The rain drummed an endless rhythm on the windows, shifting blue grey shadows that coated every surface in the flat like oil. A radio hummed weakly through bouts of static, as if it were frightened of disrupting the stillness of the room. The flat had little in the way of décor; a simple rug in the sitting room and a clock that appeared to have been made from spare bicycle parts were the only hint of personality in the confines of the bland off-white walls. It was a habitable, if soulless, place. It would have been a completely unremarkable place, but for the woman who made the payments each month.

A pair of legs dangled off the edge of the couch, connected to the torso of a slim woman staring at the lazy turning of a ceiling fan. Her eyes traced the curves of the spinning blades, round and round and round. A dust-bunny teetered on the edge of the leading fin. It was a stubborn thing, clinging to old wood in desperate need of fresh paint. A pale hand reached out blindly to a side table. It grasped once, twice, thrice before finally finding a long wand of Hawthorn. It wobbled as she directed it skyward. A pale silver light burned at the tip as the fan began to spin ever faster. Tortured screams of metal filled the air. The dust-bunny remained firmly in place. The light glowed again, stronger this time, and the fan ripped through the air like a bullet.

She barely huffed as the motor burst into flames. With a languid swish of her wand, the flames suffocated, the fan grinding to a halt. The dust bunny remained in place. Phoebe Lockwood pursed her lips. Squinting, she tried to sight the damnable thing, but the room spun lazily on its own axis.

“Anemousss,” her tongue felt as if it had been wrapped in cotton. A sharp gust of wind spiraled out of her wand, and, finally, the dust-bunny fell.

It was then that Phoebe realized someone was knocking on her door. She craned her neck, peering around her wall to sight the door. As if across a great distance, she could hear a familiar voice, a lilting Welsh soprano she hadn’t heard in months. The knocking came again, more insistently. Kicking her legs out, she rolled to one side, found her face in the sofa, and then rolled the opposite way. Phoebe ran a hand through her dark brown waves, feet padding towards the door, cringing against the bite of the cold tile.

Fumbling with the lock, she pulled the door inwards, peeking through. A buxom, impatient looking redhead stood in the doorway. Her hands planted on her hips as she gave Phoebe a thorough once-over.

“You aren’t even dressed you silly girl,” she pushed her way into the flat, hitting the lights. Phoebe rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind her and following the woman and her clicking heels into the kitchen.

“Rhiannon, I already told Aeron that I’m not going tonight,” she drawled, leaning against her fridge as the other woman eyed the barren room. Rhiannon turned to face her, full lips twisted into a pout.

“Well, that’s stupid and I want you there. It’s Ashlyn’s birthday, you have to come. Everyone’s going to be there, Pheebs.”

Phoebe breathed in deep, tipping her head back against the stainless steel and closing her eyes. It was too bright, the fluorescent light buzzing in her ears. Rhiannon tutted again, reached out and shut off the radio on the table.

“Rhian, I really don’t feel up to it,” she protested slowly, but the redhead was already steamrolling over her.

“Well, we’ll warm you up and you’ll be fine,” she waved a hand dismissively, before her expression went serious. “Pheebs. You haven’t come out in months. We miss you. I miss you. Look, it’s going to be brilliant. It’s the Avalon! Come on. For me?”

Phoebe sighed. There was no winning with Rhiannon. She should have known better than to argue. In nearly thirteen years of friendship, she’d never been able to say no to the flame haired witch. Especially with the offer of Heat to clear her swimming head. She pushed off from the fridge lazily, spreading her hands in surrender.

“Alright. You win. Come on, let’s see if I have anything remotely cute in my closet.”

Rhiannon lit up like fireworks, squealing and grabbing her arm, dragging her through her own flat to her equally drab little bedroom.

---

The rain had worsened over the past hour. Nearly apparating straight into a puddle, Phoebe gasped with laughter, dragging Rhiannon out of the way, stumbling into the redhead. They huddled beneath their umbrella, nearly losing it in the violent wind. They rushed along the sidewalk, and Phoebe was breathless by the time they reached a familiar set of double doors. Collapsing her umbrella, Rhiannon linked arms with the brunette, pulling her into the bar.

The bass echoed in her chest, matching time with the coursing of her blood. Her skin hummed as they made their way through the crowd, green and gold light glittering all around her. Cinnamon smoke filled her lungs and she couldn’t deny that she had missed this.

“Ashlyn!” Rhiannon shouted as they happened upon a large group, and Phoebe was caught off guard how different her friends looked out of uniform. It had been well over two years since she had joined them outside the hospital, a fact which did not go unnoticed.

“Rhian!! Pheebs! Merlin’s tits, I haven’t seen you in forever!” A dark haired witch with a garish tiara laughed, throwing her arms around them. Phoebe grinned wildly, squeezing the taller witch in a tight hug.

“Happy birthday,” she greeted brightly, pushing her loose waves out of her face. “What are you, fifteen now?”

“Harr harr,” Ashlyn batted her bare shoulder playfully, “Twenty three, thank you very much.”

“Practically ancient,” Rhiannon intoned with a smirk, “Our little girl’s all grown up now. Kaiden, I think you’re officially no longer a cradle robber. Congratulations.”

“I’m so glad,” a curly haired wizard hovering at Ashlyn’s shoulder drawled, shooting Phoebe a tight smile. “Good to see you. Been a while.”

“You know how it is,” Phoebe said breezily, shrugging her shoulders. Rhiannon had flounced off to pick on her brother, Aeron, who looked amused at the sight of Phoebe.

“Knew you’d show up,” he shouted across their small crowd, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Phoebe rolled her eyes, choosing instead to lean across the bar. Rhiannon had repurposed one of her old shirts, sending it plunging down her chest and back in a way that Phoebe thought looked a little young. Rhiannon assured her that it made her tits look fantastic. Judging by the bartender’s grin, it did the trick. Her lips curved into a wicked grin. She’d forgotten how good that felt.

“Can I have a Pygmy Puff?” She purred, nails drumming on the oak of the bar, wild energy coiling in her stomach. The bartender nodded, and Merlin, she could barely keep still long enough to wait. Her patience was rewarded by a ridiculously pink martini, and the words ‘no charge’. Phoebe’s eyes danced as she pulled away. She’d remember that, she mused, once she tired of dancing and the company of her colleagues. She slipped towards a woman with a head of kinky black curls and a smirk on her face, exchanging insults with Aeron and a bald man. Phoebe grinned around her drink as she recognized him.

“Abel, you look like an idiot,” she informed him ever so kindly. The curly hair woman laughed there, her grin vicious.

“Thank you! Abel, I’m telling you, you should just grow it back out.”

“I like it, Deirdre,” he complained, shooting the group a dark look. “It’s so much easier like this.”

“Your head looks weird, kind of like a misshapen potato,” Aeron informed him helpfully. Rhiannon giggled into her drink, reaching out and rubbing his head. He batted her hand away.

“You look a bit like you’re dying, mate,” she remarked brightly. Abel glowered, but Phoebe didn’t think she had ever seen him make any other facial expression in well over six years of working with him in the A&E.

“Can’t believe you aren’t at work, Senior,” Phoebe directed to Deirdre, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I figured Warren could handle the floor for at least one night. I wouldn’t miss overpriced cocktails with you idiots for the world.”

