s waiting.”

Ron unwrapped the tiny golden bottle of Lucky Potion that Harry won at the beginning of the year. Kitty was surprised to see that it was totally full. (She wouldn’t have lasted a day without drinking it.)

“No! You two should take it!” Hermione protested. “Fiendfyre is so dangerous!”

Harry and Kitty shook their heads simultaneously.

“We’ll be fine,” Harry said quickly. “I’ll be with Dumbledore, and Kitty’s a fire freak.”

“Huh?” Kitty said.

But Ron and Hermione were already nodding, apparently mollified.

“I just want to know you lot are okay. We’ll see you later…” Harry grabbed Kitty’s arm and practically dragged her toward the portrait hole. They climbed through, and he immediately took off running, glancing over his shoulder.

“Come on! We need to go fast!” he shouted, sprinting ahead.

Kitty huffed in exasperation. Of course there’s running tonight. Why? No idea. It wasn’t like anyone was on a real time crunch. At least it was downhill.

They jogged (well, Kitty jogged while Harry practically flew) down the endless staircases from Gryffindor Tower all the way to the Entrance Hall, where Dumbledore was standing calmly by the open front doors.

“Good evening, Katherine. As I told Harry, we will be going on a little excursion. I have borrowed Alastor’s Invisibility Cloak for you to wear.”

He held out the rattiest, most threadbare brown cloak Kitty had ever seen.

That? On my head? On my body?

She tried to smile politely, but it was a grimace at most.

“Please put on your cloaks now,” Dumbledore said calmly. Both she and Harry draped the cloaks over themselves.

“Very good. Shall we go?”

Dumbledore set off down the stone steps at a brisk pace, and Kitty huffed as she trudged along. She’d never worn any invisibility cloak besides Harry’s before—and hoooooly crap, the difference was insane. Harry’s Deathly Hallows cloak felt like draping herself in watery silk. Mad-Eye’s cloak? Like being slowly suffocated by rough burlap.

At least it was still daylight, so she wasn’t tripping over herself. Summer in Scotland meant ridiculously long days. But the walk took almost twenty minutes, and by the time they reached Hogsmeade, night was well and truly falling.

As they neared the Three Broomsticks, the raucous chaos of a Saturday pub night spilled onto the street.

“—and stay out!” shouted Madam Rosmerta, levitating a particularly gross-looking wizard out of the pub and dumping him unceremoniously on the ground.

She looked up and smiled at Dumbledore. “Oh, hello, Albus. You’re out late…?”

“Good evening, Rosmerta. Forgive me, I’m off to the Hog’s Head. No offence, but I fancy a quieter atmosphere tonight.”

Dumbledore strode on, and Kitty couldn’t help but marvel at the subtle terror of the Imperius Curse. Rosmerta was under it right this very moment, and you’d never guess.

A minute later, they turned the corner into the side street where the Hog’s Head waited.

“It will not be necessary for us to enter as long as nobody sees us go,” muttered Dumbledore, glancing around. “Now each of you place your hands upon my arms. There is no need to grip too hard, I am merely guiding you. On the count of three; one... two... three…”

CRACK!

Kitty was pulled into the vortex and spat back out again to find herself standing on the edge of a rocky cliff looking out over moonlit waves. She instantly panicked, thinking that for some reason Dumbledore was taking them to the Inferi sea cave.

“Where are we?” she squeaked, her voice betraying her fear.

“The Orkney Islands,” Dumbledore said calmly.

“Ahh,” she exhaled in relief. Still Scotland. Definitely not the sea cave. Thank God.

She looked around. Lights from a Muggle town twinkled in the distance, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. With a huff, she whipped off Mad Eye’s invisibility cloak and handed it back to Dumbledore.

“I am not wearing that if we’re in the dark,” she announced.

Dumbledore took the cloak—it literally just disappeared. Mans really was a magician.

“Of course. Harry, you may remove your cloak as well.”

Harry popped out, hair all fluffed from being under the cloak. Kitty immediately fussed over her own hair, silently praying it didn’t look like his disaster.

Dumbledore lit his wand, illuminating a narrow path along the grassy cliff edge.

“If you could follow me…” he said, and then strode off, with Kitty and Harry on his heels.

Kitty quickly pulled her warm, hooded cloak out of her bag. That sea breeze was brutal! She smugly admired the bright red fabric—definitely going full Little Red Riding Hood vibes tonight.

Harry shivered beside her, glancing at her cloak with obvious envy. With a pointed flourish, she dug out a second cloak from her bag and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, sounding sullen—probably because he was embarrassed he didn’t have her brilliant brain.

“Sir, where exactly are we going?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “There is an island that has broken off from the mainland, attached to the cliff by a bridge. It is one of the locations where the Ministry allows the casting of dark magic.”

“Woah, what?” Kitty said, eyebrows shooting up. She didn’t think you could legally cast dark magic anywhere in Britain.

Dumbledore looked at her pointedly. “Perhaps I should have been more clear. It is one of the locations where the Department of Law Enforcement uses dark magic for professional purposes. Reverse-engineering curses to discover counter-curses, for example.”

“Ah,” she said, slightly disappointed.

Harry was snickering quietly beside her, so she lightly cuffed him on the head.

“There was a Muggle town back there. What kind of protections are on the island to stop Muggles from seeing? Fiendfyre isn’t exactly subtle,” Kitty asked.

“Muggles cannot see the island at all,” Dumbledore explained calmly.

“Sir,” Harry interjected, eyes wide, “what Horcrux did you find? Where was it?”

“All in good time, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a wave, brushing him off. They continued walking in silence.

After another five minutes, they reached the tip of the headland. About a hundred metres offshore, the island awaited. The 'bridge' Dumbledore had mentioned looked… well, like the rickety wooden bridge from Shrek. Absolutely not safe. At all. But of course, that stupid, wobbly bridge was probably the most reinforced structure in all of Scotland. Magic was wild like that.

“Onwards!” Dumbledore exclaimed cheerfully.

They crossed the bridge, which swung wildly in the wind, leaving Kitty with her heart somewhere near her ass the entire time. When they finally set foot on the island, she stepped shakily onto the grass—and immediately, the wind vanished. The island felt like its own little biome, perfectly cut off from the chaos of the cliffs. Not a single breeze stirred.

Dumbledore walked to the center of the island and turned to face them.

“Well,” he began, “I told you both that if I found a Horcrux, I would allow you to witness its destruction. Last week, I found one.”

He reached into his robes and produced a small, rune-covered box that Kitty immediately recognized.

“Inside this box is the lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“You found it! How?” Harry exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “The curious thing about hubris is that it blinds even the cleverest among us. Tom Riddle was so certain that he alone had uncovered all of Hogwarts’ secrets that, when he discovered a room seemingly unknown to others, he never paused to question it. In his mind, it was simply proof of his own exceptionality. He did not realise that the room was a regular fixture, open to anyone who knew how to find it. He hid the Horcrux in plain sight, not because it was cleverly concealed, but because he was utterly convinced that no one else could possibly see it… can you guess which room he hid it in, Harry?”

Harry’s face was lit up with realisation. “The Room of Requirement.”

“Indeed. We have Helena Ravenclaw to thank for helping locate this particular artifact.”

Kitty pouted slightly. She knew she couldn’t take any credit—but really, maybe just a little?

“Can we see it?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Indeed. If you would both step back, I will levitate it from the box.”

Dumbledore set the box on the ground, and all three of them stepped back—far enough to avoid hearing any cursed whispering, thankfully.

“Alohomora,” Dumbledore murmured.

The lid popped open, and instantly the hairs on Kitty’s neck stood on end. She shivered involuntarily and rolled her shoulders back to shake it off. Dumbledore levitated the tiara out of the box and placed it gently on the grass. Then he summoned the empty box back to himself and handed it to Kitty.

“If you could take care of this for me, Katherine, I would be most grateful.”

Kitty stuffed the box into her bag. She would not be returning it. Thanks for the gift, Dumbles!

“Harry, could you tell me how you feel? Do you sense its effects?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the diadem. “I can hear it… whispering. It’s definitely talking.” He glanced over at them.

Kitty studied him, frowning slightly. She couldn’t hear any whispering herself, but she supposed Harry was like a living Horcrux radio, perfectly tuned in. He also didn’t look affected in the way she was.

“And you, Katherine? How do you feel?” Dumbledore asked.

“I don’t hear anything,” Kitty admitted, “but I feel on edge.”

“As do I,” Dumbledore said mildly. “Let us step back further.”

The three of them moved about thirty metres away from the diadem lying on the grass. The only part she could see was the sapphire in the centre glinting in the bright moonlight.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Now, Katherine, I believe you are fairly knowledgeable about Fiendfyre. But it is infinitely easier to control before it has destroyed anything. Once it has had a ‘taste’ so to speak, it becomes far more difficult to contain.”

Kitty nodded. She already knew all this.

“I will cast the Fiendfyre. I do not wish for you to be involved with this magic.”

Kitty nodded again. She wished she could be the one to destroy the diadem, but she had never really expected Dumbledore to let her. 

Dumbledore’s eyes fixed on her. “If it appears that I am losing control, I trust you will make a decision—either to help control the Fyre, or to abandon me and get yourself to safety.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“What?” Harry blurted, panic rising in his voice.

Dumbledore turned his gaze on him. “Harry, Fiendfyre is among the most dangerous magics that exist. If it cannot be controlled, escape is the only solution. The Fyre cannot cross the bounds of the island, so if something goes wrong and Katherine steps in to help me, you will get to the bridge. Do you understand?”

