Chapter One

Anyone in the least bit familiar with Hogwarts customs would have the group of five, huddled together in the abandoned classroom, very odd indeed.

Sitting on the floor was Alyssa Longbottom, blonde Slytherin princess and one of three prefects in the group. Thierry Malfoy was standing to the side, utterly alike and yet unlike his father with dark hair and glacial blue eyes. Then there was Evander Weasley, most likely the only Ravenclaw Weasley in history. His cousin Tara Weasley was conjuring up paper flowers, her mocha-colored face screwed up in concentration. And lastly Yuriko Chang, who was vanishing Tara’s flowers as quickly as the other girl could conjure them.

Everyone knew who Yuriko’s father was, but no one talked about it. Her parents had divorced years ago and she had taken her mother’s name, but there was no mistaking her smoky green eyes as being anything but Potter. Rumor claimed part of her parents’ split was over her, but Yuriko never said anything either way.

Thierry yawned widely. "Some study group this is," he said lazily, glancing at Tara’s flowers. "The flick is the other direction, Weasley." Unlike his father, Draco, Thierry’s use of Tara’s last name was anything but derogatory. If anything, there was an affectionate ring to it.

"Oh. This better?" Tara tried the conjuring trick again, following Thierry’s instructions and this time producing a bouquet of wildflowers that smelled mysteriously of garlic.

Alyssa looked up from the textbook in her lap, wrinkling her nose. "What did you do this time, Tara?" she asked. "That smells awful."

Yuriko did a quick Vanishing Charm that did nothing to disperse the smell. "At least they weren’t paper," she said in a long-suffering voice. "How utterly Gred and Forge of you, Tara."

Tara grinned sheepishly. "It wasn’t on purpose. I think I’ll use one of my dad’s Snackboxes for Transfiguration tomorrow and practice this." She conjured another bouquet; this one made of sickly daisies.

"That’s dreadful," said Evander. "After all that tutoring… Mum’s going to have kittens."

"Your mum," Tara pointed out. "Mine won’t mind. Aunt Hermione is terrible."

"She plays favorites," said Thierry sharply. "Then yeah, she is terrible."

"Just because my mum’s the Charms professor…" Evander muttered. He poked Thierry in the ribs with his wand.

"It’s late," said Alyssa, breaking up the argument before it started. "Grow up, please, Evander, you’re a prefect for heaven’s sake. I’m off to bed." She closed her book and stood, stretching in a lazy, catlike manner.

"All right, I give," Tara grumbled good-naturedly. "I know what you’re on about." She tucked her wand into her belt and stood. She adjusted her glasses and slung her bookbag over one shoulder. "I suppose I’ll walk up to the tower all on my lonesome…"

"At this hour? Certainly not," said Thierry airily. "You’ll get detention. I’ll walk you, I’m a prefect."

"So am I," Evander grumbled, but did not object further. Everyone knew about the pair’s clandestine relationship.

"I’ll go to the common room with you," said Yuriko, addressing Alyssa. "Did you finish that Potions essay?" She and Alyssa left the musty classroom, discussing their Potions homework. Evander, muttering under his breath, left a moment later in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room.

"I don’t think he likes being the odd one out very much," Tara observed, watching her cousin vanish from sight. She looked up at Thierry. "Ready to go?"

Thierry grabbed his bookbag and nodded. They started out down the corridor, surreptitiously holding hands.

"How do you fancy the odds on the game tomorrow?" Tara asked teasingly. It was one thing she loved to needle Thierry over- she was a Gryffindor Chaser and he was a Slytherin Beater.

Thierry raised an eyebrow. "It’ll last six months and Chang will catch the Snitch," he said easily.

"But Gryffindor will still win, eh?"

"I didn’t say that. You can infer whatever you wish."

"Loosen up, Thierry. You act like you’re seventy rather than seventeen."

"Is that bad?"

Tara rolled her eyes. "You’re terrible."

Thierry smiled slightly, Tara nearly didn’t catch it in the darkness. "Your conjuring skills are worse. Just how long has Professor Granger been tutoring you?" he asked, an incredulous note to his words.

"Two weeks. I know I’m dreadful at it. I am trying, though. I managed real flowers!"

"Dead flowers."

"So?"

"Argh!"

Thierry laughed, steering her around an absent-minded ghost drifting along the corridor. "You are terribly easy to tease, Tara."

"Oh, so it’s Tara now?" Tara replied. "Earlier I was just Weasley."

"Alyssa already has a book running on us, Tara. I’d like to avoid anything suggestive in her presence," Thierry replied logically. Tara huffed indignantly.

"That’s not the point."

"And what is?"

"I’ll remember in a minute."

They had reached the Fat Lady, who was apparently reading a book of poetry. She had large tears running down her cheeks and a damp handkerchief in her hand. Tara cleared her throat loudly. The Fat Lady looked up with a sniff.

"Password?" She tossed an indignant look at Thierry, who was still wearing his silver prefect badge.

"Oh, he’s all right," said Tara airily. "Ace of spades."

The portrait swung open accommodatingly. Tara pressed a quick kiss to Thierry’s lips and darted inside. The portrait shut behind her with a snap. The Fat Lady glowered at Thierry.