Phoebe grinned into her drink, taking a long sip of sickly sweet fire, humming. Fuck that was good. She cast her gaze about the club, hooking a thumb through the belt loop of her leather leggings, grateful for the extra three inches her heels afforded her. At least she was no longer dwarfed by her companions.

“Pheebs! Come oooon, let’s dance!” Ashlyn had grabbed her arm out of nowhere, nearly spilling her drink. Phoebe stumbled, bracing herself against a grumpy looking Abel. She drained her cocktail, pressing the empty glass into his hand, and followed the birthday girl onto the floor.

Everything was more—louder, faster, brighter, a thousand different colours she didn’t even have names for, fire coursing through her veins. Everything was more potent, spiraling into the pulse of bodies and music. Phoebe let it wash over her, would happily drown in the madness forever.

Night had befallen the noisy streets of London. The smell of gasoline and sewage clung to the air as Justin walked along the sidewalk. Like many other days when he got off of work, the joy of simply walking and being free of magic always soothed his conscious. However, unlike other nights, tonight was different. A trepidation clutched at his insides, yanking them to and fro.

Upon graduating from Hogwarts, receiving top marks in each of his N.E.W.Ts, Justin had been approached by an Auror from the Ministry of Magic. However, he remembered clearly, that the chance of becoming an Auror wasn't all that was being extended to him. It was no secret of his exultant pride of being from a pure blood family. The Ackerman lineage was not known for their tolerance of half-bloods or muggles either. His father's speeches on a wizarding dominated world more than verified that thought. It was because of his father's view that first put him on the radar of the Circle.

At first, it was difficult to stomach the news of a new Dark Lord - one that the Circle Auror claimed to be able to surpass Voldemort. The legacy of the former Dark Lord was hard to best he thought to himself. Splitting of the souls and the killing of many didn't sit well with him. He had told the man this during their meeting. What intrigued him and ultimately led to his induction was the plan. The Circle wanted to create a Magocracy. A world where Pure Bloods sat at the highest seats of power while a hierarchy would be implemented. The muggles would serve them and be regulated. The half-bloods would be given some degree of freedom. Spartan few details were further divulged, but it was enough for the Slytherin.

He accepted the proposition and was whisked off to the Ministry where he completed his Auror training. His contact worked closely with him promising a boon from the Dark Lord when he had proven himself. He made his ways through the street as the very same Auror that recruited him wanted to meet tonight. Was the day today? He didn't know himself, but the wait had been far too long. No, trepidation wasn't the right word to describe how he felt. There wasn't one at all.

Looking towards a building, Justin walked over and took a seat at an empty table. A waitress came out and he returned her smile. "Tea please," he said curtly. "Green if you have it."

The waitress jotted down his order. "Will there be anything else?"

Justin looked around and saw his contact. "Perfect timing," he said. "My friend. He may want to order I surmise."

"Ackerman, quite the mind reader." Bently Moore quickly gave his order as he sat down. He dismissed the muggle with a sneer. "Can't stand them. Muggles. How was the assignment tonight? Catch the loose wizard?"

Justin nodded. "Tried to use an unforgivable. I'm sure the Ministry will send him off to Azkaban. Those spells sanction the harshest of wizarding laws, do they not?"

Bently nodded as he pulled out his pocket watch. "Shame the dementors were dismissed," he said. "Invaluable creatures if you could shackle them. Put a wizard guard in place, you have prison squabbles and riots. Put those things with their torn robes on guard detail ... no infractions. No incidents whatsoever. May the current Minister prove more adequate than Shacklebolt. Enough of the chit chat however. He has a job for you Justin. Are you ready?"

The moment had finally arrived. Justin knew it. Rarely had Bently and himself ever convened outside of the Ministry. "Details."

The older man leaned in. The waitress returned with their orders, which both men quickly took and dismissed. "Our activities have caught the attention of a certain Auror. Someone who you know quite well. How's Finius these days? The mud blood is one stubborn hound. I'll give him that. Whatever the case, the Circle wants him gone. Dead. You do this, and you'll earn your place. You're capable Justin; we want you with us. Just do this one thing, and you'll earn His favor. No mistakes. No trails."

Could he kill someone? Justin willed himself to answer yes and commit, but there was something that stopped him. He took a sip from his tea as memories flooded back to him all at once. For the past several years, he had kept close watch on Phoebe. Not stalking her. Nothing like that. He simply heard things within his old ring of friends. When he heard she got married, it slashed at his heart. It angered him at first, but then only happiness for her remained. After he walked out without saying goodbye, who was he to get angry with her? She needed someone to look after her, love her. It was something he couldn't do. Not now with the path he was going to take. It wasn't too late to walk away though he thought to himself. Maybe he could go find her? Try to make things right. No. He couldn't do that to her.

"I overheard Finius going to the warehouse area tonight. I'll find him there. You'll have your body."

“Good man.” Bently took out a smoke and lit it. Justin hated those things. “Those of the Circle will be watching, Justin. No mistakes. There can be no mistakes.”

Draining the remnants of the tea in his mug, Justin got to his feet. His hands were cold. “I’ll handle it.”

---

A short, old man sagged against the wall of a crate. A torrent of emotions crashed through Justin as his wand aimed directly at Finius’s heart. Finding the Auror wasn’t hard at all. Like always, Finius was genial, welcoming to those who had earned his trust. Justin had that, and here he was breaking it.

“The … cruciatus curse isn’t … kind,” Finius said as sweat beaded from his forward and sunk into his grey-tipped beard. “I expected this from a number of people — non Ministry, but you? Justin, my dear boy. Why?”

Holding back his remorse, Justin kept his wand trained on his friend. Former friend. “You’re investigating matters that are better left untouched,” he said. “I’m here to ensure you don’t pry any deeper.”

“The Circle?”

Justin spoke not a word.

“Those pure blooded extremists! They want slaves Justin. Slavery of the muggles, the half-bloods, creatures, everything!” Fininus coughed as his chest heaved up and down. “You don’t truly believe in that. Though your blood is untainted your mind couldn’t have fallen to such … despicable levels. Morality. They lack it. You saved many folks of mixed blood. What’s changed?”

“Nothing has changed,” Justin said. He mustered up all the bigotry and loathing he could. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have trusted himself to not break. He looked up, a figure stood from afar watching. There was no going back. Not anymore. “All of it was an act, Finius. I hate the mud bloods, the tainted, the sick. The Circle shares those views and embrace them wholly. Unfortunately, you’re interfering. A pest! Goodbye my friend.”

Before Finius could say another word, bright, green light shot out from the tip of Justin’s wand as it slammed into the Auror’s chest. Finius’s head snapped back as it bounced off a warehouse storage container.

It was surreal. Taking a life. So easy yet so disturbing. Justin wanted to throw up. Taking a step back and looking up, the figure was still watching then disappeared and reappeared. The figure lowered the cloak’s cowl as a pale, blonde woman stared at him then to the body. “You’ve done us a service, boy,” said the woman harshly. “He will be pleased. You’ll be contacted shortly. Welcome, brother.”

