──────────── ⋆⋅💌⋅⋆ ───────────

( 001 ━ SEVENTH YEAR )

──────────── ⋆⋅💌⋅⋆ ────────────

IT WAS LATE MORNING ON THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, when a maroon Ford Escort came to a hesitant stop outside of Kings Cross Station. Despite being on a side road which, oddly enough, had no traffic, the car sat there, almost nervously, as if expecting someone to come out and begin shouting about parking. It was a long few moments before it gained the confidence to roll forward a few more inches, and with some uncertainty, put on its hazards.

Out of the two passengers that occupied the Ford Escort, neither made any immediate move to get out of the vehicle. In the driver's seat was a pretty, older woman in a grey pantsuit, her heeled foot hovering over the gas pedal. Her long brown hair had been teased and curled, coifed and sprayed, until it rested elegantly, although stiffly, on her head and shoulders. In fact, the entire car smelt of Aqua Net, like she had recently whipped out a can to preserve her bangs. But that didn't seem to be what was bothering her. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, peered apprehensively at the stone building they were parked next to, before checking her reflection once more.

Beside her was an equally pretty, although more sourly-expressive, younger girl. She had the same long brown hair and rounded features at the woman beside her, but she was less apprehensive and far angrier looking. Her lips were pulled down into a frown and she clutched a rucksack in her lap with such ferocity that it appeared her fingers might puncture the fabric. She looked out the window sullenly, away from the older woman.

"I don't understand why you won't come inside, mum," she complained, throwing a tempestuous glare at her mother through the side mirror. "Everyone else's families come to see them off, you know this."

The older woman sighed as she blotted her red lipstick. "Isla, darling, you know why," she responded, her tone just as stiff as her hair.

Isla rolled her eyes. "I do know why, I just think it's a dumb reason, is all."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," her mother warned with stern glance. "I've already taken the morning off to get you packed and to the station on time, but I need to get back into the office. It's not up for discussion."

Isla's expression was tart as she released her rucksack to pick at a spot on her sweater. "I know," she replied, bitterly. "But you couldn't just take one full day off? You've come every other year, I don't understand what's different this year."

Her mother heaved another great sigh. "Because, I didn't have this job all those other years. More is expected of me now."

"You and that stupid job," Isla muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she grumbled, although she felt the urge to mumble something else nasty under her breath.

There was a momentary silence in which neither said a word to each other, the only sound being that of the car as it idled in place. In the back seat, a tawny owl hooted irately from inside a cage, ruffling it's feathers as it shifted from foot to foot on its perch. Neither Isla or her mother paid it any mind.

"I am sorry," her mother said at last. Her voice and demeanor had softened as she looked solemnly at her daughter. "I would if I could."

Isla nodded, but she didn't believe her for a second. She could see the way her mom kept stealing glances at the brick exterior of King's Cross or how her hands tightened on the steering wheel, as if she might decide to bolt off any second. She recognized that look she gave whenever someone, particularly those dressed a little oddly, entered or departed the station, and it made Isla angrier than anything. But she exercised some self control before she ended up in an even bigger fight.

Isla took a breath and shrugged, forcing a half-smile on her face for her mother's sake. "Yeah, I know you would."

Her mom smiled back, reached over with a well-manicured hand, and squeezed her daughter's knee. It wasn't what Isla had hoped for, but it was enough, for now.

"Now, why don't you get yourself unloaded? It's almost eleven—I wouldn't want you to miss the train." Her mom checked her watch and peeked out the window again. "And be quick. I don't think I'm supposed to be parked here."

With their moment over just as quickly as it had started, Isla resigned herself into finally getting out of the car. She swung her rucksack over her shoulder as she exited and made her way to the back seat of the car, where she pulled out a large school trunk stamped with an official looking crest, and the wire cage of the tawny owl. Isla closed the door with her hip and dragged her belongings to the curb beside her mom's car. She stopped at the window, which her mother had rolled down, trying not to let her gloomy mood get the better of her. She always got a bit sad at goodbyes.

"You'll write, won't you?" Isla asked, forlornly.

Her mother's perfectly made up face turned soft, like she was comforting a small child. "Of course I will, darling," she agreed. "Though I'm still not sure why they won't just let you give me a ring. All that magic and such, and they can't use a telephone? Owls are just so messy, I just think—"

"Mum," Isla groaned, exasperated.

