Chapter 2: A new beginning

POV : Holly Potter

In many ways, Holly Potter found herself more at ease in Diagon Alley than at home, here, everything felt like magic while the black manor while both magnificent and homely was too grand for her humble person.

As she walked alongside her godmother, Alya Black, and her close companions, Ronda Weasley and Arcturus Black, she felt the familiar buzz of excitement that came with the start of a new school year.

The cobbled streets were alive with the chatter of witches and wizards, the vibrant shopfronts beckoning with their wares.

This was a place where magic felt tangible, and Holly couldn't help but feel at home.

Ronda, walking beside her, seemed unusually energetic, her gaze flicking around as if trying to soak in every detail.

Holly noticed, with a smirk, that her friend's eyes lingered on Arcturus more often than not.

The subtle blush on Ronda's cheeks confirmed Holly's suspicions.

"You're staring," Holly teased in a low voice as they approached Flourish and Blotts. Ronda turned to her, her face now a deeper shade of red.

"I am not," Ronda hissed, though the protest lacked conviction.

Holly grinned. "Sure you're not. Don't worry; he's completely oblivious."

Ronda groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm just… It's nothing. Hormones, I think. This is so annoying."

Holly laughed, nudging her friend playfully. "Welcome to adolescence. It'll be over in a few years… maybe."

Inside the shop, the group split up to search for their respective books.

Holly found herself in the history section, her fingers brushing over the spines of titles she'd already read. Alya had been more than happy to indulge Holly's love of reading, ensuring the Black family library was always open to her.

As she reached for a copy of Hogwarts: A History, a voice behind her made her freeze.

"Potter, still pretending you're a proper heir?"

Holly turned to see Stella Malfoy, dressed impeccably in green robes, her expression one of practiced disdain. Holly forced a calm smile, unwilling to give Stella the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Malfoy, still practicing that condescending sneer? You're almost convincing," Holly replied, her tone even.

Stella's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Alya appeared, her presence alone enough to silence the exchange. "Ladies, let's move along. We've got a busy day ahead."

As they exited the shop, Holly caught Stella's muttered remark about "mudblood lovers" and felt a flare of anger. But she let it go.

Stella's words were a poor substitute for the respect she clearly craved, and Holly had no intention of granting it.

The rest of the trip was far more pleasant. At Madam Malkin's, Ronda fidgeted under Arcturus's gaze as he complimented her choice of robes.

Holly bit back a laugh as Ronda's face turned an impressive shade of red.

By the time they reached Fortescue's for ice cream, Ronda seemed to have recovered, though Holly could see the way she avoided meeting Arcturus's eyes.

Holly leaned back in her chair, enjoying her sundae and the company of her friends.

The sun was shining, the streets were lively, and for the first time in a while, Holly felt like everything was going to be okay.

POV : Ronda Weasley

Ronda Weasley couldn't remember the last time she'd been this excited. Spending the day in Diagon Alley with Holly and her family was always a treat, but today felt different. Maybe it was because they were about to start another year at Hogwarts, or maybe it was because she'd get to spend more time with Arcturus Black.

Just the thought of him made her stomach flip. Ronda groaned internally, willing herself to focus on something—anything—else.

"You're staring," Holly's voice broke through her thoughts. Ronda turned to her, mortified.

"I am not," she said quickly, though she knew it was a lie.

Holly's knowing grin made Ronda want to melt into the cobblestones. "It's fine," Holly said. "Just don't get all weird, okay?"

"Weird?" Ronda repeated, incredulous. "When am I ever weird?"

Holly's laughter was answer enough.

At Flourish and Blotts, Ronda tried to focus on her shopping, but her eyes kept drifting to where Arcturus stood, flipping through a thick book on ancient runes. He looked so serious, so…

'Stop it, Weasley.'

