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Chapter Text

I realized I had magic when I was 8, after jumping off the swings in our backyard. (It's relevant to snake-speak, I swear!) It was the highest I’d ever gone, and even though Tuney told me it was dangerous, I did it anyway. We've always been like that - her telling me I'm being stupid, me doing things anyway, and turning out just fine. She's a bit of a worrywart.

This time though, Petunia was right. Practically as soon as I jumped off, I realized where I was gonna land - right on top of the fence.

The spiked, wrought-iron fence.

I did what I could to brace for the landing, Tuney screamed, but then the most amazing thing happened - and I floated, right over the fence and into the Livingstons’ backyard. I landed gently, looked back, and Tuney just stared at me, like she'd seen a ghost. I suppose in a way, she had. She ran off, yelling for Mum and Dad, and I took the opportunity to climb back into our yard.

I lied to my parents about what had happened. I didn't want to get in trouble. Petunia tried to convince them, but according to Dad, it was impossible to jump over the fence, as it was simply too far away.

Without magic, he was probably right.

Tuney never really liked me after that. I suppose it didn't help that I kept experimenting - jumping out of trees, over rivers, out of my bedroom window upstairs. Sometimes, I'd float down the stairs, if our parents weren't around to see.

Then I reckoned that if I could make myself float, why not something else? I didn't want Tuney to hate me for learning even more magic, so one day, while she was in the bathroom, I plucked a daisy from Mum's garden, and crawled into the hedges. I focused really hard, cupping the flower in my hands, and thought about what it was like to float - freeing, exhilarating, and above all, magical.

I opened my eyes, and there it was, floating a couple inches in the air.

“You're a witch.”

Lily jerked, looking to the side. Staring into the hedges at her from the sidewalk was a pale boy with limp, black hair hanging past his jaw, and a bag slung over his shoulder. Her focus broken, the daisy dropped back down into Lily's hands.

“...No I'm not.” was unfortunately the best response she could come up with.

The boy rolled his eyes, squatting down to her level. “It's fine, alright? I'm magic, too.”

Lily frowned. “You're making fun of me.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then prove it!” Lily demanded. “Do some magic right now!”

He scowled. “I can't. I've only had a couple bits of accidental magic, and I haven't been able to do it again.”

Lily scoffed. “I knew it. Liar.”

“I'm not a liar!” the boy shouted. “I am a wizard.”

“And your mum's the Queen, I'm sure.” she snarked back.

“No, but she is a witch.” he countered, holding out his hand. “I can prove that, at least.”

Lily hesitated. She could hear the back door open on the other side of the house, Tuney calling for her. She’d probably get in trouble for disappearing on her sister, but here was someone who claimed to understand in a way that Petunia never would. Once Tuney made her mind up on something, she never changed it, and she'd decided magic was bad, even if she'd already decided that she loved Lily.

This boy, however, Lily had never seen around, and judging by the convenience store bag he had, he was just passing through. She might never see him again. He was probably lying, but…

“I'm Lily.” she said, crawling out the other side of the hedges and onto the sidewalk. “Lily Evans.”

The boy took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Severus.” he introduced himself. “Severus Snape.”

---

I opened my eyes, and there it was, floating a couple inches in the air.

That's how I realized magic was something I could interact with. It wasn't something set in stone. And if I wasn't limited to just floating, what else could I do?

As it turned out, quite a bit!

Any chance I got, whenever something seemed impossible, I'd try using magic. If I couldn't reach something, I'd pull it to me with magic. If a tree’s branches were too high up to grab onto, I'd use magic to stick to the trunk.

Then I started trying more frivolous things. Snapping my fingers to make a flame at the tip of my thumb. Sharpening my pencils by staring at their tips. Chilling a lukewarm glass of water by blowing on it. The less necessary it was though, the harder it was to get it to work. So it made sense that conversely, emergencies are the easiest time to create new spells.

I'm not sure whether I was born a snake-speaker, or if I became one out of necessity.

“Sev, don't move. It's gonna be alright.” Lily tried to reassure him, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her uncertainty and fear.

They'd been out in the woods when Severus fell off of a tree, trying - and failing - yet again to replicate one of Lily's tricks. This time, however, his foot had plunged into the ground, collapsing a small tunnel and revealing an adder’s den. Sev had tried to pull his foot out the moment he heard hissing fill the air, but it was well and truly stuck. Maybe if he didn't wear such sturdy boots, he could've just pulled his foot out of the shoe, but no such luck.

“It's okay.” She kept trying to soothe him, slowly moving over towards him to help pull his foot out. “Adders aren't that venomous. A-and they rarely ever kill a healthy adult. You'd have to be allergic or something, and that's really rare.”

“Knowing my luck…” Sev grumbled. “And we both know I'm barely twenty kilos - with my boots and coat on. That's a far cry from an adult.”

Lily didn't want to concede his point, but he was right. Especially with how heavy his coat was, somewhat compensating for how scrawny he was with how bulky the jacket was, she wouldn't be surprised if he was nearly fifteen kilos, if that. His father was a cruel man, constantly withholding food as punishment, amongst other forms of “discipline”. It was a miracle Sev was alive to begin with.

The adder reared back, hissing as it poised to strike. Severus clenched his eyes shut in terror.

“STOP!” Lily shouted.

The adder froze, turning slowly to look at Lily. It flicked its tongue in and out, but no longer hissed. Instead, it spoke.

“Why? My home is destroyed. I am trapped.”

“It was an accident.” Lily explained. “We didn't mean to, and we're very sorry. We won't hurt you, I promise.”

“Lily? What are you doing?” came Sev’s small, scared voice.

“Trying to save you, you plank.” she snapped. “Now hush.”

“Why should I believe you? Still you conspire against me, speaking in your ape-tongue.” she accused.

“That's right, we're apes.” Lily agreed, grasping at straws by that point. “Apes like to be in trees, right? Well, we fell, that's all. It was an accident.” she stressed.

The adder stared at her, then looked back at Severus. Sev was still trying to tug his leg free to little success, and leaning as far away from the snake as he could.

“I see. You are not very good at being apes.”

Sev froze as the adder slithered forward, spiraled up his leg, and made her way towards Lily.

“You are very strange, snake-ape.” the adder remarked. “But interesting. Perhaps we will cross paths again.”

She slithered off into the underbrush, the leaf litter gently rustling as the snake left. With the adder gone, Sev was able to properly adjust his leg in a way that allowed him to slip free. The two kids hugged, relieved that the danger hadn't come to pass. When they parted, Severus frowned, inspecting Lily.

“How are you a snake-speaker?” he asked. “You're a muggleborn.”

She shrugged. “Same way I learned the rest of my magic.”

“But that's not possible.” Sev objected. “Snake-speak is a gift. It's only passed down by blood, and you don't have any wizard blood.” He paused, rapping his knuckles on his chin. “Unless…”

“Unless…?” Lily prompted.

“Unless you do have wizard blood.” he finished. “It could be that one of your parents is from a squib line, and that's how you inherited it.” Sev grinned. “That's great! You're not really a muggleborn after all!”

Lily squirmed, unsure. “...I guess that makes sense.”

Still, the thought irked her.

---

I'm not sure whether I was born a snake-speaker, or if I became one out of necessity.

Sev says that magical gifts like snake-speak are entirely hereditary. After coming to Hogwarts, it seems that's the general consensus here as well. From metamorphmagy to valkyrism to all kinds of animal-speak, you have to get it from your heritage.

But that doesn't make sense. I mean, sure, that might work going several generations back. Countless generations, even. But it has to come from somewhere, originally. I can't find anything conclusive in the library, but even the Blacks weren't recorded as having metamorphmagy until after they came to the British Isles during the Roman invasion.

No one really knows why magic works, yet for some reason they're convinced they know how it works. To me, that doesn't make any sense. Only a decade ago, we thought that the universe existed in a steady state, but now we know that the Big Bang was real! After all, things had to come from somewhere.

And yet wizards still cling to this idea! But magic had to have come from somewhere originally. It stands to reason that someone had to be the first. Sure, other wizards like Slytherin were snake-speakers before me, but why can't I have been another first? Bats can fly, but it's not like they evolved from birds, y'know? They figured it out on their own.

Besides, I'm proud to be a muggleborn! I don't need any fancy family magics to be the best! I'll make my own family magics, and they'll be better than even the Bones’ or the Blacks’.

I'll be the strongest witch ever.

Chapter Text

Summer was off to a terrible start. Marigold Lily Potter had tried buttering her relatives up over the course of her first week back by doing various chores around the house, as well as helping Dudley with his summer assignments for his second year at Smeltings. Mary had even cooked dinner for the Dursleys several nights, despite no longer having to, thanks to severe threats Hagrid and Professor McGonagall had made last year. Yet when she had finished cleaning the dishes and brought Uncle Vernon a glass of scotch like he had usually demanded after dinner when Mary was at their beck and call, he and Aunt Petunia still had the same look of disdain for Mary that they had worn ever since she had gotten her admission letter from Hogwarts School of Magic. Still, it was the best Mary could manage, so she took a shot in the dark.

"Er, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia?" Marigold started, nervously fiddling with her hands behind her back. All she got in return was a grunt from Uncle Vernon, so she pressed on. "I-I was wondering, that is, if you don't mind, would you be willing to sign this permission slip for me?"

She held out the piece of parchment, and with a look of extreme disgust, Aunt Petunia snatched it from her, looking it over with a glance before handing it over to Uncle Vernon. Upon getting through the first few sentences of the form, however, he burst out laughing.

"You freak, did you really think either of us would sign this? It's bad enough we have to house you, we're not about to assist in this… perversion of yours." he spat out.

Mary bit back tears, and was going to apologize and just leave it at that and go back to her room, but Aunt Petunia had more to add to her husband's refusal.

"If we had our way, you'd be out on the streets, boy. It's your kind's fault that we've had to put up with you at all, and just when we thought we had finally gotten some peace, that crackpot old fool comes by demanding we still keep you? Disgusting. I'll have you know, the neighbors have noticed your little game of dress-up. I suppose you're proud, making us the laughingstock of the neighborhood?"

Marigold clenched her jaw and took the permission slip for hormone replacement potions back from her Uncle. She managed to barely hold back tears, but her voice warbled as she responded, "I'm sorry, I was just asking. I'll go to my room, now."

As she made her way out of the sitting room, she could still hear the various slur-filled grousings of her Aunt and Uncle. Though she wished she could slam her bedroom door, she knew better than to test her relatives' patience any more than she already had, and so she closed her door gently, slumping face first into her bed. Mary wished she could just have Hagrid threaten them to sign the slip, but unfortunately, the mediwixen guilds were extremely strict about consent. Should they give even the slightest hint they were coerced, the slip would be nullified, and Mary would have to pay a fine if she ever wanted to receive care from a certified mediwix again. All in all, it would be a spectacularly easy way to waste money.

Of course, the only reason she had thought to ask her bigoted Aunt and Uncle to sign it in the first place was that her Magical Guardian, Albus Dumbledore, refused to sign it in their stead. That was a whole mess of its own, with how despite Dumbledore himself being gay, he either couldn't or refused to grasp transgender issues, and maintained that Marigold was a gay boy, deluded into thinking he should transition on behalf of his romantic interests. It was complete and utter nonsense, naturally, but Dumbledore held a position of power over Mary, so there wasn't a whole lot she could do, short of brewing her own hormone potions in secret, a prospect that was becoming more and more appealing by the day. She had yet to see any signs of puberty, but unless she did something - and soon - her body would eventually betray her mind.

In the wake of her expected failure, she decided to pen a letter to each of her friends about how her first week home had gone. Hedwig was currently out hunting in the fading light of day, but Mary was in no rush, and so decided she would send them off the next day. She sealed the three letters with her Heiress ring and wax from the kit Theodore Nott had gotten her for Christmas, and set them aside. Marigold wasn't quite tired yet though, so she elected to pull out her summer assignments, to try and finish them ahead of time so that when she was finally free to leave the Dursleys, she would not have to pick between finishing assignments and spending time with her friends. Besides, she had only been going to sleep as early as she had been this past week so she could wake up in time to make breakfast for her relatives. Given that her ploy had ended disastrously, she saw no need to get up early, so she was free to stay up late.

---

Unfortunately, things were not quite so simple. Having grown used to her catering to their whims over the past week, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were quite irate when Marigold did not continue to do so. After quite a massive row that could definitely be heard at least three houses down, Uncle Vernon went to raise his hand to hit Mary, but stopped short as he likely remembered all the colorful threats he had received last year. Instead, all he grit out was "Room. Now.", and Mary gladly obliged. When she returned to her room, both Hedwig was absent from her perch, and the letters she had written last night were absent from her desk, so Mary’s owl familiar must have already left to deliver them. With nothing much else to do besides catching up on the muggle curriculum, she pulled out her summer assignments once more.

Eventually, the sun set, and when the house was finally quiet, Marigold crept downstairs to make herself dinner, as well as breakfast and lunch for the following day, as she hadn’t had a chance to eat earlier, before Uncle Vernon started shouting at her. Thankfully, her trunk's potion kit compartment was temperature controlled, and since she had used up nearly all her potions supplies the last year, she dumped the rest and used the now empty compartment as a makeshift refrigerator. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant way to live, but if it let her avoid her Aunt and Uncle, it was definitely worth the extra trouble.

Still, the following day Dudley made a few visits to Mary’s room when he wasn’t busy galavanting around with his friends. Every visit he made was predictably due to some problem or other he was having with his own classwork, and since Mary was already well on the way to finishing her own summer assignments, she didn’t mind helping her cousin with his. It was also helpful to her, as it allowed her to get a bit of a handle on the muggle topics she had missed while studying magic.

“So… Marigold?”

Mary set her textbook beside her on her bed and looked up at Dudley. He was at her desk working on an essay, and would occasionally ask a question or two, but this felt different. For one, there was something about his tone, and for another, he had always called her Mary since she had gotten back from Hogwarts, never Marigold.

“What is it, Dud?”

Dudley opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his words. “Why? I mean, the whole… girl thing.”

Mary scrunched up her nose, “You mean why am I transgender?”

He shrugged, but nodded.

“Well,” she started, “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you a boy?”

Dudley gave her a look of confusion even worse than he had been giving his maths assignment earlier. “Huh?”

Mary rolled her eyes, “I mean, what makes you so sure you’re a boy?”

Her cousin flushed red in embarrassment, “Uh, well, my uh, y’know. Down there.”

“But what if you woke up one day and you had girl parts instead?” Mary posed. At Dudley’s look of horror, she clarified, “I promise I won’t, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Just… hypothetically. What if?”

Dudley frowned. “But I was a boy before, so that wouldn’t matter.”

“And if you forgot? Or if everyone told you that you were born a girl and always would be? If they told you so often that you started to believe it?”

That stumped Dudley, and he turned back around to face the desk for a while as he thought on it, staring out the window. Eventually, a minute or so later, he turned back to Mary.

“I dunno. I just am. I like being a bloke.”

Mary smiled at him, “And I like being a girl.”

Dudley looked at Mary for a few seconds, before nodding and giving an uncertain smile back.

“Okay.” was all he said, as he turned back to his essay.

---

Marigold sat on a bench at the nearby park reading her Mum’s journal on snake-speak. Despite the heat, there was a pleasant breeze, and as she was wearing a light, blue dress whose skirt billowed in the wind, she was rather comfortable. Her Mum’s notes were fascinating, to say the least, and incredibly thorough. Similar to how Mary had discovered she could communicate with Nora, her Mum had realized early in her life that so long as she focused on using snake-speak, she could even communicate with some lizards, newts, and even some frogs and toads. That was particularly exciting to Mary, as she could potentially talk to Trevor, Neville’s pet toad, even if it was more limited in what concepts she could communicate to him.

A few neighbors walked by where Mary sat from time to time, and it was obvious from their reactions that Aunt Petunia was telling the truth. Despite minding her own business just reading, she received a wide variety of disgusted looks, some parents even taking their children across the road as they passed her by. It was quite ridiculous to Mary, but even moreso was it surprising. She had honestly thought no one had paid her any attention, as she always felt rather invisible in Little Whinging, but apparently her neighbors at least paid her enough mind to recognize Mary, despite her transformation last summer. Part of that actually frustrated Mary, as surely someone should have recognized the signs of her relatives abusing her, right? At least that was behind her, now.

Still, Marigold quickly stopped paying any mind to any passersby. No point in paying attention to scowling faces that would just make her feel worse about herself. Another figure strolled by, and Mary kept her head down in her Mum’s journal. However, rather than continuing on, they stopped in front of her. Mary looked up to see none other than Mrs Figg, tilting her head as she inspected Mary.

“Oh, sorry dear, I didn’t mean to stare.” Mrs Figg apologized. “It’s quite the difference, I probably wouldn’t have recognized you if I hadn’t already read it in the paper.”

Now it was Marigold’s turn to be confused. “Er, sorry, the paper?”

Mrs Figg covered her mouth, “Oh, whoops. Ah well, come along, I was planning on making some tea anyways.”

Intrigued, Mary closed her Mum’s journal and tucked it under her arm. She slung her small bag over her shoulder, where her wand lay hidden, and followed after Mrs Figg. Were she to use magic outside of Number Four, it would still trigger the Trace, but if it was a matter of self-defense, there wouldn’t be any charges brought against her by the Ministry. Better safe than sorry, in Mary’s opinion, not that it was a concern with Mrs Figg. Soon enough, they arrived at Mrs Figg’s house and were greeted by the countless cats she had. Mary sat down as Mrs Figg put the kettle on.

“Why would I be in the paper, Mrs Figg?” Mary asked.

“Not Whinging Weekly, certainly, but the Daily Prophet, dear.” she answered nonchalantly.

“The D- What!?” Mary sputtered. “I- you’re a witch?”

Mrs Figg gave her a sad smile, “Not quite, dear. My mother was, and my father was a wizard, but I haven’t a drop of magic in me. I do keep in touch with the wixen side of things from time to time, though. In fact, about half of the cats I have are Kneazles, you know - I’m a licensed breeder for Magical Menagerie over on Diagon.”

Marigold was absolutely floored. By the time she recovered, Mrs Figg had poured them both a cuppa, and sat down as she stirred in her sugar.

Mary cleared her throat, “Th-then you knew. Who I was, I mean. All this time.”

Mrs Figg simply nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me? That I was a witch? Who my parents were? Until a year ago, I thought my parent’s died in a car crash!” Mary demanded.

Mrs Figg sighed. “Albus gave me rather strict instructions when he asked me to watch over you. Keep an eye on you from afar, but I was to never mention anything of magic. I sent owls to him about you every so often, things I noticed and the like. The… the bruising.”

Mary swallowed as she realized, “Then he knew how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon treated me. Even before Hagrid and Professor McGonagall told him, he knew. He just didn’t care.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mrs Figg nodded gravely. “I begged him to do something, but all he gave me was platitudes. I thought of doing something myself, but what could a squib like me do against the likes of Albus Dumbledore?”

Mary was surprised at Mrs Figg's casual use of the wixenborn slur, but then, she supposed, it was a fairly recent term, according to Professor Greenbay’s Wixen Studies class. She also couldn’t deny the elderly woman’s logic. Anything that she could have done, on the muggle or wixen side of things, could easily be undone by a swish of Dumbledore’s wand. It was a hopeless situation.

At Mary’s silence, Mrs Figg changed the topic. “You know, I had suspected you might fancy boys or something similar, but I never quite guessed this. I must say though, it suits you quite well. You’re a beautiful young woman, Marigold.”

She flushed at the compliment. “Was I really that obvious?”

Mrs Figg shook her head, “No, not in particular, but you did spend ever so much time helping me around the house. It was the little things, here and there. I’m not surprised you hid it from your relatives.”

Mary grimaced, “They’re not particularly fond of me being transgender, that’s for sure. They laughed at me when I asked them to give permission for HRP- er, hormone replacement potions, that is.”

Mrs Figg sipped her tea thoughtfully, “You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you? Surely, as your guardian for wixen matters, your Head of House would sign it for you, no?”

Mary slumped in her chair, “Professor Sprout definitely would, only thing is she’s not my magical guardian. Dumbledore is, and he thinks I’m deluded.”

“Old codger.” Mrs Figg mumbled into her tea.

The rest of their visit was pleasant, as they moved on to all the magic she had learned over the year. Marigold could tell that Mrs Figg was a little jealous, but she was happy for Mary, regardless. As she helped her tidy up after tea, Mary noticed a clipping, where the Daily Prophet had reported on Marigold’s Sorting and gender, that Mrs Figg had proudly posted upon her refrigerator. Mary figured she may as well sign up for the Daily Prophet, or at least the Weekly Prophet, so Mrs Figg grabbed the latest issue of the Prophet, which had an owlable form she could clip and fill out. As she did, she noticed an article reporting the death of one Quirinus Quirrel, former professor at Hogwarts, who succumbed to the effects of a mysterious illness in the early hours of the morning. In all honesty, Mary was glad she would never see the man again.

---

Over the course of the remaining two weeks Marigold was required to spend at Number Four, Privet Drive, Professors McGonagall and Sprout would occasionally visit. It agitated Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but it also mellowed their behavior towards Mary, herself. It also wasn't long before Mary finished her summer assignments, catching up on muggle subjects, and helping Dudley finish his assignments. The only downside (besides the obvious) was that despite the letters Marigold sent her friends at least twice a week, which Hedwig diligently delivered without even having to be asked, she had gotten no responses. She at least got letters back from Madam Pomfrey, so it wasn't as if letters simply couldn't reach her, and although said letters contained reassurances from the kind Mediwitch, Mary could not help but worry. She had probably done something or other to upset her friends, after all. If she was being honest with herself, they might not even be friends anymore - a frightening prospect which Mary grew more and more certain of as each day passed without any response.

Yet the end of her time with the Dursleys arrived all the same, and Mary knew she couldn't stay. Her Aunt and Uncle tolerated her presence on a temporary basis, and even that was generous in its description of their behavior. To stay was suicide, so Mary packed her trunk and set off. She wasn't sure where she would stay, but she could probably stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer, if it came to it. She certainly had the Galleons for it, after all. Hedwig's cage was empty, as the Knight Bus didn't agree with the owl, and she would instead find her way on her own to wherever Mary ended up. Mary was about to pull out her wand to hail the Knight Bus, when she noticed a pay phone at the end of the street. With no small amount of trepidation, she dragged her trunk inside, and began leafing through the phone book. Mary soon found her quarry - Granger Dental. She inserted a handful of coins and dialed. The machine rang, and Mary felt her heart leap into her throat. Another ring and she began regretting even considering calling the Doctors Granger. A third ring and-

Click!

"Granger Dental, I'm Sherry, how can I help you today?" came the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Er, h-hi, I'm- er," Mary stuttered. "M-my name is Marigold Potter, I was wo- was w-wondering if-if-if I could talk to one of the Gra-Grangers?"

"Oh, Miss Potter- Mary, right? I was asked to keep an ear out for your call. Give me just a moment, I think Dennis is busy, but Valerie should be free right now, is that alright?"

Mary nodded, before realizing the receptionist wouldn't be able to see the gesture over the phone. "Y-yes, please. If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. Hold, please."

The line played some smooth jazz that Mary honestly found a little soothing, and right now, she could use any relaxation she could get, as her anxiety continued to spike through the roof.

It soon stopped, and Mary heard a familiar voice once more. "Hello? Marigold?"

"Er, hello Mis- er, Doctor Gr- Va- um…" Mary fumbled, as she realized she didn't know how to address her former best friend's mother.

Valerie Granger's light, warm laugh echoed through the phone line, "Oh, 'Valerie' is just fine, dear. And you can use Missus or Doctor, or even nothing at all."

Mary swallowed. "R-right. Er, hello Mrs V-valerie. I-I was just calling to-to see i-if I would still be- still be-be welcome a-at your house. I wasn't-sn-n't sure, since, er…"

"Of course you're welcome, Marigold. What happened, is everything okay? Do you need me to come get you?"

"Oh, er, n-no, I'm fine." Mary fumbled to reassure her. "It's-it-it-it's just that I haven't got-otten any letters back from He-Hermion-ne, s-so I just th-thought tha- thought that…"

If it weren't literally impossible to hear a frown over the phone, Mary would have sworn she heard Valerie frown. "That's odd." she eventually responded. "Hermione's been sending you letters nearly every other day. She's been worried sick that you hadn't responded."

Marigold was incredulous. "I- I've been writing letters, too! Did they not even make it?"

"Mm, no, sorry. Tell you what - you go on and take the bus to our house, Hermione should be there still. When Dennis and I are done here, we'll meet you there, does that sound good? Do you need our address?"

She smiled, "No, Mrs Valerie, I still have it."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Marigold practically skipped to the side of the road as she pulled out her wand, and hailed the Knight Bus. A few minutes, a couple of bangs, and an extremely jerky ride later, she stood in front of an unfamiliar house, being handed back her luggage by the porter. As if on cue, when she turned to walk up the drive, she saw the curtains get pulled back, revealing the wide-eyed stare of her possibly-still-best friend, Hermione Granger. Mary barely made it a few steps before she was hugged tightly by a curly-haired missile that shot out from the Granger household.

"Marigold! You're here! I've sent you ever so many letters, but I never got any back, so I was worried maybe your Aunt and Uncle were stopping them from reaching you somehow, but then I remembered that I sent them by owl, and - oh, we have a family owl now, by the way- anyway-"

As Hermione drew in a deep breath, Marigold hugged her back, just as tight.

"It's good to see you too, Hermione." Mary mumbled into her best friend's shoulder, tears trickling down her cheeks.

It was an extremely relieving reunion, and Mary was glad to learn that the rest of her friends had also been sending her letters, but it still left the question of why exactly their letters had not reached each other. Mary had already called for her to try and get an explanation, and Hedwig was on her way to the Grangers' house, but at the moment they were simply at a loss. With nothing left to do but wait, the girls quickly caught up on their summers so far, as well as reviewing their summer assignments (which both had already completed, naturally). It wasn't long before Hermione's parents returned as well, bearing gifts of takeaway dinner. It wasn't her own family, but sitting at the table with the Grangers, eating, talking, and laughing, Marigold felt completely at ease.

---

Mary closed the door to the bathroom behind her, and pulled out her bag of bathroom supplies. Hermione had already brushed her teeth, and Marigold grabbed her toothbrush to follow suit, not wanting to disappoint Hermione's dentist parents. As she was about to stick her brush in her mouth, she looked into the mirror, only to see - of all things - an elf, standing right behind her. Her toothbrush clattered into the sink as she whirled around and backed up against the door.

"Who are you!?" she fearfully demanded.

The elf, wearing a dingy tea towel as if it were a toga, gave her a deep bow. "Dobby is a house elf, Miss." he responded in his squeaky voice.

Mary blinked, "Er, sorry, I know you're an elf, I meant what's your name? Dobby, was it?"

Dobby nodded as he wiped tears from his eyes with a scrap of cloth, "For Miss to apologize to a lowly house elf like Dobby, you are a great witch indeed, Miss Marigold Potter."

Mary sat down on the bathroom floor in front of Dobby, deeply unsettled. She had heard from Madam Naddy, the elf in charge of the Hogwarts kitchens, about elves like him. Ones who were abused heavily by their enslavers, forced to believe themselves lesser, constantly identifying themselves by name, so as to make it easier for the wix they toiled under to identify them. She knew there were countless cases like this, but seeing the victim of one first hand was… appalling. Marigold's heart broke for Dobby.

"What are you doing here, Dobby?" she asked gently.

"Dobby must apologize, Miss." he answered. "Dobby thought that Miss Marigold Potter would not return to Hogwarts if she thought her friends were no longer her friends. But Miss still found out the truth behind Dobby's deception, Miss."

Dobby snapped his fingers, and in his other, open hand, appeared a mound of envelopes, all either addressed to or from Mary, herself. That was one mystery solved, at least. She couldn't deny that she was angry at him for manipulating her like that, but there was clearly something going on that she didn't yet understand.

Mary sighed as she took the letters from him. "Thank you for returning these. Why do you not want me to go back to Hogwarts? What's wrong?"

His eyes went somehow even wider. "Dobby cannot say, but Miss Marigold Potter is in grave danger, and must not return! Terrible, evil things are at play, and Hogwarts will not be safe, Miss!"

"But my friends will still be there!" Mary argued. "Won't they be in danger, too?"

He sadly nodded, "All will be, Miss. But it is all Dobby can do, just to warn Miss Marigold Potter. To keep the magic of Dobby's elfbind from harming Dobby, already it is taking its toll, but Dobby had to warn Miss! Miss Marigold Potter is too important to be-"

Mary watched in horror as he clutched his head, wincing in pain, likely suffering the consequences for breaching the magical contract that had been forced upon him. Eventually, he began breathing normally, as he shook his head.

"Please, do not return to Hogwarts." he begged. "Please, promise Dobby you will stay, Miss."

Mary gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Dobby. I can't. If my friends will be in danger, I want to protect them, like you tried to protect me." Dobby sighed, but Mary continued, "But I can promise we'll be as careful as possible, okay?"

Dobby nodded, slightly mollified, before wincing once more at an invisible pain. "Dobby must go, Dobby's Master is calling. But Dobby thanks Miss Marigold Potter, from the bottom of Dobby's heart."

With another deep bow, he snapped his fingers, and popped out of existence, leaving Mary alone to cry, curled up on the bathroom floor, surrounded by letters.

Chapter Text

The first thing Marigold did after Dobby had left, besides brushing her teeth as she had intended to do when she went to the bathroom in the first place - and besides telling Hermione about what happened (and besides putting on her pyjamas) - was pen a letter to all of her friends telling them that she had only just gotten their letters, and that she was terribly sorry, but it would be a bit as she read them before she could respond properly. She would send Hedwig off to deliver the letters in the morning, as well as the ones that had never been delivered in the first place. The second thing she did (fifth, really) was ask Hedwig about Dobby, only to learn that it must have been him all along who had been taking the letters off of her desk after Mary had written and sealed them, as Hedwig denied ever sending a single letter other than those to Madam Pomfrey, and was altogether quite confused by the whole matter. The third (sixth) thing she did was begin perusing and actually reading all of the letters she had missed over the past three weeks.

Amongst the letters Dobby had returned to Mary, was a very officious looking letter sealed with the coat of arms of the Noble House of Longbottom. It wasn't the sort of thing Neville would send her, and when she opened it, she was reminded of Lady Apparent Augusta Longbottom's words at Platform 9¾. It was the cordially extended invitation to Longbottom Manor and to the ball that she would be hosting for Marigold and Neville's birthdays. That demanded a response as soon as possible, so she penned her reply saying she would be delighted to attend, and sealed it with her Heiress ring containing her own House's coat of arms. She placed it on top of the stack of letters to be sent in the morning, and went to sleep in the spare bed Dennis had put in Hermione's room, so the girls could be together.

The next morning, Mary was quite chipper as she read over all the letters she had missed. Any doubts she had formed over her friends abandoning her were well and truly banished to oblivion as she read all that they had written her. The Doctors Granger still had work to do, given it was a Tuesday, and so after having breakfast, they told the girls to stay out of trouble, and headed to the office. Marigold was surprised at just how much there was to do around the house, provided one had guardians that actually liked them. The Granger household had four bedrooms, and while one was used by Hermione, one by her parents, and one reserved for guests, the fourth had been fully renovated into a family library. Dennis and Valerie were apparently just as much of bookworms as their daughter, and there was an incredibly wide variety of topics, both fiction and nonfiction, to choose from. In particular, Mary finally had a chance to start reading The Lord of the Rings at Hermione's recommendation, and was thrilled to see Hermione likewise pick up A Wrinkle in Time, the first book in Mary's recommended series.

Additionally, while the television and the computer had always been off limits to Mary at Number Four, she and Hermione had full access here (or at least as unlimited as access could be, for the almost-twelve year old daughter of responsible parents). They didn't have any consoles or even many computer games to speak of (a horror in Dudley's eyes), but of the few they did, Hermione's favorite by far was SimCity. It was a relatively recent release by the newly-formed American game studio, Maxis, but even in the short time since Hermione had gotten her hands on the game, she had mastered it inside and out. Marigold couldn't honestly say that she understood most of what happened on the screen, but it was certainly entertaining to watch, and Mary enjoyed listening to Hermione enthusiastically explain the history and intricacies of the digital civilization she had cultivated.

That night, after another enjoyable dinner with the Grangers, Marigold received letters from her friends. They had all been quite worried at her apparent silence, especially those friends who knew even a little bit about the Dursleys. Theodore's letter back, in particular, was extremely relieved that all was well, though he responded slightly oddly about her HRP slip going unsigned. However, since Mary couldn't place her finger on what exactly seemed off, she figured it was probably the same issue she had always had with understanding hidden meanings and the like. Besides, Theodore was perhaps her most supportive friend when it came to matters of her transition, which she really appreciated about him. Mary also received a letter back from Augusta, already. Lady Longbottom had responded saying she would meet her at noon on the 19th at the Leaky Cauldron, and would host her until the day of the event. As stuffy as some of the traditions of the wixen nobility could be, Mary had to admit that having a solid plan nearly three weeks in advance was a huge weight off her mind. It had always bothered her how lackadaisical people could be about planning. The Dursleys had changed the entirety of their plans on more than one occasion, sometimes mere minutes beforehand, and it drove her mad.

While there was certainly plenty to do around the house, on days when one or both of Hermione's parents didn't have any appointments scheduled, they would often go out. Hermione's favorite excursion was to the library, and as much as Mary enjoyed libraries, she enjoyed the various museums they went to far more. There were certainly museums near Little Whinging that Mary could have gone to, but she had never indulged herself in spending what little pocket money she got from Mrs Figg on the relatively steep admission. In contrast, Hermione had visited all of her local museums enough to have practically memorized the permanent exhibits, so aside from the visiting exhibits, it certainly didn't hold the same novelty for her as it did for Mary.

---

On Saturday, the 4th, Hermione and Marigold had finally come to the decision that they should tell Hermione's parents about Dobby's ominous warning. So, as Mary stuttered and mumbled her way through her recounting of the events, Dennis and Valerie Granger sat listening attentively. When she had finished, rather than discount and mock her experiences as the Dursleys always had whenever she tried to explain her side of events, they nodded, and thanked Mary for her honesty and trust.

Dennis responded first, after sharing a look with his wife. "I won't lie, it's definitely… concerning."

Valerie nodded, "It's also not something either of us take lightly. Your safety - both of your safety - is of the utmost importance to us."

"We'll definitely be sending a letter to your professors about this, but beyond that…" Dennis shrugged, "I'm not sure what else we can really do. There just isn't much to go on, unfortunately."

"So I can still go to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"For now, yes." Valerie gave her a nervous smile, as Hermione began flapping her hands, and Mary wiggled her body. "Like I said, we're both very concerned about this, but we trust you and your friends to be as safe as possible."

"Also," Dennis began, "I know you said Hufflepuff has a rule that first years aren't allowed to be on their own, and you are second years now, but I think you still ought to keep to that policy, as best you can. There's safety in numbers, and it can't hurt to be cautious, especially if Dobby's warnings have merit, and it's not just some sort of sick prank."

Valerie stood up from her seat beside her husband on the couch. "That said, do try to still enjoy yourselves, hm? C'mere, you two."

She wrapped both girls in a hug, Dennis joining shortly after. As he pulled away, he looked to Mary with a curious expression.

"I just had a thought." he began, tapping his finger to his chin. "You see, having lived with us for a week now, Marigold, I've noticed a few things you do that are… familiar. Particularly, the way you wiggled just now. I'm assuming not, given how your relatives are, but have you ever been evaluated for autism?"

Mary scrunched up her nose. "Definitely not by them. Madam Pomfrey might have? I don't know. I see her for Mind Healing, although we've been doing it by owl for the summer. Why?"

Hermione's eyes went wide as she looked at Mary, "Oh, of course, why didn't I think of it earlier?"

The rest of the evening was spent going over various resources on autism that the Grangers had accrued on their daughter's behalf, and asking Mary an extensive amount of questions. By the time they decided to go out for dinner, they were all quite certain that Marigold was, in fact, autistic. Mary made a note to ask Madam Pomfrey about it in her next letter, but she already had a feeling Pomfrey would agree. Loads of things made way more sense, and Mary hoped her new understanding of herself would help, in the same way Hermione said it had helped her. On their way to the restaurant, Hermione also brought up the possibility that Neville was autistic as well, which seemed likely, but they both agreed Ron probably wasn't.

---

Eventually, the 19th came, so Marigold packed her trunk and let Hedwig out of her cage to meet up with her later. The Grangers were duly invited to the ball Augusta was hosting at the end of the month, but until then, Mary would be leaving the Grangers to stay with Neville and his grandmother in their manor. Still, Dennis and Valerie weren't about to leave Mary just yet, and so drove her with Hermione in tow to the Leaky Cauldron that morning. Mary certainly wasn't complaining, as it let her avoid another overstimulating ride on the Knight Bus, as well as spend more time with her best friend.

Thankfully it wasn't too busy, as they entered the dingy pub, and it wasn't long before they spotted the Longbottoms. As the adults talked and at the behest of his grandmother, Neville gave both Hermione and Mary a formal greeting, as he had on the day they met, which the girls returned before they all crushed each other in hugs.

"It's s-so good to see y-you." Neville murmured into Marigold's shoulder.

Mary beamed at her brother as they pulled apart, "It's good to see you too, Nev. I missed you."

He shook his head "No, n-not like-" he paused, frowning, while biting his lip. "Okay, y-yes, I do mean it like th-that too, but what I really m-meant was that… well, it's one thing, h-hearing- er, reading that y-you're alright, but it's another entirely to actually believe it." Neville shrugged, "Couldn't h-help but w-worry until I saw you with m-my own eyes, especially with how l-long we heard nothing back f-from you. And with h-how terrible the Dursleys are to y-you."

Hermione hummed as she tapped her fingers against her thigh, "Oh, certainly. I can't tell you how relieved I was when I heard the Knight Bus outside our house, only to see you stepping out of it, Marigold."

Mary gave her a sheepish grin, "Sorry for the surprise, I know you don't like unexpected things, I was just so relieved you didn't… hate me, or anything." She shook her head clear of depressing thoughts of false possibilities, "I completely forgot to call you ahead of time, after I got off the phone with your parents."

Hermione fidgeted, fiddling with the pocket openings on her jeans and blushing, "W-well, I suppose there are some good surprises, once in a while."

Having all met up now, they retreated to a side room of the Leaky Cauldron's ground floor, where the girls and Neville continued to talk amongst themselves, and Augusta ordered lunch for the six of them. The meal was hearty and delicious, so much so that Mary was beginning to suspect that the dinginess of the pub had nothing to do with its actual quality of service, and was instead a front, meant to frighten off any magic-sensitive muggles that might manage to notice the entrance and wander in.

As they ate, Neville told Marigold and Hermione all about the new plants he had gotten over the last couple months back home. In fact, due to his stellar grades (All O's, except an A in Potions) his Gran had ordered the construction of a second greenhouse at their Manor that apparently put the old one to shame. Neville still wasn't allowed any magical plants just yet, but with all the extra space in the new greenhouse, even after emptying out the old one into it, he'd been able to grow a much wider variety of mundane plants. Despite how much Hermione and Mary pestered him about it, Neville refused to divulge why exactly he had emptied the old greenhouse, only that it was a surprise, and they would love it. In that moment, Mary was extremely thankful that she was going home with the Longbottoms, and wouldn't have to wait until the ball to find out, as Hermione did.

As he detailed all of the plants he had acquired, Neville's passion for herbology reminded Mary of her recent revelation.

"Mph-" Mary paused, swallowing the rest of her bite before continuing. "Neville! I'm autistic, like Hermione!"

"Oh, okay." He gave her a supportive smile. "I'm h-happy for you."

Hermione flapped her hands under the table. "We think you might be, too. There's lots of little things, but definitely with how much you love herbology, that could potentially be a special interest."

Neville bit his lip pensively for a moment, then shrugged. "It's possible. I r-really don't know all th-that much about autism, s-sorry."

Mary beamed, "That's alright! Hermione's parents gave me loads of reference texts about it, since I'm still new to it. We can look over it together! Then, maybe you could talk to Madam Pomfrey about it when we get back?"

He grinned, "S-sounds like a plan."

"My sincere apologies," Augusta cut in as the chatter died down after they had all finished eating, "But I think we had best be on our way, hm? It was a pleasure to meet you, Grangers, I look forward to your attendance at the ball."

Dennis stood up, and after Augusta followed suit, shook her hand. "It was great meeting you too, Augusta. It's always good to properly meet the family of our daughter's friends."

Valerie stood and gave Augusta a light hug. "Yes, it was so nice meeting you, and I'm quite looking forward to the ball. Would you mind if we kept in touch? I'd love your advice on finding a dress for the occasion - all of mine are rather geared toward non-magical events."

"Think nothing of it, dear." Augusta responded, smiling warmly at Valerie. "You have your own owl, yes? Wonderful, feel free to contact me at any time, though you must forgive an old woman if it takes me a tad to respond."

As the parents and grandparent continued to exchange pleasantries, Marigold, Neville, and Hermione hugged each other tightly once more. Sure, they would see each other in less than two weeks, but then again, they were all three of them Hufflepuffs. However all too soon, the Doctors Granger ushered Hermione out after them, leaving Mary alone with Neville and his Gran.

Augusta looked at Mary curiously. "Have you ever traveled by Floo before?"

Mary grimaced. So that's how they'd be getting to Longbottom Manor. "Er, no ma'am. We read about it in Wixen Studies, but I've never used it myself, sorry."

She waved off Mary's concerns, "No need to apologize, dear. It's quite simple really, so you needn't worry. Here, Neville, show Marigold, if you please." She strode over to the fireplace and beckoned her grandson to follow, placing a square silver sickle in his hand when he did.

There was an odd device on the fireplace mantle that looked to Mary like an early 1900s telephone. It had the mouthpiece on the front, although instead of an earpiece on the side, there was a large lever. There was also a glass jar that seemed to be slotted into the top of the thing filled with a dull green crystalline substance that Mary recognized from class as Floo powder. The purpose of the creation became evident as Neville slipped the sickle his grandmother gave him into a slot on the front, placed one hand under the mouthpiece, and pulled the lever with his other, causing the Floo powder in the jar to shift as it was dispensed out of the mouthpiece - the spout, actually - and into Neville's hand. Neville ducked his head as he entered the unlit fireplace (it was summer, after all) and held his fistful of powder in front of his chest as he straightened back up.

"Longbottom Manor!" he announced, dropping the powder, which swirled around his feet and quickly grew into tall green flames, obscuring him from view. When the fire died down, of course, he was nowhere to be seen, though presumably, he was now at Longbottom Manor.

"Quite simple, no?" Augusta asked, holding out a sickle to Marigold.

As Mary shakily took the coin and followed Neville's example, trying (and failing) not to think about all the ways this could go horribly wrong, Augusta gave her a few words of advice.

"Enunciation is very important. I know Neville said you sometimes stutter as he does, but I have full confidence you can manage."

Mary was doubtful of that, and opened her mouth to just get the whole ordeal over with, but Augusta gently grabbed her shoulders, looking her in the eye.

"Whatever you do, if you misspeak, do not drop the powder. Wait nine seconds, I'll count with you if you need, and then try again. If you're certain you spoke correctly, drop the powder within three seconds, and it will still take effect. Do you understand?"

At Mary's nervous nod, Augusta released her hold. Mary closed her eyes, and though they were words she was familiar with, she went over the pronunciation in her head, just as she did with any new spells at Hogwarts.

"Oh, and Marigold?"

Mary opened her eyes, curious as to what other possible advice the old witch could have.

Augusta gave her a kind, yet amused smile. "Do remember to breathe, dear girl."

Mary giggled a little at that, and lifted up her handful of powder.

"Longbottom Manor!"

Chapter Text

Marigold would have much preferred taking the Knight Bus. Sure, it was considerably longer of a commute, but traveling by Floo was hellish - an apt descriptor, in Mary's opinion, what with all the flames lapping at her as she swirled around endlessly before finally tumbling out into a large, regal parlor.

"Y-you alright?" Neville asked as he helped her to her feet. "I know the f-first time can be r-rough."

Mary shook her head no, as she felt that in that moment, were she to open her mouth in trying to actually speak, it would immediately result in her depositing the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Unfortunately, shaking her head only added to the nausea, but she managed to keep everything inside.

Neville grimaced, "Right, l-let's get you to the couch th-then, and I'll go f-fetch a bucket."

As Neville helped Mary over to the couch, the overly large fireplace flared to life with green flames, and Augusta delicately stepped out, completely unbothered by the Floo travel. Neville ran off to fetch a bucket in case of the worst, and Augusta sat down next to where Mary was hunched over, clutching her stomach. Augusta traced a quick aqua in the air with her finger, followed by ventus, creating a cool breeze wafting across Mary's face. At Mary's sigh of relief, she gave the barest hint of a smile.

Neville came back with an empty wooden rubbish bin and handed it to Mary, who gratefully accepted it. He sat down in a nearby armchair as they waited for Mary's nausea to pass, although she couldn't help but notice that he was sitting a lot stiffer than he ever did at Hogwarts, except for maybe in Potions.

---

Thankfully, Marigold's lunch remained unlost, and Augusta directed Neville to help Mary to where she would be staying. Once they were out of sight of Augusta, Neville grinned at Mary.

"Your r-room is on the second fl-loor, right next to mine. It's got a nice v-view of the greenhouses, and those Douglas firs I told y-you about." He shrugged. "It's a little m-messy back there still, just 'cos it's new, but o-once the grass finishes gr-rowing back in, it'll be brilliant."

"Oh, will I be able to see what you've done with the old greenhouse from there?" Mary asked.

Neville smirked, "N-no, but once you're settled in, I can sh-show you. You'll love it, pr-romise."

They climbed up a set of stairs and walked along the balcony, Neville pointing out his room as they passed it, but rather than going one door over, to a pair of double doors, he led Mary two doors down.

Mary scrunched up her nose. "I thought you said I was right next to you?"

Neville blushed, "Oh, w-well, the room in between is kinda l-like a common area? It connects to both r-rooms, but yours is the bedroom n-next to mine."

Mary nodded in understanding, and they entered her room. To say the space was extravagant was an understatement. A large four-poster bed was against the far wall, which was lined with nearly full-length windows. The curtains were delicately embroidered, and the rug beautifully patterned with a variety of colors and floral motifs. The floors were the same beautiful polished hardwood as the rest of the manor, but it was put to shame by the intricately carved wood of the rest of the furniture - the dresser, desk and chair, table and more chairs, the vanity, the legs of the upholstered armchairs, and even the bedframe. It was practically the same difference to her dorm at Hogwarts, as her dorm was to her cupboard. It also struck Mary as a rather exorbitant amount of chairs, although given it was quite literally the home of nobility, overly lavish accommodations made sense.

The cupboard, Mary reminded herself. It was tough going, but Madam Pomfrey believed that by Mary distancing herself from h- the cupboard as much as possible, the less it would feel tied to Mary's very being, and hopefully the less of a hold it would have on her mind. But ten years was a lot of time to undo.

Mary cleared her throat, "It- Wow, Neville. This is-i-is b-beautiful." She shook her head in disbelief, "Half of my relatives' entire house could fit in here! A-and the furniture, I-"

She turned to Neville, who had a sheepish grin on his face, his cheeks a bit pink. "Th-thanks, I suppose. Gran's the one wh-who picked everything out. I just l-live here, really."

"And this whole room is for me?" Mary asked, still unable to fully wrap her head around the concept, despite Neville's nodded insistence.

She continued to intermittently shake her head in disbelief as she unshrunk her trunk and unpacked the essentials, including setting up Hedwig's cage in the corner by a window, which she propped open as she pinged Hedwig to come. Given how thin the connection was, it would probably be nightfall by the time she arrived.

In the meantime, Neville led Marigold back downstairs and to the back entrance of the manor, where a modest (for a manor, at least) courtyard was, and down a path of large flat stones that led to the greenhouses. As they stepped from stone to stone, the surrounding fir trees swayed in the breeze, which carried the scent of the needles. It reminded Mary of one of the few pleasant things about Christmas with the Dursleys - the way the aroma of the tree managed to take the edge off of all the harsh cleaning chemicals that filled Number Four, what with Aunt Petunia's obsession with cleanliness.

Of course, wanting to keep the suspense as long as possible, Neville took Mary on a tour of the new greenhouse. The footprint alone was larger than the back courtyard, not even taking into account the other floors. There were three altogether, with an open middle in the top two floors, allowing vines to hang down and a few trees to sprout up. The entire interior was Neville's purview, and he had gone all out in arranging all of the various plants. Due to the multi-floored nature of the greenhouse, he was even able to keep more tropical plants on the upper floors, where all the heat pooled, while the bottom floor held more temperate-climate plants. There were still many gaps, the whole greenhouse only being about half-filled, as Neville intentionally left space for the future acquisition of magical plants, as his grandmother wouldn't allow him any until after his second year in Herbology.

Finally, Neville was unable to stall any longer, and they made their way to the older greenhouse, which was about a fifth the size of the new one's bottom floor. The interior lacked any shelves or planters, and the floor even lacked the loose stone tile of the newer greenhouse. Instead, there was a small (likely magical) fountain-powered stream running through the space, and after a closer look, Mary realized that the seemingly random arrangement of various plants actually had Neville's tell-tale touch, only with a more natural feel to it. It was a meticulously crafted terrarium, all for Trevor, who sat happily croaking at the base of a miniature waterfall.

Marigold couldn't help but wiggle her whole body. "Nev, this is incredible! How long did this even take you?"

He chewed his lip. "Um, let's s-see. The greenhouse was completed about two w-weeks after term ended, I spent another week s-setting everything up in there, and then I only f-finished the terrarium about a week ago, so… two weeks, I th-think? Honestly, the hardest part was getting all the r-rocks and soil situated, and making sure the water w-wouldn't just wash everything away. The pl-lants were the easy part."

"Well, I think it's brilliant." Mary decided. "I'm sure Trevor loves it."

Neville grinned sheepishly, "I s-sure hope so. He seems to really l-like having r-running water."

Mary smacked her forehead with her palm. "Oh, right! I was reading my Mum's snake-speak journal, and apparently she was able to talk to a few amphibians."

She closed her eyes and focused intently, trying to consciously tap into what had until that point been entirely unconscious. Pushing a slight amount of magic into her voice, she spoke.

"Hello, Trevor. Do you like your new home?"

The response she got back was garbled, way worse than when she had spoken to Nora, but as the fat little toad croaked, she first got back a sense of surprise and confusion, before a feeling of content swept over her.

"W-well?" Neville asked nervously.

Mary beamed at him. "He definitely likes it. He's really at ease here."

Neville smiled, sighing in relief. He crouched down in front of Trevor, giving his hand a quick wash in the stream before patting his toad on the head, causing him to croak in delight.

---

By the time Neville finished touring Marigold around the manor, Augusta called them to the dining room for dinner. The table was the same intricately carved wood, and could seat at least twenty people comfortably, although that night they all sat at one end, Mary and Neville on either side of Augusta, who sat at the head. Once they were seated, three elves, each dressed smartly and carrying a plate over their head made their way into the dining room from the adjacent kitchen, and served them. All three wixen thanked them, and they left. The dinner they had prepared was delicious, the elves had truly outdone themselves.

During the tour, Neville had explained that there were a handful of elves that the Longbottoms kept in their employ. It only took a few to keep the manor running, but the rest were essentially paid to be on standby for whenever Augusta hosted an event, for which she always gave them plenty of advance notice. Apparently, elves much preferred working with their hands in groups, rather than the much flashier magic that many pure-blood supremacists insisted on to keep them out of sight, and the Longbottoms had long been more than happy to honor such preferences. As such, Mary would be seeing the elves about the manor more and more as it drew closer to the day of the ball.

“So, Marigold,” Augusta began as she cut off a piece of lamb, “Neville tells me you’re quite the talented young witch. Transfiguration and Defense, I believe?”

Mary nodded, “Yes ma’am. I really enjoy practical magic, and Professor McGonagall is a great teacher. I’ll probably do better in Defense this year, too. At the very least, I don’t see how they could hire someone worse than Quirrel.”

Augusta chuckled as Neville stifled a laugh. She cleared her throat, “Yes, well, I imagine you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the new Defense professor. Albus finally found someone the Board almost unanimously approved of. I hadn’t heard of him before, but he’s even an accomplished author.” She paused, her expression unreadable. “I do hope he’ll be able to better your practicals, Neville.”

Neville stiffened, staring at his own plate of food. He opened his mouth only to close it, before responding with a clipped “Yes ma’am.”

Mary couldn’t help the lump in her throat at seing her brother like that. The only time he ever came close at Hogwarts was with Snape breathing down his neck. If that was how he reacted to his grandmother, Mary worried how similar to her own relatives Lady Apparent Longbottom really was.

Neville glanced up and looked at Mary, then took a deep breath. “Gran, I n-need a new wand. M-my own wand.”

Augusta frowned, “And what, pray tell, is wrong with your father’s wand?”

Neville sighed, exasperated. “It’s not m-mine! It doesn’t w-work for me, th-that’s why my practical s-scores are low. Herbology, M-muggle Studies, Astronomy, Theory, even H-history, I don’t have any pr-roblems when I don’t have to use Dad’s w-wand!”

She raised an eyebrow imperiously, “And Potions?”

Neville could only purse his lips at that, so she continued.

“I would have preferred this have been a private discussion, but perhaps you need to spend more time focusing and actually practising your wandwork, rather than playing in the greenhouses. If you would just apply yourself-”

“I have!”

“Do not interrupt me, and do not take that tone with me, young man!” Augusta shouted as she threw her napkin down. She huffed, her nostrils flaring. Despite her obvious anger, her voice was entirely and sickeningly pleasant as she turned and addressed Mary. “I apologize for my grandson’s outburst. Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the night?”

Mary floundered for an answer, frozen in her seat as she had been for the entire encounter. She didn’t want to abandon Neville, but she also didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

“I w-want her here.” Neville grit out, stunning Mary. He shot her a weak smile, then set his jaw as he turned to his grandmother once more. “I need a n-new wand. I’m s-sorry, but I can’t be Dad. I l-love him, but I’m m-my own person, and y-you need to stop tr-reating me like… l-like I’m j-just a cheap imitation!”

Augusta blinked, shocked at her grandson’s display of emotion, tears in his eyes.

“Please, Gr-ran.” he cried. “I do w-want to be brave and s-str-rong, like Dad, but I’m n-not him. I’m a Hufflepuff and I l-love Herbology, like Mum, too.” He shrugged, sniffling. “W-why can’t I just… be m-me? Why- w-why isn’t th-that enough f-for you?” he sobbed, choking on his own words.

Mary reached across the table and took her brother’s hand in her own as he cried. However, even more shocking was how Augusta stood from her chair and circled around the table to kneel next to Neville’s seat, pulling him into a hug, tears quietly running down her cheeks.

“…I’m so sorry, Neville.” she whispered. “I haven’t been a very good grandmother, have I? I…” She sighed. “I only want what’s best for you, but clearly I’ve been going about it wrong, if that’s what you think I feel towards you.”

Augusta pulled away, then reached up and wiped a tear off of Neville’s face. “I never apologized for what Algernon did to you, did I?” At Neville tearfully shaking his head no, she sighed. “Well, I am sorry. Truly. And I am sorry for always pushing you so hard.”

Neville looked up at her hopefully, “S-so I can get m-my own w-wand?”

She nodded, “Of course. I have always thought you would be a great wizard someday. It’s why I pushed, after all.” She gave him a soft smile, “I can only imagine how much greater you will be.”

---

Marigold tumbled from the Floo once more, this time back into the Leaky Cauldron, where Neville thankfully caught her to stop her from falling flat on her face. It was still just as nauseating as before, but luckily it was already starting to pass, unlike the way it had previously lingered.

“I hate that I’m getting used to it already.” she croaked. “Are we sure this isn’t just a form of torture?”

Neville chuckled, “If it is, at l-least it’s good for something.”

Augusta elegantly stepped out from the swirling green flames behind them. Once Mary had recovered, Augusta drew in a breath, but paused, frowning to herself. A second later, she asked, “Shall we get going, then?”

Neville blinked. “Uh, y-yes ma’am.”

Augusta paused as if she wanted to say something more, but simply nodded and led them out of the pub and through the back garden to its entrance to Diagon Alley. It had been like this for the past few days at Longbottom Manor, Augusta uncertainly giving Neville more leeway, and Neville awkwardly accepting his grandmother’s new behavior. Slowly but surely (but mostly slowly), a new dynamic between the two was emerging, and while it was unfamiliar to the both of them, they both seemed grateful for the change.

They had not come to Diagon to get Neville’s new wand - although they would be getting that as well. The driving force behind the visit was instead that Augusta had finished running Marigold through the various etiquette expected of her. Most of it was the same things Mary had learned in Wixen Studies, but modified one way or another, as Wixen Studies was geared towards muggleborns, and not orphaned muggle-raised Heiresses to Most Ancient and Noble Houses. But now that Mary had her manners down pat, Augusta was moving on to teaching her proper ballroom dancing, and the best way to learn that was apparently to make sure she always practiced while wearing the proper attire.

So they made their way to Twillfit and Tattings. Diagon was as busy as ever, but Augusta’s regal figure certainly helped cut through the crowd, with most giving her a decent berth. Upon entering the tailors’, Mary instantly understood why Sofia Roper was so insistent on its quality. To say it was posh was an absurd understatement. Mary had never seen suits, gowns, and robes so utterly gorgeous before, and she was in disbelief that this was where she would be getting her dress. Mary was not the only one in disbelief, as a familiar face made their presence known, poking out from behind a shelf of sample fabrics.

The high-pitched “Potter?” followed by an incredulous tittering laugh was unmistakable. Sofia smirked as she stepped fully out from behind the shelf, “Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

As she smugly sauntered over to Mary, she took notice of Augusta, and gave a practiced curtsy, to which the elderly witch simply gave a nod.

Mary restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “It’s good to see you too, Roper. Have a good summer, so far?”

“Mum and Daddy took us to Italy for a month.” she replied haughtily. “I got quite the tan, as if you hadn’t already noticed, so I’m here to pick some garments that better match my new tone until it fades.”

Mary certainly had not noticed, although now that she looked closer, she could see a slight difference in her skin. Judging by Neville’s slight snort that he disguised as a cough, she wasn’t alone in her assessment. Still, Sofia was Theodore’s friend, so Mary nodded.

“It looks good, I see what you mean.” she lied.

Sofia flicked her hair over her shoulder, beaming at the praise, before she turned back to Augusta. “Would you like me to show her around, my Lady? I’m a regular here, and judging by her expression when she walked in, this is Potter’s first time.”

Augusta turned to Mary, arching an eyebrow in question.

Mary shrugged, but nodded. “I don’t mind. She’s a friend.”

This surprised all three other wixen, but Augusta merely gave a stiff nod. “Neville and I will take care of other matters, then. We should be back within the hour, so do stay put, hm?”

“Yes ma’am.” she replied, and the Longbottoms left, the bell over the entrance chiming as the exited.

Sofia stared at Marigold for a moment, blinking.”Well then, Pott- uh… Well, since we're friends, I suppose it's Mary, isn't it?”

Mary stared back. “S-sofia.”

Finally, Sofia recovered and linked elbows with Mary, dragging her deeper into the store. Sofia gave her an almost feral grin, and Mary couldn’t help but wonder if she had just made a terrible mistake. “So. Let’s talk fashion…”

---

By the time Mary's brother and his grandmother returned, Sofia had dragged her every which-way across the store, looking at practically every fabric, dye, pattern, style, and fit combination imaginable, before Sofia finally let her make a choice. Sofia was still pouting that Mary had still gone with the third suggestion, as Mary stood on a pedestal, having her measurements taken. Thankfully, it seemed she was only superficially upset at Mary, being moreso upset that she’d been unable to find a combination that Mary liked more, taking it as something of a failure of her fashion prowess. Still, Marigold was happy with her selection, and couldn’t wait for the final product to be mailed to Longbottom Manor later in the week.

Once her measurements were done being taken, Mary showed off the sketch the shop attendant had done of the final product, and thankfully got Augusta’s approval of the design. Augusta left the children together as she went to go work out a few more details with the tailor. Neville was similarly excited to show off his new wand, and with an effortless swish through the air, he demonstrated solis lūmos, a miniature ball of sunlight forming at the tip of his wand. It was a far cry from his unsuccessful attempts with the Devil’s Snare.

Mary beamed, hugging him. “That’s great, Neville!” She pulled away, “What all is it made of?”

He smiled softly, “Cherry and u-unicorn hair. Mum’s w-wood and Dad’s core.”

He held it out, and Mary inspected it, but she did not pick it up. The handle itself was fairly smooth, though the pommel had a flowerbud carved into it, a small green gem inset into its center. The length of the wand had swirling, creeping vines carved into it, stylized leaves all over.

“It’s beautiful…” she whispered.

Sofia peered at it from over Mary’s shoulder. She furrowed her brow in confusion, “What’s with the new wand, Longbottom? Old one break? You really ought to take better care of your things.” She glanced up at him. “Your hair could use a trim too, if I’m honest.”

Neville frowned. “I l-like my hair as it is, th-thanks. And no, the wand I used last y-year was my Dad’s, that’s w-why my practical scores were always s-so low.”

Sofia blinked in confusion, her face looking as if she had just stepped into a pig sty. She shook her head to clear it, raising her eyebrows. “At least you have your own now.” she mumbled, risking a glance at Augusta, who was still across the shop at the counter. Sofia shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Well, I’d better get back to my shopping. I suppose I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

As Sofia turned around to dive back into the depths of the clothes shop, Marigold blurted out, “Would you like to come to my birthday? Er, our birthday? I-if that’s okay with Neville.”

Sofia turned around and Neville nodded his consent to inviting her. Mary had never really invited anyone to anything before. She wasn’t quite sure if she had done things right, or if she had forgotten some important step.

Mary fidgeted under her gaze. “Er, Theodore will be there too.”

She just kept staring at them for a long moment, before slowly nodding. “O-okay. Thank you, Mary. Lo- Neville.”

---

Marigold admired her ears in the mirror as she got ready. During their trip to Diagon, she had asked Augusta about jewelry, and left that day with a myriad of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, as well as two new holes through her earlobes. Thankfully, due to being literally magic, the piercer was able to near instantly heal the area, no fuss with cleaning the site and all that necessary, as with the muggle method. Mary picked out a pair of green stud earrings for the day. They were simple, but they complimented her eyes beautifully, and she wanted to look her best that night. After all, a girl only turned twelve once.

