❝ The world is a terrible place for sensitive people, but the closer we come to losing our minds, the harder we'll work to keep them. ❞ — Kate Tempest, Hold Your Own

My mind was running in so many directions, I feared it was a matter of seconds before it all but exploded. I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the lilac curtains that swayed gently in the breeze that crept in through the crack of the window, wondering how I'd be able to fall asleep that night. If I'd be able to.

Zoë left, but she didn't feel gone. In a way, she'd never be, but she had done us the courtesy of taking the Horcrux with her. As if Theo would ever be able to look at it the same way again, much less touch it or put it around his neck. She didn't go after him when he ran away with tears in his eyes. But she did go to meet him before she Flooed back home to her guardian Andressa.

My stomach hurt. Everything that had happened the past twenty four hours felt like a wild rollercoaster ride and I was still waiting for the seat to come to a halt and my feet to touch safe ground again.

And yet, I couldn't get her words out of my head. After everything she told me, I had wanted to run too. But I didn't. I'd sat in a silent room with Zoë a few feet apart and my mind running in even more directions than it was now. It was only after twenty minutes or so that she stood up to leave. At the door, she had paused to look back at me.

"Think what you will of me," she'd said. "I get it. I knew it was only a matter of time before it came to this. The only thing I ask is that you don't forget the other things I've done. Teaching you Occlumency, saving your lives, building Stella's memorial. That was the same me. It may be easy to forget it after everything you just found out, but it was. It still is."

Then she'd left, and I had found myself alone in Theo's room for another hour, before my brain began to process that I wasn't in my own one and willed my feet to carry me there.

Throughout my short time on this earth, I had felt many things. I had experienced the types of emotions the ordinary teenager, muggle or wizard, couldn't even dream of, and not in a good way. But nothing had come close to the lump that stirred in my stomach now.

I knew that I'd never be able to look at Zoë the same way again. But I also knew that she was right. The same girl who had killed her baby to protect him, then her guard to get revenge, then split her soul and poured it in an inanimate object; the same girl who lost everyone she'd ever known and loved at the age of ten and ran away to save herself, who had studied Necromancy and ventured into other forms of Dark Arts out of desperation . . . that was the same girl that became my first friend in Azkaban.

When I didn't trust Theo and the rest yet. When I still had no idea how to use my natural gifts in Legilimency and Occlumency, and she had the patience to teach me and the humor to encourage me by turning every lesson into a fun game. She was the same girl that saved our lives the night we almost lost them. She alone had taken that burden on her shoulders, the same shoulders that now carried the guilt of not getting to Stella sooner because she blamed herself for Stella's death more than I did, and that's why she had taken the time to sculpt her tombstone so meticulously.

The world does not exist in extremities, Polly. People aren't divided into saints that never get their hands dirty or demons that deserve to rot in hell for all eternity.

Zoë Ramírez was terrifying and powerful and inexorable and dangerous. She scared the hell out of me.

But she was also human. Broken in more ways than I could begin to imagine, lonely down to her bones. She had a string of all the skulls of the loved ones she had lost tied in a tight noose around her neck, and it made it hard for her to breathe. Even harder to sleep. Her sorrow ran deeper than any river. Her past was a book with more chapters to skip than not. And my heart wept for her.

Because she had been innocent once. Just a child, trying to survive in a world that never loved her. She didn't venture into the dark side out of curiosity or ambition or greed, like young Tom Riddle did. She had done it out of desperation. A need to protect her child.

In many ways, she wasn't much different than my father. Helpless and scared twelve-year-old Robert Kin, running away from the authorities who wanted him dead and spending over a decade in hiding. Meanwhile, the Ministry twisted history to paint him as some merciless and dangerous killer, the poster child of The Big Dolphinus Threat.

Hadn't he also been desperate to keep me safe that he'd gone to any means necessary to make sure I wouldn't meet the same fate? A decision which had ended with him as the killer that the Ministry tried to portray him as all along. I wondered what he'd think of who he was forced to become, when he gained back consciousness. Would he be able to live with himself? When I'd eventually find him and help him get his memories back, what would his reaction be, if he found out all he'd had to do? Would he scream in his sleep as Zoë did every night in her cell? Would he look down at his hands and see them coated in the innocent blood of all the children he'd executed?

I recalled the famous words of Sirius Black. We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the side we choose to act on. That's who we really are.

Words that I had once lived by. Now I was coming to see how finite they were. How much easier it would be, to only accept one version of a person. Then I'd have no trouble hardening my heart, pulling down the blinds in my brain and hating Zoë because according to that logic, she was a monster. A murderer. I could slap any label on her that crossed my mind and call it a day.

