i s o b e l

two weeks before

When Isobel arrived home, she found Maggie in the living room. Her mother's face was sallow; her green St. Mungo's robes peeked out from the blanket she curled under. She did not look up; did not even flinch, as Isobel entered the room. Just stared vacantly at the coffee table.

Isobel took off her coat and sat silently beside her mother, praying she wouldn't mention the make-up she was wearing.

"The hospital was overstaffed," said Maggie, finally. Her voice sounded hoarse. "I asked if I could come home. I wasn't feeling well."

Isobel clasped her hands in her lap. Lucius had left her alone in the alleyway; she had paced there for fifteen minutes. Half trying to comprehend what had just happened, half trying to piece together an excuse to give her mother, to explain why she hadn't been home. She launched into it: "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I went to a beach in Scarborough, but I didn't speak to anyone, I promise. I just have to get out of the house sometimes. You can't keep me locked up here forever, okay?" Her mother did not look at her, so Isobel said carefully, "I think I should get a job. If not in the wizarding world, then a job in the village nearby. I want to be more financially independent, and I - I just want to get out more. . ." she trailed off. "Mum? What do you think, could I get a job?"

Maggie nodded absently. Then said, "there's a scarf in the kitchen. It's not yours."

"It's new," said Isobel quickly, scorning herself for not having been more careful. She tried to remember what Ginny's scarf looked like. "I was cold at the beach the other day. So I bought it for myself."

Maggie raised her face to look at Isobel - without warning, it crumpled. "I didn't want it to be like this," she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "Us - lying to each other, all the time. We used to be close."

"We don't lie to each other that much," said Isobel, but the words felt ridiculous. She took a breath. "What else is there, then? What else have you lied to me about?"

Maggie closed a cold, thin hand over Isobel's. A tear had escaped: it glistened on the curve of her cheekbone. "Perhaps, on my side, they are more so omittances than lies."

"What have you left out, then?" asked Isobel. She thought of Draco, thought of Lucius' hard grip on her arm. My son is getting married to Astoria Greengrass. She wondered if her mother knew about the marriage.

Her mother spoke slowly. "I knew how to cast a protective charm on your necklace because of experiences I've had at St. Mungo's. Because other people who cast those charms have had to be taken into hospital. There is a reason it's not a well-known spell. . ." Her eyes filled with tears again. "Isobel, lives are not easily saved, when dark magic has been involved. There is always some cost. Enchanted jewellery has a high success rate for deflecting dark magic, but it doesn't work without an expense."

"An expense?" questioned Isobel. Her heart beat fast.

"The charm was just a precaution, of course," said Maggie. "I hoped you would never find yourself in danger, but you - the circles you were involved in -"

Maggie caught Isobel's eye, and Isobel conceded. "I know about Draco Malfoy."

"How did you -"

"It doesn't matter. I haven't spoken to him." Isobel's voice trembled with apprehension. "Please, go on."

Her mother sighed heavily. Then she looked at her daughter, and said, "Isobel - enchanted jewellery can save the life of its bearer, but only at the cost of the deterioration of the person who cast the protective charm."

Isobel felt a lump rise in her throat. "Deterioration?"

Her mother nodded; didn't elaborate. She realised suddenly how very frail Maggie looked; how thin her face was, how tired her eyes were. After everything they had been through, everything that had happened - this is what it had come down to. The beginning and the end; it was all shaped by a stupid star necklace. Her mother's hand tightened on hers, but it was cold and frail; void of any consolation.

"I don't understand," said Isobel. Tears stung at her eyes. "The cost of my life was yours?"

"Not directly," said Maggie. "And not immediately. I'll get better soon, I just need to rest for a while."

"Did you know this would happen?" asked Isobel. "That it would affect you like this?"

"The effect is not always immediate, it can take up to a decade." Maggie closed her eyes. "I know it was selfish of me, to try and keep you to myself. But you are going to have so much time without me."

Isobel started to cry. "Mum, you should have told me."

Maggie shook her head. "I just wanted some time, Isobel. Where it was just us, no one else. Where we could pretend to be normal. Last year before the war, you left me over and over. Every time you were gone, I worried that something bad would happen to you."

"I don't remember that," said Isobel, wiping at her tears. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Maggie, "I have you now. But that boy. . . he makes you forget about me."

"Stop it," said Isobel sharply. She was surprised at the harshness in her own voice, contradicting the tears in her eyes. "I could never forget you, Mum. Don't say that." She grasped her mother's hand tighter, looked her in the eyes. Blinked away her own tears. "I'll message St. Mungo's for you," she said. "You'll take some time off, and rest for a while. You're not going anywhere, Mum."

-

two weeks later; four hours before

Isobel's heart ached to see her mother sick. It was a very frustrating thing, she realised; when a person you loved was ill, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was different to her father, who had died suddenly; had disappeared from their lives with barely a warning. She had always lamented that she hadn't been able to sit by her father's sickbed, but sitting by her mother's made her feel unexpectedly helpless and inept.

Her mother's condition was worsening. Isobel had hoped that taking time off work; resting in bed for several days, would restore her to good health, and she'd be back on track. She had even entertained the possibility that her mother might soon become healthy enough go back to work. But everyday was duller and gloomier than the day before, and Isobel didn't see any sign of progress. Her mother persisted that Isobel was wrong; that she would get better in time, but her fatigued muscles, her pale face and weak hands, said otherwise.

