A/N: Welcome to my latest piece! I don't want to dig in too deep now so there's a longer note at the end. Enjoy!

-C

The sun was high over Diagon Alley as Mrs. Macmillan told Seraphina what time she was expected to meet the Macmillans back at the Leaky Cauldron for Flooing home. She nodded, barely listening. She enjoyed the warm August sun on her arms, the heat that clings to the skin like a film, as if the sun rested just over her shoulder and beads of sweat were just a perpetual moment away from forming across nose and cheeks. The instructions were the same every year, and she took no interest in them.

"Understood?"

"Yes, of course," she said softly, smiling. She was excited to go back to Hogwarts, to start her third year. The Macmillans even bought her new clothes for Hogsmeade trips. She knew she wouldn't run into Ginny today—she thought her mother would do their shopping during the Quidditch World Cup—but she might see Luna Lovegood. It was impossible to guess when Luna would do her shopping, as she was dependent on her rather scattered father's impenetrable schedule.

Seraphina stopped at the apothecary first and topped up a few essential ingredients, knowing she would go through them quickly. Despite Professor Snape's sneering over her work and sharp attention to any mistakes, she was one of his top students, and he couldn't deny that she had an easy talent for the subject, something Professor Lupin had told her she inherited from her mother.

After that, he'd clammed up about her parents, not answering even basic questions as if afraid the wrong question might spark him to say something he shouldn't, or perhaps the wrong answer might spark her to ask a question she shouldn't. It was terribly frustrating, but she'd been heartbroken when he quit at the end of the year, and contemplated attacking Professor Snape, her previous favorite teacher, in retaliation.

The trouble was, all she could think of was poisoning him, and he was probably the least-poisonable member of staff.

She went to buy more parchment and a few fresh ink wells and ran right into a very familiar grey suit.

"Oh," she said, startled as she looked up at the kind, lined, scarred face of Professor Lupin. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I should have been more careful."

"It's quite alright, Sera," he said earnestly, smiling easily at her. "School shopping?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not your teacher anymore. You don't have to call me sir."

She felt tears in the corners of her eyes as she nodded. Ernie would tease her for crying over something there was nothing she could do anything about, but she still felt terribly sad about it.

"You know," he said with a bright grin, "it might only have been a matter of weeks since I left the school, but you are certainly blossoming into a beautiful young woman, just like—"

His teeth clicked tight around the unspoken words, but she knew what he'd almost said. In a sudden rush of excitement and possibility, she realized what it meant that he was no longer her professor. There were things he couldn't say when he was beholden to Professor Dumbledore, but maybe now….

"Sir," she said eagerly.

"Please, call me Remus," he answered wearily, warily.

"Yes, Remus," she repeated, the word feeling wrong on her tongue. "I…I know you knew my mother, and I was wondering—"

"Stop," he said sharply, but not unkind. "I know precisely what you want to ask me, Sera, and you have to know that I can't tell you more than you already know."

"My mother," she said urgently, avoiding the topic she really wanted to ask. "You were close to her?"

"In a way," he said slowly. "We were friends. It is difficult to express the nuances."

"Did she…did you know about me?"

His eyes were so kind, but she hated that they filled with pity. He shook his head slowly, and she felt her shoulders slacken.

"And…my father?" she asked raising her eyebrows. "Will he…. Was he someone you knew, too? A friend?"

The hope was rising in her chest the longer he stared back at her. He wanted to tell her, and she knew he knew everything she didn't. He was the only one except Dumbledore who hadn't just said her father was dead and expected it left at that. Except Dumbledore carefully never said her father was dead, just that he was gone and to meet him was impossible. Lupin also bit his tongue before carefully dancing around information about her father's mortal state.

"Sera, if you want information," he said, too cautious, "you really need to talk to Professor Dumbledore about it. It's not my place. You must understand that."