And then what would that make me?

Was that all it took to define someone? Were humans supposed to live their lives in one straight path, and the moment they even dared to cross into the other, they suddenly became what the path exemplified? You do good, and you're good. You do bad, and you're bad. But life was several shades more twisted than that. People weren't cartoons.

I felt the disgust slithering like poison through my veins. In another world, Zoë could've been me. Lived my privileged though unhappy life, but never dreamt of murder. In another world, I could've been her. Lost everyone dear to me at such a brittle age and found no choice but to learn the hard ways in order to get by. I too, could've resorted to murder, had I reached a level of desperation that showed me all other options as permanently sealed doors.

My head hurt. I breathed out a loud sigh and fell backwards on my bed. When the thoughts became too much, I closed my eyes—and to my bewilderment, eventually managed to fall asleep.

▼

The hallway was dark and silent, like walking into a black hole. I had no idea where the floor ended and the ceiling or walls began. All I could do was make my way forward blindly in slow and hesitant steps. I reached for my wand in my back pocket. My heart sank. It wasn't there.

"Hello?"

My voice echoed off the high stone walls. No reply. I gulped and walked even further into the dark, until I spotted of a line of light in the distance. There was movement.

"Hello?" I repeated. My voice echoed again. I quickened my pace. "Anybody there?"

There was a muffled scream, like a person trying to talk through a gag. One more step and the sight cleared up. The scream froze on my lungs. The hallway ended in a chamber that had its door wide open. Through a small window in the chamber, a ray of sunlight illuminated the pale freckled face of a young girl with fiery red hair.

"Roche!"

She looked half conscious, her head hanging so low that her chin touched her chest, and a piece of cloth was glued to her mouth. Her thin wrists were bound in two metal rings that protruded from the wall. I ran towards her, heart bursting in my chest.

I was still running when I slammed into an invisible wall. Sparks swam behind my eyelids as I stumbled backwards, rubbing my head. I looked up. There was no wall. Rochelle was still there in the chamber, shackled to the wall, a gag over her mouth.

"Roche, can you hear me?" I cried.

She lifted her head just an inch, lazily. When her eyes met mine, the fog in them cleared up as the recognition kicked in. Her brows pressed together. She said something—most likely my name—but all that came out was an unintelligible mumble.

I reached out a hand, which made contact with the invisible wall. That's when I realized it wasn't a wall, but a glass barrier. I banged on it with one fist, then both, crying and screaming her name the entire time. I took a step back to gain momentum before I slammed my body against it. The glass didn't give. My whole body hurt. I took another step back, this time bumping into another glass behind me.

"No, no, no." I turned and lifted my palms. They touched glass. My pulses began to quicken. I turned to the left. More glass. To the right. Even more. I was trapped in a human-sized aquarium. "Help! Help me!"

A muffled cry tore through the air. Rochelle's body jerked in a violent spasm, like someone had shot her with a Cruciatus Curse right in the chest.

"ROCHE!"

I banged my fists against the glass again, so vigorously they turned white, but the glass still didn't budge. Rochelle's head fell back in another muffled scream. Her arms twitched and convulsed in the rings. Tears fell in fresh streaks down her face, illuminated by the ray of sunlight that pronounced her pained expression as if to mock it. I felt my tears welling too.

"Somebody help her!" I began to kick and punch and hit the glass with my elbows, my shoulders, my hips. Nothing. Rochelle's helpless whimpers filled the air, echoing off the chamber walls. "Help her! Help! Please!"

I warned you, Polly Kin.

Another sharp cry. My sister's frail body shuddered and thrashed about under the claws of invisible pain that slashed at her skin.

I told you to show yourself, because you would regret it. I told you that I am a man of my word.

"Willard, you fucking bastard!" I yelled, my eyes hot with tears.

But he wasn't here. His voice was an echo, nothing but a sound that reverberated off the walls and lingered in the air like a snake hiss. Then came his laughter, resonant and callous. Rochelle's body convulsed into spasms again and I screamed with her, over her, in hopes that the sound of my voice would drown out her cries.

"Make it stop!" I thrusted my palms against my ears. My cheeks burned from the trails of tears. I slid to the ground, clutching my knees to my chest. "Please make it stop!"

Willard's laughter faded as if turned off by a switch. Rochelle's screams did too. I was panting so loud that in the temporary stillness, the sound of my heavy breathing turned into an echo as well.

This is the last warning, Polly Kin. Will you show yourself? Or should I continue to torture your little sister?