As she made her way downstairs, the entire manor was abuzz with preparations for that night. Most of it was last minute checks, or things that would’ve been inconvenient to live with in the days leading up to today, but the elves had assured Augusta that everything was on schedule to be completed well before the first guests would arrive for the event. Sort of. Guests for solely the ball would be arriving around 6, in time for dinner before the actual ball portion, however the Grangers and Weasleys would be arriving at 11 for lunch, and a more private celebration of Mary and Neville’s joint birthday.

While she knew, logically, that it was only two hours from when she had finished eating breakfast that morning, to Marigold, it felt like an eternity before the Floo finally flared to life, and out came the Grangers. Rounds of hugs and wishes of “Happy Birthday” were given, but before they even finished greeting each other, the Weasleys arrived, one after another. The only ones missing were Arthur and Percivall, though Molly assured them all that they would be there in time for the ball. Apparently, Percivall had gotten himself a summer internship at the Ministry of Magic, under one Bartimaeus Crouch, and given it was still a Friday, he and his father were currently hard at work, deep underneath London. Still, Ron, the twins, and Ginny were there, and Mary was nearly overwhelmed by the turnout already. The thought of how many more guests there would be in only a handful of hours was… mildly terrifying.

Thankfully, Mary soon began to relax after they’d had lunch and began touring the others around the manor. As she expected, everyone was astounded by what Neville had managed to pull off with the greenhouses. Mary was also grateful that Ginny began to relax as well. Once she was no longer blinded by Mary’s fame, Ginny was actually a lot of fun to be around. A bit rowdy, sure, but energetic and funny, like her twin brothers, much to the consternation of her mother. A personality that seemed to vanish into despair when Augusta announced that it was finally time for everyone to start getting ready for the ball.

Mary was in love with her dress. It had a fitted torso with a high neckline, suitable for a girl of only twelve, with sleeves that just barely covered the tops of her shoulders. The dress was mostly all the same yellow-orange of her namesake’s petals, with a deeper red sash around the waist. However, the main attraction was the skirt, which was made of loose, layered ruffles, that when taken as a whole, made the skirt resemble the marigold flower even more, with each “petal” having a deeper red at its base, shifting to the yellow-orange at the edges. With a large petticoat underneath, Marigold felt absolutely beautiful. She pulled the embroidered, knee-length green cloak she had gotten to match the dress around her shoulders, pinning it into place with a plain silver brooch. She slipped on her stockings and a pair of simple heeled brown boots, and gently pushed open the door to the shared space between her and Neville’s rooms.

Neville stood up from one of the plush couches, turning to face her. “Y-you look great.”

Mary smiled. He had on a fairly standard suit, a similar green cloak around his shoulders as well. “You too, Nev.”

They had both already seen each other in their current attire many times over the past week, whenever they were practicing dancing under Augusta’s tutelage, but it was still nice to hear each other’s compliments. Neville turned around and picked up a small box from the side table and pulled off its lid, revealing a bundle of marigolds.

“I uh, gr-rew these for tonight.” He mumbled, blushing slightly. “I th-thought you might like them f-for your hair.”

“That’d be great!” Mary beamed.

She sat down in one of the chairs, letting Neville stand behind her, braiding the flowers into her hair. When he finished, he had formed a braid from each of her temples around to the back of her head, where they joined and flowed down with the rest of her hair, which had gotten just past her shoulders over the summer. With the flowers woven in, it was like a miniature floral crown, and Marigold felt every inch the noble wixen heiress that she was. Although, if she hadn’t already felt that way, everyone’s reactions to her appearance definitely would have made her. Everyone else had cleaned up nicely, and while they were getting ready, Percivall and Arthur had both arrived. Ginny’s mood had done a complete turnaround, as she sulked in the corner, occasionally tugging at her dress.

Soon enough, the rest of the guests began arriving, and Mary and Neville made their way to the foyer so they could greet each of them personally. To say it was exhausting was an understatement, but Mary somehow managed to stick with it. Neville seemed to be in his element, though she could tell that it was wearing on him as well. Still, part of the reason she agreed to the extravagance of the event was as practice for later in life, when the expectations would be even higher. Neville had the advantage of being raised this way, and Mary was determined to catch up to her brother. Plus, she had to admit, it was fun getting to experience it all for the first time.

The dinner was delicious as always, but the elves had really outdone themselves. The only real downside to the meal was that Mary could not simply eat her fill and then go lay down, as after the meal concluded, everyone made their way from their various tables to the manor’s ballroom. Unlike her practice sessions with Neville, not only was the old record player replaced by actual musicians, but everyone’s eyes would be on them. As Augusta cued the conductor to start the music, Neville walked up to Mary, bowed, and offered her his hand. They would be performing the first dance, as planned.

Her nerves had gone completely haywire, but she curtsied in return, and, taking his hand, was led to the center of the room. Mary’s teeth were chattering as they took their positions, but before they could open the ball, Neville gave her hand a squeeze, and she looked up at him.

He gave her a small smile. “Just like w-we practiced, okay?”

Marigold took a deep breath, and nodded as she exhaled. She kept her focus split between her movements and the smile on her brother’s face as they twirled around the ballroom. Without any attention to spare for the crowd watching her, she calmed, finally able to simply enjoy the dance. Somehow, all too soon, the song ended, and after a round of applause, the rest of the attendees took to the floor. Mary couldn’t help but wiggle in place, Neville laughing as the nerves finally dissipated from the two of them.

---

The rest of the night was enjoyable once Mary had managed to get past her anxieties of embarrassing herself in front of everyone. She spent quite a while being handed off from person to person, as everyone wanted to dance with the birthday girl. By the time her feet began aching, she had danced with every single guest, some even multiple times. Eventually, she had begged off, and found Neville resting on a bench out on the veranda that stretched the length of the ballroom, similarly exhausted from the festivities of the night. Mary tucked her skirt underneath her as she sat down next to him, groaning as she stretched out her legs and finally took the pressure off of her feet.

“W-what a night, huh?” Neville remarked.

Mary simply hummed, her eyes closing involuntarily. “It was fun. Tiring, but fun.”

He lightly bumped her shoulder. “I’m gl-lad. I was worried it’d be too s-stuffy.” Neville sighed. “It’s a l-lot worse when all the attention’s on y-you.”

She giggled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Mm, I can imagine. It was bad enough even with you there.”

After a moment of silence, Neville took her hand in his, gently squeezing it. “Th-thanks. You’re an amazing s-sister.” He paused. “I l-love you.”

Marigold squeezed his hand back. “Thanks. Love you too, Nev.”

As she yawned, she heard him laugh, “Y-you’re sleepy, huh?”

Not bothering to open her eyes, Mary nodded into his shoulder. It had been a long day, and being able to end it by her brother’s side seemed a fitting end as Marigold finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Marigold woke in her bed at Longbottom Manor, and was immediately confused, as she had no recollection of going to bed the previous night. As she sat up, Mary realized she was still wearing the slip she had worn under her dress the night before. As she poked about the room while getting up and changed, she found her dress folded neatly atop her trunk. She set it on a chair to the side and pulled out a pleated white skirt and a thin pink jumper from her trunk, swapping them with her slip. A quick stop to the bathroom, and she was ready - at least somewhat - to start her day.

She yawned, gently padding down the stairs. It was still fairly early in the morning, and even if the sun had been up, the world felt as if it too, hadn't fully woken up yet. As she made her way to the kitchen for a snack before breakfast, she heard a rhythmic thunk-ing coming from the sitting room. Poking her head into the slightly opened door, she saw a Quaffle get tossed up into the air, before thunk-ing back down. Up into the air again, down and thunk! Mary stepped into the room and made her way around the sofa, as the back of it blocked her view of whoever was tossing the ball. Up into the air again, down and thunk! Up into the air again, down and smack!

"Mf- Ow!" Ginny exclaimed, having accidentally caught the Quaffle with her face. She looked up at Mary from where she was laying down on the couch, still in her pyjamas. "Morning. You startled me."

Mary held back a giggle. "Morning. You're up early."

She shrugged, "Went to bed a bit earlier than usual. S'nice to be back in trousers, I dunno how you got through the whole night."

Marigold picked the Quaffle up off of the floor and sat down on the sofa facing Ginny's, before tossing the Quaffle back to her. "It was a bit stuffy, sure, but it was gorgeous, so it all evens out."

"I guess so." Ginny replied, catching and tossing the Quaffle back, before her eyes widened. "I guess it evens out, that is. You were definitely gorgeous- I mean, it was. The dress. N-not that you weren't also-"

Mary couldn't help but giggle at that, causing Ginny to sigh, dragging a hand down her face, before grinning back at Mary.

Ginny shook her head, "Sorry. Still kinda starstruck. I'm sure it's annoyin'."

She shrugged, tossing Ginny the Quaffle again. "A little. But at least you're not just squeaking anymore."

Ginny pursed her lips, but nodded as she tossed the Quaffle back. "So, you-" she cut off, interrupted by her stomach growling. Almost identically to Ron, her ears turned pink in embarrassment.

Mary snorted in laughter, standing up and tucking the Quaffle under her arm. "I suppose we ought to eat something."

Ginny stood up from the couch and brushed herself off. Standing next to each other, they were about the same height, despite Mary being a year older. "Probably, yeah. Dunno where the food is, though."

Handing Ginny back the Quaffle, Mary jerked her head towards the kitchen. "I'll show you." She led the way out of the sitting room and down the hall. Mary turned back to Ginny, "What were you gonna say before we were so rudely interrupted?"

She laughed at that, waggling a scolding finger towards her stomach. "I was just gonna ask if you'd wanna play a pick-up game after we get back from Diagon? My brothers all say you're damn good on a broom."

Marigold grinned at the indirect praise as they entered the kitchen and she grabbed a couple plums from the fruit bowl, tossing one to Ginny, who easily snatched it out of the air. "Nice catch. And yeah, I'd love to. From what Ron says, you all play all the time?"

Ginny hopped up, sitting on the counter. "Yeah, not much else to do once all the chores n' stuff are done. Well, Percy's got his internship and his books, but for the rest of us."

The two girls munched on their fruit, and before long, the rest of the house woke up. Some of the elves - Gom, Basil, and Honey, as Mary could now tell, having spent enough time around them - also woke up, and quickly shooed Mary, Ginny, Hermione, and the twins out of the kitchen, so they could begin cooking breakfast for thirteen. One meal later, and full of french toast, sausage and strawberries, the eight children were dismissed by Augusta to properly get ready, as they would be leaving within the hour. Marigold brushed her teeth, tugged on a pair of socks, and buckled her fittingly-named Mary Janes. With the skirt and jumper, it was a decidedly muggle outfit, but after a night full of nothing but wixen nobility, it was perfect. Thankfully, that was just about all she had to do to be ready for the trip, as she had already packed her things back into her trunk, since she would be returning with the Weasleys, rather than the Longbottoms.

Mary gently nudged Hedwig awake through their bond, then gave her plenty of scritches and a handful of owl treats. Hedwig nipped her witch's knuckles affectionately, before stepping out of her cage and onto Mary's forearm. Mary was ever grateful for the inherent magic post owls had, which, amongst being able to track down the intended recipients of letters, allowed them to dull their talons at will. Without it, her arm would surely have been cut to ribbons. Regardless, she opened the window of her bedroom, and with a final pet goodbye, held Hedwig up to the window, which she promptly flew out of and off into the distance. Mary packed the cage away, grabbed her trunk, and headed downstairs, finally ready to get supplies for her next year at Hogwarts.

---

Unfortunately for Marigold, Floo travel was as awful as ever, though it surprised her when not only did she not fall onto the floor when exiting, but the nausea faded almost the second she got her feet on solid ground. Begrudgingly, she admitted it was a convenient way to get around, but she still preferred the Knight Bus to it. Once the green flames had deposited everyone in their admittedly large group, they made their way out of the Leaky Cauldron, through Diagon Alley, and into Gringotts, where they split up to the various lines and desks. It wasn't long before her teller - Lupin, according to his nameplate - a man with mousy brown hair and a scarred face, was leading her down the marble hallways of the bank to meet with Griphook. He kept worriedly glancing back at her as he walked slowly, which was no surprise, given how tall he was and how short Mary was, one step of his easily outpacing three of hers. Eventually, they got to Griphook's office.

Lupin gave her a small smile as he opened the door. "It was lovely seeing you, Marigold."

Mary gave him a smile in return, waving goodbye as she entered the room and he closed the door behind her. She greeted Griphook, and the two quickly got down to business, going over the various assets of House Potter. Most of it was fairly standard, just her giving approval for the management of her funds, but soon they got to the final item on the agenda, which had Griphook curling his lip - an odd expression on a kobold.

"With some assistance from one Pomona Sprout," he began, "I was able to track down various documents which detail why, precisely, your magical guardian is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"You sound upset." Mary pointed out, confused.

He peered at her from over his glasses. "I am." He turned back to the document he held. "According to this, all of the next of kin for the purposes of your custody that are listed in the late Lord and Lady Potter's wills are either deceased, infirm, or incarcerated."

Mary scrunched up her nose. "Incarcerated? Who?"

"Your godfather, Sirius Black."

She paled. Mary knew that Black had been a close friend of her parents, McGonagall had told her as much a year ago, but her godfather? It was almost too horrible to believe.

"Er, but then why Dumbledore?" she asked, once she finally found her voice.

The disdain in his voice was nearly palpable as Griphook answered. "That would seem to be due to the additional wartime powers granted to him, given his position in your Ministry's Wixeniamot. He placed you with your closest living kin, and since they are muggles, he was allowed to assume the role of your magical guardian with practically no oversight."

Mary sighed, holding her head in her hands. "And I suppose there's nothing we can do about it?"

"Correct."

---

One whirlwind trip down to her vault and back, Marigold rejoined the rest of the group, ready to buy her supplies for the next year. Many of the items listed in her Hogwarts letter, such as the potions kit and astrolabe, were repeats of the supply list for first year, and since Mary’s were all still in perfect working order, there was no reason to buy new ones. As such, besides the staple potion ingredients, she really only had her textbooks and new robes to buy. Her robes still fit for the most part, but it wouldn’t do to return to Hogwarts in the plain black attire of the first years. It didn’t take long for her, Hermione, Ron, and Neville to get refitted, and their Hufflepuff yellow-trimmed robes ordered. They’d be delivered later that week, and so after grabbing a few black and yellow striped ties and paying for the whole lot, they were on their way to Flourish and Blotts.

Unfortunately, they had just so happened to come on a perfectly awful day - or so Mary thought at first. There was a book signing event going on by one Gilderoy Lockhart (whose books happened to be on their supply list as “recommended supplemental reading”), and the line just to get in the shop was out the door and halfway down the alley. However, when Mary saw how Molly fidgeted, giddy with excitement, a stack of Lockhart’s books in her arms, she realized that the timing was no coincidence at all.

They made it inside eventually, and Mary was never more grateful to have learned how the WORM worked, as it allowed her to quickly amass all of her textbooks. She considered the “supplemental reading”, but from what she could tell from the back cover synopsis, they were essentially non-fiction adventure books that seemed to detail Lockhart’s encounters with various dangerous creatures - for the most part. Two of his books, Voyages with Vampires and Wandering with Werewolves centered on nonhumans, yet still framed them as the same sort of animal-intelligence beasts as a troll. Having looked into it on her own the previous year after Quirrel fake-stuttered his way through a story about his fear of vampires, Mary had learned that - short of starvation-induced madness - vampires and werewolves were just as much people as any human. Quirrel’s bigotry made sense, what with him serving Voldemort, but for their new professor to also share such beliefs enough to recommend the books was more than a little concerning.

Marigold set the books down, catching a glimpse of their author through the crowd. Lockhart was certainly conventionally attractive, but she found it impossible to feel anything but contempt for the man, knowing the contents of his books. She turned to head to the register, when a loud voice called out.

“By Merlin’s beard, is that Mary Potter?”

Mary winced, stiffening. She quickly made her way towards the register to try and escape, but with how crowded the building was, it was impossibly impassable. Meanwhile, the crowd was more than happy to part for Lockhart, allowing him to catch up and step in front of Mary, blocking her path to freedom. She grimaced, slowly looking up at the garishly dressed wizard.

Lockhart gave her a beaming smile that looked extremely over-practiced. “My word, it is!” He waved towards the desk he was sitting behind moments ago, and soon a photographer made their way through the sea of wixen. Lockhart grabbed Mary’s shoulder, turning her around to face the camera as he got down on one knee next to her. He glanced at her and winked, “Smile, Marigold. Together, we’re worth the front page of every paper in the Isles.” Lockhart laughed, “Well, except the Quibbler, I suppose. Not that anyone really reads such rubbish.”

Still reeling from being touched against her will and before she could even think to protest, the camera bulb flashed, leaving Mary blinking spots out of her vision.

He stood up and began picking out a copy of each of his books, before he cleared his throat to address the crowd. "Now, when young Marigold Potter entered this fine establishment to see me this morning, she had no idea that she would be leaving with the entirety of my published works, free of charge." He placed his books on top of the stack she was already carrying, then winked at the crowd once more with the exact same smile.

Dealing with the crowd alone, it was all Mary could do not to break down. With all of Lockhart's nonsense on top, she was on the verge of tears. Vaguely, she registered the Doctors Granger pushing their way through the crowd towards her, but it was slow going.

"What's more," Lockhart continued, jostling her with his arm around her shoulders, "This is not the last she'll be seeing of me, oh no." He grinned. "I am pleased to announce that I have graciously accepted the position of Hogwarts School of Magic's own Professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Mary's heart dropped into her stomach.

Mercifully, the Grangers finally breached the wall of onlookers, and Dennis pulled the photographer aside, Valerie marching up to Lockhart to do the same. Hermione had apparently been following behind them as they forged a path through the store, and pulled Mary into a hug, holding her books for her. From a showboating racist, even the slightest touch was too much, but from her best friend and basically sister, it was the most comforting thing in the world, and Mary threw herself into Hermione's arms, sobbing. She was able to hear Lockhart try to do damage control, referring to her outburst as "tears of joy", but she honestly couldn't bring herself to care. Marigold just wanted to leave, and Hermione was happy to oblige, pulling her through the store and out the door.

Unfortunately, things could never be quite so simple, for blocking the door was an annoyingly familiar blond boy.

"Malfoy." Hermione huffed. "Would you please move? We're in a bit of a hurry, here."

Malfoy scoffed, "For a half-blooded faggot and a mud-blood? I don't see why I should."

Mary hadn't even realized that Ginny had caught up to them until suddenly she was in front of them, growling, "Leave them alone." Despite being several centimeters shorter, she held her ground, staring Malfoy down.

He curled his lip as he looked down at her. “Or what, Weasley? You’ll get your poor all over me?”

“Now, now, Draco, play nicely.” came a somehow even more pompous voice. Walking over to stand by Malfoy’s side was someone who could only be his father. Confirming Mary’s suspicions, he gave the girls a slight bow, introducing himself, “Lord Lucius Malfoy, of the Most Noble House of Malfoy. What a… pleasure to make your acquaintance, Heir Potter.” If Mary had wondered what House Ginny would be Sorted into, it left no doubt in her mind when Ginny tried to stare down even Lord Malfoy.

“She’s an Heiress.” Ginny objected, her fists clenched at her side. Definitely a Gryffindor.

Lord Malfoy looked at Ginny as if he had accidentally stepped in something. “Yes, well… he can certainly call himself that if he so pleases.” he sneered.

Ginny looked as if she was about to start throwing punches, but thankfully Arthur’s hand on her shoulder stilled her. Arthur immediately commanded Lord Malfoy’s attention, and the two locked eyes for what felt like an eternity before either spoke.

“Lord Malfoy.”

“Lord Weasley.” He arched an eyebrow at Arthur, “Your department has been going on quite a few raids lately, hasn’t it? I do hope they’re paying you overtime.” He looked down at Ginny and snatched a handful of the books she had tucked under her arm from her before she could react.

“Oi!” she shouted, though he payed her no attention.

Lord Malfoy inspected the books he had taken, “Although, judging by the state of things, it would appear not.” He shoved the books back in Ginny’s direction, and she snatched them back. He smirked. “What’s the point of being a disgrace to wizards if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Arthur stared daggers at him. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces wixenkind, Malfoy.”

“Clearly.” Lord Malfoy replied, nonplussed. “Associating with muggles, of all things.”

Arthur’s face turned red with rage as he stepped towards Lord Malfoy. “How dare-”

He was jerked back by Augusta’s grip on his arm. Strategically placing herself between the two men while not relaxing her grip on Arthur, Augusta looked at Lord Malfoy with nothing more than disinterest.

“Lucius.” she addressed him. “Perhaps you ought to spend less time disrespecting others and more time focusing on your son’s academics.”

Draco flushed red while his father bristled with indignation. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Augusta.”

Augusta perfectly maintained her bored demeanor. “Really? Did you know, as Senior Governess, it’s quite important that I keep an eye on the grades of all students at Hogwarts? It’s part of my role in ensuring the professors are performing satisfactorily. It's quite indicative of the teacher if, say, students consistently score poorly in their classes.” She glanced down at Draco. “Though sometimes low scores can be more indicative of the student, I suppose.”

Lord Malfoy struggled to think of a retort, but came up blank, turning around and leaving the store entirely, calling over his shoulder, “Come, Draco.”

It seemed Augusta was not done putting others in their place, as she turned her eye to Arthur, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed over his behavior.

She sighed, “Really, Arthur. You’re a Lord now, you ought to at least act like it.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably until she finally let him out of her grasp. He cleared his throat and turned to the children. “So, er, who’d like to pop on over to Fortescue’s?”

Marigold smiled, still sniffling from earlier, but shakily raised her hand.

Chapter Text

Marigold much preferred pastries to ice cream, but with how hot it was outside, she certainly wasn't complaining about the impromptu trip to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. Being surrounded by friends and family rather than crowds and bigots also helped calm her down immensely, and while she was still exhausted from her meltdown in Flourish and Blotts, it no longer felt as though she was teetering on the brink of death. Thankfully, there were only a few stops left on their shopping trip, and before long, the whole group - sans Molly and Ginny, who had gone to Ollivander's - was exiting the potion supply shop, topped up on all the staple ingredients. They waited outside Ollivander's, Ron and Neville chatting about the Dueling Club, while Mary simply enjoyed listening to Hermione ramble about the various bits she liked about Madeleine L'Engle's Time Quintet series. Mary always enjoyed hearing Hermione talk so passionately about anything, really, but was moreso just overjoyed that Hermione was equally taken by the books.

Finally, Molly exited the store, Ginny following behind before triumphantly brandishing her own wand above her head, striking a pose. Fred and George loved the antics, jostling her about and ruffling her hair, while Percivall politely congratulated her as she gushed about her ash and phoenix feather wand. The handle had a burnt finish, but was otherwise a fairly plain length of tapered wood.

With the final errands of the day over and done with, they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione once again taking her parents' hands to allow them passage through the courtyard garden's brick wall. Several tight hugs and promises to write later, the Grangers left through the muggle entrance to the Leaky, as they had somehow managed to find a place to park yesterday, before using the wixen pub to floo to Longbottom Manor.

"Bye, Mary." Neville mumbled into her hair as they hugged goodbye. "See y-you at school."

"See you at school, Neville." she returned. "Love you."

He smiled as he pulled away. "Love you, too."

Augusta walked up to the two, and as they turned to look at her, she opened her arms and wrapped Mary in a hug, murmuring, "Thank you, Marigold."

Mary scrunched up her nose in thought as she pulled away, Augusta's hands still on her shoulders. "Er, you're welcome, but… what for?"

She gave Mary a sad smile. "For helping Neville where I failed. Staying by his side and properly supporting him, as I should have." She leaned down and kissed the top of Mary's head. "For being his sister. You have my eternal gratitude."

Mary blushed at the praise. "Oh, I mean- Well, it really wasn't-"

She was cut off as Neville bumped her shoulder, "Just take th-the compliment."

Marigold huffed, but grinned all the same.

Neville and his grandmother gave the rest of their goodbyes before disappearing into the green flames of the Floo, and finally it was just Marigold and the Weasleys. Arthur handed out Sickles to all of his children as Mary got out her own, and soon enough, she followed them through the Floo to the Burrow, as their home was affectionately called.

---

One swirling torment later, and they were all gathered in the quaint ground floor of the Weasley household. Through the windows, Mary could see the fields of their farm, bordered by an orchard with hundreds of unripe apples hanging in their boughs. The gable and dormer windows allowed so much natural light into the structure that artificial sources were nearly completely absent, save for a few lamps about the kitchen. Besides the obvious closets, the entire floor consisted simply of a kitchen, dining room, and the living room, where they were all still gathered around the large stone fireplace. It begged the question of how on earth all nine Weasleys had ever fit inside. However, that was soon answered as the Weasleys dispersed, several disappearing into the closet off of the dining room, and down the stairs within.

Despite Ron's protests that he and Marigold had already shared a room for the majority of a year, Molly insisted that she room with Ginny. To Ginny's credit, she only seemed slightly put out by the request, and led Mary downstairs to her room to unpack. The floor below was easily four times the size of the ground floor, and with the stairs continuing even further down, Mary understood exactly why it was called the Burrow. As she entered her room, Ginny idly snapped her fingers twice, activating an enchantment of some sort which lit her room. The walls were plastered with posters of various quidditch players, most of which were members of the all-women Welsh team, the Holyhead Harpies. From Ron's rambling on the sport, Mary knew that it wasn't a requirement of the team that the players only be women, but with their reputation, male players simply never tried to join, except as a last resort - an attitude the Harpies didn't take too kindly to.

Ginny shrugged, "S'not much, but it's mine." She pulled out a trundle bed from underneath her own, setting it up for Mary. She gestured vaguely at the bed, "Normally only my friend Luna sleeps here - she and her parents are actually coming over tonight, but they're not spending the night, so the bed's all yours. Don't worry though, I've washed the sheets since the last time she spent the night."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Mary grinned, as she set her trunk down. She looked around the room. "You really like quidditch, huh?"

The tips of Ginny's ears pinked, but she nodded all the same, "Holyhead Harpies, yeah. Ron's room is about the same, only with the Chudley Cannons." She smirked. "At least the Harpies are actually good."

Mary laughed as she pulled Hedwig's cage and stand out of her trunk, then frowned. "Er, do you know where I can set these up? There's no windows down here, and last I checked, Hedwig can't open doors."

Ginny snorted, "No, I imagine she can't. C'mon, there's space next to Errol and Hermes upstairs."

---

Having set Hedwig's things out next to the ancient Weasley family owl - Hermes was out delivering mail at the moment - Mary gave a tug at her bond with her familiar, letting Hedwig know she was good to come to Mary's location. She went back downstairs to change into some denim trousers, a pair of trainers, and a t-shirt, grabbing her broom in the process. Molly was already bustling about the kitchen upstairs and Arthur was setting up a bonfire in the front yard, but it would still be a few hours before their Lughnasadh celebration started - plenty of time for a few games of quidditch.

As Percivall was uninterested in playing the sport despite the lamentations of his siblings, there were only five players available. Given the disparity in broom quality, Mary was alone on a team with Fred (probably), leaving Ron, Ginny, and George (perhaps) together on the other. They didn't bother with the Snitch or even a second Bludger, and it was far more relaxed than any practice Marigold had attended for the Hufflepuff team, but it was all good fun. They played a few games to a set number of points, each time rotating who got to use Mary's Nimbus 2000.

It was as one such game had ended and the sun was setting, that Mary noticed two people, likely Luna and her dad, making their way up the dirt road to the Burrow. Her father was a fairly waifish man with long white hair, and next to him was presumably Luna - a small girl with the same hair and impossibly pale skin as him.

Ginny swooped down on her broom, dismounting in mid-air to run and catch her friend in a hug. "Luna!" she cried, excited. "Glad you could make it!"

Marigold flew down as well, though she dismounted her Nimbus after her feet were on the ground. Ginny and Luna were animatedly chatting away as they strolled up to the Burrow, leaving Luna's father behind.

He gave Mary a slight bow, then extended his hand as he adjusted his thick glasses. "Xenophilius Lovegood, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Mary shook Xenophilius' hand. "Marigold Potter, it's nice to meet you too, Mr Lovegood."

He waved her off, "Oh please, Xeno is fine. Besides, it would be a tad confusing should Pandora ever be around."

Mary scrunched up her nose. "Who?"

"Ah, my husband." Xeno clarified. "They would be here, but they've been having a bad pain day. Nothing to worry about, just an old injury rearing its head, but rest is the best medicine at times like these."

Mary nodded her understanding.

"Oi, Mary!" Ron called to her. "Dad's about to light the fire!"

Xenophilius laughed lightly, "Best get going, then."

She grinned sheepishly at him, before remounting her broom and chasing after Ron. Although he had plenty of a head start, the old family brooms simply couldn't hold a candle to the speed of the Nimbus. Mary soon flew past him, getting a shout of objection in return.

Once everyone was gathered around the monstrous pile of wood, Arthur clapped his hands together. "Right. Everyone ready?"

At the excited chorus of yesses, he raised his hands together, then brought both of them down and out, before clapping his hands together once more. Having traced out half of the rune with each hand, he incanted a loud and jovial "Ignis!"

Instantly, a burst of flame erupted from the bottom of the woodpile, lighting the bonfire and kicking off the celebration to the cheers of everyone gathered. Molly brought out several baskets of bread and countless toppings to go along with the loaves, as Percivall followed behind with a stack of blankets, which he began laying out for seating. Despite Ron's protests, Molly insisted on everyone washing up before they could have even one bite. Considering that five of them had been playing quidditch for a few hours, it was a reasonable request, and one Mary quickly completed before happily digging in. She tried a bit of everything before she settled on the spiced apple jam as her favored topping, slathering it on every bite of bread she ate.

So Mary passed the night merrily away, alongside Ron and his family. Eventually, the Lovegoods left, taking with them a basket of loaves for Pandora at Molly's insistence. The bonfire had reduced to a pile of embers and coals by the time everyone finally turned in.

---

Over the following week, Marigold found out just how much truth there was to Ginny's words. There really wasn't much to do once the day's chores were taken care of, and so it was quidditch that took up the rest of the time. Molly and Arthur insisted that as a guest, she didn't have to partake in the chores, but Mary just couldn't sit idly by. Besides, with all of them working together, it wasn't so bad at all. It also made it all the more satisfying to break out the brooms and take to the skies.

Sometimes, however, so long as there was a nice breeze, Mary would spend hours simply sitting on the Burrow's covered back porch, watching the wind in the leaves and the fields. On one such occasion, a bit burnt out on the endless games of quidditch, Mary went outside just to sit, only to find Percivall already there, sipping on some tea as he leafed back and forth through a stack of parchment, occasionally making some notes.

"No, I don't want to play quidditch, thank you very much." he said plainly at the sound of the door opening, not bothering to look up from his work.

Mary blinked a few times in confusion. "Er, me neither? Not right now, at least."

That got Percivall to look up. "Oh. Sorry, I thought you might have been one of my siblings."

She shook her head, "Just wanted to sit."

He sighed and started gathering his papers, then paused, furrowing his brow. He looked up at Mary. "Can you be quiet? As in properly quiet, not what Fred and George think passes as quiet."

Mary giggled, "Yeah, I can manage that. They really are always switched on, aren't they?"

Percivall made an amused huff. "That they are."

They sat in the quiet together, the only man-made sounds the shuffling of parchment, the scratching of a quill, the distant shouts of Weasleys on brooms, and the occasional creak of wood whenever Mary changed how she sat in her chair. Beyond that, there was plenty of noise from birds singing and the wind blowing, but each individual sound was soft enough that it all blended together into a gentle background chatter.

Once he was finally done, Percivall gathered his work together and set it on the table next to him, screwing the lid back onto his bottle of ink. He glanced at Mary.

"Thank you."

Mary hummed. "Don't mention it."

Percivall turned in his chair to face her. "No, truly, thank you. I enjoy company, it's why I sit out here where I can hear them, after all. But everyone here is just so… loud, all the time." He sighed. "I don't want to be so isolated from them, they're my family, but…" He shrugged.

She smiled softly at him. "I understand. I can handle a bit more than Hermione before I get overstimulated, but it's still something I have to deal with. It's definitely been easier, now that I know I'm autistic. I can manage things a lot better."

He frowned. "'Autistic'? Is that a muggle term?"

Mary shrugged, "I think so? I mean, it is, but I don't know if it's also used in the wixen world." She scrunched up her nose as she leaned back in her chair. "It's kinda hard to explain, especially 'cos there's a bunch of different possible symptoms, but it means your brain works a bit different. You're a lot more sensitive to sight, sound, smell, and touch, you have difficulty with social cues, that sort of thing. It's why I wiggle when I'm happy."

She glanced over at him, only to see him staring wide-eyed right back at her.

"Then… I'm not… broken?"

"No." she shakily replied, tears quickly forming and beginning to escape down her cheeks. "No, you're not broken. We're both just a bit different, and that's fine."

Percivall nodded hesitantly, before turning and staring blankly into the distance as his own tears began to fall.

"Okay." he whispered, Marigold barely able to hear his voice. "Okay."

---

It was an adjustment for the whole household, but one that resulted in far less tension and far more understanding between Percivall and his family. Thankfully, Mary still had the resources that the Grangers had given her, which Arthur magically duplicated a few times to distribute copies around the house. It was a learning curve, and there were still plenty of times that mistakes were made and arguments had, but it was a huge difference. It wasn't solely Percivall who benefited either - being able to tell when their seemingly standoffish brother was actually showing affection really let them see just how much he cared.

It was a far more unified and loving Weasley family going into Ginny's birthday on the 11th that Tuesday. Accommodations were made in advance to keep any festivities away from Percivall's room, allowing him a space to retreat, should things get overstimulating. However, all was not well that morning.

"Mum, no!" Ginny pleaded. "Why do I have to wear a dress on my birthday?"

Molly sighed, holding out the same dress Ginny had worn on Mary's birthday. "Can you please just wear it for today? I spent good money on this, and you'll be growing out of it soon enough. I want to get at least a few good pictures out of it."

Ginny flopped back into her bed, "Mum, I'm not wearin' that, it's ghastly!"

Privately, Marigold disagreed. Certainly, it was a bit much for a birthday amongst family and friends, but it looked fine. However, she already felt awkward enough by simply being in the room during the interaction, so she stayed quiet and kept her eyes on her book.

Molly huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "Ginevra Niniane Weasley! I bought you this dress because you said that you liked how it looked"

Ginny groaned, covering her face with her hands. "For a ball or on someone else, sure. But not on me!" She whined, "Why can't I just wear some nice trousers?"

Her mother leveled her with a glare. "Because it is a special occasion, and one day, when you're a mother and showing your kids old photos, you'll wish you actually looked nice in them. I'm doing you a favor!"

That got Ginny to gag. "Eugh, not bloody likely! I'm never gonna be a mum, and I'm definitely not gonna be havin' any kids."

"Language!" Molly shouted, her eye twitching. She took a deep breath before turning to Mary. "Could you go see if Ron needs any help with the preparations, dear?"

She awkwardly nodded as Ginny crossed her arms, pouting. Mary left the room as fast as her legs could carry her. The argument started back up immediately after the door was closed, making Mary wince. She could understand why Molly wanted her daughter to wear the dress, but it was Ginny's birthday. Surely, she deserved to be happy on her own birthday, right? And it was clear to Mary that Ginny wouldn't if she was wearing the dress.

When she related her thoughts to Ron, he just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"I don't disagree, but they've had this same argument hundreds of times, and it always ends the same way. Best not to get involved."

When Ginny finally emerged, it was with a sullen mood, and the tips of her pant legs barely peeking out from under the dress' hemline. From Molly's expression, it was a compromise neither were happy with, but the only one they could manage. Thankfully, the arrival of the Lovegoods cheered Ginny up enough that she at least wasn't sulking around the house. However, unlike on Lughnasadh, Pandora had arrived alongside their husband and daughter. They were white with long blond hair pulled back into a neat bun, and were sat in a magically propelled wheelchair. Their right arm stopped just above the elbow, and despite their thick, closely-trimmed facial hair, they had a visible bust.

Pandora gave Mary a gentle smile. "It's always nice to meet another transgender person, especially one as famous as you, Marigold Potter." they greeted her, their voice light despite its deepness.

"You, too." Mary replied. "A-and I'm really nothing special."

They winked at her. "Now, now, don't sell yourself short. From what Aurora tells me, you're a bright young witch."

Mary scrunched up her nose. "Aurora… Professor Sinistra?"

Pandora grinned. "The very same. She and I dormed together in Ravenclaw, back before I transitioned. We're still quite good friends."

Mary nodded.

They gave her a knowing smile. "Well, I suppose I'll go reminisce with the other old fogeys, no need to bore a young one like you."

She tried to sputter an objection, but Pandora merely raised an amused eyebrow at that, before gesturing and causing their chair to wheel them away to where Xeno was having a conversation with Arthur and Molly.

"Papa was rather excited to meet you."

Marigold whirled around, taking a few steps back as she turned to face the voice that had suddenly appeared behind her.

"Oh." Mary let a breath out, her heart still racing. "Hi Luna."

"Hello, Marigold Lily." Luna replied, a dreamy smile on her face. "I apologize, I didn't mean to startle you."

Mary managed to swallow past the lump in her throat. "Er, y-yeah. It's alright, just… habit."

Luna gazed at her in a way that Mary had only seen once before, when she was purchasing her wand. Unlike the twinkle of curiosity in Ollivander's eyes, however, Luna's seemed to become impossibly sad.

"I see. I'm terribly sorry you had to develop such a thing." she said. "It seems your wrackspurt infestation is clearing up nicely, though."

Mary blinked. "Er, sorry?"

Luna waved her off. "Don't be. Wrackspurts are so small they appear invisible to most people, so it's really no surprise you haven't heard of them."

"But you, er, can see them?" Mary asked.

Luna tapped the side of her glasses in response, the lenses just as thick as Xeno's. "They buzz around in your ears, making your head all fuzzy. But don't worry. Like I said, you don't have many left at all."

Mary batted at the air next to her head, which had Luna giggling.

"Luna- oh!" Ginny called out as she approached the two. The tips of her ears pinked, and she tugged at the skirt of her dress. "H-hey Mary. Luna tell you about wrackspurts?" she asked, gesturing to how Mary still had her hands near her ears.

Mary nodded, and Ginny waved her off. "Don't worry about it too much. I'm still tryin' to figure out whether Luna made them up or not, but even if they're real, apparently they can't really hurt you."

Luna smiled mischievously. "Wrackspurts are very real, but yes, they're more of a symptom than the actual problem. They'll go away on their own." She turned to Ginny. "Unlike Marigold, you have quite the extensive infestation. It's a wonder you're able to walk."

Ginny shrugged, grinning sheepishly at Mary, then shook her head clear. "Anyway, Luna c'mon, I wanna show you something." She grabbed Luna's hand and began pulling her away, before she glanced back, giving Mary a shy wave. "Seeya, Mary."

Mary waved back, still a bit lost as to what exactly just happened, before wandering off to see what Ron was up to.

---

The rest of the birthday celebration went about as well as it could, what with Ginny still stuck in her dress. It didn't help that Molly wouldn't let her fly in it, so no quidditch games were held, despite Ginny's protests. The worst of it was during the present opening, as Molly insisted on getting as many photos of her daughter as she possibly could, which had Ginny squirming and fidgeting under the attention. When the Lovegoods finally left at the end of the day, Ginny practically sprinted to her room to rip the dress off and throw on a shirt, much to Molly's disappointment.

They were able to fit in one quick round of quidditch before the sun set, and Mary insisted Ginny use her Nimbus, hoping it would somewhat salvage her birthday. It seemed to work, and after winning the match, Ginny went to bed with a smile on her face.

As they were laying in bed in the dark, Marigold heard Ginny roll over.

"...Hey, Mary?"

Her voice was quiet, as she had evidently rolled over to face the wall.

"Hm?"

"Why…" Ginny paused. "How did you know you were transgender?"

Mary stretched in bed as she thought about how to answer. "I don't know. At first, when I was really young, it didn't bother me as much. My Aunt and Uncle, I already had to do so many things to keep them happy, it just felt like more of the same. A performance."

"And then?" she asked hesitantly.

Mary sighed as she thought back. "Around my eighth birthday, I was doing some reading in the library, and I found a book that mentioned transgender people. I did some more reading, and it was like everything just… clicked."

"But why would you want to be a girl? It's the worst!" Ginny whined.

Marigold paused, then rolled over, propping herself up on her elbow to look at Ginny.

"…Ginny, do you…" Mary hesitated. It was possible she was reading too much into it, but coupled with her behavior that day, it was too much to be a coincidence.

"Do you want to be a boy?"

Ginny stiffened, but did not respond.

"It's okay if you don't know." she reassured her. "It's just… Well, I've noticed some things, is all."

Ginny still did not respond, so Mary lowered herself back down, rolling over onto her back.

Quietly, Mary spoke as she heard Ginny start to sniffle. "…You can always talk to me, okay? About this, or… anything, really. You could talk to Luna about it, or even write about it in a diary or something. Just…" Mary sighed. "Promise me you won't bottle it all up? Madam Pomfrey says that's not good for you in the long run."

Ginny sniffled and took a few more shuddering breaths, before she responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

"…Okay."

Chapter Text

Ginny was withdrawn for a few days after her birthday. Marigold worried that perhaps she had pushed the subject too hard. At the very least, she hoped that if Ginny was trans, that their conversation had helped, even if only a little bit. If nothing else, she seemed to take Mary's advice to heart, and if there wasn't a game of quidditch going on, she was often in her room, scrawling away in her diary. Soon enough though, Ginny was back to her normal, chipper, goofy self.

The last few weeks of summer were fairly uneventful. The same routine of course chores and quidditch was an easy one to follow, and Marigold loved any excuse to fly. On occasion, provided it was sufficiently overcast enough that Luna wouldn't get a sunburn despite being albino, she would join in on the quidditch games as well. Mary always did her best to suggest teams divided by anything other than gender, especially after seeing how quickly it soured Ginny's mood to be put on the girls' team. Conveniently, Mary realized she could frame the same division as being the youngest against the oldest, and avoid upsetting Ginny while still including all the possible team combinations. Even with her autism mucking up her interpretation of facial expressions, Mary could tell from Ginny's smile just how appreciative of the gesture she was.

---

"Come on, Ronald, hurry up!" Molly called down the stairs of the Burrow. "We were supposed to be at the Rookery ten minutes ago!"

Ron grimaced, as he shouted back, "Sorry, Mum! Just a sec!"

Marigold, despite having been packed several days in advance, was hurriedly shoving a pile of clothes into a rucksack. Not her own, naturally, but if someone didn't help Ron, it would be at least another twenty minutes before they left, and Mary did not want to miss the Hogsmeade Express. She tugged the drawstring closed and stood up.

"Right, that's enough clothes, please tell me that's everything?" Mary pleaded.

Ron patted himself down, checking his pockets, and Mary clenched her jaw in worry. Finally finished going through his mental checklist, he gave a nod, and Mary let out a sigh of relief. They grabbed all the bags he had and hauled them upstairs, running towards the family's Ford Anglia and shoving them in the magically expanded trunk. Practically the moment they sat down inside the similarly expanded back seat, Arthur started up the car, and soon they were trundling down the dirt road from the Burrow.

Soon enough, they were pulling around a grove of trees, a stone tower coming into view. Standing out in front, Xenophilius held a parasol over him and his daughter, Pandora in their chair beside them. At the sight of the Weasley family vehicle, Luna gave her dads a kiss on the cheek each, and dragged her trunk along towards the car. Molly hopped out of the passenger seat to help her load her belongings, and gave a quick shouted apology to the Lovegoods.

Arthur pulled out his pocket watch as they piled back into the car. He grimaced. "Right, not ideal. I would have liked to run a few more tests, but…" He squared his shoulders, calling over one, "Hold on tight, everybody."

He revved the engine, and they shot down the dirt road, the car's suspension barely cushioning the ride. He jammed a few buttons on the dashboard in, then adjusted what looked like a second gear shift. Mary felt her stomach lurch as the bumpiness of the road disappeared. She was only momentarily confused, as she soon recognized the sensation of flight, and the Ford Anglia lifted up above the trees.

"Er, Mr Weasley?" she called nervously. "I think muggles will notice a flying car!"

Arthur shot her a quick grin before focusing back on driving - piloting? - as they rose higher and higher. "Ah, but what they won't notice is an invisible flying car!"

Molly snapped her head towards her husband. "Is this how you've been managing leaving for work later?"

“It’s much faster when you don’t have to deal with traffic!” Percivall piped up from the back seat, "We've been flying to the Ministry ever since he got the enchantment working. I even helped with some of the rune schemes!"

Molly glared at her husband, who took her hand in his. "Now Molly, dear. It's all perfectly safe and legal. I'm the Head of the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, for Merlin's sake."

She pursed her lips. "We will be having some words later."

Arthur sighed. "In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose." he muttered, then jabbed in another button.

Mary was pressed into her seat as the car rocketed through the sky, leaving Ottery St Catchpole far behind.

---

Thankfully, with the aid of a magical speed boost, they managed to make it to King's Cross on schedule. The muggle side of the station was as busy as ever, but it wasn't long before they managed to squeeze their way through the crowd and pass through the stone brick wall leading to Platform 9 3⁄4. With one last round of hugs from Arthur and Molly, Marigold boarded the Hogsmeade Express with Ron.

Rather than claim an empty compartment, they looked around to find their friends. Hermione being, well… Hermione, she had likely been on the train ever since boarding started. Their efforts were soon rewarded when they found her and Neville in a compartment with another girl that Mary didn't recognize. She was wearing the base skirt and button down of the Hogwarts uniform already, her brown hair was down to her jaw, and she seemed familiar, but Mary just couldn't place her with only a back view. As soon as they opened the door and the occupants of the compartment turned to look at them though, Marigold was pleasantly surprised.

"Alex?" she asked, grinning.

Indeed, it was Alexis Hopkins who stood up and embraced Mary as she entered the compartment. She pulled away, beaming. "Hey, Mary. Good to see you."

A quick round of hugs between the newcomers and those already there, and all five badgers sat down to discuss the recent development as the train left the station.

"Mum and Dad took me to a gender clinic over the break." Alex explained. "They're still not very keen on the whole… situation, but they at least trust the doctor enough that they're letting me start hormone blockers." She shrugged, "They still want me to give it a few years before they'll let me start taking estrogen, but I can live with that."

Mary wiggled uncontrollably in her seat. "That's brilliant! I'm so happy for you!" She gestured to Alex's outfit. "So then you're coming out at Hogwarts, too?"

Alexis nodded emphatically, "Yep! I know it's not exactly gonna be a walk in the park, but I've made up my mind."

Eventually, after a few more stops, the Hogsmeade Express picked up two more Hufflepuffs who dropped by. Susan Bones was a squealing mess when she saw Alex, whereas Megan Jones was left in a stunned blush. With seven people though, the compartment was starting to get crowded, so after some exchanged pleasantries, the two girls carted Alex off to find another compartment of their own, leaving Mary, Hermione, Ron, and Neville behind.

For all of a few minutes.

It was Ginny and Luna who came knocking next, having been rudely ousted from their seats by an older student. While Ginny had been in attendance at Marigold and Neville's birthday celebration, Luna had not, so Neville and Hermione spent some time getting to know the strange girl. While Neville merely found it amusing, Hermione got easily frustrated with Luna's whimsical insistence on possibly-non-existent creatures, but decided to simply not engage her on the subject. Thankfully, Ginny was used to mediating for Luna and her peculiarities, and the time passed enjoyably as the sun set and the Express finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the castle looming large in the distance.

---

Marigold found it quite odd being back at the Welcoming Feast, on the other side of the Sorting. She certainly didn't miss being on the other side of all the attention, but it was odd all the same. Like her yellow-trimmed robes in her peripheral vision, Mary simply had yet to adjust to the change. Still, as each new student was Sorted, she clapped politely, clapping enthusiastically for any new Hufflepuff, and as if her life depended on it when Luna went to Ravenclaw and Ginny went to Gryffindor.

After the feast was over and everyone had eaten their fill, Dumbledore stood and gave his usual start of term announcements and reminders. He seemed to be wrapping up, but had one last announcement to make.

"And now," he began, "I would like you to join me in welcoming our new Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Lockhart stood as an unfortunately large proportion of the student body applauded him. He gave his same practiced smile, winking at the students before he sat back down.

Mary couldn't contain the open disgust that spread across her face. The man equated nonhumans to beasts, and people clapped for him! She still had a hard time believing he had been hired. At least Augusta had the excuse that she was planning Mary and Neville's birthday, and didn't have time to properly look into Lockhart's background, but the rest of the Board? It was despicable.

"Don't like Lockhart?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked her as Dumbledore dismissed the students to their dorms.

Mary curled her lip. "Personal encounters with him aside, the man's a bigot. Have you seen some of his books?"

Justin shrugged, "Can't say I have." He turned to his friend walking alongside him. "You, Ern?"

Ernie Macmillan shook his head. "Nope. Mum fancies him, but I've not touched the stuff."

Mary huffed, "Well, he's written books on trolls and ghouls, which is all well and good, but the books he's written on vampires and werewolves are in the exact same tone. He writes as if they're monsters!"

Ernie scowled, but Justin furrowed his brow, confused.

"Er, they're not?" At the looks he received, Justin backpedaled, "I-I mean, I genuinely don't know! I've never come across any, and in muggle media, they are kinda monstrous, so…" He shrugged.

"No, they're not." Ernie answered. "They're not human, sure, but they're just as sane as you or I."

"I looked into it last year." Mary explained. "Remember how Quirrel was afraid of vampires? With all that garlic everywhere?" At Justin's nod, she continued, "Well, first off, the garlic thing is nonsense. Muggle superstition. Secondly, I'd had a vampire for my teller when I went to Gringotts that summer, and they seemed perfectly like a person to me, so I looked it up, and I was right. Quirrel was just a racist."

Justin frowned. "But don't vampires drink people's blood?"

"Any blood is fine, and it's moreso that they can only process fluids." Ernie clarified. "They only drink human blood if they've gone mad from starvation - the kind of starvation that would drive you or I mad, too."

Mary nodded, "And with werewolves, they aren't in control of themselves when they turn into a wolf on the full moon. There's a potion that was invented relatively recently that lets them keep control, but Wolfsbane is incredibly expensive."

"Especially if you're constantly getting fired for being a werewolf." grumbled Ernie.

Justin scowled. "That's buggered to hell. Is there no wixen NHS to help them pay for it?"

Ernie gave him a sheepish grin, "Dunno what that is, mate."

"The National Health Service, and no." Mary sighed. "There's no public healthcare system whatsoever for wixen."

Justin boggled at them. "So… what? If you get sick and you can't afford to get treated, you just… die?"

Ernie shrugged. "You can always brew the potions yourself. Most wixen have the ingredients for general cures on hand."

Justin and Ernie continued discussing the poor state of wixen healthcare services, but Marigold had been left behind in her own thoughts. Ernie was right - she could brew the potions herself. After all, if she couldn't get HRP through standard means, why not? The main issue at hand really boiled down to Mary's lack of skill in potioneering. But perhaps if she could find someone who could brew it for her…

Theodore Nott. Not only was he extremely supportive of Mary being transgender, he was practically a prodigy at potions! If anyone could manage it, it would be him. Mary nodded to herself as she made up her mind - tomorrow, she would ask.

---

Marigold always had difficulty with adjustments to her daily routines, and now knowing she was autistic, it made loads more sense. Thankfully, adjusting back to her Hogwarts routine was much easier, given she had only been away from it for three months. It also helped that, like last year, no classes were held the first day. As Mary made her way to the Great Hall alongside Hermione, they came across a few Ravenclaw second years at the entrance. Among the group was Mira Patel and her best friend, Terry Boot.

Mary was glad she had kept up practicing BSL, and signed to them, 'Good morning, Mira-' She paused, realizing that Boot was wearing a skirt and had grown significantly more hair.

'Her name's Maddy.' Mira signed, bumping shoulders with the girl in question. 'Short for Madeline.'

Mary wiggled, overjoyed. Hermione tried to sign to them, but her hands were flapping too much to be coherent. Changing tactics, she got Mary to convey her congratulations alongside Mary's own.

Maddy smirked. 'Thanks. I've actually been telling people I've always been Maddy, not Terry, and they've just been misreading my name, mixing up the fingerspelling between M and T, and so on. It's really funny watching them try and wrap their heads around it.'

Marigold snorted at that, descending into a fit of giggles. It was clever by half, making it seem as though everything was the same as always, especially as it made anyone who tried to challenge Maddy on it the one being rude. It had been incredibly annoying her first year, whenever Mary would have to interrupt a conversation to correct someone on her name and gender, and Maddy had found a wonderful way around such situations.

The girls entered the Great Hall and split off to their respective tables to eat. Theodore hadn't arrived at the Slytherin table yet, so Mary assembled some breakfast for herself. She was still quite fond of eggs on toast, especially now that she could have it with complete slices of bacon, rather than whatever scraps were left from feeding her relatives.

Surprisingly, Theodore didn't show up until after Ron and Neville had made it to breakfast, which was certainly saying something. But once he had shown up, Mary grabbed her bag and excused herself, saying that she'd meet up with her friends later. When Mary approached him, Theodore gave her a questioning look, tilting his head towards the exit, to which she nodded. He quickly gathered enough breakfast, wrapping it up in a cloth napkin, and they headed out. Familiar with the secret passages of the school, Mary quickly led them to a secluded, abandoned classroom, where Theodore set his food on a desk and resumed eating.

"So," he began, after swallowing a mouthful of food, "What is it?"

Mary fidgeted where she sat across from him. "Er, so… I was just wondering about… something."

Theodore slowly chewed his food, but inclined his head for her to continue.

"Well, you know how I'm transgender? I mean, obviously you know, but…" She huffed. She was making a fool of herself. "There's potions that trans wixen can take to change their body. Dumbledore won't let me take them because he thinks I'm confused. My Aunt and Uncle won't let me because they think it's wrong. But I still want to take them."

He looked at her intently, speaking slow and carefully, "And… you would like me to brew potions for you that, legally, you are not allowed to take?"

Mary winced. "Er… yes? Would you?"

Theodore started at her a tense moment longer, before a grin slowly spread across his face. "Great minds think alike, you know. I was actually planning to brew my own this year, as well."

Marigold wiggled for a moment before she froze, the words finally registering. "Wait, you- you're-?"

"Heiress Diana Azalea Nott." she reintroduced herself, extending her hand.

Mary shook her hand enthusiastically, resuming an even more incensed wiggle. "Thanks, Diana. I really appreciate it."

Diana took another bite of a roll she had slathered with jam before continuing. "So, we need a plan."

"Right." Mary nodded.

"First, we need the recipes. I already know that they're all in the Restricted Section unfortunately, but at least they are in Hogwarts. We need a signed permission slip to get in there, though."

Mary sighed. "Lockhart would probably sign anything, but I don't think he likes me, since I messed up his publicity stunt this summer."

Diana waved off her concerns. "That's fine, I can take care of that. The second issue is we need a place to brew the potions. It has to be somewhere no one can find it, but that we can easily get to. I don't know how long it takes to brew though, and that will probably influence our decision. You're the one who knows all the secret passageways though, so I'll leave that to you once I've gotten the recipes."

"That makes sense." Mary agreed.

"The third issue…" Diana grimaced. "My father would disown me if he found out, and I'd lose my place here at Hogwarts if I'm no longer part of a Noble House. I don't know how Dumbledore would react, but we need to find a way to hide the changes. Thankfully, that has the least priority since the whole process is gradual, but we need to keep it in mind."

Marigold sighed. Diana was certainly correct, and the consequences of being discovered would be dire. Who knew what Dumbledore would do if she went beyond impermanent changes like her hair and wardrobe? She might be able to put it off for a while, but she'd have to make some hugely important decisions about the course of her life, and soon. However, the idea that she would finally be able to take HRP… it was intoxicating. She couldn't wait to start.

Chapter Text

Thursday was the first day of classes, and for the wixen raised among the second year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, that would normally mean Muggle Studies first thing in the morning, but given the Theory of Magic, Muggle, and Wixen Studies professors were preoccupied with the firsties for the first week of classes, there would be no lessons in the meantime for the upper years. Instead, the first class the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would have was Double Defense. Before that though, Mary could indulge in a longer breakfast before having to deal with Lockhart. Mary walked into the Great Hall for breakfast alongside Hermione and an unusually awake Ron and Neville, only to be immediately assailed by a first year with mousy brown hair and a large camera in hand.

“Hiya, Mary!” she greeted, raising her camera. “Mind if I take your picture? I wanna show my Da all sorts of things from the wixen world - I’m a muggleborn, see - and you’re a pretty big deal!”

Marigold was taken aback. “Er, sorry, who are you? And no pictures, please. I’m nothing special.”

Seemingly not fazed in the slightest, the girl thrust her hand forward. “I’m Catherine Creevey, this is my first year here at Hogwarts! And I think you’re special - I mean, you’re the Girl-Who-Lived! You stopped the war!”

Mary was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second, but hesitantly shook Creevey’s hand. “Look, I appreciate it, but I didn’t do anything. My Mum and Dad are the ones who stopped the war, not me.”

Creevey furrowed her brow, “But that’s not what your books say. They say that-”

“Those books are rubbish and should never have been printed!” Mary cried, frustrated.

Creevey flinched away.

Ron stepped forward, placing a hand on Creevey’s shoulder and himself in between her and Mary. “Look mate, just drop it, alright? And no pictures.”

Ron kept scolding Creevey, but Mary took the opportunity to slip by, heading to her usual spot at the Hufflepuff table. She wiped the few tears out of her eyes that always popped up at the mention of her parents. She hated her fame on a base level, what with the spotlight it brang along with it, but she despised it even more for being a constant reminder of what she had lost. Not only had she lost the chance to ever know her Mum and Dad, since she was placed with the Dursleys, she had been deprived of any sort of normal childhood. Even now, because her magical and muggle guardians were awful and couldn’t love her the way her parents would have, she was being forced to resort to illegally medicating herself. She trusted Diana with brewing their hormones, sure, but it was still a risky situation, and there was no telling what would happen if things went wrong. Marigold couldn’t help but recall what she had seen in the Mirror of Erised the year before - her parents beside her as she grew up a girl, in every sense of the word. It truly was her heart’s desire, and something she could never attain.

---

When Lockhart finally arrived, it was several minutes after the scheduled start of class, and looking a bit disheveled, some scrapes and bruises on him. Mary wondered what had happened, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to engage the man in any sort of conversation. A few of the other students had no such qualms.

“Professor Lockhart, what happened? Are you hurt?” one of the Ravenclaws, Amanda Brocklehurst asked upon seeing him.

Lockhart waved her off with his patented grin and a wink. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. Just a bit of preparation for today’s lesson that got a touch out of hand. Nothing I couldn’t take care of, naturally.”

He winked again, which disturbingly seemed to please Brocklehurst. Worse yet, he handed out and administered a short quiz on… himself. Specifically, facts about himself that were in his books. If the half dozen portraits of himself on the walls of the classroom, constantly grinning and winking, weren’t proof enough of his self absorption, the quiz was. Eventually, after painstakingly - and it was truly painful - reviewing the questions with the class, he pulled out a small cage, covered with a cloth.

Lockhart addressed the class, “It is my job, as your Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts, to prepare you for any dangers you may face in the years to come.” He lowered his voice dramatically, “Now… be warned! In this classroom, you may find yourself face to face with your worst fears.” He gave the cage a rap on the side with his wand, and it began to violently shake. “Rest assured that no harm can befall you, so long as I am here.” He placed his hand atop the cage, grabbing a fistful of fabric. “Now… behold!”

He ripped the cloth off of the cage, revealing dozens of blue insectoid creatures, each with big beady eyes, chittering angrily.

Roger Malone snorted from his seat behind Mary. “Cornish pixies? Really?”

“Laugh all you want!” Lockhart declared, slamming his palm on the desk. “I am sure the wixen raised among you have dealt with one or two in your own household, but can you truly say you’ve handled an entire swarm?” A sly smile spread across his face, and Mary got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Well, I suppose in just a moment, you will have.”

Marigold watched in disbelief as he popped the cage door open, the swarm of pixies streaming out and into the classroom. Pandemonium ensued. The pixies’ claws and teeth were thankfully too short to break the skin, but they quickly took to grabbing heavy objects in groups and lifting them in to the air, only to drop them on the students. Near everyone was screaming by that point, hiding under their desks or trying to escape the classroom altogether.

“Not so funny now, are they?” Lockhart yelled over the chaos. Somehow, he was still grinning. “Now, watch and learn, children! Friyos-”

He was cut off mid-incantation as several pixies snatched his wildly waved wand from his hand, and others began tugging at his hair. Lockhart began swatting at them, but couldn't land a hit. Instead of trying to cast wandlessly, as every other professor could with second year material, he ran off, up the stairs, and into his office, slamming the door behind him the moment he freed himself from the pixies’ grasp.

“Oh, come on!” Ron shouted. “Are you joking!? Now what do we do?”

Hermione was far beyond nonverbal at that point, panicked and hiding under her desk as she was. Unable to speak, she tugged on Mary’s sleeve to get her attention, then drew out the isaz and fehu runes with her finger, then fingerspelled - approximately, as there were no diacritics - what Lockhart had attempted to cast. Mary got the message, and was extremely glad she had both learned BSL and read the spell’s theory ahead of time.

Marigold crawled out from under the desk and poured as much magic as she safely could into the spell, incanting with a shout, “Friyosā atlür¹!”

The spell rippled across the room, leaving in its wake the thudding of pixie bodies against the floor, along with whatever else they had been carrying at the moment. The room fell quiet as Mary stumbled over to a nearby chair, exhausted from overpowering the spell. Ron crawled out from under the desk after her, and grabbed the cage from Lockhart’s desk. A few other students joined him in picking up and re-caging the pixies, unsure of how long the paralysis Mary had given them would last, and not wanting to find out.

Lockhart’s office door cracked open, and he peeked his head out. Upon seeing the pixies were no longer active, he strolled out of his office as if nothing had happened.

“Wonderful work, everyone!” he congratulated them, even going so far as to clap. “As always, direct experience is the best way to learn! Twenty points to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw!”

The students merely stared at him, dumbfounded by his attitude. Ron marched up and shoved the pixie-filled cage into Lockhart’s chest.

“Hufflepuff deserves more. It was Mary what cast the spell, and ‘Mione what gave her the idea.” Ron growled at the man, before stalking back to his desk, muttering under his breath, “Useless poncy git. ‘No harm’, my arse…”

Unsure how to respond, Lockhart stammered, “I- Yes, well. I-in that case, another twenty points to Hufflepuff, eh? Now, what did we learn?”

