this is the best writing ive done in a long, long time. idk why the past ones have been so bad. its stepped up. <3

January 21, 1980
6:51 am
Callaway, Anderson, Black, and Lupin Home

"I have to get back," he said, hinges squeaking. "I'll see you tonight, yea?"

"Yea," she said with a sad smile, staring at the door for a few seconds even after he left.

The sheets rustled as Sirius turned to look at the vacant side of their bed, an empty whisper against the cold silk and his exposed chest. No golden bit of warmth turned around to meet his eyes, pulling closer to press his head against her stomach.

Anneliese hadn't come back from America since she left twenty-two days ago.

Black shut his eyes, trying to get the words of her letter out from his head so that he could try and get some sleep that was turning into a luxury as rare as going a week without another one of their friends disappearing.

Violet asked me to help her plan a funeral. Queenie's funeral. She can't do it alone. Safa and Myra can handle Callaway Investigations while I'm gone. This isn't a secret. Show anyone (who we trust, obviously) this letter if they don't believe you. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Sirius had assumed that meant a few days, not the weeks this had stretched into. She was coming back this morning, and Black hadn't been able to sleep all night in anticipation of finally seeing her again.

This was probably good for her, he thought, giving up on staying still with his eyes shut. Spending time with her other friends. But it definitely wasn't good for us.

Black swung his legs out of bed so that his feet hit the rug, slowly pacing over to the freezing hardwood floor. The lights in the kitchen were off when he entered, but he didn't bother to turn them on.

I should have been nicer to Fabian, he thought, letting the faucet run cold. I should've gotten to know Gideon better. And now we can't even use the Burrow because of how angry it makes Molly to see any of our faces.

He took a long sip, looking out through the giant wall of windows to the streets of London below him. The city was tantalizingly alive.

I don't blame her.

January 21, 1980
6:02 am
Hutchison Cottage
Savannah, Georgia

"Hit me harder," Cliff demanded through gritted teeth. "Or has that place made you weak?"

Anneliese's foot throbbed in pain from the repetition of hitting the same pad Hutcison had pressed against his stomach and over, like flesh colliding with rock until they both started to yield to the force of the impacts, chipping away and leaving each surface bloody.

You deserve this pain, she thought as the gnawing sensation eating at her skin got to an even rawer level than she thought possible. You left Fabian and Gideon to die even after everything they've done for you because of one kiss. All because you were hurting because of Queenie, so you wanted them to hurt, too. You deserve to rot in hell.

A single but deep breath was snatched from the air into her lungs as Callaway launched off her back foot and hit Hutchison so hard that he stumbled off balance.

"I'm weak?" she challenged with an unremorseful tilt of her head to the side, chapped fists braced in front of her. "Let go of the pad and see if my hits are still light."

Cliff threw the rubber to the side, shaking the tension out of his hands from the grip.

"Fine," he said. "But remember I'm the one who gave you your reflexes."

"You think that," she said, teeth gritted as she shifted back onto the balls of her feet.

Hutchison moved first, as she expected. Anneliese felt a shot of spinal pain go through her as she twisted her back to avoid the blow to her shoulder, tensing her abdomen to pull herself back up into an upright position.

Her forearms were almost frantic as they blocked his blows in a rapid succession as fast as bullets, breath shaking.

Cliff blocked her barrel back as easily as if he was swatting away a fly.

"You're obsessive over just trying to hurt me, and it's making you sloppy," he scolded. "Your only motivation being to cause pain will get you nowhere. Slow down."

Anneliese's hands had formed calluses after the first time she had split her knuckles open when she was twelve and only hardened since then with every blow she delivered, but Hutchison and her had been sparring for so many hours every day since Queenie's funeral that her flesh had forgotten all of that history and ripped open again.

Just like I forgot all of the history I let die with those two poor boys, Callaway thought.

"I am angry and wanting to cause pain," she countered, sending another wave of obligatory blows towards him. "And I have to leave in less than an hour. I can't act like this in front of Sirius or Leo or anyone. Where else can I get it out?"

