❝ On good days, I know how to call this skin home without weeping. On better days, I name myself sanctuary instead of cage. ❞ — Nikita Gill

The peaceful night's rest I needed ended up looking more like chunks of fitful sleep, troubled by nonsensical nightmares that didn't resemble the ones I usually had. I woke up every three hours, sweating, as I used to do in the shed when Matt and I took turns on the night shifts.

It took me a couple of minutes to adjust to my surroundings, the soft king sized bed, the warm bedroom with lavender curtains drawn back to reveal the sight of the moonlit bay in front of the manor. It took me even longer to still my heart's frantic pace, convince my brain all was okay, resist the urge to reach for the dagger.

But old habits die hard, so I still kept the damned thing under my pillow. Just in case. What that would be, I didn't know, but I slept more peacefully with it there.

Bertha must've heard me because when I woke up the next morning and the morning after, there was a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on my nightstand. Hatsue gave me a wand and even offered to prepare me a potion for dreamless sleep. I didn't say no. I could use a bottle or two.

After having another bath and using more of that coconut-scented conditioner to tame down my curls, I made my way downstairs. The sound of running water echoed from the kitchen as Bertha washed the dishes.

"Morning, dear," she called from the sink, turning her head to flash me a smile. "I left some breakfast by the fireplace. You can join Matthias, he just woke up too."

"Thank you, Bertha."

The living room was spacious with furniture made of mahogany wood, the sofas and armchairs scarlet and red. Above the brick fireplace hung another moving portrait of a lady in white, holding a parasol. Matt knelt by the coffee table next to the crackling fire, munching on some honeyed waffles. Hatsue sat on an emerald armchair, studying a set of tarot cards, a book with swirling symbols propped open on her lap, whereas Wally was writing in a journal at a glass table behind her.

"Hey, 'Olly," said Matt through a mouthful of food.

Wally looked up. I waved at him with a smile and knelt opposite Matt at the coffee table, right in front of my plate of waffles. Apart from honey, Bertha had left containers of different jams, peanut butter, and maple syrup. I reached for the knife and dipped it in strawberry jam.

When I glanced down, the scarlet liquid that dripped across the silver surface was different. Darker, smoother, and the blade was not that of a butter knife but a dagger. The same dagger that chopped the rabbit's head off in the restroom of the shed. The same dagger that almost plunged into the baby deer's heart. I asked for help, Polly. Where were you? The blood trickled down my fingers.

You killed Stella.

I screamed. The knife dropped on the plate with a loud clang. My hand was covered in jam, the sleeve of my shirt stained and sticky.

"Not real." I was panting. "Not re—Jesus."

"Hey," whispered Matt. He reached across the table to steady my shaking wrist. "It's all over, okay? We're safe. Everything's okay."

Hatsue closed her book and put her cards away before kneeling beside me.

"It's fine," I hurried to say. "I'm fine."

But she brought out her wand and tapped the tip at the back of my hand. The jam vanished from my hand and sleeve like it never was there. Before I could thank her, she took the knife and started spreading jam on my waffles. I wanted to tell her I could take care of it, but I wasn't sure I could bring myself to even glance at the knife without my brain going haywire again. I let her continue, mouthed a thank you when she was done, then ate the breakfast in silence with my gaze glued to the plate, not even properly enjoying a food I'd gone so long without tasting.

"Zoë's coming back tonight," Matt said after a moment of silence.

I looked up. "She is?"

"Mhm. I almost slipped and told Theo yesterday but then caught myself."

"How did he not read your mind?"

Matt gave a sly smile. "Guess who's got a hang of Occlumency."

My jaw dropped. "Shut up."

"Oh, yes. I'm not always as dumb as you may think."

"I don't think that. Also, how?"

"I picked up on how you did it. Wasn't that hard. Oh, and another thing." He glanced over his shoulder at Wally sitting at the table, lost in his writing, then looked back at me and switched to telepathy. "Mind talking to him like, about me? I don't wanna blow my shot by seeming too clingy or annoying. But you could tell him all about your super awesome and amazing friend Matthias Jacob Finley. Just, casually, you know. Play it cool. Don't make me seem obsessive."

