If we never deny the inevitable end of the story, we will write it more beautiful while we're alive.
— Andrea Gibson 

Quatervois 
(n.) a crossroads;  a critical decision or turning point in one's life.  

Azrael POV 

I have time to take six steps before Cove spots me and races over, throwing her arms around me in a death-grip. She doesn't let go quite easily. "Where in Merlin's name did you run off to?" 

I give her a watered-down version of the bizarreness that went down as Draco wordlessly walks off with that air of arrogance before I can thank him for his help. I spy Draco's father slamming his walking stick onto Draco's shoulder, hissing something in his ear with a dissecting gaze. 

Mrs Krum is staring at me disconcertedly when I'm done narrating, only quietly saying, "Darling, how is it that you always get yourself into such situations?" 

There really isn't anything I can say in my defence, so I smile sheepishly and let her guide me to wherever. 

Mrs Krum pauses before the Malfoy family, who seem unnaturally tense and on the verge of bolting. Either Mrs Krum doesn't notice, or it's just another one of their eccentricities, as she remarked earlier. 

"Thank you so very much, Draco darling," she says, reaching forward to affectionately ruffle his hair, much to Draco's absolute horror. His father's expression remains stone-cold, just as it has been all day, but a corner of Lady Malfoy's lips twitches up as if amused. "And you, too, Lucius, for sending him. Azrael has a penchant for attracting trouble." 

Lucius Malfoy smiles politely, though it's less of a smile and more of a flattening of lips. 

The rest of their exchange is tuned out as I find Draco's gaze, whose lips are pursed as he tries to tame the now tousled strands of his hair. Barely concealed laughter lights up my face, diverting his attention to me. 

"You're always laughing at me," Draco says, tilting his head sideways as his gaze runs over me. "Don't suppose your Muggle upbringers bothered much with manners, did they?" Despite his snide comment, his tone is free of the acidic dislike with which he spoke of Muggles a while back. It's almost an easygoing, teasing lilt. Guess he isn't entirely a lost cause. I roll my eyes playfully. 

"Well, I'll be taking my leave. I truly apologise for imposing upon you by staying too long," Mrs Krum says. 

"No need to apologise; we're always happy to help," Lucius Malfoy says, although the slight angular tilt of his body away from us makes it clear to me that there are other places he'd rather be. 

"Of course, and thank you once again." Mrs Krum gives her friend a quick, regal hug. "You have a lovely son, Narcissa. You've raised him well." 

That gives rise to a bright smile from Lady Malfoy and smoothens Lord Malfoy's rigid countenance to one that's pleased. Draco's eyes sparkle at the compliment, and before we leave, he surprises me by taking my hand in his with firm gentleness and bringing his lips to my knuckles. His lips are soft, so at odds with his vain conduct. 

"It was lovely meeting you, Azrael." 

I think I imagine the wink he sends me as he looks at me through his lashes, because if not, then Draco Malfoy has just caused a riot of butterflies to swarm inside me. There's no hiding my blush, not when his actions have caught me off-guard and caused my lips to slightly part and my eyes to slightly widen. 

From the satisfied look on his face, I'm sure he knows it, too. 

●⁍●⁍●  

Sky and Cove head to their home while Vik, his mother, and I are deposited in the Krum Manor by our Portkey. I stay awake only for as long as it takes to chug a glass of water, and hit the sheets the second I reach my room. 

The next morning, I wake up tired and sore. 

I hadn't bothered to change out of the outfit I'd worn to the game. I'd stumbled into the room, bleary-eyed and sleepy, and crashed without a moment's hesitation. As a result, my neck had been twisted at an awkward angle that now hurts when I try to straighten it, and my arm had been sprawled unnaturally, resulting in my shoulder now paying the price. And there's a faint, painful ringing in my head. 

My stomach rumbles. 

I peel my sorry self off the bed and take my time in the shower, smiling under the spray as I remember how those soft, foreign lips had felt against my skin. I squeal and spin, splashing water on the walls and glass. 

Draco was a student at Hogwarts. There's a pretty good chance I'll be transferring to Hogwarts. 

I shake my head and turn off the spray a little aggressively. I'm getting ahead of myself. For all I know, he might as well have forgotten all about me. 

My stomach flat-out growls when I'm done getting dressed. 

Vik walks right into me when I'm heading down for breakfast, blinking a few times before registering my presence. When he does, looking down at me, he says, "You need to find a way to grow taller or you are going to find yourself being trampled upon everywhere you go. Eat more." He shoves me sportively when I reach the second-last step of the grand staircase, and I curse when I lose my footing and almost go slamming into the marble. The ringing in my head intensifies. 

"Not all of us are blessed with exceptional genetics," I counter, scowling up at his five-ten stature from my four-ten one. Well, four-nine-point-five, but let's round it off. 

