Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10818846.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      James_Sirius_Potter/Rose_Weasley
  Character:
      Rose_Weasley, James_Sirius_Potter, Albus_Severus_Potter, Hermione
      Granger, Ron_Weasley, Lily_Luna_Potter, Harry_Potter, Ginny_Weasley,
      Molly_Weasley, George_Weasley, Fred_Weasley_II, Louis_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      How_I_Live_Now_(2013), World_War_III, WIZARD_STYLE, Cousin_Incest, A
      little_smutty, potentially_character_death_will_update_the_archive
      warnings, heavily_inspired_by_the_movie, but_also_me_mucking_about_in
      21st_century_magical_geopolitical_intrigue
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-04 Chapters: 1/? Words: 9993
****** solecism ******
by entropyalwaysincreases
Summary
     “And what about you?” Rose said, turning on her father. “Are you
     abandoning us as well?”
     Ron refused to meet her eyes. “I still have the American deal.
     And…then I’m joining your mother.”
     Rose didn’t say anything, just turned on her heel and slid into the
     backseat next to James.
     “Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” she announced loudly, pulling
     the door shut behind her. There was an instant uproar from the others
     and her mother looked miserable as she slid into the passenger seat.
     James didn’t say anything, just brushed her fingertips with his own,
     as if he would very much like to take her hand but wasn’t sure if
     she’d allow it. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed.
     And they sat in their own little world the whole wretched ride home.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
part i.
 
The Potters returned suddenly from their Mediterranean vacation.
“I think there was a riot in the next town over from us, but Dad got an owl and
we had to come home right away. Muggles were involved somehow? Dad won’t tell
us…” Albus said in an undertone to Rose in the kitchen of their grandmother’s
home. Rose’s parents, too, had been reluctant to share information.
“International incident” was all she’d been able to get from them before she
flooed to the Burrow.
“When do they tell us anything?” Rose responded with a shrug. “Where’s James
anyway?” She’d seen Lily in the garden through the window, but James was
elusive.
Albus shrugged back. “He’s been in a strop since before we went on vacation…
hell if I know why…”
They spent the day lounging by the pond in the back of the house. “We ought to
clean this out,” Rose suggested, dipping her toes lazily into the murky water.
“Then we could swim.”
“You go right ahead….” Albus tipped his face back to catch the sun. “Ahh, the
monster emerges.” He shot an upside-down grin at his scowling brother, who
stood with his arms crossed near the kitchen door.
“Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” he said. “I thought you’d like to
know.” He turned back inside without acknowledging Rose. She and Albus
exchanged raised eyebrows and heaved themselves to their feet.
“If they’re going to Switzerland…”
“Then it’s serious.” Rose finished for him. What could possibly be so bad it
was Switzerland-worthy? A massive breach of the International Statute of
Secrecy, or the return of Voldemort … Rose had been raised on war stories, had
grown up hearing about international disputes and foreign policy. No one had
ever dashed off to Switzerland before. They followed James into the house, but
were intercepted by their grandmother, who swept them both into a crushing hug.
“Well, I think James already told you, but Harry and Ginny are going to
Switzerland for a bit, and in the meantime, Albus and Lily and James will be
staying here.” She smiled widely at them. “And Rose, you and Hugo are welcome
to stay here too… I daresay your mother will be rather busy as well.”
“What’s going on?” Rose asked quickly.
“Nothing to worry about… there’s just been an, ah, incident in Italy that the
International Confederation of Wizards wants to consult Harry about… they think
it might be related to some other things they’ve been facing lately.”
“What other things?”
“Never you mind… point is, they’re being sorted out, and you really ought to be
concerned about the fun you’ve missed in Italy! I know it’s not as fun here as
on the Continent, Albus, but we’ll try our best to make it up to you, won’t we,
Rose?”
It was decided that Rose and Hugo would also stay the night, as Hermione owled
to say she’d be working late, and Ron was consulting about something-or-other
with an American store chain. Rose grumbled a bit about being quite old enough
to stay at home by herself, but secretly she was pleased to have some company
when everything was so uncertain. The divvying-up of rooms was a battle in
itself, but it was soon set so that James had Ginny’s old room (as was his
custom, and no one was about to argue with him in his current surly state),
Lily in Percy’s old room, Albus and Hugo in the twin’s old room, and Rose in
the attic. The old Chudley Cannons posters were faded and dusty, but their soft
orange glow and gently moving figures were comforting.
Tonight, though, their comfort was lacking. Thoughts raced in her head,
tumbling over themselves and each other. Switzerland… what’s so bad they’d have
to go to Switzerland? Incident…International Incident. Voldemort. World War
III… what’s so bad they’d have to go to Switzerland? And James…It’s my fault…
all my fault…
She woke suddenly as flashes of green exploded behind her eyelids. She gasped
for breath and glanced around the room, certain that a figure was about to
emerge from the shadowy corners. Her vision swayed as she threw back the
blankets and reached for the door handle. Before she knew it she was on the
second floor landing, in front of a large poster of Gwenog Jones.
“James?” She pushed open the door, biting her lip. He’d be mad at her for
waking him… even madder than he was now… she ought to leave…
“Rose?” He sat up slowly, gazing blearily at her. “Wassamatter?”
“I—I’m…” Tears pricked her eyes, and she tried to keep the waver out of her
voice. “I’m sorry, ok? I’m so sorry…”
She couldn’t see his face in the dim light, but after a slight pause, he lifted
the blankets so there was a spot for her on the pillow next to him. “Keep me
company? I can’t sleep.”
She smiled sadly and slid in next to him. He threw a heavy and comforting arm
around her waist, tugging her close like she was a teddy bear. They used to do
this all the time, back before Hogwarts, when they didn’t realize that just
because they were the two oldest didn’t mean they’d be in the same grade, and
the ten months between James and Rose seemed much less significant than the
nine between Rose and Albus. She sighed contentedly and nestled into his
pillow; he nuzzled his face in her hair.
The bed was empty when she woke, and she made her way to the kitchen to find
Albus there alone. He handed her a plate of eggs and bacon and shoved a stack
of toast at her from across the table.
“Where is everybody?” she wondered aloud as she spread jam on a piece of bread.
“Grandmum went to Diagon Alley, Lily’s flooed to her friend’s house for the
day, your dad picked Hugo up this morning to do something, and James could be
absolutely anywhere.”