"Really, Matt? Telling me to play wingwoman now?"

He pouted. "Please? I feel like I've already talked his ear off. You guys go to school together and he's friends with your friend. He'll gladly talk to you."

I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Deal," he said with a grin.

Wally heard me approaching and made a movement of half-closing his journal. He looked up, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," I said. I pulled up the chair next to him and sat. "So, um, I was wondering . . . What's your connection to this place?"

He ripped a page from his journal, then started to write something down with his quill. When he finished, he slid the letter towards me. His handwriting was sloppy, but legible.

'I do the same messenger job between here and Hogwarts that Natalia does with MACUSA.'

"Oh," I said. "Did Breeze assign you? Or was it Headmaster Dashawn before he passed?"

Wally shook his head, then wrote down another response. As he handed it to me to read, a block of text appeared in dark blue ink on a blank page of his journal. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he dipped his quill in ink and wrote a response to the person he was talking to. I looked at the piece of paper.

'It was actually Karson Richards. Long story, but basically, he promised my mom that he'd watch over me, and keeping me in the loop was one of the first things he did when he got his deputy post.'

"So you're one of us now," I said. "I don't think you were part of The Case of Dolphinuses when we started, though, right?"

He looked up from the journal, nodded, then wrote another sentence.

'I had no idea about any of that.'

"You had no idea I was a Dolphinus?"

He shook his head, scribbling a longer explanation.

'I knew you were a Dolphinus, but I didn't know you were running the magazine until the Simmons exposed you. Then it became conflicting what to believe. My best friend, Roxanne was part of those who turned against you, but I wasn't so sure.'

I frowned. "So you're saying you . . . didn't believe the Simmons?"

Wally nodded.

'The article they wrote sounded fishy from the get go. I mean, the pro- or anti-Dolphinus issue aside, just from an objective viewpoint, it didn't seem like a credible piece. It was so vague and biased. But considering the shocking content, nobody paid any mind to all that.'

He used his wand to vanish all he'd written as the page was running out of empty space, then wrote more. 'But it started to hit me more as I saw the toll it was taking on Sibi. Then Karson told me everything. Now I come and go, updating Sibi on all I learn.'

My stomach dropped and I turned to Wally wide-eyed. If he was telling Sibi everything, that meant . . . she knew I was here. She knew I'd escaped. It had been so long since I'd last talked to her, my chest pained at the thought. But if she knew that much already, did that mean—

"You haven't told her about Stella, have you?"

He shook his head vehemently, his next response coming quicker.

'I won't. It's not my place to tell. Besides, it will be too much for her to bear. She's already dealing with enough.'

Yeah, it was hardly bearable for me.

I glanced at his journal out of instinct when another line of text appeared. The familiarity of the handwriting threw me off for a second. My stomach dropped as it dawned on me.

"Oh my god . . ." I stared at Wally in disbelief. "You're talking to her right now, aren't you?"

He smiled and nodded, pushing the journal toward me like an invitation. My heart started racing madly at the possibility of communicating with my best friend again after so long.

"Can I—can I talk to her?" I asked. "Can you tell her that I want to?"

He tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear and picked up his quill again.

'Of course,' he wrote. 'But you're going to need your wand for this. It's a spell I created to make it impossible for other people to access the conversation between the two people talking.'

"Got it."

I sprang to my feet and almost sprinted toward the stairs, the adrenaline of finally talking to my best friend again pulsing in my veins. I ought to ask Wally to show her the passageway he used to come here, so she could visit too. Maybe he already had. Maybe she had already been here. Maybe . . .

So caught up was I in the thrill of talking to Sibi again as I ran down the hallway, I didn't notice Theo getting out of his room and bumped hard into him. He flinched, his eyes apprehensive.

"Hey," he said breathlessly.

