#fhwc2

“Dearest, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you Father.”

She did look beautiful. The lavender dress set off her skin tone beautifully, and all the silver embroidery meant that she sparkled every time she made the slightest movement. Her earrings and nails matched the dress and the shoes, because it was important to have all the details like this put together. The necklace was too opulent for her taste, but her father had looked so pleased with himself when he gave it to her for her last birthday. He’d specifically asked her to wear it tonight, so she hadn’t been able to say no. She looked beautiful. She felt like she could barely breathe.

“You don’t sound happy about it. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. It doesn’t matter. I know how important it is that I am seen by all the right people tonight. The dress is lovely.”

“You never know, you might even have fun. After all, I know that – “

Jasmine whirled, flipping from resigned to furious in a heartbeat. “Don’t! Don’t tell me about somebody else’s son or somebody’s brother or somebody’s cousin who would just happen to make an excellent suitor for me because I don’t want to hear it! I don’t care about any of them and I don’t see why you’re so focused on it. Isn’t it bad enough that Sharma has to trail me the whole night? I don’t need a pack of arrogant morons doing it as well!”

“Have you ever thought that if you got engaged, you might not need to be under as an intense a watch?”

“What?” That concept made no sense. How would becoming someone else’s property decrease the level of watchfulness placed on her? After all, there would be twice as much worried male ego she would be expected to pacify.

Father sighed, as if he couldn’t believe she would be so naïve as to misunderstand this. “If you’re only my daughter, you’re under threat because of my political work. But if you’re engaged to someone else, anything that happens to you will also bring down the wrath of his family on the perpetrator’s head. That’s enough to make most people reconsider using you against me. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

At his words, Jasmine felt her heart soften a little. She knew he was genuinely worried about her, and his logic did make a certain strange sense. The problem was, it wouldn’t make her happy. And that was the point she was willing to fight for the most.

“Try to understand. I’ve never done a thing on my own. I’ve never had any real friends. And you’re asking me to make the first decent choice on something that will shape the rest of my life.”

“Oh, but Mr. Rajanin – “

“Tye is wonderful,” she interrupted her father before he could go too far down that track. “But at the end of the day, we both know that the reason he spends so much time with me is because you pay him to. Yes, I got lucky and we became friends. But he’s not allowed to have any life outside of me, and I’m not allowed to do anything that doesn’t involve him. I want to play Quidditch.”

“Jasmine,” her father said wearily.

“I know, I know, completely out of the question. Tye can’t fly with me during a game, too much can go wrong and it could be made to look like an accident, it’s just too dangerous,” she retorted, repeating the well worn arguments from the previous year when she had tried again and again to make him change his mind. “But that’s the point. I’m not allowed to try anything that isn’t pre approved by you. There’s a whole world out there, and I feel like I’m missing it. How am I supposed to know who I am, if the only person I’m allowed to be is what you want? How can I marry someone if I don’t even know what makes me happy?”

“Somehow other people have managed to figure this out for years. I’m sure you’ll manage. Besides, people like us don’t see the world anyway. We have a duty to people right here.”

“Then I don’t want to be me!” This time, she didn’t wait for her father’s response before turning and stomping down the hallway. She thought she heard him muttering behind her about the difficulties of daughters, but she didn’t bother to listen. If she was going to calm down in time to be even halfway appropriate at this upcoming party, then she needed to walk away and take the time for herself.

Seeing the open library door, Jasmine slipped inside and closed it behind her. Instantly the light spells for the room burst to life, but she ignored them. She wasn’t going to be reading at the moment, she just needed the quiet of the room.

Whatever else could be said of her father, he had never skimped on the library. It was far from his favorite room, but her mother had loved it, and then Jasmine had, and he had done his best to indulge them both. Books of all kinds ranged the walls – everything from history books to travel stories to adventure novels. In a way, Jasmine’s vision of life and the world could be said to have been born in this room. This was how she learned about other people and other places, and she’d felt a growing craving to experience all of it for herself.

But if her father had his way, this would be all of the world she would get to experience. Her world would slowly shrink until it was nothing but England, her husband’s house, and what he would allow of her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she would survive that. Not really. No matter how well intentioned her father was, she knew the truth. She needed to be able to fly free.

Sighing, she let her fingers fall from where she had been dragging them along the spines of the familiar shelves as she stopped at the window. Not that any of her resolutions mattered at the moment. She had too much respect for her father and his political career to leave a party he expected her to attend, no matter how unhappy it made her. She knew he relied on her impressions of the people she met, and she could bring him information he might not acquire on his own because people were generally so much more careful around the established politician. Many people didn’t really expect her to have her own mind, so they talked as if she wasn’t there. It was the one thing that made gatherings like this bearable. She wouldn’t walk away.

The bell rang, and Jasmine steeled herself to turn around and begin her duties as hostess. Before she took another step, she saw a form waiting for her in the shadows and she instinctively tensed, reaching for a wand that wasn’t there. But a closer look revealed that it was only Sharma, watching over her even before any guests had arrived. Probably to make sure that no one snuck in early to derail the party by kidnapping her. It was the kind of thing her father would think of.

“Hello Sharma.”

“Miss Malik,” he replied quietly. But she knew him well enough to tense at the hint of censure in his tone. He must have heard the fight.

“It isn’t easy being his daughter or living like this, don’t expect me to act like it is,” she retorted, despite his criticism being unspoken.

“Your father is trying his best.”

“I know. I know. But his best in this situation isn’t enough if he won’t even try to understand my side. I want to have a life Sharma. My own life. I don’t want to move straight from what my politician father decides is acceptable to what my politician husband decides is acceptable. I need more than that.”

“Have you ever thought about what he needs? To know that you are safe? To know that after he dies, you won’t be left unprotected and without income? Or that he might need support at home if he is to face what he needs to do for his job?”

“I try and give him as much of that as I can. Why else do you think I’m going to this party instead of coming up with a dozen potential reasons why I need to be somewhere else? I don’t want to hurt him. I just want the chance to do both.”

Resolutely she ignored the voice in her head reminding her of her magical promise to bring down her father’s career. For the most part she ignored that memory, because what she said was true. She didn’t want to hurt her father. She didn’t want to hurt his career. The work he was doing was important, and he needed as much support as she could give him. It would just be nice if the kind of support he was able to give her in return was also the kind she needed.

Sharma merely inclined his head. “As you say Miss Malik.”

The bell rang again, ending the argument before either of them could reply. She was sure she hadn’t convinced him, but he knew he hadn’t changed her mind either. It was yet another circular argument in a household full of them. And the ending of it would have to wait.