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes of tears. As Ernie frequently told her, she was no longer a child. There was no reason for her to keep crying like this all the time. Of course, she didn't cry all the time, but she had lately because bringing Professor Lupin into her life reminded her of all her unanswered questions and gave her someone who would occasionally, cautiously tell her about life when he was young at Hogwarts, dancing around stories of her mother.

"I just want to know if he's dead or alive," she said, horrified at how pathetic she sounded. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his pity again. His sigh seemed to fill her ears, and he wrapped his empty arm around her. He smelled of parchment and chocolate, and she gripped at his robes, feeling their thin knap and carefully biting her lip.

"I wish I could answer all your questions," he said in a thick voice. "I really, really do. But I do urge to you ask Professor Dumbledore again. Circumstances have changed significantly since you started at Hogwarts, and he may be more willing to give you those answers."

She wished she could press him more, but she had to do her shopping, and she was certain he had places to be, so she thanked him and said she would. She didn't expect differences in how Professor Dumbledore answered her questions, but she knew she would have to try. He said goodbye, but she only murmured her answer before continuing with her shopping.

Seraphina must have looked pale as she returned to meet the Macmillans, because Ernie's mother asked if she was feeling well.

"Just a bit hungry," she said, pulling a few strands of pale hair off her shoulder. "I think I didn't have enough at breakfast."

Ernie rolled his eyes and his mother narrowed hers, but the excuse was credible enough that neither said a word, and they Flooed home on time. Seraphina had a quick snack, foisted on her by a well-meaning Mrs. Macmillan, before she hurried up to her bedroom, closing and locking the door.

Much of her day was her own, for packing for the Cup and for whatever else she chose. She had her trunk open for her school packing and her rucksack open for the Cup. She pulled clothes out of her dresser to toss in each, and when she pulled a shirt out for the match, the photo album slipped to the front of the drawer. Seraphina sighed, lifting it out of its hiding place with trembling hands.

Professor Lupin had given her the album and more than half the photographs, to supplement the dozen prints she had from Professor Dumbledore, left by her mother.

She slipped to the floor, opening to the first page, running her finger along a beautiful snapshot of an attractive teenage girl giggling, lazing in the grass. It was probably taken at Hogwarts, and the girl's blonde hair flickered about her face in a gentle breeze.

In the handwriting from Seraphina's eleven-year-old self, she had written "Cressida Fawley, 1960-1981" on the back of the photograph. Her mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. Seraphina flipped through pages and pages of her mother with or without others, at school and at parties. Near the back there was what appeared to be a very fancy party with smiling, attractive people all over it. Professor Lupin only gave her two photographs from that event; the other four were from the original collection.

She quickly stuffed a few final things into her rucksack before curling up with the photo album, running her teeth along her lower lip and trying to imagine what sort of man her father was, based on difference between her mother and herself. For one, her mother was far too beautiful, so she supposed her father might be a bit plain, but perhaps very kind or funny or smart. Her mother's eyes were a pale brown, as several people had told her and some of the photographs mildly showed, so she must have inherited her gray eyes from her father. Her mother had smoother cheekbones, rounder fingers, so Seraphina's sharper cheekbones and graceful fingers were probably from him as well.

It was difficult to decide who in the pictures might be her father, if he was there at all. Many of the photographs were black-and-white, and the few that weren't held two men who might have gray eyes. Of those, one was a great deal older than her mother, and the other was far too attractive to be related to Seraphina. Many males had thin fingers and several had sharp, high cheekbones. She could find reasons for each why the men couldn't possibly be her father, and then she would question how she could have a whole album full of photographs and not one included her father.

This seemed implausible, and she would begin the examination all over again.

Seraphina only ended this ritual when she was called to dinner, where she ate in silence and nodded in agreement with all the information Mr. Macmillan dispensed about plans for going to the Quidditch World Cup in the morning. He'd covered it all at breakfast, so she barely listened, thinking of how warm and wonderful Professor Lupin smelled when he tried to comfort her. When she was dismissed from the table, she went directly to bed. She would wake early, and she wanted to get plenty of sleep, and she knew it would be silly to tread the same ground.