No one responded, and the entire class merely gathered their belongings and filtered out, leaving Lockhart standing there speechless. Even those that were fans of his looked at him confused and worried as they packed and left. Neville had to help Mary to her feet and out of the room, and Ron made sure Hermione had enough space to avoid having a full on meltdown as they followed after.

---

Friday, Hufflepuff’s only classes were Wixen Studies and Theory of Magic, so in reality that first week, they had no classes whatsoever. Being in Slytherin, Diana had Transfiguration that morning, but she was able to meet up with Mary during that morning’s breakfast. Diana slipped Mary a roll of parchment under the table, grinning.

“Got it.” she whispered.

Mary blinked in disbelief. “Got- Wait, already?” At Diana’s nod, Mary blew out a breath, impressed. “You work fast.”

Diana gave a nonchalant shrug, “Oh, you know. A girl has her ways.”

The two trans girls couldn’t help but descend into a fit of giggles.

“Well,” Mary said, “I’ll take a look and see if I can’t find a good spot to brew. There’s plenty of places in this castle no one ever goes.” She scrunched her nose up in thought. “Except for the ghosts, I suppose.”

Diana snorted, “Maybe we could get one to guard it.”

Mary paused. “That’s honestly not a bad idea.”

Diana considered it for a moment before shrugging, “Well, either way, I’ve got to get to Transfiguration. Good luck finding a spot, then.”

Marigold waved goodbye to her friend, and soon made her way off to the nearest bathroom to get some privacy so she could read what Diana had given her. She locked the stall door and unfurled the parchment, and, sure enough, Diana had transcribed the brewing instructions for all three potions used for trans feminine HRP. Either that, or she had made a very convincing fake, which Mary severely doubted. The main issue with the instructions was that the potions required a fairly frequent input of water, and took just under a week to brew. They’d have to find someplace with or nearby running water, which narrowed the possible locations down considerably.

“Whatcha got there?”

Mary whirled around at the sound of the squeaky, otherworldly voice, only to find a ghost’s head sticking up out of the toilet in the stall Mary was in.

“I- er, n-nothing, it’s- Who are you?” Marigold stammered.

“Myrtle Warren.” the ghost answered. “Most people just call me Moaning Myrtle, though. It’s awfully rude.” She floated up out of the toilet to peek at Mary’s sheet of parchment. “That doesn’t look like nothing, it looks like potion directions.”

“Okay, fine.” Mary hissed. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Myrtle squeaked. Her eyes widened and she giggled. “Ooh, is it not allowed? Are you breaking the rules? That’s rather nasty!”

Marigold grimaced. She hadn’t meant to get caught, but at this point, all she could do was damage control.

“Yes, but please, you can’t tell anyone! We- I need to brew this potion. I’m-” Mary furrowed her brow. “Do you know what ‘transgender’ means?”

Myrtle smirked, giggling some more as she rotated her spectral body where it floated in the air to be upside-down. “Ooh, have you got something under that skirt?”

Mary flushed scarlet, “I-I-I should- I should g-go.”

“Aww, come on!” Myrtle whined. “I was only teasing! I don’t mind, honest! Is that a potion to make you a girl all the way, then?”

Possibly against her better judgement, Mary stopped, her hand still on the stall door latch. She took a deep breath and turned around.

“Yes, it is. I really need this potion, but my relatives are awful and wouldn’t sign my permission slip, and my magical guardian isn’t much better.”

Myrtle rotated upright and sat down on the toilet. “So what’s the problem? Why are you in here?”

Mary sighed. “I need to find somewhere to brew it. Only problem is it takes five days and lots of water.”

“Oh!” Myrtle lit up. “Why not here? No one ever comes here anyway, and if they do, I can scare them off! No one likes being around a crying dead girl, after all.”

“Would you really?” Mary asked. “That would be such a huge help!”

Myrtle beamed, “Of course! Oh, I haven’t had regular company in so long!” She rose up, laying flat on her stomach while still level with Mary, resting her chin on her hands, her arms propped up by her elbows, and her legs kicking idly behind her. She smiled at Mary. “I can tell we’re going to be great friends!”

---

Over the weekend, Marigold and Diana slowly moved brewing supplies to Myrtle’s bathroom. They had to go slow to keep things under wraps, but eventually, they got things set up. The only thing left to do was order the ingredients necessary and actually start brewing. Mary volunteered to purchase the supplies, as Diana had to go through her father to pay for anything. Meanwhile, Mary didn’t have any such limitations. Once the ingredients arrived, they could start brewing.

On Monday, Hufflepuff had Double Charms, which was mainly spent practicing the new modifiers they had learned attached to the charms they had gone over last year. The first modifiers Professor Flitwick had gone over with them were the radial modifiers, which included the atlür modifier that Mary had used to great effect already in Defense. There were two other variations, for the other sets of runes that were taught at Hogwarts, those being omnis² and tyagwäl gāx rud³. Of course in reality, there were countless variations, one for each of the various sets of runes across the globe, but Hogwarts only taught three, as they were of the runic sets local to the area.

The lecture portion of Herbology was the next day, and Marigold could tell that Neville was ecstatic, as the topic they would finally be going over that year was the theory and care of magical plants. Come next Monday, they would start on caring for mandrakes. According to Professor Sprout, they made a good teaching example, as the most they could do at the stage of growth they were at was render someone unconscious, in the case that they had improper ear protection. Also according to Sprout, there was a mandrake fungus going around that year, so if their plant died, so long as it wasn’t obviously from improper care, there would be no points taken off.

It was Wednesday by the time they finally had their first dose of Potions. Snape was as dour as ever, but wasted no time and got straight into his lessons. Said lessons merely consisted of Snape putting the instructions for a potion up on the blackboard accompanied by a list of questions about the reactions taking place in the brewing process, and telling them to have an essay finished by the next time they met. It was certainly a very hands-off approach, but at least now, having gone over in extensive detail how to interpret brewing instructions the year before, there were no major disasters. At worst, a cauldron or two bubbled over and Snape had to vanish the mess.

After that and lunch, however, they had their second class of Defense, and Lockhart looked worryingly chipper. Mary worried that he had prepared another hands-on experience, but what he actually had in store was both better and far, far worse. Rather than actually teach, Lockhart regaled the class with his exploits, straight from his books. He would pause occasionally to expand on a particular bit of information, sometimes even going so far as to read from their actual textbook, but there was never any practical application. The closest he got to having the class practice was asking them what sorts of spells they would use, had they been in his situation. Ron had put it best the other day - he was a useless poncy git.

Marigold wasn't looking forward to another year of self study in Defense, but at least this year, she wasn't the only one affected by their professor's incompetence. So, after looking over their year's schedules together, Mary and Hermione settled on Tuesday mornings for organizing a study group. Mary had made a lot of friends last year, and it wasn't long before most of the year had agreed to join the study group. The only ones sitting out were a few of the Ravenclaws who preferred studying alone, the bigoted members of Slytherin who wanted nothing to do with anything Mary had touched, and a few Gryffindors who didn't want to put in the extra effort. Being the House of hard work, all of Mary's fellow Hufflepuffs planned on attending.

At last, the first week of classes had come and gone, and between Double Wixen Studies and Double Theory, the muggle raised Hufflepuffs had their Thursday fully booked. However, Friday was what Mary had been looking forward to, as they were scheduled for Double Transfiguration. This year, they would be learning nothing - or rather, how to turn something into nothing. Vanishing required a healthy understanding of material composition, as well as being able to scan an object to understand what its composition was, so it would still be a while before they actually vanished anything, but it was exciting nonetheless. Learning how to vanish objects was just one step closer to learning true transfiguration, and Mary couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Marigold was practically vibrating with excitement as she sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast that Saturday. Her order of potions ingredients had finally come in yesterday morning at breakfast, and now that it was the weekend, she and Diana could finally start brewing. In her anticipation, Mary practically inhaled what food she could - which was still a considerably smaller portion than most of her yearmates. The Dursleys may have stopped restricting her food under threat over a year ago, but Mary's stomach size was still struggling to adapt to the change. Still, at least talking with Madam Pomfrey about it over the past year had stopped Mary from feeling guilty about eating so much. Well, mostly. Progress wasn't linear, according to Madam Pomfrey, and Mary shouldn't fault herself when she inevitably had days where she could barely eat anything. Instead, Pomfrey had arranged things so that if Mary wasn't able to eat, she could always stop by the Hospital Wing and get a Nutritive Draught, so that she could still be healthy, even on low food intake. She also always packed a few bits of food from breakfast into her bag, for when she was hungry but couldn’t eat much in a single sitting. Madam Pomfrey had even given her a permission slip to eat such snacks regardless of whether she was in class or not, provided it wasn’t Transfiguration or Potions, where it would be a safety hazard. It had helped immensely, last year.

Regardless, as Mary ate her breakfast, Diana sat down beside her, chatting amicably with the Hufflepuffs there. Much to Sofia's dismay (she was currently sulking at the Slytherin table over being "abandoned"), Diana had become a regular visitor to the Hufflepuff table. Soon though, Diana got up from her seat as Marigold finished her last few bites of food, and the two girls bid goodbye to the rest of the table. They made their way from the Great Hall and through the corridors of the ancient Scottish castle, soon arriving at a nondescript bathroom. Mary had to get down to the quidditch pitch around noon for the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team tryouts, leaving plenty of time to get started on their potions.

“Alright, I’ve got all of it in here.” Mary told Diana as she pulled out her potions kit from her bag. Mary looked up, cheerily greeting the third presence in the bathroom. “Good morning, Myrtle!”

Myrtle floated down from the ceiling, giggling. “Hi Marigold! Hi Diana! Is it finally time?”

Diana grinned, “Yep! Exciting, huh?”

Mary and Diana made their way to the last stall in the bathroom, pulling out all of their supplies from where they had been stashed. Diana unfurled the sheet of parchment she’d copied the recipes onto, and after giving everything one last quick wash, she turned to Mary.

“Right, so I’m going to take the full course of potions, you?”

Marigold scrunched up her nose, fidgeting with her hands. She’d been hemming and hawing over the decision ever since she brought it up with Diana, but she still wasn’t sure. She knew what she wanted, but that didn’t mean it was necessarily the best choice. If Dumbledore were to find out she’d been taking illegally brewed potions behind his back, the consequences… almost weren’t worth thinking about.

She sighed. “Just the Androgen Arrestor. I can’t risk it. I can probably start the rest a bit before I become an adult, but I don’t think I could hide the changes for that long if I were to start all of them now.”

Diana nodded, rubbing Mary’s shoulder. “That’s fair. At least this way, you’ll have plausible deniability of just being a ‘late bloomer’.” Turning back to the potioneering setup, she rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Alright, then. A double dose of Androgen Arrestor for both of us, and a single dose of Estrogenating Elixir and Gender Fluid for me.”

She took a moment to scrawl out appropriately doubled ingredient amounts on the parchment, then wiped her hands clean. At her request, Mary began reading out the instructions for Diana.

“Okay. ‘Bring five- sorry, ten cups of brine to boil, recondensing as needed. Take the cauldron off the heat’.” She picked up their cauldron and brought it over to the taps, while Diana brought the measuring cups. Mary was about to set the cauldron down in front of a tap, when Myrtle piped up.

“Oh, not that one. That faucet’s not worked in ages.”

Shrugging, Mary shifted the cauldron over one more sink, and Diana measured out eight cups of water. Mary heaved the now-much heavier cauldron back over to the flameplate as Diana began measuring out two cups of salt, adding them to the cauldron of water once it was set down. Diana activated the flameplate and began stirring the salt into solution with a glass stir rod. Once it was dissolved and just as steam was starting to rise up, she put a lid on top, upside down, so that the steam would recondense on it and drip back in.

Mary checked the instructions. “Right, once it’s off the heat, it says ‘Grind two- four spoons of chasteberry, and spread atop. Leave undisturbed for three days, until settled’.”

Diana huffed. “Ugh, I hate grinding.”

Still, after measuring the seeds into the mortar, she rolled up her sleeves and began attacking it with the pestle. The girls occasionally traded off as they let their arms recover from the demanding task, but eventually they managed to reduce the contents of the mortar to a fine powder, just as the brine was reaching a boil. Clad in oven mitts, Diana maneuvered the cauldron off the flameplate and back into its hiding place, then used a pair of tongs to remove the lid, giving it a tap to send the condensed water on its underside back into the brew. Carefully, she sprinkled the chasteberry powder into the cauldron, where it sat on the surface of the brine. Finally, she flipped the lid right side up, and put it back on.

Diana stretched, taking and letting out a deep breath. “So.” she addressed Mary, “That’s the Arrestor done for now. What’s the Elixir look like?”

Mary skimmed over the recipe. “Same as the Arrestor, just with flaxseed instead of chasteberry for the first part.”

“Great.” Diana slumped in place. “More grinding.”

Mary fetched their second cauldron and they began the whole process over again, making the appropriate adjustments as needed. Eventually, despite Diana’s griping, they had a second cauldron sitting next to the first. It was finally time to start brewing the Gender Fluid, so Marigold carried the third cauldron over to the tap, where Diana measured out three cups of water. Mary brought it back to the flameplate and skimmed the instructions. Ironically, though the Gender Fluid was only taken once a month, it took the least amount of time to brew. The short time was unfortunately compensated for by its complexity.

Diana pulled out a needle, grimacing. "I guess I'll have to get used to doing this once a month."

"Do you not like blood?" Myrtle asked from where she floated above them.

"Blood's fine." Diana answered, wincing as she pricked her left thumb. "It's the pain I hate."

Myrtle blinked owlishly. "Oh, right. I forgot about pain."

Diana added six drops of her blood to the water, before grabbing some toilet paper from one of the stalls to help staunch the flow of blood. She turned the flameplate back on and brought the brew to a simmer before adding twelve spoons of salt and six whole hydrangea petals. As Diana gently stirred the simmering brew, they watched as it changed to a sickly purple, the vapour it emitted shifting from a colorless steam to a muddy yellow.

Then came the hard part. Diana ground and slowly added bits of powdered brunnera petals, dandelion root, and even a small amount of red cabbage leaves, Mary carefully noting down the amounts of each as they were added. The color shifted in response to every bit of powder added, slowly getting lighter and less saturated, as the vapours grew darker and darker. Comparing against a test strip, Diana finally declared the color adequate, and she cranked up the flameplate, bringing it to a boil and letting it cool back down to a simmer. Diana couldn’t help but grimace as she stirred the brew, causing it to separate into curdled chunks, leaving behind a thin white liquid.

Mary grimaced as well. “…At least that’s what the instructions say will happen?”

Diana sighed. “Small comforts, I suppose. It still looks gross.”

Mary nodded, but began taking notes again as Diana removed the curdles, measuring them by weight. Comparing the total mass removed to the ratio of the powders added and the densities of each, Mary punched the numbers into her TI calculator Dudley had given her for Christmas, and calculated the amounts remaining in the brew. Similar to before, Diana began grinding and adding spoons of charcoal to the simmering brew, Mary noting down the amounts. Slowly, the brew darkened as the vapour brightened, until they were the same shade of grey. One boiling and cooling later, there were thankfully no more curdles that formed when Diana stirred it, meaning everything had been done correctly, and the process was finished.

Diana picked up the cauldron and dumped the mixture down one of the sinks.

She sat the cauldron and herself down, groaning. “Ugh, time to do it all over again.”

Marigold sighed. “Pretty much, yeah.”

The entire process they had gone through to that point was entirely for calibrating the potion to Diana, and now that Mary had calculated the appropriate amounts of each ingredient, they could brew the actual potion. This time though, they filled the cauldron with six cups of water, immediately bringing it to a simmer without the addition of any blood. Once it was at temp, Diana measured out twice as much salt as before and two spoons of sulfur powder. When she added twelve hydrangea petals, the brew turned from a thin yellow to a violently bright blue. Adding four spoons of lime powder, it rapidly shifted to a similarly violent pink. Then, it was just a matter of adding the calculated amounts of brunnera, cabbage, dandelion, and charcoal, and bringing it up to a boil. Diana let it boil off cup after cup of liquid until it was thick as honey, at which point she removed it from the heat.

When it cooled, about two hours after they had started brewing it, Diana gave the white brew a swirl with her stirring rod. The potion began shifting continuously between pink and blue, and back again. It was mesmerizing to watch. Diana took a ladle and poured one portion of potion into each of two bottles, only bothering to put the glass stopper on one.

Grinning, she raised the open one in Marigold’s direction. “Cheers!”

Diana knocked back the potion, and they both sat still, Myrtle joining them as they waited for any sort of reaction. Diana looked at her hands, turning them over to inspect them. Myrtle went so far as to poke her head through Diana’s body for a closer look.

Nothing happened.

Diana shrugged, a smile spreading across her face. “I guess I did it right.”

Mary wiggled, then wrapped her friend in a hug, as Myrtle squealed, drifting around the bathroom in glee.

---

It would have been a bit of a tight deadline, getting lunch and still making it to the quidditch pitch in time for tryouts, but Mary thankfully had a Nimbus 2000 at her disposal. As it was, Mary made it to the stadium with more than enough time to spare. She also had the good fortune of arriving at the stadium entrance as Cedric Diggory did. Mary tried to calm her blushing down as she hopped off her broom next to him.

Her efforts were in vain as her blush immediately returned when Cedric turned and smiled at her. “Hey, Mary. Have a good summer?”

“O-oh, not too bad, once I got out of my relatives’ house.” Marigold stammered. “I er, hopped between Hermione, Neville and Ron’s houses.”

“Glad to hear it!” He paused, humming. “Hmm, little Weasley, eh? He and his are out in Ottery St Catchpole, south side, yeah?” At Mary’s nod, Cedric continued, “We’re actually on the north side. I’ve seen the Weasleys around in town on occasion, actually.”

Mary grinned, “Maybe next summer you can come over sometime! We played quidditch practically every day.”

Cedric gave a short laugh. “I don’t doubt that. Fred and George are obsessed.” He winked at Mary. “That’d be grand, though.”

Marigold’s heart fluttered as she tried to keep her breathing in check. It was truly unfair of Cedric to wink at her like that, looking like he did. Thankfully, she was saved from having to stumble through a reply (that she would inevitably make a mess of) by them arriving at the Hufflepuff locker room. She was not, however, saved from embarrassment, as Tamsin Applebee was already there. Tamsin took a single look at the two of them - particularly how red Mary’s face was - and shot her a smirk and a knowing glance. Mary was definitely in for some light teasing.

The teasing would have to wait till later though, as Lottie Donovan soon ordered all prospective team members out onto the pitch. The Ravenclaws had finally finished using the stadium for their tryouts, and the Hufflepuffs passed them as they swapped places, the eagles now heading to their own locker room. As Mary passed Zhāng Qiū, the Ravenclaw Seeker from last year (and likely this year as well, given their prowess on a broom), she couldn't help the pang in her chest as she realized the way they and Cedric looked at each other. The two were practically a couple already. Whatever slim chance Mary might have had with Cedric, she had already missed it.

Tamsin gave Marigold a hearty pat on the back, startling her out of her funk. "Y'ever visit a museum, Mary?"

Mary scrunched up her nose and looked up at Tamsin, utterly befuddled. "Er, y-yeah, why?"

Tamsin didn't answer, continuing to ask odd questions. "Didja enjoy it?"

"Yes?" Mary tilted her head, still confused. "What-"

"Y'can't touch the displays, yeah?" Tamsin cut her off. "Sometimes y'can't even get near 'em. But it doesn't really matter, now does it?"

Mary shook her head in an attempt to make things make sense, but to no avail. "Tamsin, what on earth are you talking about?"

Tamsin tapped the side of her nose. "Just 'cos Ced's got himself a beau doesn't mean y'can't enjoy lookin', now does it?"

Marigold stopped in her tracks. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, and she couldn't help but giggle as she caught back up.

"No, it doesn't!" she answered, grinning.

Tamsin ruffled her hair. "There's my girl!"

Now thoroughly shaken out of her foul mood, Mary was able to properly focus on quidditch tryouts. They went roughly the same as they had last year, in terms of what Lottie tested their abilities with. The main differences this year were that Ron, Neville, and Hermione were all in the stands to cheer Mary on, and that at the end of it, Lottie named Marigold Hufflepuff's starting Seeker. Daniel Lovelace had graduated at the end of last year, so Cedric shifted to starting Chaser, but otherwise, the lineup was identical. Additionally, Cedric was made Lottie's understudy, as it was now her final year. Next year, Cedric would be the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain.

---

Neville was extremely focused as the Hufflepuffs filtered into Greenhouse Two on Monday morning. Not only was Herbology simply his favorite subject, his grades this year would be the deciding factor for whether his Gran would allow him to have any magical plants in the greenhouse at Longbottom Manor. Understandably, Neville was taking it very seriously.

“Alright, everyone find a spot, two to a station. Quickly now!” Professor Sprout called as she entered the greenhouse full of second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Marigold paired up with Neville, and Ron with Hermione. Mary pulled up a stool and sat down next to Neville.

Once everyone was paired and seated, Spout continued. "Wonderful! Now, I would have preferred you each get your own, but again, there's a mandrake fungus going around, so we're a bit short of supplies. As it stands, you'll be working with your current partner for the rest of the year. Understood?" With no objections, she nodded. "Good."

"So," she continued, "Just as a bit of review, what are the primary categories of magical plants?"

Neville's hand shot up, and Professor Sprout called on him.

"M-magical plants can be broadly classified into two groups - th-those that produce magic, and those that consume magic."

Sprout nodded, "Good, and mandrakes?"

"Mandrakes pr-roduce magic, using it as a defense mechanism." Neville answered.

"Wonderful, Mister Longbottom. Five points to Hufflepuff."

Neville grinned, and Mary gave his hand a congratulatory squeeze as Professor Sprout continued the lesson.

"Mandrakes use magic to animate their roots and make noise. As they mature, this shriek gets more and more potent, to the point it can rupture your eardrums and even kill small animals. The corpses can make for excellent fertilizer, and the pain makes for a good deterrent for larger creatures." A few students pulled away from the pots of mandrakes on their tables, so Sprout reassured then, "Not to worry, at their current age, at most, it would knock you unconscious and you'd wake with a nasty headache. Can anyone tell me how you determine the age of a mandrake? Yes, Miss Dunbar."

One of the Gryffindors, Fay Dunbar, answered, "Well, the only way to get the exact age is by taking a cross section of its roots, but you can make an estimate based on the size of its largest leaves.

Professor Sprout clapped her hands together. "Excellent, five points to Gryffindor."

Sprout tugged on her gardening gloves, and stepped up to her own station, which was set up identically to each pair of students'. There was a mandrake seedling in a small flower pot, a considerably larger flower pot, a sack of dirt, and a pair of earmuffs.

"Now," Sprout began, "Today, we will be re-potting our mandrakes. We're only going up a few pot sizes, rather than planting it in its final pot to begin with. Why?" She glanced around the greenhouse. "Mister Entwhistle?"

Kevin Entwhistle, another Gryffindor, shrugged. "It saves on space?"

There was a bit of laughter, and Professor Sprout gave a small smile. "You're not entirely wrong, but that's not quite it. The main reason is that the more free - unused - soil there is, the more opportunity there is for weeds. Re-potting once every few weeks is far easier than weeding every day, and what do we always say when it comes to Herbology?"

As one, the class chorused, "Less is more."

Sprout grinned, "Very good, very good. Now, let's go over the procedure together."

She first gave the instructions verbally, describing what would happen as she went through the steps. Then, she had them all put on their enchanted earmuffs, and she went through the actual process of re-potting her mandrake. Even with the enchantments, Mary could still hear the shriek of the little plant through her earmuffs. Once it was buried in its new pot, they could finally take the earmuffs off, as Sprout reviewed the instructions one last time, before it was finally the students' turn to try their hands at the process.

Having donned her earmuffs once more, Marigold plunged her gloved fingers into the soil, feeling out where the extent of the mandrake's rooty body was. It had been strange adjusting to wearing gloves in Herbology last year. Aunt Petunia had always made Mary garden without any such protection, likely taking glee in watching the thorns of her roses pricking her presumed-nephew. It was harder for Mary to tell what was going on through the thick dragon leather of her gloves, but it was welcome protection, especially considering the more harmful plants they would eventually work with in the future. Still, Mary could faintly feel the root tendrils retracting into the mandrake's main "body" in response to the disturbance. Once it had stopped, Mary knew it was ready. Grabbing hold of it, she tugged the mandrake out of the soil, and it began screaming. It was much worse than during Sprout's demonstration, as there were also ten other mandrakes screaming along with it. She maneuvered it over into the larger pot, and held it in place as Neville filled in around it with dirt. As the dirt supported more and more of the mandrake, Mary steadily let go, until eventually, the entirety of its roots were buried once more, and the shrieking slowly stopped.

With it being such a simple task, it wasn't long before the rest of the class finished re-potting their mandrakes as well. Finally, Professor Sprout gave the all-clear for the students to take their earmuffs off.

"Well done, everyone! Twenty points to Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, two for each of you." Sprout congratulated them. "Now, mandrakes produce magic, yes? That imbues the plant with certain properties, which wixen have found ways to use over the years. Does anyone know what some uses are?"

Mary raised her hand, getting called on. "The animagum ritual."

Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Why yes, it is used in that process! A point to Hufflepuff. Anyone else?"

Dean Thomas was called on next. "A Vigor Tonic."

Sprout nodded, giving a point to Gryffindor as well. She asked for a few more examples, before she asked her next question.

"Can anyone tell me what all of these uses have in common? What base property of the mandrake they make use of?"

The class was silent. Hesitantly, Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Animacy, Professor?"

Sprout beamed. "Marvelous. Ten points to Hufflepuff. Yes, the mandrake's main property is that of animation. We can even see this in the plant itself, with how it animates its otherwise immobile roots. In fact, one of the more obscure uses for the mandrake is in the Cure for True Petrification - a potion you should all hope you never have to brew."

The air in the greenhouse grew heavy as Professor Sprout continued, "Petrification typically isn't much of an issue, you can fix that right up with the right counter-jinx. However, true petrification is nasty business. Even if cured, there is often lasting physical damage, and there is always lasting psychological damage. Worse yet, if it isn't cured within approximately one year, the effect is permanent. Similar to petrification, the victim is fully conscious throughout, which is why permanent true petrification is considered a fate worse than death."

"The mandrake is an absolutely crucial plant, and one of the many reasons why Herbology matters so much, even today." she concluded.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact they'd been up late last night charting the movement of the planets, Marigold and Hermione were up at their usual time of five. For those who didn't have nearly so rigid a sleep schedule, they were up exceptionally early that Tuesday. Although, after taking time to attend quidditch practice, shower, and eat breakfast, most of the castle had woken up. It was just as well, given the second years' Defense study group had been planned for that morning. Thankfully, there was still enough time beforehand for Diana to drag Mary off to Myrtle's bathroom after they finished eating.

The Androgen Arrestor and Estrogenating Elixir had been sitting for three full days, meaning hopefully, all of the powder Diana had sprinkled on top of the brews had finally sunk to the bottom. As they greeted Myrtle and gently pulled the lids off of the two cauldrons, they were rewarded with the gentle pink of the brews, not a trace of powder to be seen on their surfaces. Mary maneuvered the cauldrons out of the stall and over to the flameplate Diana had set back up, then pulled out the parchment to continue orating the instructions.

"Alright, for the Arrestor, 'Slice licorice root'-" Mary couldn't help but grimace. She hated the taste of licorice, so of course it was just her luck that it was a main ingredient of the one potion she'd be taking. "-'And place at the bottom of a flask. Distill the brew into the flask until salt crystals larger than a grain form. Strain the licorice from the concentrate.'" She glanced over the other instructions. "And basically the same thing for the Elixir, just substitute soya pods for licorice root."

Diana shrugged, "Easy enough." She began cutting the licorice into thin strips - one of the many particulars they had learned the previous year.

It annoyed Marigold how vague potion instructions sounded, but it was merely a consequence of potioneers using common terms as technical jargon. While in everyday use, "slice" could refer to any variety of actions, in the context of brewing potions, it was an incredibly specific action. It detailed all the way down to the very motions used to prepare ingredients, not just the final size and shape. That had confused Mary for the longest time, until she had managed to struggle her way through an advanced text in the Hogwarts library on the subject. Apparently, her initial comparison of brewing to baking or chemistry was completely off the mark. The entire potion-making process was, in actuality, one large ritual. While it sometimes incorporated chemical reactions and principles, the actually magical part of potions was the result of the highly ritualized actions imbuing ingredients with power. Despite the product looking identical, chopping an ingredient into strips was completely different to slicing it, and could have disastrous effects if wrongly substituted in a brew. Mary would never call it "kindness", but with how catastrophic improperly brewed potions could be, a Cure for Boils was a deliberately impotent choice on Snape's part for them to brew blindly.

While Diana focused on the licorice, Mary hooked the hose of the distillation lid up to one of the sinks, turning the faucet on and flushing the system with water. The hose directed the water around the condensing tube of the distillation lid, speeding up the process. Diana hooked the prepared flask to the end of the distillation lid, and set the lid on top of the cauldron, cranking the flameplate up to high. In about an hour or so, they could dilute the concentrated Androgen Arrestor, and Mary could take her very first dose, a thought she couldn't help but wiggle at. Male puberty had been a weight that hung over her head ever since she had realized her true gender four years ago. She had always viewed it as an inevitable hellish phase in her life that she would have to suffer through, but that was no longer the case. Mary would still have to wait a while longer before she could undergo the proper puberty, but at least it would be the only puberty she went through.

---

There was a decent turnout that morning in the northeast bailey, as the bell chimed twice to signal the half hour. Typically, 9:30 marked the start of the second period of classes, but for the second years, that day it marked the start of their first study group meeting for the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Compared to who all had intended to show up, there were slightly less Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs (Hannah, for one, had slept in), which was understandable, given they had Astronomy the night before. At the sound of the bell, the various second years who had been milling about the edges, chatting with friends, all made their way to where Marigold, Neville, Hermione, and Ron were gathered by the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

Seamus Finnegan, one of Dean Thomas' friends and fellow Gryffindors, Mary remembered, spoke up first. He cracked a grin as he called out to Mary, "So, what's first, Professor Potter?"

A few other students laughed, and Mary blushed furiously as she sputtered, "I- 'Prof'- What?"

Dean snorted, "Oh, come off it, Mary. You arranged this whole thing."

"W-well, I mean, Hermione, she-sh-she helped." Mary protested meekly.

Hermione shrugged, "I suppose, but it was your idea."

Finnegan piped up again, "Yeah, and if anyone's qualified to teach straight from a book, it's you. S'not like ye ever paid attention to Quirrel, and yet ye still got an O, didn't ye?"

"And you stopped those pixies!" Roger Malone added.

"And there was that nonsense with the corridor last year!" Lavender Brown chimed in.

Several other students nodded their agreement, and Mary sighed as she felt her resistance to the idea fading. She couldn't deny they had a point. Rolling her eyes and fighting off a smile at their praise, she pulled out her Defense textbook, flipping through the first couple pages.

"Er, right, so," she began, still nervous about being a de facto professor. "For our first study group meeting, I was thinking-"

"Don'tche got a better name fer it?" Finnegan interrupted her.

Mary blinked a few times, staring at him. "Er, sorry?"

Finnegan rolled his eyes at her, but elaborated nonetheless. "A name fer the group. Like 'The Defense Club', or summat."

She continued staring blankly at him. "There's already a Defense Club. Lockhart runs it."

Finnegan huffed, shaking his head in exasperation. "Or summat." he reiterated.

Mary scrunched up her nose, feeling put on the spot. "Er, the Defense… Association?"

A few students laughed at that, causing Mary to blush.

"Right, so the DA, fer short." Finnegan rolled his eyes, grinning. "That's probably the best we'll get."

Still red-faced, Mary started again. "Er, r-right. For the first er, DA meeting, I was thinking that we could go over what Lockhart was trying to teach us the first day. Everyone remembers the radial modifiers from Charms, right? Good."

---

For a first attempt, the Defense Association meeting went rather well. By the end of the session, everyone could at least manage a single-target freezing charm. The benefit of using it with a radial modifier was that it didn't need to be aimed, which was why it was so useful in dealing with common magical pests, such as pixies, that moved too quickly to be accurately targeted. The drawback of the radial form was that the spell's strength was much weaker, as it was diluted over a large area. Thankfully, the smaller a creature was, the less strength it took to overpower them. Thus, friyosā atlür was the perfect spell to handle a large swarm of tiny things.

Which had Mary wondering why Flitwick's protection for the stone last year bothered including a broom, if a spell taught at the start of second year could have handled the task far quicker. When she asked Professor Flitwick about it after their Charms lesson that afternoon, he responded that Dumbledore had wanted the tasks to be easy, but more importantly, it simply made for a better limerick.

After Charms was Transfiguration, and while they were still going over theory, Marigold was excited. Come next Friday, when they had Double Transfiguration again, they would finally be putting the spells into practice. Divūlgā¹, the Scanning Spell, was fairly simple to cast, but it was Mary's year's first foray into mental magics. They wouldn't be directly interacting with memories, but when cast, the scanning spell imparted the knowledge of an object's composition directly into the mind of the caster. According to Professor McGonagall, it would take a while for them to adjust to intuitively understanding this new "sense". Until then, they would only be working with materials McGonagall had conjured, to try and keep things simple.

In preparation, they had gone over the many elements that had dedicated Alchemical runes. Some, such as oxygen and mercury, were fluid in their natural state, but the rest required an understanding of their structure. From just four cumulative hours in Transfiguration that year by the end of the class, Mary's head was already swimming with terms. Face- versus body-centered, mono- or triclinic, tetragonal, hexagonal, and rhombohedral - it was a wonder she hadn't already forgotten it all. If Marigold could make it to next Friday with those memories intact, she'd finally be able to associate the many, many terms with their physical counterparts. She'd be one step closer to vanishing things, one step closer to conjuring things, and one step closer to performing true transfiguration.

---

Thursday morning, Mary was sat in Wixen Studies, stuck, feeling awful. Hermione's birthday was that Saturday, but Mary still hadn't thought of what to get her. Worse, she had already missed Hermione's birthday last year, so she wanted to make up for it. Whatever she ended up getting, it had to be perfect. All the books she could think of that Hermione would like, Mary had either given to her for Christmas, already recommended to her, or had originally been recommendations from Hermione. Plus, giving Hermione a book was too easy. Everyone knew Hermione loved books. Marigold was supposed to be her best friend. She could do better. She had to do better.

"Miss Potter?"

Mary looked up from where she had been idly doodling, to Professor Greenbay. "Er, yes, Professor?"

Greenbay's expression tightened. "The answer to my question, please? Unless of course, you weren't paying attention?"

Mary blushed, a few other students giggling at her lapse in attention. Mary squeezed her eyes shut, scrunching up her nose in thought. This year, they were going over wixen cultures around the world, and they were starting with the immediate surrounding area of the British Isles. Today, they had been discussing education, and Greenbay had asked…

"Er, the premier school of Wixen France is Beauxbatons Institute of Sorcery, and in Wixen Iberia, it's… the Arcane Academy of Atlantis?" Mary asked hopefully, cracking her eyes back open.

Professor Greenbay pursed her lips. "Yes. l'Institut de Sorcellerie de Beauxbâtons, and la Academia Arcana de Atlántida, to be precise. A point to Hufflepuff, though I expect you to pay closer attention, please, Miss Potter."

"Yes, Professor." she answered sheepishly.

Marigold tried to stay focused, but her mind kept wandering. It was too important for her not to devote her attention to! Worse, if she decided on buying something, she'd have to do so soon, for it to arrive in time. Yet she kept drawing a blank. Nothing was good enough.

---

Hermione's birthday was shaping up to be a disaster. Hermione had already turned thirteen, and yet Mary still had nothing. She'd baked a cake (technically a loaf of banana nut bread - Hermione's favorite - though it was still shaped like a cake) the night before, in an attempt to mitigate the damage, but sweets only went so far. Especially with the daughter of two dentists. Mary could just tell that Hermione was disappointed. After all, that morning, she had opened gifts from Ron and Neville, and all Mary could offer her was the promise of cake later. Hermione had said she was excited to try it, but Mary knew she was just being polite.

So when Hermione was practically swamped with gifts from their yearmates during breakfast, Mary's heart sank further and further into her stomach. And when she later begged off to go to the library for some alone time, it was the final nail in the coffin. Marigold had ruined Hermione's birthday.

So she did the only reasonable thing left to do, and holed up in her bed. Mary tried (and failed) to distract herself by working on what few assignments she had left to do for the next week of classes. Eventually, she gave up and wandered the halls, finding her way outside to the shore of Loch Dubh. She plucked at her familiar connection, and soon Hedwig was by her side, consoling her. Not that she deserved it. She laid down on her side, curled around Hedwig as her owl preened her hair. The gentle sensation lulled her to sleep, as a few tears escaped her eyes.

---

Marigold sat up, waking with a start, her chest heaving. She quickly took in her surroundings at the lakeshore. Hedwig was still there, though slightly disgruntled by Mary's sudden movement. Mary's heart leapt into her throat when she saw Hermione on her other side, calmly reading a book.

Hermione looked up. "Nightmare?"

Hesitantly, Mary nodded. "...S-sorry." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "A-and I'm sorry about- about y-your birthd-day."

Hermione tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

She hugged herself, shrugging. "I mean, ev-everyone else got-t you such n-nice-nice presents, a-and I got you… cake."

"Oh." Hermione stared past Mary, somewhat confused. "But I like cake. You said it was banana nut, yes?" At Mary's nod, Hermione continued, "I love banana nut bread. It's my favorite baked good, after all."

"Well, but it-it-it's not-"

"And I already said that I really don't need any gifts."

"Yes, b-but-"

"And you're my best friend, Marigold. My first friend."

"But I didn't get you a present!" Mary bawled, the dam on her tears finally busting. "I couldn't! You're my best friend and I couldn't think of anything to get you!" She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palms, sniffling. "…I'm a dreadful friend and I ruined your birthday."

Hermione snatched her up in a hug, scolding into her hair, "Marigold Lily Potter, you stop that right this instant! You're a wonderful friend, and you haven't ruined anything."

Mary cried openly into her friend's arms, gently returning the hug. They stayed like that, holding each other in the grass for what felt like hours, but was likely just over a minute. Finally, they pulled away.

Hermione tucked a loose strand of hair behind Mary's ear, then kissed her on the forehead.

"You're a wonderful friend, Mary. Never forget that." Hermione murmured. "You could go our entire lives never getting me a single present, and I wouldn't mind. Because I love you, Marigold. Not what you do for me." She smiled, and Mary couldn't help but smile back, tears still in her eyes. "Your friendship means the world to me. Would you mind if I didn't give you a present on your birthday?"

Mary shook her head no.

Hermione gave Mary a brilliant smile. "Then why would I mind if you did, silly?" She wrapped Mary in one more hug, before standing up and brushing herself off. She offered Mary a hand. "Now let's go get some cake, shall we?"

Mary giggled, still sniffling, but took Hermione's hand all the same. As she stood up, she froze.

"Rip… Tear… Kill…"

"What's wrong, Marigold?" Hermione asked.

Mary looked at Hermione, her eyes wide. "Did- did-d you hear that?"

Hermione frowned. "Nothing in particular, no. Why?"

Mary's mouth went dry. She shook her head. "Er, nothing. Must still be waking up, sorry."

She had to be. It was the only reasonable explanation for whatever auditory hallucination she just had. It simply wasn't possible for the voice in her dreams to follow her to the waking world, so she must've imagined it. Because if she hadn't…

Hopefully the horrific bloodshed she had dreamt of wasn't a sign of things to come.

---

On Sunday, Mary spent her time bouncing between the different clubs she was a member of. She'd spent a bit of time back in the kitchens, whipping up some more banana nut batter, this time baking it into the form of muffins, as a thank you to Hermione for her help yesterday. They ate them together in Professor McGonagall's classroom as they knitted - the only time McGonagall allowed food in her class. Marigold had decided to just ask Hermione what sorts of things she would like for Christmas, and after some discussion, they settled on knitting jumpers for each other.

Most of all, Mary was excited for her visit to the Music Club. Professor Flitwick ran it as well as the Dueling Club, so he split his weekends between Dueling on Saturdays, and Music on Sunday.

Flitwick turned around as Mary practically skipped up to him. "Ah, Miss Potter. How can I help you today?"

Mary beamed at him. "Good morning, Professor! I've finally decided what instrument I'd like to learn."

"Splendid!" He grinned. "And what have you decided upon?"

She stood up straight, puffing up her chest as she made her announcement. "I'm going to learn the piano."

Flitwick clapped his hands together, delighted. "Wonderful! Here, here, come right this way, then!"

He escorted her across the room, the sounds of various instruments popping in and out of Mary's hearing as they entered and exited the many muted areas that had been set up in the room. Flitwick grabbed a miniature piano from one of his shelves, placed it on the floor, and with a tap from his wand, it grew to full size. He conjured a bench for them to sit on and cast a quick muting charm around them, then went about explaining the basics. What the different keys were, what the pedals did, and the correct posture for playing. Then, he set her practicing scales, before wandering off to help other students.

Before long, Mary had a decent feel for the notes, and even plucked out a few songs by ear, though she had no clue what to do for anything other than the base melody. The hardest part though, was remembering to keep the right posture while playing. She knew from Charms class just how important the proper posture was, and Marigold definitely didn't want to develop any wrist problems, but it was the same issue she had always had - sitting still. Hermione had explained that it was partially her autism, and partially what was likely ADHD, but Mary couldn't sit still for the life of her - at least not while still paying attention to her surroundings. Thankfully, the pedals only required one foot to work, so she could at least bounce her left leg freely, but keeping the rest of her body rigidly in place was still difficult. It was something to work on, as was the rest of playing the piano, but Mary was excited to have a new goal to work towards.

By the time dinner rolled around, Mary was itching to move, and so after a quick check-in with Flitwick as to which upright piano she should get to practice on her own time with, she was bounding off to the Great Hall. She filled out and mailed off an owl order form as her friends arrived and sat down. Neville seemed overly morose as he sat down next to Ron.

"Oi, you okay, mate?" Ron asked him.

Neville shook his head slowly, staring vacantly at the table. "N-no." he croaked. "Ag Club w-was a disaster."

Hermione tilted her head. "What happened? Are the pumpkins damaged?"

Mary was wondering the same. It wasn't even Mabon yet, but as Samhain approached, the pumpkins just kept getting bigger and bigger, becoming more vulnerable in the process. One student tripping over a pumpkin vine could spell disaster.

He shook his head again. "Th-the chickens. The r-roosters, they're all… dead. S-something m-must've gotten into the coop, but…" he trailed off. Shaking his head clear, he struggled his way through the words. "Th-they w-weren't eaten, j-just killed. A-and just th-the r-roosters, too. It w-was everyw-where. The f-feathers, the bl-lood, it-" He choked up.

Neville was subdued for the rest of the meal, only speaking after the subject of conversation had shifted. Mary couldn't help the terror she felt, deep in her bones, as words echoed in her ears.

"Miss Marigold Potter is in grave danger, and must not return! Terrible, evil things are at play, and Hogwarts will not be safe, Miss!"

"Rip… Tear… Kill…"

Chapter Text

Mabon passed uneventfully, though that didn't stop Marigold's anxiety from spiking through the roof. Thankfully, she at least hadn't heard that… voice again, but she was still on edge. It didn't help that she kept having the same nightmare every night. It was the one she'd had on Hermione's birthday - an indistinct feeling of dread coupled with the smell of blood and rotted meat. She could never see much more than the wet, stone brick floor stretching out in front of her, skeletons littered about. Yet despite the seemingly endless halls she glided along, she felt trapped, restless - and angry. Violent and bloodthirsty. But she had neither escape nor outlet, doomed to a wretched existence for what felt like eternity, living off of whatever measly scraps wandered into her domain, only to be torn to shreds in her fervor.

Rip… Tear… Kill…

She could feel the thrum of energy from prey just outside her realm. Close enough to smell, practically close enough to taste - yet denied to her. It was infuriating. But soon… soon she would be free, free to unleash her wrath upon the world that sealed her away. She didn't even want revenge, so much as she just wanted to eat. She had been so hungry for so long.

Rip. Tear. Kill.

A feast was just outside her grasp, but she could feel him, she could sense her savior. He alone would be spared her fury. And once she had devoured all that there was here, what had been taunting her for so long, they would move on. Find more prey. A world filled with prey. Never again would she be made to suffer. Never again would she hunger.

Rip. Tear!

Her hunt would be endless.

KILL!

Marigold shot up in bed, her heart racing, her body covered in a cold sweat. She bit back tears as she listened to the sounds of Hermione getting ready for the day. It was Thursday, meaning the day was truly booked. Mary had quidditch practice first thing in the morning, then Potions followed by Double Defense, and then after lunch, Herbology and Double Theory. Shakily, Mary got out of bed, grabbed a towel and a clean uniform from where she'd left it on her chair the night before, and made her way downstairs to the showers, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

Alone in the dark, in a single shower room, Mary finally let her tears flow freely. What was wrong with her? Why did she keep having this dream? It felt like her mind was being invaded, filling her head with horrible thoughts and visions. She couldn't help but worry that somehow, these thoughts were her own. The feeling of being trapped in the dark, wrapped in the scent of blood was one she could easily relate to. Countless times, before she had struck her bargain with Dudley, Uncle Vernon had beaten her hard enough to draw blood, before tossing her into the cupboard. She'd hated them for it, certainly, but enough to want to violently desecrate their bodies? Surely, these weren't her own thoughts.

…Right?

---

Lockhart's classes were as useless as ever. If it weren't for his pointless essays that he assigned, Mary could honestly skip the class altogether. At least Quirrel actually taught them things, and he had apparently been sharing a body with Voldemort! Still, with another Defense lesson suffered through, Marigold made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. She was a bit distracted as she walked alongside her friends, until Ron suddenly cut off, mid-sentence, standing stockstill.

Neville frowned at him. "R-ron? You alright?"

Mary looked over to Ron, and was surprised to see him transfixed, an expression on his face like he was about to cry. She followed his line of sight to see a trail of ants climbing up a wall and out a window.

"Do you not like ants?" Mary asked, confused. There were countless anthills scattered around the Burrow's property, but she'd never seen Ron act like this before.

In a voice partway between a whine, a falsetto, and a bird's squawking, Ron corrected her. "Spiders."

Upon closer inspection, he was right. Countless tiny spiders were all lined up, streaming out of the window.

Hermione tilted her head. "I didn't know there were acromantulae in the Forest."

Ron snapped his head towards Hermione. "A what?"

"Acromantula." she enunciated. "It's a type of eusocial spider. Other examples of eusocial animals are bees, or, like Marigold suggested, ants. Acromantulae are the only known arachnid with such behavior." She pointed at the line of spiders. "These are just the scouts. They're the smallest, and gather food for the rest of the nest. In order of increasing size, there's the scouts, workers, nurses, drones, soldiers, and then finally, the queen - which can easily reach two meters long from head to abdomen. They…"

Hermione faltered in her explanation as Ron let out a keening whine, whimpering at the very thought.

Neville gave him a pat on the back. "Um, h-how about we just go to th-the Great Hall and get some f-food."

He nodded absently, and they escorted him past the acromantula trail and down the hallway.

"I hate spiders." Ron groused as they made their way to lunch. "Back when I was 'round four or five, Fred n' George had this ol' stuffed cat they didn't play with anymore, so Mum gave it to me. Problem was, she forgot to tell 'em. So when they come into my room, even though they hadn't touched the thing in ages, they got mad, seein' me with it. Yelled at me, 'ccused me of snoopin' in their room and stealin' it from 'em. They got so mad, they had a bit o' accidental magic, transfigured it to look like a giant spider and animated it. Imagine - one second you've got a new toy, the next, it sprouts long hairy legs and starts attackin' you."

Marigold shuddered at the story. Dudley had done some awful things to Mary in their childhood, but that was beyond dreadful. It was hardly a wonder Ron hated spiders. It'd be more surprising if he didn't, honestly. Thankfully, the sight of tables laden with food helped take the edge off, and soon Ron had moved past the whole ordeal. Hermione, however, had not.

"It's odd, isn't it?" she asked, leaning over to whisper to Mary.

"Hm?" Mary hummed, leaning in.

"The acromantulae." Hermione clarified. "They don't typically form lines like that unless they're transporting food back to the nest."

Mary frowned. "So they were bringing back food?"

Hermione shook her head. "That's just it - none of them were carrying any food. Why form a line to transport food if there's no food? I mean, there have been claims of them retreating to the nest before natural disasters, but none have ever been properly substantiated."

Hermione continued to posit theories on the erratic behavior, but to Mary, it was as if she was listening from the bottom of a well. Whatever horrors were about to befall Hogwarts, she could only hope she would survive.

---

Thankfully, Professor Sprout's lecture got Mary's mind off of things, and the Hufflepuffs headed upstairs for Double Theory of Magic. Professor Higgs looked as disheveled as always, but when the bell chimed twice, signaling the start of the period, he stood and grabbed a piece of chalk, scrawling a single word on the blackboard in large letters. He turned and faced the class, repeating what he had written.

"Why?"

The class looked at him in confusion. It was Owen Rivers, a Gryffindor who had moved to the Isles from America, who raised his hand first.

"Uh, why what, Professor?" he asked when Higgs called on him.

"Who where, Mister Rivers?" Higgs responded, cracking a smile at his own poor joke before waving himself off. "No, you see, most of this class to this point, we have only been asking 'how' and 'what'. We know how to channel magic and draw runes, we know what they and their accompanying incantations mean, but we have not yet delved into 'why'. Why should kenaz mean fire? Why should the sounds 'lūmos solem' mean sunlight?"

Hermione raised her hand. "Because we assign it that meaning. There's a mutual consensus that certain audio and graphics signify specific things, and it - language - works, because we all relatively agree on those meanings."

Higgs nodded. "An excellent summary of linguistics. Ten points to Hufflepuff." A sly smirk crossed his face. "Now, a much harder question - why? Why should any of the arbitrary meanings we've given carry any sort of power over reality whatsoever?"

Ernie raised his hand tentatively. "Because that's how magic works?"

Higgs' smirk turned to a feral grin as he placed his hands on his desk, leaning in towards his students.

"Why?"

No one had an answer, and after a moment of silence, Professor Higgs stood and began pacing, limping along with his cane.

"There are many hypotheses as to why magic functions this way. One common suggestion was that these runes and words carry a certain power inherent to them, and wixenkind discovered what these special characters and noises were." He shrugged. "A decent proposal, but it does not account for the etymological records we have before and after the supposed 'discovery'. It also fails to consider why there are so many runic systems across the globe. In fact, there are many aspects that this idea does not - and cannot account for. Which brings us to our modern understanding, the theory we operate off of."

He walked up to the board, and underneath the 'Why?', he wrote three more words - 'Magic is Alive'.

"Now, Magic - with a capital 'M' - is not strictly alive in the sense that you and I are alive, but it is alive in the sense that it can grow and change in response to outside influence. Think of it merely as a useful abstraction. Regardless, Magic knows what thurisaz means for the same reason everyone sitting here does - it was taught. Recall from last year that magic - lowercase - exists on a spectrum from chaos to order, accidental to ritual." He shrugged, "Chaos is easy, it's the natural state of things. But how did order emerge from this chaos? How did wixen of years past hone their accidental magic into the wanded ritual magic we enjoy today?"

Higgs paused, continuing when no one made a move to answer. "I'll pose a related question - how many of you have done accidental magic? Show of hands."

The entire class raised their hands.

"How many of you have done the same feat of accidental magic twice?"

Two thirds of the hands lowered.

"And how many of you have done that feat on purpose?"

One hand remained raised - that of Lilliana Moon. She looked around anxiously as she realized she had been singled out.

"There's always at least one." Professor Higgs grinned. "Miss Moon, if it isn't too personal, what was this bit of magic?"

Moon fidgeted in her seat, her voice so quiet Mary had to strain her ears.

"Um, it was uh, dark outside. I was… out past my bedtime. I don't really like the dark, so um, I guess it was like a sferā lūmos? E-except it was more like a um… a snake, rather than an orb, with the way it was shaped and how it floated in the air." she explained. "After it happened the first couple times, I started to learn how to do it intentionally."

Higgs had stars in his eyes. "Would you care to demonstrate for us?"

Moon nodded, then extended her arm, pointing with her finger. She took a deep breath, then swept it through the air in an arc, leaving a trail of ethereal light behind. It separated from her hand and began to swim through the air.

It was beautiful.

"Marvelous." Higgs breathed. "Fifty points to Gryffindor, and a round of applause for Miss Moon, please."

Moon blushed as the class clapped for her, the Gryffindors with extra enthusiasm. The string of light blinked out of existence from one end to the other.

When the applause died down, Professor Higgs continued. "Now, note the way she went about casting this bit of magic. The breath you took, that was to help you focus, yes?"

Moon nodded.

"So, there we have visualization and intent. Then we have the motion, the somatics." He mimed the gesture she had made moments ago. "You are muggleborn, are you not, Miss Moon?"

She nodded again.

"And do you happen to have any wixen siblings?" he asked. "One you might have taught this technique to?"

"A little brother, yes. He got it a lot quicker than I did, though." she admitted, blushing.

Higgs waved off her embarrassment. "That is to be expected. You were inventing - another twenty points, by the way - whereas he was merely learning. Miss Moon, much like the wixen of years past, you created a spell, no arithmancy or runes necessary. Your very intent taught Magic - capital 'M' - that when you do this-" he mimed the gesture, "-That it should create the effect we just witnessed. That is how you get order from chaos. We, as a people, through sheer force of will, have taught Magic that certain shapes and sounds mean certain things. That, dear students, is why. Why our arbitrary symbols have sway over the fabric of reality. Why we can invent and modify spells. Why magic works."

The rest of the lecture went on to cover a variety of related topics, such as debunking ley lines as a statistical inevitability, and why Hogwarts taught the three runic systems it did. Apparently, Magic took a lot - geography included - into account when learning spells. Hogwarts and other so-called “places of power” were easier to learn and do magic at, simply because that's what had happened there in the past. It was part of why Hogwarts was often touted as “the best school for magic in the British Isles” - it had been a school for a very long time. Its choice in runic systems was a nearly identical reason - that's what had been taught there, and they were relatively endemic to the area.

As for ley lines, the mind was wired to look for patterns, and with enough points on a map and a lenient enough margin for error, lines could be found in any random dataset. The fact that it also led Magical Theorists to believe in the existence of ley lines was hardly surprising. But the truth was the other way around. Wixen didn't build important structures at places of power, they grew places of power at important structures. It was all incredibly fascinating, and Mary was certain she would keep taking the class as an elective, come third year.

---

“Divūlgā cūprūm¹.” Marigold incanted. Corpus, pisces, and venus.

She roamed her wand over the small copper ingot Professor McGonagall had conjured, focusing on the sensory information flooding her mind. As McGonagall had told them, there truly was no describing how it felt. She had likened it to learning how to use an entirely new sense, and that they would simply have to train their minds to process the raw data through exposure. Mary hoped that it would be similarly intuitive to learning to communicate with Hedwig through their bond.

“Divūlgā āūrūm².” Corpus, pisces, sol.

The gold ingot felt… slightly different. Mary couldn’t explain how exactly, but she knew there was a difference. Comparing her notes on the two metals, they both had a face-centered cubic crystal structure, leaving their main real difference being the atom itself - copper had an atomic number of 29, whereas gold was 79.

“Divūlgā ārjenti³.” Corpus, pisces, luna.

Silver had a subtler difference, from either, which made sense, given it still had the same structure. With an atomic number of 47, it was closer to copper than gold, but it was definitely somewhere inbetween. It surprised Mary that with only three spells cast, she could already tell that much.

“Divūlgā stānūm⁴.” Corpus, pisces, jupiter.

The differences between copper, silver, and gold seemed to pale in comparison to the tin. Tin and silver had a similar… weight? Which made sense, given they were only three protons apart on the periodic table, but the similarities stopped there. The way it was arranged was radically different. Mary repeated the incantation for the second ingot of tin, and could instantly tell the difference between the tin allotropes. The second ingot felt like it was arranged closer to the copper, silver, and gold, and when she referenced her notes, Mary understood why. White tin - the first ingot - had a body-centered tetragonal structure, while gray tin - the second - was face-centered diamond-cubic. Not quite the same as the standard face-centered cubic, but certainly closer than tetragonal.

Marigold’s hand could barely keep up with her thoughts as she recorded all her findings. Professor McGonagall had been right in her comparison of it to a new sense - there were so many characteristics to take note of, it felt impossible to capture them all. But although Mary’s hand protested her attempt, it didn’t stop her from trying to. When she had finally written down everything she could think of, she moved onto the next ingot in line.

“Divūlgā cūprūm et stānūm⁵.”

The bronze was incredibly strange to scan, if for no other reason than she was looking at two different metals at once. It felt as though she was looking through two translucent materials, and the overlap was something new entirely. It was like rediscovering that red and blue made purple. It certainly didn’t help that the tin wasn’t uniformly distributed throughout the alloy. Which… was apparently something she could sense. It was a truly mind-bending practical lesson, but her “vision” only got sharper as she continued to scan the small, conjured ingots, take notes, and scan again. If nothing else, she certainly had plenty of material for the essay Professor McGonagall had assigned the class.

Mary looked over at Hermione. “Too much?”

Hermione merely nodded, not bothering to lift her head from her hands to do so. She temporarily removed one of her hands to fingerspell ‘Overload. Nonverbal.’ to Mary.

Five senses were bad enough for Hermione’s autism, so adding a sixth to the mix after a full day of classes was… less than ideal. Marigold had to admit that she wasn’t faring a whole lot better, especially taking into account the lack of sleep she’d been having that week. Mary had little hope of getting through the night without having the same nightmare again, so she certainly wasn’t looking forward to going to bed, either.

So that night, she layed in her bed awake, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t as though she was purposefully staying awake, but every time she got close to drifting off, her panic spiked at the thought of the nightmare, leaving her wide awake once more. Distantly, she heard the muted toll of the bell once, twice… nothing. It was 2 am and she hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. She'd only been able to force herself asleep during the week out of fear of missing morning classes, but with no classes in the morning, the pressure to sleep was simply gone. Restless, she cast a quick muting charm and fished her father’s cloak out of her trunk. She swept it over her body and slipped out of the dorm, the curtains around Hermione, Neville, and Ron’s areas blocking the light that filtered in through the door. The Common Room was empty, save for a few students who had fallen asleep by the fire while studying, and a student who was on their way to the bathrooms. If nothing else, it was easy to not bump into anyone as she made her way down the stairs from the balcony and out of the Den to wander the halls.

The first thing she did was nab a muffin from the kitchens. Afterwards, she merely started walking, occasionally taking a secret passage. She had no destination in mind, and ended up visiting the Great Hall, the clock tower, the library, and the Hospital Wing. It was as she climbed out of another secret passage that she felt her blood run cold.

"Rip… Tear… Kill…"

No, no, no! she pleaded internally, not daring to make a sound. This can't be happening!

Mary tucked herself back into the passageway, keeping as silent as she could despite the terror that made her want to bawl her eyes out. She was awake! She was wide awake, so why was it still happening!?

"Spill your secrets like blood."

Mary's eyes went wide in horror as she covered her mouth. Whatever this new voice was, it was far, far louder than the one she had been hearing.

"Rip… Tear… Rip. Tear. Kill. Kill! KILL!"

Whatever the first voice was, it was growing louder- no, nearer. It was approaching the second voice at a rapid pace. Mary could only tremble as she prayed they would not come for her next. It had been such a stupid idea to leave her dorm.

"Hello, old friend."

"Kill! Kill?"

"Still not yet. Soon." A pause. "Here, to keep up your strength. We shall hunt soon, and then-"

The clock tower tolled 3 am, and Marigold yelped in surprise, her voice echoing through the empty halls of the ancient castle.

"Keep your truths hidden."

Mary had no clue how long she stayed frozen there, begging not to be found, but at a certain point, her body gave out, and she finally drifted into merciful unconsciousness.

---

"Boo!"

Marigold let out a bloodcurdling scream, a hand slapping down over her mouth to muffle the tail end of it. She struggled against it, flailing as she descended into a fit of tears.

"Mary!"

"Calm down!"

"It's alright."

"It's just us."

As her eyes finally focused on her surroundings, she saw two familiar, identical faces. Fred and George were kneeled down beside her, concern etched into their faces. She took a shuddering breath as her body relaxed, then she bawled, throwing herself into the twins' arms. They held her as she sobbed for several minutes, until she had cried herself out. When she finally pulled away, sniffling and wiping her eyes, they finally spoke again, forgoing their typical twin-speech.

"Mary, what's wrong? Is there anythin' we can do?" one asked.

"Sorry for scarin' you, by the way. We didn't think that, well…" the other shrugged. "I guess we just didn't think."

Mary opened her mouth to explain what had happened last night, then stopped. Could she tell them? She hadn't even told her best friends! Not to mention, she still wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't imagined the whole thing. After all, she had been running on about five hours of sleep a night at most.

"Just… just a nightmare." she lied. "Couldn't get back to sleep, so… I went for a walk. I was… having another one, when you woke me up."

Whether the twins believed her, she couldn't tell. Thankfully though, they didn't press any further.

"Well, your friends were worried when you weren't in your bed this mornin'."

"Ron was goin' spare. Blubbered somethin' about acrobats takin' you to the forest?"

They shrugged in unison.

"Anyway, he asked us to find you on the map-"

"So that's what we did."

"They should still be-"

"Waitin' in the Great Hall for you."

"We'll let 'em know-"

"You're alright."

"Breakfast's almost over, though-"

"So you better hurry!"

They gave her a wink, stood and bowed, then hopped out of the passage. Mary donned her cloak and followed them out, making her way back to the Den for a quick shower and a change of clothes. When she got to the Great Hall, she was swept into hugs by her three dormmates. Mary did her best to assuage their concerns, giving a similar story as she did to the twins. She felt bad about lying to them, but she wanted to talk to Madam Pomfrey about it first, if at all.

Even in the wixen world, hearing voices wasn't a good sign.

---

"And you said these nightmares started on… the 19th? Miss Granger's birthday?"

Marigold nodded.

Madam Pomfrey made a note on her roll of parchment before continuing. "Well, to start with, I'll have a vial of Draught of Dreamless Sleep sent to your dorm for the next three nights. That should at least get you caught up. After that, I'd like to wean you off of it, since regular use can lead to dysregulation." she warned. "However, you're to come and tell me if your nightmares return, understood?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Mary agreed.

"Good. Now, before we continue, I'd like to ask you about something." Pomfrey said. "Have you taken any new potions recently? Particularly within the past month?"

She froze. "Er, sorry?"

"You see, your Gender Fluid has had roughly the same balance for the past year, except for this month's brew. One cause for such a change is taking new potions, as they can alter your body's chemistry, which alters the balance of your Gender Fluid." She grimaced. "Another cause could be the onset of puberty."