---

What was only minutes felt like an hour as Justin stumbled into a bar. He needed a drink. Not his typical non-alcoholic beverage, but something strong. Making his way to the counter, he was very aware of the load, upbeat music. His eyes locked onto a group. The faces were familiar, but he was in no mood to deal with alumni of Hogwarts. They belonged to the other houses while some were from Syltherin.

Taking a seat at the counter, the bartender came up and sized him up. “Rough night?”

“What’s the strongest drink you have?”

“To make you forget or knock you on your ass?”

Justin rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Both.”

The bartender smirked as he pulled various bottles off the wall and took out his wand. “Normally, I don’t put this on the menu. Too many sodding idiots would tear up the place. A special something for you. Burning Phoenix. It’ll make all the crap melt away. Interested?”

Justin nodded and watched the mixing. Lastly, he caught a few spell words as the liquid in the glass turned a bright redish-orange. It was beautiful. The liquid swirled around like fire as flames danced across the surface. Taking the glass, he took a large gulp. The burn was instantaneous as he shook his head. It’d been far too long since he quenched his thirst on poison.

“So?”

The bartender was standing expectantly as a few other patrons looked on with interest. “Its got quite the kick.”

The bartender laughed. “No more for you. That one glass will keep you relaxed for a while. Just water.”

Nodding, Justin took another sip as he turned his head to the dance floor. So many colors, sounds, and dancers. It was all so very extravagant. He was about to turn back until a face drew his eyes like insects to the fluorescent lights on an evening porch. His chest froze as the drink was all but forgotten.

“Watch this,” he said to the bartender as he got to his feet and made his way through the dance floor. His current fashion wasn’t fitting whatsoever. He wore robes, trousers, and a button up while the others wore casual. Neon, jeans, leggings, anything that seemed to fit into the dancing scene. Pushing past a couple of figures, he finally saw her dancing with someone.

He reached out and lightly grabbed Phoebe’s shoulder. He positioned himself to make sure she could see him. A misunderstanding was definitely not what he wanted right now. “Phoebe.”

The Heat was really kicking in now. Every nerve ending was alight, waves of light rippling through her skin. There was nothing but the music and the need to move, to never stop moving, and in that moment Phoebe thought she might never be cold again. Not when she felt this alive. She could feel the curl of magic at her spine, filling every crevice of her, burning away the shadows.

Ashlyn had disappeared somewhere, probably to dance with her beau, but there was no shortage of partners. Touch was something else entirely—shit she had forgotten how good it felt to burn with someone else. There were no words, but Phoebe didn’t mind. Everything was smoke and flame, every light a spark and she felt as though she might ignite herself. She tipped her head back, a purr rolling about her throat. Her pulse matched the bass, straining against her ribs. She had the mad impulse to crack them open, to let it escape, but the thoughts melted away before she could make sense of them.

Phoebe had no idea how long she’d been dancing. Did it matter? Nothing could compare to the flood of sensation. Someone grabbed her shoulder and it was like being branded. Sparks flooded her vision, shivers rolled down her spine and she let herself be turned, laughter bubbling in her throat. He was so much taller, and her brain filled in the blanks for her, lips twisting into a grin.

“Aeron!” Except the mediwizard was a bit taller than this man, and a lot lankier. Not Aeron, then. His voice was deeper, a bass that she wanted to wrap around herself and drown in. She knew that voice, but it was so hard to remember where she had heard it. Phoebe’s brows furrowed. For a moment, she thought she might be hallucinating. But he was so solid. She sucked in a sharp breath. No. No, this wasn’t—

“Jus… Justin?” She could barely breathe as she choked out his name. It couldn’t be him. He had left. He wouldn’t just show up out of the blue at some club nearly ten years later. That was pure madness. But now that she looked, how could it be anyone else? Once upon a time, she had known that face more dearly than her own. There were new lines on his face, hard living and long nights, but she knew she had them too. She took a step backwards, taking in the sight of him. Someone knocked into her back, igniting every inch of skin they had touched. Her pale fingers went to her forehead, trying to steady herself against the euphoric rush. Beneath the fog, there was a spark, fury building in her chest. The Heat coursing through her veins fanned the flames, swept over her. Her hazel eyes flashed like molten steel, a snarl threatening to rip from her throat,

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Jus… Justin?”

Words demanded to be liberated. There were a thousand things Justin wanted to ask her. Millions. No matter how hard he tried, his lips remained sealed. Maybe it was because of the drink or what had transpired earlier. What were the chances he would've run into Phoebe here of all places? Dressing in a manner that would tempt the gods, he took all of her in. The years had been kind to her. She was as beautiful as he remembered her in Hogwarts when they the 'scions' of House Slytherin.

Just as quickly as her look of surprise came, it shifted instantaneously to anger. "What the hell are you doing here?”

Not desiring to compete with the music, he casted one look around as he caught eyes with another man walking towards them. "You going to dance man? If not, I'm going to steal this pretty little thing from you."

Standing before the new comer, Justin stared straight into the man's eyes. His pale-blue eyes stared into the man's darker. "Find someone else," he said flatly. Since he left, he had dealt with the vilest of wizards and witches. This nobody meant nothing to him. Such poor character. "I'm sure you can find some other craving vixen on this floor."

The stranger threw up his hands and backed away. "Whoa, chill man. Just asking. No harm no foul, right?"

Justin watched him walk away as he turned his attention back to Phoebe. A ghost of a smile traced his lips. "I shouldn't have stopped by. Seems like you're doing well. It's ... good to see you again. Goodbye Phoebe." His hand clenched under his robe as he turned away and found a crack through the crowd. He hated these night clubs. He hated the effects of intoxication. But what he hated the most at that moment? Walking away from the only person he ever cared about - even if she was a half-blood.

"It's better this way," he said to himself as he went back to the counter where the bartender gave him a thumbs up, pointing at his drink. "Thanks."

"Let out some steam? DJ's pretty good tonight."

Downing the Burning Phoenix to less than half glass, he shook his head. "I fear I've made things worse." Glancing back, Justin quickly finished of his drink and gave the bartender the amount of his tab. "You should put this on the menu. People would go mad for it."

The bartender laughed. "Precisely why I won't put it on the menu. But thanks."

"Pleasure's mine," Justin said as he got to his feet and headed towards the door. There was nothing left for him here. If he became involved with Phoebe, it'd complicate things with the Circle. This chapter of his life was done.

Phoebe had no idea what to make of the situation. An old bitterness blossomed in her chest, sleepless nights and endless questions flooding back as if someone had twisted a Time Turner back nearly a decade. She was seventeen all over again, her world shattering like so much glass. He’d left, practically disappeared. He’d severed everything between them without batting an eyelash, without deigning to explain anything to her. He’d dropped her as if she were an old plaything he had simply tired of. Phoebe had refused to accept it. She’d tried to hunt him down, to demand answers of him, but it had proven futile.

Someone approached, but Phoebe could barely keep her thoughts clear enough to process the impossibility that was Justin. He met her gaze and the curve of his mouth made her stomach drop. His words were so hard to follow, drowning in the bass and the pull of Heat. Even now, her body demanded she burn, and it took a conscious effort to access her faculties.