“But—”

“Do you understand me?” he repeated, firmly.

“Okay,” Harry breathed, defeated.

“Very well, please step back and—”

Suddenly, Harry cut in. “Do you hear that?”

Kitty and Dumbledore both paused, straining to listen. She couldn’t hear a thing, and it was clear Dumbledore couldn’t either. They exchanged a questioning glance with Harry.

Harry’s eyes were locked on the diadem. “I think… I think it’s crying,” he murmured.

Kitty swallowed and stared at the Horcrux apprehensively. Nothing happened—yet.

“Please step back,” Dumbledore murmured softly.

They moved a few paces behind him, and Kitty pulled out her wand, just in case.

Dumbledore raised his wand. “Accendere Ignum!”

Fire burst from his wand—and immediately, the air was thrumming with heavy wrongness. The taste of raw, electric energy hit Kitty’s tongue like copper, making her teeth tingle. Heat slammed into her face. So hot. So impossibly hot. Her whole body broke out into a sweat instantly.

And loud. God she’d forgotten how fucking loud it was. It sounded like a blowtorch the size of an aeroplane engine. Literally the fires of Hell.

She saw Harry stumble backwards, but kept herself locked in place.

The undulating flames began to twist and shift as Dumbledore bent them to his will. Within seconds, the inferno had taken form: a colossal, blazing lion. It fixed its fiery face on the diadem and charged, opening its maw to swallow it whole.

The moment the lion consumed the diadem, an ear-splitting shriek tore through the air. Neither human nor entirely inhuman, it was both at once, layered over itself—the cry of a Horcrux dying.

Then the lion dissolved, its form rippling outward into writhing tendrils of shapeless flames. They grew larger, stretching in every direction—including back toward them.

“Professor…?” Kitty called, heart hammering.

She heard Harry’s panicked voice from somewhere behind her, “What’s happening?”

She eyed Dumbledore closely. He seemed to sway slightly. Was the magic pulling at him? Was he hesitating? She wasn’t sure. Both of his hands were raised now, struggling to hold the inferno at bay.

The flames twirled and shuddered as if trying to reform. But it didn’t.

“Professor Dumbledore…” she warned, raising her wand to interfere.

Then a tendril lashed toward Dumbledore with frightening speed. Kitty raised her wand, and even as a scream echoed somewhere, an absolute calm washed over her.

“Tenere ignem,” she said, firm and clear.

And then—power. The dark magic slammed into her, like her veins had been wired to lightning. She could feel it coursing through her bloodstream. She was the fire and it wanted more, and more, and more.

Oh God, it feels so good. Better than drugs. Better than sex. She had missed it.

The tendrils of shapeless flame retreated instantly, reforming into a gigantic phoenix that towered above her. It hovered, wings slowly flapping, waiting for her command. She was in complete control.

With all her steel will, she smothered the craving to burn. Pushed it down. Drowned it.

The phoenix exploded. A shockwave cracked through the air, hurling flames outward like molten shrapnel. Then the fire collapsed, folding in on itself—smaller, tighter—until—

BOOM.

The implosion hit and the flames were gone. A final, jagged crack tore through the foundations of rock beneath the island.

Kitty panted, feeling the magic’s grip on her soul finally release. She could breathe again. She staggered, blinking against the sudden darkness now that the blinding light had vanished. Her lungs heaved, and her ears rang from the abrupt silence.

Wait… not silence? Yelling?

She blinked through the darkness, trying to get her bearings.

A few paces to her right, dark shapes sagged in the grass—Dumbledore, hunched low, his weight crumpling against Harry’s trembling frame.

“Lumos,” she whispered, and the tip of her wand flared to life, and the scene leapt into clarity.

Oh my God.

Harry’s face was bloodless, wide-eyed with panic, his glasses askew as he tried to keep Dumbledore upright. The Headmaster’s features were twisted in agony, his jaw clenched tight until another scream tore out of him, raw and animal.

He clutched at his left wrist. Or rather, what remained of it. The skin and flesh were scorched away, blackened and shrivelled into a ghastly claw.

Harry was frantic, shouting at Dumbledore over his cries, “It’s over, it’s over! Just tell me what to do! Please, I’ll help you, just tell me what to do!”

Another tortured scream ripped from Dumbledore’s throat. Kitty ran forward and knelt beside them.

Harry’s desperate eyes locked onto her. “Kitty! Kitty! Do something! Please!”

Kitty placed a steady hand on Dumbledore’s shoulder to get his attention. “Do you know the Feel-No-Evil curse?”

Dumbledore’s head jerked up to hers, his face twisted in pain, tears streaking down his cheeks. He stared at her, as if trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Feel-No-Evil. Nemo Sentientia. Do you know it?” she asked, her voice firm.

Dumbledore nodded vigorously, pleading in his eyes.

She brandished her wand. “Nemo Sentientia.”

A groan of relief shuddered through Dumbledore, and his body sagged, going limp in Harry’s arms. Harry staggered under the weight, adjusting quickly so he wouldn’t drop him.

For a moment, the three of them stayed like that, the night air filled only with their harsh panting. Then, slowly, Dumbledore straightened, pulling himself upright and easing his weight off Harry.

“What… what did you do? I tried numbing spells,” Harry asked, still trembling.

Dumbledore lifted his good hand, and with a flick of his fingers, his own wand flew up from the grass and landed neatly in his palm.

“Thank you, Katherine,” he said softly.

Dumbledore lit his wand and lifted his ruined hand to examine it in the light. It looked almost like a dementor’s hand—only much more bloody.

“Are you okay, sir?” Harry asked shakily.

“Katherine devised a rather ingenious method of pain relief,” Dumbledore explained. “One I never would have considered. The Feel-No-Evil Curse. It renders the victim unable to perceive when dark magic wounds them. The intention is cruel—by the time the victim realises they are grievously injured, it is already too late to seek help.”

Harry frowned, looking lost. Kitty thought that was for the best; the full history of the curse was horrific, and she hoped he would never learn it.

“Does it work like a pain potion?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Kitty said softly. “It’s very dark magic.”

“Indeed it is,” Dumbledore murmured, still turning his ruined hand in the light, more curious than anything else. “I never would have imagined it could mask the agony of a Fiendfyre injury. How did you think of it?”

“I found it in a book in the Restricted Section a few weeks ago,” she admitted. “I didn’t know it would work on something like this. I just… hoped.”

“How fascinating. I believe I have perhaps three hours until it fades, yes?”

“Probably less,” she said uneasily. “It’s the first time I’ve ever cast it.”

Dumbledore nodded absently, and began casting a few silent spells on his hand. She figured they were probably some kind of temporary preservation spells to make sure none of his fingers fell off.

“But Madam Pomfrey can fix it all when we get back to Hogwarts, right?” Harry asked, his voice tight with nerves.

“You can’t fix anything burned by Fiendfyre,” Kitty said quietly.

“Wh—what do you mean?”

She swept her wand over the scorched ground where the Horcrux had been, the light catching on blackened earth and cracked rock underneath. “That grass will never grow back. Just like the Horcrux will never be restored. Just like how his hand will never heal.”

Harry’s face fell as the truth sank in.

Dumbledore finally lowered his ruined hand. “Well, the horcrux has been successfully destroyed. I believe we have accomplished all we came here to do. It is time to return to the castle.”

Harry gaped at him, aghast.

Dumbledore tilted his head, then let out a quiet, “Ah. I believe I understand your distress, Harry. Do you recall at the end of last year, when Katherine controlled the Fiendfyre at the Ministry? Afterwards, her emotions were blunted for several days.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“You see, both Katherine and I are experiencing the same effect now,” Dumbledore explained, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Which is why we may not be reacting to a traumatic situation as you might expect. I must apologise for that.”

Harry turned to Kitty, searching her face.

“I suppose I should feel upset or overwhelmed,” she mused. “But I mostly feel… focused, clear-headed.” She gave a small shrug.

“Okay,” Harry croaked, though his voice made it obvious he was anything but.

Kitty slipped an arm around him in a quick hug—he looked pale and shaken, and she couldn’t blame him. Watching Dumbledore in such unimaginable pain had been awful even with her blunted emotions; for Harry, it must have been unbearable.

The three of them set off across the wooden bridge in silence, the bridge swaying in the fierce wind that re-appeared the moment they stepped off the rocky island.

Once they had crossed and begun walking the narrow path along the headland, Dumbledore finally spoke. “Thank you, Katherine. I would have died had you not stepped in when you did.”

“What happened?” she asked lowly. She truly hadn’t expected to need to step in and help.

Dumbledore exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I have conjured and contained Fiendfyre a handful of times in my life… but never to kill. That was death, Katherine. The death of a soul—and it passed through my hands.”

Kitty had read that killing with Fiendfyre left a scar on the caster’s soul, the same as the Killing Curse. Only worse, because with Fiendfyre you actually felt the soul die inside the fire you commanded.

He looked at her then. “You are unusually gifted with Fiendfyre.” This time, the words carried no derision or judgment. It was spoken as fact. “But I beg you,” he continued, softer now, “never use it to kill. That was a truly terrible thing.”

“I don’t plan to,” she said honestly.

“I am glad to hear it.”