Mary almost breathed a sigh of relief, catching herself in time to not blow her cover. She grimaced back. “Er, no, I haven’t.” she lied.

Pomfrey sighed. “Well, try not to worry too much. If it is puberty, it’s still anyone’s guess as to when you’ll see effects, or how extensive they will be. Given your chronic malnourishment, I’d say you can expect your development to lag behind your peers. Normally, that’s not ideal, but in your case, the less effects from testosterone, the more you’ll be able to reverse in the future.”

She nodded. She felt awful about lying to Madam Pomfrey, but she knew that not only would she be in loads of trouble if she confessed what she and Diana were up to, she’d also have to stop, which was not an option in Mary’s mind. Plus, she was only taking Androgen Arrestor, rather than the full suite of HRP, so it wasn’t as dangerous.

Pomfrey gave Mary a pat on the hand. “Let’s focus on something that we can change, instead. Do you know what might be contributing to these nightmares? I don’t remember the specifics, but I know the Grangers sent an owl to the school about an anonymous warning you received. Do you think that might be playing into it?”

Mary huffed. “Definitely. I’ve been so on edge ever since coming back to Hogwarts, I’m surprised I haven’t gotten nightmares earlier. And the acromantula thing hasn’t helped, ‘cos it makes it feel more real.”

“Acromantulae?” Pomfrey asked.

“The other day, we came across a line of scouts leaving the castle. Hermione pointed out that they only do that when they’re transporting food, except none of them had food. Then she mentioned that supposedly they can sense natural disasters, and will hide in the nest if one is about to happen.”

Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know we had any nests in the Forest. They’re not native to the Isles, so one must have been smuggled here at some point. I’ll be sure to pass it along to Hagrid and Silvanus, as they’ll need to be relocated.” she promised, scrawling a quick note.

Mary giggled. “I’m sure Ron will be happy to hear that. He nearly had a heart attack when Hermione told us how big they can get.”

Pomfrey smiled. “I’m sure he will. Regardless, the behavior of animals - especially magical ones - is something we still know very little about. After all, Magizoology is a very new field. Why, I was a young lass like yourself when Mr Scamander founded it. Up till then, the focus was always on defense and hunting.” She shrugged. “I would try not to read too much into it. Are there any other contributing factors, do you think?”

Mary scrunched up her nose in thought, before she felt sick as she remembered. “The er, the roosters. In the Agricultural Club.”

She sighed. “Ah, yes. Mister Longbottom told me about that. What a dreadful tragedy.” Pomfrey took a few notes on her parchment. “I’ve already asked Hagrid about it, and he’s still looking into a likely culprit. Most likely, some creature from the Forest strayed from its territory and saw them as easy prey.” She hummed to herself. “Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure, but so long as you stick with your peers, should something happen, you’ll be well equipped to handle it, hm?”

She shrugged. Mary certainly hoped that was the case, but she had her doubts. Still, she trusted her friends and would stick by them. She would keep them safe, no matter the cost.

---

By the time the first quidditch game of the season rolled around, Marigold was sleeping far better. After a few nights without dreams at all, as she was weaned off, the nightmares didn’t return. According to Madam Pomfrey, it was likely a combination of Mary’s anxiety and her previous nightmares that resulted in her continuing to have more nightmares, become more anxious, have more nightmares, rinse and repeat. With Mary now broken out of that cycle, things were looking up, and she was enjoying herself again.

The first quidditch match was between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and thankfully for Mary, McLaggen was no longer on the team. In his place as Seeker was Entwhistle, one of Mary’s fellow second years. Despite not having whatever the top of the line Seeker’s broom was at the moment (still the Nimbus 2001, if Mary remembered correctly), he was still a sight better than McLaggen, which was surely a point of contention for the older boy. Opposing him was Zhāng Qiū, Cedric’s now-official date, according to the rumors and Cedric's blush when they were around. It still stung, but Mary had to admit that they were attractive, and damn good on a broom. Had Oliver Wood not gotten a new Seeker this year, Gryffindor would have been demolished, but as it was, Entwhistle provided enough resistance that even with Qiū catching the Snitch, Ravenclaw only won by 95 points. With a final score of 215 to 120, Hufflepuff would either play against Gryffindor in December or Ravenclaw in February, depending on whether they won against Slytherin, come November.

As they walked back from the game, the Hufflepuff team cajoled Cedric, making him promise not to go easy on Qiū just because they were dating now. Mary turned her head to make a comment to Tamsin, completely missing the tree root that stuck up just enough to trip Mary, sending her sprawling on her front. Before she got helped to her feet, she heard a faint whisper through the chatter.

“-your truths hidden.”

Marigold recoiled, leaping to her feet, her heart racing.

“Alright, Potter?” Lottie asked.

Mary swallowed past the lump in her throat, trying to ignore the way her teammates stared at her in concern.

“Y-yeah, fine- I’m fine.” she croaked, nodding.

She needed to ask Madam Pomfrey about another Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

Chapter Text

Marigold had been sleeping… relatively okay. She was still having nightmares, which was less than ideal, but it thankfully wasn't every night anymore. Additionally, they had far more to do with the current date, than the voices Mary had heard. Instead, they were the more vague, abstract dreams she had gotten last year around Samhain, after learning the truth behind her parents' death. Distant voices, flashing green lights, and a memory of pain. Nothing nearly so concrete or vivid as the other nightmares she'd been having that year. Of course, despite her current nightmares being better than the alternative, Mary was just as upset on the morning of October 31st as she'd been last year. She missed her Mum and Dad, and it made her heart ache. Quidditch practice that afternoon provided a decent distraction for a while, but she just couldn't focus properly on the drills. After the first few attempts, even Lottie stopped trying to get Mary properly motivated, and just let her go through the motions.

When dinner rolled around, rather than attend the feast, Mary and Neville were alone in their dorm room, save for Hedwig and Trevor. Neither felt up for the festivities of the night, so they instead snacked on the extra food they had grabbed at lunch, finding solace in each other's company. They made a few token attempts at classwork due next week, but soon gave up. Mary eventually settled for idly staring out the window, sat on the floor leaning back against the side of her bed. Hedwig was perched on her mattress, preening her hair. Occasionally, Mary reached up to give her owl scritches in return. While it wasn't the anniversary of the attack on Neville's parents just yet (that wouldn't be until November 2nd), he was still similarly affected, just as Mary had been in the days leading up to Samhain. Their grief was also much harder to cope with, given the festivity of the day for everyone else. Not only was it a Wheel of the Year holiday, it marked the end of the Blood War, which for most, was an unconditionally good occasion - nevermind the tragedy inflicted upon the family responsible for that end.

"Rip… Tear…"

Marigold felt her entire body begin to shake as her mind went numb.

"These aren't for you."

Distantly, she heard Neville's voice.

"M-mary?"

"Kill!"

"M-marigold, w-w-what's going on?"

"No. Sleep."

Slowly, she turned to face her brother, though she was more so looking past him, than actually at him. His mouth kept moving, presumably as he continued to talk, but Mary couldn't make anything out over the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ear, her breath rasping in and out of her lungs, both at a pace that kept picking up more and more speed. Her vision blurred with tears. She drew her legs to her chest, tucking in her head as she clutched its sides, a fistful of hair in each hand. She clenched her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. Every hit, every lash, every burn her Uncle had ever inflicted on her seemed to course through her body. The pain was unbearable, but felt infinite as the moment stretched on and on, until she finally broke.

Marigold turned to the side and emptied the meager contents of her stomach onto the floor.

She felt a warm, soft pressure around her. It was faint, but as the adrenaline trickled out of her veins, the sensation seemed to grow more real. Her heaving chest slowed alongside the pulse of her heart, and she could finally recognize the feeling for what it was.

A hug.

Still unable to open her eyes and face reality, Mary collapsed into what was undoubtedly Neville's embrace, sobbing as he whispered reassurances in her ear. She didn't understand why she kept hearing those voices. Were they real, or was she simply losing her mind? Had she always imagined such things? Perhaps Dumbledore wasn't so far off in his assessment of Mary as delusional. Vaguely, she heard Neville say something about the Hospital Wing as he helped Mary to her feet. He was definitely right about that. Something was terribly wrong with her brain. Her throat burned with acid, but she was reluctant to do anything about it. At least pain was something she was intimately familiar with. At least it reminded her she was real. Probably.

Neville kept ahold of her hand as he led her out of the Common Room. With the Samhain feast on, no one was around, the halls bare and empty. It probably wasn't long until it ended though, and Mary couldn't stomach the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, so she kept pace with her brother, hoping to avoid running into anyone. She felt disgusting enough as it was, she didn't need being perceived by others added to the mix. Mary was grateful for Neville's guiding hand, as it took nearly all her concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She couldn't handle navigating an ancient castle on top of that. So long as she kept moving forward, he could steer her to Madam Pomfrey.

As they rounded a corner, she felt a tug backwards, only to realize Neville had stopped moving, and that in her inattentive march, it was actually her who had tugged him forward. She looked back, only to see his face locked in an expression of sheer terror. For a sickening moment, she hoped he was hearing voices as well, if only so that she wouldn't be alone in her madness. Tracing his eyeline past her, the truth was far worse.

Blood. Blood and feathers, splattered everywhere. Visions of the troll through the trapdoor flickered in her mind. But at least with the troll, it had only been an execution. This was… desecration. The lumps and chunks of chicken corpse scattered throughout the hall made Nora's dragon food seem like a bed of roses in comparison. With nothing left in her stomach, Marigold could only retch impotently. Neville was not so lucky.

Worse yet, the sound of schoolchildren's chatter began to filter into the hall, growing louder with each passing second. As the crowd of students in yellow- and green-trimmed robes turned the corner into the hallway leading to the dungeons, they piled up as they too, froze in their tracks. Chatter and Samhain cheer was quickly replaced with screams and gagging. Professors Sprout and Snape, who had been bringing up the rear of their Houses, quickly pushed their way through the crowd to inspect the scene. After a brief survey, Snape locked eyes with Mary and her brother.

"Potter! Longbottom! What is the meaning of this!?" he demanded.

"Oh, be reasonable, Severus." Sprout reprimanded him, lightly slapping him on the arm in a way that would have been comedic, were it not for the gravity of the situation.

Professor Sprout drew her wand and traced out an eadha, then tapped her wand to her throat and began mumbling to herself and whoever else she was likely telling about the situation - probably McGonagall and Dumbledore. At Sprout's urging, Snape reluctantly ushered the students away towards an alternate path to the dungeons.

Mary heard Hermione's voice above the chatter. "But sir-"

"I said everyone, Granger, or do you think you are above-"

"Severus!" Sprout snapped at him, leveling him with a glare that he returned with vitriol. They stared at each other for a moment before Sprout snapped out "Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, with me."

Mary's friends pushed past the dour potions master, giving her and Neville a wave and a weak smile from across the bloody mess on the floor.

However, before Snape could return to his duties, Malfoy stepped to the front of the crowd, pointing up.

Words were painted onto the ceiling with chicken blood. "'The Chamber of Secrets is open once more. Enemies of the Heir, beware'." he quoted. Malfoy looked directly at Hermione, smirking, "That means you, mud-blood."

Before anyone else could react, Snape grabbed Malfoy by the collar of his robes. "Detention, Mister Malfoy! Twenty points from Slytherin!" he roared. "The rest of you, move! Or I'll take even more from both Houses!"

With that threat, the crowd quickly dispersed, Snape dragging a protesting Malfoy off behind them, leaving Sprout and her four badgers behind. They weren't alone for long though, as Dumbledore and McGonagall finally arrived on the scene. After a moment of shock, where McGonagall had to cover her mouth and look away, she quickly began vanishing the gore, as well as the various pools of sick that it had elicited from the students. The moment there was a clean path across the floor, Hermione and Ron dashed across, sweeping Marigold and Neville into tight hugs. There were many tears involved, but they eventually parted, though they still held onto each other's hands, not quite ready to let go.

As the Headmaster and his Deputy kept working on the gory mess, Professor Sprout made her way to her students.

She knelt down beside them. "Marigold, Neville, I thought you said you would stay in the dorms. What happened?"

Mary tried to speak, but her throat refused to open. What came out were a few choking gasps, before Hermione squeezed Mary's hand.

"Marigold is nonverbal right now, Professor." Hermione explained.

Mary blinked in surprise as she realized her friend was right. She couldn't recall feeling this way before, but Madam Pomfrey had explained that as she began to unpack her trauma and unmask more, Mary would likely see more of her autistic traits emerge as she stopped repressing them.

Neville spoke in her stead, recounting Mary's sudden panic attack and him taking her to the Hospital Wing, before they stumbled across what was left of the chickens, only moments before the others arrived. Agreeing with his assessment, Sprout walked her four badgers to the Hospital Wing, where a few other Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were already gathered, sitting on beds and chaperoned by their prefects. Madam Pomfrey was bustling about, distributing various potions to help calm her patients, including a handful of draughts which Mary had grown familiar with. It took a while for Pomfrey to get to everyone, but eventually Mary sipped a dose of and slipped into dreamless sleep.

---

The next morning, after breakfast in her Hospital bed, Marigold was called in to Madam Pomfrey's office. She'd had a Mind Healing session scheduled for later that day, but Pomfrey had the morning free, and they both agreed that Mary's episode last night should be dealt with sooner rather than later. Not that Mary was particularly pleased about it. In truth, she was dreading it, but she figured she ought to just get it over with.

"So, Marigold." Madam Pomfrey began. "Do you have any ideas as to what triggered your attack last night? I know that it's a stressful day for you in general, but according to Neville, it seemed to happen rather suddenly."

In a voice less than a whisper, tears streaming down her face, she breathed, "…I hear voices."

Mary shut her eyes, too embarrassed to meet Pomfrey's gaze. She hated saying it. She hated admitting any sort of weakness, any vulnerability that could be leveraged against her. But she had to. Not because Madam Pomfrey was forcing her too, but because god, did she want help. She couldn't take it, couldn't bear it on her own anymore. There wasn't a way around it anymore - she needed help. If she couldn't trust her ears, how could she trust her mind? Her own memory? What proof did she have that it wasn't her who had brutally slaughtered those chickens?

Mary had none, and that possibility was eating her alive, driving her even more insane than she already was.

She felt Madam Pomfrey's hand on hers, the old mediwitch's thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of Mary's hand.

Softly, Pomfrey asked, "Do you want to tell me more about these voices?"

Shakily, Mary nodded. She didn't open her eyes, but she was able to speak at her normal volume, albeit wobbly with tears.

"There's just two. One of them - the one from my nightmares - all they ever say is… is 'rip', 'tear ', and 'kill'. I think… I think that's all they can say. It's like some sort of beast, or- or monster. The other voice…" Mary swallowed past the lump in her throat. "He can hear the monster. He talks to it, and I've heard him… feed it. I think he can- he can control it."

There was a long pause, before Madam Pomfrey spoke again. "And… you heard these voices last night?"

She nodded. "The monster was hungry, I think. Maybe it smelled the- the bloo-" She cut off. "…But he told it to go back to sleep, that 'these' weren't for it."

When Mary finally opened her eyes, she was met not with the suspicion she expected, but worry, concern, and care. Madam Pomfrey offered her a hug, and Mary melted into the embrace. The dam finally burst, and she couldn't help but sob her eyes out as the weight that had been sitting on her chest for weeks finally lifted.

---

The rest of the session was productive, and afterwards, Marigold finally gathered up the confidence to tell her friends about the voices as well. Just like Pomfrey, none of then held any sort of suspicion or malcontent towards her.

"D'you reckon those voices and the whole 'Chamber of Secrets' thing is what that Dobby bloke was warnin' you about?" Ron asked in between bites of an apple.

They had decided to try and relax for the day, sitting outside under the large oak in the western bailey, watching the waves on Loch Dubh. Ron, naturally, had packed several snacks from breakfast.

Mary shrugged. "It would make sense. I dunno what else it could be."

They sat quietly together for a few minutes, before Hermione broke the silence.

"…You said 'he'."

Mary looked over at her. "Huh?"

"You said 'he'." Hermione repeated. "The other voice. You've only called the monster 'it' or 'they', but you consistently refer to the other voice with 'he' and 'him'."

She scrunched up her nose. "I guess so, why?"

Hermione flapped one of her hands in amusement. "I should be the one asking that, really."

Mary thought on that for a moment. Eventually, she shrugged. "I don't know how I know, but… I do."

After a beat, Neville lit up. "Th-that's almost exactly what you said with N-nora, too! You just kn-new she was a girl!"

"That's right!" Hermione exclaimed. "Marigold, were the voices in anguisurian?"

Mary scrunched up her nose in thought. She could barely tell the difference between English and snake-speak when she was the one speaking it, but listening? To her, they were identical. But such a detail would explain quite a bit. Hermione and Neville hadn't heard it because they weren't snake-speakers. Mary could hear it from far away because snakes heard through bone conduction. And when she had tripped after the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, more of her body was in contact with the ground, letting her "hear" the voices louder.

She nodded, and the four immediately began tossing theories about. The monster was likely some sort of snake or snake relative, and the other voice, an anguisurrator. The problem was, no matter what ideas they postulated, it didn't actually narrow down the possibilities. Whoever the anguisurrator was, he was keeping his ability a secret. Whatever the monster was, there were far too many options to prepare for. They would simply have to stick together and keep their guards up.

---

Rumors flew throughout the week. It wasn't long before the entire school knew every last gruesome detail, including many that weren't even true. The worst part was that Marigold found herself at the center of many such falsified dramatizations, and subsequently found herself on the receiving end of many suspicious looks. Despite this, having her friends to confide in, Mary finally felt… somewhat sane. At the very least, it was better than it had been in a while, and her friends took her seriously - not as seriously as Lottie was taking the upcoming quidditch match, but then again, such a feat was impossible.

In all honesty, Mary was thankful to have Lottie's intense regimens to throw herself into as a distraction. It was exhausting, but it left her without any energy to spend worrying about whatever insidious plot was afoot. By the end of the week, Mary was confident in her skill as a Seeker, and was ready to play her first game as a proper starter on the team.

The morning of the game, Marigold surprised herself with how much she was able to eat for breakfast. Just last year, game days gave her such jitters that it was a miracle if she could drink a glass of juice, let alone anything solid. Even last week, she'd been eating poorly due to her nerves surrounding her own perceived insanity. Today though, she ate a full meal of sausage, oatmeal, and fruit, and got up from the Hufflepuff table energized, genuinely excited to play, Ron, Hermione, and Neville following after her.

Before she could head down the stairs to the dungeons to retrieve her broom, Malfoy accosted her, blocking her path with the help of Crabbe and Goyle at the top of the stairs.

Mary sighed, "What do you want, Malfoy? I don't have time for whatever nonsense you have in mind."

"Oh, nothing." he said faux-casually. "Just wondering if you were planning to concede."

She fought not to roll her eyes as Ron openly laughed in Malfoy's face. "And why in Merlin's name would she do that?"

He smirked. "Because I'm the new Slytherin Seeker. And with Father generously donating a full set of Nimbus 2002's to the team, I thought it would be gracious of me to give you a fair warning. Save you the humiliation."

That got Mary to roll her eyes. The entire situation was ludicrous, and it didn't help that students of all Houses had started gathering around the standoff.

"At least no one on the Hufflepuff team had to buy their way in." Hermione remarked, crossing her arms as she smirked. "They got in on pure talent."

Malfoy curled his lip, sneering. "No one asked your opinion, mud-blood."

The crowd gasped, and Mary grit her teeth, stepping up to him. "Eager for another detention already? Or do you just want an excuse to get out of losing miserably?"

The crowd was silent as the two second years stared each other down, the tension palpable. The voice that cut through it was pompous and annoying.

"Make way, make way! Your professor is here, have no worry." Lockhart called out, trying to weave his way through the crowd. Sensing it was his last chance to escape, Malfoy pushed past her.

Marigold felt a shove between her shoulder blades, stumbling forwards into the stairwell. Time seemed to slow down as her foot fell through empty air. By the time it landed on the next step, it was too late, and Mary lost her balance completely, and went tumbling down the stairs. When she came to a stop in a crumpled pile at the bottom of the stairs, it was only her experience being hit by Bludgers and tormented by her relatives that kept her from screaming in pain. As tears streamed down her face, she knew her arm was definitely broken, which meant she wouldn't be playing today.

"I told you to leave her alone!" a familiar voice yelled, which Mary almost immediately recognized as Ginny's. Admittedly, the deduction was easier to make, when a second later, she saw Ginny tackle Malfoy to the ground, climbing on top of and pummeling him.

After that, it was hard to keep track of what exactly was happening, other than Neville and Hermione helping Mary to her feet, while Ron tried to pry Ginny off of Malfoy and prevent things from becoming an outright brawl. Lockhart eventually made his way to the center of the scene, and after the deduction of several points, had everyone standing several paces apart, each sporting cuts and bruises. Malfoy had easily gotten the worst of it, and was nursing his bloodied nose.

Lockhart gave it a quick inspection before drawing his wand. Tracing a beith and giving Malfoy's nose a tap, it quickly righted itself in a disgusting, crunching squelch. He gave Malfoy a wink.

"A broken nose is something I've dealt with often, in my line of work. Gotta keep the money-maker perfect!" he grinned.

He turned to Mary, and she felt her heart drop to her stomach.

Lockhart beckoned her forward. "Ah, a broken arm is quite easy as well. Come, come."

Mary vehemently shook her head. "I-I'm good, thanks." she grit out through the pain. "I'll just go see Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind."

He waved her off. "Nonsense! Please, allow me."

Before she could protest further, he stepped closer, pushing Hermione and Neville aside, who, to their credit, had tried to block him. Lockhart traced out another beith, and tapped Mary's arm.

Marigold had a very high pain tolerance. It was a necessity, growing up in the Dursley household, as Vernon Dursley was a master at inflicting pain. Sure, Dudley had beaten her up and Aunt Petunia had used household appliances to hurt her, but neither held a candle to the cruelties Uncle Vernon was capable of.

The pain Mary felt in that moment completely outstripped anything Uncle Vernon had ever done to her.

She doubled over, screaming in agony as her forearm went limp, the bones suddenly gone. Her barely digested breakfast soon joined her on the floor as she writhed in pain. Her teeth ached with the force she clenched her jaw. She barely registered any of the commotion around her before she finally, mercifully blacked out.

---

When she woke, Mary's brain felt… fuzzy. She lolled her head to the side and opened her eyes, vaguely recognizing the blurry outlines of who were probably Ron, Neville, and Hermione.

Mary smiled at them. "Hi!" She went to raise her left hand in a wave, but nothing happened. She frowned. "Why'm I… my arm not working?"

Ron snickered, "Blimey, Pomfrey wasn't kiddin' 'bout that potion."

Hermione placed Mary's glasses on her face as she explained. "Madam Pomfrey has you on some very strong pain relief medication. It works by completely cutting your arm off from your brain. You can't feel it, but you also can't move it."

Mary scrunched up her nose. "Why…" She paled. "O-oh. Lockhart."

"If it's any consolation, h-he's currently getting chewed out by McGonagall. With any l-luck, he'll get fired." Neville said.

"Hm, I hope so." Mary hummed. She blew a raspberry to convey her thoughts on the man, when a realization hit her, and she began crying.

Immediately, Hermione was fussing over her. "Marigold, what's wrong?"

"Lottie's gonna kick me off the team!" she wailed.

Ron gave Mary a light slap on her forehead, making her pout, but stopping her tears.

"What was that for?" she whined.

He rolled his eyes. "That was from Donovan. She said to give you a whack if you started sayin' nonsense, and that there's no way you're gettin' kicked off the team for somethin' that wasn't even your fault."

Mary huffed, annoyed that her captain had predicted her so accurately, but after a moment of pouting, she started giggling. It was silly of her to think she'd get kicked for this.

Madam Pomfrey soon came bustling out of her office with a potion bottle, pouring Mary a glass and helping her swallow the disgusting thing. She groused about Lockhart and the idiocy of using a spell on bone that was designed for cartilage, and how lucky Mary had been that her bones vanishing was "the worst that happened". Considering how horrid the experience had been, Mary wasn't keen to learn the other ways things could have gone horribly wrong. As it was, she'd be in the Hospital Wing all weekend, and likely for a day or two past that, but at least it was curable, even if it required regularly drinking the wretched concoction of Skele-Gro. Thankfully, she'd be kept on the painkillers until the entire process has run its course, and the feeling was not unpleasant - in fact, it was quite the opposite. Floating on a cloud of narcotics, Mary drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the day, and into the night.

---

Using her working right arm, Mary picked up the glass of water from the nightstand, bringing the straw to her lips and drinking. It was well past sundown, and likely midnight, given she'd woken up in darkness a few times already. She laid her head back down on her pillow, and closed her eyes, about to drift back to sleep, when she heard whispers. A moment later, the Hospital Wing doors creaked open, and she caught snippets of conversation.

"-out of bed at this hour-"

"-what Petrified her-"

"-her camera, do you think-"

"-picture of-"

"-film is completely melted-"

Marigold barely held onto consciousness as Professor McGonagall asked Dumbledore one more question.

"What could this mean, Albus?"

"It means Hogwarts is no longer safe. It is as we feared - the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again."

Chapter Text

It was Tuesday the 10th when Marigold finally drifted out of the narcotic haze she had been in for the past several days, her radius and ulna finally regrown. Her arm still ached, so Madam Pomfrey had her on some painkillers, but nothing near the strength before. Mary could actually think and stay awake now. Unfortunately, that meant she was also able to fully comprehend what had happened Saturday night - Catherine Creevey had been petrified. Fresh mandrake leaves from adult plants were needed to make the Cure for True Petrification, but the recent mandrake fungus Professor Sprout had told the class about meant there weren't any adult mandrakes on hand. Catherine would be stuck petrified for some time to come.

It was 4:30 pm when Mary was officially discharged from the Hospital Wing, but due to newly instated school rules, students - other than Prefects - were no longer allowed in the halls unaccompanied. So it wasn't until twenty minutes later that Ron, Neville, and Hermione arrived to escort her, having finished Theory of Magic. As they headed downstairs to the Great Hall for dinner, Hermione filled Mary in on the classes she had missed. In Herbology, Professor Sprout now had them working with gillyweed in place of mandrakes, as the mandrakes were now too precious of a commodity for inexperienced second year wixen to raise as a school project. Transfiguration was more of the same - scanning various conjured elements and compounds and writing down notes. Professor Sinistra still had them charting planetary movement for the practical portion of class, though with much more precision and various orbital parameters in mind, but it was easy enough to get the measurements from someone.

Hermione had just finished going over the multi modifiers they had learned in Charms, when they entered the Great Hall, which was already bustling with activity. Their housemates welcomed Marigold back, and began catching her up on the latest school news and gossip. Besides old news, such as Hufflepuff losing the quidditch game, there was plenty of new gossip surrounding the petrification, though most of it was just wild speculation. One piece of new information came from a violently blushing Alexis and Megan, their hands intertwined. The two had started dating over the weekend, and they made for a very cute pair. Susan jokingly complained of being a third wheel in her own dorm, but like everyone else, she was clearly very happy for the new couple.

Dinner slowly began to wind down, and stuffed full of treacle tart that had been forbidden to her while in recovery, Marigold got up from the Hufflepuff table, bid her friends goodbye, and walked over to the Gryffindor table. She tapped Ginny on the shoulder.

Ginny whirled around, blinking in surprise. "O-oh! Hey, Marigold. What's up?"

Mary motioned towards the entrance. "Hi. Er, can I talk to you?"

Ginny turned back around and scarfed down a slice of cake before standing up, nodding. She followed Mary out of the Great Hall, and after a moment, the two found an alcove in the hallway with a bench, and sat down.

Ginny scratched the back of her head, not meeting Mary's eyes. "So, uh… what did you wanna talk about?"

"First off, I wanted to say thank you." At Ginny's confused look, Mary elaborated. "For hitting Malfoy, I mean. It may be irresponsible to resort to violence, and maybe it's a bad idea for me to thank you for it, but… I appreciate it." she concluded with a shrug.

Ginny blushed, the tips of her ears turning completely red. "Oh. No problem. I wasn't really thinkin', to be honest."

Mary smiled at her. "Well, regardless, thank you." They sat in silence for a moment before Mary moved the conversation forward. "So, how have you been adjusting to Hogwarts?"

She sighed. "I dunno. The classes aren't all that bad, and neither are my housemates, but I don't really feel like I fit in with everyone else. I've been writin' about it, like you suggested, and that's helped a bit, but… I dunno." Ginny repeated. "I just feel kinda distant."

"The Gryffindor dorms are gendered, right?" Mary asked. At Ginny's reluctant nod, she continued. "Do you not have any friends in your dorm?"

She grimaced. "Well, Creevey's alright, but… she, well…"

Mary nodded. "I'm sorry."

Ginny shrugged. "It's alright, I guess. I just feel right guilty, 'cos we had a row that night. She wanted to go see if you'd let her take a picture of your arm, thought it was 'brilliant'. I tore into her for it, but I didn't stop her when she left. And- and then…"

She placed a hand on Ginny's. "It's not your fault, you know. You're not responsible for other people's actions." Mary rolled her eyes at herself. "That's something Madam Pomfrey's really been drilling into me."

Ginny gave a snort of laughter, but kept looking off into the distance.

Mary's heart beat loudly with nerves in her chest. She had to be very delicate with her next few questions.

"Ginny, do you…" she took a steadying breath. "Do you remember what I asked you on your birthday?"

Ginny froze.

Marigold heard her own voice echo in her ears.

"Do you want to be a boy?"

Slowly, Ginny nodded.

"Have… have you given it any more thought?"

A moment later, another nod.

"…And?" Mary pressed.

Ginny looked at her with despair in her eyes. She seemed to search Mary's face as tears formed in her eyes.

In a choked voice, tears spilling out, Ginny answered. "I- I w-want to be a boy, but- but that doesn't… I'm not-"

Ginny cut off as Mary wrapped her in a tight hug, stiffening at Mary's touch.

"That's enough." Marigold whispered. "That counts."

Ginny went limp in Mary's arms, sobbing as she tried to form words.

"I- But- Even if I-"

"Yes" Mary cut her off.

Ginny snorted, sniffling as she wiped tears from her eyes.

"I didn't even finish what I was gonna say!" she whined.

Mary pulled away, holding Ginny's arms. "It doesn't matter." she responded. "Cis girls don't want to be boys. If you want to be a boy, that's enough. You can be. You are."

Ginny's lower lip trembled as more tears threatened to fall.

"…Are you sure?"

Mary smiled. "Promise."

Ginny looked intently at Mary's face for what felt like hours, searching for even the slightest hint of deception, but found none.

"…Okay." he said, his voice still wobbly from crying. "Okay."

Marigold stood, offering him a hand. "Let's go see Madam Pomfrey, yeah?"

Ginny nodded, accepting her hand, and the two set off upstairs together.

---

At Ginny's request, Mary stayed for emotional support. Coming out to Madam Pomfrey was easy enough for Ginny, given how kind the old mediwitch was. Coming out to Professor McGonagall likely would have been much harder, if it weren't for the fact she had already changed into her pyjamas, with a fluffy tartan robe wrapped around her overtop. However, the true challenge came when, after a pep talk on bravery from his Head of House, Ginny's parents arrived through the Hospital Wing Floo, worried as to which of their children had been injured badly enough to warrant a visit. Finding Ginny sitting there with Marigold in Madam Pomfrey's office, both seemingly intact, only served to make Arthur and Molly even more anxious, but they took a seat nonetheless.

After Pomfrey and McGonagall left the four alone at his request, Ginny cleared his throat, clutching Mary's hand in his. "Uh, Mum? Dad?"

He looked up at them, briefly meeting their eyes filled with concern, before looking off to the side. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I'm transgender. I-I'm a boy."

Mary felt as though her hand might need some Skele-Gro too, as Ginny clenched his hand around hers in fear.

Arthur sighed. "Oh, thank Merlin. For a moment, I thought you were going to say you're pregnant."

Ginny's face turned beet red as Mary choked and began coughing, completely caught off-guard. The two transgender kids floundered through a reassurance that they were not at all involved with each other, let alone intimately so.

As Ginny finally managed to calm down (Mary was still a blushing mess), he looked at his mother, who still had yet to make a sound.

"…Mum?" he asked, searching. Mary could hear the desperation in his voice.

Molly gave him a pained smile. "I thought that might be the case. I had hoped not, but…" She sighed. "I'll miss having a daughter, but I'm happy to have you as my son."

Ginny grinned, bursting into tears, and the three Weasleys hugged each other - pulling Mary into the hug a moment later. When they finally separated, Ginny wiped his face clean.

"I- I was thinkin' about some names." he said, once his face was dry. "I like Gawain, but it feels too… posh, for me. Maybe a middle name?" he shrugged. Ginny looked up at his parents hopefully. "I was thinkin' you might have some ideas?"

A warm smile spread across Arthur's face, but it was Molly who spoke first.

"Septimus." she answered softly. "We had planned to name you Septimus, had you been born a boy."

Mary giggled. "I suppose he was born a boy, it's just nobody realized till now." she said, getting a small laugh from those gathered.

"Septimus was my father's name." Arthur explained, his eyes misty. "He was a seventh child, as well. He would have been proud to share a name with you."

The youngest Weasley rolled the name around in his mouth. "Septimus Gawain Weasley… Sep… Sept." He grinned. "I love it. I really, really love it."

Molly kissed Sept's forehead, wiping a tear from his cheek. "And I love you, Septimus."

Another round of crying and hugging began, only lasting shorter due to those involved not having many tears left to shed. With the big family concerns sorted, they called Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall back into the office to discuss the next steps. The social aspect of Septimus' transition would be handled easily and swiftly by McGonagall, both as Sept's Head of House and the school's Deputy Headmistress. Teachers would be notified, dorms would be switched, and a temporary uniform would be provided until Sept's own set could be acquired. The trickier questions came from Madam Pomfrey.

"Now, I understand if you have yet to make a decision, and you should still have plenty of time if that is the case, but have you thought about medical transition?"

To their credit, Arthur and Molly both looked to Sept for an answer.

Giddily, he responded, "Yes! I mean, yes, I've made a decision, and yes, I wanna take potions n' stuff."

Pomfrey nodded, making a note on some parchment as she adjusted her reading glasses. "Now, I see here that you don't have the proper medical plan with us for Hormone Replacement Potions to already be covered by your tuition. We're looking at a cost of a sickle and five knuts per week for the Testosterone Tonic alone, which would be seven sickles and two knuts per month, but it's been shown to be significantly more effective with the addition of Gender Fluid, which would add an additional 2,45κ per month, bringing the monthly total to… 3,21κ each month."

Arthur and Molly winced at the steep price, and judging by the crestfallen look on his face, Septimus had little expectation of his parents being able to afford the full suite of potions. As Arthur and Molly began mumbling to each other, Mary had an idea.

"I can pay for it."

Sept looked at her, eyes as wide as saucers, then looked back at his parents.

Molly gave her a soft smile. "That's very sweet of you dear, but you needn't concern yourself with that. We'll handle this, alright?"

"But I want to!" Mary insisted. "Please! You all took care of me, now I want to take care of you. And Sept is my friend!" she added, taking his hand in hers once more. "I've already talked to Griphook about setting up a foundation to support LGBT wixen, and while he said it's not feasible at scale without access to my family vault when I turn seventeen, I can definitely afford helping my friend feel comfortable in his own body."

Sept's eyes pleaded with his parents, and the two Hogwarts staff members watched on as Arthur and Molly exchanged a look.

Molly sighed, and Arthur spoke. "A loan. A proper loan with a contract and everything, reviewed carefully by your account manager. And you can back out at any time, no fault."

He extended his hand, and Marigold gladly took it.

"And no more birthday or Yuletide presents from you, either!" Arthur added as he shook Mary's hand.

She grinned. "Except for Ron and Sept!" Mary cut in, before finally releasing Arthur's hand.

Arthur snapped his fingers in mock frustration, turning to his wife. "She pulled a fast one on me, the little devil. Did you see that?"

Molly merely rolled her eyes and pulled Mary into a brief hug.

"Thank you, dear. It means more than I can say, that you care about our boys that much." she murmured, punctuating her thanks with a kiss to the top of Marigold's head.

As Molly and Septimus turned to Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall to sort out the details of Sept's transition, Arthur and Mary began sorting out the details of the loan. Unfortunately, try as she might, Mary couldn't haggle Arthur down to no interest, but she'd be damned if it wasn't going to be one of the most favorable deals ever made. When they had finally settled on the exact numbers, they realized Molly and Sept had left. When asked where they went, all Pomfrey would say on the matter, a twinkle in her eye, was that they would be back in just a moment. As such, Mary had no idea what to expect.

When they re-entered the room, Marigold nearly didn't recognize Sept. He had already changed into his temporary boy's uniform and his fringe had been trimmed and swept slightly to the side, but the main difference was the rest of his previously long hair being lopped right off, now only barely covering the tips of his ears.

It wasn't until he cleared his throat that Mary realized she had been staring, and she looked away, blushing.

"So, um…" he began, scratching the back of his head. "Whaddaya think?"

Mary looked back up at him and the heat returned to her face in full force. "I- Wow!" She shook her head clear, trying to form anything resembling a coherent sentence. "You er, you look cute- good!" She swallowed, her stomach doing somersaults, her heart hammering in her chest. "…Y-you look- you look good."

Septimus blushed, nodding stiffly in response. Offhandedly, Mary heard Molly whisper something to Arthur about "storables", whatever that meant.

As things wound down, Percivall arrived in the Hospital Wing, summoned by Professor McGonagall to escort Mary and Sept to their dorms. Percivall gave his newly-christened brother his congratulations, opting to ruffle Sept's hair rather than hug him, tired as he was. He did the same for Marigold when the two Weasleys dropped her off at the Hufflepuff dorm, bidding her goodnight. Before Mary could knock on the barrel to open it though, Sept wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Thank you." he whispered. "For everything. Just… thank you."

She returned the hug, giving him a squeeze. "Of course. Like I said, you're my friend."

As they pulled away, they both had tears in their eyes, and after a moment, they blushed, realizing just how close they had been.

"Er, goodnight." Mary awkwardly offered, giving a weak wave.

Sept raised his hand in return, his ears still completely red. "G'night."

Quickly knocking on and slipping through the barrel-lid door, Mary took a moment to catch her breath. What on earth was going on with her? She had suspected ever since the night of his birthday that Septimus was probably a trans boy, and had even thought about what he might look like if he came out, but for such a small difference as a haircut and a pair of trousers to have such a profound effect on her…

As she wandered into the Common Room and up to her dorm, Marigold reached up and felt her cheek, confirming her suspicions that she was still blushing like mad. She'd only known Sept for a few months, and she'd only known him as "Septimus" for a couple hours, but already her crush on him was almost as bad as her crush on Cedric.

"Oi, you alright?"

Ron's voice broke Mary out of her daze. Taking in her surroundings, she realized she'd already made it to her dorm, Ron, Hermione, and Neville peering at her curiously. Still distracted, Mary nodded.

Ron frowned. "Everything alright with Gin?"

"Er, y-yeah." Mary stuttered. "We just talked for a little bit, that's all."

Ron snorted "I dunno that I'd call two hours or so 'little', but sure. Ain't it past her curfew already?"

"It is, but Percivall walked us to our dorms. Er, well, I guess he's currently still walking h- …both of them to the Gryffindor dorm." Mary explained, catching herself before she could accidentally correctly gender Septimus. On the way to the Den, he'd asked Mary to keep it secret for now, so he could surprise Ron with it the next day. Unfortunately, Ron could be quite astute at times.

He narrowed his eyes at Mary. "…What is it?"

"Hmm?" she responded, her voice jumping up an octave. "Er, what do you mean?"

He gestured vaguely at her. "What's up with Ginny? You're bein' all cagey, what happened?"

Cutting her losses Mary gave in somewhat. "You'll er, find out tomorrow. It's not for me to say."

Content with her answer, Ron shrugged and turned back to his desk to work on his assignment as Scabbers lazily roamed the tabletop, occasionally being fed bits of carrot by his owner. Hermione, however, was clearly still suspicious, judging by her facial expression, but thankfully didn't press Mary for answers. With a sigh of relief, Marigold sat down at her own desk, pulling out a few textbooks and a roll of parchment. She had two days worth of assignments to catch up on, not counting what she had originally planned to complete over the weekend. Unstoppering an inkwell and pulling out her dip pen, Mary set to work.

---

Marigold wasn't sure how she expected Septimus to surprise Ron, but what she wasn't expecting was Fred and George carrying Sept into the Great Hall atop their shoulders, repeatedly chanting "One of us!"

Judging by how Sept was covering his face, his ears completely red, he hadn't been expecting that either.

Ron's jaw dropped. "Is- is that Ginny?"

"His name is Sept, actually." Mary corrected him, slightly blushing. "Septimus Gawain Weasley."

Neville grinned. "Good f-for him, he seems a l-lot happier."

Hermione merely nodded, her curiosity satisfied. "It suits him."

"Huh." Ron murmured, stuffing a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He paused mid-bite, narrowing his eyes at Mary. Thankfully for Hermione, he swallowed before speaking. "You've got a thing for him, don't you?"

The heat in Mary's cheeks doubled in intensity as she sputtered, "You- Wha- No I don't!"

Ron raised an eyebrow at her.

Mary huffed, pouting. "Fine! So what if I do?"

"I think it's sweet." Hermione cut in.

Ron shrugged. "Eh, I don't mind, honestly. Actually, I s'pose it's just as well. He's still got a thing for you too, y'know."

Marigold boggled at him from across the table, her cheeks ablaze. "He does not!" she hissed at him.

Ron scoffed. "Are you really that dense, or did you miraculously happen to be lookin' away every single time he made a fool of himself around you over the summer?"

"I- Th-that was just 'cos I'm famous!" Mary retorted.

Ron shook his head. "Nah, he got over that a while ago. Before your birthday, even."

Mary paused.

"Oh." she breathed, her face completely crimson. "Oh."

"Dense, it is." Neville quipped, grinning.

Mary glared at her brother and smacked his arm, failing to fight off a smile of her own.

"Prat."

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Lockhart was still employed by the time the second year Hufflepuffs had Double Defense on Thursday morning. Thankfully though, he was sticking with his ridiculous reenactments of his writings and not casting any spells - especially not on any students. The main difference in his lessons was the fact that his classroom was now host to several new paintings - not of himself - whose subjects kept a close eye on the man. Increased surveillance aside, it was the usual useless tripe, and Mary was glad to leave his class and head to lunch when it was finally over.

The atmosphere of the school was profoundly different to what Marigold had grown to expect from Hogwarts. It felt more akin to Number Four, Privet Drive than anything else, with the way the professors kept an extremely close eye on every single student. Unfortunately for Mary, that only exacerbated her eating disorder, but she at least managed a few bites before giving up and downing a Nutritive Draught.

Charms went well, as did Double History after it, though it was as sleep-inducing as always. With a bit of time left for self study till the clock tower rang out, signaling the end of classes for the day, Hermione raised her hand, and after a moment, was called upon by Professor Binns.

“Professor Binns, I was wondering…” Hermione paused, which was quite out of character when it came to the many questions she asked professors throughout the day.

“I couldn't find anything in the library, so I was wondering if you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets.”

Of the few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors who had managed to stay awake, they were instantly alert, some jostling their neighbors awake as well. Mary herself was on the edge of her seat.

Binns sighed. “Miss Granger, the so-called ‘Chamber of Secrets’ is an archaic term for the Slytherin Common Room. The term fell out of use in the 12th century.”

Hermione's hand shot back into the air before Binns could even turn around.

He sighed. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“But what about the modern use of the term, Professor?”

“A myth.” he declared. “And one not worth thinking about since it is entirely unfounded.”

Despite being incorporeal, Binns slumped in his chair as Hermione raised her hand yet again. Realizing she wasn't going to let him off the hook, he elaborated.

“In the early 18th century, House Gaunt, an Ancient House with claims to the lineage of Salazar Slytherin, created a rumour. For reasons I cannot comprehend, this myth managed to embed itself in the psyche of young wixen at the time, and has since perpetuated itself over the years.

“The Gaunts claimed that Salazar Slytherin believed in blood purism, and as such was at odds with the other Founders. They say that the animosity was so great that Slytherin left Hogwarts altogether. However before he left, he built a secret addition to the castle, within which he sealed away a monster only he or his descendants could control. The idea was that when the time came, his descendants would open the chamber, unleashing its horrors upon the school and ridding it of any wixen of ‘impure ancestry’.

“The Gaunts claimed that this mythical chamber, not the Slytherin Common Room, was the real ‘Chamber of Secrets’. A few unsolved and unexplained murders at the time - likely the work of the Gaunts themselves - seemed to give credence to the idea.”

Professor Binns leveled the class with a glare. “This is entirely false. There are countless records, including first degree sources from some of the ghosts still here at Hogwarts, that Salazar Slytherin died surrounded by the other Founders - his friends. Additionally, no such chamber has ever been found.

“As for his alleged blood purism, while it is true that Salazar Slytherin advocated for the rejection of muggle-raised students from Hogwarts, it is important to consider the context. Slytherin was born in the year 873, and grew up in a time when the Reconquista of Spain was underway. The Christian invaders not only drove out Muslims and Moors, but wixen, too. Even wixen born to the conquering forces were not free of punishment. All muggleborn wixen were raised to believe that the only way they could atone for their ‘sin’ of being born with magic was by infiltrating and killing other wixen.

“Coupling fears of such cases spreading to the British Isles with the fact that Slytherin himself was heavily abused as a child by his Christian muggle family-” Binns was interrupted as half the class broke into shocked chatter at the revelation that Salazar Slytherin was a muggleborn.

Over the clamour, Professor Binns called out, “Slytherin was beaten half to death and disowned by his family at the age of ten.” That got the class to quiet down. Marigold felt a lump in her throat, realizing just how similar her life was to Slytherin’s.

“He lost an eye, a portion of his hearing, and was left permanently disfigured. As you should remember from last year, Slytherin was an anguisurrator. Given the Christian mythology, particularly the symbolism of the snake as an embodiment of evil, Slytherin’s blood relatives viewed him as a sort of demon, and cast him out. He chose his new surname as a way to reclaim what had been used as a reason to hurt him. Coupling this trauma with fears surrounding the Reconquista, Salazar Slytherin advocated for the rejection of muggle-raised students from Hogwarts. It is also important to note that at the time, Hogwarts was an institution that taught adults, not children. Slytherin was also personally responsible for the rescue and raising of countless muggleborn wixen who had fled similarly abusive homes.

“At the end of the 17th century however, the Statute of Secrecy had recently been implemented. Knowledge of magic’s existence had been wiped fairly cleanly from the minds of muggles, and they were looked down upon for how easy it had been to trick them, as well as out of anger following the Salem Witch Trials. This marked the birth of blood purism as we know it today. The fact that this is when the Gaunts sowed their myth is no coincidence. The modern myth of the Chamber of Secrets is nothing more than an attempt to threaten muggleborns into submission. In fact, even the term ‘muggle’ itself is the result of blood purism, though it dates later to the mid 19th century. It is the diminutive of ‘mug’, a pejorative term meaning ‘fool’.”

The class was silent at the many revelations in Binns’ mini lecture. There was a lot of new information to process, and not just about the Chamber itself.

Hermione shakily raised her hand. “…Why do we use ‘muggle’ if it's a blood purist term?”

Professor Binns shrugged. “I try to use the vernacular of the time, regardless of the sources. I'm a descriptivist when it comes to linguistics, not a prescriptivist. If I didn't adapt, I would still be speaking my birth tongue, what scholars today refer to as Old English, and we would be unable to understand each other. As for why the term is used, I can't say. It’s possible that its origins were simply forgotten.”

The clock tower finally tolled out a quarter till five, and the classroom soon emptied of students as they headed to dinner.

---

“Oh, by the way-” Ron started, only to be interrupted as Hermione grimaced.

“Swallow your breakfast first, Ronald, that's disgusting.”

Neville perked up. “Oh, is this about l-last night?”

Ron nodded as he chewed. When he finally swallowed, he tried again. “Sorry, ’Mione. Anyway, last night at Dueling Club, Fli- Professor Flitwick said that he's gonna do a self defense lesson for the lower years on Saturday mornin’.” He shrugged, “Makes sense, what with Creevey bein' petrified n’ all. S’kinda freaky.”

Mary did her best to suppress her reaction to “freaky”. She knew Ron hadn't directed it at her, but all the same, she could nearly feel Vernon's glare on the back of her neck.

Hermione nodded. “That's a sound idea, though I have my doubts as to how effective a single lesson of training will be.”

Neville shrugged. “I think it's m-more about m-morale.”

“If nothing else,” Marigold mused, “It would be nice to have the advice of an actually competent adult. The DA is nice and all, but it's still mostly just me reading from the textbooks.”

“So what time is the meeting?” Hermione asked.

“Mornin’?” Ron answered.

Hermione set her jaw, annoyed, but before she could say anything, Neville cut in.

“9:30. They're ending th-the Astronomy brunch early so we can have it in the Gr-reat Hall.”

“Thank you, Neville.” Hermione said, before shooting a glare at a confused Ron. “Anyway, I'm done eating, so I would like to go to the library and look into what sort of monster might be in the Chamber, before we have to head to Wixen Studies and Theory of Magic.”

Neville got up, dusting a few crumbs off his shirt, and grabbed his bag. “I'm done too, I'll go w-with you.”

After they left, a still-dumbfounded Ron turned to Mary.

“What did I do? She nearly bit my head off back there!” he exclaimed.

Mary sighed. “It's not your fault - not really, at least.”

Ron scowled. “Then what's her problem?”

“She's been upset since yesterday. Binns’ lesson.” Mary explained. “I mean, how would you feel if you found out that everyone - not just the bigots and jerks, but everyone - had been calling your family ‘little idiots’ all along?”

Ron paused, frowning. He was quiet as he continued to eat. After several bites, he shook his head, answering quietly, “That's bloody awful. I can't imagine.”

Mary gave him a sheepish grin. “Exactly.”

“So what should we say instead?” he asked.

“I'm not sure.” Mary answered. “Last night, while you and Nev were at Dueling Club, Hermione had talked about researching alternatives, but I don't think she'll let herself do that, when she could be researching the Chamber.”

A sly smile spread across Ron's face. “Then I s’pose we'll hafta look it up for her.” He frowned. “Wait, no. Hermione doesn't like surprises.”

Mary grinned. “Actually, I think she'll make an exception, just this once.”

The two finished their meals and headed off to join Hermione and Neville in the library. While Ron went and apologized to Hermione, Marigold made her way to a section of language reference texts, rather than any on magical creatures, soon joined by Ron.

---

By the time the clock tower chimed 11:30 and the start of lunch, Hermione and Mary both had compiled lists of possibilities from their research. As the four Hufflepuffs walked through the ancient halls of Hogwarts, Hermione began working through her list again.

“So Neville and I found a handful of possible monsters that could fit the attack on Catherine Creevey, the Gaunt myth, and the anguisurrian.” She skimmed through her notes, positioning her pencil as she read. “Going in alphabetical order, we have the basilisk, though it kills with a glance rather than petrifies, so that's not likely. Then there's the cockatrice, whose toxic breath turns its victims to stone. Now, obviously Catherine isn’t literally stone, but it's possible these reports are referring to petrification, since its etymological roots literally mean ‘make into stone’.

“The most likely monster is the ilomba, a man-made snake-like creature from southern Africa that obeys its master’s orders - which aligns with the Gaunt myth - killing its victims by eating their soul, or in some reports, their shadow - which might be a metaphor for petrification. They also demand that their master continues to kill, which lines up with the anguisurrian.

Hermione sighed. “The only other possibilities we found were the peuchen, a South American flying snake which can paralyze its prey, though they typically follow that up with exsanguination, and the scitalis, a European serpent with scales so beautiful it stuns its prey long enough for it to catch.” She grimaced, “Neither of which are very promising.”

“What’s ‘exangination’?” Ron asked.

“‘Exsanguination’.” she enunciated. “It's the process of draining a body of its blood. Generally, it's the result of sanguivores - creatures that subsist off blood.” Hermione shook her head. “Really, Ronald. You ought to learn Latin.”

Ron puffed up his chest. “I know a bit o’ Latin.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, let's hear it, then.”

“I know that the Latin root o’ ‘sorcerer’ is ‘sors’, which means ‘fate’ or ‘chance’.” he boasted, much to Hermione’s frustration.

“Huh.” Neville said. “R-really? When did you l-learn that?”

Ron grinned. “Just now, in the library.”

“We were looking something else up.” Mary added.

Hermione set her jaw, her whole body stiffening in anger as she stomped along. “We were supposed to be looking up what the monster is. Not messing about! What could possibly be more important than that!?”

Marigold winced. “I'm not sure about it being ‘more important’, but it's definitely important. We were looking up alternative terms for nonmagical people.”

Hermione froze in her tracks, her expression immediately softening. Mary, Ron, and Neville backtracked to where Hermione had stopped in the hallway.

“Oh.” Hermione mumbled. “You didn't have to do that.”

Ron shrugged, “Yeah, but we wanted to.”

Hermione gave a small smile as she started making her way to the Great Hall again. “Thank you. It means a lot.” She cleared her throat, idly flapping a hand. “So, what did you find?”

“Loads, actually!” Mary answered. “First, we looked at foreign terms for nonmagical people. Americans use ‘no-maj’, which is just short for ‘no magic’, and Australians use ‘mundies’, as in ‘mundane’.”

Hermione hummed to herself, musing over the options.

Neville shrugged. “N-neither sound much better.”

Mary nodded, “That's what we thought, so then we tried making new terms.”

“That's how I learned that bit o’ Latin.” Ron interjected. “If sorcery is about fate, the other side o’ that would be free will - ‘voluntas’. Puttin’ it back together, obviously there's ‘volunteer’ but that's already a word, so we came up with ‘volerer’. S’not bad, but it's kinda clunky, and we don't really call wixen ‘sorcerers’ these days.”

“We also tried the magical gift format, like ‘animagum’ and ‘metamorphmagum’.” Mary continued, “But the best we got out of that was ‘amagum’, which just sounds like ‘a magum’.” she explained, dragging out the pause between words for emphasis.

Hermione sighed. “So we've still got nothing.”

Ron grinned. “Nope! We saved the best for last.”

Mary blushed. “We were honestly just fooling around with this last one, but it turned out brilliant.”

“‘Mox’.” Ron confidently declared. “It's like wix, but you turn the ‘W’ upside down, and since ‘mix’, ‘Mex’, and ‘max’ already mean stuff, and ‘mux’ doesn't sound right, we changed the ‘I’ to an ‘O’.”

“Mox…” Hermione repeated, turning the word over in her mouth as they entered the Great Hall. “Well, it's not bad, I suppose.”

“There's more.” Mary added. “‘Moxes’ works for a plural form, or ‘moxen’, similar to ‘wixen’, but for an adjective, you can use ‘moxy’.” she said, spelling the word for clarity. “It’s like ‘moxie’, with an ‘-IE’. Which is similar to the ‘free will’ meaning of ‘volerer’, and only has positive connotations!”

“‘I have a moxy family’. ‘My parents are moxen’. ‘I'm a moxenborn’.” Hermione tested. She flapped her hands, grinning. “It's wonderful! Thank you - both of you.” She blushed. “And I'm sorry for snapping at you two earlier. It's just-”

“Don't worry ’bout it.” Ron interrupted. “We get it. We're just happy to help.”

“Besides,” Mary added as they sat down at the Hufflepuff table, “The hard part is getting people to actually use it.”

Before Hermione could commiserate about that, Susan Bones interrupted their conversation from the other side of the table.

“Use what?”

Marigold grinned as she began explaining the situation to her housemate.

---

Saturday morning, Mary, Hermione, Neville, and Ron arrived at breakfast already in clothes suitable for dueling, so when Professor Flitwick announced that the Dueling Club would hold a special session in the Great Hall following breakfast, they weren't among the many who had to return to their dorms to get changed. Septimus and Luna were also prepared, Sept due to being in the Dueling Club himself, and Luna due to her outfit “calling to her”, as she put it.

“That's how we always pick our outfits.” she concluded, nodding sagely.

Hermione frowned. “I don't.”

Luna blinked. “Oh, no, not you. Us. Though we see why you would be confused.”

“But who is ‘us’?” Hermione insisted.

“Me, myself, and I.” she answered.

Hermione just stared, dumbfounded. “…What?”

“Well, we don't have names yet, but you can keep calling us ‘Luna’ until we figure it out. And pronouns are their own issue.” Luna shrugged. “We'll try to keep you posted, but it's all very new to us as well. You can imagine our surprise when we realized we weren't alone.” She gestured towards Ron and Sept, “They know the opposite of what we mean.”

Hermione thumped her head into her hands. “Every question you answer leaves me with more questions than I started.” she groaned. She turned to look at Ron and Sept. “Can either of you explain what she means - in plain English, please?”

Ron leaned in close, talking quietly. “Right, so this doesn't leave here, yeah? Mum n’ Dad n’ the twins said we could tell you three, but it never really came up till now.”

Once Hermione, Neville, and Mary had agreed to keep things secret, Sept picked up where Ron left off.

“Fred n’ George are the same person.”

Neville chewed at his lip before asking, “Is th-this a prank of theirs?”

Ron shook his head. “Nah. Fred n’ George are what's called magical twins. It's kind of a Prewett family thing, so it got passed through Mum - her brothers, Uncle Fabian and Gideon? They were magical twins too. Basically, they're the same person, they just got two bodies.”

Marigold scrunched up her nose in thought. “So then when Luna said you know the opposite of what she means…”

“I’m assumin' she means that while Fred n’ George are one person in two bodies, she's two people in one body.” Sept confirmed.

“Three, actually.” Luna confirmed. “But yes.”

Realization dawned on Hermione’s face. “Oh, dissociative identity disorder!”

Luna tilted her head. “Is that the moxy term?”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, I looked into it when I was doing research on autism. It's abbreviated as ‘DID’.”

“Thank you.” Luna responded, smiling so widely her eyes squinted shut. “You're a wonderful person, Hermione Jean Granger.”

Hermione simply nodded quietly, flapping her hands in her lap.

It was then that the food vanished from the tables, and Professor Flitwick began urging the students up from their seats so he could levitate them out of the way and clear space for the Dueling Club. Strangely, his chipper mood from earlier that morning, when he made his announcement, was completely and utterly gone. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for Marigold to realize why. There were a few upper years from the club helping with the setup of various dueling strips throughout the Great Hall, but there was only one other professor present besides Flitwick - one Gilderoy Lockhart.

Mary groaned, “Ugh, not him. Why does he have to be here?”

Neville followed her line of sight. “This was n-not part of the plan. He must have w-wormed his way in, since he's the Defense pr-rofessor.”

“He probably went straight to Dumbledore, because I can't imagine Professor Flitwick or Professor McGonagall agreed to this.” Hermione concluded.

Still, unwelcome intrusions aside, everything was soon set up and Flitwick began covering the theory of the spells they would be practicing today - the disarming hex and deflection charm. They were both fairly simple and took little effort, as the forces they exerted were balanced by redirecting the recoil. The disarming hex launched the target's wand - or whatever else they were carrying - by redirecting the force to the target’s body, and given the disparate masses, a small movement of the larger target resulted in a large movement of their smaller wand. The deflection charm used a rudimentary shield at an oblique angle to similarly move the smaller spell bolt with a proportionally small movement of the larger caster.

Eventually, most of the students were successfully casting the spells, and while a handful of older students helped the remaining younger years to learn the spells, Flitwick gathered the rest up by the dais where the staff table normally was. There was apparently a wide variety of stances a duelist could take, though for today, they would be learning the British standard stance. Lockhart tried to demonstrate the pose at Professor Flitwick’s request, which resulted in several aggressive corrections, as Flitwick poked and prodded, jerkily forcing Lockhart into the actual stance with a few manipulation spells.

“He's gettin' a kick outta this.” Sept snickered to Marigold as they watched Lockhart wince with each correction.

“He's not the only one.” Mary giggled back.

With another miniature lecture on dueling, going over parries and ripostes, attacks and counter-attacks, Flitwick proposed a demonstration duel between Lockhart and himself. They stepped onto the dueling strip and met in the middle of the strip to salute each other.

Lockhart winked at the students, “Never fear, you'll have your Charms Master after I'm through with him.”

Mary could practically see the Charms professor's rage double, though he kept it entirely off his face. Instead, it was as if a thrumming in the air thickened. She knew this could not end well for Lockhart.

They saluted and took their positions as marked on the strip, and both dropped into their stance, Lockhart’s still sloppy, despite Flitwick's earlier corrections. An older student stood in the middle, off the side of the strip, clearly the referee. She made eye-contact with both professors, then raised her hands to her sides.

“En garde.”

Both professors raised their wands, targeting the other.

“Prêts? Allez¹!”

“Exārmā²!”

Before Lockhart could even register, Professor Flitwick had traced out a scorpio and sent a bolt of red light hurtling towards him.

Lockhart hurriedly traced out a sideways algiz, incanting, “Sëveiyā³!”

While the shimmer of the deflection charm’s shield did actually manage to manifest, it immediately shattered upon impact, and Lockhart was knocked backwards onto the floor, his wand rocketing out of his hand. Mary wasn't sure whether it was more impressive the sheer power Flitwick had pumped into the hex, or that his offhand snapped up to catch Lockhart's wand, despite it crossing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Clearly, Filius Flitwick was not a champion duelist for nothing.

The referee raised her hand towards Flitwick, announcing, “Point!”

When Lockhart crawled to his feet, Flitwick sent his wand flying back to him with a wandless spell that left it hovering in front of his face, millimeters from poking an eye out. Lockhart grabbed it, his face pale.

“Uh, perhaps a demonstration between students? I daresay they probably couldn't follow the blinding speed of our duel well enough to see the intricate push and pull between us.” Lockhart suggested. He glanced into the crowd, and Mary felt a lump in her throat when his eyes landed on her. “Potter, why don't you come up here?”

Marigold looked to Professor Flitwick in the hopes he would spare her, but he beckoned her up as well. Mary stepped forward, anxious about who Lockhart would pick as her opponent.

However, before Lockhart could speak, Flitwick picked for him. “Mister Weasley, why don't you demonstrate for us?”

Ron and Septimus looked at each other, then back to their professor. It didn't help that they were standing next to each other and so couldn't tell who Flitwick was looking at.

Professor Flitwick chuckled to himself. “My apologies, Mister Ronald Weasley.”

