CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
COMING FOR YOU
(trigger warning: brief mentions of murder and vomit)

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IF THERE WAS ONE thing that Freya McKinnon knew for certain in the days that followed Umbridge's discovery of the D.A, it was this: Hogwarts was not the same without Albus Dumbledore as the Headmaster.

No, scratch that.

Hogwarts was not the same with a bigoted bitch as the new Headmistress.

Freya, much like everyone else who wasn't one of Umbridge's prized Slytherins, felt like she was walking on constant egg-shells every time she left the safety of the Hufflepuff Common Room. With every day that passed, a new Educational Decree would be added to the endless list of bullshit rules that Umbridge had already created.

There were the more serious ones, the ones that were a cause for concern, like these:

Students must consent to having their post checked for illegal contraband.

Any literature by non-wizard or half-breeds is banned forthwith.

And then the rules that were just plain stupid, like this one:

Boys and girls are not permitted to be within six inches of each other.

Yeah, like that would be easy for her to police.

It got to a point that it was almost unbearable for Freya, the longer it seemed like Umbridge was there to stay. Some days, she found herself fantasising in class as she stared out the window, thinking about the life she wanted to lead the second she escaped this... torture... and into the real world.

She'd have a nice house, preferably somewhere by the sea where she could go out each day and take pictures on her camera. Maybe she'd find herself a boyfriend, and they'd share the space together someday. She'd get a nice job, one that made her happy. And above anything else, everything would turn out okay with her dad. He'd sober up, for good this time. He'd stop disappearing when she needed him. Maybe they'd have a designated day, perhaps a Saturday, where the both of them would be off work so he'd come around for lunch or even just a coffee to catch up.

In theory, it sounded perfect.

In reality, it sounded like a fool's dream, reeking of pathetic desperation.

For ever since the D.A had disbanded, Freya's magic began to spiral again. In the safety of her dormitory, when neither of her roommates were present to see her stumble, not even Solana, Freya had attempted the patronus charm again.

Momentarily, she had hoped.

But that hope died the second she inevitably failed.

And now? Well, now, she struggled to even think of the stupefy charm. She could cast it easily enough, but first she had to wade neck-deep through a whole lot of doubt and insecurity, which really made her small achievement feel pointless in the end.

It disappointed her, but in an almost twisted kind of way, Freya had come to accept it. Her dreams of beaches and Saturday lunches and partners with red hair and blinding smiles were as likely as Umbridge having a sudden change of heart...

Freya really was stuck.

But hey, at least she wasn't the only one.

Solana barely said a word if she wasn't cursing out Umbridge. She stuck close to Fred's side, her head down, clinging to the freshly torn scar on her hand. I must not rebel. The words went through one ear and out the other for Freya, but Freya supposed it was different for someone like Solana. She seemed to be keeping Freya, and everyone else, at arm's length, ever since a letter came from home for her. She wasn't the Solana Thomas that Freya knew and loved, she was just counting down the days until Hogwarts became nothing but a stain of her past.

It hurt Freya at first, but then she realised that in some ways, she did the exact same thing. She couldn't even remember the last time she had spoken to George, but fortunately he didn't seem to notice. In fact, he himself seemed off as of late. The one time Freya found herself in the Gryffindor Common Room with the twins and Solana, he and Fred spent the whole time with their heads bent over a piece of parchment. Whenever someone got too close, they would shield it from view, then give each other this fleeting glance like they were communicating telepathically.

Later, one twin's eyes would warn.

When no one can catch us, the other seemed to agree.

At first, Freya was curious enough to ask what they were planning, but was met with a mere laugh from George followed by a smirk from Fred and a shrug from Solana.

"You'll find out in due time, McKinnon," said Fred with a teasing note to his voice.

"Everyone will," added George, who winked at her before standing up to lead the way out of the Common Room.

It was safe to say Freya had no clue what they were on about, but she decided not to push it for the time being. She had more pressing things to worry about, really; her impending doom in the upcoming NEWT exams (which Freya was ashamed to admit she hadn't been studying for), the painfully slow approach of graduation, and her father's sudden silent treatment. She assumed the Order had been informed of Dumbledore's disappearing act, but she thought her dad would at least check in on her, even if it was something general that Umbridge wouldn't find suspicious.

But there was nothing.

Not even when the McKinnons' murderer escaped Azkaban.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN:
MINISTRY FEARS THAT BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT'
FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

Freya felt her stomach drop as she reread the title of the Daily Prophet article over and over again. They hadn't said his name yet, but she had a horrible feeling his picture was waiting for her on the other side of the page, his glare burning holes through the parchment. Freya glanced around the Great Hall, eyes almost pleading for someone she recognised, but there was no one. Solana had taken her time in the bathroom that morning, leaving Freya to walk down to breakfast on her own. Fred and George must've slept in, for they were nowhere in sight at the Gryffindor table. Not even Lee was there, probably off with his girlfriend somewhere.

Freya was alone when she heard the news. Heart practically pounding out of her chest in terror.

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

"We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer, Sirius Black, escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person to ever break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."

The article continued on to list the names and mugshots of the ten escaped prisoners. Freya spied Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolahov towards the top of the list, but the name that mattered to her was Torquil Travers II, or just Travers as he went by. Freya dropped the Daily Prophet to the table and scrambled out of her seat the second his moving photograph smiled at her. She could feel bile travelling up her throat, tears in her ears already falling against her will. She turned and sprinted, bumping into people left and right as she went. It felt like everyone was looking at her, judging, whispering he's coming for her next.