Jasmine swept beyond him and down the stairs, arriving to stand next to her father just as the first guest stepped inside. Thus began the parade of polite curtseys and flowery greetings which didn’t mean anything but would provide great insult if they weren’t said. Each guest arrived with a present either in the hands of the heir hopeful of catching Jasmine’s eye or in the hands of a house elf trailing quietly behind the head of the house. After all, the party itself was in celebration of her father’s 45th birthday.

The two of them had had a private celebration on the day itself, and that was the day the household staff acknowledged it as well. The presents and the invite tonight, instead, were all just for show. Anyone who scrutinized the invited guest list would note that many of the people in attendance had supported her father through various propositions over the years, and he had done the same for them in as consistent a manner as politics would allow. A second closer look would show that all the new people were the ones who objected most strongly to the Wizard Olympics, and thus to the first visible action of Stavros Otepa’s Ministry reign. Like with everything else in their life, even personal celebrations were just another stage for political maneuvering.

Sharma and David hovered in the shadows behind them, keeping an eye on everyone who came through the door for any potential attacks on the Malik family. But as soon as all the guests had arrived, they moved into the large ballroom. And the party began.

Her father had decided against a formal dinner, as that got into the sticky territory of who sat next to who, who sat closer to him, and who sat closer to her, and all of the power games and prestige that implied. Instead, there was a large buffet table full of a variety of high class finger foods, and house elves circulating throughout the gathering with other food and drinks. Small tables dotted the edge of the room for people to rest at before going on to other group. Cream colored table clothes covered every surface with table runners and accent pieces in reds and oranges. The center of the room was kept clear for dancing.

With a bright smile, Jasmine and her father separated to work different parts of the room. The dancing would start later, so for now it was all about mingling. She complimented the wife of one of her father’s committee members. She laughed at a joke put forward by the recently retired head of the Obliviator office. In another circle, she put forward a question that sparked a lively discussion on the proposed plan for increasing physical education at Hogwarts, and she took careful mental notes on the stances of everyone there.

Jasmine heard dozens of compliments on how wonderful she looked that evening. There were quite a few who tried to take a different route and compliment her laugh and how she ‘sparkled’ that evening. A few admired here ‘surprisingly insightful’ questions into certain important issues of the moment. At each one, she smiled, accepted the compliment politely, and refused to favor one compliment more than another in case it gave the giver or anyone watching ideas.

After an hour of socializing, Jasmine heard the violin drag their bow across the string, announcing the beginning of the dancing. Before she had the chance to turn around, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

“Will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” The man speaking was the son of a prominent member of the Goblin Liaison Office. He had just started his own career in the same department, although he was currently in the Beast Division.  He was smiling hopefully at her with big blue eyes, and she couldn’t detect any malice in the action with only minimal conniving.

Jasmine nodded, gave him a smile that was almost genuine, and placed her hand in his. “Of course Marius. I would be delighted.”

Immediately, he swept her onto the dance floor and into a controlled waltz. Jasmine had danced with him before, so she wasn’t surprised when he kept his hand very properly on her waist with a very proper amount of space in between the two of them. He was a respectful man, and a sensible and enjoyable conversationalist when he wasn’t trying too hard to flatter her. There were worse dance partners to begin the evening with.

“You look wonderful this evening.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to see you here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, if I want to be taken seriously in the Ministry, I can’t go skipping events like this one can I?” His grin was full of boyish charm, and she would have almost thought him sincere if she didn’t doubt everyone in the room on principle.

“No. No of course you couldn’t.”

“Oh. Besides. You’re here, and I wouldn’t miss that.” His attempt at flattering her was so obviously an afterthought, she had to restrain herself from laughing. It was always nice to meet someone who was only wooing her because he’d been instructed to by his father, it made him so much less dangerous than the others.

“I appreciate the sentiment. How did your presentation go the other day?”

“It went great!” And just like that, he spent the rest of the dance expounding excitedly on his work as part of the Centaur Liaison Office, and his research into the meaning of certain hand gestures in a particular French Centaur tribe that paralleled those made by a coastal Welsh Centaur tribe.

Dance after dance passed by, each one with varying degrees of pleasantry. Some people would talk about their work, which gave her the chance to report it back to her father, and some people simply smiled indulgently and told her not to worry herself about such matters. Some people tried to call her by sickening pet names while others made a point of only addressing her as ‘Miss Malik’ to show that they respected her. It was the usual round of dances, and Jas did her best not to let any of them get to her.

And if every now and then, she day-dreamed about a dark eyed boy, holding out his hand, saying, “Do you trust me?” Well. Who could blame her?

Finally it was the last dance of the evening. After this, everyone would go home and she could strip off the dress and her mask. But as she looked around, the once person she’d hoped to avoid for one evening approached her with a smug grin.

“I’ll have this last dance.”

The audacity! He didn’t even phrase it as a question, didn’t try any of the normal flattering statements, just said that he would ‘have’ the dance, as if it was a forgone conclusion that she would agree. Which it was under the circumstances. But nothing said he had to act that way. “Mr. Bandini.”

“Please, I have told you time and time again to call me Giuseppe.” He took possession of her hand and pulled her out to the floor before wrapping her closely in his arms. There was barely any space between her body and his, and she had to press back against his hand as hard as possible to even carve out that much.

“You are a beautiful woman Jasmine. And very powerful. Did you know that?”

“Oh really?” She was hardly paying any attention to the conversation, more focused on the progress of the music and counting down the seconds until this was over. It was just her luck he was also an exceptional dance so she couldn’t use that as an excuse to sit out.

“Every beautiful woman is. You bat your eyelashes and bring men to their knees. And then of course, there are your other charms.” Jas felt his hand slide down her back towards her waist. When it starts to creep farther, she shifted again, and stepped on his toe.

“Mr. Bandini, you take too much of a liberty.”

“My apologies. I did not wish to offend.”

Yes he did. He meant to take whatever he could and see how far she would let him go. “In that case, you will not do that again, because then you would know that you were causing offense.”

“Understood.” The next turn around the room passed in silence, and Jas started to hope that she would make it to the end of the night without any other difficulties. But then he started again. “I’m going to call on you tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.”

He stared at her in slight surprise, as he’d never heard that tone from her before. But she didn’t care. This man was arrogant, self important, and twice he had presumed she would just accept whatever he was saying as if it was the truth. She wasn’t going to stand for it any longer, political consequences be damned.

“Jasmine, I don’t see – “

“And don’t call me Jasmine! You are not my friend, I have never given you permission to do so, just like I’ve never given you permission for anything you’ve done with me! What did you honestly expect?”