The last bit was certainly true. James had passed his apparition test at the
end of March and had been jetting off to random places ever since. You should
make a list , Rose had told him, make a list of places and check them off one
by one.
Come with me? he’d replied.
Of course.
“Rose?”
“Hmm?”
“I was just asking what you wanted to do today.”
Rose grinned. “We’re going to build ourselves a swimming pool.”
It was muddy work, and the sun was blistering; Rose was starting to develop a
sunburn on the back of her neck. She and Albus stood knee deep in murky pond
water, shifting stones and pulling water weeds out from the muck.
“It’s fed by this little stream here, do you see?” She wiped her forehead and
pointed. “If we can clear it out a bit and open the downstream part, the water
will be clearer.”
Albus shook his head at her. “Why did I agree to this?”
They didn’t accomplish much the first day, but Rose at least remained
optimistic and on the second day they recruited Lily and Hugo from their
various activities. Lily had the clever idea of covering the bottom with smooth
stones so the mud would settle and they spent a lot of time diving to make sure
the coverage was even. Rose stubbed her toe on a misshapen rock and sat fuming
in the weeds for an hour.
“If only we could smooth these out with magic,” she mused, examining a large
stone closely. “It would be so easy.”
“Maybe we could ask Grandmum,” Hugo suggested, dropping his stone so it
splashed water on Lily, who shrieked at him.
“I think she’s busy,” intoned Al. “Maybe James? But he’d say no just to spite
us…”
“Where is James?” Rose asked casually. Al just rolled his eyes.
“Who knows?”
He still wasn’t home for a dinner of meatballs and salad, which Grandmum
insisted they eat outside.
“It’s so nice out,” she sighed in the evening dusk. “Makes me want to conjure
some fairies, for the lighting. Your granddad used to do it, on special
occasions…”
Lily clucked sympathetically. They progressed to dessert—lavender ice cream—and
just as Rose considered licking her bowl, James hurried out from the kitchen.
He threw a paper down on the table in front of them, and Rose and Albus
scrambled to see in the dim light.
“Attack in the… Ballroom? I can’t make it out, what does it say? Incident may
be related to…what? Related to what? Oh, let’s go in the kitchen, I can’t see
anything.”
Attack in the Balkans. Incident May be Related to Italian Massacre Earlier this
Week.
“It’s an international group, they think,” said James, who had evidently
already read the article. He spread out the newspaper on the kitchen table.
“Possible Muggle ties, which is really bad if you knew what the Muggles were
capable of…They don’t know how deep it goes, or what they want.”
“So this is why Dad’s in Switzerland?” Lily asked, standing on tip-toes to see
the article. “What does he have to do with it? He’s not an expert on Eastern
European groups…”
“Probably gives them comfort, having the great Harry Potter with them and all,
makes them think they stand a chance. And he’ll have the English perspective,
that’s something…”
“Do you think England will get involved?” Rose paused. “Do you think there’ll
be an attack here?”
“Who knows?” James caught her eye and then looked away quickly. Rose suddenly
remembered that they hadn’t spoken since she climbed into his bed, and not even
really then. She bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.
“I need to send an owl,” Grandmum said, hand at her heart. She glanced
nervously at her clock, but no one pointed at Mortal Danger just yet. “Or maybe
three. In the meantime,” she looked pointedly at James, “you are all staying
here. No apparating away again until we know what’s going on.”
James opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it and resigned himself
to poking through the leftovers on the stove. The kitchen suddenly had a sticky
tension to it, as if anyone moved a meteorite might crash through the door.
Lily piped up in a strained voice, “Anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?” There
was a general murmur of assent and they set up around the scrubbed wooden
table, and even James joined in.
If thoughts had raced on the first night of her stay, it was nothing to how she
felt now.  Attack in the Balkans…might be connected. International
incident…what’s so bad they have to go to Switzerland? Was this it, was there
more? Rose stared at the poster on the ceiling above her bed as Galvin Gudgeon
flew in and out of the frame, waving at her each time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Rose?” There was a whisper and a figure in Hollyhead Harpie boxers stood in
her doorway. “Rose? I’m sorry too.” And then he was gone and in the morning she
was half-convinced that she had dreamed it.
 
The week that followed was filled with a sort of tense haziness. Rose spent the
mornings scouring the newspaper and the afternoons in a restless string of
activities that never culminated in anything. It wasn’t until Albus suggested
they continue to work on their pool that she was able to focus. She threw
herself into the physical labor and gave orders with dictatorial authority. The
others fell into line quickly, also eager for something to do, and she took
comfort in the simulacrum of order that she had created.
Confined to the house, James avoided their little project for as long as he
could, but soon took to loitering around the edges of the garden while they
worked.
“If you’re going to just stand there,” Rose said to him finally, “you might as
well make yourself useful.”
He scowled at her but complied, peeling off his socks and shoes and jumping in.
“No, no,” Rose said brightly. “Your job is to smooth down these stones so we
can use them for the bottom.” She pointed at a pile of misshapen rocks they had
hauled out of the pond. “Make them flat, like this, see?”
He appealed to the others silently, but they just shook their heads and
returned to their work; Rose was in charge here. With a huff, he pulled out his
wand.
They progressed more quickly now, and Rose was so tired by the end of the day
that she didn’t have the energy to think at night. Her sleep was sound, and if
James visited her again, she didn’t know.
The weeds were gone, the water was nearly clear, and Lily, Hugo, and Albus were
ready to celebrate. Rose yelled at their retreating backs “We have plenty more
to do!” but the lure of lemonade was too great and Rose’s power was vanquished
for the afternoon.
Scowling almost as hard as James, she heaved another rock to their discard
pile, and sliced her thumb on the rough surface.
“Damn!” She held it aloft and tried not to think of the bacteria content of
pond water.
“What’s wrong?” James was up to his chest in the deeper end of the pool trying
to rearrange some smoothed stones with his feet.
“Cut myself. It’s no matter…”
“Let me see.” He made his way over and caught her hand, examining the cut. Then
brought her thumb up to his mouth.
She gaped at him as he sucked her cut clean. He caught her eye when he pulled
her digit from his lips, and for a moment they stared at each other, her hand
still firmly in his.
“Oi!” Albus called from across the lawn. “D’you want lemonade or not?”