They walked in silence for another five minutes, and Kitty began psyching herself up for the fight that would be coming when they got back to Hogwarts. The night felt so long but it was only just beginning! She pulled her water bottle out of her bag and had a long drink, before offering it to Harry and Dumbledore. Harry declined but Dumbledore drank deeply. Fiendfyre was thirsty work.

Finally the faint lights of the village shimmered into view in the distance. Then, at last, they stopped. Dumbledore drew in a long, tired breath. “We will Apparate back to Hogsmeade. Could you both Apparate yourselves to just outside the Hog’s Head? While I do not feel the pain of my hand, the weakness of the injury remains. I do not believe it would be safe for me to attempt a double Side-Along this evening.”

Kitty and Harry both nodded. At Dumbledore’s count, the three of them Disapparated separately.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Kitty landed on the darkened street of Hogsmeade. A heartbeat later, Harry and Dumbledore appeared at her side. Dumbledore staggered on impact, and both she and Harry rushed forward to steady him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I am fine,” Dumbledore assured, though his voice was weary. “Merely feeling my age tonight.” He managed a faint smile.

Then the sound of rapid footsteps reached them. Kitty braced herself for what was to come.

Rosmerta came into view, rushing toward them in a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons, teetering wildly on high-heeled, fluffy bedroom slippers. Kitty nearly choked—this was literally the most slay outfit she had ever seen. And tonight of all nights?!

“I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness! I didn’t know what to do about the Mark!” Rosmerta skidded to a halt, panting and wide-eyed with panic.

Kitty spun toward Hogwarts in the distance. The voices of Dumbledore and Rosmerta spoke sharply behind her, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the Dark Mark hovering over the Astronomy Tower. It was enormous and writhing, as if it had a life of its own. Even from this distance she could feel a kind of malevolence radiating from it. That it hovered over Hogwarts—a school filled with children—felt so wrong. It didn’t matter that no one had died yet; just seeing it made her heart skip.

She was jolted back to reality by a loud bang down the street—the front door of the Three Broomsticks had burst open, and two brooms shot out, flying straight toward Dumbledore.

“I can share with Kitty,” Harry offered.

“That’s okay! I’ve got my own!” Kitty said, rifling through her bag. She pulled out her broomstick and settled herself on it, adjusting her cloak.

Dumbledore turned to Rosmerta. “Please send a message to the Ministry. It’s possible that nobody at Hogwarts has realised anything is wrong yet.”

Rosmerta hurried back toward the pub, tottering in her heeled slippers. But Kitty knew she would probably just send Draco a warning that Dumbledore was on his way.

“Harry, put on your Invisibility Cloak. You will fly next to me and follow my every instruction. Do you understand?” Dumbledore commanded.

“Yes,” Harry gasped, yanking off the cloak Kitty had given him earlier and shoving it unceremoniously back at her. She shoved it into her bag while he fished his own Invisibility Cloak from a pocket and draped it over himself.

Dumbledore turned to her. “Katherine, you will fly alongside us until we cross the boundary of Hogwarts grounds. Then, you will go straight to the Hospital Wing to alert Poppy of what you’ve seen, and you will stay there. Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly. “Can you disillusion me instead of using Mad-Eye’s cloak?” she asked desperately.

He nodded and lifted his wand over her head, ready to cast—but then he paused. Staring into her eyes, Kitty felt it like a jolt through her chest: this was it. He was about to die.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, hesitated, then said softly but earnestly, “Trust in yourself, Katherine. Trust in your instincts.”

Kitty wanted to say something back, but Harry was somewhere nearby under his cloak, making words impossible. She simply nodded, locking eyes with Dumbledore, silently hoping he felt her goodbye.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, as if he understood exactly what she was trying to say.

Then he tapped the top of her head with his wand. It felt like an egg cracking over her skull and dripping down the back of her neck. She looked down to see her body had blended perfectly with everything behind her—a chameleon-like illusion so complete that she was utterly invisible. Even her broomstick had vanished from view. She might as well have been wearing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. Wow. She had no idea Disillusionment Charms could even be this strong.

Dumbledore mounted his broom beside her, gingerly trying to hold both his wand and the broom with his one good hand; his left hand was entirely useless. He gave up on holding the wand and tucked it into his robes, gripping the broom with a single hand.

“Now,” he commanded.

Kitty kicked off the ground and rose into the air. She had no idea where Harry was, but decided to fly on Dumbledore’s left side.

They soared over the path leading to the front gates of the school, the wind whipping Kitty’s red cloak behind her. Then she heard Dumbledore begin chanting in Latin. She caught a few words—he was clearly creating a temporary breach in the protective enchantments surrounding Hogwarts, a safe passage through the security spells.

She tucked in close to him as they passed over the school boundary.

Without taking his eyes off the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore called out, “Go to the Hospital Wing now, Katherine. And good luck!”

“You too!” she called back awkwardly, slowing her broom slightly as she allowed herself to fall behind and watch him—and presumably the invisible Harry—flying as fast as they could toward the tower.

Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore. She thought sadly.

For a second, she considered following his instructions and flying to the Hospital Wing on the other side of the castle. It would definitely be safer. She wouldn’t be at risk of dying, getting cursed, or causing some timeline catastrophe.

But, Dumbledore had ALSO told her to trust her instincts, and her instincts were conveniently telling her to go smite down Fenrir Greyback soooooo….

:) Oopsie, hehe x

Kitty urged her broom forward and flew toward the Astronomy Tower as fast as she could.

Chapter Text

While Kitty’s Nimbus 2000 was no Firebolt, it was still miles faster than the clunky old brooms Rosmerta kept in the Three Broomsticks. She shot off like a bullet, overtaking Dumbledore (and Harry) almost immediately. In only a few seconds, she had reached the castle, where she began darting back and forth outside the long row of windows beneath the Astronomy Tower, trying to see inside.

The windows only gave her fractured glimpses of the corridor, and what she saw was pure chaos—flashes of light bursting in every direction as spells ricocheted across the hallway. Death Eaters seemed to be everywhere, matched spell for spell by her friends and Order members alike.

Kitty narrowed her eyes, scanning each window for the one ugly mug she wanted to see. And then—there he was.

Fenrir Greyback.

He was close-ish to the spiral staircase that led up to the Tower ramparts, locked in a vicious duel with someone off to the side that she couldn’t see. His wand arm was slashing so fast that it was almost a blur. It was clear he was absolutely lethal.

She looped backwards through the air to give herself a proper run-up, then flicked her wand and cast a Finite on herself, stripping away the Disillusionment Charm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore approaching the Astronomy Tower ramparts above her. His gaze locked onto her newly visible form immediately, his stern expression practically screaming: I am unimpressed with your blatant disregard for my instructions.

She arched an eyebrow in reply, sending a perfectly clear message of her own: Did you honestly expect anything different from me?

Then she looked back to the window, readying herself to bust through the window in the coolest dramatic entrance she’d ever planned—but what she saw made ice flood her veins.

Greyback had leapt onto the back of someone with long, bright red hair, dragging them down out of sight.

There was no time to think. She propelled her broom forward, shattering the magically transfigured glass as she hurtled into the corridor. In one fluid motion, she leapt from the broom and levelled her wand at Fenrir, who was crouched over Bill on the ground.

“Flipendo!”

The spell hit him squarely in the back, sending him flying off Bill and slamming him hard into a wall.

Suddenly, Kitty was shoved bodily sideways, stumbling and panicking.

She looked up to see Draco barrel past her, heading straight for the tall, narrow stone archway that led to the spiral staircase winding up to the Astronomy Tower ramparts.

She glanced back just in time to see Greyback hauling himself upright, eyes blazing with furious intent as they locked onto her.

Kitty snapped her wand up—

—and a streak of blinding green light shot past her cheek, close enough that she felt the air whoosh against her skin.

SHIT!

That was an Avada Kedavra. A fucking AK! What the actual fuck!?

She looked around frantically trying to locate the caster, but every person was seemingly locked in duels. It had to be a stray spell.

A stray spell that had almost killed her.

Trying to ignore the fact that she could die at any moment, she turned to fight Fenrir. But Bill had dragged himself up onto his knees in front of her, swaying slightly, wand raised as he tried to duel Greyback again. Kitty couldn’t see his face from behind him, but nobody chose to duel on their knees if they were alright.

“Protego!” she shouted, hurling up a shield just in time to block a curse aimed at him.

She darted to Bill’s right side, and together they tried to hold Greyback off—but even the two of them weren’t enough. Bill’s aim was sloppy, leaving Kitty to defend them both. It felt less like teamwork and more like fighting with a handicap.

And Greyback was a nightmare of an opponent. He was terrifyingly fast, striking and parrying in the same breath.

There was no way they could win this duel. Kitty barely had the time to summon her shields, let alone cast the incantation she’d been holding in reserve just for him. This wasn’t working, so she would need to try something different.

Protago Maxima! she thought, and a massive shield came out in front of the two of them.

“Bill, shield us! I’ll take offense!” she quickly yelled over the noise.

She didn’t know if he heard her, because at that exact moment a deafening CRACK split the air, the sound reverberating in her bones. Her head snapped upward in horror as half the ceiling gave way.

She grabbed Bill, dragging him sideways just as a storm of stone and dust crashed down around them. For a few terrifying moments it was nothing but dusty air and raining rubble.

When the falling stone stilled, she propped Bill against a large slab that gave them partial cover from Greyback on the other side.

That was when she finally got a proper look at Bill’s face—and her mouth dropped open in horror. His left eyebrow had been split wide open by a gash that tore straight through his eye and carved a line down his cheek. Blood poured from the ruined socket as he held his hands up to try and stem the bleeding somehow.