They had stopped dancing in the center of the room, but she didn’t care. She was going to have this out with him. “I expected that your father explained to you the reality of your situation. You may be beautiful now, but your charms won’t last forever, and there are few families willing to take on someone with a background like yours.”

“My charms? You mean perky breasts and a healthy dowry.” She heard a few shocked gasps behind her, but she didn’t care. “If you had made the slightest attempt to respect me, I might have considered you. If you had been kind or shown any interest in people other than yourself, I might have taken the time to get to know you better. But you are an arrogant, self centered, nasty little braggart who only thinks with his dick and will likely lose his political position in a year because you expect your family to be enough to get by with.

“And as for my background, that is none of your concern. If you can’t respect the people I came from, you clearly can’t respect me, so we have nothing more to say to each other. I will not be seeing you tomorrow, I will not finish this dance, and if you so much as show your face around here, I will curse you until even the goblins won’t want to acknowledge you. Is that understood?”

Her tone had risen steadily the longer she spoke, and as she finished, she realized the entire room had fallen silent. All eyes were on her, and the only movement was her father and David trying to approach her so they could discreetly whisk her away. No more. Everyone here was going to learn a lesson tonight, and she was going to leave on her own terms.

Turning around, she took in every person in the room with a scathing gaze. “I am not a prize to be won.” With that, she turned and swept out of the room, Sharma following quietly. As soon as the door shut, she heard a burst of chatter begin to echo through the room, but soon she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear it anymore.

Behind her, she heard a soft cough.

Jas didn’t bother to turn around, wanting to get back to her room as quickly as possible. “Don’t. Don’t start Sharma. I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to say something.”

She knew what she’d done was potentially unforgivable, and her father would have to respond in some way. But she despised Giuseppe and everyone like him. She was tired of being touched without her permission, tired of people making sly compliments they don’t really mean, tired of being a thing with no mind and dignity that they were required to respect. Why was that so difficult to explain?

“I’m going to bed. Good night Sharma.”

“Good night Miss.”

As soon as she was in her room, she stripped everything off – clothes, jewels, shoes, anything that reminded her of the party. Letting the slight chill of the night air caress her, she took in slow deep breath after slow deep breath. Absently she noticed the tear drifting down her cheek, but she tried not to pay it much attention. There was no one here to see, so no reason to be ashamed.

After a few minutes, she climbed into silk pajamas and walked out onto the balcony. It was one of the few luxuries she was still allowed considering the danger her father was convinced she was in, and it was her favorite place. Stone benches were covered in cushions spelled to resist the vagaries of the weather, and there were lights she could activate with a word if she wanted. She rarely did. The best part about this balcony was its unimpeded view of the stars.

A girl of your background. What had he meant by that anyway? Was that about her father’s country of birth? Was that about the Islamic faith he had been born into and then given up because he had considered his career more important? Or was that a reference to her mother – the desert flower who had failed to bloom in England’s cold climbs, who had married to leave one country behind and never fallen in love with the one she’d found? What part of her background was the problem to people like him?

Like a whisper on the wind, she heard her mother’s voice. “It does not matter Eliana. They do not matter. We are from a people of survivors. Our people have lived through plague, exodus, pogroms, and worse. We are those who refuse to be exterminated. We are those who refuse to be bound by their laws when they are unfair. We are those who grow in secret, and our power is that very secrecy. Pardon them for their ignorance. You are strong my Eliana. And you will do what I could not. Now, how would you like to hear the story of Rajah, the star-tiger?”

The tears had started to flow more freely at the memory. Jasmine wasn’t sure when it was from. Maybe it wasn’t from anywhere. Her mother had given her so many versions of that speech over the years, she could very well be pulling bits and pieces from different circumstances and combining them into what she needed now. Whatever the truth was, it was enough.

“Yes, I would like that.”

My Dearest Belle,

I know this will come as a shock to you, but I won’t be coming home tonight. Actually, I don’t know when I’ll be coming home. I wish there was an easier way for me to tell you this, but I’ve already ruined 6 sheets of paper trying to find the right words so I suppose this will have to do. If I don’t finish this letter now, you won’t get any at all and that seems much worse.

I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but I know how hard you’ve been working to try and fix my foolish mismanagement of our funds. You’ve done your best to put a brave face on it for me, but I know you too well. Your dream was always to leave as soon as you graduated to find your fortune in the world, and to try and find the place that would feel like home. You never wanted to have to stay here and work in a shop. I knew, but I couldn’t find a way to stop you.

Maybe if I had tried harder. Or maybe I should have said to hang it all, and take the consequences of what I did – I know I couldn’t say that to your face, but it’s the truth. It was all what I did. But your mother always said that my biggest fault was an inability to see beyond what I wanted in the moment. She loved me anyway, but I should have listened to her more. Then maybe we could have avoided this together. But looking back doesn’t change any of it.

Suffice it to say, you don’t need to work on your own anymore on our debt. The place I’m going is supposed to help me learn how to manage the practical details of what I’m doing a little better, and I’ll be able to earn money at the same time. I don’t know exactly where this is, and I’m told that getting letters there is difficult, so don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a while. I’ll write to you as soon as I can. And you’ll never be far from my thoughts.

I love you Belle. Take care of yourself. Meet someone new and make some friends. Find ways to be happy however you can, I know you are smart enough not to get yourself into any serious trouble while I’m gone. Someday we’ll be able to look back on this as a strange detour on our path to success. Until then, watch over yourself for me. I promise I’ll bring you back a gift from where I’m going, along with several new stories. Who knows? Maybe there will be new flowers there.

Love,    Your Papa

Belle stared at the letter in disbelief, reading it through twice more before the message began to sink in. It had been waiting for her on the coffee table in their living room, placed inside a clean envelope which meant it must have come from her desk. Her father’s papers never stayed this neat, no matter how hard he tried. The familiar hand writing, full of sprawling curves and sharp edges had been a little shaky, but she hadn’t worried at its being there. Not until she’d opened it.

He was gone. He was gone who knows where and he had left her completely alone. It didn’t matter that she usually cooked for the two of them, she usually cleaned the house, she reminded him when to pay his bills, and recently she had been the one working to support them. None of that had mattered because he was here. He was here to make her laugh and tell her of his latest brilliant idea. He was here to listen to her talk about the books she was reading and tell her stories about her mother. He’d been here for her to love and cherish. And now he was gone.