His words sunk in. Phoebe opened her mouth to tell him off, but he was turning his back on her, leaving her behind for a second time. He left her so easily. Her pride stung, demanded recompense, demanded answers. No—he didn’t get to just pop into her life and disappear again. Phoebe swore viciously, shaking her head in a mad bid to clear it, pushing her way through the crowd. Each touch sent a haze of pleasure through her brain and Merlin, it would be so easy to forget it. She could just turn around and let it be.

She grit her teeth, escaping the dance floor. The air was colder here, but she scarcely noticed. Hazel eyes scanned the club, dizzied by the lights. Distantly, she could hear Rhiannon flagging her down, but she caught sight of the bastard. He was leaving. Unbelievable.

If he went through that door, she knew she would never get answers, would never get the chance to rip him apart for what he had done to her, and Phoebe Lockwood couldn’t stand the thought. He didn’t get to shatter her world so easily.

Everything was a blur as she moved, but she had always been a singularly determined woman. Her target sighted, she stalked him down. Her knuckles whitened, the curve of her nails biting into her palms.

The door opened; the storm had somehow worsened, and the through the fog a part of her brain wondered if it was weather or magic. She was practically running, determined to catch him before he could apparate. There—she reached out, grasping for his arm, pulled.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Ackerman?” She snarled, privately impressed at the coherence of her words. The rain felt like needles, driving into her, crushing the Heat in her veins. But where the golden powder failed, her anger sustained her. “Ten years—ten fucking years and now you decide to show your face? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Phoebe gripped as tightly as she could. No way was she letting him slip away. She needed answers and she was going to have them, come hell or high water.

He wanted to hit something. Walking along the sidewalk listening to a few drunken muggles fire off obscenities and stumbling to and fro, he wanted to curse them. Though the act would violate several dozen Ministry laws, his emotions demanded release. Suddenly the thought of killing Finius didn't seem so bad. He should have went later. If he did though, he wouldn't have ended up here. Preoccupied with the paperwork and field investigations, there was barely any time to figure out that Phoebe lived within the vicinity. He was too careless. The Circle couldn't know about her.

As the weather took a turn for the gloomy, he took up the shelter of a small alcove. It was time to apparate. The sensations always made him feel like a kid, as if he had spun in a million circles before trying to walk. It made him feel so light. As the mental image of the Ministry came to mind and before he could apparate, a strong grip clutched his arm and pulled.

Instantly alert, he reached for his wand until he realized who it was. Soaked in the rain, clothes clinging to her skin, Phoebe had ran after him. He frowned.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Ackerman? Ten years—ten fucking years and now you decide to show your face? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Reaching down and grabbing her hand, he gently pried them loose. Force would've made the ordeal easier, but he'd show no violence towards his former best friend. Wanting to say he had no choice, it'd only look like a dumb excuse versus genuine. "You misunderstand the situation," he said hating the steel in his voice. "It was by simple coincidence that we happened to run into each other. It was my mistake. You're married. You're friends keep in you good company. Go back. I'm sure they miss you dearly."

In his peripherals, a cloaked figure appeared out of nowhere. His blood chilled as he gripped Phoebe's shoulder and ushered her towards the store that they stood in front of. He didn't care if she hated him, cursed him, loathed him. This was for her own good. The Circle was perceptive, they would be able to tell what she was. A half-blood. "Stay there. Do not come out. I can't tell you why, but I'm trying to help you. Forget about this encounter."

When he turned around, Bently stood before him looking at Phoebe then to him. "Am I interrupting?" he asked. The Circle member scrutinized Phoebe before he turned his attention back to Justin. "Oh my dear boy, I do hope this isn't what it looks like."

"It's not," he said as he gave Phoebe a push towards the door. "An extension of courtesy surely isn't problematic. Why are you here Bently?"

"I've come to congratulate you though present circumstances makes me wonder," he said. "You smell like alcohol. You don't drink. From my astute observations anyhow. A round is better with two."

"So what happens now?"

Bently chuckled as he gave Justin a sealed envelop. A seal of an opulent light grey circle with a black dragon traversed right down the middle. He took it. "Marissa was satisfied with the deed, and she has spoke very highly of you to the others. Within contains information concerning induction. It'll give you all that you need to know. Welcome brother. I mean it. Very few receive the honor."

Casting one last glance loathing glance in the direction of Phoebe, Bently walked back into the ran and apparated away.

Pocketing the letter, Justin leaned against the wall. His heart hammered against his feeble bones as they threatened to burst from his chest. He wondered what the Circle's leader would be like. Would he be as vile and cruel as Voldemort or simply the opposite? A series of thoughts ran through his mind as he closed his eyes and simply listened to the rain. It was time to go, he knew that. But he was simply too tired. Today had been taxing on his health - from capturing a wanted wizard to killing an Auror and now this. The situation was anything but ideal, but he was glad. Seeing Phoebe exhumed relief in him. A feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He prised her fingers off his arm, even as she tried to squeeze tighter. His hand was so much larger than hers—she’d forgotten that. Memories came back in a rush, thoughts she’d buried beneath work and her own affairs. They were twelve and sneaking into the forrest, fourteen and accidentally unearthing conspiracies and old magic, sixteen and beneath their tree at the lake, laughing as if summer would last forever.

His voice was cold steel, but Phoebe jut out her chin, nostrils flaring with barely constrained rage. She had never been soft. Did he think he could scare her off with sharp words? She was not some mewling girl, and even with the overstimulation of the rain and the Heat screaming out protest, she refused to let him cow her.

“Oh, yes, total coincidence, it could happen to anyone,” she hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word. He’d brought up her marriage. It was like he had fired a stunner to her chest. Her throat closed up. She hadn’t heard anything about Justin in the past ten years, but he’d known she’d been married? Her eyes stung, but Phoebe drew a deep breath. No. No she couldn’t drown in those memories, not now. Keep it together. She wanted to hit him. Before she could indulge her wrath, he was marching her away. Phoebe began swearing viciously, fumbling for the wand strapped to her back. She’d put his eye out with a hex, how dare he--

“Stay there. Do not come out. I can’t tell you why, but I’m trying to help you. Forget about this encounter.”

“Do not tell me to stay. I’m not a goddamn crup, you twat—“ Phoebe was interrupted as he turned away from her. Her temper flashed. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to curse his bloody nose off. Sparks flared in her vision, and she could feel her wand humming against her spine, eager to indulge her rage.

Some bland man was looking between them, his lip curling as if he smelled something foul. She was hardly her usual cool professional self, but she was nothing to be sneered at. Phoebe Lockwood had never been one to tolerate insults. She was about to release a string of insults when Justin pushed her towards the door. Grit could only do so much, and Phoebe stumbled, the world spinning. Her heel caught in the cobblestone, ankle tweaking. It was a wonder that she hadn’t fallen, her hands catching herself on the door.

They were conversing as if she wasn’t there. Phoebe couldn’t make sense of the world over the blood surging in her veins. She tested her ankle, winced. Heat amplified everything, turned the dial to eleven on every sensation, and she felt the air rush out of her lungs. The joint throbbed, demanded her attention, but she couldn’t recall the spell, couldn’t find it in the mess in her thoughts. Everything was spinning again, but the scorching warmth was no longer quite as pleasant.