“Uhh, I—yes, I do!” Rose scrambled out of the pool and James followed her, his
bare chest dripping. Al greeted them with lemonades in tall glasses, and his
eyes darted between the pair of them. Rose sometimes wondered if Albus was more
astute than she gave him credit for.
 
There was an owl from Ginny the next morning, and they crowded around to read
it.
“Your father’s been very busy, blah, blah, blah , in diplomatic meetings,
consulting with other Auror organizations… I’ve been meeting with the
International Association of Quidditch and various national teams to discuss
security, as there is a concern the groups in question may attack Quidditch
games… Leave it to Mum to make this about Quidditch. Due to the unknown nature
of the situation, we’ll be gone at least another week, but may be longer. I’ll
try to Floo soon.Blimey, they don’t even know when they’ll be home…”
Albus snatched the letter from James’ grasp and scanned it so quickly that his
eyes appeared blurred. Lily sank into an armchair and cradled her face in her
hands. Rose felt bad for them; at least she had seen her parents recently,
although her mother was still working long hours. Ron had come around for
dinner once, though, and agreed that it was best for everyone if they stayed
here.
“We ought to go do something fun,” Rose announced. The rest looked at her.
“I’m not building another swimming pool,” Albus said flatly.
“No, not like that… I meant, we could go to Diagon Alley, or into Ottery St.
Catchpole, or go flying…”
“What if we flew to Ottery St. Catchpole,” Hugo suggested with a gleam in his
eye.
“No,” said Lily.
In the end (and due in no small part to Grandmum’s flat refusal to let them go
anywhere in the Wizarding world unaccompanied) they walked to the village with
a small purse of Muggle money. They got some pointed glances as they walked
down the small main street; Lily, Hugo, and Rose’s hair marked them clearly as
part of the odd Weasley clan that lived over the hill. Rose quite liked Muggles
and their strange knick-knacks. Her mother had made an effort to incorporate
Muggle things into their lives, but Rose’s other grandparents lived just
outside Sydney, so there wasn’t much chance to see everything firsthand.
They stopped in the paper shop and bought sheets of stamps; Lily and Hugo made
a game of sticking them on each other’s faces. Rose shot a placating smile at
the shopkeeper, who merely looked on, bemused. Next, the sweet shop, with Mars
bars and Malteses and a sad lack of Cauldron Cakes. There was a small market
with over laden produce stands and shelves of tinned meals and coolers of
frozen foods. They bought a bag of peaches and sat to eat them in the town
square.
“You don’t think there’d be an attack here, do you?” Lily asked through her
peach, her cheeks shiny with juice.
Albus shrugged. “There’s been attacks before.”
“Yes, but not since…” she gave a significant look.
“What? There can only be one dark wizard ever? There isn’t exactly much keeping
them out…our lot can move awfully fast…”
“And if there are Muggles involved… we really ought to be worried,” Rose chimed
in.
“Muggles? Why should we worry about them?” Hugo craned his neck to look at
Rose.
“Muggles have terrible weapons, too, and there are so many of them, and they’re
so easily compelled… I’d say Muggles are worth worrying about.”
“Do you think Muggles are more dangerous than Wizards?” Albus frowned at her.
“Not individually, but some of the things I was reading about—massive
destruction, and targeted diseases—usually Wizards have to direct curses
themselves. These can be set off from far away.”
“Rose is right,” James sighed. “If Muggles are involved, we’re fucked.”
They sat in silence and soon decided to start walking back to the Burrow. So
much for having a bit of fun. Maybe tomorrow, if Ron could get away, or if
Grandmum felt like taking them somewhere. It was a terrible feeling, being
trapped and anxious. Even being at Hogwarts felt more like being in the thick
of things. Rose fell to the back of the group next to James, who was stuck
carrying the rest of the peaches. Her mouth felt sticky and she asked him to
conjure her a handkerchief. He glanced around then discreetly waved his wand.
It was a slightly mottled-looking thing, but a quick aguamenti and it was more
than effective.
“Thanks.” She considering handing it back to him, but decided against it. “Did…
do you really think Muggles are that dangerous?”
He sighed. “You’ve read the same things I have, Rose. Dad gets reports… he
doesn’t tell us much, but I can tell it’s bad.”
She sighed too. “Yeah. It’s just scary to think about, is all.” She looked
sideways at him. They were a few hundred paces behind the other three, who
seemed to have resumed the stamp game. He stared straight ahead, and she
allowed herself to examine his profile. His nose was straight, his hair
reddish-brown, and his eyes were a dark, pure blue. It’d been a sort of running
joke in their family, where James’ eyes had come from. In every other respect,
he was a perfect mix of his parents—Ginny’s freckles, Harry’s chin. But his
eyes, they were an anomaly.
The silence was painful. For as long as she could remember, theirs has been a
relationship of loud laughter and boastful stories and talking over one another
to be heard. This is all your fault, part of her wanted to tell him, had
already told him. But the other bit, which was a bit more objective, a bit more
fair, a bit more mind-bogglingly mad, realized that he only voiced it, and that
she had a hand in it too.
They did end up flying when they get back—James apparated home to pick up
everyone’s broomsticks—and it was an elating sensation, to be up in the air and
free.
“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Albus yelled over the wind. But Rose thought
she knew—it didn’t seem right, when they first heard. They’d needed to be
grounded and tired and busy. Now it had sunk it, and they needed an escape.
They played two-a-side with Hugo as Keeper, and Rose found herself on Albus’
team, tossing an old Quaffle back and forth among the orchard trees. She looped
James and he came back with a vengeance, nearly toppling her off her broom;
Lily caught the Quaffle and scored, much to Hugo’s chagrin.
“Rose, stop dropping the ball,” he ordered.
“What? I’m not on your team! If she hadn’t gotten it from me, I would have
scored on you!”
But Hugo only shook his head. “Lily’s better than you.”
The game ended in a huff and they retreated indoors for a game of Gobstones.
Rose stalled in going to bed, certain she’d be overcome with nightmares.
Finally around one o’clock she abandoned the cat and made her way up the
rickety staircase. On the second landing, a door was slightly ajar, and she
pushed it open gently. James sat in bed, reading by the soft light of his wand.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” He paused. “Can’t sleep?” She shook her head. “Me neither.”
It shouldn’t feel routine, climbing under the covers with him, but Rose found
herself wishing it was her routine, that every night could hold this comfort.