Worst of all, she hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. She didn’t know exactly who had talked him into leaving like this for God knows where, but there was no way it had been his own idea. He wouldn’t have done this to her. He would have know how much that would hurt her and how little she would really understand. Oh sure, he tried to make it sound like it was all his own idea, but she knew better. He was ‘told’ information, this place was ‘supposed’ to help. All of that said to her that somebody else had shown up here with some ready made plan and made it sound like it was the only way he could help earn money, and that if he didn’t leave right at that moment, he would lose the opportunity forever.

It sounded to her like a scam. One she would have recognized if he had waited long enough to say goodbye to her in person. One she could have maybe stopped.

But now there was nothing she could do. She didn’t have the money to hire a private investigator to track him down, not unless she wanted to lose the house they had been working so hard to save. And maybe a miracle had happened and whoever had spoken to him would make good on their promise. Maybe her father would learn how to live on his own so she wouldn’t have to worry about him when she went away traveling. Maybe with the two of them working, they could overcome the debt in no time at all. Maybe for once, things would work out for her.

She could practically see him sitting next to her on the couch, reaching forward to stroke her cheek. “Cheer up Belle. Maybe it’s hard right now, but things will get better. You’re always saying you believe in me. Don’t forget, I believe in you.” He’d be smiling encouragingly, a sooty smudge on his cheek and a twinkle in his eye. His hands were rough and calloused, unusual for a wizard’s hands, but she’d always liked the feeling. To her, they were hands that had worked with life and knew how to live in it. They weren’t the hands of someone who waved problems away or just signed papers all day. He had always seemed so real to her because of it.  

The words were exactly what he would have said too. He always said that, it didn’t matter what had happened. Her childhood was littered with chances for him to comfort her in the only way he knew how, and although it didn’t seem like much to other people, it had worked for her.

After all, it mattered less that the girl she had tried to talk to that day had simply stared at her in confusion as Belle tried to interest her in the book and expressed disdain for dolls if her father was interested. It mattered less that the neighbors had talked down to her until she had manipulated them into giving her a treat and letting her go home if her father spoke to her seriously. It had mattered less that the neighboring boys had grabbed her bag of books and dumped them in the mud if her father was there to help clean it up. Every time she had failed to connect with someone, he had been there to pick up the pieces and tell her that it would get better.

Of course, he also managed to still believe that somehow she would make friends who could heal childhood’s scars – just like he still mentioned in his letter. Belle herself knew better. She didn’t try to be outright unkind, but she had isolated herself with the one group that did seem to understand, holding herself aloof from her classmates in an attempt to prevent them from ever being able to hurt her again. She’d told herself again and again that she didn’t need friends when she had her books and her family. And if sometimes, late at night, she found herself wishing for even one person who would truly see her and truly understand, well. They said that practice made perfect.

Except these days, it felt like her love of books was slowly being tainted by the dragging knowledge of her tie to the bookstore. And now she didn’t have the support of her family either. For the first time in her life, she was really and truly alone, and she had no one to turn to. Her mother was dead. Her father was gone. She had no friends. And books were a cold comfort when what she wanted was a hug or someone to talk back to what she said. She couldn’t spend all her time talking to pets and trees after all.

Dazed, she looked around the house, hardly noticing the small shiver that ran through her body. It had been a warm day, but somehow the house felt cold. And it felt strange. All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to live on her own, but she’d never wanted to live alone here. That was just wrong. Her father was supposed to be working and clanking out back. There should be smoke and noise billowing up, coloring the air all sorts of different ways. Instead there was only silence. The cold and silence.

Suddenly, Belle wanted her mother with a fierce and desperate ache. This never would have happened if her mother had still been alive. Maman would have take care of Papa and stopped him from overspending so they ended up in debt. Maman would have recognized the scam and stopped him from leaving. Maman would have held the family together the way Belle was trying to, and she would have succeeded a thousand times over. And Belle wanted her back more than anything.

But as she tried to reach for a comforting memory, she realized she couldn’t find one. Heart beginning to pound, Belle dropped the letter, rushing out of the room as it fluttered softly to the table behind her. There had to be pictures right? Pictures would help her remember. Maybe her father had left his journals behind. Maybe she could find an old recipe written in her mother’s handwriting or a forgotten postcard tucked away somewhere. Something. Anything. Anything to stop Belle from feeling like she was losing her mother all over again on the same day she was losing her father. She couldn’t handle knowing that.

The search for memory was a panicked blur that left the house in shambles and Belle collapsed on the floor, tears pressing hard at her eyes. She knew they hadn’t gotten rid of her mother’s things, so why couldn’t she remember where they were? Why couldn’t she find anything at all?

Through the fog, one distant memory managed to reassert herself. The bookshelf. The Count of Monte Cristo had been her mother’s favorite. She had read the book so often her perfume still lingered in the pages, even after all this time. At least once a year, Belle could find her curled up in one of their comfortable chairs, paging through it slowly with a small smile on her face. She had several English translations of the novel, but her favorite had always been the original French. And Belle knew for certain they still had it.

Slowly, she picked herself up off the ground and walked over to the bookshelf, the one place in the house that had escaped the maelstrom of devastation. There it was, third from the right on the shelf second from the top, just where it always was. She pulled the book from the shelf and opened it, immediately noticing the faint hint of rose, violet, and vanilla. There. That was her mother. She wasn’t completely lost. Not just yet.

Ignoring the mess – she would have to clean it up later, of course, but she wasn’t ready for that just yet – Belle walked over to one of the overstuffed armchairs that dotted the living room. Resting her back against one of the arms, she swung her leg over the other and rested the book in her lap. Her father had used to poke fun at the many strange positions he had found her reading in, but this had always been the most comfortable for her. She never could explain why.

Mathilde and Alistair Centure spent their summers the same way they did every other season, at work. Well, her father did, he was always busy being the Supreme Mugwump. Alistair was constantly making decisions and whatever else was a part of being the head of the International Confederation of Wizards. Her mother on the other hand couldn’t be bothered to work. Instead, she spent her time traveling the world and buying the most expensive things she could find. Though Malia wasn’t sure, she was almost positive that most of the time she spent it with different men.

Since she was little most of the time she was only accompanied by nannies or house elves, making sure she was happy and had anything she wanted. Most of the time she was left alone, her only company being the toys her parents would buy for her.

This summer wasn’t much different than the last ones. Rozalie had only stayed with her for a short time before she ran off to who knows where. Malia would make sure she regretted that once school started. Until then though, she would just spend her summertime like she usually does, alone. Well, that is until the egg hatches.