By the time she could make sense of her surroundings again, the bland man had disappeared. Wasting no energy on wondering about him, she pushed forward, favoring her good ankle. Some Healer, she thought derisively, but cut short her self-depreciation. There was still the matter of Ackerman.

He wasn’t far. Phoebe found him leaning against a wall, looking annoyingly striking. Against her will, a twinge of longing shot through her. It was entirely unfair. The universe should have punished him for leaving her so cruelly, should have dealt vengeance for her for all the sleepless nights his leaving had caused. She drew in a shuddering breath, aware for the first time of the chill of the night. She shifted her weight, fingers grasping for her wand. The Hawthorn met her fingers and her skin tightened in response. It slid eagerly into her hand. It was an anchor to reality as colours ran together in the rain. She needed to sit, soon, before everything washed away. But she could hold out a little while longer. She had to. He’d denied her closure for ten years, and she would abide it no longer.

“Ackerman,” it felt strange, using his surname. He’d always been Justin to her, ever since they had met on the train nearly fifteen years ago. “Why—“ she didn’t even know where to start with him. She swallowed. Her mouth had gone curiously dry. Fuck, she could barely see him like this, let alone conduct a proper Lockwood interrogation. When had it gotten so cold? “Where the hell have you been?”

Opening his eyes again, he noted Phoebe had drawn her wand and looked back into the rainy evening. How should he answer that question? The consequences weighed heavy upon him. The story of how he was recruited immediately after Hogwarts to join the Aurors was certainly a safe one, but that wouldn't explain his ghostly vanishment. Furthermore, since it was Phoebe, he didn't trust himself to not spell out the terrible secret he was sworn to keep. If the Circle found out, reprimands were not out of the question. How far they would go? He wasn't sure. The Auror was still trying to figure that piece out himself.

Pulling out his wand, the Yew wood that it was made out of still felt the same as the day when it choose Justin to be its wielder. He walked towards her. "Don't be stupid with that thing," he said as he pointed his wand at her ankle. He hadn't meant to push her so hard. "Ferula."

He watched silently as bandages wrapped around her ankle. He was no healer. Far from it. But the basic first aid care was a necessity amongst his line of work. He had to do the same to Finius once. A large laceration to his torso. While the spell stopped the bleeding, a large scar remained. He swallowed. How he missed Finius already.

Noticing Phoebe starting to shiver, he put away his wand and motioned to the building behind them. How curious. It was the very cafe he had met Bently at earlier. "Come on," he said. "Some tea will warm you up. Plus, you can't be on that leg. You'll need to get it seen later."

Walking past her, he went in and found a free table. He ordered his typical green tea and another that Phoebe drank back when they were still in Hogwarts. He never forgot details like that. As she took the opposing seat, he exhaled deeply. "It wasn't easy leaving you. You have to understand that. After graduation, I was given an ultimatum by an Auror. If I left right then and there, I'd be given direct acceptance into the Ministry's Auror department." Accepting the tea on behalf of both, Justin took a slow draft of the warm liquid that burned in his gut. The stuff always calmed him. "I can't tell you anymore than that. It becomes more complicated."

Leaning back in his chair, he looked at Phoebe. A thought appeared, one h hoped she'd reject. "The only way you'll hear more is if you swear to total secrecy and discretion." Shifting in his chair, every single instinct in his body screamed no. He wanted to leave before he dragged her into his world of impending death and danger for the both of them. "The Unbreakable Vow, Phoebe. Otherwise, deal with the Auror story and walk out of here. I meant what I said when it was by complete coincidence that I ran into you tonight. If I knew you were at that bar, I would've avoided it and went somewhere else. But, I urge you to reconsider and forget about me. Go back to your family and friends. It's the better path, believe me."

Phoebe burned with humiliation as he bandaged her ankle for her. Shit—she was a qualified Healer, one of the best in her department, and she could heal it in a blink of an eye, if only her thoughts would clear. The compression sent a lance of pain through her nerves, electricity arcing up her leg. A gasp escaped her, and she would have done anything for the ground to open wide and swallow her whole.

“Come on,” he insisted, and she had half a mind to refuse, purely out of spite. It was counter-productive—she had chased him down, after all. Her curiosity gnawed at every corner of her brain. And she followed, like a stupid little crup, incapable of resisting his commands. She hated it. For years, she had dreamed of running into him again, but her imaginings had never been quite like this. He’d always been miserable in her head, a shadow of himself, and she’d had everything she’d ever wanted. Phoebe always figured she would have come out on top, would have been able to look at him without her heart shattering all over again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He moved like he owned the place. Once she had found that deeply attractive. Now, it made Phoebe want to hex him into a bloody pulp. Teeth on edge, she carried herself with every ounce of dignity she could manage, strung out and limping faintly. She seated herself, a shiver rolling down her spine as she forced it straight. Pale fingers pushed her brunette waves off her face, ignoring the way her skin crawled as it clung to her neck.

He was speaking, making excuses, and Phoebe pursed her lips into a thin line. His words were cheap, but a part of her brain relished his words. It hadn’t been easy, he had said. Good. She hoped he’d agonized over it. Even if he was lying, just paying lip-service, she clung to the idea.

A cup of Assam tea was placed before her. Her pride demanded she ignore it. She couldn’t obey his every whim. It was bad enough that she had followed him here.

He was going on about secrecy—The Unbreakable Vow—and Phoebe narrowed her eyes. He gave her two options, the Vow or Leave, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to refrain from throwing her tea in his face. Lips curving into a humorless smile, she folded her arms.

“I have this policy,” she informed him cooly, “Of not forging Unbreakable Vows with assholes that make a habit of dropping off the face of the Earth, I’m sure you can understand.” She made no motion to leave, studying him. Out of the rain and seated, it was a little easier to cling to reality. Her nails curved into the flesh of her arms, determined to keep her shivering at bay. She could do this. She deserved nothing less.

“You know, here’s what I don’t get,” she willed her words to be clear, and she had no idea if she was successful at all. It was so bright in here. She could barely see him for the sparks, and she drove her nails in deeper. “You disappeared for ten years, for whatever idiotic reason or another, and you have this ridiculous idea that you can just show up and make demands of me? Were you always this stupid, or is this a new development?”

She wanted to scream at him. She had followed every lead she could find, determined to find him and give him a piece of her mind, had waited like a pitiful child, hoping against hope that he would come back to her. His leaving had shattered her. And then he popped back into existence as if nothing had happened. It took a conscious effort to keep her teeth from chattering. Merlin’s tits, it felt like she’d jumped into a snowdrift.

“And here’s a thought; how is it that you know I was married, and yet I had to wonder if you were even alive? I’m almost impressed, honestly. I mean, I’m a shit judge of character, but it’s really amazing just how awful of a human being you turned out to be. I'd applaud you but, you know."

“I have this policy of not forging Unbreakable Vows with assholes that make a habit of dropping off the face of the Earth, I’m sure you can understand."

Justin simply sipped on his tea as he studied the fuming Phoebe sitting before him. She did have a point. From being the best of friends - of couples - he couldn't expect the hot tempered, strong woman to forgive him so easily. Make the Unbreakable Vow for that matter. There were three vows that he wanted to make, if he ever got the chance. First, she would not be able to utter a single word about the Circle. Second, she'd promise not to seek him out. Thirdly, was to forget him altogether. The time spent apart tore wounds that he couldn't hope to repair. Well aware of his demeanor, it had not changed drastically since he left Hogwarts.