We're in the courtyard five minutes later, where Mrs Krum is already seated, nestled in a comfortable garden chair around a circular table brimming with food that has my mouth shamelessly watering. 

I pull out a chair and plop onto it, sparing the Lady of the Manor a greeting before piling my plate with pancakes, French toast, a croissant, a bagel, and an unhealthy amount of cream cheese and avocado. Mrs Krum notes my present mood and slides me a slice of cheesecake and pound cake (and more cream cheese). 

I snag a strawberry off a cupcake, too. 

I do all this in only a couple of heartbeats, and by the time Vik's taking his seat, I've already dug in. He eyes me unamusedly as he piles his own plate with scrambled eggs, sausages, hash browns, two sandwiches, a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal, and sautéed mushrooms, broccoli, and cottage cheese. 

"No wonder you are not growing. All you eat eez sugar and flour," Vik says, and I roll my eyes, perfectly content with myself as I nibble on the stolen strawberry, my temple resting on my left hand as I attempt to curb the ache behind my eyes. 

"It's just breakfast. I'll eat something else for lunch and dinner." Only because there's rarely any sugar in the other two meals. Probably because Mrs Krum spoils my sweet tooth enough in the beginning of the day to make me happy and then forces actual food down my throat in the subsequent meals. 

He tosses a broccoli on my plate, and I almost spit an unflattering derogatory expletive at him as it lands on my red velvet cheesecake with a thump. The only thing that keeps my tongue in check is his mother. 

I glare at him. 

In response, he smirks. 

Mrs Krum clears her throat, brows furrowed in exasperation, but there's no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. 

"I believe the two of you have some explaining to do," she says, looking pointedly at the two of us. 

"Oh?" Vik raises an eyebrow.

"Yesterday's game. Azrael, you were phenomenal, but how and why were you in the game?" she asks, looking toward her son for a moment to cut a narrow glare at him. "I'm so, so proud of you for scoring that goal—I've never quite seen anything like it—but the end?"

I perk up at that. I'd completely forgotten about the Bludger that Quigley rammed into my head.

"Does that explain the ringing in my head?" I ask.

Two sets of alarmed eyes snap in my direction. The buttered croissant that's halfway to my mouth pauses. "What? I mean it's not as bad as it was when I woke up."

I'm reprimanded for not informing them of this the second I felt the ache building up, and once that's done, Mrs Krum tells me to find her after breakfast for a tonic that'll ease the ringing. Then, Vik and I give his mother a play-by-play of yesterday's events, quelling her curiosity. Once that is done, Vik asks me how I found my way back after the attack struck.

Right, he hadn't been there when I told Cove and Mrs Krum about the whole Dark Mark thing.

Mrs Krum sips a glass of wine that only she's allowed to have before speaking to her son. "Lord Malfoy offered to send his son scampering about the campsite to hunt for Azrael, and I wasn't about to refuse. Turns out British Ministry officials are limp-dicked, short-sighted heathens— oh, don't look at me like that! You curse like a sailor all the time when you think I'm not around." Vik chokes on a sausage, coughing furiously as he blinks and looks at his mother. My fork, which is on its way to deposit a speared triangle of pancake in my mouth, clatters onto my plate. "Yes, where was I? Those spineless twigs had the audacity to threaten to lock her up in Azkaban because she'd been 'found at the scene of the crime' and Merlin only knows what crime they've made up in their giant heads. Then, the mini-Malfoy found her and brought her back." 

Draco should have been here, if only to hear himself referred to as mini-Malfoy.  

"The blonde bastard with the couple you were talking to before leaving?" Vik asks, shovelling a forkful of eggs. 

I silently bury my head in my plate, completely disassociating myself from the oaf before me as Mrs Krum zeroes in on him. "No. Cursing. In. My. House." My shoulders shake with silent laughter as Vik gulps. 

"But—" 

"Do not make me repeat myself." 

Viktor, to his credit, shuts up. 

"You aren't acquainted with Draco?" I ask him, distracting him from his mother's withering look. Mrs Krum and Lady Malfoy seemed like friends, so I assumed he would at least know who Draco was. Vik shakes his head. 

"The only other time I saw him was about two years back, and I 'ave never been in the business of hanging out with kids, so no, I never bothered befriending him." 

"And yet you bothered befriending eleven-year-old me?" 

"It eez not like I had much of a choice. Cove eez a 'ell-sent explosive who cannot be left unchaperoned. Sky and I were friends long before either of you strays came into the picture, and by Year 4, Cove was part of Sky's friendship package. And then you became that 'ellion's bosom bestie and a charity case my lovely mother pitied and took in." 

Vik's attempt at placating his mother does not work because she cruelly dunks a spoonful of maple syrup on a sautéed mushroom. Ah, revenge is sweet. 

"Do not call her a charity case," she says sternly. 

