The slow, smooth notes of Tracey's bass thread through the air like a lullaby in velvet. She sways with the rhythm, eyes half-lidded, lip caught between her teeth in concentration. The summer light filters through the tall windows of the Rosier sitting room, soft and golden.
My friends have gathered in full—sans Hermione, who is vacationing with her parents in France. A shame. She would have loved this song. Or at least tried to understand why I loved it.
[Kilby Girl- The Backseat Lovers]
"We're both throwing smoke into the night
It's raining I suppose that you need a ride
She said I've got nothing to do and neither do you
There's a place down the road where we can waste the whole afternoon..."
My voice begins soft and lilting, wrapping itself around each word like a secret. I spot the faintest curve of a smile on my mother's lips. She doesn't often show approval. Not openly. But the slight dip of her head in rhythm tells me enough.
Then I do what I do best.
I stir the pot.
"I overheard that she was nineteen
She's got a fake ID and a nose ring
Those kind of girls tend to know things
Better than I do..."
I turn slightly—just enough to catch the eye of Nymphadora Tonks. She's leaning casually against the archway, one brow raised and her bubblegum-pink hair slowly shifting through a prism of amused colors.
Felix, standing beside her with a drink in hand, sighs audibly. He doesn't look surprised. He knew. Of course he knew. I had a crush on her before I could even tie my own tie properly. Still do, maybe.
"And I'm dying
To figure out what she's hiding
She's playing it cool but she's lying
Better than I do..."
My fingers strum harder now. The tempo lifts. The words turn reckless and warm.
"Feels like a night to carry a tune
I've been carrying yours since you wrecked my room
And I've got nothing to do and neither do you
So we chase jack with love
And waste away the whole afternoon..."
Tracey keeps pace like a pro, hips moving with each chord. Harry stays locked on the drums, lips pursed in focus, but I can tell he's grinning inside. Daphne taps her foot in time, sipping her drink with an air of practiced indifference. Blaise nods to the beat, arms folded, watching with interest.
Tonks gives a theatrical gasp and hides behind Felix's arm as I glance her way again, deadpan. I mouth the words: Marry me.
She breaks. Full laugh. Loud and unfiltered. She slaps Felix on the arm and leans against him, doubled over in amusement.
"And I'm dying
To figure out what she's hiding
She's playing it cool but she's lying
Better than I do..."
The last note rings out. I hold it for just a breath too long, letting it echo, letting the teasing tension ripple through the air.
Then silence.
"Bravo," Blaise drawls, clapping once. "Subtlety is clearly overrated."
Neville claps enthusiastically, only to be yanked back into his seat by Hannah, who is clearly trying not to laugh too hard. Susan hides her face in a cushion. Tracey gives me a side-glance smirk like she's proud and horrified at the same time.
And then—
"What kind of things," my mother says, her voice silk over steel, "do those kind of girls know, exactly, son?"
The room goes still.
My neck prickles. I slowly turn my head.
She's seated with the poise of a queen. One leg crossed over the other. Tea in hand. Expression unreadable. Eyes, however—those are glacial.
"Oh, I—uh," I start.
My eyes dart around.
Blaise looks away suddenly. Daphne takes a very intense interest in adjusting her sleeve. Tracey shrinks behind her bass. Even Harry, Harry, stares at the ceiling like the answer might be up there.
Neville half-stands like he might defend me, bless him, but Hannah grabs his shirt and pulls him back down.
Traitors. All of them.
I clear my throat. "Worldly things," I say carefully. "Like taxes. Property law. Real estate."
Tonks nearly drops her drink laughing again.
My mother raises a single eyebrow.
"Mm," she says. "We'll talk after your guests leave."
And she sips her tea.
I grin through the panic building in my spine.
Totally worth it.
My mother, being the gracious woman she is, gives us the room with a faint smile and a parting glance that says, behave, or else. The second she disappears, Tonks lunges at me.
I am in a headlock before I can blink.
She grinds her knuckles into my scalp with gleeful energy. "You cheeky little flirt. Singing that song like you weren't trying to make my hair change colors."
The joke is on her. My face is pressed against her chest, and frankly, the softness is its own reward. Worth every second of the mock humiliation.
"Timothy, remove that unsightly grin from your face," Daphne sighs from across the room, already exasperated.
Once I am released from Tonks's clutches, Felix gives me a light punch to the arm, more affectionate than annoyed.
"Nice performance, little brother. Did not think your love of Muggle music would turn into a full-blown magical rock show."
He gestures around the room, where the lingering glow of runes still hums faintly along the base of our instruments. The scent of laughter, firelight, and string vibrations still hangs in the air.
Last time I saw Felix, he looked like a pureblood aristocrat straight from a formal portrait—thin, polished, perfectly put-together. Now he has muscle on his arms, sun on his skin, and a smirk that comes from knowing exactly how good he looks. Judging by the way Tonks keeps sneaking glances at him, he is well aware of it.
Lucky bastard.
"Well, you know how it is," I say, smoothing my shirt with mock grace. "When you're as talented as I am, you owe it to the world to share it."
He shakes his head with a quiet laugh, refusing to indulge my ego. Still, he scans the room again, eyes lingering on each of my friends with something close to pride.
"I'm glad you found a good group," he says quietly. "Slytherin was... challenging for me. Not following the usual expectations made things difficult. But Mother's reach was long even then."