Anneliese didn't mention that the pain she wanted to cause was to herself.

Many people didn't realize that when one is fighting, they are feeling the collision as well, not just the other person. And when it came to Cliff, it was like pounding her tender muscle and bone against steel until the metal itself started to dent.

"Besides on me, you mean?" Cliff asked, pulled back from her as his shoulders burned from making blocking her vicious blows look easy. "A punching bag. Obviously."

Anneliese steadied her pulse. He was right. She needed to focus, not be so messy. It was more efficient that way. And what better to focus on then leaving a few bruises?

Hutchison didn't draw his foot back to his base quickly enough after slamming the top of his foot into Anneliese's stomach. His base completely disappeared as she caught his ankle and yanked, ground pulled right out from under him as he landed on his back with a heavy groan.

"Doesn't have the same gratification as getting it out onto a person," she said, holding a wrapped hand down to him. "Get up. We're done. I need to get back, and not looking as sweaty as this."

Hutchison scanned the sweat glistening against her skin and the way hair had fallen out from her bun, raising a brow that suggested he didn't think she looked half bad after a workout like this. Anneliese threateningly uncoiled her fist.

He rolled his eyes.

"Damn good job, Callaway," Cliff sighed, begrudgingly rubbing his back as she pulled him up. "But might I ask why you cannot express this anger to our British friends?"

"Because I don't need to give them any more reasons to think I'm unstable," Anneliese said as she took a long drink of water. "With leaving, and Queenie, and.. there are just a lot of reasons. It's hard to stay trustworthy in these times. Everyone always expects the worst. Sometimes especially in me."

And they have the right to, Callaway thought, looking down as she unwrapped her hands. If I was looking at myself through their perspective, some things just wouldn't seem right, either.

Her fingers were rattling like the end of a snake's tail. The grueling pain she put herself through had more of a physical effect on her than she would like most people to see.

She hadn't been healing herself on purpose. She didn't think she deserved that relief.

"I know all of this fighting is more physiological than you would care to admit," Hutchison said slowly. "But don't torture yourself. We all wish we had spent more time with Queenie."

Anneliese's hands paused. The pile of things weighing down on her only seemed to grow with every sentence spoken to her by both herself and others.

"That's only half of it," she said softly, still looking down.

Callaway gently placed the ring Queenie had left to her in her will into her bag, not wanting to wear it and taint it with the violent crimson dried all over hands. The blood was both Cliff's and her own, a sign of the arduous hours they had been awake for this morning.

"You do need to head out," Hutchison said, eyes flitting to the clock mounted high above the doorway. "Need any help getting your bags after you clean up? Just don't leave the whole bathroom stinking of strawberries again."

"No, thank you," Anneliese smiled. "And I'll be sure to. Thanks for everything, Cliff."

"Anytime," Hutchison replied, giving up on that argument. "You're always welcome here. Next time, let's just try not to make it such a somber occasion that we have to see each other for."

"I might just take you up on that," she sighed, thinking of the mess waiting for her back in London. "I'll see you soon. You better write back to me."

Cliff hugged her, towering copper boulder against short gold wire.

"I will," he promised. "Hey."

Anneliese turned back around.

"We all see her in you. Queenie, I mean. Don't forget that."

She just nodded.

Callaway closed her eyes as she stood on the porch, taking in one last deep breath of the sweet southern air. London was so much more formal and metallic than this welcoming humidity, heavy and thick as glistening, tawny syrup drizzling all around her.

There was a slam of a screen door as Cliff's mother went out into the backyard, the buzz of a mosquito humming in her ear, even in the winter. It hadn't gotten cold enough this winter to kill all of the bugs off.

Anneliese didn't want to leave.

"I'll be back," she whispered, a swear to the acrylic blue sky and bountiful lawn, these creaky porches and sticky breezes that would always be home for her.

London had never felt colder.