"I will!" I blurted. My whole body was shaking. "I will, just—just please."

Hmm, I'm not sure I believe that.

Without any warning, Rochelle let out another piercing cry. I screamed louder. Willard's devilish laughter boomed across the chamber.

"STOP IT!" I was sobbing. Any hint of defiance was gone. Desperation was all that was left, and I clutched it like I was drowning in a mudslide and it was the only rope in sight. "I'm begging you, p-please! I will show myself, I-I promise. J-just let her—let her go. Please."

The chamber fell silent again. Behind me, Rochelle was breathing heavily through her nostrils. I didn't dare open my eyes or turn around and look.

Willard's voice sounded again, a satisfied whisper.

Good choice, little murderess. But if you're trying to trick me or lie to me, I won't hesitate. I am going to kill her.

▼

I jolted awake with a scream. My whole body was shaking and cold sweats ran down my spine. Hatsue sat at the edge of the bed. Her doe-like eyes, wide with concern, scanned my face.

"A dream," I panted. "Just a dream."

But it wasn't. It was more. A warning. A message.

The heart-shaped locket was cold against my skin. I reached under my shirt and clutched it in my hand, as if needing to feel Rochelle's hand holding onto her own locket from the other side of the globe. Where was she right now? Was she safe, at home with mom? Or had Willard—had he—

Hatsue handed me a glass of water. I downed it in three gulps as her gentle fingers brushed back sweaty locks from my forehead.

"What did you see?" she signed.

"Willard," I whispered, putting the glass down. "He has-he had my sister."

"Your sister?"

I leaped to my feet. Outside the ceiling-to-floor window, the sun sat in the center of the sky, blinding it with its bright rays. Still afternoon. I ran a hand through my hair to smooth it down and reached for the wand on my bedside table.

"I want to know if she's okay." I turned to face Hatsue so she could read my lips. "Can you do that for me? Please."

Hatsue gave a slow nod, then stood up and headed for the door. She gestured for me to follow her. We descended the stairs and made our way into the living room, which was empty and dark. It felt unnatural without Wally here—and therefore Matt, who always lingered as an excuse to spend more time in the Ravenclaw boy's company.

Hatsue waved a hand to light up the lanterns, then took a seat at the table where Wally used to sit and journal. Two textbooks with divination symbols were propped open, a deck of tarot cards lay scattered across the wooden surface, and small twigs arranged in odd shapes, like stars or pentagons, stood in the center of circles made of leaves.

She lit a candle and took a seat in front of the books. I sat next to her.

"The twigs are for Xylomancy, in case you're wondering," she signed. I was. "It's how I make my short-term predictions. The tarot reading works only sometimes—it's not the most reliable branch of divination. The symbols are harder to read and their meaning is too vague to be of any use at times. But they come in handy every now and then."

"So you're a kind of Seer . . . that predicts the short-term future?"

She nodded. "Call it having a sixth sense, if you will."

She flipped the page on the book in front of her, then turned to the star made of twigs. Her fingers fluttered to the beat of a silent rhythm and her eyes closed. A crease took shape on her forehead as she concentrated on her nonverbal spell. I held my breath, as if the mere sound of it would disturb her process.

After what felt like forever, she opened her eyes and turned to me with a soft smile.

"Your sister is okay," she signed. "She's at home, safe, with your mother. They're having dinner. She's the one making it."

Scenes from the dream flashed behind my eyelids like a motion picture. Rochelle with a gag around her mouth and wrists bound in metal rings. Willard's maniacal laughter echoing off the chamber walls. Her body writhing in pain. Her muted screams. My fists banging against the glass that blocked me from reaching her.

"Are you sure?" I asked in a trembling voice. "The dream looked so real. And then Willard threatened me. He said if I didn't show myself, if I tricked him, he would—he would—"

I squeezed my eyes shut, then felt Hatsue's hands grip my shoulders. I opened them again, my breathing growing ragged as my heart doubled its beat. Hatsue's doe-like eyes bored into mine with firm assurance. Does it look like I'm lying?, her gaze seemed to say.

And I wanted to believe her. But that nightmare had felt too real, Willard's voice too close. I had already lost someone out of lack of caution. If I let it happen again—

"You won't," Hatsue signed, letting go of my shoulders. I wasn't even surprised that she had used Legilimency. "Think about it. This is exactly what he wants you to feel. He's trying to manipulate you by using the person you love most in this world, in hopes that you'll go after him. And if you do, you'll fall straight into his trap."