Sept patted Ron on the back as he made his way over to where Mary was stood on the dueling strip. They saluted, and Flitwick sent Ron over to Lockhart’s side of the strip while he helped Mary correct her stance. It was a very odd position, though given how Ron dropped naturally into position, it was likely just a matter of practice. She positioned her heels under her shoulders, her right foot pointed forward, her left foot at a right angle. Keeping her head facing forward, she rotated her hips and shoulders to be side-on to Ron, presenting the smallest possible target. Mary held her wand out in front of her, her elbow slightly bent, and raised her offhand arm to be in-line with her shoulders, bent cocked at the elbow. With only a few minor adjustments from Flitwick, the referee finally stepped up to the side of the strip, making eye contact with Mary and Ron.

“En garde.”

Marigold aimed her wand.

“Prêts? Allez!”

They began much more of a dance than the one-sided blowout between Flitwick and Lockhart. It was back and forth between them, though Ron easily had the upper hand through hours of practice. Still, it was a fairly steady rhythm of hex, deflect, hex, deflect; exārmā, sëveiyā, exārmā, sëveiyā. Mary could tell Ron was going easy on her, but it ended up not mattering - while Ron was fluid and practiced in his footwork, Mary stumbled back and forth, and that distraction cost her the round as she put up a deflection charm too late, Ron's disarming hex hitting her and sending her wand flying into his hand. Unfortunately, already off-balance as she was, the nudge from the hex was enough to send her toppling over onto the ground.

“Point!” the referee announced, raising her hand towards Ron.

Ron quickly closed the distance, offering his hand and helping Marigold to her feet. “Great effort there, Mary!” he complimented her, handing back her wand. “Not bad for a first go ’round, not bad at all!”

She grinned back at him. “Thanks! You weren't so bad, yourself.”

Ron snorted, ruffling Mary's hair, accidentally tugging several strands loose from where they were tied back. She bumped him with her shoulder, giggling.

“Oh, just kiss already, faggots!”

Marigold shrunk down, wishing she could disappear. Ron whirled to face the source of the shout, his face red and a nasty jinx on his lips. She could see where Septimus was lunging towards Kevin Entwhistle, a fellow Gryffindor in Mary's year. Luna and Neville struggled to hold him back from enacting vengeance.

“Mister Entwhistle!” Professor Flitwick's voice thundered through the Great Hall, as he casually grabbed Ron's wand arm as it raised to lash out. “Detention! And fifty points from Gryffindor!”

Flitwick leaned in to Ruin, his voice hushed. “And you, Mister Weasley. I expect more control from you in the future, are we understood?” Ron nodded, fear etched in his face. “Five points from Hufflepuff for a lapse in judgment. Rest assured, had I not stayed your hand, it would be far more.”

“Y-yes, professor.” Ron stammered.

Flitwick's demeanor calmed. “Excellent job in your duel, by the way.” He winked at Ron, then at Mary. “You too, Miss Potter. Five points to Hufflepuff. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a student to escort to Minerva.”

Marigold and Ron stepped down from the dais as Flitwick dragged Entwhistle off for punishment from his Head of House. Not needing further instruction and ignoring any input from Lockhart, several older students from the club began arranging practice duels for the first and second years. As duels got underway, those not actively dueling waiting for their turns or doing target practice, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Sept gathered around Mary and Ron.

“The absolute nerve of some people!” Hermione complained. “I mean honestly, what an abhorrent display of ignorance and bigotry!”

“I can't believe he only l-lost fifty points.” Neville grumbled.

Before anyone else could comment on the incident, Mary spoke up, “L-look, can-n we just- jus-j-just-ust move on? I- I want to prac-act-ctice what w-we- wha- we came here for-r.” Her friends reluctantly agreed, and Mary sighed. “But th-thanks. Fo-or hav-having my- m-my back-k.”

Ron nudged her shoulder. “Hey, we're badgers, right? It's what we do.”

“Oi!” Sept objected. “Me n’ Luna aren't.”

Ron shrugged, grinning. “Eh, you can be honorary ’Puffs.”

Content with their new membership, the six began practicing the new spells, even getting several rounds on the dueling strips apiece. Marigold wasn't entirely sure how useful a few basic spells would be against the supposed Heir of Slytherin, but Professor Flitwick had the right idea, and it made her feel safer, even if only by a little bit.

Chapter Text

With Marigold’s arm passing inspection from Madam Pomfrey, she was finally able to rejoin quidditch practice, rather than just running drills alongside the Hufflepuff team. Mary threw herself into practice to make up for lost time. She’d been paying attention to the practice matches, as well as Lottie and Cedric’s critique’s, but Mary still had some catching up to do, especially if she wanted to beat Gryffindor in the upcoming game. Mary really wanted to win, especially with Kevin Entwhistle being Gryffindor’s Seeker.

Things were still very tense within her year, and each time Ron and Entwhistle crossed paths, it nearly came to blows. There were threats, posturing, and light shoving, but Ron held off for fear of losing points, while Entwhistle held off under threat of Oliver Wood replacing him - having already lost Gryffindor fifty points, Entwhistle didn’t have much more social standing to lose with his peers. Meanwhile, Marigold avoided confrontation by avoiding Entwhistle altogether, a skill she had honed to near perfection while growing up at Privet Drive.

However, Entwhistle was far from free of retribution. The Weasley twins had taken it upon themselves to orchestrate a string of elaborate pranks, escalating in intensity. As far as Mary could tell, Wood knew who was behind the pranks, but beyond a few unamused looks given to his star Beaters, he did nothing to stop them. The pranks were little more than harmless inconveniences, but to Entwhistle, they were endlessly infuriating - especially when the twins managed to sneak some magical hair dye into his shampoo, turning his normally blonde hair into a shifting rainbow. Somehow, despite the professors and Madam Pomfrey’s efforts, the dye couldn’t be dispelled, and didn’t fade until a week later. Whether or not the Hogwarts staff had actually been outsmarted by the twins or if they simply weren’t trying all that hard, Mary had no clue, and the twins refused to divulge their methodology.

“I wonder if Fred and George would let me borrow some.” Marigold mused as she pulled the cauldron of in-progress Androgen Arrestor out of the bathroom stall it was hidden in. “It looked rather pretty, aside from it being Entwhistle.”

Diana arched an eyebrow as she sliced the licorice root. “You’d want your whole head to be an eye-searing neon rainbow?”

“Well, no,” Mary blushed, “But a strand or two might be nice every once in a while. I don’t think I’d like to keep my hair dyed.”

“That’s fair.” she conceded. “I’d like to dye my hair, but it’s not like I can get away with that while living with Father.” Diana huffed, toying with a strand of her short hair. “I can barely get away with having my hair this long - and look at the state of it! It hardly reaches past my eyebrows!”

Mary grimaced as Diana swept her hair back into place, continuing to slice away. Glancing over the instructions again, though she knew them by heart by this point, Mary pulled out a distillation lid, replacing the cauldron’s standard lid with it.

“I wish I could play with my hair.” Myrtle whined from the window she sat in above the girls. “Being dead can be quite the bother at times.”

Mary frowned. “Can you not change it up?”

Myrtle shook her head sadly. “Once you’re dead, you’re stuck with how you look. Why else do you think I’m wearing this dreadful uniform?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.” she replied, hooking the hose of the distillation lid up to one of the bathroom sinks.

“Did you really think the Bloody Baron wants to be covered in blood? Or that Sir Nicholas wants his head still attached?” Myrtle groaned, pouting. “Honestly, I wish he could take his head the rest of the way off, more than I want to change my own looks. He’s always complaining about how he’s not allowed in the Headless Hunt - as if that’s a bad thing! They’re just a bunch of weirdos who play bowling with their own heads, it’s creepy!”

Diana paused. Slowly, she turned to look up at Myrtle, incredulous. “…Bowling? How in Morgana’s name do they manage that? What do they even use as pins!?”

Myrtle blinked owlishly at her. “I don’t know. But it makes an awful racket when they do. They also juggle and play polo with their heads.” She shrugged. “Like I said - weeiir-dooos.” she finished, singing.

Diana shook her head clear, scooping the sliced licorice into a flask and affixing it to the other end of the distillation lid. Mary turned on the faucet, water flowing through the hose around the condensing tube, and back out into the sink. Diana turned the flameplate up high. Soon enough, vapors started to rise out of the cauldron, condensing into droplets along the cooled glass tube, a small portion of it making it all the way through and dripping into the large flask of licorice. They had a while to wait before it was done, so they spent that time chatting and working on assignments.

Eventually, crystals of salt started to form in the cauldron as it became more and more concentrated, and Mary turned the flameplate and faucet off. Diana disassembled the setup and siphoned the water out of the tube. She strained the licorice out of the flask, leaving behind the concentrated form of the Androgen Arrestor. They still had some concentrate left, so rather than measuring any out and diluting it to be taken, Diana merely sealed the flask for storage. She tied a strip of parchment around the neck, labeling it “14 Nov, ’92”, and placed it in the stall where they hid the rest of their potions equipment. Mary finished scrubbing out the cauldron and passed it to Diana.

As she hefted the cauldron into her arms, Diana winced, yelping, “Ouch!”

Before Mary could even apologize, Diana's eyes went wide, a smile forming. She quickly set the cauldron down in the stall, turning back to Mary, grinning.

“Er, why are you smiling?” Mary asked, confused.

“They hurt!”

She smacked her hand against her chest, before immediately curling up in pain, tears in her eyes. Still, she somehow managed to smile back at Mary.

“They're growing!” Diana explained. “My breasts are growing!”

All three girls, living and dead, began to squeal with joy. Myrtle twirled around them in the air, and Diana pulled Mary into a hug, only to immediately regret pressing something - or in this case, someone - so hard against her chest.

As the excitement died down, Mary warned her friend. “You'll have to be careful from now on.”

She nodded. “I've got a plan. I'll need your help eventually, in order to purchase a binder, but for now, I've got things under control.”

“Just be careful that you don't react if your chest gets hit. You don't want anyone making the connection.” Mary pointed out.

Diana waved her off. “Oh, I've got plenty of experience with that.”

Myrtle stopped drifting through the bathroom. “…What?”

“Well, not with this specifically, but I've got a high pain tolerance.” she explained. “So there's no need to worry. I can definitely keep the pain off my face.”

Myrtle looked between Mary and Diana, lost. Mary wasn't sure what Myrtle was talking about until Diana looked away, eyes wide with the realization of the worrying implications of what she had just said.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

For as long as Marigold had known Diana, she'd always been soft spoken. It had taken quite a while for her to open up to Mary, revealing the bubbly, cheerful girl Mary had grown to love. But in all the time they'd known each other, even when she was quiet, Diana had always held firm.

In this moment, Diana sounded small. Scared.

Marigold reached out, taking Diana's hand in hers.

“I know what it's like.” she whispered. “My Aunt and Uncle, they hate magic - and, by extension, me.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” she repeated, wiping a tear from her eye. She turned to face Mary, smiling weakly. “But thanks.”

---

Pedal pressed down. Left pinky to G, shift an octave up to B, D, and F sharp. Back down an octave. Lift up, press down. Left pinky to D, back up to A, C sharp, and F sharp. Repeat. Lift, press, G, B minor. Lift, press, D, F sharp minor. Repeat, this time her right hand accompanying it an octave higher with the melody. Ring to F sharp, pinky to A, shift, ring to G, middle to F sharp, pointer to C sharp, thumb to B, pointer to C sharp, middle to D, shift, and pointer to A. Then four measures of F sharp, pressing her thumb softly for each dotted half note, all the while her left hand continuing its gentle rhythm of G, B minor; D, F sharp minor, her thumbs briefly overlapping on F sharp itself.

Twelve measures down, sixty-six more to go.

It took Marigold intense concentration, and it was still shaky in parts, but after only two months, she had a decent enough handle on Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1 that she at least felt confident enough performing it for Professor Flitwick to critique. She struggled a bit to incorporate the crescendos and diminuendos, so it wasn't as fluid as it should have been, but everything was still technically correct. She was definitely far from mastering the piece, but it was a start, and for only two months of piano, by the time Mary finished playing, Flitwick was thoroughly impressed by her progress.

Professor Flitwick clapped as the final chord faded away. “Well done, Miss Potter! Truly splendid work.”

Mary gave a hesitant smile. “You really think so?”

“For a beginner such as yourself? Certainly.” he confirmed. “Granted, there is room for improvement, but I think you already knew that, hm?”

At her nod, Flitwick sat down on the piano bench next to her, using a pencil to annotate the three pages of sheet music as he explained both where she could improve, and how. He gave her new exercises to add to her warm-ups, and a few other pieces she could practice in addition to Gymnopedie No. 1. Some of his notes were problems Mary had already identified, but it was also validating to know she was on the right track. All she had to do now was practice.

Marigold hadn't been able to justify to herself shilling out the galleons for a traditional piano, but a magical equivalent to a keyboard was cheap enough that she didn't feel she was throwing away money. When Mary first tested it out when it had arrived in the post, it didn't sound quite right - not that the instrument wasn't in tune, but it simply lacked… something. Flitwick could probably pinpoint exactly what was off about it - resonance or whatever - but it didn't really matter, as Mary could still practice just fine with her keyboard. She kept it beside her desk in her dorm, placing it atop when she practiced, the linked pedal under her desk. The curtains did a decent job of reducing noise, but Mary always put up a muffling charm for good measure, so as not to bother her friends with the same scales over, and over, and over. If nothing else, at least Hedwig enjoyed listening to Mary practice.

---

As the days grew cold and short, Lottie continued to push harder and harder. Marigold knew that if she wanted - especially in the wake of having two of her bones vanished - Lottie would have gladly given Mary time off. Rather, it was by her own choice that she trudged on through the seemingly endless drills. Certainly, she wanted to do well for her own sake and the sake of the team, but as it drew closer to the 6th, Entwhistle had taken to muttering slurs at her under his breath whenever he was near enough to Mary, and god, did she want to beat him more with each passing day. Sure, it would have been easy enough to inform a professor - or even just Wood - and get Entwhistle kicked from the team, but at this point, Mary wanted to show Entwhistle directly that she was better than him, not by going over his head.

However, on the day of the game, Entwhistle was disappointingly nowhere to be found on the pitch. Curiously, judging by the looks of the remaining Gryffindor team members, his absence hadn't been planned. Still, there was a game to play, and the professors could search the castle in the meantime. The game kicked off and as the rest of the team took to the skies, Mary was left on the ground with Dean Thomas, Gryffindor’s reserve Seeker, waiting for the end of the first minute when they could join their teams up in the air.

“Where’s Entwhistle?” Mary asked, making idle conversation as Hooch kept an eye on the time.

“Dunno, he wasn’t in the boys’ dorm when I woke up.” Dean shrugged. “Can’t say I’m disappointed, though.”

She gave Dean a sheepish grin. “To be honest, I was looking forward to wiping that smug look off his face.”

He smirked. “Cheers to that. Seamus nearly kicked his teeth in, that first night after the Dueling Club. Honestly, what an arse.”

“Mm, I hadn’t considered that.” Mary conceded. “I can’t imagine having to dorm with someone like that, especially being… y’know.”

Dean glanced at Madam Hooch, who thankfully still had her attention split solely between the minute hourglass and the game up above, and hadn’t heard a word. Dean nodded to Mary. “It was a bit nervewracking at first, but I’m good at hiding it, and with Seamus there I don’t think Entwhistle would try anything. Not that I can’t defend myself, but I like the advantage of having numbers on my side.”

Before Marigold could agree, Hooch blew her whistle, and with a quick nod shared between them, Mary and Dean took off into the air. They were friends, sure, but this was still a competition. Unfortunately, in Mary’s absence, Hufflepuff had lost their game with Slytherin in November, 135 to 90, putting Hufflepuff dead last in the league rankings. To have a half-decent chance at winning the Cup this year, Mary needed to hold off on catching the Snitch for as long as possible, so as to let the Chasers score points. Mostly, she kept an eye on Dean while she assisted the Chasers in scoring goal after goal, making sure he hadn’t spotted the Snitch. Annoyingly, Dean was damn good at faking that he had, causing her to give chase several times, only to realize a moment later he had lured her away from the Quaffle at the exact right time. However, there was only so many times he could pull it off before Mary began to catch on, and the trick no longer worked.

One such time, Maggie had just managed to get the Quaffle through the Gryffindor hoops, bringing the score to 170 to 110, Hufflepuff’s favor. Mary rushed forward to help bring the Quaffle back to centerfield, when Dean jolted off again. A quick glance to where he was headed, and there was no Snitch to be found, so Mary turned her attention back to-

There!

Marigold cursed, handing the Quaffle off to Cedric and rocketing off after Dean. He had made an indirect line towards the Snitch, causing Mary to think it was a bluff when she saw nothing where he was headed, but as he tacked and changed course, he was now headed straight for it. He had bluffed a bluff, the bastard! The Cleansweep 8 he rode was a slightly newer broom than Mary’s, but it was designed for Chasing, whereas the Nimbus was far more tailored to Seeking and racing. Which meant that what she lost in maneuverability, she made up for with speed, so she still had a chance, she just had to catch up. However, a well placed Bludger from the Weasley twins made Mary swerve at the last second, letting maneuverability win out as Dean plucked the Snitch from the air.

The Last Hurrah was, as always, utter chaos. Mary still wasn’t that great a Chaser, but she’d come a long way since she first started playing the sport. No longer limited in her handling of the Quaffle by her role as Seeker, she even managed to score two goals. By the time Hooch signaled the end of the match, the score was 270 to 265, Hufflepuff’s victory, though only just. Certainly not the satisfying win Marigold had imagined, and she was sure Lottie would give her a kindhearted earful later.

Both teams landed, and shook hands, Dean taking a moment when he shook Mary’s, grinning. “Good game, Marigold.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then giggled. “You really got me, back there.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Hey, if I hadn’t, you would’ve definitely caught the Snitch and Oliver’d have my hide.”

“It won’t work next time.” Mary warned him.

Dean smirked. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. Then again, that’s assuming Entwhistle misses another game.”

“And assuming Wood doesn’t promote you to starter based off this game.” she added.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” he said, shrugging.

---

On the 8th, Hufflepuff had Herbology in the greenhouses with the Gryffindors. What was most concerning, however, was that Entwhistle still had yet to show up. Dumbledore had made an announcement on Saturday night asking anyone with information on his whereabouts to please step forward, but so far, nothing had come of it. Naturally, the castle was in an uproar. Given Catherine Creevey’s petrification, the students had quickly made the assumption that Entwhistle had been gotten as well, possibly killed. The quidditch season had been cancelled, students were now to be escorted at all times, and even Prefects had to travel in groups of two. Speculation ran wild, and rumours abounded.

“Y’know,” Ron mentioned to her, skimming their gillyweed tank, “I’ve actually heard a couple people wonderin’ if the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ is you or me.”

Mary paused in her measuring of nutrients. “Really? What, just ‘cos it’s Entwhistle this time?”

“Guess so. That n' Creevey do kinda add up that way, don’t you think?” he asked.

“It’s a bit of a stretch, but I suppose I can see how someone might assume that.” she conceded.

Marigold resumed pouring wood ash onto one side of the scale. She ran the numbers one more time by hand, double checking with her calculator, then scraped the ash into the small bowl with the rest of the nutrient mix. Mary gave it a quick mix, by which point Ron had finished removing any debris from their tank, and she sprinkled the powdered mixture on the water’s surface, similar to the many times she’d done so with Diana, making their hormones. Unlike with HRP, she grabbed a stir rod and agitated the water, getting the mix to dissolve, more or less. Some sank to the bottom, but it would slowly leech into the water to fertilize the gillyweed, and Mary and Ron would skim the tank again in another two weeks to remove anything left over.

“You’d think he’d be a Slytherin, wouldn’t you?” Ron asked.

Mary looked up at him. “What?”

“The ‘Heir’.” Ron reminded her. “You’d think he’d be a Slytherin. I mean, he’s the Heir, so it would only make sense. Not to mention, all the Gaunts were Slytherins too.”

“But doesn’t that feel a bit too obvious?” she pointed out. “Besides, the Sorting Hat takes your feelings into consideration. They could have convinced it to put them in another House.”

“A feint, then.” Ron mused. “Clever. Sneaky. Just like a Slytherin.”

Mary rolled her eyes. Despite her friendship with Diana at least convincing Ron that Slytherins weren’t all ‘evil slimy snakes’, he still leaned into a lot of the stereotypes of the four Houses.

“Or maybe,” Ron continued, “It could be a double feint. Get us to think he’s in another House, when really, he’s been in Slytherin all along. No… maybe a triple feint-”

“I’m just going to keep an eye out for an anguisurrator.” Mary interrupted. “At least that has a more realistic chance of actually getting us somewhere.”

“Fair.” Ron muttered, but Mary could tell he was already off in his own world of triple, quadruple, and N-tuple feints, and all the absurdly convoluted mind games that came along with it. It was part of what made him brilliant at chess, but it had the side effect of making him easily distracted. Besides, it was entirely possible that Ron would figure it out this way. He’d certainly done so before, though with more trivial matters, such as who nicked the last biscuit at the Burrow while he was out weeding the garden.

---

That night at dinner, Sir Nicholas, the resident ghost of Gryffindor tower, came flying into the Great Hall, down the center aisle between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and up to the dais. Him being there wasn’t particularly unusual, but the speed and determination with which he flew was. The student body hushed, hoping to pick out any words as he talked with McGonagall and Dumbledore. McGonagall quickly wiped her mouth and hurried out of the Great Hall, and the students began clamoring for answers. They didn’t have to wait long, as Dumbledore made his way around the staff table and up to the podium.

He cleared his throat, waiting a moment as the Hall grew quiet once again, before he spoke. “I have just been informed by Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, that he has found our missing second-year Gryffindor, Kevin Entwhistle.”

After a momentary outburst from the student body, he continued.

“We are currently investigating the situation,” he began, “But it would appear that whosoever attacked Mister Entwhistle not only petrified him, as with young Miss Creevey, but hid him within his own trunk, in Gryffindor Tower.”

Chapter Text

“This is completely mad, you know!” Diana laughed.

“Shh!” Marigold whispered. “My muffling charm is good, but you still need to be quiet or you'll get us caught.”

“Right, sorry.” she apologized, shifting closer to Mary.

The two girls carefully made their way through the halls, their footsteps silent thanks to Mary's charm. In light of Entwhistle’s attack, a handful of Aurors had been brought in to patrol the halls. While this was great for security, that and the even stricter escort system made it nearly impossible for Mary and Diana to slip away undetected in order to brew hormones. And it would have been completely impossible, were it not for James Potter’s invisibility cloak, under which the two girls were hiding.

“But seriously,” Diana spoke up again, making sure to keep her voice low, “How in Morgana’s name does something like this even exist? It's as if it's straight out of Beedle the Bard.”

Mary frowned. “Out of what?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn't know.” she conceded. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard is a wixen kids book. It's got stories like Babbity Rabbity, the Hopping Pot, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, like fairy tales.”

“If that's what moxen call it, sure.” Diana shrugged. “Anyway, one of the stories is the Three Brothers. Basically, the three brothers use magic to safely cross a dangerous river, which makes Death mad, because they should have died. So Death tricks them, pretending to be impressed, and grants them each a gift that they ask for. The oldest brother asks for an unbeatable wand, so Death takes a branch from a nearby elder tree, fashions it into a wand, and gives it to him. The middle brother, wanting to humiliate Death, asks for a way to bring the dead back, so Death hands him a stone from the riverbed, telling him to turn it over three times, and it will bring back whoever he thinks of. However, the youngest brother sees through Death’s facade and asks for the cloak off Death’s back, so Death reluctantly takes it off and gives it to him.

“The oldest brother uses his wand to great effect, slaying his enemies, but one night in a drunken stupor, boasts of his unbeatable wand taken from Death himself. A thief, hearing his words, slips into his room that night, taking the wand and killing him in his sleep. And so Death claims the first brother.

“The middle brother uses the stone to bring back his lost love who had died of illness. For a time, they are happy, but his love no longer belongs in the world of the living, instead wanting to return to death. Unable to bear his love’s sadness, he kills her, then himself. And so Death claims the second brother.

“However, the youngest brother uses Death's cloak to remain hidden. Try as he might, Death looks and looks for him, but cannot find him. Only when the youngest brother has lived a long and happy life does he finally take off the cloak, give it to his son, and join Death as equals.”

Marigold stopped, looking at Diana in shock.

“You read that to children?” she asked, incredulous.

Diana paused. “I suppose it is a bit morbid, isn't it?”

“‘A bit’?” Mary hissed. “Diana, you've got assassination and murder suicide. What the hell!?”

She smirked. “What was that about being quiet?”

Mary blushed, shaking her head in disbelief at the grim nature of the story. The two continued on, soon arriving at Myrtle’s bathroom, Diana’s recounting taking up the majority of the trip. Marigold locked the door, casting a muffling charm on it.

“Right, so we'll need to brew two more batches of the Arrestor concentrate.” Diana said, having taken stock of their supplies. “But other than that, I should be fine with the Elixir I have on hand, and I won't need to brew any Gender Fluid over break.”

“Will your father notice?” Mary asked.

Diana shook her head. “Not likely. He leaves me to my own devices, so long as I put on a good front when we have company. Besides, I'm staying at Hogwarts over Yule.”

Mary boggled at that. “But what about the attacks?”

She shrugged. “Well, it's the Heir of Slytherin - or more likely, some secret Gaunt descendant. Creevey and Entwhistle were both moxenborn, whereas aside from me being trans - which no one else knows about - I'm more or less the perfect model Slytherin pure-blood.” she said, curling her lip with distaste. “It's not like I want to be seen that way, but I certainly don't mind working it to my advantage.”

Mary grimaced, but conceded the point. She was still concerned for her friend's safety, but she had to admit that Diana was far from a likely target. Personally, Mary was relieved she'd get a break from the castle and its nefarious goings-on as of late. The Doctors Granger had invited her to their home for Yule break, and despite the apprehensions ingrained into her by a decade living with her Aunt and Uncle, she couldn't help but admit she was ecstatic. Mary just had to survive midterm exams, and she'd be on the train back to London with Hermione.

---

The morning of the 20th, the castle was abuzz with activity. Naturally, Marigold had already packed for break the night before, after the second half of the History of Magic exam. However, Madam Pomfrey still wanted to get one last check-up in before Mary went off to the Grangers. After being escorted by Truman and Tamsin, who were being run ragged that morning as one of Hufflepuff’s three pairs of Prefects, Mary made her way through the main section of the Hospital Wing to Pomfrey’s office. As she passed by one of the doors to the private care rooms, it opened, revealing a man, woman, and child - judging by their resemblance, the Creeveys. The man - Mr Creevey - had the same mousy brown hair as both his children, and his eyes lit up as he spotted Mary.

“Marigold Potter, yes?” he asked, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Burton Creevey, it's nice to meet you.”

Mary froze, but managed to at least shake his hand. “Er, hi, yeah. You're Catherine's dad?”

He nodded. “This is my wife, Evelyn, and our son, Dennis.”

Mary returned the gesture when the other two Creeveys waved at her, but was at a loss for what to say or do.

Mrs Creevey gave her a smile. “We know from her letters that you didn't have… the best introduction to our daughter, but she was still quite happy to have met you. And she's always been rather excitable, so… Well, let's just say we're not overly surprised it went how it did.”

Mary exchanged a sheepish grin with her. “Yeah, I er, I feel bad about how it went. I'm just not very fond of being famous. Especially for… that.”

Mr Creevey winced. “I can't imagine.” After a pause, he cleared his throat. “Well, it was great to meet you regardless. I'm sure you've got things to do, and we were just leaving. Some other time, perhaps?”

She blinked, mildly stunned. “O-oh, er, alright.”

The Creeveys went on their way, exiting the Wing and leaving Mary confused as to what exactly just happened. Typically, even being autistic, she thought she managed at least somewhat decently at social interactions, but this one… Mary was at a loss. She hoped Mr Creevey had been kidding when he had proposed they talk again.

Marigold was broken from her thoughts as another door opened, this time revealing a far less pleasant sight - a woman with the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Entwhistle, her face immediately souring when she noticed Mary.

“You!” she snarled, advancing towards Mary. “You're that- that thing that attacked my boy! You're the reason he's-”

“Linda Entwhistle!” Madam Pomfrey shouted, immediately grabbing the woman's attention as Pomfrey stormed over, standing between her and Mary, who was currently backed up against the wall in fear. “Now, I am more than welcome to allow you regular visitation with your son, but that can be done just as easily at St Mungo's if you cannot behave yourself. He is here as a courtesy to allow his friends to visit him.”

“You're defending him!?” Mrs Entwhistle demanded.

Pomfrey set her jaw, staring the mother down. “Miss Potter has done nothing wrong. You, on the other hand, have disturbed the peace of my Hospital Wing twice now, and if you don't want your privileges revoked, you will not make it a third.”

Before she could respond either way, a man who was presumably Mr Entwhistle, based off the nose he shared with Kevin, joined her in the main room of the Wing.

“Honey? What's-” His nostrils flared as he noticed Mary, and he opened his mouth, likely to take his turn yelling at and accusing Mary.

“We're leaving, Gerald.” his wife replied dismissively, though not before shooting both Mary and Madam Pomfrey a disgusted look.

Mr Entwhistle glared at Mary, visibly enraged, and for a moment, she wasn't sure whether he would listen to his wife or not. Thankfully, he soon followed her out, slamming the door behind them - a mildly terrifying display of strength, given the sheer size of the large, solid oak doors.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I'm terribly sorry about that, Marigold. Had I known you would cross paths with them, I would have asked you to come another time.”

“It-i-it’s alri-ight. M’fine.” Mary stammered, still pressed against the cool stone bricks of the Hospital Wing’s wall.

Pomfrey merely raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, causing Mary to blush slightly in embarrassment.

The old mediwitch led Mary back to her office, casting various diagnostic scans, as well as drawing a few drops of blood to brew the Gender Fluid Mary wasn't allowed to take. Still, the backlog meant that when she finally could take the potion, it would be tailored almost perfectly to her. There were no changes in Marigold’s medical results, other than the barest of changes in height and weight. Madam Pomfrey had been monitoring her vitals religiously ever since Mary started taking Androgen Arrestor - or as Pomfrey had interpreted it, since she had possibly begun puberty. With a clean bill of health, Madam Pomfrey gave Mary a case of several vials of Dreamless Sleep.

“Just in case you get that nightmare again.” she explained. “Now, there's a roll of parchment inside as well, explaining the dosage, and I've sent a duplicate set of instructions in an owl to the Grangers. So when you arrive at their home, I expect you to hand these to them for safekeeping, understood?”

Marigold nodded. “Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

She gave Mary a warm smile. “Good girl. Now, off you pop, and I'll see you in a few weeks.”

---

The train ride home was rather subdued. Similar to the week after Creevey had been petrified, whispered rumors and theories had been running rampant as students tried to figure out who was behind the attacks. While Creevey had been found petrified in the halls where anyone could get to her, the fact Entwhistle had been found in his trunk brought new information. For one, whoever was behind the attacks had managed to get into Gryffindor Tower, which was password protected. As such, assuming the Gryffindor’s hadn't had a security breach, the culprit must have been a Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, that was about as far as the suspect pool could be narrowed down. Still, only having to consider Gryffindors was a huge lead, and one the Aurors had been following closely. According to Ron's brothers, they had practically torn the tower apart brick by brick over the course of the last two weeks, but still no additional evidence had been found. It had made all of the lions incredibly nervous to potentially be sleeping in the same room as the Heir, even with their House’s bravery. Septimus in particular hadn't been sleeping very well because of it, and was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride home, occasionally dozing off for a minute or two before snapping back awake in a brief panic. At Marigold's urging, he at least promised to ask Madam Pomfrey about getting some Draught of Dreamless Sleep after Yule break.

When they finally stepped off the Hogsmeade Express and onto Platform 9 ¾, Hermione was immediately swept into a hug by her mother, while her father hugged Mary. The children swapped adults, and after a final round of hugs with Neville, his Gran, as many Weasleys as could manage, and a few Lovegoods, the Grangers and sole Potter left the platform. Not having wands to hail the Knight Bus with, the Doctors Granger had driven to King's Cross, and so Mary and Hermione loaded their trunks into the car, everyone piled in, and they set off to the Granger residence.

---

After unpacking the essentials, Hermione flopped back onto Marigold’s bed, sighing in relief. She cracked open an eye, smiling as she looked up at where Mary was finishing setting up Hedwig’s stand by the window. The owl herself was out hunting, glad to stretch her wings after spending the train ride cooped up in her cage.

“Happy to be back?” Mary asked.

“Happy to not feel like I'm being hunted.” Hermione clarified. “Both victims have been moxenborn, and it's not like I'm particularly quiet about my heritage.”

“True.” she conceded. “At least the Heir probably isn't a Hufflepuff?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As if the Hufflepuff dorm entrance is a secret. Besides, we've got friends in Gryffindor.” A sly smile crept across her face. “Actually, I'm surprised you're not more worried.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Mary squeaked, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her feigned innocence.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” she teased. “Buuut, if you insist on me spelling it out for you, what I mean is that Septimus is in Gryffindor. He may not be moxenborn, but the Weasleys are quite vocal about their opposition to blood purism.”

“W-well, we're all friends with Sept-” she protested weakly.

Hermione grinned smugly. “But yoouu faaancy hiiim!” she sang.

Marigold flopped face-first into her bed, burying herself in the pillows to hide her increasingly red face and wide smile.

“Shut uuup!” she whined, drawing a blank on any possible retort.

This only served to cause Hermione to cackle with glee. Mary huffed as she rolled over, failing to fight off a grin.

“You're horrible.” she pouted.

Hermione merely flapped her hands, a smile on her face. “What exactly is it you like about him?” she asked. “I'm not teasing - for now, at least - I'm genuinely curious.”

Mary drew in a breath as her cheeks heated back up. As she struggled to find words, she was saved.

“Girls?” Dennis Granger called from the hallway through the open door to the room Mary would be using, knocking on the doorframe. “Would you mind coming down for a moment? Your m- Valerie and I would like to talk to you about school.”

Hermione grimaced as Mary let out a sigh of momentary relief. No doubt this would also be a stressful conversation, but at least it wouldn't be so embarrassing as talking about her crush. Dennis tried to calm Hermione's nerves by telling her that no one was in trouble, though she was still as anxious as ever by the time they all sat down in the living room where Valerie already was, working on some embroidery.

Valerie set her project aside, patting her legs as she looked up at the two young witches. “So, to address the elephant in the room, the petrifications - what's going on up there? Dennis and I have gotten the letters, but they don't have a whole lot of detail, likely since it's an ongoing investigation.”

“Well,” Hermione began, with no small amount of trepidation, “So far, there have only been two attacks. Catherine Creevey, a first year, and Kevin Entwhistle, a second year. Both were alone when the attack took place, so the Aurors believe we’re still safe, so long as we stay in groups.”

“I see.” Dennis said, fiddling with the ends of his somewhat sparse mustache. “And do they have a suspect? Motive? Modus operandi?” He grimaced. “…Anything?” he asked, clearly desperate for some semblance of reassurance.

“Er, sort of?” Mary answered. “I mean, there are theories, but nothing's official yet.”

Valerie arched an eyebrow, studying Mary intently. After a pause, she asked, “…And unofficially?”

Mary swallowed as she realized Valerie had seen right through the white lie. “Er, on Samhain, there was… a message. Written in- in rooster blood.”

“‘The Chamber of Secrets is open once more. Enemies of the Heir, beware’.” Hermione gravely recited.

“‘Unsubstantiated threats’.” Dennis muttered, scowling. “That’s all we were told about it at the time.”

“What does it mean?” Valerie asked. “Who's this ‘Heir’, and what's the ‘Chamber of Secrets’?”

The Grangers and Mary sat in silence for a while after Hermione finished relaying the impromptu lesson Binns had given them shortly after Creevey's petrification.

Marigold cleared her throat. “There's er, there's more.”

All eyes turned expectantly towards her, though Hermione nodded, aware of where Mary was going.

“…I’ve heard him. The Heir.” she clarified. “He's an anguisurrator - a snake-speaker, like me. Whatever monster is in the Chamber - we think it's an ilomba - he's controlling it.”

“Except as far as anyone knows,” Hermione continued, “There are no anguisurratrums in Hogwarts. So whoever he is, he's keeping his ability secret, too.”

“Have you… have you told anyone?” Dennis asked, clearly at a loss.

Mary winced. In a small voice, she answered, “…Professors are allowed to walk around alone. They've all been ‘cleared’, so… We're not- I- I can't-” She swallowed, sniffling. “…I don't trust the Aurors, and I don't want to become a target.”

Valerie took Marigold's shaking hands into her own, calmly rubbing the back of them with her thumbs. “What professors do you trust, dear?”

As Valerie calmed Mary down, she walked the girls through the plan. Over break, they would send owls to only a select few professors that they knew would protect the girls and their Identities. Additionally, Dennis had Mary and Hermione swear that under no circumstances would they ever be alone when they returned to the castle.

That was the most surprising part to Mary - that they were still allowing Hermione to return to Hogwarts, even knowing the situation. Although, there wasn't a much safer place at Hogwarts than at Mary's side. Not only had the attacks all been on isolated individuals, but if the Heir was controlling the ilomba in anguisurrian, Mary would hear them coming long before they got near enough to hurt them.

---

While she had been at Hogwarts, since it only needed to be taken once a week, Marigold took her Androgen Arrestor in Myrtle's bathroom when she and Diana were already there for brewing. However, at the Grangers, she'd had to improvise. So it was the first night, after she had finished her shower, that she unwrapped the bottle of Arrestor concentrate from where it was hidden in her bundle of clothes. Pouring some into a paper cup, she diluted it appropriately, and had brought the cup to her lips when Hermione opened the door and time froze.

Her first thought was how glad she was that she'd at least wrapped a towel around herself.

Her second thought was a rather succinct fuck.

Hermione backed up slowly, gently closing the door after her. Her heart quickly beating into a panicked frenzy, Mary downed her illegal HRP, threw on some clothes, grabbed her things, and ran after her. Except when Hermione wasn't in her bedroom, Mary's heart plummeted.

“Marigold?”

Mary whirled around to see Hermione leaning out of the doorway to Mary's room. She sighed in relief that she hadn't been immediately busted, but she had yet to calm down.

“Er, can- c-ca-an we t- can w-we ta-alk?” Mary stammered.

Hermione nodded. “I think that would be best.”

The girls sat down on Mary's bed in silence. After nearly a minute, Hermione spoke.

“What was that potion?”

Marigold winced. Hermione was straight to the point as always. Not seeing a point in hiding it any longer, she responded honestly, “Androgen Arrestor.”

Hermione frowned. “So Madam Pomfrey is illegally supplying you with HRP? She'll lose her Healer’s license!”

Mary shook her head vehemently. “Madam Pomfrey doesn't know about it. She has nothing to do with it.”

Hermione looked at her, aghast. “Don't tell me you're brewing it yourself? Don't get me wrong, you're not bad at Potions, but this is- Marigold, that's an OWL level potion at least.”

“Er, no, it's not me.”

“Well then, who?”

Mary grimaced. “…Theodore?”

Hermione let out a sigh, the tension flooding from her body. “Good, good.” She paused, tilting her head in thought. “Is Theodore transgender, as well?”

“Er… n-no? Why would you think that?” Mary responded unconvincingly.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing Mary at all. After a moment she stood up. “Well, good night then, Marigold.”

Mary blinked as Hermione made her way to the door. “Er, sorry, what?”

She turned around. “…What?”

“‘Good night’?” Mary echoed. “That's it!?”

Hermione stared at her. “Yes? What were you expecting?”

Mary boggled at her. “I- I don't know! A lecture, telling on me, something! Anything!” she hissed. “I'm taking potions illegally, I just- I was expecting a bit more of a reaction!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, sitting back down on Mary's bed and holding her hands. “Marigold, do you know why I know that Androgen Arrestor is an OWL level potion?”

She scrunched up her nose, shaking her head.

“Because, silly, I looked it up so I could brew it for you. The only reason I haven't is because I don't think I have that skill yet. I could probably brew it now if I had enough time to try over and over, but I don't think I could keep up with the regimen HRP requires.” Hermione explained, receiving a dumbfounded stare in return. “I don't care that you're taking Androgen Arrestor - in fact, I'm glad you are! I just wanted to make sure you weren’t taking improperly brewed Androgen Arrestor.”

Marigold couldn't help it as a laugh escaped her lips. Then another. As her laughter grew, it quickly shifted into quiet sobs, and Mary curled up on herself. Hermione gingerly placed an arm around her, rubbing her back.

“I- I’m-m-m s-so-so-orry-y!” Mary blubbered, trying to keep her voice down. “I d- I don't kn-n-now why- w-why I-I'm cr-ry-cryin-ng!”

“Probably because you were scared.” Hermione murmured. “You didn't know what I'd do, and so you were afraid I'd get you in trouble.” She paused, squeezing Mary in a hug. “I'm sorry, by the way. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“B-but you- but y-you didn't t-tell.” she sniffled, uncurling a bit to wipe her eyes.

“Maybe not,” Hermione conceded, inclining her head, “But that doesn't change that you didn't know that at first. And now that things are safe, it's like- it's like a fizzy drink! All that pressure builds up inside as the bottle gets tossed about, and even though the glass doesn't break, that pressure is still there. So when the lid gets taken off, pop! It's all over the place.” She grimaced at her analogy. “And it's a huge mess and everything is sticky and gross, and-” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “Bit of a tangent at the end, but I think you get the idea.”

Marigold gave a wet giggle. “I suppose m-my tears are- are the fizzy drink making a m- a-a mess?”

Hermione hummed. “I was thinking more of your emotions, but I suppose that fits quite well too, doesn't it?”

Mary leaned into Hermione’s side as they sat in their embrace. She was truly so incredibly lucky to have her as a friend and a sister.

---

Marigold knew a lot about moxy Christmas traditions, especially those involving making food. Growing up in the Dursley household, Mary was quite adept at cooking a variety of Christmas dishes, but that she ever got to eat any beyond a taste to check her seasoning (bland, with the barest whiff of flavor - just how Aunt Petunia liked it). Mary had gotten a bit of an idea what Christmas could be during Yule break at Hogwarts last year, but baking with the Baking Club was an entirely different atmosphere to baking with Hermione and her parents.

However when it came to personal experience with Christmas celebrations, Mary was at a loss. On the 22nd, after having spent Sunday at home relaxing and enjoying each other's company for Yule, the Grangers and Marigold went out to the cinema. Mary had never been before, but apparently it was a regular occurrence for the Granger household. The film they selected for the day was The Muppet Christmas Carol, which had been released only a few days prior.

Hermione being autistic, much of the flashy lights, sounds, smells, and activity of the cinema was rather overwhelming. But Hermione being… well, Hermione, she had a well rehearsed solution, and one Mary was all too grateful for, as she used some of the tactics as well. Firstly, a pair of earmuffs. It was certainly cold enough out to warrant their use, but the main benefit was to dampen the noises around them, as well as while watching the film itself. Secondly, sunglasses. The screen was quite bright, and especially with the other lights off, the contrast was harsh. Mary wasn't as bothered by the lights though, which was just as well, since wearing sunglasses overtop her prescription glasses was uncomfortable. Thirdly, scarves. Again, it was quite cold out, but the girls wrapped them around their faces as well, covering their noses and filtering out the majority of the smells. Finally, Hermione's parents made sure to keep the girls between them at all times, so as to act as a buffer between the rest of the movie-goers.

The film itself was rather enjoyable, though Marigold wasn't familiar with any of the puppeted characters. Thankfully, Hermione was all too glad to explain their typical roles on the way back home. Apparently, the Grangers had several Muppet movies on VHS, so Hermione promised to play a few of them over the rest of the break.

---

From the desk of Heir Theodore Adonis Nott, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Nott

Heiress Marigold Potter -

Looking forward to seeing you again, once the break is over. Everything here is… manageable. Manageable, yes, but boring. Or rather, dull. No doubt, things will be more exciting once the security isn't quite so tight.

Just waiting for exam results has been agonizing. Usually, I don't find it quite so annoying, but with everything going on, it's quite stressful. Could the professors not grade any faster? Eventually we'll get them, but the wait is bothersome.

Hope you're having a capital time with the Grangers.

Sincerely,

Theodore

Mary looked over the letter several times. It was completely unlike anything Diana had ever sent her, and it was honestly a bit hard to believe it was from her at all. More importantly, it was worrying her as to what caused her to pen such a letter. The wording was stilted and forced - Marigold had never heard Diana call something “capital” before. Whatever the case, something was clearly wrong, if only Diana could just tell Mary what it was.

…Unless. Unless she already had. Going off a hunch, Mary grabbed a scrap piece of paper, and combed over the letter again, writing as she did.

F, H, T, A, N, A, M, N, H, N. ‘Tan am NHN’? No, that wasn’t anything.

H, M, P? Still no.

L, E, M, O, N- There it was!

J, U, C- No, J, U, I, C, E.

H, G. S, T. Nothing at the end, but the message had been decoded. Diana had never called something ‘capital’ before, and that was the entire point - looking only at the capital letters, the two body paragraphs of Diana's letter spelled out a hidden message.

“‘Lemon juice’…” Mary muttered.

Her eyes went wide as she ran to the bathroom. Lemon juice had a variety of uses in both cooking and potioneering, but one unorthodox use was as invisible ink. Grabbing a hair dryer from the bathroom, Mary plugged it into a socket in her room, turning it on to low and hot, gently heating the parchment Diana’s letter was written on. Slowly, the back of the letter began to darken in spots, and letters began to form.

Congratulations! You figured it out!

Sorry about the secrecy, but with the castle crawling with Aurors I wouldn't put it past them to vet owls, and I don't want to risk my father learning anything he shouldn't.

Anyways, how cool is this? Moxen are so inventive, and the genius of it all is that wixen wouldn't think to check for a nonmagical message like this.

Hope your break is going well. Hogwarts is dreadful, but it's still no Mitternachtsvilla. They're still tearing the castle apart, but our HRP supplies should be fine - Myrtle’s taking her job as guard incredibly seriously. Apparently, the Aurors have tried to investigate her bathroom, but she's chased them off. Did you know she died the last time the Chamber was opened? I don't know how that hasn't come up before, but it's made it easy for her. None of the Aurors would dare accuse her of protecting the Heir, seeing as she's one of his victims, in a way. Besides, it's not like she's hiding anything relevant, just our potions stuff.

Unless you've been running around petrifying students? Joking, of course.

I wasn't kidding about things being boring, though. I know it's barely been half a week, but the break is dragging on forever. At least with classes there was something to do, but now the only places we’re allowed are the Great Hall, the Library, and our Common Rooms. It's positively dreadful.

Write back! Please! I've got nothing else to do, and there's only so much I can talk to Sofia about. If you've got a dip pen - and I know you do, so no excuses! - write the important stuff in lemon juice on the back.

Talk to you soon! (Hopefully…)

Diana Azalea Nott

---

From: Ronald Weasley, the Burrow

To: Marigold Potter, Granger house

Hey, Mary!

Hope everything's going good over there with you and Hermione. Yule here was about normal. Mum was a bit off though, what with Bill and Charlie out of the house. But the Lovegoods came over again, so she couldn't mope around all day. Luna says hi, by the way. Also, Sept is still having nightmares, I think. He's just been real dazed lately. Mum's brewed him some Dreamless Sleep, so hopefully that'll help. Fred and George have been in their room since we got back, which is bloody terrifying. I'm sure they're planning something, but I don't know what. Percy’s doing fine as well. He actually went over to the Diggory’s for Yule morning. I think he's got a thing for Cedric’s older sister?

Anyway, Mum and Dad got a letter from Charlie the other day, and guess what? She's trans too! Still going by Charlie, of course, but now it's short for Charlotte. Apparently, she was scared of what Mum would think and that's why she ran off to Romania, but when she got Mum and Dad's letter about Sept, she realized it was fine. I dunno why she thought Mum would have a problem with it though. We've been friends with the Lovegoods for ages, and she's never had a problem with Pandora. I guess she thought it was different since she's her kid and not her neighbor? But anyway, Mum's over the moon to have a daughter again. When Charlie comes home, she's in for loads of girly stuff.

That's another thing - Charlie's coming home! She still has to finish out her contract with the Romanian reserve, but after that, she's getting transferred to the one over in Wales!

I'm worried if I make this letter much longer, Errol won't be able to carry it with everything else, so I'll stop here. Hope you and Hermione enjoy the presents. See you next year!

Love,

Ron

---

From the desk of Neville Francis Longbottom, Heir to the Noble House of Longbottom

Dear Marigold,

Sorry about the heading. Gran got me loads of stationary last Yule, and I still haven't used it all up. How's Christmas with Hermione going? Gran considered hosting a Yule Ball this year, but thankfully decided against it, since you're spending break with the Grangers. I don't think that will work indefinitely, though.

Regardless, we still ended up going to the Abbotts’ Yule Ball. Usually we'd go to the Bones’, but with the whole Chamber situation, Susan’s aunt is being run ragged as head of the DMLE, so she didn't have time to plan hosting. She and Susan were still there, of course. Susan and Hannah are both doing fine, if a bit worried about their midterm marks. I think our whole year is worried about the DADA exam, especially since the tighter security meant no DA meetings for the last couple weeks of term.

Tomorrow's Christmas, and while we don't celebrate, Gran and I are going to go see Mum and Dad again. I don't think they've been handling it well that I don't visit as often, since I can't go see them when we're at Hogwarts. Hopefully, we can fit in another visit before the new year. Mum seems to enjoy hearing about you. I'll be sure to send pictures.

As much as the petrifications are terrifying, I'm excited to go back to Hogwarts. I miss spending time with you, Ron, and Hermione. At least I have my greenhouses here. Love you loads, and see you soon.

Your brother,

Neville

Chapter Text

Marigold opened the carriage door and was immediately swept into a hug she gladly returned.

“It’s gr-reat to see you again.” Neville murmured into her hair.

“You too, Nev.” she replied, beaming as she pulled away.

Mary stepped around him and stowed her trunk in the overhead compartment, setting Hedwig’s cage on her lap as she sat down. Neville offered Hermione a hug in the meantime, though she opted to give him a handshake instead.

“Traffic was horrid, sorry.” Hermione grumbled. “You’d think people could get around London without constantly laying on their horns, but you’d be wrong, apparently.”

“Ouch.” Neville grimaced. “I hope your Christmas was good, at least.”

Hermione nodded, sitting down and leaning back.

Mary perked up. “It was really fun! I’ve never really been a part of Christmas celebrations before.” She scrunched up her nose. “Well, there was last year, I suppose, but it was completely different, really. Mr Dennis’ family came over - his parents, his sister, and her wife - and we all went to Christmas Eve service, then they spent the night and we had Christmas together.”

Hermione gave a tired smile. “My parents are both Catholic, and so are their families.”

Neville furrowed his brow. “Are you not as well?”

She sighed. “I tried when I was younger, but…” She shrugged. “I’m very facts-oriented, so it’s hard for me to have faith in things without definitive proof. I still enjoy attending service with Mum and Dad, especially with how routine it is, plus I enjoy spending time with them.” Hermione flapped a hand. “I think mostly they’re just glad I’ve grown out of my ‘interrogate the priest’ phase.”

“I think your Aunt Abigail was also glad to have someone to talk to during service.” Mary added. “I’d imagine it’s a bit boring when you’re deaf and the service doesn’t have a BSL interpreter.”

Hermione huffed. “Don’t remind me. Dad’s been petitioning the church to get one, but there ‘isn’t enough demand to justify the expenditure’.” she mocked. “It’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, really. The Deaf and Hard of Hearing aren’t really going to attend if there’s not an interpreter, but if they dont attend, the church won’t hire an interpreter, and so on and so forth.”

“I didn’t realise you had a deaf Aunt.” Neville said, shifting as the train began to move. “Though that explains why you picked up BSL so quickly with Maddy.”

She shrugged. “I never really thought to mention it, I suppose. But yes, I knew a lot of the basics from Aunt Abby, I just never had a more consistent reason to put it into practice. Aunt Abby and Aunt Eun-Mi visit from time to time, but it’s different when you use BSL every day. Like how I learned French.”

Neville did a double-take. “Wait, you speak French, too?”

Hermione blushed. “Well, Mum’s family mostly lives in France, so we spend every other Christmas and summer there. The trips are long enough that it gets ingrained.”

Mary wiggled. “Hermione’s parents invited me along for this year’s visit. I’ve never been to the continent before!”

Neville grinned. “Oh, wow! That’s exciting!”

“What’s excitin’?” Ron asked, opening the door.

Neville’s grin grew even wider. “Ron!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Good to see you too, mate.” Ron laughed, returning the hug. “I got people behind me, though.”

Neville pulled away, blushing as he stepped aside to allow Ron, Sept, and Luna entry into the compartment. Mary felt a blush of her own grow as she waved to Sept, who returned it with an exhausted smile.

“Still not sleeping well?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer from the dark circles under his eyes.

“No, not rea-” Septimus’ response was cut off by a yawn. He huffed in amusement at the timing.

Ron snorted. “He’s been like that all break. Mum even dug out one o’ her Medicine books to cast a couple diagnostics on him, but nothing showed up.”

“S’probably just the stress of havin’ a monster loose in the castle.” Sept grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Luna hummed as she sat down cross-legged on the floor. “We wouldn’t be so sure. Your wrackspurt infestation seems to have taken a turn for the worse.” She layed down, stretching her arms upward. “The odd thing is that it was starting to clear up a couple months ago. We’re not sure what changed.”

Hermione took a couple of deep breaths before responding. “And what, pray tell, is a wrackspurt, and does it actually exist?”

“Well, of course it exists.” Luna answered, tucking her hands under her head. “They’re little creatures that buzz around in your ears and make your head feel fuzzy. However, they’re impossibly small, so most people can’t see them.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yet of course, you can see them, I assume?”

Luna tapped the frames of her thick glasses.

“They’re not real, if y’ask anyone else.” Sept mumbled, shuffling to his feet. “I’m goin’ t’the bathroom, don’ kill each other while ’m gone.”

Marigold stared after him as he left the compartment. He really was dead on his feet.

Ron shook his head. “It’s a wonder he’s even movin’, if you ask me. Mum says he’s gettin’ more than enough sleep, it’s just not restful sleep.”

“Maybe his body isn’t sleeping when he is.” Luna suggested.

“How would that even-” Hermione cut herself off, rubbing her temples. “Nope, not getting into it.”

Luna shrugged. “We have a few theories, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright.”

“And how many of those theories are actually reasonable?” Ron asked, arching an eyebrow.

Luna winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Ronald Bilius?”

“Oi!” he protested. “Don't call me Bilius!”

---

The rest of the ride back to Hogwarts was relatively calm, as Sept prodded them into moving on from his sleep troubles when he got back to the compartment. Instead, they spent most of the time recounting their breaks, followed by a bit of study and review for the upcoming semester, much to Ron’s dismay. Sept, at least, got out of studying by promptly falling asleep in his seat, which Ron found a bit unfair, but he begrudgingly let his brother sleep.

When they finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Aurors were stationed at every entrance and exit, both of the station and of each train car. They methodically let out one car at a time, waiting until its passengers had all boarded escorted carriages to the castle, before letting out the next car in the line. As such, it was no wonder it took nearly an hour before Marigold and her friends were finally let out, seeing as they had the misfortune of being near the caboose. As Mary hopped down the stairs, she was bumped from behind, tumbling out. Thankfully, the Auror at the exit caught Mary by the arms before she fell to the ground.

“Wotcher, Potter.” they casually greeted her, lifting her back upright. The Auror looked over her head, behind Mary. “Be careful there, mini-Weasley.”

Mary looked behind her to a shocked and red-faced Sept. “Merlin, I-I'm sorry, Mary.” he apologized. “I…” he trailed off, then shook his head vigorously, following it up with a double slap to his cheeks. “I'm awake now, promise.”

Mary waved him off. “You're fine.” She couldn't help but smile at him.

The Auror clapped, getting their attention. “Right, all good? Keep goin’ then, you can flirt in the carriage, yeah?”

Marigold flushed beet red, hurrying forward after the rest of the line and towards the carriages. Of course, as her luck would have it, it was the same Auror who trailed her group to escort her carriage, hanging onto the side of the carriage’s exterior as it trundled up the cobblestone path to Hogwarts, wand at the ready. Mary took solace in the fact that at least Sept was blushing like mad as well. In trying to avoid looking at Sept though, she made eye contact with the Auror, who winked with a smirk, and… their eye turned blue?

Mary did a double-take, but when she looked again, their eyes were back to grey. A trick of the light, then. Unless they were a metamorphmagus, which, while unlikely, wasn't impossible. Metamorphmaga? Honestly, Mary couldn't tell which, though maybe that was the intention, if they were a metamorphmagum. She could probably ask when they reached-

The carriage shook and the windows rattled in their frames as a sudden nearby thunderbolt rocked the area. The carriage lurched forward for a moment before the driver stilled it. Hermione was curled up opposite Mary, covering her ears, but Ron and Neville were staring out the window, back towards the station, looks of horror on their faces.

Mary turned around, realizing that not only was it not raining, but the sky was completely clear, so what-

A massive plume of smoke rose up into the sky from Hogsmeade Station.

---

All anyone talked about the first week back was the explosion on January 2nd. Details were still slowly making their way in, but it seemed that while there were a handful of injuries to those closest to the blast - all train staff and Aurors - there were no casualties. The real damage was that done to the engine car of the Express. They were still investigating, but regardless of who or what was behind the explosion, the Hogsmeade Express was out of commission.

With the original creator of the engine long dead, it was going to take time finding the blueprints, repairing, rebuilding, and reenchanting the train engine. In the meantime, it simply wasn't feasible to escort the students out of Hogwarts individually without spreading the Auror presence dangerously thin. They were trapped until the Express was running again.

The timing couldn't be a coincidence. Whoever was behind the petrifications was making damn sure his potential victims couldn't escape. Not only that, the explosion being at the station meant that whoever the Heir was, he'd managed to slip in and out of the castle undetected.

He was boasting.

In response to the Heir's increased boldness, a rotating guard of Aurors was stationed outside of Professor Sprout’s office, where she was cultivating the mandrakes. Additionally, other than Professors and Aurors, no one was allowed in the hallways alone. Classrooms and Common Rooms were guarded, and when moving between classes, students were escorted by an Auror at all times.

Classes themselves were progressing well. Lockhart was as useless as ever, and his cheer despite the circumstances was grating, but the rest of classes were alright. On the 5th, Marigold was ecstatic that they were finally starting the Transfiguration unit on vanishing. Doing one material at a time the theory was relatively easy, but rarely - if ever - were materials homogeneous. Vanishing composite materials was where the real struggle was.

Potions was the same as it had been since the start of the year. Documenting the many, many, many reactions between ingredients was tedious, but simple work. The only real difficulty Mary had with brewing wasn't even as part of the class. In fact, it wasn't even with brewing itself. Rather, it was getting around the Auror presence with Diana to get to Myrtle's bathroom. Thankfully, it was slightly easier to sneak around with Hermione tagging along, as Mary could focus on navigation while Hermione dealt with casting the muffling and other charms used to avoid detection.

“Wasn't expecting you here too, Granger.” Diana murmured, joining them under Mary's cloak, outside the Great Hall bathrooms.

“Well, I just want to make sure everything is up to standard.” Hermione replied. “And Hermione is fine, so you know.”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “Alright. Theodore, then.”

Hermione cast a charm in the direction of an Auror as they snuck past him. “Is there another name you'd prefer in private?”

Diana shot Mary a scowl.

“I didn't say anything!” Mary hissed back.

“Well, it is you, Hermione, so I suppose I oughtn't be too surprised.” Diana sighed. “You can call me Diana, but only around Marigold or Myrtle.”

Hermione hummed. “Diana is a lovely name.”

“Right,” Mary interrupted them, “We're here.”

Closing the bathroom door behind them, Mary bundled up her invisibility cloak and stuffed it in her bag.

Myrtle floated down from the ceiling. “Oh, hello.” she greeted Hermione. “Are you also…?”

Mary shook her head. “Hermione isn't trans, she's just our friend.”

Hermione extended her hand to Myrtle. “Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you.”

“Myrtle Warren.” Myrtle looked at Hermione's hand, then back up at her, giggling. “I’m incorporeal, you know.”

Hermione blushed, stammering an awkward apology as she lowered her hand.

Meanwhile, Mary and Diana had already gotten to work brewing. They had more than enough Androgen Arrestor and Estrogenating Elixir, but Diana was due for another dose of Gender Fluid. As Mary filled the cauldron with water, Hermione had started poking around the bathroom, inspecting the area.

“Why are you using that sink?” Hermione asked. “Wouldn't this one be easier?”

“If it worked, sure.” Mary agreed.

“I see.” Hermione fiddled with the handles of the faucet, but nothing happened, other than the sink making a few annoying squeaks. Eventually, she was satisfied and moved on, poking and prodding at the equipment they had set up.

In the meantime, Diana had finished the test brew of Gender Fluid, and picked the cauldron up to dump it into the sink.

Hermione stared. “Um, Diana?”

Diana looked over her shoulder. “Hm?”

“Is that… not heavy?” Hermione hesitantly asked.

“Not really.” Diana shrugged. “Why?”

“Because you're lifting it with one hand.” Mary replied, now staring as well.

Diana looked at the cauldron in her hand. “Huh.” She dumped the test brew down the drain. “That's new.”

“I don't think that's from the HRP.” Hermione said. “Typically, it's only testosterone-based puberty that results in significantly increased strength, so…”

“I've definitely not buggered up my Estrogenating Elixir.” Diana added. She smirked, gesturing to her chest. “I've got two pieces of pretty good evidence for that, at least.”

“Maybe a magical gift?” Mary suggested, her cheeks pink. “I don't know what, though.”

Diana shrugged. “Well, I'll certainly be looking into it. But for now, we ought to hurry if we want to make it back to the Great Hall without anyone noticing.”

Mary nodded, returning to her calculations for the Gender Fluid.

---

The days dragged on, each day seeming to last longer than the one before - and not just because the winter solstice was behind them. The entire castle seemed to wind tighter and tighter as time passed with no new victims. The consensus of the students’ rumor mill seemed to be that the Heir must be planning something to have not struck yet. For Mary's part, she'd yet to hear any more anguisurrian.

Day after day, everyone grew more on edge, the Aurors especially being run ragged.

The only person who seemed completely indifferent to the situation was Lockhart, unsurprisingly. Hufflepuff had Double Defense on the 21st, and it was the same useless drivel as always. Even Hermione had stopped bothering answering questions in his class. Mary couldn't fault her, even the handful of points the man gave out were pointless. His classes had basically been reduced to a fan club meeting for those that still liked Lockhart, and a self-study period for everyone else.