What if he did? What if Travers came for her or her father? What would she do if she saw him?

Deep down, she knew what she would do, and the answer scared the shit out of her.

At long last, she reached the Hufflepuff Common Room. With a slam of the door that scared the wits out of three first years huddled in the corner, she took to the stairs three at a time, sliding down the back of her bathroom door the second she barricaded herself in her empty dormitory. The familiar acidic feeling of bile returned to her throat. Knowing what was coming, she lurched towards the toilet just in time to spew up the few bites of toast she'd eaten before reading the paper.

It couldn't be real. It couldn't. This had to be some horrible nightmare.

But it wasn't, and she knew that.

Sometimes, Freya McKinnon wished to be someone else, an outsider looking in on her life.

Merlin, she really hated herself...

What felt like hours passed before Freya managed to push herself back up onto her feet. The dormitory was still empty when she emerged from the bathroom, having brushed her teeth and wiped the tears from her face. Like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, she stumbled into the chair waiting at her desk, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill.

Then she started to write, the words pouring out onto the page.

Dad,

Did you know he escaped?

She didn't say anything else, didn't even sign her name. She knew Umbridge would read it. The wicked woman would probably even laugh at her pain, but Freya didn't care. She stuck the letter into an envelope, scrawled Fraser McKinnon on the front while weakly scratching Maximus' head when ambled up to sit at her side. Then, with as much strength as she could muster, she forced herself out of the chair and downstairs. She didn't see anyone on the way, meaning everyone would be in class.

Freya didn't know what was worse. The isolation of the empty corridor or what would've been hundreds of eyes following her every move.

Eventually, she reached the Owlery, where she dragged herself up three flights of stairs just to reach the top of the tower. It didn't seem worth it in the end, for the second she tied her letter onto one of the school owl's legs and watched it fly away, she wanted to call it back, to burn the letter along with this feeling festering inside her.

Fraser wouldn't reply. If Freya knew him like she thought she did, her dad would be chasing the bottom of a Firewhiskey bottle right now, probably drunk out of his mind and nowhere close to even thinking about her.

With a disappointed sigh, she turned to leave the Owlery, only to come face-to-face with a panting George sprinting up the stairs.

Both of them saw each other at the same time. At once, Freya froze, red-rimmed eyes meeting his wide ones as he leaned forward with his hands on his knees and breathed. He must've been running, for his hair was dishevelled, face tinted with the rush of blood.

"There you are," he said at last, before Freya could even comprehend that he was there, and from the sounds of it, he'd been searching for her...

"Here I am," she responded. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears, like a Dementor had come along and sucked the life out of her with a fatal kiss. "Were you looking for me?"

Finally standing up straight, George shot her an incredulous stare. "Of course I was looking for you. I read the Prophet."

"Oh."

The look he was giving her made Freya wanted to cry again. It was delicate, like approaching a baby bird with a broken wing. He didn't want to make things worse for her, but he didn't want to leave her alone, not with the glassy look that had returned to her eyes the second he took a step closer and wordlessly held out his arms. In a blink, Freya rushed forward, clumsily throwing her arms around his middle as he squeezed her tight.

"Frey..."

"He can't be out," she whimpered, repeating the words that had been on an endless loop in her brain. "He can't, George, he... he killed..."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm so sorry, Frey."

Once again, time seemed to slow and speed up all at once. Freya wasn't sure what time it was when her tears stopped flowing and she pulled away from George's chest to meet his eyes. She could hear voices downstairs, probably students moving between classes, but no one approached the Owlery, allowing them to stand there in silence. Subconsciously, George reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand cradling her jaw in a comforting gesture.

"You alright?" he murmured, thumb stroking her cheek.

It was then that she kissed him.

Maybe it wasn't the best time. Maybe it made her a bad person. But Freya McKinnon wanted to feel something other than this agony, something that only George Weasley let her feel. She wanted freedom, the elation of his touch to last forever, to consume her...

And with every movement of his lips on hers, the screams of terror in her head slowly drifted away.

Like a camera lens sharpening into focus, realisation struck. She pulled back again, shakily breathing into the space between their mouths as George stared at her, caught between shock and something so lovesick that it made Freya's heart hurt.

"I'm sorry..." she trailed off, her voice sounding fractured around the erratic beat of her heart. "I shouldn't have--"

George cut her off by leaning down to kiss her again, one soft and gentle press of his lips on hers that eventually moved to her cheek, then to her forehead, then to her hairline where he whispered against the side of her head, "It's okay."

Reassuringly, he slipped his hand into hers, squeezing once when she stared at him with uncertainty. Slowly, he guided her towards the doorway, nudging the door open with his free hand and gesturing for her to go first.

"We'll go to the kitchens," he promised upon hearing faint laughter at the bottom of the stairs. "Just you and me."

"Promise?"

It was child-like, pathetic almost, but George smiled anyways and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Freya would've smiled had she not felt so numb. "I promise, Frey."

And so she let him guide her down the stairs, away from the letter that her father wouldn't answer, back to a reality where the man who killed her mother, her aunt and her grandparents walked free.

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A/N: Just in case anyone was wondering, I've given Travers the name Torquil, since his name isn't mentioned anywhere that I found and it's said he was related to Torquil Travers, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the Ministry of Magic in the 1920s. I hope that's okay with everyone, I just felt weird only mentioning him as Travers since Freya would undoubtedly know his full name. Let me know what you think? Thanks for reading.