An eye.

He’d lost a fucking eye.

And if they didn’t stop the bleeding soon, he was going to black out.

Kitty tore her gaze away to scan the dim corridor frantically. Could she get him to the Hospital Wing? Could she even move him from his temporary shelter without killing them both in the process? Her stomach sank as she realised his best chance was probably staying exactly where she’d sat him. The fallen ceiling had disoriented everyone, but now the duels were starting up again and she would not be able to move him out of the corridor.

She looked back at Bill, gently prying his hands away from his bloodied face. She waved her wand and bandages shot from the tip, swirling through the air before wrapping perfectly over his wound.

If her emotions weren’t so dulled by the Fiendfyre, she would probably be wracked with guilt right about now. But alas, she was currently stunted as hell. So, she stood up and readied herself to defend them both. Her eyes darted over the corridor trying to work out her next step.

To the left, Neville and Remus were locked in a duel with the Carrows right in front of the archway—and to her immediate right was… no. No.

A body.

Lavender.

Lavender lay in the rubble of the collapsed ceiling, half-buried under dust with blood seeping from a gash at her temple. Her eyes were closed, her chest frighteningly still.

What was Lavender even doing here?! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

“No—no, no, no, no!” Kitty’s voice cracked as she stumbled toward her. She dropped to her knees, trembling fingers fumbling against Lavender’s throat.

And then—there! A pulse under warm skin. Thank GOD. Kitty nearly collapsed over her in relief, a laugh of sheer desperation catching in her throat.

A desperate scream tore through the corridor. Kitty’s head snapped left—Neville was on his knees, both hands clutching his stomach in agony.

She lurched upright just as the Carrows blasted Remus off his feet. Kitty barely managed to flick her wand in time to cast a cushioning spell so her bestie didn’t smack against the wall.

Seizing the opening, the Carrows slipped through the gap they’d carved in the fighting, vanishing through the archway and scrambling up the spiral staircase toward the ramparts.

Then—movement. Greyback hauled himself up from the shadows beyond the rubble. He staggered once before breaking into a sprint. His heavy boots pounded against the stone floor as he bolted straight for the stairs, knocking Neville back to the ground as he ran past.

Kitty quickly circled her wand in a wide arch above her head, conjuring her Balrog fire whip. With a sharp crack, she lashed the molten lasso forward. The fiery coils wound around Greyback, yanking him off his feet just as he reached the archway. He slammed onto the stone floor, thrashing and snarling against the bonds, smoke rising from where they seared his flesh.

It looked very painful.

Good.

This was for Lavender. For Remus. For every single life Fenrir Greyback had destroyed.

She levelled her wand down at him, voice calm and unyielding.

“Exlupatio Caedere.”

The curse struck him in the chest. For one long moment he was still, eyes wide with something that looked like realisation. Then the magic tore through him.

He exploded.

His body ruptured outward, vaporizing into a fine red mist that hung in the air like fog. The robes and boots he had been wearing sagged onto the ground, collapsing into a heap now that the man inside them was gone.

That was when she felt an ugly, pinching sensation deep inside her chest, as if her own soul had flinched.

Oop. Her soul did not like that one.

She inhaled sharply—and immediately coughed and spluttered, because Jesus she had just breathed in a lungful of the red mist!!

GAG.

“Ventus!” she snapped. A gust of air from her wand blew the vaporised remains of Greyback against the wall of the corridor, painting the stone red.

She glanced right—and immediately ducked as a curse seared past her, cast by a furious man she didn’t recognise. She flung up a shield, trying to step back into duelling stance, but her heel snagged on the edge of her cloak. The clasp wrenched tight at her throat, and she choked and stumbled. The Red Riding Hood aesthetic was going to get her killed!!

She clawed at the clasp, but in that instant her shield shattered. Another curse struck her. White-hot pain ripped through her shoulder, forcing her to drop her wand. She gasped, staring at the man with wide eyes as he levelled his wand at her face, lips curling around the words—

“AVADA K—”

The curse never came. A blast of magic slammed into him, hurling him violently to the ground.

Behind him stood Sirius Black, wand raised, eyes blazing.

Their eyes locked across the dim, dusty corridor and even in the middle of battle Kitty’s heart skipped a bloody beat. Jesus Christ, she was so in love with this man. How had she ever pretended otherwise?

A shaky laugh of relief escaped her as she tore off her stupid cloak and snatched her wand back up. Sirius vindictively sent another spell straight into the Death Eater’s face even though the man was already unconscious on the ground.

She was about to run to him—and do what, exactly? Kiss him? Confess her undying love? She hadn’t the faintest clue—when Neville’s body suddenly came hurtling past, smashing onto the ground with a bone-jarring thud.

They looked around to see Remus in front of the archway. “They’ve blocked the stairs!” he shouted. Clearly Neville had tried to force his way through and been thrown back.

“Reducto!” Remus’ spell slammed into the archway, the air rippling like the surface of disturbed water but the barrier held firm. Sirius hurried forward to join him.

“REDUCTO!” Remus roared again.

Knowing she couldn’t do anything to help, Kitty spun to take in the far end of the corridor. The battle raged on—flashes of light, shouted curses. And then—wait. Was that… Dean? What the hell? He was duelling side by side with Ron against a Death Eater.

Then everything seemed to slow as Severus Snape swept through, black robes billowing. He didn’t flinch at the curses whizzing by. No one attacked him because of course, everyone thought he was on their side.

He didn’t even glance at her.

Just after Snape passed, Kitty turned back to Ron and Dean just in time to see Dean take a spell in the back—a stray curse from Rowle’s duel with Tonks. He crumpled to the floor. Kitty lunged toward him instinctively, but an arm shot around her waist and yanked her back.

“Damn it, Kitty,” Sirius hissed in her ear, hauling her out of the path of another wayward curse (the bright green kind).

At that moment, Remus’ body came flying through the air, just like Neville’s had. He scrambled to his feet and shook himself off.

“Snape got through! I don’t know how!” he called to them.

Remus and Sirius raced back toward the archway and Kitty followed close behind, keeping her wand raised to shield their backs from any stray spells. The curses were coming faster now—Rowle’s desperation in his duel against Tonks was obvious. He wasn’t trying to fight skilfully anymore; he was relying on quantity over quality.

Hearing a commotion behind her, Kitty looked over her shoulder and saw Snape dragging a pale, terrified Draco down the stairs. Remus and Sirius stepped aside to let them pass.

She met Snape’s dark eyes and he sneered at her, daring her to judge him.

Rest in peace, Dumbledore. You would have loved RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Just then, the Carrows came gleefully running down the stairs, immediately engaging Sirius and Remus in duels. Kitty slipped in next to Sirius, falling into the rhythm they had developed when fighting Bellatrix—Sirius attacking while she defended. Within ten seconds, Alecto was disarmed and stunned. A howl of rage erupted from Amycus as he continued duelling Remus.

Then a wild-eyed Harry stumbled down the stairs, tripping over Alecto’s body and taking in the pure chaos of the hallway. It was immediately clear Harry was not okay. She’d never seen him look less okay. Not even when Voldemort respawned. Sirius reached for him but Harry shrugged him off and fixed his gaze on the end of the corridor, where Snape’s sharp yell cut through the chaos: “It’s over, time to go!”

Harry bolted after them. Sirius tried desperately to pull him back, to stop him from running headlong through the warzone of the hallway.

Then—
“Crucio!”

A jet of electric red light shot over her shoulder, singeing a few strands of her hair. Kitty spun around in shock. She wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but Alecto was awake and had somehow taken over duelling Remus, while Amycus was grinning at her with his wand raised.

“Crucio!” another bolt followed. Kitty twisted sharply, her body still facing the wrong way.

Amycus giggled. “You can’t dance forever, pretty… CRUCIO!”

Pain.

Instant pain tore through the fibre of her being, searing her organs and rattling her brain. It wasn’t confined to one place—it was as if a white-hot electric current was being pulsed into each individual cell of her body at once. Her body buckled, crumpling to the ground. Her mouth flew open and released a scream of agony so raw she hadn’t even known she was capable of it.

And then—suddenly—it stopped.

The pain vanished, leaving her gasping for breath, body shaking and blinking tears from her eyes. Noise flooded her senses, distant and disorienting.

Above her, a figure loomed.

Sirius. His mouth was moving? He was talking to her?

“Kitty! Kitty Kat! Come back to me, darlin.”

Her brain clicked back into gear. The Battle for the Astronomy Tower—she couldn’t waste a second! She tried to sit up and Sirius steadied her, helping her fully to her feet. She scanned the hall. “Where’s Harry?” she blurted.

Sirius’s expression became pained as he looked longingly to the end of the corridor, “He ran off after Snape and the Malfoy kid. I have to…”

Kitty nodded. “Of course. Let’s go.”

She snatched her wand from the ground, and Sirius took her other hand. Together, they hurried through the corridor where the duels were winding down—most of the Death Eaters were either subdued or had already fled.

They raced down a staircase, and then corridor after corridor. Kitty didn’t know exactly where they were going but Sirius seemed confident, so she went without question. And with every step, Kitty felt herself coming back more. Even the puffing of her breath, the pounding of her feet on stone, seemed to help. She chalked it up to endorphins flooding her brain from running.