The black egg was close to hatching, it had to be considering she has had it for a few months now. Her room was filled with every dragon book she could get her hands on, so that was all of them. She was confident that she would be able to raise it on her own since she hasn’t ever needed to rely on anyone else ever before in her life.

Midway through the summer though, her parents came home. To say Malia was confused was an understatement, she couldn’t put together why they were home, especially together. She was sitting in her room at her desk doing some online shopping when there was a knock at her door. Opening she looked down at a timid house elf and rolled her eyes.

“Miss… Your parents would like to have dinner with you…” The elf informed her, the girl just groaned.

“M’kay.” Malia replied before turning her back and shutting her door. Great, she thought to herself. Now I have to spend an hour with them. At that time it was only two o-clock, so she figured she would spend the next three hours either shopping or doing egg research.

*5:00*        

“Sweetheart, you look lovely as usual.” Her mother cooed, sounding sweeter than usual.

“Only the best for you,” Malia replied, walking over she kissed her mother on the cheek before moving onto her father who was sitting at the head of the table, as usual. Though it’s never been spoken, the Centures definitely had their own assigned seats. Malia was always the first seat on the left, her mom on the right, and her father at the head of the table. The rest of the table consisted of about twenty other seats, used only during dinner parties.

“Malia, how has your summer been? Have you been busy preparing for your final year?” Alistair asked his daughter. She knew he was only asking out of courtesy as their meal began to be served. The girl nodded her head respectively. “Good, because your mother and I have some news for you.” Malia hardly looked up from her meal, the last time this happened it was just to tell her that some grandparent she had only met once had passed. Whatever it was couldn’t be too important.

“You’re going to be a big sister!” Her mother squealed. Malia choked on her food. It had to of been a mistake, her parents hardly shared a meal together, let alone a bed. The child must have been some bastard kid with a different father. “I’m due in February, isn’t this exciting!” Mathilde smiled, laying her left hand across her stomach. Looking over at her father the girl wasn’t surprised with what she saw. The dull expression in his eyes was something she had gotten used to seeing, and as the man continued to eat his meal she knew that he also believed inevitable truth.

Addie, I’m sorry I left without saying anything. A friend called, and I really need to be there for her. I've talked about Kat, so you know who I’m with, and that I’m perfectly safe. I promise everything is okay, but I think I need to stay with her for a little bit until things are sorted out.

I left presents for you and Clara underneath the tree, so feel free to open those tomorrow morning. I’m definitely going to ask that you record reactions, though, because I have a couple of fun ones that might make you laugh.

Spend some time together, okay? You both work so hard—you deserve a break. I love you both, with all my heart. Merry Christmas.

Love, Cora

Cora, I hope this finds you soon, love! We were worried sick until we found the letter. Well, Clara found your letter, to clarify. She’s sitting beside me as I write this, and she was bound and determined to ensure I included that detail.

Anyways, we hope your friend is alright! I won’t pry, because it really is her own business, but we’re here if the lovely Kat needs anything at all. Please extend our help, alright? And even if she would rather not accept it, I’m very glad to hear that she has a friend like you.

If you can, stop by before you leave for school. You never opened your presents from the two of us, and there are certainly some things you would adore. We both love you, and while Clara is insisting that she loves you more, I insist otherwise. Please take care of yourself.

With all of the love in the world, Addie and Clara

Addie/Clara, I know I didn’t end up coming home, and I’m sorry for that, but things were almost disastrous over here. Everything is calm again, and she is safe, but I had to be back in time for school to start up again. 

I’ll see you in a couple of months, though! Please take care of yourselves, and keep warm. This winter is apparently deciding to be colder than predictions made it out to be. 

Love, Cora P.S, Clara, don’t let Addie overwork herself. She did that last January, and I’m pretty sure she went five days without sleeping. I’ve never seen someone consume that much coffee.

Cora, We figured as much. I’m glad everything worked out, love. Be sure to keep in touch though, if you can. I know you don’t need someone to worry over you, but I do think I might sleep better at night knowing that you haven’t been kidnapped. I hear hot chocolate helps combat the winter, though. At least, that’s how we’re surviving over here.

We’ll see you for graduation, Cora! Best of luck finishing the year!

All of our love,

Addie &  Clara, P.S, You have no proof of this occurrence, therefore it didn’t happen.

Addison, Unfortunately, graduation was moved from next week to tomorrow, on an apparent last second whim. I doubt you’ll get this in time, and I’m incredibly sorry for that. I promise you, it won’t be anything exciting. Who even likes boring ceremonies? We’ll do something fun when I’m back in town, I promise.

Please take care of yourselves, and stay safe.

Love, Cora

Cora, First of all, please stop calling me Addison. You aren’t my mother, for heaven’s sake.

I’m sad that we missed your graduation, though! We’re both so sorry, love! I wish they might have seen the sense in putting out a letter, or some sort of bulletin to explain the date change. That’s very upsetting. Also, Clara claims that you are wrong. According to her, Catholics enjoy boring ceremonies. The two of us would know, and unfortunately, she seems to be right.

We’re both incredibly proud of you, love! Please let us know when you plan on coming back home, alright? I don’t know if you’ve already made plans with friends, but I do hope you plan to come see us soon. We’ll make a lovely day of it when you do.

Congratulations to our badass graduate, Addie and Clara

Cora, Dear, we haven’t heard from you since before your graduation? Letters can always get lost in the post, but we wanted to check in, regardless.

We love you very much, and we hope that your summer has started out alright. Your family, Addie & Clara

Addie and Clara, I am so sorry, oh wow. I’ve been incredibly busy, sorry. That’s probably surprising, but I’ve actually been staying with a friend for a bit. Kat will be going away soon, so we’re determined to spend as much time together as we can. 

I promise I’ll be home soon, though! Just keep keepin’ on without me, ladies. Please stay safe.

The dim bar and its grungy interior was a fairly accurate representation of Kuzco’s mood. One hand held a bottle of Firewhiskey, in the other he was clutching a stained, wrinkled paper. He was staring at it absentmindedly, but he didn’t need to read or process the words written on the page in large, loopy script because he had read it so many times it was burned into his brain.

Baking a cake shouldn’t have been difficult, but it really was.

There were approximately nine hundred steps to follow, accompanied with precise measurements of things Timon couldn’t recall ever hearing about. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for not having previously learned the difference between baking powder and baking soda. It wasn’t as if he had ever used the oven before, and after the twelve day process unfolding before him now, he doubted he would ever feel the urge to use it again.

On any other day, he surely would have thrown in the towel and retreated to his bedroom. But just this once, he figured patience might just be worth it. After all, it wasn’t every day he had the chance to make his own birthday cake.