She forced herself to look away, her cheeks burning. As she browsed the shelves, she overheard a tense exchange between Holly and Stella Malfoy. Ronda stayed back, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but her hands clenched into fists. She hated the way Stella always looked down on Holly, as if blood status mattered more than kindness or bravery.

The moment passed, and soon they were at Madam Malkin's. Ronda tried on a set of new robes, feeling awkward under the scrutiny of Holly and Arcturus. When Arcturus casually mentioned how well the green suited her, she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Thanks," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Holly's amused expression didn't help. Ronda spent the rest of the fitting pretending not to notice the way Holly kept glancing between her and Arcturus, her grin growing wider by the second.

By the time they reached Fortescue's, Ronda was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. She sat across from Arcturus, determined to act normal, but every time he spoke, her heart raced. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up.

Holly, oblivious to her internal struggle, seemed to be having the time of her life. Ronda envied her friend's ability to stay so composed. For Ronda, the day had been a whirlwind of emotions, and it wasn't over yet.

As the sun began to set and the group prepared to head home, Ronda couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment.

She was glad the day was ending, but part of her wished she could stay in this moment just a little longer. Even if it meant enduring the chaos in her head.

POV : Serena Prince

The early morning air clung to Serena Prince's robes like a damp veil. The faint mist rising from the Black Lake caught the sunlight, glinting with an otherworldly sheen, but Serena's eyes didn't drift toward the horizon. They were fixed on the path winding up to Hogwarts' gates, her lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

She was waiting. Waiting for Rhea Lupin.

It wasn't the first time Serena had waited here, but this particular anticipation boiled her blood. Memories, sharp as the bite of winter, tore through her mind. Rhea Lupin—always lingering on the periphery, silent and passive while Alya Black and Lily Potter led their cruel games.

Rhea never cast the spells or delivered the barbs, but her quiet presence had enabled every wound Serena had endured. She had stood by when her friends' laughter echoed through the halls, her amber eyes neutral, her wand resting at her side. She had done nothing. And doing nothing had been enough.

Serena's hand clenched tightly around her wand.

It was Rhea who had shielded Lily and Alya from the consequences of their actions, spinning half-truths and lies until no one could untangle the threads.

It was Rhea who had played the mediator when Serena, battered and desperate, had lashed out with her own magic.

It was Rhea who had been the werewolf that was trapped in a closed space with her, as Serena had almost also been turned into a werewolf because of Alya Black—a traumatic event that had altered the course of her life forever.

The memory seared her: the howl, the sharp claws raking through the air, the hot breath of the transformed creature as it lunged toward her. Serena had been cornered, her wand knocked out of her hand, helpless.

She'd been saved at the last moment by Lily Potter, but not out of kindness. Lily had acted because Rhea Lupin's involvement in the bullying would have brought shame to the Lupin name and drawn the ire of the Princes, she had acted because she realized that Lupin would have been unmasked as a werewolf and fired from Hogwarts, just like Serena would have been.

That salvation had nearly come too late. By then, Serena's trust in humans had been shattered, her dignity stripped away.

And Dumbledore, with his grand wisdom and twinkling eyes, had forbidden her from seeking retribution. He'd made her swear to silence, cloaking the Marauders' sins in secrecy to protect their futures.

"It's for the greater good," he'd said, his voice like stone in her ears.

For the greater good, Serena's life had neary been irreparably altered.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel snapped her back to the present. Her dark eyes narrowed as a figure appeared in the distance, a tall woman with tawny hair streaked with gray.

Rhea Lupin, her face set in an expression of polite neutrality, approached the gates. Her patched traveling cloak and tired eyes spoke of hardship, but Serena's heart didn't soften. She saw only the ghost of the past, the accomplice who had never raised a hand to help.

Rhea paused a few feet away, nodding in greeting. "Serena," she said, her voice calm, almost cautious.

"Lupin," Serena replied coldly. She turned sharply on her heel and began walking toward the castle, not waiting to see if Rhea followed. The past weighed heavy on her steps, and the air between them crackled with unspoken animosity.

