Mischief Managed

34: Alone

IMPORTANT A/N: FIRST OF ALL, I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE. I COMPLETELY CHANGED THE DIRECTION OF THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS SO I HAD TO REWRITE ALL OF THIS. LAST CHAPTER I HAD SOME FORESHADOWING THAT IS NOW COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT SO I HAVE NOW FIXED THAT AND I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY CONFUSION.

OKAY, NOW YOU CAN CONTINUE READING! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE PLOT TWIST AHEAD! (ALSO, WHY AM I TYPING IN ALL CAPS?) (IT'S PAST 1 AM IDEK ANYMORE)

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Do you think leaving sets you free? Or do all the things you leave behind follow you, through twisting forests and unfamiliar cities, until you decide you can't ignore them any longer?

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Bree's letter from her mum came late in December. For the entire first half of the month, she had complained to me, making the occasional sarcastic joke about her mother's mind slipping, but I could see she was worried.

I was worried for her, too, but as I constantly reminded her, there were no attacks tied to her family mentioned in the Prophet. I wasn't sure if she'd even mentioned her worry to the Marauders because none of them, even Sirius, seemed to pick up on the way she would obsessively scan Prophet articles each morning.

James certainly hadn't mentioned anything. I was so grateful for him. Looking back, I felt furious that it had taken me, taken us, so long to find each other. Even the way he said my name, whether he called me "Lils" or "Lilyflower" or just "Lily" made me fall even more hopelessly in love for him.

A year ago, I would have gone all red and stomped out of the room if James Potter dared to call me anything, but now I loved the sound of his voice.

But today, something was wrong.

When owl post came at breakfast, Bree's shoulders slumped when her grey owl didn't swoop down from the rafters. She looked the toast on her plate, her eyes unfocused. I looked at James for help, but he was eating a chocolate pastry, seemingly oblivious to Bree's unsteadiness.

On her left, Sirius was eating through his own pile of pastries, and he didn't notice the sadness so evident in Bree's sunken shoulders.

I was leaning across the table to say something to her when the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. The heavy wood crashed against the stone walls, and the sound of it echoed through the hall like sudden, furious thunder.

A woman stood in the center of the archway. Her clothes were grey and hopelessly crumpled, as if she'd spent days on the streets, and her blonde hair was full of knots and tangles. Her eyes were lightening blue. They pierced through the rows of staring students to Professor Dumbledore.

Beside me, James stiffened and Sirius and dropped his fork onto his plate. The clatter rang painfully, but everyone's gaze was still on the mysterious, disheveled woman standing in the doorway.

Bree had looked up when the doors swung open, and, when her eyes met those of the woman, her face paled.

She rose from the bench, her limbs unfolding, slowly, steadily despite the quivering in her lip. Her eyes never left the woman.

"Mum," she whispered.

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I was crushed in her arms the moment after I'd uttered her name.

Her forearms dug into my back as she held me tightly, her head shaking against my shoulder.

She smelled terrible- as if she'd been dropped into a sewer, then made a home amongst the rats- but her breath reeked with an even worse stench. A mix of rotten vegetables and months-old citrus.