Squinting at the list of poorly scrawled baking instructions, he wondered for what must have been the tenth time if he had followed them in any correct capacity. The cake in question, now sitting in the oven, had yet to explode or turn any number of odd colors, so he figured any mistakes couldn’t have been that disastrous.

The kitchen, on the other hand, had taken a turn for the worse. Glancing around, from the countertops coated in flour to the two eggs he had dropped on the tile, Timon cringed. It could have been neater, in the grand scheme of things. Then again, a small part of him was inclined not to care about that as much as he likely should have.

The day had come and gone, dinner and all, and it hadn’t been any different from the days prior. Just like every other day, he had been tossed occasional sneers, or he had caught his cousins rolling their eyes and biting back laughter, as if the only purpose he ever served was for them to point and laugh at. And just like every other day, no one had wished him a happy birthday.

Really, he didn’t mind. Except that he did, tremendously. Underneath the pronounced attempt to cover it up, that stung more than it had any right to. Growing up in a house with three families had taught him a lot, but more than anything, he had learned not to stir up a riot over individual accomplishments. There had to be time for everyone, not just Timon. Even if Anthony had spent the whole of last week earning pats on the head for the same grades that Timon had seen on his own report card. Even if Samantha and Gracie had spent the other day listening to continuous praise for a dance routine they had yet to perform at a recital. Even if Nate had talked through the entirely of his birthday dinner, voice as obnoxious as ever, about whatever ridiculous thing he and his friends had been up to the day before.

Because even if they had found ways to stretch their arms high enough to be noticed, he only ever felt eyes on him when he had done something wrong.

Part of him wanted to believe that it wasn’t his family’s fault, but another was, admittedly, hurt. It would have been nice, somewhere along the line, for at least one of them to have smiled at him. Asking for a card would have been far too much, but a smile? That, he thought, should have been more manageable.

The timer sounded, some sort of soft bell sound, and Timon exhaled slowly to clear his head. With the benefit of cake, even made poorly by his own hand, he could certainly find a way to move past what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t happened.

So he bent to open the door, belatedly remembering the heat and reaching for an oven mitt as well. And when he pulled the cake from the oven to closely inspect it, his face broke out into a lopsided smile. At least from where he stood, it didn’t look half bad. It wasn’t purple, so he figured that could be counted as a win. On the verge of laughing in relief, he turned quickly to find a space to set it down, and promptly slipped.

Feet flying out from underneath him, Timon barely had a second to react before he his back hit the ground. For a moment, everything shifted out of focus, breath catching in his lungs, and then he groaned. Somewhere to his left, he was aware of glass shattering, too close to his ear for comfort.

Oh, the cake.

As he struggled to focus, vision slowly regaining clarity, he forced himself to sit up. Besides the ache in his back, sharp and enough to make him wince, everything still seemed to be intact. Distantly, he was grateful that he hadn’t hit his head. Then again, with the way that the rest of the day had gone, it wouldn’t have come as much of a surprise.

The sound of sudden, loud footsteps reached his ears, then, and oh. Uncle Max. It wasn’t the first time he had listened to the sound of angry stomping in their house, and he would bet everything he would ever own that it wouldn’t be the last time.

Not a second later, the kitchen door flew open, doorknob hitting the wall with enough force to make Timon jolt. Silently, he hated himself a little bit for that.

Uncle Max stood in the doorway, short but stalky in his build, with lips pressed in a thin line and eyes narrowed to a point. Great.

“Timon,” his voice was clipped, dangerous as ever, as he tried to assess the situation. Timon watched his eyes dart from his form to the countertops, then to the left, where the glass pan must have broken. “What. Do you think. You are you doing?”

Swallowing, Timon tried and failed to smile apologetically. Instead, he managed a weak sort of whimper, sitting up a little further. “I’m – ah – yeah, I’m…I’m sorry. I was just—”

“Making a mess. That’s what you’ve done. Timon.” He stepped forward, and for a moment, Timon thought he might start shouting. Or do something more. A beat, and then he seemed to think better of it, settling for a heavy sigh. Looking something close to disgusted, he shook his head.

“Clean up. I’m too tired for this.”

Timon held his breath, but nodded quickly. That must have been enough to satisfy his uncle, or something akin to that, because he offered a single nod of his own, and spun on his heel. He pulled the door shut behind him, and this time, Timon forced himself not to physically react to the sound. There was a small victory in succeeding in that.

Uncle Max’s footsteps led away from the kitchen, and when they finally couldn’t be heard any longer, they still echoed faintly in the back of his head. In some mix of forced humor and defeat, he thought that maybe, if his birthday had been written a soundtrack, that sound would have repeated on every track.

Finally releasing the breath he had been holding in, Timon lifted a hand to drag it down his face. Just a moment ago, he had been grinning. Now, he wasn’t sure he felt anything more than tired.

Resigned, he stood and fetched a wet rag. The kitchen was a mess, but he wouldn’t head back to his room until it was spotless. That way, Uncle Max wouldn’t have anything to shout at him for in the morning. Well—nothing yet.

He scrubbed at counters and at bowls, then the floor. It wasn’t relaxing, but it wasn’t stressful. It was just…something. Nothing. And as he finally dumped the crumbled cake and shards of glass into a trash bag, he felt oddly numb.

Only when he heard someone open the door did he stop cleaning, gaze lifting to find his new company. When he caught sight of his mother, still dressed in a pantsuit from her day at the law firm, a soft sigh pushed from his lungs. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

Instead, he dropped the rag onto the floor beside him, sitting back on his heels. Then he lifted a hand to wave, just a small gesture. “Hey ma’. How…how was work?”

Wide brown eyes stared at him for a long pause, and Timon tilted his head at his mother. Her briefcase hung on her right forearm, as it always did, but there was a small bag in her hand, as well. He might have asked after it, but in the next moment, she set it down, atop the counter he had cleaned. Twice now. Or was it three times?

“Oh, honey.” Her voice was soft—abnormally quiet for someone who was never anything less than loud. Shaking her head, she dropped down to kneel beside him. “What are you doing on the kitchen floor?”

Timon opened his mouth, but decided against the full story. Instead he shrugged, one shoulder lifting in a half-hearted movement. “I tried to make a cake. I dropped it. Guess I’ve got your talents in the kitchen, huh?”

It was an attempt at a joke, weak as it was, but she didn’t laugh. No, his mom looked sad. Another beat, and she leaned forward, two strong arms sweeping him up into a tight hug.

