The press is now outside of the gates to the Parkinson estate. I was spotted in the ministry of magic when I went to meet Blaise. His charges are in The Daily Prophet. People know that he has been offered a deal but the public doesn't know about the charges he has avoided. People know that he unlawfully held me, that he erased my memories, and that he concealed me. While they don't know about the torture, there is panic in the press. If a bad actor wanted to try, they might be successful in taking every memory of magic from young muggle-borns. I don't know why people seem to care that much. Obliviation exists. If any witch or wizard really wanted to hurt you, they could do it in an easier way.

I think what scares people is that it is unclear why Blaise did such a thing. The press is trying to figure out why, any which way that they can.

"What wizards have seen you and Draco together?" Pansy asks in my doorway again, on Tuesday.

She has cleaned up quite a bit since we first met. Her black hair is a sleek bob, her skin clear and her make-up precise. The natural order of her world appears to be mostly there. However, my presence in her house is surely causing her to cake on more make-up under her eyes. The bags are barely hidden.

I laugh, "why do you care? If you don't know about the threat, you don't have to stop it from hurting me. That's the nature of the vow."

"It would be easier to prepare for when they do become known to me," Pansy blows a stray hair out of her face.

"I think you're being proactive because you like me," I shrug.

I find myself closing a book I've been looking at on tracking magic. It's not all that complex, provided someone is cloaking themselves from being tracked. Draco is most certainly cloaking himself. Rather than dwell on that, I engage with Pansy.

"You know, without harming you, I can make your life much more miserable," Pansy says. "The vow did not mention psychological harm."

"Talking to you is enough psychological harm," I say, and mean half of it. Pansy Parkinson is easily hateable, but she is also likable. I like to hate her, and I hate to like her.

"Who knows about you too?" she persists.

"I told you, those weeks were off limits," I say. "I don't have to tell you about anything between my arrival in Hogsmeade and my arrival in Derry."

"Okay, outside of then," she says.

I sigh, putting down my copy of The Daily Prophet, "Terrence Boot, but he isn't going to say anything. I suspect Anthony Goldstein knows, but I have no proof. Seamus might know too, if he's clever enough to put together the story based upon the questions that Terry asked him."

"Finnigan is not clever," Pansy says, then pauses. "Goldstein is smart though. He might be a threat."

"I doubt Anthony Goldstein wishes me harm. Besides him and Terry, the only other people who found out aren't going to be an issue," I say.

"Well, I know Aberforth Dumbledore knows," Pansy shrugs, smirking. "I read the papers too. He said he saw Draco and some witch back in Hogsmeade in early November. If I wanted to know, I could probably search his head to find out if he saw anyone else meet up with you and Draco."

I scowl at her, and she laughs. It's much less of a cackle than her laugh has been the other times that she catches me in a trap. Instead, it's almost genuine.

"Please, I don't care enough about you to get caught tampering with the memories of Aberforth Dumbledore," she shakes her head. "People will start to think that I'm Blaise's accomplice, and then I'm going to have put in a lot of work to avoid Azkaban. If I'm going to Azkaban, I'd rather it be because of a crime I actually did commit."

"Yeah, whatever," I shake my head. I only rarely can stand Pansy Parkinson, and the feeling earlier is beginning to wane.

That night, I cannot handle the idea that people are waiting outside to catch a photograph of me. The rumours in the paper are getting worse. Some anonymous source claims to have caught Pansy Parkinson and me half-dressed in the library's forbidden section at Hogwarts. Apparently, when the anonymous source refused to join in on our fun, I threatened to obliviate her of the memory. It's got to be fucking Mandy Brocklehurst.

Regardless, the letters are seeming to get worse. Pansy is threatening to put bars on the windows to prevent owls from getting in. I cannot imagine how anyone, for even half a second, believes this nonsense. The newest rumour is that I never lost my memory at all and that all of this is a ruse, but only one tabloid publishes that. It's a paper called The Crack of Dawn Chronicle, which is an openly blood supremacist rag. Not even Witch Weekly is willing to claim that I have managed to infiltrate the aurors and St. Mungo's in order to cover up my nebulous lesbian crimes against real wizards and witches.

Thursday morning, I cannot take it. I need out of this place. So, I go to the only place that makes any sense to me as a place to hide. I use Pansy's floo network to get to the Leaky Cauldron. I manage to sneak out with minimal stares. From there, I hit up the wizarding bank. As it happens, I have a decent amount squirreled away. I convert some of it to muggle currency and then I grab a taxi to King's Cross. It's incredibly stupid of me. Soon enough though, I've managed to purchase a train and I'm sitting on a train.

I'm in Inverness by nightfall. I realize I look a bit strange in the cloak that Pansy provided for me. Overall, I look pretty ridiculous walking the muggle streets of Inverness. It's snowing up here. There is a river though. There is water. There is a whole world outside.