Vik stares at his plate in disbelief, then holds up his hands in mock surrender. "If not a charity case, we could downgrade her to a basket case," he mumbles, pointedly looking at my sugar-piled plate. 

A smile cracks my lips. 

"Besides," Vik says, returning to the topic of Draco Malfoy. "He always has a sneer on his face." 

"Well, he certainly was not sneering when he kissed the back of her palm," Mrs Krum says, sipping a final mouthful from her wine glass as she stands. 

Vik's sharp gaze cuts to mine. "He did what." 

For the first time, Vik manages to properly emphasise the H, and I know I'm screwed. My accent might have been similar to his Balkan one if Cove's British influence had not rubbed off on me. 

"I—" 

I send Mrs Krum a defeated look, my eyes shooting the word really? at her. She shrugs, setting her glass on the table and pushing back her chair. "I thought he saw it happen." 

"That kid eez a pretentious, privileged twit. I could 'ave him on the ground in 'alf a breath." 

"He's a child, Viktor. Not everyone can be built like a bull at fourteen," his mother responds, rolling her eyes with a flair that, inexplicably, still looks dignified.

"He eez still a coddled, spoilt brat." Viktor's unfaltering gaze does not shift from mine. 

"Okay, alright, you've made your point." I look down at my cheesecake, the green vegetable still standing on it like a tree sinking in a slow quicksand. I chuck the broccoli aside and dig into the cheesecake, avoiding the gaze of the twenty-inch-shouldered bloke drilling holes into my skull with his eyes. 

"It's not like she'll see him again anyway. Don't be a spoilsport." His mother lightly smacks the back of his head as she bustles into the northern wing of the manor, leaving Vik and me behind with unfinished plates, muttering under her breath, "Children." 

"I mean, he may or may not have mentioned that he attends the same Hogwarts I got a letter from—"

It's his fork that clatters onto the plate this time. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Az." 

I scarf the final bite of my cheesecake with unnatural speed and race up to the eastern atrium, leaving behind a sputtering, cursing, narrow-eyed Viktor. 

●⁍●⁍●  

The dreaded, cursed day has arrived, and I'm an absolute mess in King's Cross Station on the first of September at ten forty-five in the morning. Cove looks around, just as hopelessly lost as I am. 

Mrs Krum came to see me off, and Cove, eyes on the verge of tears and lips trembling in despair, accompanied her because she couldn't quite let go of my hand. It's been locked in her grip since early this morning. Skylar tagged along because Cove did, though he's currently getting all up close and personal with a witch whose face is hidden behind the divide between Platforms Eight and Nine. I made sure Viktor sat his arse at home, much to his disfavour. I didn't need his fan club tracking our excursion. 

"Oh, I don't believe it. Are you sure we're supposed to be looking for a Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" Mrs Krum asks yet again. 

I glance down at the ticket Professor McGonagall sent me. "Yeah, that's what this says." I wave the ticket in the air, the paper fluttering in the morning breeze. Platform 9¾ is printed on it with black ink. 

"I don't suppose your darling professor sent you an instruction manual with her letter, did she?" Cove mutters as we stand lost between Platforms Nine and Ten. 

"Nope." 

I peer down at the latest letter from Hogwarts. Again.  

Dear Azalea, 

Please find enclosed a ticket for the Hogwarts Express, which can be accessed through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The train will leave at eleven o'clock and drop you off at Hogsmeade station. I advise you not to be late. 

Our Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Rubeus Hagrid, will be at Hogsmeade rounding up the first years, should you need assistance. 

Yours sincerely, 
Professor Minerva McGonagall 

"Well, isn't this a fantastic treat?" Mrs Krum rests her hand on her trim waist, glaring at everything within her line of sight. I silently pet Knox, my obsidian owl, who has made a point to ignore me just as I had—unintentionally—in the weeks following my expulsion, seeing as I'd spent most of the waking hours of the summer with my friends. 

"Maybe it's a sign you shouldn't leave," Cove offers unhelpfully, smiling with all the light of the sun. Mrs Krum did Cove's hair in a dreamy, countryside manner today, going so far as to weave in hand-plucked blossoms from her manor's gardens. 

Cove wanted us to match, and since I already felt like the world's worst friend for getting myself expelled, I complied with little fuss. My hair had been left down with a pair of princess braids secured with similar pastel-petalled flowers. 

"Have you honestly not gotten rid of this pest yet?" Sky asks, appearing beside us, looking rather pale despite his chaffing tone. 

"No, because we can't quite seem to find her bloody platform," Cove answers, losing all interest in our platform-hunt and resting her cheek on my head. 

Sky's face remains pallid. "What's gotten you looking all ash-faced?" I ask him.