To keep from being found out at the Cup, she slipped the album to the bottom of her trunk so she wouldn't be tempted to fish it out come morning, and she turned out the lights.

Seraphina slipped into a familiar dream, a distortion of a memory. She was standing in the Headmaster's office. He asked to see her the first week of classes, after she'd asked several teachers who had mentioned her mother or called her by her mother's name whether they knew about her father. Professor McGonagall had given her a look so full of pity and sadness, it had reduced Seraphina to tears.

"Please, sit, Miss Fawley. Do you go by Seraphina?"

"Sera," she said, rubbing the back of her neck before she sat. He blinked at this gesture, but said nothing. She looked up at him, bolder than she felt.

"You are the very image of your mother, Sera."

She didn't correct him. In the dream, she kept looking at him, but in real life she'd looked down at her hands.

"And my father?" she asked. "Am I anything like him?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, and she could feel the room tighten, contracting around them, embodying his nerves at the gesture.

"I imagine we all take after both parents, in our little ways," he said evasively.

"How did he die?"

"It is enough to know he is gone."

"No, it isn't," she whispered, half-hoping he wouldn't hear her. "Not for me."

She asked him if he was gone or dead and Dumbledore would not answer. He only said that Seraphina should be grateful for the parenting she'd had, and if she should ever require health information or other such things, it would be provided.

She woke to Ernie sitting on the edge of her bed, gently shaking her shoulders. She groaned, trying to roll over. Ernie stopped her.

"You were doing it again," he said frowning. "You need to get up for the match, remember?" Seraphina groaned. "Sera, Mum and Dad said he's dead. Why can't you just accept that?"

She shook her head. She couldn't accept it because no one would say what happened or who he was. Unless she knew how he died, she wouldn't believe he was dead. It just couldn't be processed.

"They wouldn't lie."

"These are the people who told you Father Christmas steals back your presents if you misbehave mid-year," she said dully.

"So they don't have a flawless track record," he said with a snort. "I bet even Dumbledore doesn't have a flawless track record. Hurry and dress. We want to keep to schedule."

He sounded condescending, but he did give her a tender kiss to the top of the head before sweeping out of the room, leaving her alone.

She pulled on a pair of jeans—a rare treat, dressing Muggle—and a thin, snug t-shirt she'd found in a pale lavender. She tugged on a deep gray pullover and smoothed her hair into a quick plait. She double-checked her rucksack before latching it and hurrying downstairs for breakfast.

They ate swiftly, and Seraphina grabbed a piece of toast to go. They had their own personal Portkey, not having to meet up with other families. She didn't want to think what Mr. Macmillan paid for such a thing, but she didn't argue as they gathered around the Portkey a full ten minutes before it's appointed time—a hairbrush with a broken handle. They all touched it, and waited.

"You read the tent instructions?" Mr. Macmillan asked Ernie, who nodded. "And you read those recipes?"

"I still don't know why we have to cook over a fire," Mrs. Macmillan said bitterly.

"I read them," Seraphina whispered. "And I learned how to use the matches. I can cook, if you'd like."

He said no, Mrs. Macmillan would, but Seraphina knew it would fall on her shoulders in the end. Muggle cooking was too much like Potions, and Mrs. Macmillan had no head for such things.

Mr. Macmillan had practiced counting Muggle money, and when they finally did arrive at the campsite, when the Ministry wizards directed them to the Roberts family for check-in, Mr. Macmillan counted out the Muggle tender easily, although Seraphina got the sense from the way Mr. Roberts was looking about, plenty of people had failed at passing as simple Muggles, and Mr. Roberts was too clever for the Obliviators.

They found their campsite, near the woods, and Ernie made quick—if a bit inefficient—work of the tent while Seraphina surreptitiously helped build the fire to spare her guardian's pride.

"I'll need water to make anything, anyway," Mrs. Macmillan said as the males toured the tent to take stock of it. "Did you see a spigot on the map?"