“You know, here’s what I don’t get. You disappeared for ten years, for whatever idiotic reason or another, and you have this ridiculous idea that you can just show up and make demands of me? Were you always this stupid, or is this a new development?”

Justin rose an eyebrow. Such fire he thought to himself. It was something he missed dearly. "Demands? I think not. I walked out of that ... bar to avoid this. This squabble we're having. It was you who followed. You asked me where I've been," he said as if he were talking to any other normal person. "The answer I gave you will have to be sufficient. Without that safeguard of the vow, telling you anything else would not be favorable for the either of us. Things have changed since Hogwarts. Things are constantly moving - better for some, worse for others."

What acidic words he used. He knew it, and his inner conflict doused his whole world in flames. For as long as he could remember, he was raised in the manner befitting the kings of old. Being the heir to his family line of prominent political figures within the wizarding world, there was no room for the mannerisms of a mere commoner. It had been drilled in him as a child had reinforced the concept of crying when frustrated. The only leak in that face was when he was with Phoebe.

The many doors of the world opened up to him when he was with her. From gut wrenching fear from being caught doing a prank at Hogwarts to sneaking out into the fields past after hours, it had excited him like never before. Now, to his dismay, being stoic and blunt wasn't so hard with her. His heart and mind were in discord.

“And here’s a thought; how is it that you know I was married, and yet I had to wonder if you were even alive? I’m almost impressed, honestly. I mean, I’m a shit judge of character, but it’s really amazing just how awful of a human being you turned out to be. I'd applaud you but, you know."

The words teared at his thickened skin. Justin frowned for once in their encounter as he took another sip from his cup and placed it neatly on the saucer. He clasped his hands together. "Don't presume to think you understand my present predicament, Lockwood. It's a delicate balance I walk. My character remains as it was when I first met you in." His chest felt heavy. Never in his life had he ever addressed Phoebe by her surname. It was foreign. Alien. "As for your marriage. Am I not a son of Slytherin? An alumni that once walked Hogwart's proud halls like you? I remain in contact with a select few as they do me."

He noticed the tension in the woman's body. He saw her desires in those burning eyes. "You're angry. I can't imagine how much. You want to reach into your pocket and pull out your wand. Hex, curse, whatever your mind can think up." Looking to the window, he saw the group Phoebe was with earlier. They were looking for her. "I've missed you far more than you realize. When news of your marriage came to my ears, I turned into a despondent mess. Let that satisfy your anger for the time being. Satisfaction. Now, you're friends seek you out; I dare not keep you any longer. If my presence hurts you so, I will disappear. Relocate to a different region of London."

Flagging over the waitress, he paid for the two of them. He left a handsome tip. "Any last words? You won't see me again. I assure you of that," he said. His eyes watered. Crying? He would not in front of her. "What was that poem? The one in magical history?

A ghost I have become
Gripping the eclipse of horizons long past,
The boundary between night and day cast forth
eternal, mortal prison, I reach out for faces far gone.
A ghost I have become.

Professor Cornelius. I suppose he left an impression on me after all. If you have nothing else to say ... goodbye Lockwood."

He had the nerve to sit there and look so fucking calm and collected, and Phoebe wanted to claw his eyes out. She wanted to give in and drink the tea, because she knew it would warm her up and clear her head, but she couldn’t let herself do it. She couldn’t let him win. Not after what he’d done to her.

He refuted her point—and Phoebe clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering, to keep her from hurling insults at him. He was correct, of course. She’d chased him down when she could barely see straight, high as a fucking broomstick, but it still seemed so drastically unfair. She elected not to comment on that, on the judgment he passed on her. She merely narrowed her eyes. Worse for others indeed. He’d known of her marriage—but he hadn’t known how it had fallen apart, how she’d lost a child and a husband in a span of weeks. And then the riots had happened, and she’d had no time to grieve, not when England was burning and every Healer was needed in the hospital. So she’d just kept working and coming home to a flat stripped bare of everything she’d built her life on.

Fuck. Now was not the time for these thoughts. It was so easy to get lost in the cold, coming down from Heat. She’d lost days before in the aftermath, curled into a ball and desperate for warmth that eluded her, no matter how many blankets or charms she used. Phoebe wetted her lips. She didn’t have long. Twenty minutes, tops, before she needed to be curled up at home, or another dose. The sachet in her purse burned in the back of her brain. Decisions needed to be made, and soon.

“Fuck you, Ackerman,” she hissed, hating how her voice stumbled, blinking hard to keep her eyes clear. The side of her hand deftly pressed against her lower lashline, catching what she couldn’t quite swallow. “Fuck you and your stupid, melodramatic poetry, you twat. Don’t lie and say you missed me, you had no idea--”

Fuck, her voice wasn’t supposed to break like that. No. No, she had to keep it together. Fuck. Ten years had passed, she had moved on with her life.

He’d mentioned her friends; Phoebe couldn’t think of a group she’d rather see less. She glanced out the window, ducking behind her hair (as if somehow that would prevent them from recognizing her). Rhiannon and Deirdre—she hadn’t counted on her boss being out with them when she’d accepted the little sachets of magic golden powder from her best friend. She turned in her seat, looking up at Justin, and for the first time she thought maybe he wasn’t lying about everything. He was still a git, of course, but… fuck, no, that was not what she needed to be thinking. She hated him, had to cling to that anger. He deserved nothing less. She’d loved him, had given him everything, would have followed him to the edge of the world and he had dropped her like she was trash. Her! Phoebe Lockwood, top of her year, cunning and clever and charming and brilliant. He dropped her like she was beneath him, like her friends whispered he always would, and that had stung worst of all. He’d never cared about her blood when she’d pulled him into a broomcloset or an empty classroom. As soon as she’d been inconvenient, he’d dropped her, and even Phoebe hadn’t been so blind as to pretend it was due to anything but the circumstance of her birth.

But fuck, he was here and alive and she was so fucking cold. She was so tired and exhausted and sick to death of being left behind and the thought of him leaving again had her stomach in knots. She choked, a stupid sob of a sound, and hated the way her pale hand reached out to grab his sleeve. Pitiful, mewling, pathetic girl, her brain managed through the fog. She felt her shoulders drop, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

“Justin,” she had no idea what she meant to say, or do, and she hated herself for her weakness. “Please…”

Conscious of the hand that gripped his sleeve, Justin stopped. He noticed how Phoebe turned away from her friends; he sat back down. It was so cruel, so sick to see how the strong girl he knew back then was reduced to this. At the same time, he was confused. Confused on why she clung so tightly to him. Did she not have a family to return to? Years were a long time to find someone and settle down. It pained him as he tried to force himself to throw her away. Away from him. The Circle's retribution taking a backseat, he sat there in silence. His demeanor exhumed natural arrogance, but fire burned him on the inside. Memories, sensations, attachments made long ago. He wanted all of that back.