Her mom stopped at once and sighed again. "Oh, alright. Just make sure you don't feed her too much before you send her off. I just had the carpets cleaned."

Ignoring her request, Isla bent down to give her mom a kiss on the cheek through the open window. "I'll see you at Christmas, okay?" she said.

"Of course, darling. Now hurry up, before you're left behind."

Isla nodded, dipping down to retrieve her trunk. She stepped away from the curb and began the trek up to the entrance, glancing over her shoulder long enough to give her mom a wave, but by that time, the maroon Ford Escort was already speeding away from the station. Isla had barely even reached the door. Standing angrily and a little dejectedly, she heeded her mother's advice and made her way into the building before the train could leave without her.

The building was packed at this time of morning, the interior filled with the sounds of hundreds of people talking, footsteps shuffling, and the disembodied voices of attendants announcing the departure and arrivals of different trains. Most of the people were Muggles—non-magical folk—and they bustled past Isla as if she weren't there. That was normal for Muggles and that's exactly how Isla preferred it. She hated having to explain herself to the nosy few, though she did find some enjoyment in telling them the most outrageous lies about where she was going or why she was dressed the way she was (if she happened to be wearing her robes). However, today, she was dressed like she was one of them: in a navy jumper and faded jeans. The only looks she received were from those who had spotted her owl, Agrippa, who was making a racket and biting at the bars of her cage in listless rage.

After securing herself a trolley, Isla worked her way quickly through the station to the platform. As she walked, she began to notice subtle signs—an odd hat here, a clunky wand case there—that told her witches and wizards were also making their way through the building. It was easy to tell a witch or wizard from a Muggle. Unless they had grown up in the Muggle world, such as herself, they adopted a rather...strange sort of style. Sparkly goulashes with pinstriped pajama pants or a Scottish kilt over a pair of spotted trousers. Her favorite had been the time she'd seen a witch wearing a sequined evening gown and those inflatable pool armbands meant for children. Other magical people ditched the Muggle clothes all together and just wore robes in a variety of different colors. The closer she got to platforms 9 and 10, the more people she started to see dressed in either of those two categories.

"Isla! Hey, Isla, over here!"

At the sound of her name, Isla turned just in time to see a girl with shoulder-length hair running towards her through the crowd. She smiled and slowed down so the girl could catch up.

"Hey, Holly," she greeted.

"Hi," Holly replied with a wide grin. She looked as if she'd been in the sun recently: her normally pale face was sunburnt and her freckles were darker than ever. "How was your holiday?"

Isla thought quickly back to her summer—trapped inside the house while her mom worked with no other company but her books and Agrippa—and she decided it wasn't worth telling. "Good. How about yours? How was your trip to Italy?"

"It was absolutely brilliant. We got to visit all of these old ruins and such—totally built by wizards by the way—and we got to do some Muggle tours," Holly said, her eyes glinting with excitement. "I even heard a witch that was there with us say that they have a wizarding school there too, just like Hogwarts. Obviously they hide it really well, because we didn't get to see it."

When Holly finally slowed down long enough to take a breath, she finally seemed to notice that Isla had brought herself to the platform. "Hey, where's your mum? I thought she was bringing you today."

"She did," Isla responded simply. "She just dropped me off. Had to go to work."

Holly frowned, apparently dissatisfied by that answer, but if she was going to ask anything further, she decided against it, much to Isla's relief. It made it a lot easier to change the subject.

"What about you? Are your parents here?" She asked, peering through the crowd around them.

Holly nodded and pointed over her shoulder to wear a pair of people stood talking to a clearly disgruntled station employee. Like a small portion of the wizarding population, they had tried to embrace more of Muggle sense of style, but not too successfully. Mr. Ketteridge wore a orange jumper brighter than the entire Chudley Cannons team combined, accessorized with a pair of green joggers and a cerulean tie fastened around his waist as a belt. Mrs. Ketteridge, on the other hand, was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe over a tracksuit, with a leg warmer on each arm. Holly was dressed a little more subtlety, also in a tracksuit, but it was velvety and bright purple. They were all definitely a sore sight, but Isla couldn't help but smile.