Up until that night, she had always thought the age-up ritual was the worst pain imaginable—the dark magic stretching and reshaping her body. But she had been so, so wrong. Nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse. She was fairly certain she had been under it for no more than five seconds, yet it had felt like an eternity.

Then Sirius pulled her through a hidden tapestry hiding a narrow spiral staircase that Kitty had seen on the Marauder’s Map but never used before.

Down, down, down, down they went until they burst out from behind a tapestry into a corridor near the Entrance Hall.

The oak front doors had been blasted open, and the floor was covered in smears of blood, broken glass, and hundreds of rubies from the now broken Gryffindor hourglass. Several terrified students huddled against the walls and stared at them with wide eyes.

“Shit!” Sirius panted, frantic eyes scanning the students. “Harry Potter—was he here?”

A few students pointed toward the open doors. Sirius sprinted out into the darkness of the night, Kitty hot on his heels.

There was an inferno roaring in the distance as Hagrid’s hut was engulfed in flames. Figures around it traded spells, their distant shouts carrying over the grounds. Then, all but two of the figures started running toward the front gates, and she could make out Hagrid’s silhouette forcing his way into his burning home.

As they drew closer, Snape’s furious voice cut through the night: “DON’T CALL ME A COWARD!”

A slash of his wand and Harry’s body flew backward, landing hard in the grass.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU SNIVILLING CUNT?!” Sirius roared in response, his rage palpable as he raised his wand to defend Harry.

Then a furious screech cut through the night and a large silhouette that flew over their heads…

Was that a fucking hippogriff??

Buckbeak (or some other hippogriff, it wasn’t like she could tell them apart) swooped on Snape, driving him back to the front gate with shrieks and talons and flapping wings.

Kitty and Sirius finally reached Harry, who was pulling himself up into a sitting position, blood trickling from his nose. Puffing and panting, they helped him to his feet and retrieved his wand from the grass near him.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days, kid,” Sirius breathed. Then his gaze locked onto Snape Disapparating past the front gates, and the fury returned. “I’m going to be having some words with Dumbledore. That wasn’t on. I can’t believe the fucker attacked you.”

“Sirius…” Harry croaked, his voice devastated and his body shaking uncontrollably.

Sirius looked him up and down with concerned eyes and then turned to her. “Can you put out the fire, then we’ll get him back up to the school?”

She hurried toward Hagrid’s burning hut, raining water down on the flames just as he burst out the front door with Fang over his shoulders.

“Kitty? Tha’ you?” Hagrid called as he lumbered over.

“Yeah!” she shouted, keeping her wand trained on the fire.

“Thanks for tha’. I’d do it meself but…” he trailed off.

Kitty nodded absently, moving around the hut to douse the remaining flames. Once the fire was out, leaving only a smoking husk, she returned to Hagrid’s side. Fang was looking totally freaked out hiding in between his legs, but didn’t seem physically harmed.

Hagrid surveyed the wreckage. “S’not too bad. Nothin Dumbledore won’ be able to put righ’.”

Kitty ignored that part and glanced up the hill toward the castle. The windows blazed with light, every one of them glowing—the night’s commotion had roused the entire school. Students were spilling onto the grounds, clustering in confusion around the front doors.

She could just make out Sirius’s silhouette, steadying Harry as he slowly guided him up the hill.

“We can catch up with them,” she murmured absently.

But as she and Hagrid started after Sirius and Harry, she realized they weren’t heading toward the castle doors at all. Instead, they were veering off to the right, toward the base of the Astronomy Tower.

“What’re they all lookin at? Wha’s tha’ lyin on the grass?” Hagrid said sharply, already striding ahead toward the growing crowd at the foot of the tower.

“See it? Righ’ at the foot o’ the tower? Under where the Mark... blimey, yeh don’ think someone got thrown?”

“I see it,” she mumbled, her stomach sinking.

They pushed through the crowd, the murmurs and gasps of students and staff washing over them. Harry and Sirius winding their way to the front, Hagrid’s massive frame looming beside her as they followed. The press of bodies parted, and the sight beyond opened up before her.

At the base of the Astronomy Tower lay Dumbledore’s body. He had landed on his back, his limbs twisted in grotesque angles.

Beside her, Hagrid let out a broken sound. “Wha—? No! No, no, no…” he moaned, shaking his head as if denial alone might undo it.

Harry didn’t stop moving until he dropped to his knees beside the body. His trembling hands straightened Dumbledore’s glasses, wiped blood from his mouth, and then hovered helplessly before they fell to his sides as he bowed his head.

Sirius followed more slowly, his body stiff. He stopped just behind Harry, laying a heavy hand on his godson’s shoulder. Kitty couldn’t see his face, but his head was tilted upward toward the tower, and she knew he was blinking back tears.

Kitty remained rooted at the edge of the crowd. She knew it was a blessing her emotions were blunted, because she’d have more time to process this before the reality hit her in full force. For now, all she knew was that she wanted to run far away and hide from all the sorrow around her.

Suddenly Harry turned, his eyes finding hers. They were wide, wet, pleading. It was an expression she knew too well: Help me. Do something. Please.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward to crouch on the other side of Dumbledore’s body. With gentle hands she straightened his limbs, arranging him so he looked at peace. Then, pulling out her wand, she conjured a soft blue glove and spelled it to cover his burned hand to hide the ugliness.

There was nothing more she could do.

When she finally looked up, Harry’s desolate gaze was fixed on Dumbledore’s face. Higher still, Sirius’s eyes locked with hers. He was staring at her with a peculiar, almost stricken expression—mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling too fast.

And then she understood. He knew. He’d finally understood that this was the big bad thing. That all along, she had known Snape would betray them, and that Dumbledore was going to die.

She swallowed hard and looked down at the body between them.

She couldn’t bear to see the moment Sirius decided he couldn’t forgive her.

Chapter Text

Their vigil was broken by a Luna’s figure slipping from the crowd to join them. She didn’t flinch at the proximity to Dumbledore’s body, didn’t cry or gasp—just slid her hand quietly into Harry’s.

“It’s time to go. Professor McGonagall wants us in the Hospital Wing,” she said softly. Her wide eyes flicked briefly to Kitty, then to Sirius, silently including them in the summons.

Harry numbly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He looked more like a shell than a person, stumbling as Luna guided him through the crowd.

Kitty rose on stiff legs and followed. She felt Sirius at her back, close enough that the heat of him prickled her skin. She willed herself not to turn, not to catch his gaze, not to see what she was terrified would be visible on his face.

The halls were quieter than the grounds, though the echoes of voices still carried faintly through the school. Harry shuffled forward, Luna whispering to him in a voice so soft Kitty couldn’t catch the words.

Her feet carried her onward until they reached the doors of the Hospital Wing—when suddenly, a tug on her arm stopped her short.

“We’ll join you in a minute,” Sirius murmured to Luna and Harry. He waited until they had slipped inside and the door swung shut behind them, muffling the voices within. Only then did Kitty look at him.

Sirius was before her in the half-lit corridor, his hand still wrapped firmly around her sleeve. His eyes were searching hers as though he might pull the truth straight out of her skull. For a long, suspended moment neither of them spoke.

Then he reached up and gently cradled her cheeks in his hands. The tenderness of the gesture disarmed her completely.

“You knew this would happen,” he whispered, the words a devastated accusation.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered back. There was nothing more she could say.

“But you said… you told Dumbledore everything. He knew?” His eyes searched hers, his brows drawn in hurt betrayal—betrayal at her or Dumbledore, she wasn’t sure.

She licked her lips nervously and only managed a short nod.

He pulled back slightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

Her hands shot up, clutching desperately at his wrists, holding his hands to her face as if that could keep him from slipping away from her completely. “I begged him,” she croaked. “Please, Siri—believe me. I never wanted this.”

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to make sense of something senseless. “I do,” he said at last. “I believe you. But that’s why I don’t understand. What does it mean? Why would he let this happen?” He looked so utterly lost.

Kitty’s mouth opened and closed in much the same way his had, searching for words she couldn’t say. “I don’t know how to answer that. All I can say is that he believed in fate, or destiny, or ‘the sanctity of the timeline’; whatever you want to call it. He didn’t want to change anything I told him about. And he’d be furious that I told you this much already. You… I’m sorry Siri, but you can’t tell anyone else that he knew.”

Sirius let out a sharp breath that ghosted against her skin. Then he shut his eyes, lowered his head and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes too, greedily drinking in his presence.

Did this mean he wasn’t abandoning her? Was it terrible that even after the awful night they’d had, this was her first, selfish concern?

For a long moment, they simply breathed together. Then, faint at first but rising like a tide came a sound from the castle grounds—phoenix song. Fawkes was singing, crying out his grief in the most haunting way.

It was the most beautiful thing Kitty had ever heard in her long life.

The melody seeped into her bones, into her soul, and all at once emotions crashed back into her chest as though a dam had burst. (Phoenixes could ease the toll of dark magic, couldn’t they? Even from a distance, it seemed Fawkes was easing the burden on her soul.)

She gasped at the sheer weight of all she felt.

Grief.

Sorrow.

Anger.

Fear.

Shock.

Anxiety.

Guilt.

Shame.

Relief.

And love.

There was so much love. She was so wholly and completely filled with love for the man standing in front of her. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

She loved his storm-grey eyes and thick dark brows. She loved the way he fussed over his hair and clothes, insistent on looking cool. She loved that he always passed her his cigarette without asking. She loved how he sang along to music while cooking. She loved the way he threw back his head when he laughed. She loved how steadfast and loyal he was. She loved that he tried to bring humour and joy into even the hardest times. She loved how he seemed to understand her, better than anyone had before.