He cleared his throat not trusting himself to keep to his public facade. For a moment. No, for her, he'd be the Justin she knew. Not the pure blood, but the person unaffected by status. "Phoebe," he said gently. "What I did to you was terrible. I'm not sure how to make it up, but I'll try somehow. Please listen to me. Being with me, right now, is dangerous. In my line of work, you make friends with the best of saints, best of devils.

"I've become involved with something I can no longer back out of. None of the petty gangs and substance runners. No. This group is far worse my dear. They don't look kindly upon half-bloods and muggles." Resting his forehead in his hand, he knew there was no going back from this. Cursed nostalgia seeped through his mind, blinding him to logic. "The man I tried to get you away from was one of those people. I fear that if you remain with me, it'll toss your whole life into a maelstrom of disorder. I can't protect you from this one."

If it was even possible, Justin could imagine his face turning a paler shade of white. Not happening often, he was genuinely afraid. He looked around and hadn't seen any new comers. The old cafe faces remained the same. From the patrons to the baristas. Even if the Circle did apparate into the establishment, he'd had known about it. The weight of the letter suddenly returned as his chest felt heavier. He was tired. So very tired. He already practiced what he would tell Carolyn - Finius's wife. She knew they were close. The meeting was inevitable. He was a murderer, no better than a death eater. If what he told Phoebe didn't make her hate him, he didn't know what would.

"Though I left the details out, this was why I asked for you to take the Unbreakable Vow with me. No one can know about this," he said as he sat back into his chair. He tentatively reached out and cradled her smaller hand in his. They were worn. "You know one of the greatest secrets I possess. The rest - unknown to others - have only been told to you. My confidante. You look tired. I'll escort you home and be off. Your family's probably wondering where you stumbled off to."

He sat back down, and Phoebe didn’t know what to make of it. Merlin, she was a wreck, and she hated her vulnerability. She was a Slytherin—no snake worth their salt would show their belly like this. But he was sitting, and even if he was mocking her, at least he hadn’t left. It was petty and bitter and spiteful but she couldn’t handle him leaving her again. No, that right belonged to her. Damn if she would let him take that victory, however small and meaningless.

There was something achingly familiar in his voice. She was seventeen again, clambering onto rooftops of Hogwarts and calling him after her, watching the stars and tracing fortunes, dreaming of their future together. She couldn’t have imagined that he’d disappear only weeks later. It had been as mad as the sun failing to rise. His words were different—and she felt a wave of dread crashing over her as they slowly began to make sense in her brain.

Don’t look kindly upon half-bloods and muggles. She was well versed enough in doublespeak to know what that meant, and she found herself horrified. Phoebe had been too young to go to Hogwarts when the war struck, had been kept locked inside the family manor, a dozen protective charms woven into her clothes. Her father had collapsed in relief when it had all ended; it had been the first time she’d ever seen him cry. She had been so lucky; she worked with people whose entire families had been decimated, who had been tortured in Azkaban and still bore the scars, over fifteen years later.

“You foolish boy,” she whispered, blanching. He’d taken her hand and if she had been a better woman, she would have ripped away from him. Phoebe knew she should, for self-preservation alone, never mind the principle of the matter. But his hands were as warm as fire, and he looked… scared wasn’t quite right. Haunted. Drawn. She knew that look well. She was being foolish, she knew. He wasn’t the boy she had loved so desperately, but she could see glimpses of him and she was too selfish to dismiss him entirely. Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe, when her mind was clear and she could have the will to do the right thing.

He mentioned her family again, and Merlin, it wasn’t fair. She studied him; perhaps he was twisting the knife in the wound. But he seemed sincere enough, as far as she could tell. Not that her judgment meant much, but Phoebe had nothing else to go on.

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. It was almost truly funny. Phoebe would have appreciated the humor more if she hadn’t lived through it.

“What family? Your intel’s shit,” she ran her free hand through her hair, trying not to sound hysterical. “My sainted husband left me,” she couldn’t keep the vicious bite out of her words, no matter how hard she tried. She averted her gaze, to the cup of tea he’d ordered her, hated how small and frail she felt. She tried very hard to sound calm, but her voice went flat and hollow, “I lost our child. He didn’t take it well.”

“You foolish boy."

The pureblood in him wanted to rebuke the title 'boy'. Who was she to address him as so? Under normal circumstances, Justin would've already remedied the situation, but this was anything but normal. He had essentially admitted to her that he was in league with a rising bunch of neo-death eaters. Before he had ran into Phoebe today, he had forgotten just how twisted the pure blood dominance scheme was. With the political musings of his family mixed in with his affiliation with Bently, he had succumbed to the whole promised land. There wasn't anything he could now. He was already locked in. It'd end badly for him if he abandoned the cause now.

During the war, the Ackerman family had remained neutral from the whole conflict. He could remember the period clearly. Every dinner, he hear his father speak of the noble crusade Voldemort undertook. Freeing the wizarding world of all none pure bloods would 'cleanse' the system. It'd make them stronger. Justin fantasized of such a world, where wizards ruled over others. No more hiding. No more compromising. However, what he couldn't agree with was the method. Voldemort killed indiscriminately. While his father never voiced anything direct, he could tell the head of the Ackerman line had similar sentiments.

Exhaling, he kept holding onto Phoebe's hand. It was so cold. "A lot of things have changed in the past few years," he said slowly. Already entrusting Phoebe with sensitive information, more couldn't do any harm. "Politics, family, and the current state of affairs. It has necessitated me to take certain actions. While I don't agree with a great majority of them, some of the things my associated group shares in principle moves me."

Justin was slightly taken aback as Phoebe began to laugh. It was a maddening thing. He was about to ask if she was filling ill; Phoebe's next words wounded him to his very soul.

Keeping his gaze steady on her, he gave her hand a squeeze. "There's nothing I can say to make you feel better," he said tentatively. "I wasn't aware your husband left and you lost your child. I didn't mean to evoke ill memories. What can I do to help you Phoebe? How can I try and start to make things up to you? If I can do it, I will."

As he waited for Phoebe to respond, he felt a subtle thump against his chest. It took him a few moments to realize that the thumping wasn't his heart but came from something simpler. It was the note in his pocket. He had to check it, but fought the urge. The Circle could wait. Phoebe could not. The top year from Slytherin rarely became distressed. Today, he had witnessed a rare expression.

Merlin, he was awful. Had he always been like this? Had she been played the fool, blinded by what she thought was love? Or had she merely been an exception, as if she hadn’t been living proof that the old ways were flawed?

What did it say about her that, knowing this, she couldn’t make herself leave? Wasn’t she supposed to be better than this? Phoebe had no answers beyond the warmth of his hand, the way her skin lit up with millions of sparks when he squeezed her hand tight. It seemed a pathetic reason to ignore the bile he spoke.

It was stupid, really. She shouldn’t want his help. He’d thrown in with the wrong sort, the sort that would very much like to see her stripped of a wand, at the very least. But Merlin, he was offering it, and she was so tempted. He was here, alive, and holding her hand and it was like the past ten years hadn’t happened. Except, the chills were starting properly now, and she had known nothing of grief back then.

“You—“ she couldn’t think straight anymore. It was near impossible to string words together. Everything was swimming in golden lights and shadows. She squeezed her eyes shut. How was the room still spinning? Her fingers clutched onto his hands desperately, but Phoebe couldn’t spare a thought to hate herself for it. It was a monumental effort to get the words out with some semblance of coherence. “I just… w-want to to g-g-go home.”