He extinguished his wand and wrapped his arm around her as before. In the dark,
Rose felt emboldened, and held up her palm to him. For a moment he didn’t know
what to do with it, until he remembered the games they used to play. He caught
her hand and traced delicate figures on her skin with his fingertips, curly-q’s
and letters and stars on her palm and her fingers and her wrist. He moved up
her arm and dragged his thumbnail over her shoulder. She shivered.
“It didn’t mean anything you know,” he whispered into her hair. “I only did it
to hurt you. Because it felt like you were trying to hurt me.”
“I was,” Rose said to the wall, “trying to hurt you.”
“But why?”
She didn’t respond, because he knew why. He heaved a sigh and kissed the back
of her head, just behind her ear, dangerously close to her neck. She didn’t try
to stop him.
 
She was woken by a gentle shaking and she opened her eyes slowly to see her
mother crouched in front of her.
“Mum?”
“Yes, darling... I just got off work, thought I might take you to do something
today.” She smiled brightly, but there was something strained in her
expression, and Rose realized that James still had his arm wrapped around her,
and that he was shirtless. “Erhm… why are you in here?”
“Oh,” said Rose, moving James’ arm off her gently. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Hermione nodded understandingly and there was a pause while Rose extricated
herself more completely. Rose kept her face carefully blank; she’d always been
good at hiding things, had a bit of a knack for it really. But she felt her
mother’s gaze on her as she left the room, noticed the casual glances at James’
bare back.
Her father sat at the kitchen table with a full breakfast plate in front of
him. He greeted her boisterously, and she was genuinely pleased to see him.
“Both of you?” she asked while she hugged him. “I thought you were tied up with
some American deal.”
“Well, it is a Sunday, Rosie,” he admonished her with a grin. “Can’t expect me
to work all weekend.”
The rest trickled in, and Rose avoided looking at James as he stumbled to the
breakfast table—still shirtless—and began pulling breakfast foods toward him
without discernment. His grandmother didn’t allow him such a free pass.
“I don’t know what your parents allow you to get away with at their house,
James, but I always made my children show up fully dressedto the breakfast
table.”
“She’s right,” Ron said through a mouth full of kipper, pointing his fork
knowingly at James. “We were held to the utmost standards of decorum.”
They laughed and Rose felt almost normal for a few minutes as she munched her
toast. She turned to her mother, who was half-way through her fifth cup of tea,
and smiled.
“I missed you.”
Hermione returned the smile, though it was a little sad, and reached out for
Rose’s hand. There were wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, dark shadows
beneath her eyes; she had never looked so old.
They went to the seaside, the whole lot of them. Grandmum with an enormous
floppy hat and a magicked picnic basket, Hugo with four towels under each arm,
and Lily in a skimpy bathing suit that Al kept frowning at. They set up camp
out of sight of the Muggle boardwalk, spread blankets and umbrellas, and
cracked iced bottles of butterbeer. Somehow Louis and Fred caught wind of it
and showed up with a covert bag of fireworks. James followed them into the
surf, looking happier than he had in weeks, and Rose fought to keep down the
little thrill of jealousy that rose in her throat as she watched them. Hermione
sighed. “I’m too tired to tell them off.”
“Nevermind that,” said Ron impatiently, leaning forward to get a better look at
the fireworks. “Are those ours? I’ve never seen—I’ll have to ask them how they
made…” He trailed away into mutters.
There was a sudden roaring sound from overhead, and Rose turned her head so
fast she cricked her neck. Nine Muggle aeroplanes zipped by in tight formation
out over the sea. It was the loudest thing Rose had ever heard. She turned
quickly to face her mother, who was looking in the direction of the departed
aeroplanes with her hand up to shield her face from the sun. Her mouth was set
in a thin line.
“What were those things?” Rose demanded.
“Fighter jets,” Hermione replied shortly. She began rummaging around in the
picnic basket and Rose saw her discreetly lay her wand on her towel. The boys
ran in from the water.
“Where’s Lily?” James asked distractedly. “What were those? Where’s Al?” But
they were soon spotted running in from the direction of the boardwalk, casting
worried looks over the ocean.
“Everyone calm down,” Hermione raised a hand to silence the nervous chatter.
“There isn’t any danger. Those were part of British Muggle military
preparations. Nothing to worry about.”
“Military preparations?” Rose repeated. “So the Muggles are involved then.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “It was decided that we inform the Muggle
government of the situation and allow them to prepare as they see fit. We have
a task force that’s collaborating with them.”
Rose glanced at James, who had his hand firmly on Lily’s shoulder as if the
jets might come back and sweep her away. He looked up and caught her eye; her
own emotions were mirrored in his face—wild, blank fear, and a sort of nascent
determination. What do we do? Action was unattainable, but doing nothing was a
sheer impossibility.
The sea seemed to have lost its sparkle and everyone was in a somber mood as
they packed to go back to the Burrow. Rose fell back near her parents while the
rest loaded into the car (magically expanded to accommodate everyone). “This
wasn’t how I wanted it to go,” Hermione was saying in an undertone to Ron, who
had a grim expression on his face. He shrugged.
“You can’t keep everything from them…they read the newspapers, they’ll figure
it out eventually. I just wish Harry was coming back… James looks like he’s
about to crack.”
“And Rose too, I wish--” Hermione looked up and saw Rose dawdling. “Can we help
you with something?”
“Er—are we coming home tonight?”
Rose knew the answer from the way her mother’s face fell and the way her father
looked at his feet while he scuffed the sandy grass. “I’m sorry dear, but I’ve
a portkey scheduled for early tomorrow and—“
“A portkey,” Rose interjected sharply. “A portkey where?”
Hermione winced. “Switzerland.”
“What?”
“I was going to tell you today, but this was all bollocksed-up, and Rose,
darling, I know you’re scared, but this is for the best—“
“And what about you?” Rose said, turning on her father. “Are you abandoning us
as well?”
Ron refused to meet her eyes. “I still have the American deal. And…then I’m
joining your mother.”
Rose didn’t say anything, just turned on her heel and slid into the backseat
next to James.
“Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” she announced loudly, pulling the door
shut behind her. There was an instant uproar from the others and her mother
looked miserable as she slid into the passenger seat. James didn’t say
anything, just brushed her fingertips with his own, as if he would very much
like to take her hand but wasn’t sure if she’d allow it. She threaded her
fingers through his and squeezed. And they sat in their own little world the
whole wretched ride home.