"They're just over there. We were hoping to catch you before you crossed the barrier, so we waited. Good luck too, huh?"

"Yeah, good luck," Isla echoed. "Do you want to start walking over? I reckon they'll start boarding soon."

"Yeah, sure. Let me get my mum and dad."

Holly skipped off through the crowd and returned a few minutes later with her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Ketteridge were nice people. Isla had gotten to spend some time at Holly's house a few times during past summer holidays and they had always treated her fairly. Mr. Ketteridge was a short, balding man who consistently changed the style of his mustache (today it was a handlebar mustache), while Mrs. Ketteridge was tall and thin, with thick, curly hair that added a couple inches to her height. Both had freckles. It was easy to see where Holly got her resemblance from.

"Hello, Isla, dear," Mrs. Ketteridge greeted, swooping down to kiss Isla on the cheek. "How have you been?"

With her face now just as red as Holly's sunburnt one, Isla smiled sheepishly and ducked her head. "I'm good, Mrs. Ketteridge. It's nice to see you," she said. She reached out and shook her husband's hand. "You too, Mr. Ketteridge."

"Good summer, I hope?" Mr. Ketteridge asked, eyeing the empty space behind Isla where her mother should have been.

"Yes, of course. I heard about Italy—it sounds amazing."

"It was," Mrs. Ketteridge agreed with a smile. "We'll have to bring you on the next one. I think Holly would enjoy having a friend join us next time."

Holly nodded enthusiastically and Isla let a small smile grace her lips, but she didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Ketteridge that her mother likely wouldn't allow it. As much as she had been away at work this summer, she had a difficult time allowing her daughter leave the house, much less the country. But Isla just said:

"That would be nice."

It was only when a gaggle of wizarding folk bustled past them did they remember they should be heading to the platform. Holly gathered up her trolley and together, she and Isla walked side by side to the divider between platforms 9 and 10. Once there, it was Isla who hesitated first. Her trolley slowed as she stared at the solid brick barrier in front of them. No matter how many times she had done it, it still made her stomach flutter to look at it.

"I'll go first, if you want," Holly said at her side. "I know it makes you nervous."

"Yeah, thanks," she muttered, embarrassed.

Holly gave her an encouraging nudge and made a start for the barrier. She was there in one moment, then Isla blinked and she was gone.

Isla tightened her grip on her trolley.

"Go on, dear," said Mrs Ketteridge. "We'll follow you in."

Isla nodded and took a quick breath. Minding the Muggles around her, she broke into a quiet jog, closed her eyes just before impact—and passed cleanly through the barrier.

The air changed at once. The rattle of the busy London station faded, replaced by the low hiss of steam and the distant chatter of students and families. Isla opened her eyes.

A wrought iron archway stood just ahead, and hanging above it was a round black sign bearing the gleaming words Platform 9¾ in graceful gold script. Just beyond it stood the Hogwarts Express, its scarlet steam engine gleaming in the morning light. Steam puffed from its chimney, curling into the sky, and the platform was alive with movement—students pushing trolleys, hugging their families, owls hooting from their cages, trunks thumping onto the train.

Holly pushed her trolley up beside Isla's and bumped her arm. "Still got it!" she grinned.

"Of course you do," Isla said, smiling more fully now, the weight of King's Cross already fading.

Then, with a brief whoosh, Mr. and Mrs. Ketteridge emerged through the barrier as well, Mr. Ketteridge's arms laden with a carrier containing a rather annoyed Siamese cat.

"There you two are!" Mr. Ketteridge called. "Thought we might've lost you in there."

Mrs. Ketteridge looked around the platform with a satisfied expression. "Just on time, too, I think."

They joined the crowd, moving toward the train as the whistle blew once—clear and sharp.

Holly turned to Isla with a grin. "Ready for another year?" she asked. "One last year, I mean."

Isla nodded. It made her kind of sad to think it would be her last year at Hogwarts, especially given the...climate in the wizarding world, but instead of sharing her stress, she settled for: "Oh yeah. I'm oddly excited for our N.E.W.T exams."

Holly made a face. "Only you would be excited for that," she said, as they headed for the train.