Marigold had already finished the Defense texts, so she used the class time for doing other classes’ assignments. Hermione and Neville followed suit, though Hermione quickly finished her work and switched over to recreational reading. Ron, meanwhile, had taken to doodling idly. Similar to his disjointed thought patterns, the subjects of his drawings were all over the place. A skeleton with a fish in one hand and an egg in the other, a dog sitting in a tree, a dragon with a heart drawn on its chest, a giant frog eating a person - Mary couldn't make sense of it. He also scrawled words from time to time, most being illegible. At one point, he just wrote “MOON”, underlining it three times.

Eventually, the clock tower mercifully chimed 11:45, and the Auror on duty escorted the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to the Great Hall. On their way, they joined up with a few other groups. Included in the growing herd of students was Septimus, who Mary couldn't help but notice.

“H-hey, how are you?” she asked, pulling up beside him.

He yawned. “Eh, still tired, but fine otherwise. Just had History with the Claws.” He snorted. “If I couldn't stay awake in Binns' class b’fore, I definitely can't now.”

Mary giggled. “Yeah. I've managed to stay awake for maybe three or four classes? Hermione helps a lot with that.”

Sept shook his head. “I dunno how she does it. Him bein' a ghost aside, s’just all so-” he yawned. “So borin’.”

Mary shrugged, yawning back. “Mm, ‘scuse me. I think it's more interesting when you haven't grown up with magic. Especially the second year curriculum, going over world history? It's mental how different it is from the moxy version of events.”

Sept hummed, rubbing his eyes. “I guess. Though that d’pends on whether y’actually know the moxy version.”

“Fair point.” Mary conceded. She sat down at the Hufflepuff table, which was already laden with food.

“Right, well, I'll leave you to it.” Sept mumbled. “Seeya.”

She hummed, resting her cheek in her hand, grabbing a sandwich in the other. She nibbled at it idly. Speaking of History, after Charms next period, the Hufflepuffs had Double History with the Gryffindors. It was less than ideal, especially with how tired she was already. If she was to have any hope of making it through, it would probably be a good idea to take a quick nap.

Marigold put her sandwich on a plate and laid her head down on the table.

---

Neville shook her awake.

“M-Mary, did y-you see if Ron went to th-the bathroom?”

“Mm, no.” she mumbled. Mary lifted her head up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the distress on her brother's face. “Why?”

He grimaced, tears in his eyes. “H-he and Luna are m-missing.”

Chapter Text

To say the castle was in an uproar was an understatement. After a preliminary sweep of the castle yielded no results, classes were cancelled for the rest of the day, and students were escorted by Aurors to their Common Rooms. Marigold and Hermione were distraught, as were the rest of the second-year Hufflepuffs, but Neville was absolutely inconsolable. For Mary’s part, she mostly just felt numb, as though she were merely an idle passenger in her own body. She supposed it hadn’t really sunk in yet that Ron and Luna were most likely petrified. From her outward expressions, Hermione seemed to be the same.

A few hours later - Mary wasn’t sure how much time had passed exactly - Professor Sprout knocked upon and opened the door to the dorm Mary shared with her friends. Marigold could hear a whine in Neville’s throat from where she was sitting next to him on his bed, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. She couldn’t blame him. Based on the expression Sprout had, it wasn’t good news.

“Hello, dears.” she softly greeted them. “I hate to ask this of you, but the Aurors would like to talk to you. We still haven’t found Mister Weasley or Miss Lovegood, so they seem to be following any lead they can think of.”

Mary looked at Neville and Hermione. Neville had burst into tears again, and Hermione’s eyes were practically glazed over, where she sat on the other side of Neville.

Professor Sprout winced. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll tell them you can’t talk right now.”

She turned and reached for the doorknob. Marigold cleared her throat.

“I-I can- I can t-talk- ta- to them.” Mary croaked out.

Sprout looked back at Mary. “Are you certain, Miss Potter? It’s perfectly alright if you need some time.”

Mary shook her head. “N-no, I want-t to. If it- if-f it lets them f-find Ron a-an-and- a-and Luna soo-sooner, I’ll d-do whatev-ev-ever I can-n to h-help.”

Neville wrapped Mary in a hug. “Th-th-thanks-s.” he whispered.

Mary nodded back. She wanted to save her voice for talking to the Aurors, especially since she wasn’t sure how long it would last.

Professor Sprout took Marigold by the hand and led her out of the Hufflepuff Common Room and through the halls of Hogwarts. Mary had been in the halls while everyone was asleep before, but seeing the halls as empty as they were while the sun still shone was uncanny. Sprout apologized in advance, as the interview would be taking place in Dumbledore’s office, but Sprout assured her that so long as he was there, she would be by Mary's side. Marigold nodded mutely in response.

After riding the spiral staircase up, they were bid to enter before Professor Sprout could even knock on the door. Inside, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, a grave expression on his face and an Auror on either side of him. On his right was a grizzled old man with stringy, grey-blonde hair and a prosthetic leg. On his left, the Auror that had escorted Mary and her friends from the Express. Dumbledore gestured for Mary to take a seat, so she did, Sprout following suit and sitting at her side.

“Har-” Dumbledore cut himself off after Sprout shot him a glare. “…I would like to introduce you to Aurors Moody and Tonks.”

Moody, Mary presumed, nodded at his introduction, and Tonks gave her a friendly grin.

“Wotcher, Pot-”

“Tell me everythin’ ye ken ’bout Weasley leadin’ up t’is disappearance.” Moody growled in his brogue, leaning in, his knuckles pressing against the polished wood of Dumbledore's desk for support.

Mary gulped. “E-ev-everything?”

Moody gave a curt nod. “Aye, lass.”

“W-well, a year a-and a half ago, we m-me-met on the Hogs-sm-meade Exp-sp-pr-ress when-”

“Hell mend ye…” Moody pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everythin’ relevant.”

“But you sa-said-”

“A ken what A said!” he groused. “A jus’ didnae expect-”

“Right!” Tonks clapped their hands together. “That's enough out of you, boss. She's a kid, not a dark witch.”

“Ye dinnae ken that.” Moody objected.

“I know enough to know that you're not gonna get anywhere with her.” Tonks countered. “All of you, out. Lemme talk to Potter, ’kay? Alone.”

Moody grumbled as he joined Dumbledore and Professor Sprout in being shooed out by the young Auror. Once they were alone, Tonks sat in the armchair next to Mary, leaning to one side and swinging a leg over one of the armrests.

“So, how’s classes going?”

Mary blinked owlishly. “Er, s-sorry?”

Tonks shrugged. “Classes. Got a favourite?”

Mary nodded, confused. “Er, t-transfi-fi-f-figuration, why?”

“Ey, nice. I’m a dab hand at transfig. Kinda gotta be, y’know?” Tonks winked at Mary, their eyes changing to bright pink.

Mary sat up straight. “You are a metamorphma-m-magum, aren’t you?”

Tonks snapped their fingers, shooting finger guns at her. “That I am, kid. Though sometimes the ending changes.” They shrugged “Today’s a pretty ‘um’ day, but yesterday was kinda ‘us’.”

“Er, sorry?” Marigold scrunched up her nose in confusion.

“Oh, just gender stuff, that’s all.” they clarified. “‘Magum’, ‘magus’, ‘maga’, and all that. It tends to shift around a bit, so feel free to call me whatever. He, she, they…” they shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter to me.”

Mary grinned. “You’re genderfluid, then?”

He shrugged yet again. “Something like that, sure. Don’t really go for labels, to be honest. Mum says it’s not uncommon with metmorphs. Makes sense, dont you think?”

Mary nodded. “I just like being a girl, but I can understand that. Honestly, I’m a little jealous you can just change your body.”

Tonks gave her a sheepish grin. “I get that a lot, yeah. On the other hand though, HRP doesn’t work on me at all. Every day when I wake up, my body’s right back to how it used to be. Don’t think you’d much care for that.”

“No, definitely not.” she grimaced, shaking her head. The thought of waking up to a man’s body was… disgusting, to say the least. Mary shuddered at the idea.

“So!” Tonks said, clapping her hands together. “Now that we’re all feeling a bit better, what was mini-Weasley up to today, eh?”

Marigold took a deep breath. Surprisingly, words came to her much easier now. “Well, he had Moxy Studies this morning with Neville and the other wixen-raised Hufflepuffs, and then we all had Double Defense together.”

Tonks frowned. “‘Moxy’?”

“Oh!” Mary blushed. “It’s er, an alternate term for non-magical. We learned that ‘muggle’ is a blood purist term, so we came up with a new term. Ron and me.”

“Huh. Cheers.” they mused. She cleared her head. “So, Defense. How was he? Did he mention anything?”

Mary scrunched up her nose. “No, he was pretty quiet. Lockhart is useless, so we kinda just self study. Anyway, Ron er, he drew a bit, just nonsense really, but that was it I think.” She paused, chewing at her lip. “Oh! Next to his doodles, he wrote ‘moon’, and underlined it a bunch.”

“…‘Moon’, huh?” Tonks mumbled, jotting down some notes in a booklet he had. They bit at the end of their pen, and after a moment, looked up at Mary. “Think he was talking about Lovegood? ‘Luna’?”

She thought on that. “Maybe? It’s certainly possible.” she conceded.

Tonks poked at her notebook a bit, humming to themself. “Is there anywhere specific he would go to talk to Lovegood in private? Someplace secret that maybe the professors and us Aurors don’t know about? A hidden room he found, maybe?”

Mary stiffened. One place in particular certainly came to mind, but Hermione had suggested setting up Diana and Marigold’s HRP brewing supplies in the Nook, once Hermione figured out how to get running water in the room. It would be much more secure than Myrtle’s bathroom, but if the room stopped being a secret…

She looked up at Tonks, unsure as to what to say, only to find him kneeling in front of her.

“Marigold, it’s more important to tell the truth than worry about getting into trouble. Shit, I’ll give you my personal guarantee that I won’t let you get punished for it, alright? We just want to help. They need medical attention.” she pleaded.

Mary froze. “I- it’s not that, it just- I-” she trailed off.

Tonks furrowed his brow, searching Mary’s face. Their expression softened. “You need it to stay secret then, don’t you?”

Mary nodded.

He returned her nod. “Right. Gimme a sec, and we’ll go together, alone. No one else will know, yeah? Just me.” They mimed pulling a zipper across their lips.

Mary pulled back in shock as Tonks actually fused his mouth closed.

They quickly undid the transformation, apologizing. “Sorry, sorry! Trying to lighten the mood, but that one’s a bit gross, my bad.” Tonks screwed up her face in concentration. Her hair turned black, thick and curly, and their eyes turned the same shade of green as Mary’s own.

“Better?” they asked.

Marigold giggled, nodding.

“Be right back.” Tonks patted Mary’s shoulder as he stood up, their hair shifting to be short, spiky, and bright pink.

Tonks left through the door to talk to the other adults, and Mary found herself alone in Dumbledore’s office for the first time. After tapping her knees for a bit, she grew restless and hopped to her feet. There were all sorts of strange devices strewn about the office, whirring and clicking, most of them silver in composition. Half of them looked like perpetual motion machines that Mary had seen before. Of course, perpetual motion was impossible, but…

Well, magic seemed impossible a couple of years ago, too. Maybe they worked after all.

As she rounded a corner, wandering through the office as she was, Marigold found herself faced with a large bird. It had to be nearly a meter tall, not even accounting for its long, flowing tailfeathers. Its plumage was a brilliant scarlet, contrasted by its white face and soot-black wings, and it had long black feathers extending from its beak. By all accounts, it looked markedly similar to the pictures Mary had seen of bearded vultures in the bird books she’d checked out from the library growing up, with a few odd differences. However, Mary had also read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from cover to cover before even getting to Hogwarts, so she knew exactly what the creature before her was.

“A phoenix…” She whispered to herself. Marigold felt a pulse of heat radiating off of the bird in response. She wracked her brain for what she had read on the bird.

Mary bowed to the bird, her ‘wings’ tucked behind her back, so as to appear smaller, but maintaining eye contact. After a moment, the phoenix bowed back. Mary stood back up and gingerly approached the bird. Once she was close enough, she leaned her head forward to it, looking down at the floor. Out of her peripheral vision, she watched as it shifted where it stood on its perch. Then, she felt a soft, warm bump against the top of her head. She looked back up, and the phoenix turned its head to the side, leaning towards Mary with its chin and neck angled towards her. In mild disbelief, Marigold slowly, carefully reached forward and sunk her fingers into the bird’s fluffy feathers. She gently scratched the phoenix, who adjusted its position to guide Mary’s hand where it wanted.

When it was done, it pulled back, facing Mary head on and tilting its head straight down. A pulse of gentle heat enveloped Mary. She didn’t remember anything about that gesture, but it looked as if the phoenix was almost glaring at her, so she took a few steps back, and bowed one last time. It bowed in return, then turned away.

Marigold wiggled in place, elated at the interaction.

“Quite impressive, my child.”

Mary whirled around, seeing Dumbledore watching her, Professor Sprout at his side.

“Er, s-sorry.” she stammered.

Dumbledore shook his head gently “No apology necessary. It seems Fawkes is rather fond of you. He does not take an interest in any wix, you know.”

The warmth in Dumbledore's expression and voice in contrast to his treatment of her still unsettled Mary as always, but she was genuinely glad that Fawkes seemed to like her.

Thankfully, before Dumbledore could say anything else, Tonks reentered the room, a moody Moody following behind. She walked over to Mary and linked arms with her.

“Right, off we pop, then. No peeking.” Tonks announced, before leading a giggling Mary out of the office.

---

Marigold frowned, her hand placed against the snake carving on the wall.

“Open.” she hissed again, yet still, it did not budge.

“Blimey…” Tonks breathed. “Didn't know you were a snake-speaker, Potter.”

Mary grimaced. She definitely wasn't still speaking English, then. Offhandedly, she asked Tonks to keep her gift a secret, to which he readily agreed. The real problem though, was the fact that the door to the Nook wouldn't open. It didn't make any sense. Mary hadn't set a password as her Mum had detailed in her journal, so it should still just respond to-

She felt a lump in her throat. She did her best to ignore it and closed her eyes, pushing magic into her voice.

“Spill your secrets like blood.”

The stone snake quietly scraped against itself as it uncurled, revealing the entrance to the hidden room. She hadn't set a password, but the Heir had.

Marigold burst into tears as the entrance revealed two figures on the other side of the wall. Ron was facing away, towards Luna, who was looking at the entrance.

Neither moved a muscle. They had been petrified.

---

The Hospital Wing was awash with tears. Ron and Luna had been put in the same private room for the time being, as many who were visiting were there for both kids. Percivall, the twins, and Septimus had gathered, as had a fair amount of the second year Hufflepuffs, especially Hermione and Neville. Marigold was already there, as Tonks had escorted her while she transported the two latest victims. She was thankful that Tonks had held her hand, as her vision had been far too obscured by her crying for Mary to navigate on her own. Plus, she needed the comfort.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when she finally arrived via the Hospital Wing floo, the wail Molly made upon seeing her petrified son was heartbreaking. She and Arthur were utterly inconsolable, try as Dumbledore might. Pandora and Xenophilius were no better off, though they expressed it in shocked silence. Marigold hated herself for even thinking it, but at least the Weasleys had more children. The Lovegoods, on the other hand, only had Luna.

Still, the company helped, in Mary's opinion. If nothing else, there was certainly no shortage of friendly faces to hug. Unfortunately, the atmosphere of gentle commiseration was spoiled the instant one Lord Lucius Malfoy strode through the door.

Arthur stood up from where he had been sitting at Ron's side, bristling with anger. “This is a private room.” he growled. “I must ask you to leave immediately.”

Malfoy looked down his nose at Arthur as though he had stepped in something. “I'm afraid I must decline your request. I'm here to see Headmaster Dumbledore on official Board business.”

Dumbledore took his place in front of Malfoy, a look of grandfatherly disappointment on his face. “And what policy has the Board of Governors decided to instate in the wake of another tragic attack?”

Rather than answer, Malfoy snapped his fingers, holding out his hand to the side. From behind him, an elf emerged, handing him a sealed envelope.

An elf that Mary had met over the summer.

Marigold felt the floor drop out from beneath her feet. Her ears were ringing, and she could tell she was on the verge of a panic attack. Vaguely, she felt Hermione wrap an arm around her, helping to ground Mary even while Hermione herself was shaking.

Inhale… exhale.

Inhale… exhale.

As Mary's hearing returned, the conversation between Malfoy and Dumbledore filtered back into her ears.

“…Lady Apparent Longbottom did not get a say in the matter, seeing as even the Senior Governess cannot overturn a unanimous decision.”

“Well, Lucius, I will be looking into the veracity of these signatures, but for now, I suppose I will have to step down from my position as Headmaster. Poppy, please inform Minerva that she is Headmistress in my stead. I need to go gather my things.”

Malfoy chuckled. “I'm afraid not, Albus. As you'll note, the directive specifies I am to immediately escort you from the premises.”

“This is outrageous!” Arthur piped up. “I seriously doubt the entire Board agreed to this!”

Malfoy curled his lip. “Yes, well, unlike the previous… incidents, two pure-blooded wixen were attacked. That has a way of motivating people.” He smirked at the Weasleys. “Be glad. At least your son actually knows how to put your heritage to good use.”

Smack!

Lord Malfoy crumpled to the floor, Arthur standing over him, shaking out his fist.

“I've been waiting to do that for months, now.” he spat. “Keep my children out of your mouth, you bastard.”

Malfoy glared at Arthur. “I will see you pay for this, swine!” he seethed. He stumbled to his feet and stormed out of the room, glaring at Dumbledore to follow.

After a moment of silence, Fred and George whooped in congratulations of their Dad, much to Molly’s disapproval.

---

“That was him, wasn't it?” Hermione asked once they got back to their dorm.

Marigold nodded. “Dobby, yeah.” she croaked.

Neville furrowed his brow. “So then, M-Malfoy is behind th-the attacks?”

“Maybe.” Mary shrugged. “At the very least, someone he's involved with. Dobby knows, but it's not like he'd be able to say anything, what with the elfbind Malfoy has on him.”

Hermione tilted her head in thought. “Maybe we could legally force him to order Dobby to confess?”

“No,” Mary grumbled, “Because bound elves are still legally considered ‘property’, so that counts as self incrimination.”

Hermione scowled at that, but Neville perked up.

“W-what if we made h-him free Dobby?” he suggested.

Mary shook her head. “No, that still counts-”

“No, n-no,” Neville interrupted, “Not l-legally, what if w-we trick him into it?”

“Is that even possible?” Hermione asked.

“Pr-robably.” he answered. “Th-there's different kinds of elfbinds. And as h-horrid as it is, if Dobby's considers h-him property by counting him as an animal, th-then if he's given cl-lothes by Malfoy, the elfbind w-would consider him a person.”

Mary's eyes widened. “And that- that would free him?”

Neville nodded, grinning. “If M-Malfoy hands him an article of clothing w-without specifying what to do with it, it w-would easily let Dobby break th-the elfbind.”

“And judging by the towel Dobby was wearing, that's definitely the type of elfbind Malfoy has on him.” Hermione concluded. “So now we just need to figure out how to get Malfoy to give Dobby clothes…”

The three descended into chatter, devising schemes from the possible but highly situational, to the completely outlandish. Try as they might though, it still wasn't enough to keep the pressing weight of Ron's empty bed out of their minds

Dinner that night in the Great Hall was a somber affair. Professor McGonagall announced Dumbledore's removal - a move still made no sense to Mary. As much as she disliked the man, he was a powerful wizard. Surely, Hogwarts would be safer with him there? Regardless, McGonagall followed that announcement with another - Until the Hogsmeade Express was fixed and the students could be sent home under heavy guard, classes were completely canceled. Students would be escorted between their Common Rooms and the Great Hall, but beyond that (and Hospital Wing visitation) no one would be allowed in the halls whatsoever.

Before the students were sent back to their Common Rooms, Marigold hurried over to Diana.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“I'm not sure.” Diana replied. “One thing is for certain, though. We're going to have to brew a lot if we want enough HRP to last the summer.”

“But how will we get around the Aurors?” Mary asked.

Diana pondered that. “We’d need to get Hermione's help, but I think if we visit Weasley, they might leave us alone long enough.” She sighed. “And I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let Longbottom know I'm trans.”

Mary nodded. “I'll ask them about it tonight.”

She was certain they would both agree to help, but she definitely didn't want to just spring the plan on them. Thankfully, her suspicions were confirmed when they got back to their dorm, and though Mary had a headache from all the events of the day, she went to sleep comforted by her friends’ support.

---

That night, Marigold was back, surrounded by wet stone brick and enveloped in the stench of death. She was frustrated. Despite following the commands of her savior, she had yet to feed on more than a few scraps at a time. It was infuriating. The next time he released her, she would refuse his command. She would not be put back in her prison. Even if she had to rip him open. She could easily tear him apart!

She would kill him!

Mary awoke to a searing, stabbing pain in her forehead. She whimpered, clutching at the intense pressure in her skull. The curtains around her quarter of the room were pulled back, and Hermione rushed to her side. Vaguely, Mary heard her get Neville’s attention. Soon, a glass of water was being lifted to her lips, and she gratefully drank. Suddenly, the pain spiked, causing her to nearly choke on the drink.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pain faded away. Her head still ached, but it was barely a shadow of what it had been seconds before. Mary had no clue what to make of the situation. She tried to reassure Hermione and Neville that she was fine now, but neither seemed particularly convinced.

“Look, It doesn't hurt anymore!” Mary protested. “I don't see why we need to get Professor Sprout. It's the middle of the night!”

“Because, M-Mary.” Neville huffed. “H-headaches don't just pop up and go away l-like that.”

“I'm sure it's nothing.” Mary insisted. “Besides, I've been through worse.”

Hermione's eyes widened. “Like last year…” she breathed.

Mary scrunched up her nose. “What?”

“In the room with the Mirror.” Hermione murmured. “With Quirrel. And- and… him.”

Neville and Mary both froze in place.

“…I’ll go see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow morning.” Mary said quietly.

---

Unfortunately, regardless of the diagnostics cast upon Marigold, none returned anything out of the ordinary. Thankfully, Pomfrey’s insistence to keep a close eye on Mary's health gave her and Diana plenty of opportunity to pull off their plan. After breakfast, Mary, Diana, Hermione, and Neville went to visit with Ron. While Neville stayed in the private room with Ron, talking to him and keeping up appearances, Hermione got one of the Aurors guarding the Hospital Wing to escort her to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to the Auror, Mary and Diana slipped out of the door at the same time, and were soon off to Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione would soon return to visit with Ron, and Mary and Diana had several hours before Hermione and Neville would trade roles, and the two trans girls could slip back in with Neville, the Aurors none the wiser.

Everything went off without a hitch, but what they weren't expecting was to find Myrtle so distraught. As much as they found the nickname crude and insensitive, Myrtle did have a distinct, moaning cry.

“Get OUT!” Myrtle screamed as they closed the door behind them, her voice cracking.

Marigold pulled the cloak off of her and Diana, shocked, and Myrtle's sniffles slowed slightly as she saw them.

“O-oh, it's- hic! it's you t-t-two.” she blubbered. “S-sorry.”

Diana was heartbroken. “Myrtle, what's wrong? What happened?”

The ghostly girl let out a high-pitched whine, which quickly became a wail. “Someone threw a book at meeeeee!”

“That's awful!” Mary exclaimed. “Oh, Myrtle, I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that at all!”

Diana gave a plastered-on smile, her fists clenched and a dangerous look in her eye. “Who was it?”

“I don't knooowww!” Myrtle cried. She snorted back tears, rubbing her eyes. “All I- hic! all I kn-n-n-now is some- hic! some p-professor came and- hic! and t-t-took it away…”

“Do you know which one?” Diana pressed.

Myrtle shrugged, her bottom lip quivering “He was b-b-blond and had really colorful clothes, b-but I didn't- I didn't see his f-f-f-face…”

“Lockhart.” Mary grumbled.

Diana sighed. “Well, we won't have to deal with him much longer, at least.”

“W-why’s that?” Myrtle asked.

“Because classes are canceled, and we'll all be going home soon.” Mary explained. “And I doubt Lockhart is coming back after this year.”

Myrtle pouted. “So you're leaving?”

“We don't really have a say in the matter.” Diana groused. “Which is part of why we're here. Speaking of - Marigold, we can talk while we brew.”

Mary nodded, and the two girls got to work as they explained the situation to Myrtle. Diana would be forgoing Gender Fluid while at home with her father, so they focused mainly on producing Androgen Arrestor and some Estrogenating Elixir. They wouldn't be able to get it all done in a single session, but a couple more visits throughout the week, and they would be stocked for quite some time.

---

On the 29th, a week since Ron and Luna were petrified, Mary, Diana, Neville, and Hermione were in the Hospital Wing visiting Luna that day. They alternated between her and Ron, since they were no longer in the same room together. Marigold and Diana had just gotten back from another successful brewing session, and they were waiting a bit before asking the Aurors on duty to take them to the Great Hall for lunch.

“I've been thinking.” Hermione said. “It's odd, isn't it?”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “What is?”

“The petrifications.” she explained. At the vacant stares she received, Hermione elaborated. “The way they were all petrified. Have you seen Entwhistle?”

Mary gave a sheepish grin. “Can't say I have. Or that I want to, really.”

Hermione shrugged. “That's fair, I suppose. I got bored yesterday while you two were brewing, so I checked in on him and Creevey.”

“W-what's odd about it?” Neville asked.

“Well,” she began, “Creevey was looking through her camera when she was petrified.” Hermione mimed the pose the firstie was stuck in. “Entwhistle was brushing his teeth, but he's looking up above him, just like Creevey.”

Mary looked over to where Luna was laying in bed. She suppressed a shudder at the unnatural stillness.

“Luna's looking up, too…” she murmured.

“Exactly.” Hermione agreed. “So it's odd, isn't it?”

“Because R-Ron is looking down!” Neville finished.

Diana frowned. “So… what? The monster is shorter than Ron? That certainly makes sense for an ilomba, but I don't see how that helps.”

Hermione shook her head. “Entwhistle is taller than Ron. Only a little, but he's definitely taller. Yet Ron is looking down.”

“But that doesn't make sense.” Mary pointed out. “How can the ilomba be taller than Entwhistle and shorter than Ron?”

“It's impossible.” Hermione agreed. “But also, Ron wasn't looking at the creature. He was looking at Luna.”

Neville rubbed his temples. “You l-lost me.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Creevey was looking through the viewfinder of her camera. Entwhistle was brushing his teeth, so he was probably stood in front of a sink. Luna's glasses are incredibly thick because of her poor vision. Yet Ron was making eye contact with Luna.”

“…Which means he was looking at her glasses!” Mary exclaimed. “Hermione, you're a genius!”

“S-sorry, what?” Neville asked, still lost.

Hermione flapped her hands as she explained. “Every victim made eye contact with the monster, yet none of them looked at it directly. It was all either through lenses, in the cases of Creevey and Luna, or in reflections, in the cases of Entwhistle and Ron.”

Diana snapped her fingers. “A basilisk!”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, flapping her hands wildly.

They had planned to share their thoughts when they got to the Great Hall, but before they could tell Professor McGonagall what they had realized, the temporary Headmistress made an announcement during lunch - the Hogsmeade Express was fully functional once more, and students were to spend Saturday packing their belongings, so they could leave on Sunday. It felt a bit redundant at that point, but Mary and Hermione told her their theory. McGonagall promised to inform the Aurors, but told them to focus on packing their things for now.

---

Marigold sat upright in her bed, bolting awake at the sound of harsh knocking on the dorm’s door. She climbed out of bed and pulled back her curtains as Hermione opened the door. Gabe Truman, Tamsin’s fellow Prefect, stood in the doorway, somewhat out of breath.

“Get dressed and grab only the essentials. Headmistress McGonagall is issuing an emergency evacuation of Hogwarts.”

Mary’s breath caught in her throat. “W-what happ-appen-ned?”

Gabe grimaced. “I…” He faltered, then sighed. “I'm not allowed to say. Sorry. Professor Sprout’s orders.”

Mary froze. She recognized the look in his eyes. It was much kinder and sadder, and it lacked any of the glee it held when she saw it on Uncle Vernon's face, but it was an expression she knew well. Gabe had news that would devastate Mary. And if it was also bad enough for McGonagall to evacuate the school…

Neville gave her a hug, breaking her out of her downward spiral. “We need to pack.” he mumbled into her hair.

She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes, then turned to her trunk. She opened it up, and paused.

Marigold grabbed her father's cloak and snuck out of the dorm.

Chapter Text

Marigold didn't have to go far before she learned the reason behind the evacuation. As Professor Sprout explained to one of the upper year Hufflepuffs when asked, the Heir had left another message, accompanied by another disappearance.

Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever.

Gilderoy Lockhart was nowhere to be found, marking the Heir’s first attack on a grown wix, though Mary had her own doubts as to considering Lockhart’s skill as representative of adult wixen. However, the message the Heir left implied at least one other victim, yet all staff members besides Lockhart had reported in. Still cloaked, Mary kept near Professor Sprout, waiting for more information. Considering how the Prefects kept reporting to Sprout as to which Hufflepuffs were still present in the dorms, it seemed a student was another suspected victim. Mary peeked over Sprout’s shoulder, scanning the list of Hogwarts students, most all of which had checkmarks next to them. A gap stood out to her. All of the first year Gryffindors had been accounted for, save one.

Marigold fled back to her dorm in tears, distraught. When she arrived, Hermione and Neville looked to the empty doorway in which she stood. Mary closed the door behind her and let the cloak slip off her body.

“S-Septim-im-m-mus is miss-iss- m-missing-g!” she wailed.

Mary was immediately swept into a hug by her dormmates. She squeezed them, and received a tight hug in return, the deep pressure helping to calm her down.

“We- we need t-to save hi-h-him.” Mary sniffled.

“But we don't know where he is.” Hermione pointed out.

“The Heir lef-ef-ft a message sa-s-saying he's in th- in-n the Chamber of-of-of-f Secrets.” Mary explained

“W-we don't know where th-that is, either.” Neville added.

“Then we- w-we need to find i-it!” Mary whined. “We h-ha-have t-to!”

Neville sighed. “But h-how are we going to find s-something the Aurors can't? W-we're just kids!”

Mary sobbed. She couldn't help but admit that her brother had a point. Not to mention, there was no guarantee they could save Sept even if they knew where the Chamber was. It was entirely possible he was already-

“...Where was the message?” Hermione asked, startling Mary out of her downward spiral.

“Er, the- th-the sa-ame place as- a-as las-ast time.” Mary answered. “Why?”

“With the entirety of Hogwarts to choose from, why pick the same location twice?” Hermione posed. “We therefore have to assume that the placement is intentional, significant, or perhaps both.”

Mary sniffled, rubbing tears from her eyes. “Then- then you think tha- th-think tha-at the Chamber is- is nearby?”

“Or at least a clue to where it actually is.” Hermione agreed.

Mary nodded, picking her father's cloak back up and turning around. Neville grabbed her wrist. She looked back at him.

Neville smiled weakly. “Do you r-really think we're going to l-let you do this on y-your own?”

Hermione squared her shoulders. “We're coming too, like it or not.”

Mary pulled her friends into a hug. “Thank you.” she murmured.

“Of course.” Neville mumbled. “Besides, y-you're still in your pyjamas.”

Marigold giggled, giving her friends a final squeeze before pulling back to quickly change into something more practical for saving her crush’s life.

---

When they arrived at the hallway where the messages had been left, the place was crawling with Aurors. It was somewhat reassuring that they were leaving no stone left unturned, but the fact they hadn't already found the Chamber was discouraging. It also made it far more difficult to avoid detection, especially with three of them huddled together under the cloak.

The latest message was still on the ceiling, currently being subjected to a myriad of spells from the Aurors in an attempt to find a lead. Hermione nudged Mary, leading the three of them into a hallway alcove.

“It's not here.” she whispered.

Neville bit his lip. “H-how can you know for s-sure?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “If it was, they'd have found it already. Besides, now that I think about it, it's far too obvious, isn't it? The Heir isn't stupid, he would know that by putting the message in the same spot, the Aurors would focus their attention there.”

“...And away from where the Chamber actually is.” Mary completed, getting a nod from Hermione.

“So it's on th-the other side of the castle.” Neville reasoned. “The north to n-northeast section.”

“And in the dungeons, likely. I can't imagine there's enough space for a basilisk anywhere but under the castle.” Hermione added.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut, her nose scrunching up as she remembered the layout of the castle in as much detail as she could. There were a few parts of the dungeons that were two floors below ground level, like the Potions classroom to the north, but most were only one, like the kitchens to the west. Detestable as he was, Snape had still probably checked every inch of his classroom, so the Chamber couldn't be there. However, that meant the Chamber was on the first floor of the dungeons, as the second floor didn't have anything besides Potions in that section. Even the first floor of the dungeons didn't have much in the north and northeast besides a few abandoned rooms that never got used, especially since-

“...Shit.” Marigold breathed, the mystery rapidly piecing together now that she had made a crucial insight. “Shit!” she hissed, tugging at Neville and Hermione.

They tried to whisper questions to Mary as they stumbled along after her, but there was no time. She had already wasted enough time as it was, and she couldn't spare another second if she was to have any hope of rescuing Septimus. It would be entirely her fault if he…

“Myrtle!” Mary called as she barged into the bathroom her ghost friend haunted. She tugged the cloak off and stowed it in her shoulder bag.

The girl in question swooped down from the ceiling, startled. “Mary? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night- Oh, hello Neville, Hermione.”

Neville gave a weak wave. “Hey, M-”

“There's no- n-no time!” Mary interrupted. “Myrtle - you died- d-died here, r-right? Tell me- tell me ev-v-verything you remem-em-emb- rem-m- fuck! Re. Mem. Ber. About the m-moments leading up t-to- u-up to your death.”

Myrtle recoiled slightly at Mary's brusque attitude. Mary made a promise to herself she'd apologize later for being rude.

Myrtle pointed behind her to the stalls. “W-well, I was sitting in that stall there, crying. Olive Hornby had been teasing me about my glasses, and-”

“But you don't wear glasses.” Hermione interjected.

The ghost huffed. “Not anymore, no. Thankfully, my vision is fine now. As I was saying though, she even took my glasses and threw them on the ground! So I ran in here to cry.” Myrtle sighed, pouting. “Then I heard someone come into the bathroom, and they were making all sorts of weird noises. I opened the stall to see who it was, and the next thing I knew, it was nearly a decade later.”

“Do you rem-member-em-mber-r seeing anything at- at- at all- anyth-thing at all when y-you- you opened the d-door?” Mary pressed.

“Just some fuzzy yellow blob by the sinks.” Myrtle grumbled, gesturing to the wall of the bathroom lines with the fixtures in question. “What's going on, anyway?”

“I'll ex-x-xplain it lat-l-later!” Mary called over her shoulder, already halfway to the sinks. She started at one end and began looking the sinks all over, feeling, knocking, poking - anything she could think of to find some clue to the Chamber’s entrance.

“W-what are we looking for?” Neville asked.

“Anyth- anything.” she responded. “A-anything at a-all.”

Neville scooted over to the other end of the sinks and began probing for answers as well. After a moment, Hermione strode to a sink near the middle, closer to Neville.

“Here.” Hermione declared, pointing to her sink. “The broken sink.” Mary rushed over, and Hermione tapped the porcelain basin. Mary peered into the sink, looking as closely as possible.

“The drain.” Hermione clarified.

Sure enough, the drain of the sink was ever so slightly different. The metal rim of the drain had a handful of tiny scratches in it. The mark made it so that the circular rim, besides missing detail of the scales, was an ouroboros.

Marigold reached out and touched the metal snake, closing her eyes as she focused, pushing slight magic into her voice.

“Spill your secrets like blood.”

The sink shifted, then slid backwards, further and further into the wall, the stone brick scraping against the sink as it revealed a void beneath it. Mary could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing through her head, pounding in her ears.

She closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths as Madam Pomfrey had taught her, but all that did was make her slightly dizzy. She must be breathing too fast, then. Mary counted as she tried again, making sure to hold her breaths before letting them out.

“So you've finally found it, hm? Here to try and rescue them? Come on, then.”

Mary's eyes snapped open and she bolted forward, down the stairs that had been revealed by the sink.

“Marigold, wait!” Hermione called after her.

“The Heir is- is-s- he’s down-n here!” she called back, not slowing a bit.

As she descended step after step, Mary heard Neville behind her, asking Myrtle to go get help before heading down after Mary and Hermione. Marigold was sorely tempted to take multiple stairs at a time, but one misstep and she'd have a twisted ankle or worse, and then she'd be in no shape to save Sept. All she could do was put one foot in front of the other as she went down, down, down into the depths, the stairs seeming to stretch on endlessly.

---

Marigold stood at the bottom of the stairs, bent over with her hands on her knees, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath from the long run down to the Chamber. She had already shed her jumper in an attempt to cool off, leaving her in her tank top and jeans. She'd tied her jumper around her waist by the sleeves, having long since discarded her bag in the stairwell to ease her burden. Hopefully she wouldn't need her cloak - or to sprint back up, for that matter. Hermione and Neville, not having the benefit of a year and a half of quidditch training under their belts, were a couple flights behind her, as best she could tell by the sound of their footsteps. She sucked in another breath and started marching forward into the depths of the castle, the tip of her wand lighting the way. She would apologize to her friends for leaving them behind after Sept's safety was secured.

The Chamber of Secrets was cold and humid, integrated into the castle’s plumbing system as it was. Thankfully, while it seemed to be the sewers of Hogwarts, there wasn't any sewage about, likely the result of intricate, ancient runework. Still, something about the air was giving Mary a quickly growing headache. The soles of Mary's boots echoed around her with each step, bouncing off the circular stone walls. There were occasional openings in the sides and ceiling of the corridor, dribbling water into the main passage, but all were far too small for Mary, unless she were to crawl and wriggle her way through. A basilisk, on the other hand…

Well, at least now it made sense how the basilisk had managed to get in and out of the Chamber undetected.

Ahead of her, Mary could see the walls disappear, signifying an opening up ahead. She glanced backwards, seeing two wandlights bobbing up and down in the darkness. Neville and Hermione weren't too far behind, so Mary pressed on. They would catch up soon. Sure enough, the tunnel opened into a large room with high, vaulted ceilings.

“Sferā lūmos solem. Sūmire sūr.” Mary incanted with two twists of her wand, having practiced the spells enough to do it without the proper somatics. An orb of light rose up above her, illuminating the room, and Mary dismissed her wandlight with a wordless flick of her wand. Nox was an easy spell, and the first she'd managed to cast nonverbally.

In the center of the room, which mildly resembled a roundhouse with how various tunnels branched off of it, were three figures. One laid on the ground, draped in annoyingly ornate robes, the other on the floor beside it, dressed in pyjamas, and with a familiar shade of red hair. The third stood over both, a young man clad in a well-pressed, white button-down shirt, his black hair carefully swept out of his face.

“Marigold Lily Potter. A pleasure to finally meet you, face to face.” he greeted her.

Mary squared her jaw. “The Heir of- of Slyth-therin.”

“Oh, come now, no need for formalities, Heiress Potter.” he said politely, waving her off. “Please, call me Tom. Or Thomas, if you prefer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thom- Thomas-s S-slytherin, th-then? Or is- is it- or is it Gaunt?”

Tom laughed, though there was no real emotion behind it. “Neither, actually. Though you are correct that my mother was a Gaunt.” He bowed. “Tom Riddle, at your service.”

“If you're at- at-t my service, th-then can-n I have my- have my friend back-k?” Mary asked.

He sighed. “I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Marigold. At least, not yet. I suppose you could have their corpses, though.” He nudged the two wizards with his foot.

Mary's temper flared, and she rushed forward, shouting, “I won't let you k-kill him!”

She shoved Tom, but instead of making contact, her hands pushed right through him. His body shifted and swirled like smoke, before reforming a meter away.

He smirked. “You don't really have a choice, Marigold.” He patted her on the shoulder and strolled past her, circling her.

Mary stood there, stunned. How was she supposed to beat an opponent she couldn't touch?

“You know, at least Septimus was a bit of a challenge to control. Gilderoy, well.” Tom scoffed, “That pompous fraud was practically begging to be used. He just wanted more material for his silly little stories.”

He paused, eyeing Mary. “Did you know he made up all his books? It's quite pitiful, really. He wrote it as fiction, but let his publishers walk all over him, marketing it as autobiographical instead.” Tom shrugged, resuming his stroll. “I'm not opposed to profiting off a lie, but one ought to think through the consequences.”

“So, w-what? He d-deserves to- to- t-to die?” Mary asked.

“Well, if it's a question of who's life I value more, certainly, I'd choose myself.” He shrugged. “Septimus, I feel perhaps some semblance of ‘guilt’.” he admitted, making air quotes around the word. “He's a talented young wizard with plenty of promise, and he undoubtedly has the magical reserves to back up his burgeoning skill. However, that's what made him the perfect target, you know.” Tom leaned in towards Mary. “Plenty of raw material for me to work with.”

“Mary!” Neville called as he and Hermione came to a stop in the chamber.

Mary turned around. Both her friends were completely out of breath.

“So you're- you're the Heir of- of Slytherin?” Hermione panted.

“Thomas Morfin Riddle.” he introduced himself, bowing. “But please, call me Tom.”

Neville paled. “N-no. No y-you- y-you can't be!”

Mary frowned, confused.

Tom chuckled. “It seems my reputation precedes me, but yes. Based upon Septimus’ pointless drivel, I am who you know as ‘Lord Voldemort’.”

Marigold's blood ran cold. “...What?”

“Come now, surely even you aren't this utterly moronic.” Tom said. “But, I suppose if you need it spelled out for you, I can oblige. I am - shall we say - insurance. A memory of his past. Just in case.” He winked at her. “I had great plans, ones that put my life in quite a bit of jeopardy, as evidenced by my premature death.”

He shrugged. “It seems I - or rather, he lost my touch, if your parents were somehow able to best him. But here I am, returned from the grave.” Tom glared at Mary. “And I intend to finish what he couldn't.”

Mary flinched backwards, but Tom didn't move.

“...You're stalling.” Hermione realized.

Tom broke eye contact with Mary, turning to Hermione instead. “No, merely passing the time. Stalling implies postponing a threat, which none of you actually pose, so…” He shrugged.

Hermione winced, clutching her forehead and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Impressive…” Tom muttered. “That aside, you seem to fit the bill Hermione, so perhaps you have some insight - how does a mediocre witch with no family magic to her name manage to defeat the most powerful wizard in the British Isles?”

“Hermione is a great witch!” Marigold shouted, fists clenched at her sides. “And so was- s-so was my- m-my Mum!”

“And y-you're not the strongest w-wizard, either.” Neville managed to get out, somewhat recovered from his shock at the revelation.

Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh yes,” he said sweetly, his voice slowly shifting to a snarl as he continued. “How could I ever forget your dear, precious, Albus Dumbledore. The Leader of the Light, nevermind how he treats human beings as pawns in his twisted little games. Nevermind how he'll turn on anyone who proposes real, actual change!”

He advanced towards Mary, looming over her. “He used to adore me.” Tom spat, poking Mary in the chest to emphasize his words. “I was his ‘golden boy’ too, not too long ago. I had him and that bird of his eating out of my hand! He may only think you're a freak now, but just wait till he sees you as a threat, too!”

“I don't m-much care for him either, b-but at least he isn't- at least he is-sn't murdering people for th-their heritage.” Marigold grit out.

Tom smirked. “Who said I care about heritage? My father was a muggle.”

Before she could even register what he said or what he was doing, Tom snatched Mary's wand from her hand, and with a lazy swish, used it to send Hermione and Neville’s wands flying, catching them in his offhand.

He winked. “Just in case you were getting any silly ideas.”

Without her wand, Mary felt the string of magic connecting her to the light she had summoned weaken. She desperately tried to hold onto it, to reestablish the connection to it without her wand as a medium, but in a matter of seconds, she felt it fray and break. The light flickered once, twice, then extinguished, leaving them in total darkness.

Before Mary could even begin trying to cast a wandlight without her wand, a whistling squeal pierced the air. The flickering light of fire flooded the room, and Mary looked down the tunnel they had come from. Whoever Myrtle had gotten help from, they'd finally gotten here, and surely they would be able to-

Marigold's heart sank. Rather than an Auror or even a professor, it was Fawkes who entered. Phoenixes were certainly powerful creatures, but Mary wasn't exactly confident in their chances of saving Septimus.

Tom curled his lip. “Oh, is that how we're playing this, Dumbledore? Fine!” he snarled. He crouched down and placed the palm of his hand on the stone brick floor.

“Come, old friend. I have a feast for you.”

“Rip! Kill! Tear! Kill!”

Mary paled. “The bas- th-the basi-si-silis-sk is c-coming!”

“Let's have a test! Let's see who really is more powerful!” Tom shouted, reveling, his arms spread wide. “Dumbledore's pet bird, or the monster I command!”

Fawkes screeched at him, circling, then launched a wall of fire with a beat of his wings. Using Mary's wand, Tom parted the flames around him, completely unscathed.

Marigold could hear the basilisk's voice growing louder as it closed in on them. She had to do something before it got to them, especially now, while Tom was preoccupied with Fawkes. Mary bent down, hooking her arms underneath Sept's, dragging him back towards the entrance. Something fell out of his robes, but it was a book and not his wand, so Mary kept going. Septimus wasn't exactly heavy, but Mary had only really trained for dexterity and endurance, not strength. Neville and Hermione joined her, Neville grabbing Sept's legs. Hermione grabbed the book, then supported Sept's middle. With all three of them working in tandem, they were making decent progress.

“I don't think so!” Tom called after them. With a flick of Mary's wand, Hermione lost her grip on the book, which Tom caught in his hand. “I doubt you'll get far carrying him, but I'm afraid I still need the diary.”

Before any of the Hufflepuffs could properly process Tom's words, the sound of smooth scales on rough stone filled the room.

“Eyes shut!” Mary ordered, squeezing her own closed tight.

Her vision off limits, Marigold focused on her other senses. She could still feel the warmth of Fawkes’ flames, and could hear his beating wings. The basilisk… still seemed to be on the other side of the room, though that was of little reassurance when it could kill with a glance. With her glasses, Mary would likely only be petrified, but who knew how long it would be before someone could find her if Tom got the chance to hide her frozen body down here.

“Rip! Tear! Kill!”

“Your opponent is me, you oversized chicken!”

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

“Not the damn eyes! You will pay for that, bird!”

At Tom's shouts, Marigold chanced a look. She slowly glanced up towards the sound of the commotion. She could see Tom slinging spells, phoenix fire swirling around him. Beyond him, the massive coils of the basilisk's body, rivulets of blood dripping down from above. Taking a gamble, she looked up.

The basilisk's eyes had been horribly clawed, leaving behind a bloody mess.

“It's- it's safe, Fawkes got- g-got its-s eyes!” Mary cheered.

“Valhäl miskün!” Tom yelled.

A sickly green light shot from Mary's wand and struck Fawkes. He tumbled out of the air and hit the ground with a nauseating thud. The firelight dimmed. Tom raised his gaze to look at Mary, Neville, and Hermione.

“Kill them all, my friend.” he hissed.

The basilisk's tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, its horned head swiveling back and forth as it smelled for its prey.

“Please, don't hurt us.” Marigold pleaded in anguisurrian. “If you want food, we can get you food! You don't have to eat us.”

The giant snake paused, then lowered its head.

Mary sighed. “Thank y-”

“Rip.”

Its tongue flicked in and out again.

“Tear!”

Its body rippled as it began slithering straight towards them.

“KILL!”

The basilisk lunged forward, the three Hufflepuffs narrowly dodging its attack with a last second dive onto the stone brick floor. Marigold managed to pull Septimus out of the way, but she knew they had only gotten lucky. She shifted Sept’s body off of her and towards Neville and Hermione, staggering to her feet.

Past the basilisk, Mary saw Tom preparing a spell, when a burst of flame shook the earth. Tom swore, shielding his face with his arms, as the wands he'd stolen clattered across the floor. The basilisk squirmed in pain. Even Hermione and Neville coughed as smoke filled the air.

Yet to Mary, it was a gentle, comforting warmth, despite the towering flames around her. She wasn't sure how exactly, but Fawkes had protected her. As the flames roared, a glint caught her eye. Marigold reached into the fire, unscathed. The flames died back as she closed her hand around… the hilt of a sword, its blade buried in the stone floor. Incredulous, she pulled, and it came out smoothly, the sound of metal scraping against stone filling the room.

Marigold hefted the massive sword up, reading the inscriptions on the blade. On one side, Ogham. On the other, Futhark.

᚛ᚌᚑᚇᚏᚔᚉ ᚌᚏᚔᚃᚑᚅᚇᚑᚏ᚜

ᚷᛟᛞᚱᛁᚲ ᚷᚱᛁᚠᛟᚾᛞᛟᚱ

“‘Godric Gryffindor’.” she breathed.

Well, more or less, given it wasn't exactly one-to-one with English. She looked back. Neville, Hermione, and Septimus were still in a heap on the ground, defenseless. She knew what she had to do.

Neville met her eyes. “Mary, n-no, you’ll die!” he begged.

Marigold gave him a sad smile and ran, skirting past the basilisk. She trailed the tip of the sword against the ground, drawing the basilisk's attention to her with the vibration, and, more importantly, away from her friends.

It reared back up, hissing, “Rip. Tear!”

It lunged.

“KILL!”

Mary leapt forward, rolling across the ground, and back up to her feet as quick as she could.

Tom laughed. “What is this, the Dark Ages? Going to slay the mighty beast with your sword? You've never even wielded a blade! It's hopeless!”

She grit her teeth. It didn't matter. So long as her friends could escape unharmed, it was fine.

“Rip. Tear! KILL!”

The basilisk lunged again, perfectly in time with its hissing. Mary dodged again, grinning this time as she got up to her knee. She had the endurance, and she knew how the monstrous snake behaved. Now she just needed to last long enough to find an opening, so she could-

“KILL!”

She thrust the sword in front of herself helplessly. She closed her eyes in terror at the sight of the basilisk's open mouth, pink and moist, its fangs extended, glistening with venom.

“NO!” Tom roared.

Marigold screamed in agony as she felt a fang sink into her left bicep, scraping against the bone, and exiting the other side of her arm. Another fang pierced into her right thigh, near her hip. She felt something hot and wet flowing over her hands and forearms.

Her eyes snapped open as fire seared through her bitten leg. Her hands were covered in the basilisk's blood, the sword lodged into the creature’s brain from below, but she felt nothing other than an indescribable pain, radiating from the bite on her thigh. She writhed on the ground, her movements breaking both fangs off of the basilisk in the process.

She was vaguely aware of Neville and Hermione rushing to her side. As the venom spread through her system, Mary began to lose her grip on consciousness, but at least it dulled the pain. She barely batted an eye as Neville pulled the fang out of her leg. Instead, she smiled up at them.

“The diary.” Mary croaked. “Y-you have to… y’hafta save… save S-sept.”

Her friends were crying, but Marigold couldn't understand why. Surely this was a happy occasion, right? After all, it didn't hurt anymore, and someone was laughing. Someone was laughing and someone was singing. It was the most beautiful sound Mary had ever heard, and she couldn't help but hum along to it.

Hermione ran away, which made Mary feel very sad. But then she came back! And there was a baby bird in her hands!

“Awww…” Mary cooed. “Don't cry lil’ baby…”

Neville got up and left. Was he going to get another baby bird? Mary wanted to see what he brought back, but she was far, far too tired to stay awake until then.

Marigold closed her eyes, letting the darkness seep in around her.

She groaned. Her arm felt warm.

Actually, no - her arm itched like hell, and the entire right side of her body was a dull ache, seeping over to her left hip and lower back.

“Marigold?” Hermione called. “Oh my god, Mary, you're alive!”

Mary cracked open her eyes, only to be met with a wall of dark brown curls. Shakily, she returned the crushing hug Hermione had wrapped her in.

Tom screamed, and Marigold's eyes shot open as she remembered what was going on. Hermione pulled away, turning to look, allowing Mary to see as well.

Neville had speared the diary in Tom's hand upon Gryffindor’s sword. A moment later, a slice appeared in Tom's chest, tendrils of light and shadow pouring out. Neville tugged the sword out, repositioned, and lunged, stabbing it again. Another matching wound appeared on Tom as he roared in pain.

“ENOUGH!” he snarled, bent over.

He reached out a hand, his fingers curled, and after a moment, Lockhart’s body limply rose up, then slid across the ground, his face landing in Tom's palm. A sickening hiss filled the air as Lockhart's skin rapidly aged, withered, and turned black. Tom tossed him aside, and Lockhart's corpse crumbled into a pile of dust and bone. Tom screamed, his face bubbling as the wounds Neville had inflicted sealed themselves.

Mary was in too much disbelief to do anything but stare vacantly. Beside her, Hermione retched. Neville staggered back, terrified.

Tom rose back up, standing at his full height, panting with exhaustion as he straightened his shirt. He turned towards the exit and raised his hand towards Septimus.

“NO!” Marigold screamed, stumbling to her feet.

Sept was too far away, so instead, she threw herself at Tom, desperate to stop him. Rather than passing through him, as she half-expected to happen, Mary tackled him to the ground. His skin burned to the touch, but she continued to grapple him as they both writhed in pain across the floor. He punched and kicked at her, trying to escape, but Mary held tight with everything she had, returning his blows as best she could. Her body ached, but she couldn't let him kill Septimus. No matter what, she wouldn't allow that to happen.

She rolled on top of him, straddling his stomach as she wrapped her hands around his throat. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and her hands felt as if they'd been blowtorched. Tom’s eyes bulged out of his skull as his screams finally died down, giving way to choking gasps, then wheezing.

Then silence, as his struggles slowed to a stop, and his body went still.

Marigold panted, rolling off of his smoking corpse and onto the floor. She had killed him. She covered her face with her arms as she began to sob. She had killed him. He had arguably been another human being, or at least the shade of one. She didn't regret it, but like it or not, he was now dead by her hands, in a gruesome and rather literal fashion.

She heard a sharp gasp of breath, and sat up, wiping her eyes. Tom's corpse was still motionless, so who-

“Ugh…” Sept groaned, sitting up.

She half-stumbled, half-crawled over to where he was, tears of relief flowing down her face. Mary wrapped him in a hug, blubbering his name and babbling incoherently about how worried and scared she was. Neville and Hermione knelt by their side.

“Mary?” he asked, confused. He pulled back, brushing Mary's hair out of his face. He looked around. “Neville? Hermione? What… Where are w-”

The blood drained from his face. “No.” he breathed.”Not the Chamber. Oh Merlin, not again, please!” he begged, tears flowing down his freckled cheeks.

Marigold held his face in her hands, brushing his hair back and accidentally smearing basilisk blood on his forehead and cheeks. “It's- it's okay, Sept. Ev-everything's alr-lr-right n-now, you're s-safe. It's all ov-ov- it's all-l over. Tom and the basi-si-ilisk are d-dead.”

Sept looked up at her. “Tom is… what?”

Mary swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I- I k-killed him-m.”

“I- How-” Sept whipped his head around, confused. His eyes landed on Tom's charred remains, and he gagged, looking away.

“Nevermind.” he croaked.

“Drop your wands, hands in the air!” a voice shouted.

Mary looked over to see a brigade of Aurors enter the room, wands drawn and pointing forward. All four Hogwarts students raised their hands, none having anything to drop, save Neville dropping Gryffindor's sword, which clanged against the stone floor.

The next several minutes were a blur as the Aurors secured the area, not that there were any more threats to deal with. First aid was given, and Mary soon had bandages wrapped around her burnt hands, though the bite wounds had already been healed by Fawkes’ tears. Basic statements were taken, which was made easier by the lingering presence of Tom’s and the basilisk's bodies. Mary wasn't sure how she would've convinced the Aurors of the truth otherwise. Finally, eventually, Mary was lifted onto a stretcher, as were Hermione, Neville, and Sept, who - though uninjured - were all thoroughly exhausted. Certainly, they couldn't make the climb back up the massive staircase.

Waiting for them at the top of the staircase were Madam Pomfrey and Myrtle, who both began fussing over the four kids - Pomfrey in a more professional sense. As they were escorted out of the bathroom, still being subjected to countless diagnostic spells, Mary rolled her head to the side, towards the stall her potion supplies were hidden in.

Standing guard with a grin and a wink was Tonks. Mary sighed in relief, rolling her head back, her hip still sore. The myriad of voices around her bumbled and blurred together, and she closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

Positioned as it was on the east side of the castle, sunlight filtered into the Hospital Wing as the sun rose. The first thing Marigold noticed upon waking up was not the way the sheer white curtains lit the room with how they caught the light, nor the crowd of friends and family gathered around, nor even the soft gongs of the clocktower bell tolling 8 in the morning. Rather, the first thing Marigold noticed upon waking up was how her hips, lower back, and right knee ached. She groaned, shifting to roll slightly onto her left side, marginally reducing the pain, but it didn't do much to stop the dull throbbing that pervaded her body. Mary heard various whispers of those around her noticing she was waking up. She cracked open an eye.

A tall blob with grey hair patted Mary's shoulder. “I'll go get Madam Pomfrey.” Augusta Longbottom murmured before walking off.

A blob that resembled Valerie Granger brushed the hair out of Mary's face. “Good morning, love.”

“Mn. G’morning.” she replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

She placed Marigold's glasses on her face. Besides Augusta - who was entering Pomfrey's office at the moment - and the Grangers, the Weasleys were gathered around as well. Rolling her head to the left, Mary saw that Septimus was asleep in the next bed over, while Hermione and Neville were both sitting in chairs between the two beds. Rolling her head the other way, Mary groaned as she saw Albus Dumbledore sitting next to her, perusing the diary Neville had stabbed. Curiously, it was completely intact.

“You gave us quite the scare, you know.” Dennis told her. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Mary shrunk in on herself. “...Sorry.”

Dennis sighed, ruffling her hair. “Just… Don't do that again. I don't think my heart can take it.”

Mary scrunched up her nose in confusion. “You're not… mad?”

Valerie shrugged. “A little, sure - but not at you. Honestly, we're just glad you're… safe.”

Mary frowned. Something was off about the way Valerie had said that, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Dennis also seemed to mirror his wife's odd mood.

Arthur sat down on Mary's right, taking her hand in his. Molly stood behind him, gently holding him. He sat there for a moment, searching for words as tears slid down his and Molly’s faces. “...Thank you.” he whispered. “You saved our son's life. I… There are… there are no words that can describe just how grateful we are to you.”

Marigold nodded. “You're welcome.” she responded, not quite sure what else to say.

Thankfully, she was saved from having to keep talking by Augusta returning, Madam Pomfrey in tow. Both women had grim expressions on their faces, though Mary wasn't certain it wasn't just the effects of age on their skin. Molly and Arthur returned to Sept's bedside, vacating Mary's right for Pomfrey. The Hospital Matron pulled up a chair, taking a seat, as Augusta sat down next to Neville.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, pulling out a folder. “I have your medical information here with me. Would you like some privacy?”

Mary glanced around. Everyone who was there, she would tell the results to anyways. Well, other than-

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, not looking up from his reading. “As your guardian, I've already been informed of your situation.”

She grimaced, then shook her head.

Pomfrey gave her a sad smile, then opened the folder. “I'll start with the good news. The basilisk's venom has been completely neutralized, and is no longer damaging your body. You have phoenix tears to thank for that, as the only other known antivenom is exorbitantly expensive and not one we carry here at Hogwarts. Were it not for Fawkes, and Miss Granger’s quick thinking, you would have died.”

“...O-oh.” Mary rasped past the lump in her throat. She had figured that was the case, but to be told so plainly… It was humbling, to say the least.

“The bad news, well…” Pomfrey took a deep breath, and adopted a more neutral expression and tone as she continued. “Unfortunately, before the venom was neutralized, it caused significant damage. According to the diagnostic scans I have performed, it affected the cartilage of your left knee, left and right coxae, and lumbar vertebrae two through five; the muscles and tendons in the surrounding areas, as well as extensive arterial and nervous damage throughout your entire body. While you can expect to see some regeneration of the arteries, nerves, and muscles, that of the tendons and cartilage will be much more limited, if any at all.”

Marigold felt as if she was underwater. Pomfrey sounded incredibly distant and muffled, her limbs felt like lead, and she could hardly breathe.

“I- W-what does- wha-what d-does that m-mean?”

Madam Pomfrey took a shaky breath. “You… You will likely have moderate to severe chronic pain in the associated joints, which will likely cause mobility issues. Due to the alchemical nature of basilisk venom, there is no known cure or treatment. It is expected to be a lifelong condition.”

She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill down the sides of her expressionless face. Logically, Mary knew what Pomfrey had said. She knew what the words meant, and the knowledge that they conveyed when assembled as they were in the sentences she heard. Understanding that meaning, however, was a completely different story. It just didn't click. Something was terribly, horribly off.

It just didn't make sense.

It worked in the realm of abstraction, certainly. Someone who got bit by a basilisk, even if they lived, would have to live with permanent consequences. They would be in pain their entire life. Depending on where they were bitten, they might never walk again, due to the sheer amount of pain the action would bring.

But how was that information meant to apply to her? No matter how she tried to wrap her head around it, it just didn't make sense. After all, Marigold could walk just fine. Sure, if she got an injury during quidditch, it would hurt for a while. But it would heal. It always healed. She'd had her radius and ulna vanished and she'd gotten better. So what did Pomfrey mean there was no treatment or cure? She had to be mistaken, right?

…Right?

Vaguely, Mary could hear the sounds of people mumbling- no, talking to her. She opened her eyes, but being able to see their lips didn't help. She couldn't make out a single word. Everything felt so far away. Mary felt a light touch on her chest. As her neck reluctantly complied with her demands, she turned to look at the source. Valerie was pressing her palm flat on Mary's collar, slowly moving back and forth.

Marigold focused on the sensation, seeing as it was just about the only thing she could feel with any sort of clarity. Back and forth, and sounds grew more distinct from each other, no longer a blurred mess. Everyone seemed to be comforting her, though Mary was at a loss as to why. It was probably to do with what Madam Pomfrey had said, even though it still didn't make sense. Back and forth, and her vision started to come into focus. The pressure on her chest grew deeper and deeper, as feeling returned to her body.

She wished it hadn't. Mary ached all over. She did her best to ignore the sharp pain in her lower body, but she needed a proper distraction to focus on. Unfortunately, the distraction she got came in a rather unsavory form.

“Do you feel the rules don't apply to you, or do you just not care?” Lord Lucius Malfoy drawled as he waltzed into the Hospital Wing. “The directive clearly stated - in no unclear terms - that you were to leave Hogwarts and not return until the situation was resolved.”