 
Rose felt a fatigue settling over her, a general disinterest in summer and its
myriad diversions. She was tired of the Burrow, tired of the worry and of
combing newspapers every morning, tired of the apologetic letters sent by her
parents and tired of their absence. She started marking off days on her
calendar; only a month until they all returned to Hogwarts and the stifling,
pervasive wrongness could be shoved into the periphery.
She took to staying up late reading in the small sitting room. At first she
tried to research modern Muggle weapons and war strategies, but quickly gave it
up when dirty bombs and drone strikes filled her dreams. Now she filled her
nights with textbooks and Muggle fantasy novels, which she found thoroughly
entertaining. It made her think; if Muggles were this wrong about Wizards, what
might Wizards have missed about Muggles?
After a particularly trying day, Rose found herself reading the driest material
she could get her hands on, in an effort to stop herself from thinking at all.
Poisoned catalysts are useful in experiments where one wants to reduce… There
had been two attacks with Muggle firearms in France and Belgium… to one product
but not all the way… which might not have been noteworthy, but Wizards had been
killed in both attacks, caught unawares… reaction adds stereospecifically,
producing a cis conformation… “They’re never coming home,” James had predicted
dismally… interesting to note that Muggles also employ poisoned catalysts,
notably the Lindlar catalyst…
Rose threw the book away in frustration, rubbing her smarting eyes. Weren’t the
Muggle and Wizarding worlds supposed to be separate? They’d always seemed so to
her as a child…as solidly separate as the brick wall keeping Diagon Alley from
the rest of London…
“Rose?” A figure on the first landing moved into better light and she could see
that it was James in his boxer shorts. “Is everything alright?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, and so only shook her head. The silence
seemed to echo in the small room, punctuated only by the clock ticking. 2:15 it
read. James moved forward cautiously, then all at once she was swept up by his
bare arms. It was a tender sort of gesture and she allowed herself to be held;
her ear was pressed against his chest and she could hear his heart, beating
just a bit faster than the tick of the clock.  
After a bit he pulled away and they stared at each other for what seemed an
eternity. He tucked a strand of bright red behind her ear, but his fingers
stayed in her hair and then his lips were on hers. It was a soft kiss, nothing
like last time. He drew back sooner than she would have liked and they stood
there hardly daring to breathe. He’s asking permission, she realized, and she
brought her hand up to cup his jaw, and stood on tip-toes to press her own
chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. As she fell back he followed her down
hungrily, bringing his other hand up to cradle the small of her back. Her
tongue traced his lips and he opened his mouth to her probing advances, began
to explore tentatively himself.
Rose pulled away to catch her breath and James redirected his attention to her
neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her skin, sweeping her hair away for
better access. His hand brushed accidentally passed her earlobe and when she
shivered he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and tugged on the lobe
with his teeth. A strangled little gasp escaped her and it seemed to make him
redouble his efforts; her back hit a wall and she dug her nails into his bare
shoulder, recapturing his lips with her own.
A noise from upstairs broke them apart and they stood, breathing hard, trying
desperately not to make any noise.
“We should—“ Rose whispered hoarsely, when it became clear no one was coming
down to investigate. She gestured feebly upstairs and James nodded, his Adam’s
apple bobbing repeatedly. He had one hand on the wall beside her head. She
moved from the wall but he stayed her with a hand on her hip.
“Just—just to be sure,” he started, as hoarse as she, “this is… ok?”
There were so many things not ok about this, but they all seemed so silly now,
somehow. Their gravity had diminished in the light of other things, and what
had seemed unthinkable two months ago now presented itself with appealing
inevitability.
She bit her lip and nodded. James’ face, unbidden, split into a smile, and he
caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Their parting kiss tasted more of
promise than sadness, more of hope than of fear. And in spite of everything,
she couldn’t help but smile back.
 
The week before the Quidditch final (or more importantly, two weeks before
O.W.L.’s were scheduled to start) Rose was prodded out of a deep sleep by a
floating head.
“How did you get in here?” she hissed at James’ grinning face. He shrugged and
tugged her out of bed; she only just got her slippers on her feet before she
was under the invisibility cloak and they had snuck out the portrait hole. It
was always an eerie experience to walk about the castle after dark, and eerier
still when you couldn’t see your own feet. “Where are we going?” she whispered,
causing a nearby suit of armor to creak its head in their direction.
“You’ll see…”
They had come to the doors of the Great Hall and James whipped off the
invisibility cloak so that he could open the double doors dramatically. “Ta
da!” Rose had to blink several times to be sure of what she was seeing. They
were in a giant crystal cave open to the heavens. Great spires of purple quartz
projected from the walls; the floor and tables were encrusted with a thin layer
of gems in every imaginable shade.
“It’ll be bigger by tomorrow,” James said proudly, surveying his work. “Just
thought you’d like to be the first to see it.”
“It’s incredible,” Rose said, trailing her fingers over the smooth facets of
the crystals on the walls. “I assume you took an aragonite seed crystal from a
Fire Crab…”
“And altered the magical mineral densities so it would grow faster? Yeah.” He
shrugged as if to apologize for his cleverness. “I figured people might need a
break from everything, O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s and such, and since I’ve
neither, well…”
“My hero,” Rose smiled. He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“Well, if you like that—“
A crash in the entrance hall shook them to their senses and Rose whispered
hurriedly, “the cloak!” James fumbled for it but the next second Bodd, the
caretaker, wheezed into the room.
“Run!”
There was a convenient path of tapestry hangings and secret passageways that
led from the Great Hall to the fourth floor, but it was a thrill every time
they passed through an open corridor without the cloak, a minor heart-attack
every time they ripped through a tapestry without knowing what was on the other
side. Rose hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Finally James pulled them into an
empty classroom and they collapsed on the floor, trying to catch their breaths.
“Think we’ve lost him…”
“D’you think he recognized us?”
“Nah, he’s half-blind. I could probably walk right in front of him and he’d end
up giving Philip Leroy detention instead.”
“Not a chance,” she said, grinning widely. “You look nothing like Philip
Leroy.”
“Is that a bet?” he said, grinning back. “Because if it is, I’ll go back out
there right—“ He stood up and made to open the door. Rose caught his arm,
giggling madly, trying to hold him back.