A shock of snow snapped against her skin, seeping through the surface of her sweater. The hard rubber soles of her boots compacted the snow under her body weight as she rushed inside to the apartment.

The blast of warmth inside felt too hot, too artificial compared to the warmth of the sun that had just been ticking her skin like butterfly wings against the soft, imperfect circles of the first bloom of a hydrangea.

It couldn't be more obvious that the sensation that was supposed to be comforting was a legarthic product of the press of a button of a thermostat.

How could one possibly live with only clanking heaters and scratchy wool to keep them warm, never experiencing the true comfort that a real ray of sun could provide? Anneliese didn't understand.

That just didn't seem like a full life to her, one without wind in your hair or a peeling burn starting on your shoulders that you got from spending too much time in the sun with your little sister finding patterns in the sky.

Callaway sighed as she looked at the steel lettering labelling her apartment number nineteen. Hopefully Remus or Leo had thought to start a fire. Hopefully someone was awake, someone remembered that this was the morning she was to be back by.

Sirius had never turned his head so quickly to the door.

As soon as he saw her, light filled his eyes. She was carrying more than the suitcases in her hands, also all of the good things he knew. A reason to live and a reason to grow, to trust, to hope, to care.

Anneliese didn't even have time to put away her wand from pulling down the protective enchantments before Black wrapped her into an embrace that somehow made the southern sun seem weak.

Here was her warmth in London, in the form of this pale boy who she should have never left.

Her bags fell to the floor around their feet so she could fully return the grip.

"I missed you," Sirius whispered, lips moving against her neck with the muffled words. "I'm sorry I couldn't be with you for Queenie."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here with you for Fabian and Gideon," Anneliese whispered back, the names of the boys making a sick, guilty feeling churn in her gut.

Sirius pulled her tighter in a physical response when he couldn't quite make it work with words, taking in a deep inhale of her fruity, lush shampoo.

Callaway needed this comfort right now, something that breaking her skin with dozens of dull blows could never provide. Even if Black didn't know what she had done, didn't know that she could have prevented so much tragedy and suffering, she still needed it.

Sirius pulled away after a few more seconds, eyes only on hers until he gripped her hands. Their rough texture pried his eyes away from her face in alarm, not the usual smooth skin like he was used to.

Queenie's rose quartz and gold ring was resting on her finger, but that was the smallest difference.

Every single one of Anneliese's knuckles and joints were crusted with skin that had only halfway healed before being busted open again, gravel-like clumps of blood and dried flesh clinging together in one last attempt to keep her hands from becoming just as bare as the bones outlined on her left hand.

As if the mechanics of her fingers had been flipped to the outside, every bend of her hand felt raw and scalding, like trying to move lava that was just about to harden and only succeeding in letting more magma seep through the dry cracks.

Some of this magma was bursting through her right pointed finger right then, blood swelling from below the surface and trickling down her bent hand.

"I'll go get some dittany," he said softly in response to the grim injuries, not asking any questions and only moving the cupboard below the sink.

There was a gentle defiance in his voice, a silent if you won't heal yourself, then I will.

She was too tired to resist his care this time.

"How is Callaway Investigations going?" Anneliese asked as he retrieved cotton swabs that he usually used to remove makeup. "Have things been running smoothly without me? Do you know? Have you asked?"

"Safa has been keeping me as informed as she said she's allowed to," Sirius said. "With her being the Leader of Coordination and Structure and all. Nothing's gone amiss, but we've gotten less criminals turned in- stop blaming yourself. No organization is going to do as well if they're missing their leader, especially when they're a leader like you."

"Fair," Callaway sighed with the same exhausted resignation, looking out into the bleak morning sky. "And.. and how are things going with Peter? And James, of course. Lily and- just everyone. How is everyone doing?"

"As good as we can," Sirius said, trying to keep his tone as positive as possible as he worked on her finger. "We need something to be happy about. There's even more stress on all of us now that Molly's not letting us use the Burrow to meet. All of our houses are like war zones now."