Almost immediately, Timon felt something break inside of him, like a damn. Suddenly, he could feel. With a shaky breath, he shut his eyes and clutched tightly at her, face buried against her shoulder. The day been full of so little, but right then, it felt like it had been too much.

“Timon, timon. My baby.” He had only seen his mother cry twice, but right then, she sounded like it might have been the third. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m so sorry, honey. I wish I could have taken work off, but – oh, the case. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Timon.”

His eyes stung, so in turn he held her tighter. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he sniffed, and told himself that, despite the day, he was okay. “Its fine, ma’. I know. You just – just, keep saving people, okay? My day was okay.”

It was lie, and she probably knew it, but when she pulled back, there was a small smile on her face. It was fond and warm and everything that the day hadn’t held, so he offered one of his own, crooked and tired.

“I’m still sorry, honey.” She reached out to ruffle his hair, and he leaned into the slight pressure of her hand. “We’ll do something fun to make up for it, okay?”

He nodded, smiling a little more easily. “Sure, ma’. Any time I get with you is fun.”

The smile he got for that was almost sad, but her eyes lit up an instant later. “Oh! I almost forgot—I brought you something.”

Timon watched on, curious as she stood and retrieved the bag she had set down earlier. From inside of it, she pulled a clear plastic box, with two chocolate cupcakes sitting inside.

Oh.

“Since I can’t cook, and apparently,” she knelt down again, reaching out to tap the tip of his nose with her free hand. “—you can’t either, I got us cupcakes.” She hesitated, and after a beat, held the box out to him. “Is this alright, honey?”

When tears threatened his eyes again, Timon decided to forgo speaking in favor of nodding. His mom hadn’t forgot, and somehow, that meant more than it would have if the whole world had remembered.

So he reached out to take one of the cupcakes from the box, and smiled when she took the other for herself. With a lopsided smile, he looked up at her and laughed, relieved and happy. “Thanks, ma’.”

She echoed his laugh, far quieter than it usually sounded. “Happy birthday, Timon.”

Nathan’s sheltered life was summed up in one word: Bland. Though he always knew of an outside world, though he got to experience it while at school, the summer was absolutely dreadful for the young boy with an adventurous spirit. He often spent them indoors, playing with his collection of Magic the Gathering cards and watching James Bond movies with his brother. His family, while purebloods, often went to London regularly in search of better treatments and ideas for Nathan. But, since second year, it was increasingly apparent that Nathan’s case was not only uncommon considering what they assumed was due to his magic, but also it was extremely difficult to treat due to the fact he didn’t just have hemophillia. He had severe hemophillia A, a type that often resisted treatment. 

For years they went to healers at St. Mungos, trying various magical healing methods, but few worked and when they did, he typically began gushing blood again when the spell wore off as it was something that needed to be constantly maintained. Before Nathan had gone to Hogwarts though, the doctors and his family decided perhaps it was time to explore muggle medicine further. He had had many visits to muggle doctors when they first learned what was wrong with him, but they opted for magic treatment assuming that it would be best in the long run. After all, if something strange did happen a wizard healer would more fully understand over a muggle doctor who had no idea that wizards existed. By the end of the summer before Hogwarts though, Nathan was regularly going to muggle doctors for clotting factor replacement therapy and soon he was learning to administer it himself at home. The treatment did help, it had nearly stopped all the random bleeding attacks Nathan so regularly got., but it wasn’t a fix all, if he did get hurt he almost had to immediately find his way to his treatment and it was recommended that he stay away from sports until a better treatment was tested for him.

Nathan of course felt all of his dreams crush around him, of course he had learned to enjoy a few indoor activities, he had only ever dreamed of being able to play quidditch, or soccer, or even a simple game of tag like a few other kids he knew. Instead, Nathan was kept inside. Entertained by educational games his mother bought him (Nathan was actually surprisingly good with numbers), James Bond movies his brother watched, Magic the Gathering Cards most recently, and occasionally art. But Nathan dreamed of a more exciting life, to experience more adrenaline and to live like he was living. Not like he was constantly going to die the way his brother often believed he was. That was why, when Nathan returned home, the shift in the home’s dynamic was so important. After years of constant attention, tight reigns, and little freedom during the summer. All eyes were on his brother and not him. Sure, they still expected Nathan to follow the same rules, but not the same care and consideration and obsessive thought went into every action Nathan made. For the first time, Nathan was allowed to Hogsmeade without supervision and he was THRILLED. Nearly a fifth year, he finally felt like the adult he knew he was supposed to be now. 

When Nathan came down for breakfast that morning though he had had a plan. Walking through Hogsmeade the day before simply to just escape the house, the boy had passed a group of kids who were around his age if not older. All who he recognized from Hogwarts... Then again, some were not ones he had seen awhile, clearly choosing to drop out over continuing their education. They looked like they were having fun, talking laughing. There was companionship, something Nathan so desperately craved. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends, he just didn’t have close friends. He was cool though, and by being cool he was confident he would be able to become friends with these kids if he tried.

“Mum?” Nathan said walking up to his mom who was talking to his brother at the time. It was perfect, interrupt her by distracting her, that was how you got away with things in this house. 

“One moment, Nathan, I need to finish talking to your brother...” She trailed off looking at him concerned. Concern. Perfect. Martin was being helicoptered and not him. 

“I just wanted to ask if i could go to Hogsmeade again today, I’ll be careful...” He paused, she seemed distracted enough. “And-I-probably-won’t-be-home-for-dinner.” He added saying it as all one word really fast trying to hide this. 

His mother paused a moment, as if she was considering something. “Who are you hanging out with?”

“Friends.” Nathan said with a lie.

“What friends exactly?” She asked. 

“Oh you know, just some from school Stephanie, Lola, Emily, and Tom.” He knew no one by those names and as he looked to Martin it was clear that even he was suspicious by his lie, he needed to talk faster. He couldn’t let Martin reveal the truth that he was lying. “You remember them from my stories don’t you? Or do you just pretend to listen to them?” Nathan felt a little guilty ploying this guilt trip but he needed out fast.

“Of course I listen darling, I remember them.” She paused giving him a kind smile. “Alright, Nathan, Martin and I have a busy day ahead as it is so this is probably for the best. Have fun with your friends alright?” She smiled kindly at him, finally starting the conversation with his brother again and Nathan ran out the door, completely leaving his medication, any water, or sunscreen behind. This is what it was like to live on the edge. It THRILLED Nathan.