He snapped his fingers, and Dobby stepped out from behind him, handing him a sealed envelope identical to the last. Marigold could feel Valerie’s hand shaking with anger at the sight.

Malfoy held the envelope out towards Dumbledore. “Here, a copy, since your memory seems to be going.”

Dumbledore looked up, uninterested. “I believe you'll find the directive only specifies my presence here as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, I am here as a guardian.” He gestured to Mary, rather than try to do verbal acrobatics around using her name or gendered terms. “Furthermore, I would argue the situation has been resolved.”

Malfoy curled his lip. “Yes, I've read the report. I find it rather obvious that the credibility of the… witnesses ought to be called into question.”

Dumbledore turned his gaze back to the diary. “I disagree. I find their testimony to be quite compelling, especially taken in conjunction with the available evidence.”

“Come now,” Malfoy scoffed. “Surely you don't mean to say you actually believe the Dark Lord was able to cheat death, even if only momentarily?”

“That is exactly what I am saying, Lucius, just as I did last year.” he replied, closing the diary. He held it up. “A cursed book, imbued in ways unknown, with the power to bring one person to life at the expense of another. It seems Voldemort was quite the pioneer of the Dark Arts, to create such a thing.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Even if we suppose such a thing to be true, it still leaves the matter of an accomplice, unless you believe it was the diary that wrote on the ceiling.”

“Ah, that would be another power this artifact has - it seems it possessed a student, one who, at such a tender age, would not have the requisite defenses to resist such powerful magic.” He paused, his eyes twinkling. “Though, I do find it rather peculiar - I don't believe I mentioned that the book in question was a diary. Whatever gave you that impression, my boy? Would you care to share your… insights?”

Malfoy bristled as the old wizard peered over his glasses at him. “I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean.” he snarled. “Though you should be careful as to what you insinuate about your betters.”

“Oh, I don't know Lucius, he has a point.” Augusta cut in icily. “Unless I'm mistaken that you handled a certain student's books prior to his arrival at Hogwarts. A student who has subsequently become involved in this latest incident.”

He stiffened. “I'm afraid you must be, Augusta.” he said brusquely. “But since everything here seems to be in order after all, I will be taking my leave.”

Malfoy strode out of the room, Dobby at his heels, looking back at the group over his shoulder.

Hermione stood up, leaning over Mary's bed and snatching the diary from Dumbledore's hands before anyone could react.

“I need to borrow this.” she stated, stuffing a sock in between its pages and holding it shut.

Marigold watched as she chased after Malfoy, one of her feet bare. She caught up to him just before he got to the Hospital Wing doors. Mary couldn't hear what was said, but she watched as Hermione handed Malfoy the diary, only for him to shove it towards Dobby.

The book fell open in Dobby’s hands, revealing Hermione’s sock.

Malfoy froze, bristling with rage as he realized what had happened. “You just cost me a servant, girl! Do you have any idea how much that thing cost me!?”

He took a step towards Hermione, but Dobby cut between them, arms outstretched. A moment later, both of Hermione's parents were up on their feet, standing protectively at their daughter's side. After a tense standoff, Lord Malfoy spun around and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dobby flung himself into Hermione's arms, sobbing tears of joy. Mary couldn't make out much of what he was saying, other than his profuse thanks. It was hard to imagine the sheer depths of the gratitude he was feeling in that moment, but Marigold figured she had at least an inkling of an idea, thinking back to when Professor McGonagall told her that the Dursleys would never force her to work or punish her again. Certainly, being abused by her relatives paled in comparison to literal enslavement, but the feeling was there, even if the intensity wasn't.

Dobby couldn't be happier.

---

The following day was a Sunday, and though Marigold wasn't at the Great Hall for dinner the previous night, bedridden as she still was, Hermione and Neville related McGonagall’s announcement - classes would be starting back up, starting on the 8th of February. In the intervening week, clubs would start back up again, with a reduced Auror presence in the castle. While some students were happier than others about taking classes again, the topic on everyone's mind was quidditch.

Following the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game in December, the next scheduled match - until clubs had been canceled - was intended to be Ravenclaw versus Slytherin on February 6th. With McGonagall's announcement meaning the quidditch season was back on, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin teams had less than a week to practice, but both captains insisted to Madam Hooch that they would be ready in time. Whether that declaration was bravado or merely foolhardiness, Mary wasn't certain, but she was more worried about Hufflepuff’s upcoming game against Ravenclaw, which would be in March or April, depending on the outcome of next week’s match.

On Monday morning, Madam Pomfrey finished her observation of Marigold and was satisfied that her symptoms weren't worsening. Unfortunately, in order to be discharged from the Hospital Wing, Mary needed to be able to get around on her own, and given it hurt far too much to even stand on her own two feet, that meant a wheelchair.

Marigold sat in bed, staring blankly at the device. Every breath felt labored in its presence. At the very least, the thing was enchanted to the nines, being able to levitate over uneven ground and up stairs, but it was little solace. Mary already drew enough attention to herself as it was, being the transgender Girl-Who-Lived. Now, she would be the disabled transgender Girl-Who-Lived. She hated the attention.

Reluctantly, she pushed back the covers, wincing at the sight of the gnarled, fist-sized scar on her right thigh, its edges barely peeking past the hem of her skirt. She tugged the fabric back down over her new scar. Getting dressed while sitting in bed had been an ordeal, but she'd somehow managed to wrangle the skirt on. The jumper, at least, hadn't given her too much trouble, but it was going to be a difficult adjustment overall.

Mary positioned the transfer board and shimmied her way along it, before sitting back into the wheelchair. She readjusted her skirt again, and gently moved her legs to set her feet on the footrests. Even just using her affected joints caused them to throb with pain, but thankfully Madam Pomfrey said that would likely go away. Her joints were still inflamed from the initial injury, which should fade with time, but she would still be in pain if she put pressure on her joints. Unfortunately, excessive agitation would bring the inflammation right back, so it would always be a game of symptom management.

Always. For the rest of her life.

It still hadn't quite sunk in just yet that she would always be in pain from now on. It was hard to fathom a lifetime of pain, especially at the tender age of twelve.

“Ready to face the day?” Madam Pomfrey asked her, stirring her from her depressing thoughts.

Mary shrugged, folding the transfer board and placing it in her bag. “...I guess.” she sighed. “I mean, I'll have to eventually. Might as well get it over with, huh?”

Pomfrey patted her shoulder. “That's the spirit, dear. We all have to start somewhere.”

Marigold disengaged the brakes on her chair and wheeled forward. She was incredibly grateful for the enchantments on the device, as it also reduced the amount of force she would have to put in to turn the wheels, so long as she put a little magic into it instead. Thankfully, Mary had magical power to spare, so she rolled across the Hospital Wing with ease. Arriving at the doors, she drew her wand, twisting it in a circle, then rotating her wrist the opposite way.

“Sumīre torqueo¹.” she incanted, causing the doors to swing forward.

With a final wave to Madam Pomfrey, she wheeled out into the hallway. Marigold had already managed to eat a few bites of breakfast, but the meal was held in the Great Hall until 10 am, so she had plenty of time to make her way down there to meet up with her friends.

Going down the stairs was… interesting. The wheelchair had an extra lever alongside the brakes, which caused the chair to lift up off the ground, no more than a meter. Levitating over the stairs, the enchantment treated them as a smooth slope, though thankfully without causing Mary to slide down at ridiculous speeds, and being sure to keep her level. Given the Hospital Wing was four floors above the Great Hall, Mary got a decent amount of practice by the time she made it to the large oak doors at its entrance. She drew a deep breath alongside her wand.

“Now or never.” she grumbled. “Sumīre torqueo.”

Marigold kept her eyes down, even as every other eye in the now-awkwardly-quiet room was on her. She felt her cheeks blaze in embarrassment as she rolled her way over to the Hufflepuff table. Typically, Mary's yearmates sat about a third of the way down, but today - and likely going forward - they sat all the way at the end closest to the doors. After all, the benches stretched the entire length of the tables, and there wasn't any space for a wheelchair except at either end. Potentially, Mary could transfigure the bench out of the way with a molding charm, but she'd have to keep the spell active throughout the meal, and her yearmates insisted that it wasn't a bother to change their seats. Mary couldn't tell one way or another, but even if they were merely sparing her feelings, she appreciated the thought.

She positioned herself at the end of the table and engaged the brakes on her wheelchair, only then deigning to raise her line of sight above horizontal. Mary could still see plenty of staring and stolen glances at her in her periphery, but at least the volume of chatter was recovering.

Mary cleared her throat, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Er, mind passing the syrup, Hermione?” she asked, spearing a couple of pancakes with her fork.

Hermione gave her a warm smile, sliding a gravy boat full of the stuff over to her. “Excited for classes next week?”

Marigold grinned, nodding. At least some things were still normal.

Chapter Text

Marigold groaned as she sat up in bed, lit only by the gibbous moon over the loch peering around the corner of her window. It was later that night, after the Imbolc feast. The food had been wonderful, if slightly lacking compared to the previous year. Mary couldn't blame the kitchen staff. It was a quick turnaround between a complete emergency evacuation, and everything being safe again. Not to mention, a handful of the elves in the kitchen were currently helping Dobby adjust to being free, and so had been understandably distracted from cooking. With nowhere else to go, the young elf had been offered refuge amongst the elves of Hogwarts. According to Hermione, he wasn't going to be working, at least until he recovered from the abuse he suffered at Lord Lucius Malfoy’s hand. Whether or not he would join the Hogwarts elves, he hadn't decided yet.

Mary rubbed her knee as she swung her legs out of bed, only then realizing that she could barely feel the tips of her fingers. She breathed into her hands and rubbed them together to warm them up. It wasn't overly cold in the Hufflepuff dorms, but she'd had her arms resting above the covers, and Madam Pomfrey had warned Marigold of how cooler temperatures could constrict her blood vessels, leading to peripheral neuropathy. Essentially, the damage to her blood vessels from the basilisk venom was mimicking the effects of Raynaud's syndrome. Whether it would fade as Mary recovered, only time would tell.

With color and sensation returning to her fingertips, Mary grabbed the cane by her bedside. She winced, standing up. She took a step with her bad leg, swinging the cane forward in her left hand. Marigold took another step, but whimpered in pain as despite shifting as much weight as she could to the cane, a small amount of pressure still remained on her right leg, causing a burst of pain to shoot through it.

She probably should have been using her wheelchair instead, but after a couple of painful steps, Mary was already sat at her desk. Over the past couple of days in the Hospital Wing, Marigold had been owling her account manager, Griphook. Apparently, according to wixen law, the basilisk's corpse belonged to Mary by right of conquest, given she was the one to deal the killing - and in this case, only - blow. As such, it was up to her how the corpse would be handled, and its materials divided. After talking with Griphook about it, all of the perishables would be sold at market, along with half of the nonperishables, and the profits added to Marigold's personal vault at Gringotts. The remaining materials would be stored in the Potter family vault. Neither Mary nor Griphook were worried about proper tithes to her House, given Mary was the sole member and Head of House, but it was still good practice, and would provide evidence to the contrary, should any claims of improper management be brought against her, since she was a minor. Given that in the worst case of such accusations, Dumbledore could potentially assume the position of Lord Apparent Potter until her majority, Mary was all too happy to set the materials aside, at least until she turned seventeen and could access the family vault as Lady Potter.

Marigold reread Griphook’s latest letter, which had arrived that night. Tomorrow, he had arranged with Professor McGonagall - who was still the acting Headmistress - for a team of harvesters to come to the castle to take care of the basilisk's corpse. Given the lack of anguisurratrums in the Wixen British Isles, Mary would be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets.

---

The kettle whistled, and Hagrid used a fire poker to hook the handle and pull it out of the fireplace. He set it on a stone coaster and popped in a sachet of tea leaves he had made, then put the lid back on.

“So,” he grunted, sitting down across from Mary, “Ye holdin’ up a’right?”

She shrugged. “As much as I can be, I suppose. I'm looking forward to classes starting back up.”

Hagrid hummed, his voice rumbling. “McGonagall tells me yer always well on top o’ your studies. Ye’ll be a fine witch someday, I'm sure.” He patted the top of her comparatively tiny hand. “And ye’ve got your clubs an’ such until then, eh?”

Mary sighed. “For the most part. Lottie - my quidditch captain - she won't let me join practices until I'm up and walking again. It makes sense, but I hate it.” she grumbled. “I just… I just wish things could go back to normal.”

Hagrid sighed through his nose. “I hear ye.” He smiled at her. “But change is a part o’ life, Mary. Blimey, change may as well be life, if I've learned anythin’ durin’ my years as Groundskeeper.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes things change for th’ better, an’ sometimes it's for th’ worse. ’Bout th’ only thing ye can do is learn t’ live with ’em as they come, hope tha’ they balance out.”

She slumped down in her chair, resting her cheek on the table as she looked to the side. Hagrid was right, and all things considered, there was plenty in her life that was going well, despite the recent downturn in her health. Still, showing up at practice and being turned away had been a massive blow for Marigold. Besides, she could ride a broom just fine! It only hurt whenever she accelerated or changed directions too quickly. On the other hand, that was practically all she did as a Seeker.

A small bell rang, and Hagrid grabbed two mugs, pouring tea into them. The bell also caused Fang to lift his head up off his paws, and begin whining and begging at Hagrid's feet.

Hagrid shook his head. “Ye ridiculous dog, tha’s th’ tea timer, I've not made snacks for ye.”

Fang, unable to understand English, continued to beg, his slobber dribbling out of his mouth and onto Hagrid’s boot.

“Oh, for cryin’ out-” Hagrid complained, reaching over to the counter and ripping a raw sausage off the link it was attached to. He tossed it to Fang who promptly inhaled it. Hagrid shook his head. “There ye go, ye bloody menace…”

Mary couldn't help but giggle the antics. She had truly missed visiting Hagrid while the castle was on lockdown. He was wonderful company - not to mention, his tea was always expertly brewed.

“Mm.” she hummed, sipping her tea. “How did you get so good at making tea, by the way?” she asked. “I've had plenty of practice growing up, but I feel like an amateur next to you.”

He chuckled. “Well, thank ye, Mary. I really ’preciate tha’.” Hagrid took a sip as well. “Twas ol’ Simon who taught me. Tha’ and everythin’ else it took t’ become a proper Groundskeeper.”

“Daphne Greengrass’ grandfather, right? Silvergrass?” she asked, vaguely recalling the name.

“Th’ very same.” he nodded. “Simon was th’ Groundskeeper afore I took th’ job. Took me as an apprentice after I got expelled, he did.”

Mary hesitated. “...You don't talk about that much.”

Hagrid sighed. “No, can't rightly say I like thinkin’ ’bout it. But hell, if it isn't relevant.” At the confused face Mary made, he continued. “I got expelled th’ last time th’ Chamber got opened by You-Know-Who. It's been runnin’ ’round my head ever since tha’ warnin’ was written.”

“Then you knew him when he was still only Tom Riddle.” Mary surmised.

“Aye.” he responded, a scowl on his face. “He killed a girl, Warren, then did his best t’ pin it on me, ‘cos I had a penchant for raisin’ dangerous creatures. I went t’ Azkaban for a bit - jus’ low security, mind, nothin’ horrendous like with th’ Fuathan¹ - afore Dumbledore cleared my name. I wasn't allowed back in Hogwarts though, since I still had my fair share o’ muck ups up t’ tha’ point.” He shrugged. “I took my BATs, an’ I've been here ever since. I try t’ keep my mind occupied with more pleasant things.”

“Wow.” Mary mumbled. Not sure what else to say, and not wanting to press further on the topic, she took another sip of her tea

“Eh, tha's all ancient history now.” Hagrid waved her off her concerns. “I'm doin’ well for myself, an’ if things work out, I should have a promotion lined up fairly soon.”

“Hm?” she hummed, swallowing her mouthful of tea. “What is it?”

Hagrid winked, grinning at her from behind his bushy beard. “Wouldn't want t’ jinx it, eh? Jus’ ye wait an’ see.” He smiled to himself as he took another swig. “Jus’ ye wait an’ see…”

---

Stone scraped against stone as the sink recessed back into the wall. The harvesters, a mix of human wixen and kobolds, as well as a handful of Aurors, headed down the stairs and into the depths of the Chamber. Marigold stayed behind in Myrtle's bathroom, along with the ghost in question and Auror Tonks. Soon enough, the three of them were alone.

Mary shifted in her chair, glancing nervously up at Tonks. “So, er, I guess the Aurors searched this bathroom, then?”

He arched an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah, they did. Why?”

“W-well, I- I mean,” she stammered, “Did they- d-did they happen to- t-to-”

“Find a stash of brewing supplies with plenty of evidence to pin two students with brewing potions they're not qualified to make, as well as to charge them with obstruction of justice?”

Mary's heart practically stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Myrtle tried to say something, likely in Mary and Diana's defense, but couldn't get any real words out before she was cut off.

“Nope.” Tonks concluded, stretching. “As far as the DMLE is concerned, it's just an unfortunate case of a traumatized ghost not realizing that the entrance was right under her nose the entire time.”

Her head whipped around, staring at Tonks in utter confusion. “I- What?”

She winked at Mary. “Listen kid, I'm trans, too. I may not get dysphoria in the same way you and whoever-your-friend-is do, but I understand what it's like, yeah?”

“S-so you're not going t-to-”

“Rat you out?” he finished. They shook their head. “Nah. I became an Auror to catch dark wixen, not schoolgirls who just want to be happy.” He shrugged. “Besides, you're family. Pretty sure Mum’d kill me if I busted you for somethin’ like this.”

Mary stared at her in disbelief. “You… We're related?”

Tonks arched an eyebrow. “You didn't know? Huh.” She shook her head clear. “Well, yeah. Dorea Potter, your great-grandmum, used to be a Black before she married into House Potter. Her dad, Cygnus Black, is my great-great-grandfather, too.” He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “We're third cousins, Potter.”

A grin slowly spread across Mary's face. She beamed at her cousin. “Marigold.”

Tonks grinned back. “Alright, then. Nym.” They offered their hand, which Mary gladly shook. “Though I should warn you.”

Mary frowned. “What?”

“Mini-Malfoy is also your third cousin.” Nym said. “His mum and mine are sisters.”

Marigold screwed up her face in disgust. “Well, he's an ass who pushed me down a flight of stairs.” she pointed out. “I don't think I'll be calling him ‘Draco’ anytime soon.”

Nym barked out a laugh. “Never say never, Mary. There's always a chance he'll realize his dad's an ass, and get his shit together.” She shrugged. “It's a slim chance, I'll grant you, but it could happen. He's just a kid, y'know?”

Mary snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it, thank you very much.”

---

Marigold stared in disbelief at the number in front of her. She had been minding her business, eating oatmeal and fruit for breakfast, when Hedwig landed with a letter from Griphook. Inside, it contained a detailed list of the recovered materials from the basilisk, as well as a tentative total sale price for what was headed to market.

Tentative.

“Nine fifty…” she mumbled.

Neville frowned, looking up from his pastry. “Hm?”

“Griphook just- he just sent me the tentative sale price for the basilisk.” Mary responded, still in disbelief. “Nine fifty…” she breathed.

Hermione tilted her head. “Nine hundred and fifty galleons, that's… thirty… minus…” Her eyes widened as she finished the mental maths. “Twenty-eight thousand pounds…”

Alexis boggled at Mary from next to Hermione. “Wait, for real? Bloody hell, Marigold!”

“Th-that's really low, actually.” Neville pointed out.

“Is that just the minimum auction price?” Susan asked. “You should get them to start higher, otherwise you'll get cheated at the market.”

Mary shook her head. “Nine hundred and fifty thousand…”

“That's m-more like it.” Neville nodded, Susan joining him.

Despite Neville and Susan’s nonchalance, the rest of the second year Hufflepuffs, who were either moxenborn or had simply never handled anywhere near that sum of money, were utterly shocked.

“What are you going to do with it all?” Ernie asked, once the initial clamor had died down.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I- I don't know. It's-” She laughed, incredulous. “Thirty million. N-nearly- nearly th-thirty mill-ill-lion p-pounds.”

Marigold really had no clue what to do with such a massive sum of money, though not for lack of ideas. There were countless possibilities laid out before her, but which ones to choose? She would have to sit down for a nice long chat with Griphook some time soon.

---

On Thursday morning, Professor Sprout had announced that the mandrakes were just about ready for harvest. In fact, she was already able to harvest enough for a single dose of the Cure for True Petrification, which Professor Snape was working on brewing. As she had been petrified the longest, Catherine Creevey would be the one to receive the cure first, and as more mandrakes matured and were processed, students would continue to be cured in order of their petrification. Unfortunately for Ron and Luna, this meant they would be last in line. However, given it had only been two weeks so far, they were far better off than Creevey and Entwhistle, who had been stuck in the Hospital Wing for several months at that point.

Unable to join in with quidditch practice, her leg hurting too much to work the pedals of a piano, and the kitchens slightly too cramped for a wheelchair, Marigold spent most of the week either in the Hospital Wing, visiting Ron and Luna; in Professor McGonagall's classroom, with the rest of the Knitting Club; or in the library, reading alone. Given her conversations with her petrified friends were one-sided, and knitting didn't take much active thought other than counting rows and making sure she didn't skip any steps of the pattern, Mary had plenty of time to consider what to do with the windfall she was set to receive. Some of the basilisk parts had already sold, and Griphook's estimate had been rather conservative, apparently. Despite its prolonged starvation, the sheer age and size the basilisk had reached gave considerable extra potency to its materials, which was easily reflected in its sale price.

Given thirty million pounds was far more than she could ever hope to spend on her own - to say nothing of the Potter family vault and its continual royalties on Sleekeazy - Mary had already decided she would be putting most all of the money towards charity. Three in particular came to mind: the one for LGBT wixen that she had already discussed with Griphook, S.P.E.W. (name incredibly subject to change), and a relief fund for the victims. Mary had seen the bill she'd gotten for her wheelchair and cane, and while the cane wasn't too bad, only having a handful of enchantments, the wheelchair was enchanted to the nines, and the price reflected as much. Creevey would definitely need a chair, and Entwhistle was likely to need one too, not to mention all the ongoing costs that being disabled brought with it, such as more specialized healer visits. Mary had also reached out to the families of the victims from fifty years ago, and while a handful refused the offer, Marigold gave out a decent (though small compared to the full total) sum as compensation to each of them. She knew it wasn't her responsibility to try and fix everything - Madam Pomfrey had been very clear about that - but she still wanted to do her part to help.

On Friday, roughly thirty-six hours short of exactly thirteen weeks since she had been petrified, Madam Pomfrey administered the Cure for True Petrification to Catherine Creevey. Gathered around her bed in her room of the Hospital Wing were her family, Septimus, and Marigold. Sept had been the only real friend Creevey had made prior to being attacked, and both he and the Creeveys assured Mary that Catherine would appreciate her being there. Finding herself unable to refuse, Mary now found herself parked in her wheelchair next to Catherine’s bedside.

To say it was awkward was an absurd understatement. Not only had Catherine and Marigold only interacted once (and negatively, at that), but she had barely met the girl's family, and yet here they all were, gathered around like close friends. Mary was glad that she was at least friends with Septimus, but even that wasn't free of awkwardness, as they had yet to have a proper conversation since the Chamber. To top it all off, there was no telling when exactly Catherine would come to, and after Pomfrey administered the dose, there was nothing to do besides wait for her to unpetrify.

And so they sat there, waiting. Madam Pomfrey was continuously monitoring Catherine's condition, so presumably everything was going well, but after a minute, there still wasn't any change. The minutes crawled on, and Mrs Creevey eventually allowed her son to pull out his book and read in the meantime. Mr Creevey pulled out a moxy newspaper to work on a crossword he had started, occasionally asking his wife for help. Mary just… sat there.

“Sorry, I thought it'd be a bit quicker.” Sept mumbled.

Mary shrugged. “It's fine. Not like you could've known.” she quietly responded.

“I'm…” Sept scratched the back of his head, thinking. “I'm just… sorry.” he said. “It's ‘cos of me that, well…”

“That what?” Mary asked, her nose scrunched up in confusion.

He gestured vaguely and hopelessly. “...Everythin'. I didn't realize who Tom was, and now…” Sept glanced down at Mary's wheelchair, then averted his gaze, looking at Catherine instead. “It's my fault she's gonna need a wheelchair, that you- you-” he broke off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sept breathed, looking down as he wrung his hands in his lap.

Mary thought on that. Madam Pomfrey had stressed to her that it was her choice whether or not to forgive someone, and that it didn't make her a better or worse person, regardless of what she chose.

But…

Marigold reached over, placing her hand on Sept’s. He looked up at her, and she smiled back.

“It's his fault, not yours.” she assured him. “Just because Riddle used your body to do those things doesn't make it your fault.”

“But-”

“And if it wasn't you, it would have been someone else.” Mary insisted, squeezing his hand. “Malfoy would've found someone else to give the diary to. You're just as much a victim as anyone else.”

Septimus clenched his jaw, seemingly wanting to protest, but unable to come up with a counterargument. He shakily nodded his assent, relaxing his hands in his lap.

Marigold wove her fingers through his, her cheeks burning as her mind caught up to what her body had instinctively done. Try as she might to tell herself she was only doing it to comfort Sept, even she didn't really believe the lame excuse, especially with how it made her heart flutter.

Thankfully, she was saved any potential embarrassment when a raspy breath drew everyone's attention back to Catherine. Immediately, her parents were fully focused on her, talking her through the process. Meanwhile, Marigold and Septimus silently slipped their hands apart.

Catherine coughed weakly as her breathing returned, occasionally managing unintelligible vocalizations. One by one, her facial muscles began to twitch as the petrification broke, until she was finally able to look around and blink. With that, Madam Pomfrey could begin asking the girl a series of questions to help guide her through the unpleasant experience and gauge her mental health, receiving responses via blinks - one for yes, two for no. Thankfully, the amnesia seemed minimal, and mostly affected the period of petrification. Unfortunately, she did seem to have forgotten her name, as she repeatedly insisted it wasn't Catherine.

Of course, that misunderstanding was cleared up as soon as enough of his vocal tract was cured that he could talk, letting him explain that being petrified gave him plenty of time to think and subsequently realize he was trans, and that he would much rather go by Collin, if they didn't mind.

Collin’s family very much did not mind, and was just glad their son was as healthy as they could have hoped for, given the situation.

Chapter Text

On Saturday, thankfully, Slytherin lost to Ravenclaw. It was a hard fought game with loads of back and forth, but little scoring despite the length of the game. By the time it was all over, Ravenclaw had 135 points to Slytherin's 50. Ravenclaw’s victory was fortunate for Marigold, as it meant the next game would be Slytherin against Gryffindor in March, then Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw in April, which gave Mary plenty of time to practice and get used to her disability in the contexts of flying and Seeking.

There was that word again. Disability.

Mary hated… Well, no. She didn't hate the word. Knowing and being friends with Maddy Boot, Marigold couldn't bring herself to hate it. Collin Creevey was disabled and it didn't bother Mary. Ron and Luna could very well end up being disabled from their petrification, and that wouldn't bother Mary either, so it wasn't just that Maddy had been born disabled. Still something about Mary herself being disabled…

When Marigold tried to talk it out with Madam Pomfrey on Sunday, the old mediwitch kindly needled her on the subject, helping to pin down what exactly it was. During the mind healing session, Mary feigned ignorance, but in truth she was simply too embarrassed to say what it was she'd realized. Despite reassuring Septimus that it was Tom and Lord Malfoy who were responsible for the horrible events of the year, Mary didn't even believe it herself.

It was Marigold's fault.

She was the one who had pushed Sept on his gender identity, then recommended he write about it.

She was the one who had made Myrtle keep the Aurors from investigating the bathroom where the Chamber was hidden.

She was the one who had gone into the Chamber without getting help from an actually competent adult.

Not only was it Mary's fault that she was now disabled, she was also to blame for the horrid way the entire year so far had unfolded. It was a realization she couldn't admit, since it would guilt Pomfrey into consoling Marigold, even when she clearly didn't deserve it. So Mary had no choice but to bear her sins in private. It wasn't even particularly hard - after having so much practice pretending she didn't exist at all, what was a bit of guilt?

Classes starting back up was a welcome distraction, and there was no shortage of material to learn. All of the professors were trying to make up for lost time by condensing the curriculum and assigning more self study, as opposed to the usual essays and projects. Thankfully for the Hufflepuffs, Mary and Hermione especially, they had been ahead of schedule with their studies, so the quicker pace wasn't a problem. What was a problem, however, was the lack of a Defense professor, as they had yet to fill the vacancy left by Lockhart’s sudden death. It hadn't even fully sunk in for Mary that she had watched the man die. It was surreal, to say the least. Still, until the position was filled, students were encouraged to use their regularly scheduled Defense class time to self study.

On Tuesday, Kevin Entwhistle was unpetrified. Unlike Collin, he still had some function remaining in his legs, so there was at least a chance he could walk again, though it would take quite a bit of physical therapy to get there. It gave Mary hope that Ron and Luna might escape mostly unscathed, considering how much longer Entwhistle had been petrified. According to Sept, somewhat comically, the Lovegoods and Weasleys had both been repeatedly insisting that the other have the third dose of Cure for True Petrification. Eventually, as the dose neared completion, Madam Pomfrey was forced to make the decision for them, choosing Luna first, as she was more physically frail than Ron. Xeno and Pandora finally acquiesced, and on Friday they arrived at the Hospital Wing.

While Collin’s curing felt cramped due to the awkwardness, Luna’s curing was cramped due to the sheer number of people in the room. Besides Luna’s fathers; Hermione, Mary, and Neville were there, along with every Weasley other than Charlie, who was still finishing out her contract with the Romanian dragon reserve, and Ron, who was still petrified. Bill Weasley had taken a temporary leave from his job working for the West Eurasian Kobal Kingdom, and had been helping his parents, who were understandably shaken when Ron had been petrified. According to Pandora, Bill had occasionally helped out around the Rookery as well. He was a dependable (and rather handsome) man, with Arthur’s nose and Molly's blue eyes, and more piercings than the rest of the room put together.

The unpetrification process was nearly identical to when Mary witnessed it with Collin, though much quicker. Luna was soon able to speak, though her limbs weren’t as cooperative.

“Oh, Papa, Daddy, we almost forgot.” Luna piped up, as though they were merely having tea, rather than laid out on a hospital bed, being scanned with various spells. “Having so much time to think amongst ourselves, we've decided on names and pronouns.”

“Yes, my dears?” Pandora asked, gently brushing a few strands from their child's face.

“Well, we all really like fae and faer pronouns, but do you think that would be rude to the fair folk?”

“With faeries having vanished from the world, I don't think it could bother them much. If anything, you can help keep their memory alive here.” Xeno reasoned.

“Then we'd like to go with that.” Fae beamed at faer fathers. “Also, while I'm still Luna, there's also Sol and Aster in this body.”

“That's wonderful.” Pandora responded. “Have we already met them?”

Luna nodded. “Sol, yes, we switch places often, sometimes even sharing control. Aster isn't much for embodiment though, so we can't remember if you've met faer.”

“How will we know who we're talking to?” Hermione asked. “Or should we just keep calling you Luna, regardless of whether it's actually Sol we're talking to?”

“You’re several steps ahead, as always.” Luna replied, beaming. Hermione blushed at the praise. “Sol and I decided upon the portmanteau of Soluna for our body as a whole. We had considered Solunaster, which we might still take as our body's legal name, but it's a bit of a mouthful, and Aster doesn't much care for the attention.” Fae shrugged. “Still, if you do know who we are at the moment, we do prefer our individual names, or Soluna if fae and I are sharing control. We're much closer to each other than to Aster, to the point it's hard to tell who's who sometimes, even for us.”

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. “I do hate to interrupt, but I've finished my diagnosis, and I'm afraid it isn't as good as I had hoped.” At Xeno and Pandora’s worried looks, she continued. “She- apologies, fae will still be able to walk, of that I am certain, but fae will likely require a mobility aid. A wheelchair for now, but perhaps crutches or a rollator in the future.”

“Oh, well that's alright.” Luna replied, nonplussed.

The guilt was expected, but Marigold was surprised by the pang of bitter jealousy at how unfazed Luna was. Logically, it made sense. Soluna had grown up with a disabled parent, so the prospect didn't bother faer anywhere near as much as it did Mary. But her emotions weren't so receptive to that explanation, and it wasn't fair to Soluna for Mary to feel that way about the situation, so one more emotion was thrown on the pile to be ignored.

---

Ron's curing on Sunday was much more eventful. As soon as he regained the use of each muscle, Ron would shake it over, and over, and over. By the time he was sat up in bed, he was wiggling his fingers and toes, shaking his arms and legs, rocking back and forth, scrunching up his face, and humming. It was all Madam Pomfrey could do to get a few scans in before Ron was simply moving too much for the diagnostics to be worth anything. At the very least, he clearly had use of all his limbs.

“Can you not control it, Ron?” Molly asked, somewhat exasperated by her son's refusal to sit still for Pomfrey.

“Kinda, but I've bloody well had enough o’ sittin’ still, haven't I?” he replied. “‘Sides, I feel like if I stop, I won't be able to start again, and if that's the case, I think I'd rather die.”

Pomfrey grimaced at the casual suicidality. “Well, we can work on that later. For now, since you can't sit still, we'll go with a more practical test than a diagnostic scan.” She held her hands out to Ron. “Up you get, let's see if you can stand on your own.”

Ron nodded… probably. It was hard to tell with the rapidity of his shaking. Still, he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and take Pomfrey's hands. He was, in fact, able to stand on his own. Walking, on the other hand, he couldn't manage. Whether it was a lack of strength or a lack of coordination due to his vibrations, Madam Pomfrey couldn't tell, but an aid of some sort would be needed while Ron attended physical therapy.

That afternoon, despite it being a day late, they celebrated Soluna's twelfth birthday. Sept had brought up faer birthday to Soluna yesterday, but fae insisted they wait for Ron to be able to join in on the festivities. Given half of their group was currently wheelchair-bound, the activity was centered around cards, board games and other tabletop options. In particular, Soluna wanted to try out a new moxy game, the rulebook for which faer parents had gotten faer yesterday - Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.

With a new edition released since, the previous set of rulebooks were now much cheaper, which meant Xeno and Pandora had gotten the entire set for their child. The group struggled through trying to create the fictional characters they would play as, Mary and Hermione helping out with handling the maths. Ultimately, the attempt was a bit of a wash, and they never even got to the actual gameplay. The odd racial requirements of the rules made the whole thing rather off-putting - not to mention, the peculiarity the wixen-raised among them felt about the game’s elves, which were nothing like the ones in real life. Still, the system itself had promise, and they all agreed to Soluna's request at a second attempt, once fae had worked out all the kinks with ignoring nearly half of the rules.

---

The next morning, Marigold woke up as Hermione got back from showering. She swung her legs out of bed and tentatively stood up, putting pressure on her right leg. As always, it hurt like hell, but was much better than usual. Feeling optimistic, Mary grabbed her cane, rather than her wheelchair. She nabbed a clean uniform, her toiletries, and headed downstairs to one of the private bathrooms. Prior to her injury, she had never used the stonework benches that were built into the showers, other than to set her various hair and skin products, but she was now quite grateful they were there, since standing for an entire shower was out of the question. Unfortunately, sitting down came with its own… uncomfortable consequences. It bothered her less, thanks to turning the lights off, but it still upset Marigold greatly to be reminded of her anatomy, especially first thing in the morning.

Soon, though not as soon as she'd prefer, Mary limped out of the shower, drying off as she balanced her weight on her left leg. Once she had put on her uniform, she reached over and grabbed her cane, which was still balancing upright, and walked over to the mirror to tame her hair with some Sleekeazy. Magic was incredibly convenient, and being able to let go of her cane and not worry about it falling over and having to bend all the way over to retrieve it was a huge relief, especially with her lower back as sore as it was. As much as Mary loathed the situation she had caused, she had to admit she was getting used to it. It certainly wasn't the worst amount of pain she had worked through, and at least she had a relatively full stomach these days.

Marigold left the bathroom, realizing her mistake as she reached the stairs up to the dormitory. Steeling herself, she began to trudge her way up, one step at a time. She did her best to ignore the looks of pity she got from other Hufflepuffs passing her on the stairs. By the time she reached the top, she had to wipe the sweat from her brow, brought on not by heat nor exertion, but the sheer pain. Mary limped her way along the balcony to her dorm, and practically collapsed onto her bed.

“Good morning, Marigold.” Hermione murmured from her side of the curtain. “Not using your wheelchair today?”

Mary sighed, tearing up in frustration. “That's what I had thought, but I can't make it up the stairs on my own, and that's, what, half of the halls in the castle?”

“Well, you musn't rush these things.” Hermione advised.

“I can't rush anything.” she laughed bitterly. “I can limp and roll slowly along, but rushing simply isn't an option for me anymore.”

She could practically hear Hermione frown.

Mary sighed. “I'm sorry, I know that's not what you meant, I'm just… frustrated.” She tugged at her hair. “I shouldn't have taken that out on you. Sorry.”

Hermione paused. “Can I come in?”

Mary craned her neck up, looking at the curtain dividing them. “Er, sure, if you want.”

Hermione pulled the curtain back and sat next to Mary on her bed as she continued working conditioner into her curls. Marigold propped herself up with her elbows.

“You know it's not your fault, right?”

Mary froze, a lump in her throat. “W-well, I mean…”

Hermione frowned at her, arching an eyebrow.

“But it is!” Mary protested, flopping back into the mattress, covering her face with her arms. “I caused all of this! Whether or not I meant to doesn't matter.”

“Firstly, it does matter,” Hermione started, “And secondly, the only people at fault here are Lord Malfoy and You-Know-Who.”

“But I'm the one who told Sept to write in the diary!” she argued.

“Mnf, don't be th-thick.” came Neville’s sleepy voice from across the dorm. He pulled back his own curtains, plodding his way over to Mary's side while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “H-how were you s-supposed to kn-now he had a h-haunted diary?”

Mary huffed, not having a response for that. “I had Myrtle keep the Aurors out of her bathroom, though.”

“Neville and I are also to blame for that.” Hermione countered. “Or at the very least, you, Diana, and Myrtle would share equal blame for that.”

“No, that's-” Mary grumbled. “I was still the one who charged recklessly into the Chamber, so-”

“W-with us r-right behind you.” Neville pointed out. “If y-you’re not going to bl-lame the people w-who are actually r-responsible, y-you have to at least s-split the blame w-with us.”

“That's different!” Mary tried to argue. “You all just made honest mistakes, I'm the one who made stupid choices and caused this whole mess!”

“Mary, that doesn't make sense.” Hermione said. “We're all on equal footing! If anything, I'm the oldest, and Neville knows the most about wixen culture, so it's more our fault than yours!”

“No, that's different!” Mary repeated, sitting up. “I should be better than that!”

“But w-why?” Neville pleaded. “H-how come everyone else is allowed to m-make mistakes, but y-you have to be perfect?”

“To make up for things!”

“What things?” Hermione cried.

“I don't know! Everything! Me!”

Marigold turned away. She couldn't bear the looks of heartbreak, especially when she didn't deserve it.

“Marigold, y-you-” Neville started, breaking off at the muffled sounds of distress from Ron's corner of the room.

“Go.” Hermione mumbled. Neville nodded and slipped behind Ron's curtains after getting no response.

“I-I'm sorry, I-” Mary blubbered, wiping her eyes. “I'll take- I'll t-take it b-back-k, I won't- w-wo- won't say it-t a-ag-gain, I-”

Marigold sobbed apologies as Hermione wrapped her in a hug.

“...You can't talk to Madam Pomfrey about this, can you?” Hermione guessed.

She shook her head. “The- th-the p-potions, she does-s-sn-n't know.” Mary looked to Hermione in distress. “I- I can't-”

“I know.” she reassured her. “She would have to tell your guardian, and who knows what Dumbledore would do if he found out?” Mary nodded furtively at that. Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind Mary's ear. “I can't- I won't ask you to do that. But please, talk to us, at least.”

“I w-wouldn't want to b-burden you with my non-nsen-nsense.” Mary mumbled.

“Well first of all, it's not nonsense.” Hermione scolded, tapping Mary on the nose. “And secondly, I'm asking you to tell me. That's not burdening.

Marigold squirmed. She sighed, unable to find anything to protest. “I-I'll try.” she weakly offered.

Neville pushed Ron, twitching about in his wheelchair, over to Mary's corner of the dorm.

“Is- Is everything al- alright?” Mary asked.

Ron gave a snort of laughter. “That's rich, comin’ from someone who's cryin’.” He shook his head. “I'm fine, Neville says it's sleep paralysis? I just say it's awful.” He grinned at his own joke, shaking out his hands. “What happened with you?”

Mary grimaced, and thankfully Hermione spoke up for her, because she didn't know if she could say it out loud again.

“Marigold has been blaming herself for everything that's happened this year.” she explained. “But it's not her fault.”

Ron huffed. “‘Mione’s right, y’know. Hell, at the very least it's my fault Soluna and me got petrified. I shoulda known better than to go off on our own.”

Mary nodded. Logically, it made sense. If only she could make herself believe it.

---

At breakfast, it was announced that over the weekend, the Hogwarts Board of Governors had reinstated Dumbledore as Headmaster. Additionally, until a replacement could be found, and seeing as he had a Mastery in the subject and had even taught it before, Dumbledore would be teaching Defense himself. The Hufflepuffs would have class with him that Wednesday and Friday, a prospect that Marigold was not looking forward to. She was still excited for Friday though, but that was due to Double Transfiguration rather than Defense. After all, the week before, Professor McGonagall had announced they were finally starting their unit on vanishing, another step towards performing true transfiguration.

Chapter Text

As depressing as it had been that morning to have her hopes of using only her cane dashed, Marigold was glad she was using her wheelchair. That Monday, February 15th, the Hufflepuffs had Double Charms in the morning and Astronomy in the afternoon. If Professor Flitwick’s classroom being on the fifth floor wasn't bad enough, Professor Sinistra’s was on the eighth. With the Hufflepuff Common Room being in the first level of the dungeons, Mary never really had a chance in the first place.

…Hogwarts really needed some elevators.

In the meantime, Mary took her time after breakfast slowly wheeling up the many flights of stairs to the fifth floor. It probably would have been quicker and easier to take a page out of Ron's book and have Hermione push her, like Neville was pushing him, but seeing as her arms still worked just fine it was somewhat of a point of principle. Marigold had spent nearly a decade caring for an entire household - being on the receiving end of care still felt wrong unless it was absolutely necessary.

By the time they arrived, it was still well before their class was scheduled to begin, which gave plenty of time for review. Today's would be a practical lesson, so a quick refresher on the theory wouldn't hurt. Similar to previous modifiers they had learned, there were different incantations and somatics depending on where the spell originated. However, where other modifiers of the same type all functioned the same way regardless of origin, the timing modifiers each functioned a bit differently.

Norse was fairly straightforward - a prefix, drāgā¹, was used to prevent the spell being cast immediately, then another incantation, skiyotā², released the pre-cast spell. The main downside was that holding the spell in stasis kept draining energy until it was released, unlike Latin and Celtic which were both powered at the onset.

Latin’s version of the modifier used a suffix, expectā³, which included arguments for how many hours (and even days) the spell would be delayed. The complexity there came from remembering how to count in Latin - which was even worse when it came to fractions. The suffix had arguments for hours and days only, which meant a delay of 10 minutes had to be framed as ‘one-sixth of an hour’.

Celtic was a bit of a learning curve, according to Flitwick. Rather than altering a spell directly, the Celtic modifier was a spell in its own right, cast before what it modified. It was similar to Latin in that it delayed the spell a predetermined amount, but rather than relying on units of time, the delay was based on the amount of magic put into the timing modifier - more magical energy meant a longer delay, and the only way to gain some semblance of controllability over that delay was practice, practice, and more practice.

The clock tower bell chimed twice for 9:30 am, and Professor Flitwick strolled in, right on cue.

“Good morning, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff!” he greeted the class. “I trust you've all been studying your Latin?”

The class unanimously groaned.

“Wonderful!” Flitwick cheered, unbothered. “Then I’m sure you'll all do quite well on the quiz next week.”

The class groaned again.

“Now then, let's start with the Celtic timing modifier.” Flitwick pressed on. “Repeat after me: Alëm, fürā më driux⁴.”

---

Astronomy was quiet as usual, since they had the class with the Ravenclaws, and Professor Sinistra didn't have any particular lesson to teach that day. Instead, they spent the class period independently going over their recordings from Double Astronomy last week. Similar to Potions, last year had mainly been a crash course in how to actually use the equipment, but now that they could do so with considerable accuracy, Sinistra had been lecturing them on the more practical uses, as well as how to do the more simple calculations. Of course, given it was still orbital mechanics, even the simple calculations were rather difficult. Thankfully for Marigold, maths had always been one of her better subjects.

The practical uses were… at least somewhat practical (as the name might suggest), if a bit niche. Mainly, the position of the planets affected various older rituals, mostly potions and alchemy. Last week, Mars, Jupiter, and the moon were visible, which meant Sinistra had them referencing the textbook on rituals concerning iron, tin, or silver, as well as those that required a waning gibbous moon. Also, while last week had been appropriate for rituals with both tin and silver, iron and tin or iron and silver were off the table, as Mars wasn’t properly aligned with Jupiter or the moon - Jupiter and the moon had an angle of separation of only 26 degrees, whereas Mars and the moon’s was 72 degrees, and Mars and Jupiter were over a right angle.

Calculating that had been even worse, and it was Ron's professional opinion that teaching trigonometry to a group of twelve and thirteen year olds ought to be made illegal. For Mary's part, she was just glad she had a TI-81, which boasted eight lines of display, rather than the one line of the TI-30s Professor Sinistra provided for the class.

Throughout Astronomy, Hedwig kept tugging at her connection with Marigold, prompting Mary to look out the classroom windows where Hedwig was flying lazily about. When the class finally ended, Mary wheeled over to and opened the window her familiar had perched outside of.

“Hey, girl.” Mary cooed, holding out her forearm for Hedwig, who stepped inside the classroom and up onto her witch's arm. “Did you miss me?”

Hedwig sent a wave of affirmation, clicking her beak.

“Hello, Hedwig.” Hermione greeted the owl, holding a hand out for her to inspect. Hermione turned to Mary. “Ready to go?”

Mary nodded. She paused for a moment, considering the logistics. “Hedwig, I need you to perch on my shoulder or something so I can push myself.”

Hedwig barked, refusing to budge.

Marigold sighed. “I need both my arms to push my chair, and you're using one of them.”

Hedwig closed her eyes, turning her head to face backwards.

“If you want, I can push you.” Hermione offered.

Mary grimaced. “No, that's fine, I just need to- Ow!” she yelped. “Hedwig! What was that for!?”

Hedwig fluffed her feathers, glaring at Mary as she dulled her talons back down. She hadn't drawn any blood, but even slightly sharpening her talons hadn't exactly been pleasant. In response to Mary's question, Hedwig sent a simple but clear image of Hermione pushing Mary, while Mary held Hedwig.

Marigold responded in kind, envisioning Hedwig on her shoulder while Mary moved under her own power.

Hedwig played back the memory of Mary finally getting to the Astronomy classroom, having come from lunch, shaking out and rubbing her sore, tired arms.

She pursed her lips. “I'm fine, alright? If I need help, I'll ask for it.”

Hedwig merely looked up at Hermione.

When Mary followed her gaze, Hermione was sporting a sheepish grin.

“I'm not sure what exactly was said, but I think Hedwig might have a point.” Hermione pointed out. “Asking for help isn't exactly your strong suit.”

Mary’s protests died on her tongue. If recent events - especially that very morning - were anything to go by, it was true. Begrudgingly, she conceded the point.

“I guess if you really want to, I won't stop you from pushing me.” Mary grumbled.

Hermione nodded, and Hedwig clicked her beak happily as she began preening Mary's hair.

Marigold felt sick to her stomach as Hermione pushed her along, but she couldn't deny the tiny spark of joy underlying the nausea. She felt… important. Cared for.

Loved.

A year and a half since making her first friend, and while it wasn't entirely foreign to her, it still felt strange. It was hard to reconcile the decade she'd experienced under the Dursleys’ roof with her experience in the wixen world. She was nothing but an extra set of hands to be put to work, yet she was nobility. She was a burden to her relatives, yet she had an inexhaustible supply of gold. She was an unwanted oddball whose sole redeeming quality was earning good marks for her cousin, yet she enjoyed a rich social life and the accolades of the public as the daughter of two war heroes.

And yet Marigold hadn't changed. Sure, there was her transition, but she was still the same person underneath. So then why was she treated so differently? Why had no one shown her even an ounce of love until her eleventh birthday?

The dissonance was enough to drive anyone mad. Thankfully, Hedwig made sure to keep Mary's attention away from her depressing thoughts, demanding scritches by pecking her forehead.

“You're a good bird, Hedwig.” Mary murmured to her familiar, who preened under the praise. “Maybe we can go flying tomorrow morning?” she suggested.

Hedwig stretched, flapping her wings, and Mary didn't even need the mental connection to know her owl really liked that idea.

---

Since Dumbledore would be teaching Defense, no one showed up for the Defense Association meeting, which meant Mary had plenty of free time on Tuesday morning. After a relaxing few hours of gentle flying around the castle grounds, Hedwig stayed by Marigold's side throughout lunch, which wasn't a problem. What was a problem was when she refused to budge even after lunch, when it was time for Herbology.

“Hedwig, please.” Mary begged. “I really appreciate that you like spending time with me, but I have class now.”

Despite the open window in front of her, Hedwig ignored Mary's pleas.

“Oh, is that your owl?” Lavender Brown asked as she shuffled into her regular seat, which just so happened to be by the window Mary was currently in front of. “She's very beautiful.”

Mary responded with a nervous smile and a nod. “Yeah, Hedwig. She's normally better behaved, though.”

“Why, what's she done wrong?” Brown asked.

“She won't go back to the Owlery.”

“Maybe the window’s too small?” Madhuri Patel suggested from her seat beside Brown.

While it was true that the windows were smaller than usual, the room being half underground since it was in the dungeons, Marigold shook her head. “No, it's the same size as in the Hufflepuff dorms, and she's got no problems with those. She just doesn't want to leave me be.”

The two Gryffindor girls cooed at Hedwig’s show of affection.

Before Mary could tell them not to encourage Hedwig's misbehavior, the bell chimed 1:15, and Professor Sprout emerged from her office.

“Good afternoon, class!” she greeted them, rifling through the notes on her desk.

“Good afternoon, Professor Sprout.” the class chorused back.

Marigold, however, was not a part of that chorus, as she was occupied with desperately trying to shoo her owl out the window. For their part, Brown and Patel found the situation mildly hilarious, giggling to each other.

“Misters Entwhistle and Weasley are… in the Hospital Wing for physical therapy, yes?” Sprout confirmed with the class. “Then that just leaves…” She looked up from her notes, confused. “Miss Potter is absent?”

Mary shakily raised her hand. “Here!” she squeaked.

“Ah.” she replied, looking back down to mark her notes. “Partnering with Misses Brown and Patel for the day, then?”

“No, Professor.” Brown giggled.

Sprout looked up, confused again.

“Er, my- my owl.” Mary sheepishly tried to explain, “She er, doesn't want to go back to the- the Owlery.”

“Oh, very well, then.” Professor Sprout waved her off. “Go ahead and take your seat.”

Mary scrunched up her nose. “Er, excuse me?”

“She's your familiar, yes?” Sprout asked.

Mary nodded slowly, not understanding where the question was going.

“Then so long as she doesn't disrupt the class, it's perfectly alright if she stays with you.” she explained.

“O-oh.”

Still uncertain, Marigold slowly wheeled over to sit beside Neville and Hermione, Hedwig perching triumphantly upon her shoulder. With Ron absent, Sprout had her form a group of three. The Gryffindors, which normally had nine students, were split into four even groups in Entwhistle’s absence. Their usual group of three - Dean, Finnegan, and Rivers - had been temporarily broken up to partner Owen Rivers with Entwhistle's usual partner, Sally-Anne Perks.

Professor Sprout began her lesson, completely unbothered by Hedwig's presence.

Mary looked at Hermione and Neville, utterly bewildered. Neville scribbled a note and slid his notebook over for Mary to read, Hermione looking over her shoulder.

‘Familiars are considered part of a wix - making Hedwig leave would be like shaving your head or taking away your wheelchair. So long as it's not a health or safety hazard, you can have Hedwig with you whenever you want.’

That was news to Mary, and based on her expression, to Hermione as well. Hedwig preened Mary's hair, content that she’d be able to take proper care of her witch.

---

When she awoke on Wednesday, Marigold felt better than she had ever since she'd been bit. Hedwig hadn't allowed Mary to push herself to or from Astronomy, but did let her push herself from History to the Great Hall for dinner, and from there to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Not only had the extra rest kept Mary from tiring out her arms, it was surprising how much better her lower back felt as well. However, it seemed Hedwig still wasn't satisfied with her health, and firmly roosted upon Mary's lap on her way to breakfast. All in all, Mary couldn't really complain. Besides the obvious benefit to her joints, Hedwig's care had also kept Mary awake through the entirety of History. Suffice to say, she was much more willing now to listen to her familiar than she’d been on Monday.

Still, despite Neville’s reassurances that Hedwig could stay by her side, it felt strange to have her owl in the library that morning, perched on the back of her chair. Mary and Hermione were working on assignments there, while Ron and Neville were in Double Moxy Studies with the Slytherins. When the clock tower finally tolled 10 am, the two young witches packed up their belongings, and headed back to their dorm. Hedwig made Mary ask Hermione to push her, to which Hermione readily agreed. After retrieving their potioneering kits, Mary managed to persuade Hedwig - with the help of a few owl treats - to let her push herself across the dungeons to Snape’s classroom. Unfortunately, given the nature of the class and the disposition of its professor, Hedwig wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Marigold in Potions, so instead she took the opportunity to go hunting.

When the bell finally chimed 10:30 and the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors filtered out, exhausted from Double Potions, Mary and Hermione were already situated outside Snape’s classroom, along with Megan, Alexis, Justin, Tracey Davis, and Blaise Zabini; the only badgers and snakes who didn't have Moxy Studies. Zabini, while wixen-raised, had grown up with enough exposure to moxy culture that he'd passed the placement exam in first year. Davis, however, was the only moxenborn Slytherin, a position Mary didn't envy. Sure, Diana was a close friend, and Sofia and Greengrass were decent enough company, but Mary was glad she didn't have to share a common room with Malfoy, of all people. The fact Diana hadn't gone mad already seemed like a miracle.

---

Potions went as usual, other than the way Snape seemed to inspect Mary throughout the class, likely having heard that she'd started bringing Hedwig to classes. It was as if he was worried that if he looked away for too long, Mary would pull Hedwig out of thin air. Given it was a school for magic, Mary couldn't entirely blame Snape on that particular front.

Lunch was abuzz with anticipation. Every other year had already had Defense Against the Dark Arts except for second year, and the consensus was that Dumbledore was a stellar professor. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be the first second years to get a taste of his teaching style, and her own issues with the man aside, Marigold hoped he would live up to those expectations.

She also hoped he wouldn't use the wrong name or pronouns for her in front of everyone.

When they entered Lockhart's former classroom, it was thankfully devoid of his many, many portraits. Instead, Dumbledore had chosen to decorate the room with the various little silver contraptions from his office. Mary wasn't convinced that he had emptied his office to fill the classroom - he probably just had enough for both to begin with. Thankfully, when the clock tower chimed 1:15 and Dumbledore entered the classroom, he silenced the discordant clicking and whirring of his toys with a slight wave of his hand. He strode to the front of the room and sat down at his desk. He silently marked attendance, then looked up at the class, the same slight smile stuck to his face, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Hello, everyone.” he greeted the class. “As you hopefully all know by now, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, your headmaster here at Hogwarts.”

He stood up as a few students laughed.

“What you are perhaps less familiar with are my qualifications.” he continued. “During my time as a student here at Hogwarts, I acquired a handful of newts - as well as earning a variety of N.E.W.T.s.” he joked, pronouncing each letter of the acronym to get his wordplay across.

Even Mary couldn't help but crack a smile at that, much to her dismay.

“My amphibious academic achievements aside, I went on to complete Masteries in Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, Medicine, and Alchemy - though if you are as fond of sweets as I, you have no doubt read of my advances in the field of alchemy alongside my dear friend, Nicolas Flamel. Also on my Chocolate Frog card is my defeat of Grindelwald, though I must request you do not ask about those days.”

The class grew somber at the mention of World War II. Dumbledore clapped softly, and with a wave of his hands, the curtains in the room were drawn shut, dimming the room.

“Now then, let us begin our lesson.” he announced.

With another subtle gesture, a trolly wheeled out from the classroom office, a cloth draped over whatever was atop. Mary hoped it wouldn't be a repeat of Lockhart's first lesson.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers, vanishing the cloth and revealing the repurposed fish tank underneath. Inside were several creatures that looked like odd, floating bugs with an inflated sac like a singing frog. After a moment, lights began to glow from within their translucent gas sacs, flickering as a strange, chattering noise filled the room.

“Ignis fatuus. The friar’s lantern. A hinkypunk.” he stated, the class staring in awe. “Or, as it is most commonly known, the will-o’-the-wisp.” Dumbledore let the introduction sit with his students for a moment before continuing. “Chances are, if you are away from civilization when night falls, you will encounter one - or many - of these creatures. From a distance, they mimic the appearance of a flame quite well, and their senseless babbling becomes indistinguishable from human conversation. In fact, will o’ wisps are even known to have accents, altering their noises to better suit their habitat. There are even reports of some which mimic the look of an electronic torch, as muggles rely less and less on fire.

“If one were to mistake them for a fellow traveler, you might be so inclined to follow them, hoping they might guide you out of the wilderness.” He paused. “But would such a decision be wise? Mister Malone?”

Roger Malone startled, having not expected to be called upon since he hadn't raised his hand. “O-oh, uh, yes? My Mam said they love to help, and that once their light goes out, you should leave a gift on the ground as thanks. Something sweet.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very good, five points to Ravenclaw.”

Isobel MacDougal’s hand shot up in an instant.

“Yes, Miss MacDougal?”

“That's wrong!” she protested. “If you follow a wisp, it'll lead you to a bog, and when you get stuck in the mud, they eat you alive!”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very good. Another five points to Ravenclaw.”

The class burst into a moment of turmoil at the conflicting answers, before Dumbledore quieted them down.

“Both answers are, in fact, correct.” he confirmed. “However, they are both equally wrong, as well.” Dumbledore smirked at the clear confusion on his students’ faces. “The answer is merely a matter of timing. Will o’ wisps are not faeries, as past records might try to suggest, but living, breathing creatures. They live, they die, they feed on prey, and they raise families of their own to continue the cycle. It is their reproduction that determines whether they will help or harm. To attract a mate, the male will o’ wisp starts by building a nest in the middle of especially treacherous terrain. This could be a bog, a bramble patch, the edge of a cliff - the deadlier the better. Then, as Miss MacDougal said, they lure unsuspecting victims toward their nest, relying on the environment to either kill or immobilize their prey. However, they do not eat their prey alive - instead, they merely butcher their prey alive, slicing and tearing off pieces of flesh to be stored in their nests for later consumption.”

A variety of disgusted noises filled the air at the horrifying thought. Malone raised his hand.

Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile. “Then how are you also correct?”

Malone nodded, sheepishly lowering his hand.

“With a sufficiently stocked supply of meat, the male will o’ wisp sings to attract a mate. She will inspect his larders, and if she approves of his hunting prowess, they mate, and she lays her eggs in the nest. From then on, their tactics change - rather than luring prey towards their nest, they will lure any intruders away, only returning to the nest to feed off of their stores. It just so happens that ‘away from a will o’ wisps nest’ more often than not coincides with ‘towards civilization’.”

Dumbledore paused, looking at the captured wisps with appreciation. “They are neither benevolent nor malicious. They simply… are.”

Alexis raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Hopkins?”

Marigold felt a sharp pang in her chest at that. She didn’t begrudge Alex for it, but it wasn’t fair that Dumbledore respected her gender identity (at least enough to not misgender her), yet constantly belittled Mary’s. Hedwig nipped her ear, shaking Mary out of a spiral.

“Then how do you know whether they’re leading you away? Or if they’re…” Alexis clammed up.

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye as he answered. “Geometry.”

Specifically, Dumbledore was referring to the geometry of circles. As he went on to explain, the best strategy was to walk perpendicularly to the direction the wisp was trying to lure someone. Wisps were fairly simple creatures, and would always lead their mark directly where they wanted them to go - either straight towards or away from their nest. If one walked at a right angle to what the wisp wanted, it would become apparent based on their relative movement what their intentions were. A wisp out hunting would move very little, travelling along a shorter arc length at their smaller radius out from the nest. However, a wisp protecting their nest would move much further, as their simple method to luring away an intruder was just keeping it between themself and their nest. Once the intention of the wisp had been realized, it was then a simple matter of following them or walking away.

---

“Wotcher, Mary.”

Marigold spun around in her wheelchair, having just left Defense. She grinned, seeing Nym leaned against the stone brick walls of the castle. She hopped up, balancing on her good leg as she gave her cousin a hug. Nym snorted, ruffling Mary’s hair.

Mary sat back down, wiggling. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Well, now that we’ve properly secured the Chamber and there’s no more signs of suspicious activity, there’s no need for so many Aurors at Hogwarts.”

“That makes sense.” Mary sighed, disappointed she wouldn’t see Nym around anymore.

“Which means,” they continued, “we’ve gotta act fast. This is your last class of the day, yeah?”

Mary scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Er, yeah. Why?”

He tapped the side of their nose. “A little birdie told me you and a friend needed somewhere to practice some brewing.”

Hedwig barked, ruffling up her feathers.

Nym raised her hands in defense. “Not an accusation, luv. Its a figure of speech.”

Mary giggled, stroking Hedwig’s feathers back down.

Nym nodded towards Ron, Neville, and Hermione. “You all joining in?”

Ron huffed in annoyance, jerkily shaking his head. “Nah, I’d like to, but Nev and me ought to go finish up some assignments. Unlike some people, we had Moxy Studies this morning.”

She gave a thumbs up. “Just Granger then, got it. Catch you later mini-Weasley, Longbottom.”

After a brief discussion with Hedwig, which Nym found hilarious, Mary asked him to push her along. Hermione led the trio down two flights of stairs and through a section of the dungeons, and they soon arrived at the Nook, where Hedwig finally allowed Mary to push herself. Once inside, they discussed how the miniature potions lab would be set up, picking a corner away from the windows for it. Given Mary and Diana already had a fully functioning flameplate, the main issue was the lack of running water. The nearest bathroom was the one right outside of Snape’s classroom, which wasn’t an option for obvious reasons. Instead of trying to piggy-back off of another bathroom’s plumbing, Nym went about creating a few crude runic arrays.