He had showered, shaved and wore clean clothes, but there was no Crucifix around his neck. Without a beard, his face looked more youthful—and brighter too, now that the sallow complexion of the illness had worn off entirely. Matt mentioned that Theo had healed and would be back to normal today, but the relief that washed over me at seeing him on his feet again was greater than I'd predicted.

"Hey." I had to remind myself to step back to keep a considerable distance, just in case he happened to be in a sour mood. "Are you feeling better?"

He nodded. "A lot, yeah. I gotta thank Bertha for the wand."

He took a wand out of his pocket, tracing the wood with his fingers.

"I was actually just about to get mine," I said. "We're training for duelling with Wally later, if you'd like to join us."

"Yeah, Matt told me. I will."

"Great."

I turned to enter my room, but I hadn't even taken a step forward when Theo spoke up.

"Hey, Polly?"

I turned again. He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I just, um . . . How you holdin' up?"

My eyebrows shot up. "I'm fine. Why?"

"I heard you cryin' in your sleep last night."

"Well." I snorted. "That's not a first."

He looked down again. A strained silence stretched between us. It felt unnatural, wrong, because I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with us.

"Listen, if—" His hands were fidgeting. "I just wanted to say . . . I'm sorry. Again, I know, but I've been such an asshole and made everythin' harder for you these past weeks. You, uh . . . you ain't deserve that."

It was my turn to look down. I tried to recall Zoë's words about how we should put our differences aside and cooperate. But everything had become so complicated, and the last time he apologized, not even twenty four hours later, he almost tried to hit me. Devil force, dark matter, whatever had gotten into him, how deep were its roots; how strong its hold? What if he was too far gone?

I met his eyes, ignoring the silent pleading in them or the transparency of his candid thoughts, which he still didn't know how to hide like Matt and I did.

"The thing is, Theo, those are just words. For all I know, tomorrow you'll wake up and want to strangle me."

"No! " he cried, his tone horrified. "Polly, I would never do that. I would never hurt you."

"But whatever has possessed you would."

He said nothing. I felt a knot taking shape at the back of my throat.

"So this is how it's going to be, then? Each time I talk to you, I'll just have to get used to—to not knowing what version of you I'll find? I'm sorry, but I can't trust you like that."

"I know." He paused, his brows pressing in a line. When he continued, his voice was low, barely there. "Most days, when I wake up, I don't know what version of me I'll find either."

He didn't wait for a reply—knew, probably, that I didn't have one to give. Without a word, he turned and walked away. I turned too, entered my bedroom and pressed my back against the door, wishing more than anything that things were different. That they were simpler. Just like how they used to be when we were kids.

The wand Bertha gave me that morning lay on my nightstand. I grabbed it and made my way downstairs, where Wally was waiting for me with his journal open to a blank page.

"Okay." I forced a smile, rolling up my sleeves. "Show me how to do this."

He pushed the journal towards me, wrote something down on the piece of paper, then pointed his wand at a blank page. I looked at the note.

'You point the wand to the page, then say—or in my case think—Communico, followed by the person's name.'

"Communico," I repeated out loud. He nodded. I pointed the tip of the wand to the blank page, cleared my throat, fingers trembling and heart racing in anticipation. "Communico Sibi."

A beam of white light appeared on the page briefly before fading out. I didn't know what I expected to happen, but at first, nothing did. Just as I was about to turn to Wally and tell him the spell hadn't worked, my body went rigid. A single word took shape on the yellowed paper in blue ink. I recognized Sibi's neat handwriting in an instant.

'Polly?'

I clasped a hand over my mouth. "It worked."

With an encouraging grin, Wally gestured at the page for me to respond, but it took me a moment to recover from the delighted shock. When I did—more out of an irrational fear that Sibi would leave if I didn't answer quickly—I picked up the quill and scribbled a response.

'Sibi, it's me. How are you?'

Her response came so quickly, the ink smudged around certain letters, it was as if I could feel her excited urgency seeping off the page. It made my smile broaden.