Walking into Hogsmeade he saw the group being shooed away from the steps of the bookstore. Sure, they mostly just sat around town, but Nathan probably didn’t see all they did. They probably went on adventures! Ate sweets together! Knew each others flaws and made fun of them for it! Had fake duels! Flew to London together! Nathan watched on imagining all the things the group did together when he noticed one of them was staring back, and, to put it simply, he looked pissed. 

Quickly, Nathan looked away staring at the ground. Shoot shoot shoot. He had ruined it. This new group of friends he yet to make were going to hate him before they even met him.

“Who the hell are you?” One asked approaching Nathan, he was big, over six feet tall and wide his arms crossed over his chest. “You staring at us for a reason.”

“I uh, no, I was just... Watching.” He said softly, he was aware that sounded creepy but the boy scared him. What else was he supposed to say.

“Watching what? There’s nothing to watch over their kid, unless you want to get into some trouble. You see shit and we will have to hurt you to be sure you unsee it.” 

Nathan thought his statement sounded a little funny. To unsee it? That’s not how that worked. “You can’t do that.” He said simply, a little less afraid of the boy despite what seemed like an idle threat. 

“I can’t?” He shoved the boy back into a wall, Nathan could feel the bruise growing. This wasn’t good, his Hogsmeade trip would have to be cut short but... He wanted to know what they did.

“You guys are all friends right?” He said wincing a bit, trying to not get punched again. “What do you guys do? I see you around town... Sometimes near that pretty art piece someone did with spray paint on the side of that building- Wait, did you guys do that? Great work! I spray painted a car, before, I mean, I know that’s super cool.” He smiled running his hand through his hair. “Do you guys do other things together?” His curiosity getting the best of him. He wasn’t afraid of them.

The boy looked at him strangely up and down. His face turning from anger to amazement to disgust as he shook his head. “Go the fuck home kid.” He said, rolling his eyes and walking back to the group. 

“Wait!” Nathan said, running after him. “Wait! I just, I was hoping we could be friends you know. You guys seem like a fun group.”

The boy stood there, a smile growing on his face as he looked the boy up and down. Suddenly he laughed, a rough, hardy chuckle. “You have got to be kidding me? You?” He shook his head. “Listen, you don’t want to be our friends. We’re trouble. You’re too... Good.”

Nathan frowned. “No I’m not! I’m cool. I’m trouble.” He said trying to stand up for himself.

“Good try kid, go the fuck home.” With that, the boy turned returning to his friends that were all watching them. He watched the boy talk and they errupted with laughter, Nathan couldn’t help but feel ashamed. He was going to join them and their spray-painting-laughing-sweets-eating group if it was the last thing he did.

Binky had been sitting in the kitchen, waiting for Duke to finish breakfast when all of a sudden he felt a tug on the back of his shirt, pulling him out of his chair. He stopped the connection to his brother, he didn’t want him to go through whatever he was about to be put through. Mother loved to try and push them to their limits and see just how far she could go before they broke. Sometimes she would keep going just to see what would happen. 

Soon he found himself in the downstairs laboratory. Really it was just a basement that had a bunch of sciency stuff in it. The upstairs of their house had been made into the same thing. She’d made two just to work on both the boys at the same time. Usually the downstairs lab was just for Binky, and the upstairs was for Duke. But on the occasion that she works on both of them simultaneously, she put them both upstairs because it was bigger.  Although both of them was just as terrible. 

Binky knew it was better not to resist the restraints that she put on him, seeing as he hadn’t found a way to escape them yet in all of these years. “Sweety, thank you for being such a good boy.” She signed and then patted his face. He spit at her, even though he knew it would only make her angry. But he refused to allow her to believe that he actually enjoyed this, or worse, that he actually liked her somehow. “This is all for your own good, so you better behave now.” She told him with a sickly sweet grin, right before she hit him in the head with her clipboard. 

He was actually quite surprised that she learned sign language. Although she had tried for years to restore his hearing, but nothing had worked. She had just done a simple learning spell on herself to help her but still. It could almost be seen as a nice gesture, if she didn’t try to hold it above Binky’s head to make it seem like she actually cared about him. All the time, even know she tried to make him do stuff for her ‘in return’ for her learning sign language ‘for him’. It never worked though. 

“Now Binks,” She started but was quickly interrupted. 

“I never said you could call me that.” He said almost a growl. But she just looked at him from the corner of her eye before returning to looking at her clipboard. The comment didn’t matter to her and he knew that she would continue to call him whatever she wanted. 

“Now Binks, how’s school?” She asked even though he knew she didn’t really care. It was all just part of her “control questions” that she asked every single time. 

“It’s fine.” He told her, even though it wasn’t fine. Many of his teachers had told him that if he didn’t do better than he wouldn’t be able to graduate. But his grades didn’t matter to him all that much since he was never even sure if he’d be able to go back to school the next year. Whether his mother would just force him to stay home so she could do experiments, or she would finally just go to far. 

“Oh really? So then you’re getting good grades, participating-” But Binky cut her off before she could continue. He knew all of her questions and just wanted to get through them. 

“Please don’t make small talk with me. It doesn’t make it any better.” She just looked down at him and wrote something down before she continued with her questions.

“Alright then Binks, have you maintained synchrony with Marmaduke?” She asked and awaited his response even though he already knew the answer. She was always watching them, watching their every move. She would video tape them while they slept so she knew all their sleep patterns and if they tried to leave the house while she was asleep. She knew everything so he always found these questions pointless. 

“Yes but you already know that.” He said leaning forward a little bit before plopping back down. Binky hated being restrained, he just wanted to get it all done and over with already. 

“Have you been dieting and exercising like you’re supposed to?” 

“Of course.” He said rolling his eyes. Neither was true, seeing as he doesn’t exercise and doesn’t diet. He eats whatever he gets his hands on. Mainly because he refuses to eat anything she gives him, and he doesn’t have money to provide food for himself. So during the summer he mainly just goes hungry except when his brother makes the food, or if his friends offer him some. 

“If you keep lying to me there will be severe consequences.” She warned him, he went to open his mouth to respond but she cut him off. “It doesn’t matter anyway,  I’m upgrading you and your brothers tolerance to pain. But it’s going to be in a way that doesn’t exactly involve science.”  He didn’t know what she meant until she started. “Crucio!” She said, tapping her wand to his forehead. He coiled in, but the restraints stopped him from moving very far. He knew that he had to warn Duke, but it would have to wait until he wasn’t in pain anymore, which might be a while. “This is hurting me much more than it’s you sweaty. But don’t worry, Mommy will make the pain go away soon.” She cooed almost affectionately. 

“You’re not my mommy.” Binky said with the last bit of strength he had.