His gaze drifts to Tonks, now leaning over to chat with the other Hufflepuffs. His voice softens.
"Friends help."
We move toward the group. Some are sprawled on cushions, others sipping from steaming cups. The atmosphere is easy, even with the looming shadow of a new school year.
"Harry! Why have you been ignoring me?" Susan cries suddenly, full of theatrical outrage. Her eyes are wide, her lower lip just slightly trembling. She looks genuinely wounded.
Harry blinks and flinches, trying to stammer out a response. "I—I didn't... It wasn't—"
"I can explain," I cut in smoothly, grabbing a biscuit from the nearby tray. "A house-elf was intercepting his letters. Apparently, it was trying to keep him away from Hogwarts. Something about danger."
Neville bolts upright, nearly spilling his drink. "Danger? What kind of danger?"
"Relax," I say, waving a hand. "Harry came here early, and our house-elves were able to catch the little saboteur. Name was Dobby."
Daphne sets down her tea with a faint clink. "Did he specify what sort of danger?"
Harry shakes his head. "No. Just said Hogwarts was not safe this year."
"Sounds like the start of another cursed term," Tonks says, stretching. "Reminds me of when we were there."
Felix groans. "Please don't bring up the curse va—"
Tonks, unbothered, continues muttering until Felix covers her mouth. She licks his palm.
He jerks away with a sound of disgust. "That is still disgusting."
"You love it," she replies, beaming.
"Anyway," Blaise interjects, ever calm, "word is Malfoy got chewed out for being humiliated so often last year. I heard he is now taking remedial lessons. In how to be an actual Slytherin."
Tracey cackles while Hannah tries to hide her giggle behind her sleeve.
Daphne leans in slightly. "I also heard the Ministry raided the Malfoys' properties. Probably cost them a vault or two."
Susan perks up. "My aunt mentioned something like that, but she wouldn't give me details. Sorry."
We all wave it off. Nothing surprising about the Ministry flexing after what happened last term.
"Did everyone get their school supply lists?" Tracey asks suddenly, voice floating like she already knows the answer.
Her dreamy smile is far too knowing.
I groan. "You figured it out, didn't you?"
"Oh yes," she says.
"New Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Blaise says.
"The one and only," Tracey confirms with mock dread.
Daphne lifts an eyebrow. "Gilderoy Lockhart."
There is a collective sigh.
"I am not buying those books," I mutter.
"Neither am I," Harry adds. "I'll copy Hermione's notes."
"Do you think he'll last the year?" asks Neville nervously.
"No chance," Tonks says flatly. "Bet you ten Galleons."
"Done," I say.
The night continues with laughter and easy chatter. But in the back of my mind, I cannot help but think: danger is coming.
And I will be ready for it.
<><><><><><><>
Clone P.O.V
The Forbidden Forest was never quiet, not truly. Even in the lulls between rustling leaves and distant howls, something always watched. But tonight, the presence of Vaelrix silenced the usual predators.
The Basilisk rested near a moss-covered clearing, its emerald coils stretched along the earth like a living river of muscle and scale. Its eyes were shut, still sheathed for safety. But even sleeping, it radiated dominance.
One of Timothy's clones crouched several feet away, muscles tense but calm, hands loose at his sides. Training with a creature like this was never casual. It was a dance of precision, trust, and controlled threat.
"Again," the clone said.
Vaelrix lifted its massive head slightly, tongue flicking out. The air shimmered faintly with its breath.
The clone darted forward.
With a flick of his fingers, a burst of fire curved along the forest floor, circling the Basilisk. Vaelrix hissed, not in fear, but recognition. It surged forward, slithering over the flame trail with speed that belied its size.
The clone leapt to the side and whirled his dagger—a mix of Zuko's combat fluidity and Ezio's precision guiding each move. Shadows burst from beneath his feet, scattering like splinters. Vaelrix followed them, then twisted back in perfect sync, a loop of its body snapping upward like a spring-loaded trap.
The attack missed by inches.
But the response was perfect.
"Good," the clone breathed. "Again."
Not far above them, resting on a thick branch, the second clone lay stretched across the bark with a book propped open against his knee.
The worn spine read: The Art of Expansion: Pocket Dimensions and Beastbound Enclosures.
He flipped a page lazily, lips moving as he read.
"Magical core must be stabilized before spatial layering. Hmm… that's going to take a custom wand core or an anchor talisman. Probably why Newt used Murtlap essence..."
He glanced down briefly at the training, then back at the page.
"Also need to craft an internal environment that adjusts to magical creatures' needs. Fireproof chambers, mist zones… better start sketching layouts. Vaelrix is going to need space."
From below, a tree cracked as the Basilisk coiled tightly and launched into the air, its body brushing dangerously close to the canopy. The first clone dodged with a spin, leaving a flash of after-image made from shadow.
"Try not to kill each other," the second clone muttered without looking up.
The Basilisk landed with a thud, hissing with excitement. Its head turned briefly toward the clone in the tree. It did not strike. It knew.
They were not enemies. They were its pack.
"Maybe I'll add a waterfall chamber," the clone said, flipping another page. "Could be a good bathing spot. Or a backup moat trap."
The wind whispered through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled once, then went quiet. Even the forest understood.
The king of serpents had found his new lair.
And his keepers were already building it.