The Great Hall was quieter than usual, its high ceilings echoing faintly with the sound of distant footsteps. Most of the staff had returned early to prepare for the upcoming school year, and the long tables were scattered with teachers engaged in quiet conversation. At the head table, McGonagall sat reviewing schedules, her sharp eyes flicking between a roster and a calendar.

Rhea Lupin stood near her, exchanging polite pleasantries. Her tone was cordial, her body language relaxed, but Serena could see the tension lurking beneath her composed exterior. She was trying to fit in, to mend bridges that Serena had no intention of rebuilding.

Serena entered the hall, her black robes billowing behind her. She swept past the tables, her presence a cold gust that turned heads. Rhea's eyes flicked toward her, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Serena's expression was a mask of ice, her disdain radiating like a curse.

"Ah, Serena," Dumbledore's voice called from the head table, warm and infuriatingly jovial. "Join us, won't you?"

Serena hesitated but inclined her head, striding to her seat. She ignored Rhea, who had taken a spot a few chairs away, and focused on her plate as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room.

The conversation shifted to preparations for the school year. McGonagall discussed class schedules, Flitwick chimed in about charms practice, and Sprout shared plans for the greenhouses.

Rhea added her thoughts on Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, her tone thoughtful but cautious. She addressed McGonagall directly, avoiding Serena's icy gaze.

"Serena," Dumbledore said suddenly, drawing her attention. "I'd like to ask for your assistance. Rhea will need a steady supply of Wolfsbane Potion this year. As you are the most skilled potioneer among us, I'd appreciate it if you could prepare the doses."

The table fell silent. All eyes turned to Serena, who sat motionless, her dark eyes fixed on Dumbledore. Her fingers tightened around her goblet, and for a moment, the air seemed to hum with tension.

"Of course," she said finally, her voice cool and measured. "If that is what you require."

Dumbledore's expression softened, as if he understood the weight of her agreement. But Serena didn't meet his gaze. She kept her focus on her plate, her mind swirling with resentment.

She would brew the potion, but not out of kindness. She did it because Dumbledore had asked, and despite everything, a small part of her respected his unparalleled magical prowess. But soon, soon she would be on the same level and then there wouldn't be any respect left. This would end with her refusing to follow his demands.

Rhea's voice broke the silence. "Thank you, Serena. I appreciate your help."

Serena's eyes snapped to Rhea, her expression sharp as glass. "Don't mistake this for kindness, Lupin. I do what is asked of me. Nothing more."

Rhea's smile faltered, but she said nothing. The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

Later that evening, Serena stood in her potions laboratory, the dim light casting long shadows across the shelves lined with ingredients. The room smelled of herbs and smoke, a familiar and almost comforting scent.

She moved with practiced precision, her hands deftly measuring and mixing the components for Wolfsbane Potion.

As she worked, her thoughts churned. She remembered the night Dumbledore had made her promise not to speak of what the Marauders had done. She had hated him for it, hated the way he had forced her into silence for the sake of the so-called greater good. Yet she had obeyed, just as she obeyed now, brewing this potion for the woman who had been complicit in her suffering.

The cauldron bubbled softly, the potion's silvery hue shifting with each stir. Serena's hands moved automatically, her mind elsewhere.

She thought of Rhea's quiet gratitude, the way she had tried to stay civil despite Serena's hostility. Perhaps Rhea felt guilt. Perhaps she wanted to atone. But Serena wasn't ready to forgive. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

When the potion was finished, Serena poured it into vials, each one gleaming like liquid moonlight. She set them aside, her movements deliberate and precise. The task was done, but the bitterness lingered, a shadow that refused to fade.

As she extinguished the flames beneath the cauldron, Serena allowed herself a small, bitter smile. Let Rhea Lupin drink her potion and face her transformations. It was the least she could do after everything that had been taken from her.

For now, Serena would do her duty. But she would never forget. And she would never forgive.