“You can’t—“
“Well you’re certainly not going to stop me—“
They wrestled for the handle and somehow Rose found herself wedged between
James and the door, hands on his broad shoulders to push him away. A cloud
shifted outside the window and moonlight illuminated the room, and in that
instant it became clear they weren’t struggling anymore; James’ hands were not
on the doorknob, but on her hips, and she wasn’t pushing but pulling.
James’ mouth descended on hers in a rough kiss made of passion and impulse. It
wasn’t anything like how she’d imagined it, in those stolen moments when she
allowed herself to imagine such things. But it was persuasive, and sent a shock
down through her core to tingle in her extremities. And, without thinking, Rose
wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
He responded enthusiastically, pressing her harder against the door, squeezing
her hips in a rough grip. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, coaxed her
tongue with his own. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. A thick fog had
descended on her brain, obscuring her vision and her judgment, so that all she
could think of was James, James, James, her fingers knotted in his hair and his
hand up her shirt. A knuckle scraped past her nipple and she let out a groan.
James broke away to pant into her neck, cupping her breast fully in his warm
palm.
What were they doing ? a small voice like a splash of cold water broke into the
back of her brain. Holy fuck, what are we doing?
“James,” she gasped out, pushing half-heartedly on his chest while he sucked a
bruise on her pulse point. “James!”
“What?” He pulled back to look at her with a sloppy grin; it slowly slid off
his face as he took in her expression. “What’s the matter?”
Rose looked at him, stricken. “We shouldn’t’ve done that,” she said slowly. She
felt for the doorknob digging into her backside, turned it and pushed. “I—we
really shouldn’t have done that.” Then she was running down the corridor, Bodd
be damned.
“Wait, Rose, come back!” James called after her, but she didn’t stop until she
had locked the door to her dormitory—how had he gotten up here in the first
place?—and was curled once more beneath her sheets.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She pressed her palms to her eyelids so hard she
saw stars. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she wasn’t supposed to, they
shouldn’t have— they kissed . And now everything was out in the open and they
could never put it away again, and everything was ruined, and what would their
family think? Their family, because they were related and they’d grown up
together and kissing James should be like kissing her brother, but it wasn’t .
It was amazing and sexy and wonderful and clearly he’d wanted to kiss her too
and that shouldn’t make her stomach churn into butterflies but it did, and oh
god she was fucked wasn’t she?
She managed to avoid him for three whole days, skipping breakfast and taking
obscure routes between classes. If Albus thought something was odd, he didn’t
mention anything, and Rose hoped he simply chalked it up to pre-O.W.L. jitters.
In reality, she had never been less focused on her schoolwork. The whole scene
seemed to play as if on a loop in her head, and it put her in a constant state
of mixed anxiety and arousal. She wondered if other people could tell, wondered
what other people would think. The Wizarding world was small, after all. Their
names were already famous; there’d be no escape, even in another country.
They’d be ostracized, cast out, disowned…
He finally caught up with her half-way down the Charms corridor one late
afternoon and pulled her into an empty classroom. For a moment, neither of them
said anything, just stared at the walls with their arms crossed. Finally James
spoke.
“Look, I’m sorry if you regret the other night, but you can’t just ignore me
for three days, okay? It’s not like I did anything wrong—“
Rose looked up, and in that moment she realized she hated him just a little
bit, for messing it all up, bringing it all out in the open.
“Didn’t do anything wrong?” she asked incredulously. “Everything about this is
wrong, James! We can’t—do you know what people would think? And our family? And
what about us? You’ve ruined everything!”
“I ruined--?”
“You kissed me!”
“You kissed me back!” he roared. “Don’t go pinning this all on me…”
“I stopped it, if you didn’t notice! Where exactly had you planned on taking
it? Were we supposed to become Hogwarts’ resident cousin couple? Were we going
to live happily ever after in wedded incestuous bliss?” Her tone had taken on a
cruel edge and she flung the words at him like knives, hardly stopping to wince
when she realized how deep she cut herself.
His face had gone blank. He stood still for a moment, as if to let the words
have their full impact, then moved abruptly toward the door.
“Don’t talk to me,” he said shortly, before sweeping into the hallway beyond.
Rose stared after him, chewing on her lip, resisting the urge to call him back.
A hard lump rose in her throat and she sidled out into the corridor, trying to
blend in with the other dinner stragglers, hoping the tears welling in her eyes
would go unnoticed.
She threw herself into studying, and avoided the common room more than ever.
Her dreams swam in potions ingredients and sixteenth century goblin wars, and
she couldn’t help but feverishly draw analogies to her current situation.
Comfrey and alkanet were both part of the Boraginaceae family, but their
combination was a key to the Wittig draught. And all sorts of wizards had
married their cousins in the fourteenth century; there was probably incest in
her family already. She imagined trying this argument on her mother, and
shuddered at the thought.
James’ expression seemed to be seared onto the backs of her eyelids. Don’t talk
to me . How could she not talk to him? She had never not talked to him, he was
James. She felt another flair of anger towards him; how dare he ruin this? How
dare he ruin them?
How dare she refuse him?
How dare she refuse them both something they wanted very, very badly? And in
the name of what? Society and family and future job options—too many things to
count, and yet, none of them seemed very important.
She made up her mind to apologize to him, after the Quidditch final, pull him
away from the crowd and in the euphoria he would forgive her, and maybe then
they could… work something out.
Gryffindor won handily, and Rose wasn’t surprised; James had put together a
solid team this year. She ought to know; he’d talked about it ad nauseam
earlier in the year. The common room was boisterous once she finally made it
back, and someone had charmed flasks of firewhiskey to float around and pour
shots into people’s glasses. Rose wondered how she might pull James aside. He
was currently surrounded by a knot of admirers, and she didn’t think it likely
he’d seek her out on his own.
A splash from one of the floating bottles landed on her robes, and she looked
around in indignation for a culprit.
“Whoops, sorry Weasley.” Richard Peters conjured a handkerchief and began to
wipe off her front.
“Looking to cop a feel, are you?” Rose scowled at him, but it was halfhearted;
she liked Peters. They’d both been members of the ill-fated Transfiguration
Society until Lou Bobofit managed to transfigure his own arm into a shark and
shut down the whole operation.
“You know me,” he winked at her, and she laughed for the first time in what
seemed like weeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but just then the crowd
shifted and she caught sight of James over Peters’ shoulder.