And then, as though he had plucked the thought straight from her brain, he whispered, his breath brushing her lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kitty answered instinctively, before she could even think about it.

They both drew back just enough to look into each other’s wide, shocked eyes. Both stunned by what she had confessed.

Then, slowly, Sirius’s mouth curved into the most beautiful, devastating smile she had ever seen. It was deliriously happy and heartbreakingly sad all at once, like he’d been waiting forever for this moment but couldn’t quite believe she’d chosen now of all times to blurt it out.

“Fucking knew it,” he scoffed quietly.

A startled, nervous giggle bubbled out of her.

And then he leaned in, closing the space between them, and kissed her.

For a first kiss, it was impossibly smooth. No awkward bump of noses or teeth, no mistimed breaths, no second-guessing. Just him and her, fitting together so seamlessly that she felt dizzy with the rightness of it. His lips were warm, his stubble was deceptively soft, and his hands wound into her hair and down to her waist.

She melted into him as he pulled her closer, and the world fell away for a long time.

Until an unamused voice cut through the distant phoenix song:

“Use protection or I will retire.”

They broke apart to see Professor McGonagall striding briskly toward them. Small cuts marked her face, her robes were torn, and grief shadowed her features. Kitty had absolutely no idea whether the woman had just made a joke or meant every word. It seemed Sirius was of the same mind because he cautiously stepped back.

Without acknowledging them further, McGonagall walked right past them and pushed open the doors to the Hospital Wing. Kitty traded a wary look with Sirius and they followed behind her, still close but no longer touching.

Kitty looked around the Hospital Wing. She could see Neville, Lavender and Bill lying in beds, surrounded by everyone else. Sirius gave a low, broken sound and moved to join Ginny and Ron at Bill’s bedside, his face stricken as he took in the damage. The gouge had been cleaned and magically stitched together, a thick layer of green ointment covering the wound. His left eye socket was completely covered with the paste, but she knew there was no working eyeball beneath it. She wondered if anyone else knew that yet or if Madam Pomfrey had kept that to herself.

Kitty had to look away, the guilt of what happened to him burning her up inside.

But a fear in her heart eased as she saw Dean standing next to Lavender’s bed, looking sad and tired but unhurt. She drifted toward him, and when his hand found hers, she squeezed it tightly. Together, they looked down at Lavender’s unconscious form. Kitty’s mind spun—how had Lavender and Dean even been dragged into this fight? And where were Parvati and Seamus? They were never far from their respective best friends. What happened?

“Molly and Arthur are on their way,” McGonagall announced to the room. “Harry… what happened? Hagrid said you were with Professor Dumbledore when he—when it happened.”

“Snape killed Dumbledore,” said Harry tonelessly.

McGonagall staggered at the revelation, quickly sitting down in a chair conjured for her by Madam Pomfrey. “Snape,” she repeated faintly. “We all wondered… but he trusted… always… Snape… I can’t believe it.”

“Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens. We always knew that,” Remus said, his voice harsh and unforgiving. Kitty knew he was thinking about Peter’s betrayal too, and she noticed Sirius tense where he was still hovering over Bill.

“But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” Tonks cried, clutching at Remus as he held her in his arms. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t.”

“He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape,” muttered McGonagall. “I mean... with Snape’s history... of course people were bound to wonder... but Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape’s repentance was absolutely genuine... Wouldn’t hear a word against him!”

“I’d love to know what Snape told him to convince him,” Tonks muttered bitterly.

“I know,” Harry said, his voice flat and lifeless.

Every head turned toward him. Even Sirius looked up from Bill’s bedside.

“Snape passed Voldemort the information that led him to my mum and dad. Then he told Dumbledore he hadn’t realised what he was doing—that he was sorry. Sorry they were dead.”

The words settled over the silent room.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius whispered, his voice raw.

“Dumbledore believed that?” Remus demanded, incredulous. “He believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James—”

“He would have celebrated!” Sirius burst out, furious.

Harry only shrugged and leaned against Luna. “And he didn’t think my mother was worth a damn either, because she was Muggle-born. ‘Mudblood,’ he called her.”

Sirius let out a harsh scoff. “There was a time when he was obsessed with Lily. When she finally told him to leave her alone, he hated her too.”

Harry’s head jerked up, shock flashing across his face—the first real emotion Kitty had seen in him since they’d left Hogsmeade. “He hated her just because she turned him down?”

“A tale as old as time,” Kitty muttered darkly, and saw Tonks nodding in agreement.

(While she knew it was a bit more complicated than that, she wasn’t in the mood for nuance. You couldn’t fake the kind of hatred it took to cast an Unforgivable. Snape had wanted Dumbledore dead—utterly and completely—without hesitation or remorse, or the spell wouldn’t have worked.)

“This is my fault,” Professor McGonagall said suddenly. “I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight. I called for him to help us. If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t, he might never have joined the Death Eaters inside. I don’t think he knew they were here before Filius told him.”

Sirius straightened, voice steady and resolute. “It’s not your fault. Betrayal doesn’t work like that. Whether it happened tonight or another night—it was always going to happen.”

“We all wanted more help,” Remus added firmly. “We were relieved when we thought Snape was on his way.”

Was it terrible that Kitty was almost glad that Sirius and Remus had experience in being betrayed by someone they trusted? If only because they seemed to be taking Snape’s perceived treachery better than everyone else. Although… that might just be because they both never stopped hating Snape (even if Remus hid it better).

“So when he arrived at the fight, he just joined the Death Eaters’ side?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know exactly how it happened,” McGonagall admitted distractedly. “It’s all so confusing. Dumbledore had told us he would be leaving the school for a few hours and instructed Filius and I to patrol the corridors in his absence. Remus, Sirius, Bill, and Nymphadora joined us. We knew nobody could get in—the enchantments on every entrance were far too strong. Everything seemed quiet, except for when we found Mr. Finnigan and Miss Patil standing guard at the secret passage that leads to the cellar of Honeydukes. Naturally, I sent them to bed with a detention for being out of bounds… I still don’t understand how the Death Eaters possibly entered.”

“I do,” Harry responded grimly. “Inside the Room of Requirement there’s a Vanishing Cabinet. The same one that Montague got stuck in last year. Its’ twin is at Borgin & Burkes. Malfoy’s been sneaking in there all year to work on repairing it… he finally managed it today. That’s how they got in.” His eyes flicked over to Kitty’s, then Hermione’s, then Ron’s—with something like accusation behind them. Kitty prayed if he was angry, that he would direct it at her alone.

Ron seemed to wilt under Harry’s eyes. “I messed up, Harry. We did what you told us—we checked the Marauder’s Map. We couldn’t see Malfoy on it, so we figured he must be in the Room of Requirement. Me, Ginny, and Neville went to keep watch, but Malfoy slipped past us.”

Ginny nodded. “He came out about an hour after we started. He was on his own, clutching that awful shrivelled arm—”

“His Hand of Glory,” Ron clarified. “Only gives light to the one holding it, remember?”

Harry nodded.

Ginny continued, “Malfoy must have been checking whether the coast was clear to let the Death Eaters out, because the moment he saw us he threw something into the air and it all went pitch-black.”

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Fred and George’s.” Ron muttered bitterly under his breath, “I’m going to be having a word with them about who they let buy their products.”

“We tried everything we could think of, Lumos, Incendio,” said Ginny sadly. “Nothing would penetrate the darkness; all we could do was grope our way out of the corridor again, and meanwhile we could hear people rushing past us. Obviously Malfoy could see because of that hand thing and was guiding them, but we didn’t dare use any curses or anything in case we hit each other, and by the time we’d reached a corridor that was light, they’d gone.”

“We heard the noise on our patrol—that’s when we found them,” Sirius said to Harry, nodding toward Ginny, Ron, and Neville.

“They told us what had happened,” Remus picked up. “We found the Death Eaters minutes later, heading toward the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy clearly hadn’t counted on extra people being on watch; he’d already run through his supply of Peruvian Darkness Powder. A fight broke out, they scattered, and we gave chase. One of them—Gibbon—broke away and ran up the tower stairs—”

“To set off the Mark?” Harry probed.

“Most likely,” Sirius confirmed.

“But I don’t think he fancied waiting alone for Dumbledore,” Remus continued. “Because he came running back down to rejoin the fight and was struck by a Killing Curse that just missed me.”

Kitty almost wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the Death Eaters scoring an own goal by killing one of their own. But the urge died when she saw Tonks bury her stricken face into Remus’ chest and hug him close, clearly affected by how close Remus had come to dying.

Too many people she loved had almost died tonight.

Kitty was hit with a surge of bitter anger at Dumbledore. Why hadn’t he assigned extra Order members to patrol the corridors? And how dare he let everyone grieve him as if his death hadn’t been orchestrated by his own hand.

The Hospital Wing fell back into silence as they all continued listening to Fawkes’ lament. Then Harry spoke again. “So if Ron was watching the Room of Requirement with Ginny and Neville, where were you?” His eyes were moving between Luna, Hermione, and Dean.

