prologue / Like any unloved thing.

It's the last night of summer, and there's that chill in the air. It creeps up from your fingertips, and crawls up your spine, your neck twitches slightly as you roll your shoulders, but it seeps into your bones before you notice.

The heat from the shoddy bonfire whisks it away; but girls like Barrett Knotts still feel that chill. She holds it in her palms, as she smiles with only the right side of her lips (crooked, but so is she), looking at Bridget in her peripheral – sister, soulmate, summer-saboteur.

It hadn't been intentional, Barrett is well aware of that: Bridget is the one with a heart of gold, that has never had any ill-intent in any of her years, the one that calls Barrett into her room at night when there's a spider (and then shouts at her when Barrett squishes it with whatever is to hand). Bridget only ever means well. Yet that heart of gold is now wrapped in a pulsing, putrid grip, extended claws ever so slowly piercing the tissue – that's what had caused the Summer of Slaughter (Barrett had called it this. Nobody around the dining table laughed. Barrett had laughed at her own joke).

As the tail end of July came to its lethargic close, Bridget – Wolf, Sister – had gotten loose. Barrett wishes it had been in a letting her hair down and singing karaoke into the late hours of the night way, but the Curse of the Wolf never made things that easy; when the time comes, Bridget always went on her way to the shed at the far end of the Knotts' garden, the one that overlooked the cliffs of Fishguard and the cutting edges of the Welsh Countryside, but as the Wolf takes over it struggles and spits. It rips out of the chains.

And when a monster gets loose (Question: If you tame a monster, is it calm or is it simmering? Is it truly yours?), the tree of lies blossoms. Barrett truly feels bad for the muggles, they'd rather believe a killer on the loose headline than a magical monster is real – it's a shame the Chapman family never got that choice.

It hadn't been pretty. A murder never is; but when a whole family wasn't able to even put up a fight, their sleepwear becoming their funeral gowns, it becomes extra ugly. Even uglier when Ministry officials showed up on the Knotts' doorstep the next morning; even uglier when Bridget herself had called them, confessing her sins; uglier when the officials lie the the community of Fishguard, the people Barrett would pass on the street when biking up to the Olde Sweet Shoppe, would wave to on her way to pick-up an extra punnet of nectarines because her dad had forgotten.

Uglier when Barrett had been sat at the kitchen counter that morning bandaging the claw marks that raked down her arms.

The scars have healed up now, as the sisters sit balanced on the pebbles of Goodwick Sands, Barrett's wand held up precariously by a mound of smoothed rocks, her own attempt at a summer bonfire. Barrett rubs at her arms trying to warm up, her Gryffindor jumper doing little in the chill of the late sea-front evening; she knows Bridget is staring at her, but she does little to acknowledge her sister, wanting to savour the solitude of the crashing waves (It's times like these where Barrett wishes she was a  Slytherin, Merlin forbid anyone in her House ever hears her say that, but the lucky bastards get to sleep in the Black Lake).

"You gonna be okay this year?" Bridget's voice is sharp against the rhythm of the beach, "Sixth year and everything."

Barrett snorts out a laugh, eyes still scaring at the scars that run down her hands, before pulling her sleeves down to her fingertips, "Are you going to be okay?"

Her words feel scathing to Bridget, who's too busy trying not to be sick from guilt – she's staring at Barrett's hidden hands, as though she can still feel the soft skin beneath her nails (Claws). With a slow blink, she turns to look at the sea, "I'll be fine, I always am."

Lies, Barrett thinks, can tell her sister is absolutely terrified for her last year at Hogwarts; but Barrett's Barrett, her shoulders are spiked to avoid any tears that should fall in their place, she gets itchy when people confide in her, gets jittery when people ask her about anything more than the weather or her timetable. So she shrugs, standing up from the pebbles, grabbing a few in her left hand, as she brushes off her jeans with her right, "If you say so."

Barrett leans down to grab her wand, sliding it up her sleeve as she glances at Bridget before turning away and walking towards the seafront. The pebbles in her hand start to feel heavy so she throws them down, making a loud cracking noise (It makes Bridget jump, she hates loud noises, but Barrett has her back to her, none the wiser), keeping one flat on her palm.

Their dad had taught them to skip stones when they'd went on holiday to Cornwall, Barrett had been eight, Bridget nine. It wasn't that Barrett had difficulty making friends, or that when she was dragged along with Bridget and her friends she always dragged her feet and sulked the whole time, or that she had no inclination to do anything but play with the bugs in the sand, that had led Barrett to find solace in stone skipping, oh no, she always says that the reason for being so good is because Cian Knotts (Father, Muggleborn) had been the greatest teacher. Also that Bridget was scared of the sand and hated getting close to the water – it was only natural Barrett did the opposite, no?

The flick of the wrist is like a second nature to Barrett (she can pitch a ball, her sister can rip out throats), so she smiles as the pebble skips six times and makes a funny noise when it splashes into the water. She repeats for the remainder of the small mound she brought over with her, the best throw reaching a total of eight skips – if she could, Barrett would repeat and repeat and repeat until all the pebbles of Goodwick were laying in the sea, but she simply didn't have enough time for that.

The Wizarding clock was ticking down quickly and Barrett grimaces as she turns to look back at where she'd left Bridget; it's an empty space now, and in the distance, Barrett can only see her bike resting up by the road. It's typical really, nothing new, especially when Barrett knowingly hit a bit of a nerve with Bridget earlier, so she brushes her hands down once more against her jeans, nose twitching as she breaths in the salty air, and heads up to the trail that leads back up to the road.

As she climbs onto her bike (lovingly dubbed Wagtail, after Myron Wagtail of The Weird Sisters), Barrett sniffles again, and curses under her breath, knowing a cold is coming on; she can feel the lone scar that draws up her throat pulsing as she struggles to catch her breath, the hill leading up to the street that houses the Knotts' home not doing her any favours.

When Barrett enters the house, Wagtail safely locked up in the front garden, she sees the chains from the shed left on the living room coffee table (Sister, Wolf) ready to be packed for Hogwarts – she can feel her hands starting to itch as she leans over to turn the lamp off, but she also feels her darkness calming in the night.

(Question: if you chain a monster, is it captured or tired? Is it yours, placated, calmed, domesticated? Or is it waiting, writhing, simmering?)

Bridget Knotts
sophie nélisse

author's note.
i didn't want to drag this out any more than i already have, so decided to cut it short. i will also say i have some innate inability to proofread anything i ever write so i apologise for any grammatical / spelling mistakes <3

sooooo.... barrett & bridget, huh? B&B, blood & butter, sister & wolf.