He looks positively horrified as he buries his face in his hands and drops it on Cove's head, consequently crushing mine. "I ran into this dazzling brunette on Platform Eight, and she looked proper lovely, so I decided to strike up conversation. And everything was going well; I even got her to laugh twice in our brief exchange, and then I discovered that she. Is. Fifteen. Merlin, pardon my soul, she's fifteen. I've never bolted quite as quickly as I just did. Oh, Mrs Krum, please, can I hide behind you until we get out of this cursed country?"

"Here I was thinking you might just feel at home," Mrs Krum mumbles.

"I'm going to return to my house and launch myself off the roof." He buries his face in his palms again, the picture of utter distraught.

"It's just a difference of two years, Sky, you haven't hit on an infant, don't worry," I say, hitting his forearm with the back of my palm. His eyes fly open as his hands fall from his face, and he regards me with unamusement.

"She's a child. Like you. Or Cove. Gods, what was I thinking? I'm never speaking with the female population ever again." 

"So that's that," Cove says, tucking back the curly bangs that frame her face. Sky still appears woefully distressed, so I leave his sister to comfort him as I slowly slip my hand out of hers and look around for anyone I can ask for help. 

Knox decides he's had enough fondling, so he flaps out of my palms and perches himself on my shoulder. "As long as you don't fly off and try to pluck someone's eye out," I mumble, caressing the down feathers at his belly. 

I scan the platform for help and nearly jump with joy when I spot another boy who looks to be around my age, hauling a trolley of suitcases with a caged owl, talking with a girl who has an adorable orange toad perched on her head. Yes, they've got to be wizards. 

I abandon my own trolley with Mrs Krum and walk over to the pair. They don't notice my presence as I do, so I strap on my balls and tap the boy's arm, pausing their conversation. He turns around with uninterested, mildly annoyed eyes that turn contemplative when they land on me. 

By the Cauldron, he's even taller than Vik. 

"Sorry for intruding, I was just wondering if you know how to get onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" They share a look that does not flatter me. "I'm a fourth year," I clarify. "I transferred this year from Durmstrang to Hogwarts." 

"Oh," The girl mumbles, assessing me. "Cool, we rarely get transfers." She pushes her trolley forward, an indication for me to follow, I guess. The uncommonly tall, dark-skinned boy offers me a rogue smile and tilts his head in the direction the girl went. 

"Come on, this way." They head to the wall between Platform Nine and Ten, and I barely have time to register what happens before she runs right at the wall and passes through it, disappearing out of sight. 

Oh, a magical archway. Of course, because this was a Muggle station. 

"That was Pansy, and I'm Blaise," the boy says, smiling suggestively. Ohmyovaries. And then he slightly blanches. "Your mother's mildly terrifying. See you on the other side, gorgeous." 

I turn around to find Mrs Krum standing behind me, eyes narrowed at where Blaise had been standing seconds ago. I turn to tell him that she's in fact not my mother, but he's already disappeared into the wall. 

"I'm supposed to do that," I tell the duo waiting for me a few feet away. Sky's face has regained some colour, and Cove looks rather excited. Mrs Krum, however, pales. 

"Can I come, too?" Cove asks hopefully, offering me the sweetest of smiles. Sky shuts her down with a firm refusal that has her shoulders slumping. 

"It's alright. I'll be back for Christmas and Easter. And for the summer, too," I promise her, pulling her in for a tight hug. She hugs me back with just as much force. 

I pull back only to be wrapped in the arms of Viktor's mother. "Stay safe, darling." 

I melt in her arms. This woman didn't even know me, and yet, she went out of her way to take my eleven-year-old self in anyway when she discovered I didn't have a family and had to return to a Muggle orphanage for vacations. I've never known kindness like hers, and perhaps Blaise was right when he called her my mother. She may not be blood, but she's been the closest thing to a maternal figure. 

"Thank you," I whisper into the crook of her neck. I don't specify what I'm thanking her for, but she understands anyway and answers with an extra tight squeeze. 

And when I pull back from her embrace, she cups my cheeks in her hands, smiling as tears swim in her eyes. "I've always wanted a daughter. Thank you," she whispers before regaining her composure. 

Sky doesn't say much. He just ruffles my hair, purposely pulling a few strands out of my pristine braids, despite my protests. "I'll see you in two months," he says, referring to the Triwizard Tournament that Hogwarts is hosting. Guess one that's one good thing; I'll get to see both Sky and Vik. 

Sky's words deflate Cove even more. 

"I'll miss you," she whispers, knocking her forehead against mine. "I'll be at the owlery every weekend waiting for Knox, alright?" 

"Yes, ma'am," I promise, a smile splitting my face. 

I steel myself, exhale a deep breath, then run straight at the wall. I reflexively shut my eyes, waiting for an impact that never comes. When I open my eyes, I'm standing on the bustling Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, right before the enormous Hogwarts Express billowing a stunning shade of scarlet steam. 

I look back, but there's only a wrought-iron archway framing a brick wall. 

Guess there's no turning back now.