"Friction"

Upon returning to the castle, everything seemed to pick up. While she wasn't the centre of attention in the slightest, Circi felt the world rushing around her. The noise, the movement, it all descended on her the moment she stepped into the warm hallways. Students were rushing around in groups, whispering to themselves in the loudest way possible. Their whispers all said the same thing: Katie Bell had been cursed.

Looking up at Mica, Circi's eyebrows knitted together. The blonde's face had dropped significantly and she was looking around, lips parted, as though she was five again and had lost sight of her parents in a crowded space. Her eyes were desperate and she propelled herself into the sea of students, grabbing at a fifth year and demanding details.

What information she did get was not enough to satisfy her. She was walking faster than Circi could keep up with and didn't falter until her friend tugged at her sleeve.

"I need to find Katie," she was bouncing on the balls of her feet and her fingers fidgeted at her side. There was nothing more that she wanted than to turn around and run the rest of the distance to the infirmary. But Circi was holding her by the bicep, rubbing her thumb over her coat subconsciously.

"Who is she?"

"She's on the team, I have to make sure she's okay." Mica pulled out of her touch and sped away. She left Circi in her wake, with more questions than answers.

After a brief moment to think, she glanced around before spinning on her heel and heading back to the Slytherin common room. She was certain that the answers she couldn't get from Mica could be extracted from Leslie well enough.

It wasn't until late in the evening, about seven o'clock, did Circi finally catch Leslie alone.

She discovered very quickly that his study date was with Francis, whose name she had to correct herself multiple times. The girl still made her uncomfortable three years after meeting so she left them to their studies without interruption. For the most part of the day she sat alone in the herbology section of the library, studying for the upcoming exams to the best of her ability. There were whispers throughout the library, though, about Katie Bell that even Madam Pince couldn't silence.

As soon as Circi caught Leslie passing through the common room after dinner, she had a rough idea what the whispers were saying. More specifically, what Harry Potter was saying.

Harry never willingly spread rumours, he was usually the focus of them, but this time Circi couldn't help feeling as though it was personal. He was saying Draco had cursed Katie Bell, that he would give her such an object that could kill her- that nearly killed her. Leslie confirmed it almost immediately. Circi grabbed his arm on passing and pulled him to the side.

"Is it true? What people are saying about Draco?" Leslie hesitated, taking his arm out of her grip and decisively nodding.

"Yeah, Potter's pretty adamant about it. He told McGonagall and Snape."

"How do you know?" Smirking, Leslie taps his nose.

"A wizard never tells his secrets." She rolls her eyes but soon descends into a thoughtful silence. Leslie pats her shoulder, mumbles 'goodnight' and leaves her to her thoughts.

She took a seat on one of the couches by the lit fireplace and curled her legs under herself, leaning on her hand and unwillingly dozing off. To dream was an ambitious notion and, as she floated in the abyss of her consciousness, time passed by slowly. And when she opened her eyes, what felt like half an hour had really been two and a half.

Draco was sitting on the other end of the couch, watching her. Noticing she was awake, he looked away, watching the last few students go to bed. As prefect, he could remain downstairs as long as he liked.

"Morning," he teased half heartedly as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, "why aren't you in bed?"

Shrugging, she yawns and slumps down on the couch, tucking her chin into the collar of her jumper.

"I needed to ask you something." He nodded, looking at the ground patiently. Clearing her throat, she shuffles closer to him in order to whisper. "Will you look me in the eyes and say you didn't curse Katie Bell?"

It was evident her question was expected, but nonetheless he was surprised at her delivery. Staring at the ground, he shook his head.

"I didn't curse her," Circi sighed audibly at this and wiggled her toes on the edge of his vision, "I didn't mean to!" He looked up to meet her eyes now. "It wasn't meant for her... I- I had to do it, Circ, please don't make me tell you anymore."

He was in pain, and while he didn't want to talk to her about it, she felt obliged to know. Holding out her hand, she points to the long sleeves of his jumper.

"I'm so sorry. It was selfish of me to leave." Wrapping one arm around her. He dips his head into her shoulder.

"No, it was brave. I'm the selfish one for being angry at you."

"Yeah," she nods her head, sitting back. "I suppose you are." Silence. "What do they want you to do?" He seemed to curl in on himself more and shook his head. "I have to help." His face dropped, becoming almost irritable.

"Not again," he sighed and shook his head, "no, Circ."

"But-"

"I said no, go to bed before I take house points from you."

She stood up, taking a deep breath and offering her help to him once more. But he wasn't listening, only waiting for her to leave.

Christian entered The Leaky Cauldron Inn, hellbent on completing his resignation form over a glass of fire whiskey while he floated on thoughts of missed opportunities with his children.

While he waited by the dimly lit bar for his glass to fill, his eyes fell on a beautiful brunette sitting alone in a booth. Her dark skin stood out against the beige cushions of the booth and a line of froth gifted her upper lip with a faux mustache. She was foreign. It wasn't her standoffish clothes or the unusual thickness of her wand that told him this, but her accent was undeniably foreign. What was it? French? Canadian? Some other country he had yet to visit?