Holly's parents helped them unload their trunks from their trolleys onto the ground near the train's steps, Isla and Holly both taking responsibility for their animals. Once everything had been unloaded, Holly separated from her to say goodbye to her parents. Isla stood off to the side, awkwardly, until Mrs. Ketteridge beckoned her forward for a hug.

"Have a good term, dear," she said, giving Isla a tight squeeze. Perhaps she thought she needed it. Perhaps she was right.

"I will, thank you, Mrs. Ketteridge," she replied, giving her a warm smile.

Holly's mom finally released the pair of them and they boarded the train, waving through the windows until they were obscured by the mass of students getting on the train behind them.

"Should we find a compartment, then?" Isla asked Holly, who nodded, and together they trudged off the down the corridor to the right of them in search of an empty compartment.

As they found, most of the compartments where already full. They spent a great deal of time peering in through the paneled doors, once accidentally scaring a few first years who hadn't excepted to see their faces pressed against the glass. Holly laughed pretty hard, still snickering over the looks on their faces, when Isla found a compartment that was mostly empty, with the exception of a dark haired boy trying to shove his bag up on the rack.

"Hi, Roger," Isla said as she opened the door. "Everywhere else is full. Mind if we join you?"

The boy turned around, his sharp features breaking into a grin upon seeing their faces. "Hi Isla. Not at all, come on in," he said, nodding towards her, then Holly. "Hiya Holly. Have a good holiday break?"

"Yeah. And you?"

"Pretty good. Need help with your stuff?" He offered, his hands already reaching out for Holly's trunk. Isla had already hauled hers inside and was stowing it up on the luggage rack alongside Agrippa's cage and her rucksack, before he'd even asked. She snorted, falling into one of the empty seats near the window.

"No, I've got it," Holly said, pulling her trunk from Roger's grip, much to his disappointment.

Once everything was put away, all three them settled into their seats, and Holly jumped into a detailed recollection of her time spent in Italy, while Roger listened intently and Isla only caught every other word. She stared out of the window, watching students board last minute, dragging their belongings behind them and waving hastily to family members waiting on the platforms. A large group of people caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to watch them enter the platform. There were some odd characters among the crowd—an old woman with tightly curled gray hair and a tartan shawl flapping around her shoulders, and a thickset man with a porter's cap pulled low over his face, who kept glancing over his shoulder like he expected someone to be following him. But it wasn't them who drew Isla's focus.

Her eyes were pulled to a cluster of people with unmistakable flaming red hair. She recognized Ginny Weasley immediately, walking a few paces ahead of two adults she assumed were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley had a kindly face and a balding crown, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around the group, trying to wrangle what looked like at least three, no, four boys and still keep an eye on the trunks.

As Isla's gaze swept over the family, it caught on one of the sons—a tall, lanky boy with a mischievous glint in his eye and a crooked grin, already laughing at something one of his brothers had said. His twin stood close by, mimicking his stance with such precision that it was almost eerie. Isla felt a tight knot form in her stomach and then the familiar burn of hatred rise inside her. She didn't realize she'd been glaring until Holly suddenly leaned closer, breaking her line of sight.

Holly's voice, quite close to her ear, made Isla jump. "Look, it's Harry," she said, pointing to a boy in the middle of the group.

Sure enough, Harry Potter stood with his trunk and his snowy owl, Hedwig, bidding goodbye to the people he was with. She wasn't able to see it from the train, but his lightning bolt scar was likely hiding beneath his messy bangs. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, his best friends and fellow fifth years, waited nearby.

"Who are all of those people with him?" Isla asked, her brows furrowed.

Holly shrugged and sat back down. "I dunno. His entourage?" She said with a slight laugh. "He's always got somebody trailing after him these days."

"Well, he'a got a dog with him today, as well as—blimey, is that Professor Lupin?" Isla blurted our, surprised. Holly was back at her side in an instant, Roger close behind. The three of them pressed their faces to the window, their breath fogging the glass.

"You're right!" Holly gasped, her nose flattening as she tried to get a closer look. "That big guy, the one next to the old lady—doesn't that look like Professor Moody to you?"