It was so hard for him to see her like this. Justin didn't need to be the best healer to see that Phoebe wasn't right in the mind - not psychologically speaking anyways. What puzzled him was her reluctance to storm away even when he told her what he had become involved with. With the years between them, he had given up on settling with a half blood and looked only to those of the purest lineage. He dared not tell her though. If he spoke of the pressure he received from home - particularly from his dad - or his families closets friends, she'd probably only see it as an excuse. Things were never one dimensional. Life didn't work like that. It enjoyed adding its twists and turns, and people went along for the ride, collateral damage.

"Where's your home," he said hesitantly. "I'll apparate you there and be off. I don't know what you took, but with a night's sleep, you'll be thinking clearer in the morning."

He stopped right at the beginning of his next sentence as his chest felt heavier. He couldn't breathe. Something invisible was pressing upon his chest, which he couldn't ignore. Retracting his hand away, he clenched his teeth as he reached into his robes. The letter was burning yet there was no fire. It was something invisible, a hidden unseen force. He didn't understand. Justin made no magical agreements. Getting to his feet, sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I'll be right back," he said quickly as he made his way to the restrooms. He quickly disappeared into the men's room as he gasped. The sensation was too much. He quickly gripped the letter as the black dragon burned in dark flames. He opened it and read the contents:

Welcome to the Circle, brother.

You have been tested and found worthy. With Brother Bently's endorsement, I extend and invitation to you. To join a family closer than any other.

In two days from tonight at the eleventh hour, go to the location marked on the map within the letter. It has been locked to you; your eyes shall be the only viewer. When you come across the stone guardian, respond with the words 'purity, stone one."

Your brother and sisters look forward to meeting you, Justin. Do not be late.

The pressure left as quickly as it came as Justin took in long drafts of air. He was terrified yet excited. Composing himself, he left the restroom as he made his way back to Phoebe. He stood to the side. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. "Are you able? We'll go when you're ready."

Everything was swimming. The fluorescent lights in the café burned brighter than fiendfyre, and had burned spots into her vision. Closing her eyes hadn’t helped much. His hand was an anchor to reality. His words sounded as if they were drifting across an ocean, ripped into shreds by wind and waves, and she couldn’t sort through them. He’d said something—left—her hands were so fucking cold now, as if she had just plunged them into ice water.

He wasn’t going to come back. It was foolish to expect anything else. Her elbows dropped to the table, her forehead into her palms, as she tried to find herself in the burning cold. She tried to even out her breaths, to think, but everything was sparks and shivers and spinning, spinning, spinning. She had to remember something, but her thoughts were like rain water, running away to join rivers of sensation she couldn’t keep her head above.

Someone was talking. The words alternated between whispers and shouts, blurring into the background noise of the café. Her eyes eased open, stinging in the light, and refused to focus for a long moment. It might have been Justin, it might have been Harry Fucking Potter himself. Phoebe wasn’t sure. His face was melting. That was peculiar. The last time she had seen a face melt, it had belonged to a six year old boy whose mother had used him in dark magic. He had melted on the table, conscious until the very end. But this wasn’t St. Mungos, was it? She didn’t think so.

“What?” She wasn’t sure the word even came out properly. Her tongue felt clumsy, like it was made of iron instead of flesh. “I don’t know—“

Justin frowned as he looked at Phoebe's sorry state. Whatever she had taken, it clearly wasn't making her right in the head. He wondered when she took up substances - if it was that at all. Back at Hogwarts, while they certainly did cause mischief, it wasn't something that he remembered partaking with her in. They enjoyed each other's company, which spread rumors throughout the school. Not that he cared. Opinions that other cast forth onto him mattered little. If they were not of pureblood, they were inferior, no? Even with that train of thought - potent in the present - he could never think of Phoebe as such. She was an exception. His one link that differentiated him from his family.

Sighing, Justin gently helped Phoebe to her feet. "You need to sleep," he said as he guided her towards the door. "You're free to yell at me when you wake up. Just follow and don't cause a fuss."

Opening the door to the cafe, Justin, held her close as he imagined his top floor flat. Closing his eyes, in the middle of the night, he apparated away.

---

Unlocking the door and undoing the wards to allow himself in, Justin opened the door and strolled on in. The lights came on upon motion as he walked Phoebe towards his bedroom. Pushing open the door, he laid her on the bed and removed her heels. Nuzzling a pillow beneath her head and throwing the blanket over her, he stood up. "Sleep for now. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

Closing the door behind him, Justin removed his shoes and placed them near the front door with Phoebe's. The white-walled living room suddenly felt smaller as his Hogwart sweetheart resided next door. It took every ounce of willpower for him not to feel her soothing heat within his arms. However, given present circumstances, it'd be indecent. Taking out his wand, he swished towards a music player as classical movements purred through the speakers. The volume was perfect. He could listen and appreciate the composer's gift to the world and not disturb his guest.

Settling on the black leather couch, Justin closed his eyes as the weariness of the day took him. Though his body craved the sleep, his mind was far too excited to give in. Laying there with his eyes closed, he remembered memories past and how he missed them so.

Phoebe dreamed.

She dreamed of smoke and snow, rain and fire, the wail of banshees and children. She was running, always running, trying to find something, but she could never quite catch up, could never quite get warm. The snow was unending, blanketing the world and filling her lungs to the brim. Golden sparks lingered just out of reach, dancing away as she stumbled. She was at Hogwarts, surrounded by laughter and sunshine, but she was drowning, drowning, drowning.

Phoebe awoke to sunshine. The light was agony, and she groaned, driving her face into her pillow. The white sheets were damp with sweat, bunching beneath her fists. Everything stung, as if someone was running ice along her every nerve. She took a shuddering breath.

Her sheets were gold, not white.

She sat up suddenly, head pounding as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The room was clean and orderly and very much not her own. Phoebe swore, palming her eyes. Why couldn’t she remember how she had gotten here? The last thing she remembered was being cold and wet and shouting at someone, but everything was foggy. Merlin, who had she let take her home? If it was Aeron, she was never going to live this down… except, she knew Aeron’s place, and there was no way his room was this neat. And she was still dressed. So, not an ill-advised one night stand with a coworker then. That was a small miracle.

Phoebe’s purse and wand were sat neatly on the bedside table. She scrambled for the hawthorn, breathing a sigh of relief as she grasped it tight. She had her wand. Examining the room, her eyes found a very stately clock. Ten to noon. Merlin’s balls, that wasn’t good. Phoebe disentangled herself from the bed, pushing her brunette waves off of her face, stumbling on the cold floor. She looked to her purse. She had another dose—it was tempting. Phoebe would love nothing more than to burn again. Already, the numbness was settling back in, greying out her world. It took every ounce of will she had to look away and cautiously approach the door.

Wand raised, she slipped through to a very well designed living room, all black leather and crisp white lines. Very masculine, very much not her drab little flat. Phoebe frowned. She’d been in a café, she remembered, which was strange because she was reasonably sure she had gone dancing with Rhiannon and Ashlyn…

“Hello?” She called out, fingers tightening around her wand.