Dean piped up from next to Kitty. “Me and Lav were in the Entrance Hall keeping watch on the front doors.” His voice faltered as all eyes shifted to him, and he gave a small, sheepish glance at McGonagall, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks. “We saw you come in, but… we hid. Didn’t want detention. Guess Seamus and Parvati weren’t quick enough to duck out of sight.” He gave a hollow little laugh that immediately fell flat. “Anyway, we waited there for ages, until we heard shouting. Professor Flitwick came running down the staircase—he just yelled about ‘the seventh floor’ and ran for the dungeons. We didn’t know what was happening, but we followed the noise and ended up in the middle of the fight. Lavender and I were duelling one of them when the ceiling gave way…” Dean’s voice cracked. He looked down at Lavender, pale and still in the bed, “She was hit by the falling rubble.”

“She’ll be alright?” Kitty asked softly, turning to Madam Pomfrey.

Pomfrey nodded. “She has a severe concussion, but she’ll be fine by tomorrow afternoon.”

Kitty reached out and brushed a lock of Lavender’s hair gently away from the bandage wrapped around her head. Across the room, Luna and Hermione had begun telling Harry how they’d been guarding Snape’s office, but Kitty couldn’t take in a word of it. The guilt she’d been shoving down ever since Fawkes’s song had cracked her open was starting to eat her alive.

Lavender wasn’t supposed to be part of this fight. She should have been safe in her dormitory with Parvati, not lying bandaged and unconscious because whatever butterfly effect Kitty caused had dragged her into the fight. And the fact that Lavender hadn’t been permanently hurt didn’t ease the weight pressing on Kitty’s chest. She could have been.

For God’s sake, Bill had lost his eye because of her! And yes, maybe if she hadn’t interfered Bill would carry a few more scars instead—but scars were just scars. An eye was something else entirely. Kitty knew if she was given the choice, she’d easily pick her eyes over her beauty. And that was coming from her.

She felt tears prick but blinked them away, forcing herself to tune back into the conversation unfolding around her. Harry, of course, was pushing for details.

“So then Snape came upstairs, and he found the place where you were all fighting…?”

Tonks answered. “We were in trouble. We were losing. Gibbon was down, but the rest of them looked ready to fight to the death. I saw Greyback take down Bill when Kitty came smashing through the window and threw him off.”

“Like Superman, flying in her red cape,” Dean muttered.

“Little Red Riding Hood,” Kitty corrected under her breath. Not that anyone heard her, and considering that cloak had nearly gotten her killed she wasn’t about to press the point.

“Neville, Dean, Lavender, and Bill were hurt… it was pitch-dark… curses everywhere,” Tonks continued. “The Malfoy boy had vanished upstairs. The Carrows chased after him, but one must have sealed the archway behind with a curse. Neville tried to run through and got thrown into the air.”

“No one could break through the barrier, and that massive Death Eater was still firing off jinxes all over the place, they were bouncing off the walls and barely missing us.” Ron explained.

“Snape came waltzing down the corridor as if nothing was wrong,” Sirius bit out. “Smarmy git. Knew no one from either side would touch him, and he just walked through.”

“He ran straight through the cursed barrier as though it wasn’t there,” Remus added. “I tried to follow him, but I was thrown back just like Neville…”

“He must have known a spell we didn’t,” McGonagall whispered. “After all, he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I just assumed he was hurrying to chase the Death Eaters who’d escaped up to the tower…”

Harry spoke savagely, “He was. But to help them, not stop them. And I’ll bet you’d have needed a Dark Mark to get through that barrier—so what happened when he came back down?”

Sirius let out a growl from deep in his chest, sounding like Padfoot. “He came right back with the little Malfoy. Barely spent any time up there at all. I thought he must’ve been rescuing the little shit.”

“We just let them pass,” Tonks said in a hollow voice.

Remus explained, “We thought they were being chased by the Carrows, who came down right after them.”

“I heard Snape yell something, and then Rowle managed to escape,” Tonks added, anger in her tone making it clear she was not happy that her opponent got away.

“He shouted it’s over,” Harry said quietly. “He’d done exactly what he’d meant to do.”

They all fell silent. Fawkes’s lament still echoed across the dark grounds outside, each note hanging in the air. Kitty drew in a shaky breath. She met Sirius’s eyes and ached to run into his arms. She could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Then everyone jumped as the doors of the Hospital Wing burst open. Arthur and Molly strode ran up the ward, Fleur hurrying just behind them. Everyone instinctively moved away from Bill to give them space. Molly took one side, Arthur the other, while Fleur stood at the foot of his bed, her face perfectly blank. Kitty immediately went to Fleur’s side and rested a hand on her back to support her.

While Molly and Arthur started speaking with Professor McGonagall and Remus about the injury and Dumbledore’s death, Fleur remained frozen, clearly in shock.

Finally, Fleur whispered, “Ce qui s’est passé ?”
What happened?

She answered softly, “Death Eaters ont fait irruption dans l’école. Il les combattait quand il a été attaqué par Fenrir Greyback.”
Death Eaters broke into the school. He was fighting them when he was attacked by Fenrir Greyback.

Kitty took a deep breath, guilt twisting her stomach. “Je suis désolé de ne pas être arrivé à temps. Si j’avais été ne serait-ce que quelques secondes plus rapide… j’aurais pu l’empêcher d’être blessé du tout.”
I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time. If I had been just a few seconds faster… I could have stopped him from being hurt at all.

Fleur didn’t move, but under her breath she whispered, “Ce n’est pas ta faute.”
It’s not your fault.

Tears began gathering in Fleur’s eyes as they watched Molly begin to sob over her son. “Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks. It’s not r-really important. But he was a very handsome little b-boy... always very handsome... and he was g-going to be married!”

“And what do you mean by zat?” Fleur suddenly demanded, her voice sharp. “What do you mean, ‘he was going to be married’?”

Molly jumped, startled. “Well—only that—”

“You think Bill will not wish to marry me anymore? You think, because of this injury, he will not love me?” Fleur’s words rang out, fierce and unyielding.

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Because he will! It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”

“Well, yes, I’m sure…” Molly muttered awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

Kitty’s mouth flattened in frustration. It was so blatantly obvious that Molly thought Fleur would abandon him. But Kitty had genuinely never seen someone so in love as Fleur was with Bill. The fact that Molly didn’t recognise it after living with them for nearly a year was just wilful blindness.

“But I thought perhaps—given how—how he—”

“You thought I would not wish to marry him? Or perhaps… you hoped?” Fleur’s voice rang louder, accusatory.

Then a low moan came from the bed. Bill’s chest rose in a shaky breath, and his head shifted against the pillow.

Kitty’s mouth fell open in shock. Bill was waking! His right eye fluttered open, glassy and unfocused—the telltale haze of strong pain potion.

Molly gasped, clutching his hand desperately. Arthur leaned close, “Bill?”

Everyone else in the room shuffled closer. Sirius came up on Kitty’s other side with a hand on her lower back.

But Bill’s gaze finally sharpened and fixed not on them, but on Fleur at the foot of his bed. “...Fleur?” he croaked.

Fleur gave a small cry and rushed forward, shoving past Arthur without a second thought, all dignity forgotten. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, seizing Bill’s hand between both of hers. “I am here, mon amour. I am right here.”

A crooked, dopey smile tugged at his lips. “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured.

Before he could say another word, Fleur leaned down and kissed him—carefully but fierce, as though she could pour all her love and defiance into him at once. Bill’s arm lifted, weakened, but he still managed to pull her close.

When Fleur finally drew back, Bill’s single eye lingered on her with adoration—then slowly drifted to the crowd gathered around his bed. “Woah... tha’s a lotta people,” he slurred.

Sirius snorted, and Bill’s gaze shifted to him and Kitty standing together. When he spotted Kitty he broke into a crooked grin. “You saved me! Wooo!”

A laugh almost bubbled up, but guilt strangled it. She hadn’t saved Bill. He was missing an eye because of her.

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, bewildered, glancing around to see who he was talking to.

“She avenged me!” Bill crowed—then blinked several times, eyelid heavy, before falling back into unconsciousness.

“Bill! Bill!” Molly panicked.

But Madam Pomfrey moved forward briskly, wand already in hand. Everyone stepped back as she cast a diagnostic spell over him, her wand light sweeping gently across his form. “He’ll drift in and out for some time while his body mends. That’s perfectly normal.”

Ginny spoke up, glancing at Kitty. “What did he mean? That you avenged him? I thought Greyback escaped with Snape and the Carrows?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “I never saw him.”

Kitty glanced around the room. From their faces, it was obvious Tonks, Dean, and Sirius had all seen what she’d done. She shrank in on herself, bracing for anger from the others. “He’s dead.”

“Are you certain?” McGonagall cut in, her voice sharp with panic. “We checked the bodies—he wasn’t among them!” The fear in her tone made it plain: the thought of Greyback being loose in Hogwarts was a worst case scenario.

Kitty winced. “Uh… there’s a big patch of red on the corridor wall...”

Silence. Everyone stared.

“It’s him,” she added, unnecessarily.

“He’s gone?” Remus rasped.

Kitty offered him a sad smile. “Gone for good.”

Remus blinked hard, staring into nothing as he tried to process it.

“You—Miss St. Cloud.” McGonagall’s voice wavered between horror and disbelief. “Are you telling me you… that you… you killed him?”

The room seemed to freeze.

Sirius scoffed from next to her, “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,” he said dryly.

McGonagall was clearly aghast, “I will have to inform the Ministry representatives of your actions when they arrive.”

Kitty’s eyes widened. Fear crept in fast. She knew killing Greyback himself was unlikely to condemn her—but the way she had done it? With dark magic? She could absolutely be arrested, and Scrimgeour wasn’t known for his leniency.