Isla squinted her eyes to try to make out the face beneath the porter's cap and while she couldn't discern any particular features, the mangled hands and telltale limp confirmed Holly's suspicion. Isla thought back to the previous year, when they had Professor Moody—affectionately known as Mad-Eye Moody—as a teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Only, it hadn't actually been Moody, but rather someone pretending to be him using Polyjuice Potion, so it was a bit of a shock to see the real Mad-Eye standing among the group of people.

The three students drew away from the window.

"What are two old Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers doing with Harry Potter?" Isla asked, glancing out at the ground of people again.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Roger asked. "They're watching over him...y'know, in case of...You-Know-Who."

A tense silence quickly enveloped the compartment. Isla and Holly both stared at Roger, neither seeming to be able to form a complete sentence coherent enough to be shared. The weight of his words lingered in the air between the three of them, heavy and uncomfortable.

"Think about it," Roger continued. "Moody used to be an Auror, Lupin was excellent at Defense Against the Dark Arts—and I'm pretty sure I've heard Mr. Weasley works at the Ministry. They're here to protect him."

"Do you believe what Harry says? About You-Know-Who coming back?" Holly asked, nervously. She glanced around the compartment as if the Dark Lord himself might jump down from the luggage rack.

Roger hesitated before answering. "I don't know what I believe. All I know is that something happened to Cedric Diggory in that maze last year."

The atmosphere in the compartment dipped significantly at the mention of the former Hufflepuff student. Despite being in the same year, Isla hadn't known Cedric very well. What she did know was that he had been a very nice boy and a hell of a Seeker in Quidditch. More importantly, something had happened to him the previous year during the Triwizard Tournament. The only person who knew for certain? Harry Potter.

A warning whistled sounded throughout the train and platform, and students who had not yet boarded rushed to the doors before they could close. Isla turned her attention out the window once again, watching as the mother of the Weasleys caught each of her children in a hug, then in turn, Harry and Hermione, before she shepherded the group of teens towards the train. They boarded and Isla quickly lost sight of them all.

"So..." Holly started, desperate to start a new conversation about anything else. She had pulled her cat's carrier off the luggage rack and she was petting, Osiris, her Siamese, with aggressive affection.

"How was your summer, Roger?" Isla questioned, sensing Holly's struggle and smoothly stepping in to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Roger didn't look too happy about having the attention focused solely on him, but he went along with it anyways. "It was fine. I spent a lot of time with my gran and grandad, so it wasn't as nice as Italy, I reckon."

That earned a weak smile from Holly. Slowly, Isla could feel the mood lightening. The train began to move, steadily picking up speed as it drew away from the platform. The frames of Moody, Lupin, the old woman, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley blurred and shrank back into the distance, while the furry figure of a wolfhound dog bounded alongside the moving train as if trying to keep up. But soon, the train rounded the corner and Platform 9¾ disappeared from view, as did everyone on it. Isla settled back in her seat, re-entering the conversation halfway through Roger's explanation of his summer activities. He was boasting about showing off an autograph from Victor Krum to his cousin, when Isla got a sly thought.

"So, Roger, did Fleur ever write you back?" She asked with a teasing grin.

Rogers ears immediately turned red. "I—I don't know what you're talking about," he responded, his tone souring. He looked entirely put out by the mere mention of her name, sighing wistfully as if imagining her silvery-blond hair and French accent.

"You didn't ever write to her?" Isla pressed further. "I could have sworn you told us you would after you took her to the Yule Ball last year."

"Sod off, Isla." Roger folded his arms over his chest, sulking.

"Yeah, Isla."

At the sound of a new voice, all three turned to see Fred Weasley leaning in the compartment doorway, George and Lee Jordan just behind him in the corridor. Isla felt a flash of white-hot anger the moment her eyes landed on him. Her hands immediately clenched into fists.

"I'm afraid you won't have much luck with Miss Delacour, mate," George said from over Fred's shoulder, wearing the name mischievous glint as his brother.

Fred tilted his head sympathetically, though his grin betrayed the mockery behind the words. "We've heard from some pretty reliable sources that she's interested in someone else," he continued.

Roger's face dropped immediately, the color draining from his cheeks as disappointment crept into his expression. Isla couldn't help herself. The anger bubbling up inside of her had to find an outlet.

"Reliable sources, huh?" she snapped, her annoyance making her voice sharper than she intended. "And what 'reliable sources' are those?"