It was a simple system, only taking an hour and a half to set up, but it did the job, and that was all Marigold could really ask for. When supplied with ample magical power, the rough faucet Nym had molded out from the wall would permanently conjure water, dispensing it into the molded stone basin below it. Any water that was drained through the basin would then be vanished, leaving behind only solids and oils in the rubbish bin below. The rubbish bin could then be separately activated, vanishing most metals, burning any organics, and leaving behind the rest. All in all, it was a fairly robust setup that accomplished exactly what they needed for brewing HRP, and hidden away in the Nook, it would be safe from discovery.

---

“For any system closed to all transfers of matter and energy, the mass of the system must remain constant over time, as the system's mass cannot change, so the quantity can neither be added nor be removed. Therefore, the quantity of mass is conserved over time.” Hermione recited.

“Very good, Miss Granger. A point to Hufflepuff.” McGonagall said as she collected the essays the class had been assigned on the subject. “Naturally, the context - a system closed to all transfers of matter and energy - is a bit hard to come by, hm? However, for your purposes today, and for any of you who do not seek above an OWL in Transfiguration, that definition will suffice - mass can neither be created nor destroyed.”

She neatly placed the stack of papers on her desk, then drew her wand.

“Vācūo⁵.” she incanted, casually vanishing the chair behind her desk with a tap, defying what she had just stated. Professor McGonagall gestured, levitating a piece of chalk to write out notes on the board behind her.

“In 1905, Albert Einstein published four papers in the scientific journal, Annalen der Physik. His fourth paper, published on November 21st, was titled 'Ist die Trägheit eines Körpers von seinem Energieinhalt abhängig?' In English, it is translated as ‘Does the Inertia of a Body Depend Upon Its Energy Content?’”

The entire class was shocked at McGonagall’s fluency in German. Mary was mostly just surprised that she could still hear her professor’s brogue even in another language.

“To vastly oversimplify his brilliant work, yes, it does. The equation he derives to demonstrate this truth is perhaps the most famous equation of all: E=mc².” Behind her, the chalk underlined the equation for emphasis. “This discovery kickstarted a revolution in the field of transfiguration. By divining the mathematics behind what wixen had been doing inefficiently thus far, we have been able to take that knowledge and refine our methods from an art to a science.

“The total amount of mass and energy in a closed system does not change. Mass cannot be created or destroyed.” she repeated. “However, it can be changed from mass to energy, and back again. If we then harness that energy and direct it, the cost of permanent transfiguration is drastically reduced.”

McGonagall stepped behind her desk, taking the chalk from mid-air and using it to star several lines of the notes it had written.

“Hopefully, you included all of this in your essays.”

A portion of the class groaned as they realized where marks would be taken off from their assignments, now too late to change.

“Now, let’s begin.”

Chapter Text

At a tap on her shoulder, Marigold turned around.

“Hm?” she mumbled, still chewing her lunch.

“Hey, um, can we talk?” Sept asked. He glanced around the Great Hall. “Somewhere else?”

Mary nodded, swallowing. “Er, yeah. Would you mind pushing me? Hedwig is still making me go easy on myself.”

“‘Course.” he agreed, reaching out and scratching the owl in question’s cheek. “You ready?”

“Almost.” Mary bookmarked her textbook, then stowed it in her bag, which she slung over the back of her wheelchair. She wrapped the rest of her sandwich in a cloth napkin to eat on the way, then pocketed a pear for later. “Alright, now I'm ready.”

Septimus gave a nod and pulled her out from her spot at the end of the Hufflepuff table. Mary gave her Housemates a wave as she was wheeled off out of the Great Hall. Soon enough, thanks to Mary's knowledge of the castle’s blueprints from poring over the Marauder's Map, they arrived at an empty classroom. She wrinkled her nose at the coating of dust over the desks and chairs.

“Right, before either of us get sent into sneezing fits, let me just…”

Mary drew her wand and traced out the corpus rune. The air inside the classroom swirled, sweeping all the dust up, and then funneled down to a point, carrying all of the dirt and debris together into a clump of congealed muck. Once it was all gathered, and without releasing the levitation on the disgusting ball, Marigold traced out a quick pisces to scan it - mostly organic compounds, with the odd bit of silicate dirt here and there - then a careful libra.

“Vācūo.”

With a tap, the dust vanished, and the classroom was clean. Sept whistled, impressed. Marigold wiggled in place, extremely pleased with herself that when she released her magic’s link to the now non-existent clumps, they didn't immediately pop back into existence. She'd been practicing vanishing with fervor for the past week, but it still gave her a thrill each time she pulled it off.

She pushed her wheels in opposite directions of each other, spinning herself around to face Sept. “So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He grimaced, avoiding eye contact. “Uh, so, I've realized that I can uh, well…” He took a deep breath, then hissed. “I can still do this.”

Mary scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Do what?”

Septimus burst into laughter, causing Mary's cheeks to redden. Hedwig barked, getting Sept to pull himself together.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, stifling yet more laughter, “It's just, that was snake-speak - you used it too, actually. I forgot Ron had said you couldn't tell the difference.”

Marigold blinked owlishly, surprised. “Oh. I didn't know you were an anguisurrator.”

“I wasn't.” Sept corrected her. “I dunno how exactly, but whatever Tom did to me, even without him around, I can still use it.”

She stared at him in awe. “That's…”

“Impossible, I know.” he finished for her.

Mary shook her head. “No, I was going to say that's just like my Mum!”

Sept did a double take. “Lily Potter was a snake-speaker?”

Mary grinned. “She wasn't.” she corrected him. “But she became one.”

“But she was moxenborn.”

She rolled her eyes. “Here, I'll show you - just push me where I tell you.”

Despite his confusion, Septimus pushed Mary out of the classroom and through the corridors of the castle. Before long, they were in front of a stretch of wall with a carving of a coiled snake. Mary reached out and touched it, commanding it to open. The two young wixen crossed the threshold to the Nook, and the snake coiled back closed behind them.

The Nook had been decorated quite cozily, thanks to the Weasley twins’ assistance. Provided she didn't question where or how they procured it, they were more than happy to supply the Nook with lightly used furnishings. Thankfully, they'd yet to slip in a prank item, though Mary was sure that wouldn't last forever. Besides the desk in the far right corner and the miniature potions lab in the opposite corner, the center of the Nook still featured the birch coffee table and plush couch, but now also sported three armchairs opposite the couch, all of the seating atop an oval rug. Each item was a different color and style, but such was to be expected from a no-questions-asked furniture service.

The remaining corner by the entrance had a simple wooden bench, which Mary had gotten to go along with a proper piano (not just a keyboard, this time!) that Madam Pomfrey suggested she get, but that she had yet to actually acquire. Pomfrey insisted that Mary deserved to have nice things, and with the fortune she had made off the basilisk, it wasn't as if she was strapped for cash. Still, making a decision for such a big purchase was difficult.

Along the wall between the bench and the desk, there were still the low bookshelves, and in the corner opposite the bench was now a long, high-legged table, with assorted gardening supplies stowed below it. On top were various low-maintenance plants Neville was in the process of preparing to be put into the planters. In between the two planters, Mary had placed a small doormat. It had initially been blocked by the withered husk of a potted monstera plant, but on the wall below the windows, there was a carving of a snake’s head. Similar to the entrance, it could be opened and closed with an anguisurrian command, the snake’s mouth opening to reveal a short tunnel that could be crawled through to reach the outside of the castle. When it was closed, the outside wall appeared to just be a stretch of smooth, stone brick - just like the windows - yet under closer inspection, Mary had been able to feel the slight relief of the carving - a feature the Marauders had noted on their Map, though they never figured out how to open it. Given the Nook’s windows didn't open, the passage was a convenient opening for whenever Hedwig wanted to go hunting while Mary, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were studying, working on assignments, or otherwise relaxing in the Nook for extended periods of time.

Septimus chuckled. “Talk about a Chamber o’ Secrets.”

Marigold giggled, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “This is the Nook.” she explained. “The last person to use it was my Mum. I found a journal of hers on anguisurrian in this desk.” she said, rolling over to it. She tugged open the desk drawer and pulled out the journal in question. Placing it on the desk and flipping through it, Mary found the entry she was thinking of.

“Here.” she said. “Mum talks about a couple other things in this part, but this is where she talks about how wixen get magical gifts.”

“You're born with ‘em.” Sept reflexively responded. “You inherit ‘em from your family.”

“You didn't.” Mary countered.

Sept waved her off. “I'm a fluke. I spent three months bein’ possessed.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Just look at what she says here about inheritance: ‘that might work going several generations back. Countless generations, even. But it has to come from somewhere, originally’. Here, she reiterates: ‘it stands to reason that someone had to be the first’.”

“Huh.” he said, stumped. “I guess that would make sense, wouldn't it?” Sept peered over her shoulder at the page, then frowned, confused. “Who's ‘Sev’?”

Trying her best to keep a straight face, Mary flipped to the back cover, covering one of the pictures with her hand.

“This is Nev’s mum, Alice, and this is my Aunt Petunia.”

Sept arched an eyebrow in amusement. “And the one you're not-so-subtly hiding?”

Giggling, Mary revealed the third picture, and Sept's jaw dropped. “Our very own Potions professor, Severus ‘Sev’ Snape.” Fighting back laughter, she cautioned him. “You have to keep this a secret.”

“For now.” he agreed, grinning wickedly. “Oh, this is good. You can't just share this - you gotta save this for when Snape does somethin’ really annoyin’. That's when you spread it about.”

“You really take after the twins, don't you?”

He shrugged, mussing with his hair. “I've learned a few things here and there.”

“You're a menace.” Mary concluded. “I’m sure of it.”

For his part, Septimus merely winked at her.

---

With Sept now aware of the Nook, Mary extended the invitation to Soluna as well, who learned to mimic anguisurrian with ease. Diana had a much harder time, though she managed it eventually. Upon seeing the potions lab, Diana insisted Mary pass along her thanks to Nym, as it was a huge step up from the floor of a bathroom. Myrtle, who didn't even need to learn to open the Nook given she could pass through the solid walls, enjoyed the much warmer atmosphere. Moreso, she appreciated the privacy of a secret room compared to a public bathroom, and was incredibly grateful just to have been included. Marigold and Diana both insisted that brewing wouldn't be the same without her.

With brewing hormones out of the way and with Hedwig's constant nagging having Mary feeling better than ever, the next day, Sunday the 28th, she decided to participate in the Baking Club. She hadn't been able to join in ever since being bitten, due to the narrow spaces between the counters being unconducive to wheelchairs. However, now that she was no longer confined to her wheelchair, she could attend the club with only her cane for support. Hedwig thankfully allowed it, given the castle's kitchens were just across the hall from the Hufflepuff Common Room. Mary grabbed her cane, bid Hedwig goodbye as the owl wasn't allowed around all the food being prepared, and limped along the short walk to the kitchens. Every other step still stung, even with the light pressure she put on her right knee and hip, but at least it was no longer the searing, radiating ache from when she had prematurely tried using her cane just two weeks prior. It was surprising how much the inflammation had died down once Marigold started taking proper care of her body, although it probably shouldn't have been.

Professor Smith was quite surprised at Mary's mobility as well, as were the other members of the Baking Club. Still, everyone was glad she was doing better, especially Mary's housemates, Susan, Megan, and Alexis; who had gotten a front row seat to the pain she'd been going through. For her part, Marigold was just happy to be partaking in her hobbies once again, and was soon happily baking up a tray of treacle tart. The kitchen staff always did a wonderful job making the sweets for dinner - and in terms of objective quality, theirs was better than anything Mary could create - but there was something special about making food oneself that made it taste better than anything else.

After a bit of work, Marigold slid the tart into the preheated oven and drew her wand. It would be easy enough to simply use one of the many timers, but since she had an opportunity to practice timing modifiers, why not?

First came ventus, followed by capricorn, and finally horam. “Sibilo¹ expectā, tershā pārs orā².” Mary incanted. A third of an hour, so twenty minutes. With yet another opportunity, she traced out ailm, then eadha. “Alëm, fürā më driux. Eyā, gyūlan më glor³. This is practice.” Hopefully, with the amount of magic she put into the delay modifier, she would hear her test message once those twenty minutes were up. In all likelihood though, she'd be at least five minutes off.

With time to spare while the pastry tart baked, Mary pulled up a stool and chatted with her friends, even reaching out to a few of her yearmates she wasn't as familiar with. Lilliana Moon was sweet and soft-spoken, and apparently allergic to chocolate, amongst several other common ingredients. Used to having to make her own food due to a lack of commercially available alternatives, she'd grown to enjoy baking quite a bit, and was incredibly skilled at it. In fact, over the past year and a half that they had been in the Baking Club together, Mary had yet to see her burn a single item. Owen Rivers, the only other Gryffindor present that Mary could stand (Sally-Anne Perks was close friends with Kevin Entwhistle, of all people) was from Virginia in the United States of America, and had similarly gotten into cooking and baking out of necessity. Rather than contending with allergies, however, Rivers had an appetite for Southern cuisine, which simply wasn't made ‘the right way’ in Britain. Given how syrupy the tea he made was, Mary was quite glad Britain did things differently.

From Ravenclaw, Mira Patel and Maddy Boot were both members of the Baking Club, though they weren't present that morning. Mandy Brocklehurst was in attendance, though currently chatting happily with Perks. Finally, out of Slytherin, there was Tracey Davis and Millie Bullstrode, both of whom tended to keep to themselves as they whipped up the merengue for their macarons.

“This is practice.”

A bit early, then. She would need to put more magic into the delay next time. Thankfully though, within a couple more minutes, her wand whistled at her, so she wasn't too far off the mark. Not bothering to don mitts, Mary opened the oven and used her wand to levitate the tart out and onto a cooling rack to rest. Magic certainly made things more convenient. Baking would be a breeze once she could manage to cast without even needing her wand. As it was though, she needed to wash her hands before casting if she wanted to keep her wand clean, then another time afterwards to keep any of the wand polish from getting into the food.

The tart was delicious, and Mary soon had it sliced into pieces and started wrapping in wax paper so she could share it with her friends.

“Watch it, Potter.” Perks snapped at her, bumping into Mary from behind.

“Wha-” Marigold sputtered, “You bumped into me! I was just standing here!”

“Exactly!” she retorted. “You're just standing there, blocking the walkway.”

Mary looked around, confused. There was more than enough space. At most, she took up maybe a third of the path, and related as much to Perks. “You can just go around.” she concluded.

“Just move.” Perks scoffed, shoving her.

Marigold stumbled backwards, and without her cane to lessen the impact given she had been wrapping her tart, her right knee reflexively gave out from the shooting pain, leaving Mary crumpled in a pile on the floor.

“Don't be such a baby.” Perks sneered, finally walking around Mary.

She didn't get very far before Professor Smith was on her, taking points from Gryffindor and assigning a detention, despite the girl's protests that Marigold was just being dramatic, milking her injury.

For her part, Mary was in serious pain. The shove itself may have only affected her knee, but the fall impacted her hips and lower back. While Professor Smith dealt with Sally-Anne Perks, Madam Naddy bustled over to Mary. While Naddy wasn't affiliated with the Baking or Cooking Clubs, she was still Head of the kitchens, and would often step in if Professor Smith was otherwise occupied.

“Up you get, dear, up you get.” Madam Naddy murmured, taking Mary's hands into her own and helping her into a chair. She tucked some loose curls of hair behind Mary's ear.

“Thank you.” Marigold said, sniffling a bit.

Naddy was a kindly older elf, though it was hard for Mary to tell which wrinkles were the result of age and which were the usual wrinkles that all elves had from their looser skin. An easier signifier for Mary to discern was the way Madam Naddy’s long pointed ears drooped down, rather than stuck up - and the way she was occasionally flicking them was a sure sign she was annoyed. Given she muttered to herself and kept stealing glances at Professor Smith chewing Perks out, it was obvious who that irritation was aimed at.

Marigold was grateful that elves had more visibly obvious body language. It was hard enough being autistic and having a hard time understanding fellow humans, but at least she had a decade of experience reading them. Elves, she didn't even know existed until a year and a bit ago.

With Perks dealt with, Professor Smith finally made her way to check on Mary, getting her side of the story. Smith rubbed her forehead in exasperation at the events.

“Honestly, some kids…” she muttered.

Madam Naddy hummed to herself, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. “This is why we leave managing the students to you professors. We have our hands full with our own children.” She sighed. “And Dobby.” she added. “We don't need to go adding more to our list of duties.”

Professor Smith grimaced. “I can't blame you there.” She clapped her hands, rubbing them together. “So! Miss Potter. Still in the mood to bake?”

Mary shrugged. “Not really.” she glumly replied. “At least I already finished what I was working on, though.”

Smith nodded. “That’s good. Well then, going to head back to the Den?”

She nodded back, though with another shrug. Mary tried to stand, but immediately sat back down, wincing in pain.

“I'm guessing you need your wheelchair?”

“Yes.” Mary answered, her cheeks ablaze. “It's in my dorm, I didn't think I'd need it.”

She patted Mary's shoulder. “Not to worry. I'll pop on over and grab it for you. Which dorm room are you in?”

“Er, number one.”

Smith winked at her. “Lucky girl, eh? Be back in a mo’.”

That left Marigold alone with Madam Naddy.

“So, er…” Mary awkwardly started, “How er, how is Dobby? Hermione said he's still deciding what he wants to do?”

“Hm, something like that.” Naddy replied.

She made a few gestures with her hands that looked as if she was playing cat’s cradle with herself. Mary wasn't sure if the gesture was supposed to mean something, but given how Dobby poked his head out of the back kitchens only moments later, it was likely some spell to get Dobby’s attention.

“Miss Marigold Potter!” he cried.

When he rushed over to the two of them, Madam Naddy took that as her cue to leave. For his part, Dobby was looking much better. His ears were perked up rather than continuously flattened back, his skin was more flushed than the sickly pale it was before, and most importantly, he had actual clothing now - although the baggy tie-dye shirt with a flannel, sweatpants, and yellow rain boots were not what she expected.

Mary grinned sheepishly. “You can just call me Marigold, really.”

“But Dobby has-” he scowled at himself. “I have a great deal of respect for you.”

“Aren't you older than me though?” Mary pointed out. “If anything, I should be calling you ‘Mister Dobby’.”

Dobby furrowed his brow, his ears twitching. “If you only call me ‘Dobby’, I will only call you ‘Miss Marigold’.”

She sighed. It seemed she wasn't going to be talking her way entirely out of this one. Sometimes being famous was the worst.

“Alright, fine.” she conceded. “How have you been, Dobby?”

Dobby immediately perked right back up. “Oh, quite well, quite well. I have been doing much research, trying to find a way to free all elves.”

“Any luck so far?”

He shook his head. “No, it is quite tricky business. The elfbind is based on a coming-of-age ritual we use to share magic within our communities, so we cannot just break all elfbinds, as it would strip even free elves of their shared magic. No, it must be more targeted, or we must navigate wixen laws and have our enslavement ended that way.”

Mary blinked. “I didn't realize it was so complicated. Hopefully you can do it the magic way, legal stuff is a mess to understand.”

Dobby grinned smugly. “Not to D- Not to me, it isn't. Contracts are puzzles to be solved, and quite fun ones at that.”

She giggled. “I suppose that makes sense. I don't know that any elf has gotten around their elfbind the way you did.”

“Exactly, exactly!” he replied, pleased that his skill had been recognized. He sighed. “Yet there is a lack of organization - and no one to spearhead the effort. We do our bests to help other elves, but there is only so much we can do at this level.”

“Oh! Actually, Hermione and I wanted to try and help with that. We couldn't find any charities dedicated to freeing elves - only helping the ones that were already free - so we thought maybe we could make one. I can even provide the funding for it. And we could push for other nonhumans’ rights too.” Mary said, excited at the prospect. She sighed. “Still can't think of a good name for it, though.” she grumbled. “Best we’ve thought of is ‘The United Magical Peoples’, but ‘UMP’ doesn't have much of a ring to it.”

Dobby hummed to himself, tapping his chin with his right hand, and tapping his right elbow with his left hand. He snapped his fingers. “‘The Initiative for Magical Peoples’ Actualization, Camaraderie, and Tranquility’.”

“I, M, P- IMPACT! Dobby, you're a genius!” Mary gushed. “Right, I'm owling my account manager the second I get back to my dorm.” She paused. “Would you want to be a part of it?”

Dobby beamed. “There is nothing I would like more.”

---

Other than the slight hiccup that was getting pushed to the ground by Sally-Anne Perks, Marigold’s mobility continued to steadily improve. In fact, it wasn't long before she was going entire days without needing her wheelchair. Really, it was only B-week Tuesdays that posed an issue, when the second year Hufflepuff schedule had her going from Herbology in the first floor of the dungeons, all the way up to Astronomy on the eighth floor, immediately after. Every other day, there was plenty of time for Mary to climb up through the castle at her own pace, or she only had to go downstairs - which still wasn't easy, but it was nothing compared to going upstairs.

And with Mary not needing her wheelchair anywhere near as often, Lottie finally relented and allowed her back at quidditch practice. It was a good thing too, given that Saturday the 6th was the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, leaving only four weeks before Hufflepuff faced off against Ravenclaw. Both teams put up a good showing, though both had inexperienced Seekers. Thankfully for Gryffindor, Dean at least had the talent to make up for it. Malfoy, however, was more than a bit pathetic. Having been drilled endlessly by Lottie in when and when not to help the Chasers with the quaffle, it was painfully obvious to her whenever Malfoy was slacking off. Flint, the Slytherin captain, did his best to yell at Malfoy whenever he did, but there was only so much he could do while still Beating. So when the game ended with Gryffindor at 255 and Slytherin at a measly 120, no one was surprised.

With only 305 points that season, Slytherin was firmly out of the running for the Cup that year. Despite only playing two games to Slytherin's three, Hufflepuff was already at 360 points, with Ravenclaw only ten points behind. Meanwhile, Gryffindor had a respectable 630 points for the season. As such, the April game would be a fight to see who would enter the finals. Both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw favored a matchup against Gryffindor, given Dean's inexperience, so the goal was to knock each other out, rather than wait out a high-scoring game letting them both into the finals. So long as Hufflepuff could beat Ravenclaw - or at least tie the game - they'd make their way into the finals.

Which meant Lottie was pushing them as hard as she possibly could during practice. Despite Hufflepuff not wanting a high-scoring game that would have them facing Ravenclaw in the finals, Mary still needed to let the Chasers score a bit before going for the snitch. Otherwise, they'd be fighting an uphill battle against Gryffindor in the finals. Of course, even though she pushed the team as hard as possible, Lottie still insisted that if Mary couldn't make it to classes without her wheelchair, she wasn't to join in on drills, only watch, listen, and learn. Marigold did her best to at least be in good shape for Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday practices, as those were the days they had the pitch booked. Thankfully, Hedwig was there to keep an eye on Mary and prompt her to stop practice early if she was pushing her body too hard - flying after her on her broom if necessary. Lottie, of course, found the owl’s behavior hilarious, and named her an honorary member of the team.

---

As mid-March approached, so too did Ostara break. Ron and Hermione both planned on staying for the holiday, since it was only a week. Additionally, it would be easier for Ron to make his physical therapy appointments if he stayed in the castle. Thankfully he was up and about now, though Madam Pomfrey still had him using a cane as he worked through his balance issues. His tics had reduced in intensity as well, though he was practically always shaking an arm or a leg.

Marigold had planned on staying at the castle as well, at least until Neville invited her to go with him for Ostara.

“Your Gran’s not hosting another ball, is she?” Mary asked apprehensively.

Neville shook his head. “No, and w-we're not planning to go to anyone else's, either.” he reassured her. “But I th-thought maybe you might want to m-meet Mum n’ Dad. I totally understand if y-you don't-”

“I'd love to!” she cut him off, grinning. “I’d really like to meet my godmother.”

He gave a nervous smile. “Gr-rand, yeah. Just- well, they might not recognize y-you. And if they do, they might- th-they might call you by your birth name. But I pr-romise, they don't mean to-”

Mary reached out, giving her brother's hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know.” she reassured him “It'll be fine, okay? Whatever happens.”

“Yeah.” he replied, finally smiling plainly. “Th-thanks.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning, having already packed the night before, Marigold and Neville made their rounds before breakfast, wishing their friends goodbye. Most Hogwarts students were staying over the break, a stark contrast to Yule break that year, when practically everyone had fled, hoping to get some peace and quiet away from the petrifications. Still, some students, including Soluna, were headed home for the Ostara holiday.

“So, got any plans?” Mary asked faer as they finished eating breakfast.

“None in particular outside of our normal celebrations.” Soluna replied, leaning on faer forearm crutches as fae levered faerself up. “Although we shan't expect Daddy and us will be doing much looking for faerie rings in the forest this year.”

Mary gave faer a sheepish grin. “Well, I'm sure you'll find something else you can do together.”

Soluna beamed at her. “Oh, certainly. We've actually finished our modifications for AD&D - it's honestly mostly just appearances, really - but Papa and Daddy agreed to help test it with us.”

“So the m-maths are still the s-same?” Neville asked, forlorn.

“Fully intact.” fae confirmed, much to his chagrin. “Don't worry though, we're sure Hermione and Marigold will be more than happy to help with the character creation process.”

“The maths were rather fun.” Mary conceded, her cheeks slightly pink out of embarrassment.

Both Neville and Soluna had a good-natured laugh at that as they left the Great Hall and headed for the castle's main gate, where the horseless carriages would take them to Hogsmeade station to catch the Express. Marigold was able to manage her own trunk via levitation and motion charms, but given Soluna had both hands occupied, Neville was handling faer luggage along with his own.

“So w-what's the new appearance, then?” Neville asked.

Answering with a question, fae replied, “Have you heard of Brian Jacques?” At both Hufflepuffs shaking their heads, Soluna continued. “Well, he's a fantastic writer, and the way he describes food is marvelous. Anyways, he writes a lovely series called Redwall, which is about a society of little woodland creatures. There's mice, rats, hares, moles, voles, squirrels - and even some larger animals like badgers and foxes. We’ve made some modifications to it - after all, it's silly that all rats and weasels have to be evil - but we think it will be a wonderful substitution for Greyhawk.”

Neville grinned, “A hare sounds f-fun. Maybe I'll ask Gr-ran, and we can get o-one of the books over br-reak.”

“I'm sure Ron’s just going to play as Scabbers.” Mary giggled. “I’ll have to think about who I-”

Marigold froze, staring down the front steps of Hogwarts, over the small crowd of students. The horseless carriages, which were already gathered in the eastern bailey, were far from horseless. The reins and bridles, which normally floated in front of each carriage, were instead fitted to horses, all of which were missing their heads. Each horse's neck dissipated into variously colored swirls of fog, each matching the coat of the horse.

“W-what-” Mary stuttered.

“Oh r-right,” Neville croaked, similarly uneasy “Dullahana¹.”

“Oh, you can see them too, now?” Soluna asked, unbothered.

Mary swallowed past a lump in her throat. “What do you mean, ‘now’?”

“Well, the carriages have always been drawn by dullahana.” fae explained. “We've always been able to see things others can't, but most people can't see them unless they've recently witnessed death.”

Marigold's stomach did somersaults at that. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to forget once more what it felt like, strangling Tom as they rolled across the Chamber floor. The way Lockhart withered away to ash and bone as his life was stolen.

Faintly, she could almost smell the stench of burning skin.

Neville shut the carriage door behind them, still rather pale, himself. With a crack of the reins, the carriage started moving, the wheels rattling against the stone cobbles.

Mary took a deep breath, doing her best to calm her racing heart, before clearing her throat. “I er, I thought dullahans were headless horsemen, like in Sleepy Hollow.”

“Nope!” Soluna replied, popping faer ‘p’, “The story was based off of the moxy myth about the creature, and obviously things got a bit mixed up ever since the Statute was implemented. A dullahan is actually just a type of magical horse, like a pegasus or a qilin. The plural is ‘dullahana’, by the by.”

“I… But why?” she asked, still confused by the school's choice of steed. They were children, for crying out loud - why were they being transported by death horses?

“For one, they're quite docile creatures.” Soluna pointed out. “They're easily trained, they subsist off of magic so they never need to be fed - other than during pregnancy - and while they aren't particularly fast, they never get tired, so they make for fantastic draft animals.” Fae shrugged, “Besides, it's not like they're the ones who caused the death. For whatever reason, that's just what makes them visible.”

Marigold had to concede that it certainly made practical sense. Still, being reminded of how she had witnessed two people dying - one quite literally by her own hand - wasn't exactly a pleasant reminder, especially since trying to come to terms with the fact she had killed somebody was all that she talked about with Madam Pomfrey as of late. Reminded of her sessions with the school's mediwitch, Mary took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. Pomfrey had said Mary was good at compartmentalizing, and so long as she made sure to unpack those thoughts and feelings during their mind healing sessions, it made for a good coping strategy.

She rolled on top of him, straddling his stomach as she wrapped her hands around his throat. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and her hands felt as if they'd been blowtorched. Tom’s eyes bulged out of his skull as his screams finally died down, giving way to choking gasps, then wheezing.

Mary took another deep breath in, put the fact that she was a murderer in a little box, shoved it deep, deep down inside herself, and then slowly let her breath out.

Then silence, as his struggles slowed to a stop, and his body went still.

---

After a long, shaky ride back to London, Marigold wheeled herself out of the Hogsmeade Express and onto Platform 9¾. Unfortunately, all the little bumps along the way had managed to inflame her hip and lower back, so walking was out of the question for the time being. Mary was also not looking forward to the trip back at the end of the break.

Still, Augusta abandoned proper decorum and welcomed her grandchildren back with open arms. Soluna disembarked after them, nuzzling faerself in between faer fathers. After saying their goodbyes, the two families parted ways, Mary and the Longbottoms heading for the platform’s floo terminal, and the Lovegoods making their way to another platform on the moxy side of Kings Cross. Apparently, floo travel didn't agree with Soluna’s parents, so much so that even when Augusta offered Longbottom Manor’s floo as a stopover to break the trip up into more manageable parts, they politely declined.

Honestly, Mary couldn't blame them. The floo trip was absolutely despicable, but within a minute, her wheelchair twirled into the foyer of Longbottom Manor, threatening to tip her out onto the hardwood floor. Not bad for the 75 kilometers from the heart of London to the outskirts of Winchester, but it seemed learning to floo in a wheelchair would be its own separate learning curve.

The Manor's atmosphere had completely changed since Marigold's last visit. Where before it was regal and austere, nearly sanitized, now it was filled with signs of life - and not just because the potted plants everywhere were literally alive. Rather, the Manor felt lived in, instead of just being used for display. While Neville's touch was evident in the various plants in every spare corner, Augusta too, had relaxed, and what were once blank stretches of wall now sported tapestries of all sorts, from serene landscapes to battles both historical and mythological, often magically animated. Mary would have to ask McGonagall about animated fiberart next time the Knitting Club met. She would certainly like to try her hand at knitting an animated jumper.

Marigold's room had been decorated as well, beds of marigolds along the windows courtesy of her brother. Augusta had also gotten a permanent owl stand for Hedwig, so all Mary had to do was pop one of the windows open and unpack her belongings as she waited for her familiar to arrive. As Hermione had mentioned, it was a good thing post owls had magic to let them fly faster, as mundane owls were some of the slowest flying birds alive. Snowy owls, luckily, were on the faster end of the spectrum, so Mary expected Hedwig would arrive sometime during dinner.

---

The next morning, after a full English, Augusta, Neville, and Mary flooed to St Mungo's. Keeping her hands on the wheels of her chair thankfully made the dismount less chaotic, but she still had a ways to go before it could be called ‘controlled’. Unfortunately, though she was better at taking the floo on foot, Hedwig insisted she stay in her wheelchair for the day.

Regardless, Augusta led her grandchildren from the entrance hall through reception, and once adorned with visitor badges, they made their way to the long-term care section of the magical hospital. Both Longbottoms clearly knew where they were going, and with Augusta pushing Mary's chair, they easily navigated through the winding halls and arrived at the entrance of the assisted living ward. They checked in, and an attendant buzzed them through. Inside was a common area with plenty of comfortable seating and natural light. A few patients were playing various board games, gazing out the window, or watching the telly. They were older television models, but were perfectly serviceable.

Unfortunately, the effects of the Blood War were clear. Many of the patients were missing limbs, disfigured, or heavily scarred, and given their residency here, none were capable of self sufficiency anymore. Curiously, one of the nurses, an extremely pale witch (possibly albino? Mary couldn't see her eyes from that distance to be sure) who looked to be about Nym’s age, also sported many severe scars, though they looked too recent to have been from the Blood War. Some of the patients waved, recognizing Augusta and her grandson as they and Mary made their way through the room to one of the halls branching off to the private rooms. They came to a stop outside a closed door with a window, though due to her low vantage point in her chair, all Mary could see through it was the room’s ceiling. Augusta knocked gently, and a minute later, the door opened.

A pale man with weary brown eyes, black hair, and the same hooked nose as Augusta sat there in a wheelchair and his pyjamas, looking up at Augusta, slightly dazed.

“Good morning, Francis.” Augusta greeted her son, bending down to wrap him in a hug, kissing him on the cheek. “How are you today?”

He frowned, his brow furrowed. Frank Longbottom hummed to himself after a moment, then tapped on the arm of his chair, activating enchantments that wheeled him back into the room. Augusta sighed, following him into the room, followed by Neville, who pushed Mary inside, pulling the door closed gently behind him.

The room was quiet, only disturbed by Francis occasionally clearing his throat and the scratch of pencil on paper as he worked on a sudoku. Alice Longbottom was sat up in their bed, the covers pulled over her lap as she crocheted. Her hair was the same light brown that Neville's had been at the start of first year, though unlike the other three Longbottoms in the room, her eyes were a soft blue. She looked up as the couple’s visitors entered, a smile spreading across her round face. She set her work down and held out her arms, happily hugging her son. After greeting his mother, Neville made his way to his father, getting his attention before hugging him as well. At Augusta’s encouragement, Mary rolled over to Alice's side.

She cleared her throat, uncertain of how to begin. “Er, hullo.”

The corners of Alice's lips twitched up briefly.

Mary held out her hand. “I'm er, I'm Marigold Potter, it's nice to meet you.”

Alice tilted her head, peering at Mary as she tentatively reached out and took Mary's hand into her own. She rubbed her thumbs on the back of Mary's hand, almost inspecting her.

“Neville said you're my godmother.” Marigold added.

She frowned. Alice looked up from Mary's hand to her face. She reached out, gently touching Mary's cheek with the back of her hand.

Mary did her best not to squirm. As fondly as Neville talked about his parents, it was still Mary's first meeting with them, so it was more than a bit uncomfortable to be touched in such a close and familiar manner. Still, she knew Alice meant no harm.

“...L-L-Lil-l-lil-ly.” Alice murmured.

“That's my Mum.” Marigold replied, confirming the connection her godmother had made. “You were best friends at Hogwarts, according to her journal.”

Alice nodded hesitantly, furrowing her brow in concentration.

“Er, I'm a Hufflepuff, like Neville.” Mary supplied.

Her brother had advised her that she would need to provide most, if not all of the conversation, but it certainly wasn't something Mary had much experience with, especially growing up unwanted in the Dursley household.

“He said you really like Herbology. I’m not as good at it as he is, but it's fun.” Mary continued. “I prefer Transfiguration. We're learning vanishing right now, but I'm really excited to learn conjuration next year. And we'll also be starting elective courses too, which is very exciting. I don't know what to pick yet. I'll probably keep taking Theory of Magic, ‘cos a lot of it is relevant to Transfiguration. Other than that, I'm not sure. Professor Sprout said there's going to be trial lessons held over the next couple of weekends though, so hopefully that will help me decide.” Mary laughed to herself. “I kinda want to take all of them, but that would be a bit much, I think.”

For her part, Alice listened patiently, picking her crochet back up as Mary talked, which spurred Mary to talk about her knitting. Unfortunately, it remained a very one-sided conversation, but Marigold enjoyed getting to spend time with her godmother, and it seemed Alice enjoyed her company as well. Eventually, Neville joined her for a bit, before he suggested she talk to his dad as well. It was a similar story when she obliged, Mary carrying the conversation singlehandedly as Frank continued his puzzling while he listened. Neither parent said anything more to Marigold, other than Alice’s single, slurred ‘Lily’.

Neville tried to apologize on their behalf, but Mary assured him that it was fine - an entirely truthful statement. Growing up an orphan with relatives that hated her, she savored the opportunity to enjoy the company of people who, under better circumstances, would have been her family growing up. It was rather wonderful being able to call them ‘Aunt Alice’ and ‘Uncle Frank’, with none of the authoritarian dread she felt with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. In fact, as Madame Pomfrey had pointed out, they scarcely deserved the titles, and if Mary wanted, she could drop the titles, similar to how she had stopped referring to the cupboard under the stairs as ‘hers’. She definitely wanted to, but seeing as she still lived with them - even if only for a couple weeks out of the year - Mary didn't feel comfortable calling them solely ‘Petunia’ and ‘Vernon’ just yet.

Eventually, after eating a light lunch together, Mary bid her newly-met Aunt and Uncle goodbye, and she, Neville, and Augusta made their way back to the entrance of the hospital, returning their visitor badges before flooing back to Longbottom Manor.

---

IMPACT was going well so far, according to Griphook’s owls - news Marigold happily passed on to her friends. Dobby had left Hogwarts and acquired temporary lodgings in Gringotts City, the kobal settlement deep below the bank. As a member of a historically subterranean species himself, he had adapted to the change well, and was working happily on pursuing legal avenues for ending elven slavery. Meanwhile, Griphook had reached out through his network of contacts to a few elven communes to help bolster the amount of IMPACT workers. Coupled with a handful of British kobolds Griphook managed to get in touch with, the organization was becoming a promising avenue to pursue non-human rights in the Wixen British Isles.

However, gathering the support of other species of non-humans was proving to be difficult. The kobolds who had joined trusted Griphook, and the elves trusted Dobby, but with no other species represented within the organization already, other non-humans didn't have a touchstone to help make them comfortable stepping into the spotlight. It was more than a bit disheartening that things were so slow-going, but Griphook assured her that as they made strides for one species, others would likely begin to join up. Mary certainly hoped so, especially as Hermione dug further into the library for resources on the living conditions of non-humans in the WBI, relaying her findings.

Many wixen Houses had clauses in their House Laws that allowed for a no-fault disownment, should a member either wed a non-human, or become one, as with vampires and lycanthropes, who could turn humans. Without a House to give them rights, they would then have to rely on the Ministry, which was already a tough position for human wixen, let alone non-humans. They were effectively second-class citizens in the WBI, and most survived by forming their own communities and isolating themselves from human wixen.

Marigold could hardly blame them. Even though having a cupboard for a bedroom was extremely abusive behavior on the Dursleys’ part, having a space she could go that her Aunt and Uncle seldom entered had been a blessing. It obviously wasn't a comparable situation, but she reckoned that the sentiment came from a similar place.

Thankfully, neither House Potter, Longbottom, Weasley, nor Lovegood had any such clauses. Hogwarts, however, still sported such a policy, which made any moxenborn wixen subject to completely legal discrimination. If Hermione were to become a wifwolf, regardless of the circumstances, the Board of Governors could strip her of her rights and not have to give her any severance whatsoever. Unfortunately, getting the unanimous votes required by the Board to change Hogwarts’ House Law on the matter was practically impossible, given its less-than-savory members. In lieu of that, they would have to aim for changing the law at the Ministry level - an equally impossible task. There were very few laws that the Ministry of Magic actually had, and the Upper Wixeniamot was extremely reluctant to add any more to that list, for fear of growing a large and powerful government.

Honestly, the Upper Wixeniamot was a mess in its own right, let alone the rest of the Ministry. While the Lower Wixeniamot - which the Houses in the Upper also had a say in - was responsible for proposing changes to existing laws or adding new ones, it was the Upper that had the final say. For a law to be ratified by the Upper Wixeniamot, it needed a two-thirds majority vote, which seldom ever happened. Worse still, rather than each House in the Upper Wixeniamot having a single vote (as was the case in the Lower), or perhaps even having votes assigned based on the number of members within each House, votes were determined by title. An Ancient or Noble House had a single vote, though if they were Most Ancient or Most Noble, they had two. House Potter, as a Most Ancient and Noble House, had three, and House Bones, which was Most Ancient and Most Noble, had four. Couple that with the fact that the titles of Noble and Most Noble were given based on how much a House paid in ‘donations’ on top of the taxes they owed to the Ministry - essentially allowing the rich to buy additional votes - and it was hardly any wonder that the law was as ridiculously outdated as it was. It was a system that did exactly as it was designed to do - keep the rich, rich, and the powerful, in power.

---

The remainder of Ostara break went by pleasantly. On the night of the holiday itself, despite not initially planning to at the beginning of break, Mary and the Longbottoms went to a ball hosted by the main branch of House Prewett, given all three were in a good mood and Mary was back out of her wheelchair. While Aunt Alice was from a more distant branch of the Prewett family, Molly Weasley was actually the niece of the current Lord and Lady Prewett, Ignatius and Lucretia. As such, it was hardly a surprise when Marigold saw her and Arthur there, along with Bill, who cleaned up rather nicely. He still had his many piercings, but coupled with a sharp suit and cloak, Mary was a blushing mess when he asked for a dance. She was certain he was humoring her, much as one would a little sister, but that did nothing to stop the butterflies in her stomach as they glided across the marble floors. It was a bit odd to manage, given Mary had to use her cane, but with a crash course beforehand from Augusta, she fared alright.

Silly crushes aside, spending the week with Neville and Augusta was far more pleasant than the last time she had visited, as there was no more post-argument awkwardness between the two. Instead, Augusta took genuine interest in her grandson's activities, joining him in the greenhouses, as well as helping to tutor him in potions, rather than scolding him for receiving low marks in the class. Neville even joined his grandmother in a few games of marbles. The wixen world had its own take on the game, called gobstones, but even as a child, Augusta preferred the moxy version, since it didn't involve foul-smelling sprays of liquid. Neither grandchild preferred the idea of gobstones as well, so marbles it was, mundanity be damned.

After one last visit to St Mungo's to see Aunt Alice and Uncle Frank on the 22nd, it was finally time to return to Hogwarts. The Lovegoods arrived at Longbottom Manor that night, so as to avoid having to get up before dawn to make it to Kings Cross on time. The next morning, Pandora and Xenophilius wished their child goodbye, and accompanied by Augusta alone, Mary, Neville, and Sol (Luna was sleeping in, apparently) were whisked away through the swirling green flames to Magical London to catch the train back to Scotland.

Chapter Text

Classes started back up on the 24th, which for Marigold only consisted of Potions and Defense, as she didn't have to take Moxy Studies - a fact she was thankful for, since the train ride back to Hogwarts had irritated her joints back into inflammation. With the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match in only ten days, she wanted to get some serious practice in, which meant she needed to recover quickly. For once, Hedwig didn't need to remind Mary to accept her friends’ help, or even ask for it. It was still embarrassing for Mary, but even if it wasn't getting any easier, she was at least getting used to it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, she was able to walk to the Great Hall for breakfast. However, when it came time for their introduction to Care of Magical Creatures, the trek was too far for Mary to walk in one go. Still, Mary was literally vibrating with anticipation as Hermione pushed her across the deceptively-rickety covered wooden bridge towards the Forbidden Forest, where the classroom was located.

“Excited?” Hermione asked, amused.

Ron gave a snort of laughter. “Obviously. You've seen how sh- how she dotes on Hedwig.” he replied, stuttering a bit as his head jerked about, interrupting himself with the tic. “And she's not that different from a mundane owl.”

“Magical creatures are fascinating!” Marigold confirmed. “I got Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with the rest of my supplies for first year. I've practically memorized it by now. I'm excited to finally see some of them in person!”

“Well, I don't kn-now that we'll be seeing any just y-yet.” Neville replied, attempting to temper her expectations. “Fr-rom Professor Kettleburn’s announcement last night, I th-think it's just going to be a lecture.”

“Still.” Mary insisted.

Coming to the end of the bridge, the four young badgers gave their best to Hagrid as they passed by his hut. Hagrid grinned, waving back as he tended to the crops in the school’s garden alongside several students in the Ag Club. The Care of Magical Beasts classroom was a stone hut with several wooden extensions tacked on, similar to Hagrid's. According to Hagrid last year, it had previously just been used for storage by the past groundskeepers. However, after Newt Scamander had established the field of Magizoology and Hogwarts decided to hold an elective class on the subject, the storage building gained a new purpose, as it was already conveniently located near the Forest. The stone hut became a classroom, and additional space was built to house the supplies needed for the class, as well as the groundskeeper’s supplies that had been displaced in the process.

The interior of the building was exceedingly simple, the same open layout as Hagrid's hut. Instead of cozy, oversized furniture though, it was outfitted with tables and chairs, with a desk and blackboard at the front. As they entered, Professor Kettleburn handed each of them a bright, shiny galleon, telling them to keep it in their pocket for later. Once all the second-year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors had gathered inside, Kettleburn limped his way up to the front of class, sitting down on a stool as he rubbed his leg just above where his prosthesis began.

“Welcome to Care of Magical Creatures!” he greeted them in his paradoxically light-yet-gruff voice, clapping his hands together twice. “In this class, you will learn how to safely handle all manner of magical beasts, from phoenixes to fwoopers, and kneazles to nifflers.” He gave a sly grin as he stroked his beard. “Speaking of which-”

At his sharp whistle, a scratching, scurrying sound could be heard. The students looked around, some ducking their heads under the tables to check the floor for the noise’s source. Marigold immediately shoved her hand into her skirt’s pocket, clenching her fist around the galleon within. Moments later, as the students murmured amongst themselves, Mary felt a series of warm bursts of air on her wrist, followed by the feeling of two tiny hands grabbing her arm, attempting to pull hers out of her pocket. She obliged, lifting her arm - and the niffler now attached to it - up and onto the table.

Kettleburn guffawed as Mary - along with several other girls (Lavender Brown, especially) - cooed over the little creature still desperately trying to pry her fingers apart. It was an odd mix of monotreme, rodent, and insectivore traits with its bill-like snout, little hands, and downy black fur like a mole’s, though Marigold knew it to be a marsupial, as she could see the edge of a galleon poking out from the pouch on its stomach. Finally relenting, she slowly uncurled her fingers, and the niffler snatched up the golden coin and shoved it into its pouch with the rest of its spoils.

Professor Kettleburn chuckled. “Well, as Miss Potter has kindly demonstrated for us - keep an eye on your valuables if there's a niffler about.” He whistled again, and the niffler scurried away, hopping off Mary’s table with a plopping thud, and returning to Kettleburn, where it immediately emptied out all the galleons it had gathered - creating a small pile larger than itself. The professor clicked his tongue twice, then retrieved a snack which the niffler hurriedly gobbled up, and a small, sparkling gemstone which the niffler stashed away.

“Having more magic than mundane creatures, most magical beasts are surprisingly intelligent.” Kettleburn continued. “A savvy wix can train these beasts to perform any number of tasks - though if you're not careful, they may just end up training you.” He waved a galleon to get the niffler’s attention. “Beg.”

At his command, the niffler whimpered pitifully, reaching out for the shiny gold coin. Kettleburn clicked his tongue again, then gave another snack and a trinket to the little creature, pocketing the coin himself. He scooped up the niffler, standing up. “And a round of applause for my lovely assistant, Nelly.”

The class clapped as he put the niffler back into its enclosure, where it deposited its newfound trinkets onto a pile with many others it had earned over the years.

“Nifflers,” the professor continued, “Use a naturally-developed squeezing charm to fit more items within their pouches than should be physically possible - which was the basis for the version Mister Scamander went on to craft.”

“Percy said that's what he n’ Dad enchanted the inside o’ the car with.” Ron whispered to Mary. “Kept goin’ on n’ on ‘bout the arithmancy of it one time when he visited me while I was… y'know.”

“While some beasts can teach us,” Kettleburn continued, “Others produce valuable magical products, as you've no doubt learned in your classes with Professor Snape. While in the past, wixen have hunted dangerous magical creatures for their primary products alone, today, it is far more economic - not to mention humane - to raise and care for them, allowing us to also harvest secondary products far better in both quantity and quality. In this class, you will learn how to do so safely, so as to not end up like me.” he concluded, gesturing at his prosthetic leg.

The rest of the class was a fairly long lecture, going over the curriculum of what would be taught from third all the way through to seventh year. Being a very hands-on course, there were lengthy sections regarding the risks involved, as well as the safety measures taken to mitigate those risks. Much like the weekend trips to Hogsmeade next year, taking Care of Magical Creatures would require its prospective students to turn in a signed permission slip from a parent or guardian. Marigold hoped Dumbledore wouldn't stoop so low as to hold her education or extracurriculars as ransom to stop her transition, but she couldn't rule it out as a possibility. Either way, she was certain the Dursleys wouldn't sign either form for her.

---

Mary had to argue quite a bit with Lottie that she was fine, and it was just the sheer distance that had her using her wheelchair to attend Care of Magical Creatures that morning. With Hedwig's approval though, Lottie finally relented. Since they only had the pitch for three hours, Lottie rushed the team through drills, then began their mock game on the quidditch pitch. Mary definitely felt out of practice, having missed last week's mock game. Thankfully, as always with quidditch, she was a quick study - though the rather chaotic method Lottie was employing didn't help.

What was initially a match between the starter team and the reserve team quickly fell into disarray, as every couple of minutes, Lottie barked out orders for two players to switch sides with each other, testing every possible combination. Marigold honestly wasn't sure how her captain was planning to keep track of performance, since every player spent about the same time on each team, rendering the score rather meaningless. However after Mary caught the snitch, Lottie called time, skipping the Last Hurrah entirely and gathering the Hufflepuff team on the ground.

She drew her wand and tapped it to her temple after swishing through the somatics and mumbling the incantation. As she slowly pulled the tip away, it brought with it a silver strand of… something, causing her eyes to glaze over. Whatever it was, it seemed to allow Lottie to recall the match in perfect detail, as she would pause, critique a specific team member, then tug on the strand just a bit more. It grew to nearly a meter long by the time she pulled the strand free with a flick of her wand. The ethereal string drifted in the air like a cobweb half-knocked loose, mesmerizing Marigold. It almost looked like the string of light that Lilliana Moon had demonstrated in Theory, earlier in the year, though it was as if all of the light was trapped within, glimmering and glinting. With a tap back to her temple, the strand was slurped into Lottie’s head in a manner not dissimilar to Dudley eating spaghetti, leaving Mary with even more questions.

Unfortunately, Lottie didn't give her any time to ponder the strange spell, instead throwing the team into what was quite possibly the most hellish thing Mary had ever done on a broom - a seemingly unending Last Hurrah, again with Lottie constantly swapping members from each team. Were it not for the colored baubles Lottie had spelled onto the front of each player’s broom, each updating between yellow and purple to match their current team, Mary would have constantly been passing the quaffle to her opponents. As it was, Mary still ended up doing exactly that several times, before Lottie finally, graciously called time. The critique was the same format as before, though by then, Marigold was aching all over, her pain making it significantly harder to focus on Lottie's words.

By the time practice was finally over and the team hit the showers, Mary was limping heavily out of the stadium. Hermione had thankfully had the foresight to bring Mary's wheelchair with her to watch practice alongside Ron and Neville, folding it out and pushing Mary back to the castle and into the Hufflepuff Common Room. Unfortunately, the quidditch stadium locker room showers weren't exactly accessible, so after grabbing a change of clothes from her dorm, Marigold was finally able to shower off downstairs, the near-scalding water relieving her aching joints and muscles. She reentered her dorm, flushed from the heat and exhausted from exercise, leaving her incredibly grateful as Neville pushed her along to the Great Hall for dinner.

Mary definitely wasn't making practice tomorrow.

---

Sunday, Marigold would have needed help getting to the Divination classroom even if she had been able to walk, seeing as it was located all the way on the eighth floor, at the base of the central tower, just above the library. The circular room featured a stained-glass dome that Mary had seen many times from below, as it was the roof of the library. However, from within the Divination classroom, it made for a gorgeous centerpiece of the room, casting splotches of colored light on the walls and ceiling, complete with a sturdy, wrought-iron handrail encircling it.

Professor Trelawney seemed incapable of keeping still, continuously pacing around the dome throughout the entirety of her lecture, fidgeting by either tucking a seemingly-endless amount of stray, frizzy hairs back behind her ears, or using her shawl to clean off the thick lenses of her glasses. At the very least, it made Ron’s tics look mild by comparison.

Unfortunately, Trelawney only accepted students with the Sight for her NEWT-level classes, so while a large part of the first three years was focused on theory, much of it was practicals, both to hone students’ skill, as well as allow Trelawney to identify which students showed the most promise of having the Sight. Some forms of divination, Professor Trelawney explained, were more accessible than others. Methods like tasseomancy, tarot, augury, and dowsing were general enough in scope and purpose that most wixen - even those without the Sight - could benefit from them. Those would be the forms covered in third through fifth year. After that, while there was still some amount of theory covered in sixth and seventh year, it wasn't particularly applicable to anyone without the Sight.

Unfortunately, this upset Hermione. While she didn't voice her complaints to Trelawney directly, instead holding her tongue until after the class, it all seemed rather elitist to her.

“How do we know for sure that she's not just picking favorites?” Hermione posed. “It's a catch-22 - if you disagree with her judgement, she can just say it's because you don't have ‘the Sight’. Where's the peer review? Where's the objective verification? That's the whole point of standardized exams!”

“And it's not like we can trust that Dumbledore or the Board of Governors made a proper judgement of her skills.” Mary added. “Just look at Lockhart - he was a complete fraud!”

Ron shrugged. “I mean, divination’s definitely real. There's prophecies n’ such that get recorded in the Ministry, n’ they always come true.”

“I'm not saying divination as a whole is fake,” Hermione countered, “Just that it seems rather unfair for it to come down to one person's opinion whether or not you can take Divination at the NEWT level. At that point, why even bother having OWLs on the subject at all?”

Ron didn't have a rebuttal for that. “S’more of an art anyway, not really a science.” he said instead.

“Well, there's a plethora of fake psychics in the moxy world.” Hermione continued, huffing in annoyance. “There’s certainly a technique to what they're doing, but they're only reading body language, not minds or futures, or communing with the dead. And it's never for anything wholesome, either. They gladly scam desperate, vulnerable people out of their savings.”

Neville chuckled as he pushed Mary along through the halls. “It's a good th-thing she's not charging us f-for each class, then.”

Marigold giggled at that. “Could you imagine? ‘Hi, welcome to Divination! Before we start, that'll be ten galleons. Pay up, or I'll have Mister Filch drag you off to detention.’”

That got Hermione to laugh, flapping her hands at the thought. “I'll give the class a chance, at least.” she conceded. “I want to learn as much as possible - even if it is from a somewhat suspect source.”

---

With only two months left until finals (a total of only 16 hours in each class), the week was rife with revision. Even Professor Sinistra had forgone their regular fortnightly stargazing that Monday, to instead go over everything they had covered that year. By far the most frantic revision was in Defense that Thursday, as Dumbledore realized just how little Lockhart had taught them, and fought desperately to get everyone back on track in time for exams. He at least got somewhat of a break with his second years, thanks to Marigold running the Defense Association in lieu of proper instruction, but despite Mary's efforts, even they were still behind - especially the second year lions and snakes who didn't attend the DA.

History was what Mary needed the most revision in. Memorizing all the dates and names last year had been hard enough, and they'd only gone over the history of Hogwarts (and Hogsmeade, whose history was so intertwined with that of Hogwarts so as to be inseparable). This year, they had covered the entirety of the Wixen British Isles, which had Mary's head practically spinning with how much information there was. Neville’s trick to remembering everything was to put it in relation to Hogwarts’ history, though that only really helped from the tenth century onward, once the school actually existed. Before then, it was free game, and that was where the real difficulty lay. Mary was certainly not looking forward to next year, when they would be going over all of magical Europe.

---

“Right, gather up, Hufflepuff.” Lottie called out, grabbing her team's attention. “I won't pretend this game’s gonna be easy. It's not. Ravenclaw is damn good.” She squared her jaw, looking out over the locker room. “But so are we! We've put in the work, and by Merlin, if we're not ready, I don't know who the hell is!”

Marigold cheered with the rest of the team, already mounted on her own broom, so as to not bother with her cane. She still felt she could've put more effort into their practices, but as Madam Pomfrey insisted in their session last week, she still gave it her best, even if that best was lower than others, and lower than it used to be due to her injury.

As the locker room grew quiet once more, Lottie gazed fondly at everyone gathered there. “This is my last year. I know I'd love to end with another Cup under my belt, but no matter what happens today, it has been a goddamn honor to be your captain.” Her soft smile grew, twisting into a wicked grin as she whooped, “Now let's get out there and kick some feathery arse!”

Hufflepuff's quidditch team cheered as they rushed out of the locker room and onto the pitch, greeted by thunderous applause. They took a moment to shake hands with the Ravenclaw team, then lined up in position. Both teams were ready, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game was on.

All twelve non-Seekers kicked off into the air, followed immediately by the snitch and two bludgers, which the Beaters began swatting about. Zhāng Qiū stayed grounded with Mary, eyeing her up.

“Sure ye can fly with that leg, Potter?” they finally asked in their brogue, seemingly genuinely concerned.

Mary gave them a sheepish grin. “It won't affect my flying, no.”

“Hm.” they responded, “Ah guess we'll see, won't we noo?”

Marigold frowned, unsure as to what they meant by that. Before she could think to ask, however, Hooch finally released the quaffle, and Mary and Zhāng took flight after it. Almost immediately, Mary had to stagger her ascent as a bludger was launched just over her head. In a flash, Max O’Flaherty was juggling it back at Ravenclaw. With Ravenclaw gaining initial possession of the quaffle in the chaos, Mary took off after them, swooping and dashing through the clump of Chasers to try and nab the quaffle.

“RAVENCLAW PULLS FORWARD TO THE GOAL POSTS,” Lee Jordan’s voice boomed throughout the stadium, “DAVIS LINES UP AND SHOOTS - BUT HE’S BLOCKED BY FLEET! HE CAN'T HOLD ON TO IT THOUGH, AND POSSESSION IS TAKEN BY CORNER, RAVENCLAW’S YOUNGEST CHASER AND STARTING PLAYER. HE GOES FOR A PASS, IGNORING A TRY AT A BACK-GOAL, INSTEAD GETTING THE QUAFFLE BACK TO DAVIS, WHO PASSES TO- OH, AND WHAT A LOVELY INTERCEPTION FROM BELOW BY POTTER!”

Mary grinned as she rushed out of the swarm, leading the pack with her Nimbus’ superior speed. As she approached midfield, she dipped her right side down, winding up for a massive launch into the sky - then let the quaffle slip from her fingers, dropping down and into Cedric’s arms as he swooped underneath her.

Mary was ecstatic that her feint worked as Roger Davis flew overhead, only to stare in shock as a bludger connected with Cedric's shoulder, causing him to fumble the ball as his arm went limp. Apparently, Ravenclaw had seen through the ploy after all, lining up a bludger rather than making a try for an interception. It was quite out of the ordinary for their team, but Mary supposed it was possible the Beaters saw through her but the Chasers didn't.

As the game continued though, Mary grew more and more certain that wasn't the case. Ravenclaw kept playing strangely aggressively, and they didn't show any signs of stopping, especially as they began growing a lead on Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff needed 280 points to enter the finals on even footing with Gryffindor, so Marigold was supposed to leave the snitch be until the end of the game. However, without a win - or at least a tie - it would be Ravenclaw in the finals against Gryffindor. If Mary waited too long, it was starting to look like they'd lose the match and their chance at the finals if she didn't find the little winged devil - and soon.

So when a glint of gold caught her eye and a quick assessment told her she already had a lead on Zhāng, despite the score only being 130 to 190, Mary shot off after it in an instant. It didn't take long for Zhāng to notice and give chase, but by then, Mary was already closing in on the snitch. With nearly everyone's focus now on Marigold, Hufflepuff was able to sneak in a goal right as Mary closed her hand around the snitch, bringing Hufflepuff to 215 and a 25 point lead on Ravenclaw as they entered the Last Hurrah.

Unfortunately, shortly after swapping the snitch for the second quaffle, and even scoring her first goal of the game, Ravenclaw continued their aggressive behavior, nailing Mary with a very intentional bludger to her right hip that had her seeing stars. Nothing was broken, so she initially tried to play through the pain, but Lottie soon barked at her to get her arse down to the medical tent, immediately. Naturally, Madam Pomfrey refused to let Mary back onto the pitch, so all she could do was sit there with Maggie and watch, hoping, praying, that Hufflepuff would keep their lead long enough to win the game.

But Ravenclaw kept getting goal, after goal, after goal. Marigold groaned, as despite her team's efforts and a snitch catch, Ravenclaw re-took the lead. With only a minute left, they got another goal, bringing the score to 245 to 260. Even if Hufflepuff got a goal, they'd have to get a second to eke out a 5-point victory. Mary flopped back into her cot, covering her teary eyes with an arm, upset with her rather rash decision to go after the snitch. She wasn't sure what else she could have really done, but she was sure Lottie would know, and chew her out for it, too.

“Hey, cheer up, Goldy.” Maggie called over to her from her own cot. “That was one hell of a game - sorry Madam Pomfrey.” she apologized as the witch in question glared at her use of profanity. “Not much you could've done, y'know.”

Except for having a working body, a rather cruel voice whispered in Marigold's head.

A gong rang out and the stadium burst into uproarious celebration, followed by the buzz of the timer. Lee announced Tamsin's last-second goal for Hufflepuff, bringing the score to 255 to 260, Ravenclaw’s victory, the rest of his words drowned out by the roar of the crowd. However, it was Maggie's response that confused Mary, as she got up out of her cot, cheering as she hobbled through the medical tent’s exit with a cast on her leg, grabbing a crutch on her way out and leaving Mary alone with Madam Pomfrey.

Mary looked at her, scrunching up her nose in confusion. “Didn't we just lose?”

Pomfrey smiled at her. “The game? Yes.”

“Then why-”

“Because you made finals.” Michael Corner glumly interrupted her from his cot. “The league standing is 610 to 615. Congratulations.”

Marigold sat up, frozen, as his words sunk in and she verified his maths. By the time she fully realized what just happened, Pomfrey had already brought over a wheelchair, and Mary was soon pushing herself out onto the pitch, whooping as her team lifted her out of the chair and onto their shoulders, the ache in her hip dulled by sheer joy.

They hadn't won the Cup just yet, but at that moment, Mary couldn't have cared less.