'Polly, oh my Merlin! It's been so long. I'm okay, I'm great. The real question is how are you? I miss you so much.'

I felt tears pricking my eyes. Wally must have noticed, because he squeezed my forearm and stood up, allowing me a moment of privacy that I was grateful for. I wiped the tears with trembling knuckles, then wrote a response.

'I'm fine. Alive and safe, at least, which is what matters.'

'I'm so glad to hear that. You have no idea how much. Mike will be so happy when I tell him, too.'

'I miss you guys,' I wrote. 'Can't you come visit me? Wally knows the secret passageway.'

It took her a minute to respond. She scratched the first sentence she began to write and a drip of ink bled into the page before she started her next.

'I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm needed here. Wally's more inconspicuous when he comes and goes.'

'What do you mean?' I wrote. 'What are you up to now? Bertha said you guys brought the magazine back. What are you writing?'

'Did she tell you about Headmaster Dashawn? About Raymond?'

'Yes.'

Her next response came with more hesitance. 'Well, after Dashawn's death, professor Raymond has been trying to . . . remodel Hogwarts. To prepare us for the upcoming war. That's when he encouraged me to bring the magazine back and announce to the world that we are ready to fight.'

I frowned at the page.

'Remodel Hogwarts? How? What does that mean?'

It took her a moment to write out the entire explanation. With each sentence she punctuated, my eyes widened a bit more. Each time I thought I'd read it all, she kept going, and the story grew progressively more extreme.

'The castle has been split in two sections. We call them East and West Hogwarts now. The East is where the classes take place and some social activities, but they've been limited considerably. There's no more Quidditch, visits to Hogsmeade have been reduced to once a month, almost every extracurricular that doesn't have an educational aspect has been eliminated. The West is the training ground. The Duelling Club takes place here, and has become its own class. Apparition too. This is where we practice all the hands-on magic we learn. Defense and Charms especially. They're training us how to fight off lots of dark magic. We have even been practicing with the Unforgivable Curses.'

I found myself at a loss of words. The castle had become a military school. My stomach churned as I read over Sibi's answer twice more. No Quidditch . . . training ground . . . split in two . . . Hogwarts didn't even sound like Hogwarts anymore.

It was for the best, I knew it. At least this Raymond guy was doing something to help students prepare for a war not only bigger than themselves, but bigger than the entire wizarding world. These changes were not negotiable. Still—still.

'That's terrifying, Sibi,' I finally wrote, my hand shaking.

'It's for the best,' she responded. I couldn't disagree. 'Raymond doesn't know about the secret passageway Wally uses to get there. He and headmaster Dashawn used another one. But Wally doesn't want me to tell him because he has promised Karson he'll keep it secret, so I've left the magazine distribution to him. That's why I can't risk coming there.'

I buried my face in my hands. I wanted to see her again more than anything, but it wasn't the time and I knew it. One day, we would reunite, but for now, I was still waiting for further directions from Bertha. Still trying to hear back from Breeze, stupidly hoping she would knock on the door or Floo to the living room one evening, even if just to say hello.

'Have you heard anything from Breeze?' I wrote. 'Has Raymond?'

'Raymond has only told me so much. Apparently she has given him instructions to hold his tongue. Classic her, so I'm not surprised. But she sent me a letter about a month ago.'

My heart almost leapt out of my chest. 'A letter?'

'It was very brief. Just a note of reassurance to not blame myself for having trusted Akker Simmons, something like that. Quite odd.'

'Do you?'

'Do I what?'

'Blame yourself?'

I got my answer in her hesitance to respond.

Oh, Sibi, I thought. Out of everyone, you're probably the least at fault for what happened.

'Please don't,' I wrote. 'I don't want you to. It's not on you.'

'Yeah, I know.'

I put the quill down, running my fingers through my hair. Behind me, in the living room, Matt was talking to Theo, who had just finished his breakfast. Hatsue was showing Wally her tarot cards, brows arched in a look of concern as he rubbed her arm comfortingly.

I turned back to the journal, picking up the quill again.