Tonks suddenly stepped forward with a hard expression. “There isn’t a soul alive who isn’t better off with Fenrir Greyback dead.”

McGonagall’s mouth tightened, "That is not the point, Nymphadora."

Tonks didn’t back down. “Kitty didn’t admit to anything, and Bill isn’t in his right mind—he doesn’t know what he saw.” She turned to Kitty with pointed emphasis. “Are you sure Greyback wasn’t hit by one of Rowle’s spells? Like Gibbon was?”

Crossing her arms, Kitty spoke in a flat, mechanical voice. “It all happened so fast. I can barely remember what happened. Must be a side effect of Amycus Carrow’s Cruciatus Curse.”

“You were Crucio’d!?” Harry, Hermione, Dean and Fleur exclaimed together.

Kitty nodded and looked to McGonagall, “I’m traumatised and unable to speak to the ministry at such a time,” she added blithely.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “Wonderful. Did anyone else see what happened to confirm the events?”

Tonks nodded. “Yes. It was a stray spell from one of the Death Eaters. He was masked, so I can’t say who.”

“And did anyone recognise the spell that killed him?” McGonagall continued, her voice edged with sarcasm.

All eyes turned to Kitty.

Kitty shifted on her feet. “I couldn’t say for certain—as I said, I’m traumatised. But possibly ‘Exlupatio Caedere’.”

Remus let out a sharp, furious breath, crossed the room in three strides and smacked Kitty on the back of her head. “Idiot,” he hissed, his eyes blazing. She scowled back at him, unrepentant.

Tonks frowned faintly, clearly unfamiliar with the spell, but lifted her chin and addressed McGonagall. “I heard it. It was… Ex-loo-patio Ca—” she hesitated, then shrugged, “Uh… what she said.”

McGonagall’s expression was stony. “Very well.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Then, without warning, Remus swept Kitty into a crushing hug, lifting her clean off the ground. She clung to him as he trembled with sheer relief and huffed out shaky breaths. Eventually, she had to kick her little feet to get him to put her down.

The Hospital Wing doors creaked open again, and a distraught Hagrid stepped inside. “I’ve... I’ve done it, Professor,” he choked out. “M-moved him. Professor Sprout’s got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick’s lyin down, says he’ll be all righ in a jiffy... an’ Professor Slughorn says the Ministry’s bin informed.”

The fragile energy in the room collapsed at the reminder of Dumbledore’s death.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” said Professor McGonagall softly. “I shall have to see the Ministry representatives when they arrive. Hagrid, please inform the Heads of Houses—Slughorn may stand for Slytherin—that I wish to meet them in my office at once. I would also like you to join us.”

Hagrid gave a wordless nod and shuffled out of the ward.

McGonagall’s gaze swept to Harry. “Before I meet with them, I would like a brief word with you, Harry. And you, St. Cloud. If you’ll come with me…”

“I’ll be joining them,” Sirius cut in emphatically, leaving no room for argument.

Harry murmured, “See you in a bit,” to the others. Kitty turned to say her goodbyes, but Fleur suddenly darted forward and pulled her into a fierce hug, her voice thick with tears. “Merci! Merci d’avoir abbattu cette bete.”
Thank you! Thank you for putting down that beast.

Kitty hugged her back just as tightly, then gave the others a small farewell nod before following Harry and Sirius after McGonagall out of the ward. The corridors outside were dark, the only sound Fawkes’ distant song.

Sirius glanced at Harry, then spoke. “Do we really need to go all the way to your office, Minnie? Surely a classroom will do.”

McGonagall stopped, her mouth thinning even further as she looked at Harry. After a pause, she gave a curt nod and led them into the nearest classroom. The moment the door shut behind them, she rounded a desk and fixed them with a serious look. “Harry, I would like to know what you, St. Cloud, and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school.”

Harry exchanged a quick look with Kitty and Sirius before answering carefully, “I can’t tell you that, Professor.”

“It might be important,” she pressed.

“It is,” Harry replied firmly. “But he didn’t want us to tell anyone.”

“In light of Professor Dumbledore’s death, I think you must see that the situation has changed somewhat—”

“It hasn’t,” Sirius interjected, his hand steady on Harry’s shoulder.

McGonagall glared at them all, then let out a sharp, shaky breath. “And the injury on his… his hand?” Her voice faltered. “It appeared to be burned.”

Kitty and Harry exchanged an uneasy glance.

“I’m sorry Professor, but we can’t say,” Kitty said softly, her tone genuinely apologetic. She didn’t think there was any real reason McGonagall couldn’t know about the horcruxes, but Harry would never go against Dumbledore’s wishes for secrecy.

Harry added quickly, “There is one thing you should know before the Ministry arrives. Madam Rosmerta was under the Imperius Curse—she’s been helping Malfoy and the Death Eaters.”

“Rosie?!” Sirius exclaimed, stunned.

“Rosmerta?” McGonagall echoed, incredulous.

Harry nodded, and silence fell between them. At last, McGonagall exhaled, her shoulders drooping under the weight of grief and exhaustion.

“If that’s all, we’ll be going now,” Sirius said gently.

“You may,” McGonagall replied. She opened the door for them, then closed it firmly behind as she strode off to face the Minister.

The three of them paused in the corridor, watching her disappear around the corner.

“What now?” Sirius asked, glancing at Kitty.

Despite her exhaustion, Kitty didn’t want to say goodbye to him yet. She wished she could drag him up to her dormitory just to collapse into his arms, but that wasn’t possible.

“I left my broomstick, bag, and cloak in the corridor under the Tower,” she murmured, hoping he’d catch the hint.

Sirius nodded at once, almost too quickly—like he’d been waiting for any excuse. “We should go get them.”

Harry hummed absently. “I left my invisibility cloak up on the ramparts...”

“It’s okay, kid,” Sirius said gently. “We’ll get it for you. You should go get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

They both took in his appearance—the deadness in his hollow gaze. Kitty couldn’t hold back her grimace.

“I’m sure,” Sirius said firmly. “We’ll walk you back to Gryffindor Tower, though.”

They turned toward Gryffindor Tower, Kitty and Harry falling into step on either side of Sirius. After a minute, Kitty let her pinky brush against the back of his hand. He glanced down at her and quietly laced their fingers together.

How could she have been such an idiot, choosing tonight of all nights to confess her feelings? But even then, she couldn’t regret it if it meant she got to hold his hand as they walked. It was ridiculous—less than a month ago she had been spouting off shit like ‘I’m not ready’ and now she had attached herself to him like a barnacle, having kissed him once. Pathetic.

After a few minutes, Harry broke the silence. “I know you two think you’re being subtle. But you aren’t.”

Kitty tripped over absolutely nothing and nearly face-planted, yanking her hand away from Sirius’. Sirius mirrored her, flinging his hand behind his back so fast it was like he’d been caught sneaking biscuits from the jar.

They both stared at Harry, utterly gobsmacked. He noticed? Harry James Potter, who usually walked through life oblivious to everything except Draco Malfoy and Quidditch, had noticed this?

“I—we… I—” Sirius stammered, clearly panicking.

Harry’s lips curved into the smallest, tired smile. “It’s okay.” He swallowed and looked down. “I think Dumbledore would’ve been glad to know there’s more love in the world.”

Sirius dropped a heavy hand onto Harry’s shoulder. Kitty edged back a step, trying to give them some semblance of privacy even as her stomach twisted with nerves. It wasn’t that she thought Harry would be angry at them per say, but this was absolutely not how she would have chosen for him to find out.

“Harry, you’re still the most important person in my life. That won’t ever change. And I know it’s… odd, that she’s your classmate, but…” Sirius faltered, clearly unsure how to phrase it.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s super weird. But I knew it was coming. Like I said… you two were not subtle.”

Sirius drew himself up, mock-offended. “Were so,” he said in a deliberately childish tone, obviously trying to wring a smile out of Harry.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, his Sass King emerging. “Keep telling yourself that.” Then his expression smoothed. “When did it happen?

Sirius winced and shot Kitty a guilty glance. “I… I mean, it doesn’t really matter, right? ‘Love is eternal’ and all that,” he rambled uncharacteristically, clearly scrambling to dodge the question.

Harry’s lips twitched, the faintest spark of life returning to his eyes. “Oh, so it’s an embarrassingly short amount of time, then?”

Sirius sagged in defeat. “Since about an hour ago. When we spoke outside the Hospital Wing alone.”

Harry turned to Kitty, incredulous.

She rocked back and forward a little on her heels, mouth twisting sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Terrible timing. I know.”

Harry gave a small snort of laughter, but the sound faded quickly. He exhaled, and just like that, the brief lightness slipped away—swallowed again by the weight of his grief.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Sirius murmured.

Harry nodded, and the three of them continued toward Gryffindor Tower. When they reached the Fat Lady, Sirius pulled Harry into a long, comforting hug and whispered something in his ear. Harry hugged him back tighter, clinging for just a moment longer.

They waited until Harry had disappeared into the common room before Sirius turned to her, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

She slid her hand into his, and together they walked back toward the Astronomy Tower.

After collecting her things—and Harry’s invisibility cloak—they meandered slowly back to the portrait hole again. Fawkes had stopped singing, so her emotions had slipped away again and she was completely muted.

But that didn’t stop her from melting into Sirius’ arms when he scooped her up, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips with a whispered goodnight.