"Yes," Seraphina said. "Do we have pans or pots or something I can collect it in?"

"D'you want to take Ernie with you?" Mrs. Macmillan said with concern. "I imagine it gets heavy when it's full of water."

"I'm stronger than I look," she said with a shrug, scooping up the pan gestured to and glancing at the map once more to orient herself.

"Sera."

Seraphina waved off her guardian's concerns and she said she would be back soon, trudging along the walkways, admiring the tents and obvious internationality of the wizards and witches wandering about. There were small children with their parents and siblings, pretty young women and their pretty young men, exotic persons parading about in garb that certainly wouldn't pass as Muggle. Little wonder the Obliviators were working so hard, she mused as she passed a tent with a peacock. They had their work cut out for them with this lot.

"Hey there, beautiful," a dodgy older wizard (in robes, she thought with derision). "Lost?"

He was probably in his forties, maybe early fifties, and the sole on his left shoe was coming apart from the rest. Seraphina fought the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to rile him and cause a scene. She preferred watching to being watched.

"No," she said firmly, continuing her walk, but he kept step with her.

"I'm sure you are," he said, grinning as he followed her toward the spigot. She frowned at the length of the line, but she knew the mass of people would bring someone to her aid if this man insisted on stupidity. "Young, beautiful, and all alone? It's impossible."

If only she were alone, she thought, but she did not answer, queuing and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She would re-plait after lunch, she thought.

He continued to chat her up and she continued to ignore him. Any fifty-year-old man who was trying to chat up a thirteen-year-old child was either blind drunk, or had an incredibly sad life. After about half the queue had gone their turn, a passing man—likely in his thirties, she guessed—with a Ministry pin for identification spotted her discomfort and asked the other wizard to move along. When he became belligerent, the Ministry wizard asked if she was being bothered she said yes, she was, and he quickly and quietly did a Confundus Charm to get the man to go quietly to an area where he could be dealt with out of sight of Muggles. The Ministry wizard touched the brim of his hat and walked away with the confused, bumbling pervert.

"Disgraceful behavior," a matronly lady said, well behind Seraphina in the queue. "She must be barely Hogwarts age. I hope they treat him most sternly. She could be his daughter!"

"She might be," the gentleman with her said with a smirk. "They didn't ask."

Again, Seraphina fought the urge to roll her eyes, and she pulled her pullover tighter about her body, shuffling forward in the queue. Something else would draw their attention soon enough, and they would stop looking at her, but her skin crawled and her throat tightened in the meantime.

A/N: Here's the starter notes on this story, just so everyone knows what they're getting into. This story spans from the start of the fourth book to the end of the seventh, and I'm in planning processes for a sequel. It is very heavily Harry/OC, changes the details of the war, and changes tone with the story as things go darker. Sera is pretty wistful and hopeful here, but she gets battered down by the war like the rest of them. Chapters will mostly fluctuate between Harry's POV and Sera's POV, with a few small segments in other viewpoints, like Sirius or Snape.

Each chapter will contain a review prompt, just in case you want to support this story with your review but aren't quite sure what to say. I also encourage reader questions, and will try to answer at least one per post, as they come in. I might not always be up-to-date on reading through questions, but I'll do my best.

If you're interested in other stories I've got running, I'll try to include a new feature of the A/N: active stories and their regularity. I'll show at the bottom of this one so you see what I mean.

I'll try to update weekly, but I might miss. They will be posted at some point on Saturday by my clock (might be Friday or Sunday by yours, depending the time of day I post), so if you look Sunday evening or Monday each week, there will hopefully be a chapter. If I can't do Saturday, I'll try to post Sunday. I will avoid skipping a full week.

Review Prompt: If you were to guess now, what do you think Sera's story of her parents is? There's some details that are certainly pretty obvious, but it would be interesting to see what y'all fill in.

Active Stories:

Craving Comfort—Active

Uncontrollable Variable—Regular (Weekly)

Cheers!

C