'So, what's the deal with Wally?'

'What do you mean?' came Sibi's response.

'Do we trust him? You seem to confide in him a decent amount.'

'He's one of the good ones. Trust me, Pol, I've had my own fair share of suspicions. These days, it's hard to believe anything anyone says. But Wally's reliable. He's my friend. I don't have many of those anymore.'

'I'm sorry about how the others have been treating you. But he looks like a nice guy.'

'He is. Funny how circumstances bring people together, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' I wrote. I looked over at Matt and Theo, both laughing at something Matt was saying, then Hatsue, her arms wrapped around Wally as he gently stroked her hair. 'They really do.'

'So what are the Ilvermorny people like?' she asked.

'They're good people too.'

'I'm assuming you've met the other prophecy person, then?'

My hand holding the quill froze. 'Did Wally tell you about the prophecy?'

'Not really. Raymond told me half, the part about you. But I didn't know it involved another person until we saw Karson Richards' memories in the Hogwarts Pensieve. Apparently Raymond didn't know that either.'

'Wait, so Karson knows about it too?'

'Oh, it's a long story. He was a student during your dad's time. Overheard Breeze mention it to Dashawn and another professor. Anyway, I'll get more into detail when we meet.'

'Yeah, okay.' My head spun from all the sudden intake of information. 'But to answer your question, yes, I've met him.'

'Him? So it's a guy. What's he like?'

I looked over at Theo, still laughing at the story Matt was telling. It struck me that I'd never seen him laugh before. A vision flashed before my eyes, of ten year old Theo with the gap-toothed grin and twinkling eyes hidden behind strands of dark hair—a grin that broadened and eyes that lit up when he saw me at the door of his house. Ten year old Theo, who wore T-shirts in Asheville's cold climate; whose sloppy handwriting wasn't so illegible that I couldn't make out the directions to his house, the only thing that hadn't changed, even after all these years. Those memories felt like they belonged to a different timeline, an alternative universe. Not us from six years earlier. Not the same us.

I looked down at the journal again. 'Honestly? I don't know anymore.'

'What does that mean?'

'I'll get into more detail when we meet too.'

'I can't wait until we do.'

'Me too.'

There was a pause. Then another sentence began to take shape on the page.

'Alex misses you a lot. He talks about you and Stella every day.'

My throat closed up like a giant circled it with his iron fist. A truck could run me over and it would hurt less than that sentence alone.

'I miss him too.'

The tip of the quill hovered over the page, black ink dripping from it. A teardrop followed suit, spilling from my eye, magnifying the stain on the paper.

'I should tell him we've talked,' came Sibi's answer. 'I'm sure he would love to hear from you too.'

I shook my head in alarm, as if she could see me. Wiping the tears forcefully with my sleeve, I scribbled down the response in panicked urgency.

'No, I don't think that's a good idea.'

I'm not ready to talk to him yet, I wanted to write. I don't know if I'll ever be. I don't think I can bear it. But I didn't.

Instead, what I wrote was, 'There's some stuff I've got to take care of. I'll wait until I see him again.'

'Okay, Pol. Whatever you want to do.'

My bottom lip trembled.

'I love him. Tell him that. Tell him to never forget it.'

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. Oh, Sibi, I wanted to write, just wait until he finds out what I've done. When I felt tears welling up again, I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. There was business to tend to first, inquires to be made.

'I'm going now,' I wrote. 'We'll talk again, okay?'

'Of course! Now that Wally has come up with this genius discovery, I see no reason why not.'

I didn't fight back a smile. I'd forgotten how much I had missed this. Her. My old, normal life. Normal . . . Had my life ever truly been normal?

'I'm glad we talked, Sibi.'

'I'm glad too, Pol.'

'Bye,' I started to write. Then paused, scratched it. 'Until tomorrow.'

There was a beat of consideration, but she asked no questions. She was Sibi. She understood.

'Until tomorrow it is, then.'

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i'm sorry there are so many italics in this chapter i hope it wasn't too hard to read :/