A part of Callaway was relieved Molly hadn't said anything. If everyone knew that she could have helped the Prewett twins, that they could have still been alive if she hadn't-

Stop, she cut herself off. Molly can say whatever she wants to whoever and whenever. It's only the truth. But I'm not allowed to say the truth without getting my sister killed, am I? How is Peter still doing this to me?

Anneliese pushed her chin out in an effort to keep her composure.

"What are you doing today?" she asked Sirius as he wrapped a white cloth bandage around the base of the last finger of her right hand before starting on her left. "Are there any meetings or cases? What are you working on right now?"

"Moody actually requested for you to be at the Order meeting in like half an hour," Black said. "It's about the Enforced Transportation Department."

"Is something wrong with it?" Anneliese asked, defensive tone switching on, drowsy slope of her back straightening.

"I don't know," Sirius shrugged, finishing the last of the wrappings and gently kissing her knuckles before looking back into her eyes. "But why don't we go find out?"

Callaway swallowed heavily.

She would never get used to walking into a room full of people who worked for the rival business of hers, no matter the fact that she had known nearly all of these aurors and Order members since they were sixteen and remarkably stupid.

Well, they were still stupid, but in different ways and less extreme in the same ways then they were back then.

"ANNELIESE!" James cried the second he saw come through the doorway. "YOU'RE BACK!"

All of her unease disappeared as her friends swarmed her.

"Hi, Prongs," Anneliese smiled as he giddly hugged her, a pattering warmth quickly made into a blazing heat by all of her friends surrounding her. "Hello Charlie! I swear, you get bigger every time that I see you! How tall are you now? Six feet?"

"No," he giggled, shaking his head. "But guess what?!"

"What?!" Anneliese exclaimed with an equal amount of energy.

"My dad got me a book on Dragonology for my eight birthday!" he said, eyes reduced to two thin cresnets of joy with his beaming smile. "And it tells me all about them! Did you know that female dragons are actually more dangerous because they've evolved to be more fierce to protect their eggs?"

All of the adults in the room watched in confusion as Anneliese Callaway, the girl who they had been taught to respect, or even fear, with more than a built of loathing built up, knelt on the floor and conversed with an eight year old about dragons.

Many of them hadn't even met her before, and this certainly wasn't the first impression they had been imagining.

The tight bun, trenchcoat, and gloves were all there, but the cold, unforgiving stature that Dumbledore had painted her to possess was missing. It was only warm, kind grace, full of compassion and care for every thought of every person.

They began to understand why so many people joined her.

Sirius leaned against a wall with his arms crossed and a simple smile, watching her gorgeous smile and even more gorgeous eyes play against the warm, mild light of the room and the child in front of her.

She got more freckles when she was gone, he realized, scanning her radiant face. The southern sun she always talks about.

Lily turned to James, watching Potter watch Anneliese. A soft voice spoke in the back of her mind, the same one that had led the couple to make the decision of Calaway being their Secret Keeper if they ever needed one.

"She would be the perfect godmother," Lily said quietly to James, hand over her stomach. "Don't you think?"

Potter's hazel eyes lit up from behind his glasses.

"Alright," Moody clapped his hands, even though he had been pleasantly observing the mood of the room grow kinder and kinder for longer than he cared to admit. "That's enough of the children and cuddles. Charlie, go get your mother, she should be somewhere around here."

Anneliese's stomach dropped, her head sharply towards Moody as if hoping she hadn't heard him correctly.

Of course if Molly's kid is here she is going to be, too, Callaway scolded herself. That's the whole reason why she called me. Because she didn't want to leave her kids to go fight. Always wanted to keep them safe. And I failed her. Lord, I failed all them. What the hell am I going to do now?

Peter studied the panic in her expression carefully, just prominent enough for him to detect it's foreboding presence.

But why would she be scared of Molly? Pettigrew wondered. What did she do?

The thought was not in concern, but how he could use this fear to his advantage. Their advantage. The farther he could push Anneliese back into this hole of dread and guilt, the easier it would be to execute the