"I’m going," Thierry muttered, unable to work up a really good scowl due to unwelcome butterflies fluttering under his ribs.

* * *

Harry Potter awoke to the sound of crashing saucepans.

He groaned and rolled out of bed, tangled up in the sheets. He didn’t mind having breakfast ready when he woke up, but he wasn’t very keen on being wakened by breakfast sounds.

Ginny was standing barefooted in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips and lips pursed, watching several pans and a cookie sheet battle for supremacy. Evidently it was a cleaning spell gone wrong- she was soaked and had suds in her hair. The floor was damp.

"Having a bit of trouble?" Harry asked cheekily. Ginny glowered at him from under her wet hair.

"That’s the last time I trust one of George’s cleaning spells," she said, annoyed. "He said it was safe!"

"George claims everything is safe," Harry replied, reaching for the post lying on the counter. It was slightly damp but otherwise unscathed. Only one was addressed to him. He leaned against the counter and tore it open, ignoring the frying pan that flew above his head.

Harry was less than enthused about the letter he found inside.

Harry rolled his eyes to himself. Yuriko was nothing if not a Slytherin and had the uncanny knack for totally destroying his self-esteem with a few well chosen words.

Ginny managed to sort out the pans and get them cleaning themselves properly. She noticed Harry’s strained expression. "Who’s the letter from?"

"Yuriko."

Ginny’s face instantly closed down. She didn’t care at all for Harry’s eldest child, who she felt was a dreadful girl. She likewise abhorred Cho, who thankfully hadn’t been seen in London for over six years.

"What about?"

"Quidditch match today."

Ginny set about putting the breakfast on the table. "Are you going?"

"I doubt it. I have my own game to get to, remember?"

"Hmmm. Anything else?"

"Nothing noteworthy, no."

And so breakfast passed in silence.

* * *

"Think he’ll show?"

Yuriko shook her head, thick black hair falling into her eyes. "I doubt it. He never pays any attention to me, why should this be any different?" Despite her cool expression her words were twisted with bitterness.

Alyssa patted her friend’s shoulder awkwardly, feeling very grateful that her own parents—the highly unlikely pairing of Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot—were so supportive of her. "Why do you keep trying, then?"

Yuriko shut down completely. After that point Alyssa might as well have held a conversation with the wall. She sighed and adjusted her gloves to avoid looking at her friend.

They stepped out onto the pitch, into glaring sunshine. Thierry walked at the head of the group as Slytherin captain. The Gryffindor team came striding towards them, equally headed up by Liam Finnegan.

When the whistle blew and Yuriko flew out above the heads of the rest of the team, she immediately starting looking for the Snitch. But a nasty, insidious part of her mind always talked her into looking through the stands for a glint of silver glasses.

He wasn’t there, of course. He never was. Yuriko found it terribly ironic- the man who wanted nothing more his whole life than a real family abandons his at the first opportunity, running off with his best friend’s floozy of a sister. Yuriko had a deep loathing for Ginny Potter, but an even deeper one for her half-siblings.

She focused her mind down to a single point- find the Snitch. She soared above the game, ignoring Gryffindor Seeker Derrick Harrison, and searched.

She never noticed the black-haired man on the Astronomy Tower, clutching a well-worn pair of Omnioculars.

* * *

Cho tightened her grip on the crumpled letter, scowling fiercely. It was just like him, to administer backhanded compliments that stung more than they soothed. For a moment she wondered what had happened to him to twist him so, but quickly abandoned that train of thought. She read the letter again.

Of course, Harry would never admit that Yuriko was his personality clone. He would also never admit that Yuriko was rightly angry with him, and had been most of her life.

Cho smoothed out the letter and laid on the table, looking at it like it was a deadly serpent while she took a sip of her tea. She wondered what had possessed her to ever marry such a man. He might be England’s darling, but he was a selfish prat. He had always been such, but it had taken Cho a long time to realize it.

Cho left the dining room and wandered into the living room, selecting a photo album from the bookcase against the wall. She settled into a large, squashy leather armchair and began flipping through the album’s pages.

Their wedding. A ridiculously happy couple waved up at her, white flower petals drifting down like snow around them. Cho hardly recognized herself. Harry had been less careworn then and a scrawny creature, even at twenty.

She flipped through the images- their first wedding anniversary, Cho during her pregnancy, Yuriko as a small child. Yuriko had been a happy, playful girl. She had been—and still was—a smooth blending of her parent’s features. Harry’s eyes, Cho’s build, Harry’s cheekbones and Cho’s hair. Cho couldn’t help laughing at one image of Yuriko clutching a muddy frog, jumping up and down in glee and giggling.

After Yuriko’s third birthday, Harry vanished from the photographs. Yuriko became a dark, brooding creature. And Cho became more and more moody throughout the images.

The end product was Cho at that moment—thin and pale, stressed, always terribly lonely and too stubborn to admit it. Yuriko had become sharp and rapier-tongued, glaringly bright and a veritable Quidditch prodigy. Nothing of the happy, hyperactive child she had been lingered on.

Cho slammed the album shut, suddenly angry with herself. She didn’t know why she insisted on torturing herself this way, traipsing up and down Memory Lane as if expecting to find something happy. She never did, from Cedric’s death on.

She put away the album and instead began reading a Quidditch rulebook.