I get to my flat and buzz in.

"Hello?" Niamh doesn't sound pleased, so I suppose that little has changed.

"It's Jane," I say through the speaker.

The front door buzzes. I cross the lobby and get into the lift. Everything here is the same, even if I'm different.

I knock on the flat door, and the handle turns. On the other side of the door, Amanda and Ali are both in the doorway. They stare at me, both bug-eyed.

"Hello," I offer, peering at their faces.

They haven't changed all that much. Their haircuts are the same length, their faces full of the same joy. If I hadn't felt so much time pass, I might think I had turned around and left Draco, just to come back into the flat.

"Holy shit, look what the cat dragged in," Ali says. She wraps her arm around my neck, practically dragging me into the flat.

Amanda shuts the door behind us.

The flat hasn't changed either. Ali's boombox is playing music. There are photos of the three of us on the bookshelf still, but there are also a few new ones with Niamh in them. She's on the sofa, and she doesn't look all that pleased.

"What are you fucking doing back here, man?" Ali laughs. "Done your sexscapedes around Europe with that rich guy and now you've come back?"

"Draco's some celebrity," Niamh says. "We've gotten three different tabloid reporters this week asking about what it was like living with you. Weirdos."

Amanda stands in shock, still not saying anything. I guess I haven't said a word either, but what could I say that is even half a competent idea?

"Yeah, he's an heir to the fortune of some oil company in Scandinavia," I say, shrugging. None of them care enough about economics or oil to ask for more information.

"No shit! He still pays for your room in the flat," Ali laughs. "Rich asshole. I cannot believe you're fucking a rich asshole."

"Fucked, I'm assuming," Niamh says, swallowing the bad taste the idea leaves in her mouth.

"Fucking," I say, then I swallow. "Did they come here asking about Draco?"

"Nah, just you," Ali says. "We just figured he's the reason you're famous all of a sudden. We haven't found any news online about you though."

"Scandanaian gossip rags," I clarify.

"So wild!"

I nod my head, feeling my stomach growing more and more ill. It isn't the time to ask questions, but I need to know if my flatmates revealed my connection to Draco to the papers. Ali even met Blaise. She tried to sleep with him. This place was supposed to be warded to protect them, but the protection was supposed to be from dark magic and not nosy reporters.

Still, even if they haven't revealed Draco, the tabloids certainly know that I left Inverness way earlier than I said that I did. There will be several weeks missing from my timeline. Someone is going to notice.

"You look good, Jane," Amanda finally says.

I dip out of Ali's arms to hug her. I can feel her exhale against me. Then, I take the opportunity to hug Ali. Even Niamh begrudgingly offers me her arms.

"How's Graham?" I ask, looking around at them.

"He's great," Ali says, and then she spins her head. "He's seeing some new chick from the botanical gardens. She's not as cool as you, but they seem to get on well. We should invite him over! We could throw an impromptu party to celebrate your return. If you need, Jane, you can borrow something from my wardrobe. I could do your hair!"

"I could use a quiet night," I tell them. "I'm... I don't think I'm going to stay in town long. Draco and I are hoping to get out of the country. Escape the tabloids, and all that."

"Oh, come on," Ali says, shoving me playfully. "Well, let's debrief, then. It's your turn to get drinks anyway."

She plops down on the couch, and I head into the kitchen. Niamh joins Ali, and Amanda follows after me. It's nice to have her help, since without magic, I only have two hands to carry in the drinks. I make the drinks for Ali, Niamh, and myself, and Amanda handles her own. The silence is actually comforting.

"You do look good," Amanda says, using the bottle opener on her beer. She takes a sip of it. "Really. You look like... more like you, I guess."

"Thanks," I smile.

She smirks, "remember when we met in the islands?"

"Don't remind me of the smell," I joke, pouring the last of the coke into Ali's glass.

"You hated vaccinating fish," Amanda chuckles. "You hated it. We only got through it by getting wasted every night."

"Yeah," I agree. At the time, I was getting wasted after I thought I was thrown down the stairs. In reality, I was tortured extensively, and had lost so much of me. It's enough to make anyone drink.

"You looked like you drank too much then," Amanda jokes. "I meant it, Jane. You look great. I mean, it's no secret that Ali and I didn't really like Draco, but I think he's been good for you."

"Would you two get over here?" Ali asks. "I need a drink and I need to gossip."

Amanda smiles but rolls her eyes, heading on over. Niamh only shrugs.

"Yeah," I finally say, responding to Amanda and not Ali. "Me too."

~~~~~ 

I am in despair! We are far too close to the end (or the end of the end. The beginning has yet to come). I've missed these ladies. Who are you most excited to catch-up with?