He was kissing Megan DeWitt.
His eyes flashed open to catch her gaze, and they stared at each other for a
second across the room, before he turned and started to kiss Megan’s neck.
“Rose?” Peters was saying. “Rose, what’s the matter?”
“I—um, I have to go.” She stumbled through the crowd blindly, felt rather than
saw the way up the steep spiral staircase, and collapsed on her bed. Finally,
finally, she gave way with deep, racking sobs that filled her chest, and a
flood of everything she’d been trying not to think about burst forth. She’d
said things, and now she could never take them back, and everything was royally
fucked.
She sat up and pressed her palms to her eyes, smearing her mascara. She glared
at her reflection in the mirror across the dormitory. Fuck this. And fuck
James.
One thing she knew for certain. She wouldn’t be apologizing to him unless the
world was about to end.
 
The week that followed the French attacks was quiet, and maybe it should have
been ominous, but Rose suddenly couldn’t find it in her to care. It was as if a
large balloon had inflated in her chest, and she suddenly immune to all the
problems that clamored for her attention. How could she worry about Muggle
militia groups when James was sending her knowing grins from across the pantry?
How could she miss her parents when his foot caught hers under the table at
dinner, and traced up her leg, and—oh. She found it hard to believe that the
others hadn’t noticed anything, but this lot had always been rather oblivious,
and she and James had always had their little inside jokes.
The summer days, recently so stifling, now brimmed with lazy possibility.
They’d bring stacks of books to a lonely corner of the orchard and read for
hours, hands and limbs tangled, and, after checking that the coast was clear,
steal a few kisses.
One afternoon, when Lily and Hugo had gone to Diagon Alley with Grandmum, and
Albus was doing who knows what in the attic, they spread themselves out under
their favorite tree and munched apples from its branches. James was on his
stomach, perusing a Muggle guide to astrophysics, and Rose was trying to get
through another chemistry text, but she wasn’t having much success; James’ hand
was on her belly under her shirt, and she was having difficulty concentrating.
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in the last five minutes,” he said without
looking up from his book.
“I, well, you’re—“ she stammered, “you’re distracting me!” She nodded at his
hand, and he looked up to grin mischievously at her.
“Am I?” He maneuvered himself so he was looking up at her from the vicinity of
her stomach, “I’m awfully sorry.”  He dropped down to press a kiss just below
her belly button.
“James,” she hissed, looking toward the house. But he just flashed a grin, and
it was so genuine that she couldn’t help but smile in return. She was smiling
all the time these days.
He pressed another kiss to the same spot, then nudged her shirt up with his
nose, dragging his lips across her sweaty skin, raising goosebumps in his wake.
She let out a breathy little sigh and hated herself for it, but it seemed to
reassure him, and soon his nose bumped into the lace of her bra. He shifted his
weight to free a hand and pushed up the fabric to cup her breast. They looked
at each other for a moment, both breathing hard, and then James bent his head
to take her nipple between his teeth.
It was like a shock sent straight to her core, and she arched her back
reflexively, clutching his head to her chest and moaning rather louder than she
had intended. James pulled away and raised his eyebrows at her, laughing. “I
didn’t realize I was that good.”
“Shut up,” Rose tried to tell him, but the words came out jumbled, and she
pulled him back impatiently. He chuckled but ducked his head again to suckle at
one nipple, and then the other, laving the peaks with his tongue. Rose
suspected he was enjoying this nearly as much as she was. She worked her hand
up under his shirt to run her nails down his back, then under the waist of his
pants to touch his bum. This elicited a small grunt from James, and he released
her nipple to suck on her bottom lip instead, massaging her abandoned breast
with his large hand.
She withdrew her hand from the back of his jeans and wedged it between them,
ghosting over his belly-button to pause at his belt buckle. She fumbled with it
for a second before giving up. “Help?” she whispered against James’ lips.
“Really?” he whispered back, and when she nodded, he scrambled to undo it,
tugging it from the belt loops so fast that it smacked against Rose’s thigh.
“Sorry!” he said when she hissed in pain, rubbing the spot with his thumb.
She shook her head, “It’s fine.” He raised his eyebrows at her and she giggled
at his absurd expression, pulling him down into a full kiss. This time she
slipped her hand down the front of his pants with ease, and then she was
holding him in her palm. He was larger than she expected, hot to the touch. She
stroked his length with her fingertips, and she was reminded of the game they
used to play of drawing figures on the other’s skin; oh how far they’d come.
When she grasped him fully, he groaned and thrust into her hand. What an odd
situation to find oneself in , she found herself thinking as she tried to keep
pace with him, rubbing off one’s own cousin—
James’ hand found its way to the apex of her thighs and her wry thoughts
vanished instantly. He was keeping time better than she, and he somehow managed
to deftly undo the buttons on her shorts to slip his hand down her knickers.
Rose squeaked. James smirked at her and smothered her outburst with a kiss,
while smoothly slipping one long finger between her folds.
It was unlike anything Rose had felt before, even when she touched herself; it
was more…intense, somehow, like little shock-waves of electricity, and it
seemed to turn off her brain. Suddenly she was biting James’ neck without
having consciously decided upon it, digging her nails into his shoulder blades.
He added another finger and she thought she might explode from the tightness of
it, delicious friction—his thumb brushed her clit—her hand was in his hair,
tugging, a long keening noise—
She blinked at him deliriously as he pulled out his hand and sucked his fingers
clean, watching her catch her breath. She held out her thumb to his lips and he
pulled that between his teeth too, before moving on to each of her fingers in
turn. Rose sighed, and her knee nudged a bulge in his pants.
“Oh, I didn’t, you know, for you—“
“It’s fine, Rose, honestly—“ But she slipped her hand down his trousers again,
pushed him gently so she was on top of him. The moisture on her fingers helped
her hand slide more smoothly down his shaft, and she realized she must have
been pulling the skin before. She pulled her hand out to re-moisten her
fingers, and fumbled trying to get her hand back down his pants. Huffing, she
tugged them down so that he stood erect before her. Curiously she rubbed her
thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum that beaded there. This seemed to do
something for James, who let out a small choking noise, but it too dried
quickly. Rose sucked her fingers again before deciding this was ridiculous, and
bent her head to lick the tip directly.