Fred turned his gaze on her, that damn grin tugging at his lips. "That's for me to know and for you to find out, eh, Loveage?"

Isla was suddenly all too overstimulated by his presence. "What do you want?" she demanded.

Fred raised his eyebrows, still holding that self-assured smirk. "Just stopping by to say hello, is all," he said, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"Well, I think you've overstayed your welcome," Isla retorted haughtily, turning away from him as if she had no more time to entertain his games.

Fred's grin softened into a smirk, and he glanced at George and Lee, who were sniggering unhelpfully behind him. With a final glance at Isla, he began to back out of the compartment. "See you at school," he called out over his shoulder, the door slamming shut behind him with a satisfying thud.

Even though he had gone, Isla's heart raced for several minutes after the exchange. Unwilling to admit how much his presence had rattled her, she didn't say anything for the longest time and the compartment dissolved into awkward silence.

Finally, Holly piped up. "That was...fun."

Isla snorted derisively, falling back into her seat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Fun? I swear, he is the most infuriating person I've ever met."

Roger, who had recovered slightly from Fred's news about Fleur, let out a small chuckle. "That's Fred for you."

"Yeah, well, I hope he's not anywhere near compartment when we get to school," Isla muttered under her breath. She pulled her wand from her pocket and made practiced movements as if re-enacting what she might do if Fred were to show up again.

"Why do you hate him so much, anyway?" Roger asked. Holly groaned.

"Don't get her started. We'll be here forever."

Isla rolled her eyes. She could feel the heat still lingering in her cheeks, but she'd be damned if she let anyone know it. "I could write a book. Maybe two. All the Reasons Why Fred Weasley is a Massive Git, Vol. 1 and 2. I bet it would sell out in Diagon Alley."

"I don't think he's all that bad. Him and George are actually kind of funny," Roger commented, stretching his arms and legs out leisurely, taking up a decent amount of leg room in the compartment.

Isla shot him a scathing look and knocked his foot aside with her own.

"Yeah, incredibly witty, they are. Hilarious," she flatly. "They've only made my life living hell since I started at school."

Holly raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "I think that's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"No, I don't actually," Isla answered, slightly miffed. "He and his brother have gotten me into more trouble than I have ever gotten into on my own, and they have never once apologized. Do you remember second year?"

"Not particularly," Holly answered.

"What about second year Charms class?"

Roger then started to laugh. Quite hard, in fact. "Wasn't that the year that Fred lit your hair on fire?"

"Yes!" Isla cried.

Roger snickered. "That was the maddest I've ever seen you. And the maddest I've ever seen Flitwick," he said. "What was it—a week's worth of detention for him?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm sure he didn't regret a second of it." She ran her hands through the length of her brown hair and frowned. "Meanwhile, my hair still hasn't recovered."

"You're not still mad about that, are you?" Holly asked, nudging her shoulder. "It was years ago."

"It's not just that," Isla muttered, looking out the window as the landscape blurred by. "It's everything. The pranks, the smugness, the way he acts like he knows something no one else does. It's exhausting."

Roger made a dramatic humming noise. "Sounds more like you think about him a lot."

She turned her glare on him so fast he recoiled. "Don't."

He held up his hands, grinning. "Just saying."

"You're all insufferable," Isla grumbled, but her voice had lost most of its heat. Her gaze drifted back to the door Fred had disappeared through minutes earlier. She couldn't stop the echo of his smirk from playing in her mind, the way he'd said her name like it was some kind of inside joke only he understood. It made her stomach twist in an unnatural way.

The compartment fell quiet again, this time more thoughtful than tense. As sun raised higher in the sky outside the window, it bathed everything in a yellow light that warmed the window that Isla rested her cheek against. She watched as the city was left behind, traded for the rolling green fields of the countryside. It would still be a few hours before the Hogwarts Express would reach the mountains and the spires of the castle would become visible, but something electric was already stirring in the air.

Roger let out a long sigh, clearly trying to break the silence. "Is it wrong that I'm already ready for this year to be over?"

Holly scratched Osiris behind the ears, pensive. "No. But hopefully it's better than last year."

Isla didn't say anything, but her fingers unconsciously tightened around her wand. She had a strange, fluttering feeling in her chest—half dread, half something else entirely.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Here's to hoping."