He sat listening to her call across the bar and a familiar, lively presence rush past him. It was unlike any he had ever felt before- well, aside from one person. But- no- it couldn't be.

He looked away from the mysterious foreigner and watched a blonde woman rush by cradling two goblets of butterbeer. A second round or perhaps a third? Either way, the sweet smell that usually accompanied butterbeer was replaced by the sharp twang of straight vodka, a muggle beverage that never failed to rile up a witch or wizard when the quidditch commentary was playing over the radio.

The brunette grimaced and shook her head when she took a sip but smiled nonetheless.

"Ez! I do not want to get tipsy." Yes, he concluded, the woman was French. And her friend, Ez, was terribly familiar and he could see now why he thought so.

She looked exactly like Irene.

Time seemed to stop and he had only enough time to put his glass down before freezing up as if he had just been hexed.

His sister, his niece, they ran away all those years ago and, deep down, he knew it was all Irene. That she gave her daughter no choice in the matter. But seeing the cheeky, know-it-all rise of an eyebrow she would give him daily as a child made warmth surge through him. Most of it was hot, boiling rage. Rage at being abandoned and left alone to deal with his grief and the hunt for his death eater sister. But there was also a throbbing that danced in his veins and pulsed throughout his body. The same ache and yearning he felt whenever he passed their rooms or came across a long lost toy.

It was the love and tenderness in which he still held Erin that compelled him to his feet and over to their booth. They were laughing when he reached the table, clutching his paperwork in one hand and his drink in the other.

"Uh, hi," they looked up, smiles wavering at his presence.

"Hi," Erin had an unsure but kind smile on her face. Now that he was here, Christian was unsure how to proceed. 'I know you'? No, that would be creepy. 'You look well'? That would be a weird compliment to receive from an old man.

"You probably don't recognise me," he hesitated, the brunette wasn't smiling anymore, "age hasn't treated me well, wrinkles and... everything."

"I'm sorry," the brunette interrupted in a thick accent, "do we know you?"

"Yes, uh, no. Well, it's complicated." He looked back at Erin. "It's been a long time since we last saw each other."

She was mid-drink. But that statement nearly made her choke and she slammed her mug down.

"No way!" Her eyes were wide as she stood up, leaning across the table to get a closer look at him. "Uncle Chris?" He nodded carefully. "Merlin," she sits back down, grinning and pointing at him in disbelief while looking to her friend for a similar reaction, "that's my uncle." The brunette pursed their lips and nodded as Christian pulled out the chair across from them. "This is my partner, Théo."

Partner, the word caught him off guard. He only ever used such a word to refer to Hayley, his girlfriend.

"You two... girlfriends?" Théo rolled their eyes and shook her head.

"Partners," they exaggerated, "not girlfriends. She is my girlfriend, I am her partner." He looked taken aback, Erin leaned over and wrapped her arm around Théo's arm.

"Théo doesn't identify as a man or a woman." She looked up at her, eyes soft and adoring. "You are whoever you want to be, that's why I love you." Théo smirks, planting a soft kiss on Erin's nose before turning back to Chris.

"Would you like a drink?" They push forward their spiked drink, "I'm driving, but Ez insists on getting me drunk."

"Uh, no thanks," playing with the feathers on his quill, he looks between the two and registers what had happened between them. Erin had always been quite illustrious from what they could gather of her time at Hogwarts, plus, she had spent a lot of time writing letters to secret beaus during the holidays. Even her mother couldn't discover who they were meant for. But she was happy, he could see that much and these days happiness was all he cared about. "So, how have you been? How's Irene? Did you hear from mum and dad at all?"

"Woah, slow down," Erin sipped on Théo's drink, savouring the taste and thinking about the questions. "I am well, in fact, I have never been better. Of course, I was angry at mum for dragging me away from the fight but what could you expect from her? We travelled for a bit and settled in france. She met someone, a baker or something named Arthur," she rolled her eyes, drinking some more, "he's alright, I guess. He just made life boring. That is, until about three years ago when i met Théo." The two of them smile at each other.

"Mum and dad..." Christian prompted her, disregarding his resignation form for the time being. Erin's smile dropped, clenching her fists as Théo rested their hand on hers.

"Oh, we, uh, bumped into them while we were travelling. Grandma was sick and died within days. We didn't have time to find a graveyard or apparate her back because they had death eaters on their tail. We buried her in this forest somewhere in Sweden, an unmarked grave except for the distinctive tree." She smiled, tears in her eyes as she recalled the memory. "Its trunk was twisted, as though a giant had tried to wring it like a piece of cloth and, I suppose, remembering its image was enough for Grandfather. He made it to France with us but after a month he insisted we apparate with him to her grave. And when we arrived, he was dead. He didn't think to tell us he was dying, simply that he wanted to be by her."

"They're buried together?" She nodded, drinking the rest of her drink in two large gulps. "Oh."