I nodded slowly in attempts to calm myself down and get those words ingrained in my head. Hatsue was right. I was panicking. This was exactly what he wanted me to feel. If I fell for it, I lost. I had endangered Stella's life by not exercising enough caution. That was a mistake I could never make again.

"Okay," I breathed. "Okay. So—so Rochelle is safe, right?"

"In all these years of being a Xylomens, I haven't made one wrong prediction. When I say she is as safe as it can get, I mean it."

The sigh of relief I breathed out was so loud, it sounded more like a pained moan. Then I started laughing, half in joy and half in incredulity that I'd even doubted her words for a second. I stood up to throw my arms around Hatsue. She smelled of lemon and sandalwood, and her hug was gentle and protective.

"So it was a trap," I said when I pulled back.

She nodded, but the look of concern didn't wear off.

"You seemed so sure that it was real," she signed. "Why?"

I ran a hand down my face. This would require more than a three-sentence explanation, but my knowledge of speaking BSL was still nonexistent. I asked Hatsue for a piece of paper and she rushed to Accio a notebook and a pencil. I wrote out everything I hadn't told her since they found us in the shed-the first time I heard Willard's voice at the cliff, the first day we duelled, and then again in my dream. I told her about his threat, but also the fear and insecurity behind it that concluded he hadn't the faintest clue where we were hiding, and was therefore growing desperate.

When she read my note that ended up being a whole page long, she rose to her feet and started to pace around the empty living room.

"How is he communicating?" she signed, but she was looking down, as if she was raising the question more to herself than to me. "What spell would enable someone to reach another person when they don't know their location or have their permission to get inside their head? Something doesn't add up."

I stood up and faced her. "I don't care how he's doing it. I just want to find a way to make it stop."

"Have you tried Occlumency?"

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, dumbly. Her suggestion was so simple and yet I hadn't thought of it. I wanted to laugh and slap myself at the same time. But I didn't want to get ahead of myself. After all, it may not work, if the spell he was using to reach me was so powerful that even Hatsue freaking Yamatoya had never heard of it.

"I want to try," I said. "But that means I have to wait until he contacts me again."

Hatsue considered. "When have you heard him? I mean, have the instances been random or is there a common denominator? A place? Time of day maybe?"

"Not that I can think—" The rest of the sentence died on my tongue. "Outside. Of course! Matt was even the one to figure it out, back in the shed. I could never hear Willard inside, only when I was out in the woods or at the cliff. And even that day we dueled . . . We were in the garden."

A portion of the worry evaporated from Hatsue's face.

"Good," she signed. "That means the protective charms are holding. I'll have to talk to Bertha about extending them at least to the bay. If they find this place by sea and destroy my boat, I might have to kill someone."

She approached the table again, rearranged the twigs in the triangle, then began to chant another nonverbal spell. I watched over her shoulder. Specks of magic swirled like fairy dust below her palm that hovered above the triangle, the twigs twitching just slightly, like she was moving them through telekinesis. Like I used to do with my pens back in my muggle school. Before I knew how.

She opened her eyes and turned to me with a sigh.

"Willard doesn't know where you are. You were right. He has no awareness of this manor's existence whatsoever. Whatever magic he is using to contact you, it must be strong." She pursed her lips. "My suggestion is you keep your brain gated at all times, with extra security even. If you want more Occlumency practice, I'd be happy to help."

I gave her an impressed look. "Is there a type of magic you don't know?"

"Other than Dark magic?" She thought about it, but just for a second, then shook her head.

I gave a chuckle. "I envy you."

"You should," she signed, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. "I'm kind of awesome."

She walked up to the couch and plopped down on it, patting the spot next to her for me to join. "Now, time for you to learn some BSL, so I can stop giving myself a headache trying to understand your speech."

I laughed, but was more than happy to spend the next two hours letting Hatsue teach me sign language. At some point, Bertha entered the living room, lit up the fireplace and baked us chocolate chip cookies, before sitting down on the armchair and pulling out a crochet to occupy herself.

With the weight of the nightmare off my shoulders and the Horcrux gone from the manor, I was able to find a distraction that felt soothingly pleasant, as though everything was okay in the world around us at this moment in time. But at the back of my mind, that fear lingered. Willard's threat, albeit a trap, echoed off a corner of my brain, over and over, in tune with Zoë's words, which had probably embedded themselves in my skull forever.

◈

hatsue is such a baby omg i love her 🥺 (i've had a question about how her name is pronounced. it's ha-tsu-eh! i named her after the protagonist of the book "the sound of waves" by yukio mishima, a super cute book that i read in high school)