It was a curious flavor—salty and hot, with a hint of musk—but it wasn’t too
bad. She swirled her tongue experimentally, drawing shapes as her fingers had
done before, then took him partially into her mouth. He was longer than she had
room for, and she wasn’t about to deep-throat anyone just yet, so she grasped
the base in her palm and sucked just the tip. She looked up to see how James
was faring; he was staring at her with a dazed expression.
“So, am I… doing ok?” He blinked rapidly at her, before clearing his throat
rather loudly.
“Oh, er, yes… I mean, spot on…” Rose moved her hand down his moistened shaft
again and was amazed at how smoothly it glided. “Oh, Merlin, yes do that, do it
harder…”
Her hand started to ache, and he covered hers with his own larger one, moving
it faster and faster until he came with a grunt, and sticky substance leaked
between Rose’s fingers. She examined it while James recovered on the grass.
“You know, semen has fructose in it,” she said. “You’d think it’d make it
sweet.”
“It’s not,” James sighed. “Oh, and sorry ‘bout that…” He reached for his wand
to clean off her hands, then zipped up his trousers.
“So you’ve tasted semen then?”
He turned red around the ears. “Just once… to see…”
“Your own or someone else’s?” He scowled at her, but she just grinned wickedly
back at him, so he tackled her around the waist and pinned her wrists to the
ground above her head, straddling her hips.
“I’d like to taste you,” he whispered hotly in her ear.
“That wasn’t an answer,” she whispered back, but he cut her off with a searing
kiss, and she arched up into him, feeling his hardness growing again, and she
wanted more too. She felt… insatiable. Delirious. Giddy.
“ROSE! JAMES!” came a cry from the house.
Fuck.
They scrambled to their feet, straightening clothes and grabbing books. Rose
wrestled with her hair.
“What do I look like?” she hissed. James appraised her while re-threading his
belt, a dopey expression still lingering on his face.
“Beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not the time.” But she smiled secretly to herself all the
same.
They walked up to the house, trying not to look too guilty. Rose wondered if
maybe Lily had picked her up one of the books she’d off-handedly mentioned the
other night, and if Hugo had remembered the potion ingredients she’d
specifically asked for. Grandmum usually brought back some odd trinket or
another, so eager to spoil grandchildren the way she couldn’t with her
children…
Albus met them in the garden and his face was so stricken Rose was certain
she’d left a tit hanging out. She glanced down hurriedly to check, but James’
grave voice cut across her panic.
“What’s happened, Al?”
Al just shook his head, unable to speak, and beckoned them inside. Rose felt a
surge of cold, sickening dread freeze through her chest and she grasped James’
hand tightly as they crossed the threshold. George sat at the scrubbed kitchen
table, looking as solemn as Rose had ever seen him, mutedly dressed in a green
traveling cloak and a black pointed hat.
“There’s been an attack,” he said bluntly. “Diagon alley, and about two blocks
of Muggle London just outside the Leaky Cauldron.”
Rose, Albus and James all simultaneously darted their eyes toward the clock on
the wall. All twenty-some odd hands pointed at Mortal Danger. Rose wasn’t sure
whether to sigh in relief or not; she’d been at school when Granddad passed,
she wasn’t sure what happened to the hand.
“I think they’re alive,” George said gruffly. “Fred’s got all limp when he
died, didn’t really point at anything.”
“Wouldn’t they come back here?” Albus’s eyes shone blindingly glassy green.
George shook his head. “Advisory’s gone out from the Ministry-- they might be
tracing magical signatures. Maybe dropping Muggle bombs using drones. We all
need to clear out for a few days, till we know what’s going on.” He looked at
James. “Take them up North. Use as little magic as possible and move away from
your Apparition site. I’ll check on you in a day or so.” He stood, tossing him
an ordinary Muggle flip phone.
“Where are you going?” Rose asked.
“Switzerland.” How Rose hated that word. “They need another expert on Muggle-
magical device interplay.” George touched his wand to a wooden spoon abandoned
on the countertop so it glowed blue. “Let me know if you run into Fred and
Roxanne up there, they should’ve left an hour or so ago.” He pulled out his
pocket watch and stuck a forefinger to the center of the spoon. Rose thought
there was a little desperation in the quiver of his finger. “Take Dad’s old
tent, should still be in the she--”
He disappeared with a sucking sound and a bright flash of blue light.
They stared at each other blankly. After waiting so long for the worst to
happen, it all seemed rather anticlimactic. Up North? What exactly did that
mean? And no magic? How would that even be possible?
“I’ll--I’ll get the tent,” Albus said shakily. He pushed out the door and was
gone.
“I think there are some ordinary knapsacks upstairs--how little can they trace,
d’you think? Can we expand them, or--”
James stared hard at her, clenching his jaw so tightly Rose was worried he’d
crack a tooth.
“I love you.” The intensity of his gaze made his anomalous blue eyes almost
black. “I love you, and I refuse to lose you.”
Rose felt her throat swell at his words. “You’re not going to,” she said
fiercely. “We’re all going to be fine.” She squeezed his hand and when she
pulled away she could feel the divots where her nails had dug into his skin.
They were haphazardly packed within a half hour, cowed by the full weight of
their chosen possessions. They walked solemnly to the edge of the orchard,
where the air shimmered with wards, at the threshold where one refraction gave
way to the next. The three of them clasped hands, an ominous sort of seance
over things not yet dead. The Burrow looked emptily back at them and when they
turned Rose thought of the clock, wishing they could’ve taken it with them. Her
parents facing their deaths once again.
You’ve seen war . Rose thought of her mother, helpless now behind her army of
bureaucrats, of her father and George, a joke shop perverted into weapons
manufacture, of Harry, who wasn’t Chosen anymore. You know it first-hand. So
what do you think, can I survive this?
She thought of James, his dark eyes and his declarations. Can we survive this?
With a resounding crack, the three of them disappeared into the void.
End Notes
     Hello! This has been sitting in my Google Docs for a few years now,
     but it seemed like there might be at least three (3) people
     interested in reading it so here you are! There will be at least one
     more part to it, and it will probably still draw a bit from the movie
     How I Live Now, which is also cousincest-y and on Netflix for now if
     you want to check it out.
     Solecism refers to a specific type of Greek grammatical error, which
     I thought was a suitable understatement for the basic premise of this
     story.
     Let me know what you think! I will be leaving for a two month Europe
     trip on Monday so will probably not update until July. Love you all!
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