Maggie was not well in more ways than one; Isobel could see that now. Her mother was deeply attached to her company; deeply reliant on Isobel's presence. Now was not the time for Isobel to take it from her.

Ginny wrote one letter every day. It was always the same thing; variations of the same words: have you told Malfoy? Has your mother found out? Update me, please. Isobel barely skimmed them before throwing them to the back of the wardrobe, and finding something to do for her mother. Bringing her water; making her toast or a vegetable broth. Those were the only foods she could keep down.

She wondered if she had still been in Draco's life, what might have happened when he eventually met Astoria. Would he have liked her better, left Isobel for her? She wondered if Draco got on better with Astoria than he once had with her.

She wanted, like nothing else, to return to him; if not to speak to him, then to see him; to see his unruly blond hair, his soft hoodies; to watch the way he drank his tea, fingers gripping his mug so tight it could shatter -

But he was getting married. He was not just dating Astoria, he planned to marry her.

Isobel revised these thoughts over and over, contemplating at what point it might become too late to formally let Draco know she was alive. She was deep in her thoughts one Friday evening when a tap sounded at her window, drawing her out of them.

She moved to her bedroom window, pulled back the curtains to see Ginny; red hair blowing in the dark night air.

Isobel pushed the window open. "We have a door."

"Didn't want to alert your dear mother of my presence," grinned Ginny.

Isobel's chest tightened. Her mother was asleep in her own bedroom, unlikely to hear Ginny on this side of the house. But she didn't think Maggie would mind much, anymore. Didn't think she was strong enough to mind. "Come in, I guess," she mumbled.

Ginny clambered through the window. "Lovely room," she said.

Isobel's room was cramped and cluttered; clothes, books and paper covering every open surface. There was nothing particularly lovely about it. But she nodded in thanks. "Sorry I haven't replied to your letters. I just - my mum is sick, and -"

"Not why I'm here," said Ginny dismissively. "God, it's cold outside -" She rubbed her hands together and blew on them, then looked up at Isobel with a bright smile. "Harry, Hermione, Ron and I are going out tonight. And you're coming with us."

Isobel almost laughed. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," said Ginny. "And I have a very good reason." She threw her arms out wide. "I got onto the Holyhead Harpies. As a chaser, main squad."

"Ginny - that's wonderful -" Isobel stuttered. "That's brilliant. I didn't even know you were trying out."

Ginny waved her off. "You had enough of your own issues to worry about. But it's a good reason, right? For you to leave your house, to see your friends again?" She glanced at Isobel's door, lowered her voice. "You don't even have to tell your mum."

Isobel shook her head. "I can't just leave her."

"Oh, come on, Iz," pleaded Ginny. "Think about the trio - think about seeing them again. They'd want to see you so badly."

Isobel paled. "You didn't tell them, did you? That I'm alive?"

"No, but I'm going to," said Ginny. "Before we go out with them tonight, I'm going to explain everything to them. I've thought about it for a while, and I think that's the best way to go about it."

"It's too dangerous," replied Isobel, trying to sound firm. "Not for me, for my mum. I just - I don't want her to get in trouble. And now she's sick, and -"

"Iz," interrupted Ginny. "I won't hear it. You've always done this, and I've had enough." Ginny sat on Isobel's bed and patted the spot beside her; Isobel sat down reluctantly. "Look," said Ginny. "You have to stop avoiding everything. This is exactly how you were in school, even if you can't remember it. When you started getting involved with Malfoy you were scared, so you avoided your feelings. The same thing happened in seventh year - you liked him so much, but were too afraid to admit it to yourself, or to us. Admittedly, I didn't like the idea of you dating him then either, so I didn't mention it. But enough is enough."

Isobel stared at her hands. Ginny made a valid point. She hated it.

"Come on," implored Ginny, voice soft. "I know you want to."

"Why tonight?" asked Isobel. "I appreciate all of it, Gin - but it's a bit overwhelming. Can't I meet them another time, when I've had more time to prepare myself?"

Ginny shook her head shortly. "Afraid not. Hermione is always working; it's rare I get to see all three of them, together. There's no excuse for them not to come out tonight, you see -" she smiled - "with such big celebrations on hand."

Isobel frowned, considering. "What about Neville and Luna?"

"Luna is in Ireland," said Ginny, "and Neville is working. He works at Hogwarts now, did I tell you that? Works with Professor Sprout."

"Gosh." Isobel raised a hand to her mouth, chewed down on a fingernail. "I think I miss Neville most of all, you know."

Ginny slapped her hand. "Don't bite your nails, it's gross. You'll get to see Neville soon. Trio first, okay?"

Isobel nodded, slowly. "Okay." It was nine o'clock. Her mother was asleep: if Isobel left now and was back before the end of the night, she'd never even know she was gone. And Maggie would surely be alright without her for a few hours. She turned to Ginny. "Okay, fine. You win. I'll go out."

Ginny sprung up; clapped her hands gleefully. "Excellent! But first -" she looked Isobel up and down, took in her pilled jumper and faded sweatpants. She wrinkled her nose, marched to Isobel's wardrobe and threw it open. "Let's get you dressed."