THREE MUGGLES ARE DEAD.

There are three muggles who were alive last night and now they are dead. They were tucked in their home, warmth from the summer sun still lingering on their skin, hot dinner in their bellies, laughter still in their throat. And when the sun rose over the hills, touched down though their windows, their bodies were cold, lifeless and empty. Three muggles are dead, and Jo is just standing there.

She read it in the Prophet this morning, and it took her three times over to fully comprehend it. She sat there in her living room, the paper going limp in her hands. Three dead muggles, and the vile worms who did it are unknown, on the run, and not rotting in Azkaban where they should be.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she stands on the platform, watching the way her mother fawns and dots over her brother. James is flushed, blushing and trying to swat away his mother's attentive hands but it's to no use. Euphemia Potter is teary eyed, tugging on his robes, trying to flatten out his hair, and holding back her cries. And Jo thinks she should be laughing at the way the two of them are interacting ("You'll write me every week then?" "Probably not, no,") but her thoughts are heavy, sagging down on her shoulders. They make her tired, weak.

Sirius Black, on the other hand, is grinning ear to ear at the display in front of him, an elbow propped up on Jo's shoulder as he watches. "How many times do you think he'll be writing her a week?" Sirius teases into her ear.

"Reckon he's already got the first couple of them drafted out," Jo responds. She leans up against Sirius's chest, and he swings an arm over her shoulder. "She keeps every letter he sends her. She must have about a hundred stored up in her room just from last year."

"Hmm," Sirius muses, "I'll have to read them all sometime."

It's as if the sound of Sirius's voice reminded her mother of the two, and she releases James at once, outstretching her arms towards Jo and Sirius. "You two didn't think you'd get away without saying goodbye to your dear old mother?"

Sirius is the first to embrace her, with a tight hug around her waist. Sirius lifts her feet above the ground, holding her tight to his chest. "I'll be writing you twice as much as your no good son, Mia," Sirius coos into Euphemia Potter's ear. "I'll miss you," he says to her, and Jo watches as her grip on Sirius's shoulders tightens.

Jo watches with a slight twitch in her heart. "Oh, I'll miss you too, darling. Take care of yourself this year, yes?" she asks, pulling away and cupping his cheeks between her hands. "Good boy."

And now, it's her turn. Euphemia Potter turns towards her daughter, eyes watery and there's a tug in her gut. "Josie."

Jo buries her face in her shoulder, taking her scent of wildflowers and honey. The bustling noises of the platform are drowned and she nestles into her mother's robes. "I'll miss you, Mum," she whispers, and means it. In her mother's arms, Jo feels safe.

Her mother pats down her curls, smoothing them against the back of her neck. "I'll miss you too, darling. Be careful this year, alright? You promise me you will?"

Jo nods. "I promise."

"And watch out for your brothers, dear, will you?" she asks, voice wavering in her ear. "I know they think they're the ones who should be looking after you but, oh well, just try to keep them in line, will you?"

When Jo pulls away from her mother, she has a tight smile on her face and says, "I'll be watching them like a hawk."

James, from a little ways down the platform, calls, "Oi! Hurry it up there, Josie!"

Euphemia places a kiss on her daughter's forehead and lets her go, "I'll see you at Christmas, dear."

It takes a lot of strength for Jo to turn away from her mother. And as she does, the safety that she felt while with her sinks away, replaced by that unbearable feeling that something is wrong, that there's something different. Jo approaches her brother with a harsh shove to his arm. He stumbles out of the way, and Jo climbs on the train ahead of him. "I was saying goodbye to Mum, you tosser," she chides.

He laughs as he follows her towards the compartment. "Just trying to save you the embarrassment of crying on the platform, Josie," he tells her, tone as mischievous and teasing as it always is. "No need to shove."

"Where'd Sirius run off to?" she questions as she reaches the hall, stopping to face her older brother.

James smiles down at her. Her older brother has always been both a source of comfort and annoyance. But even the way he's smiling down at her now can't rid her of that dark feeling that lingers. "Suppose he went to find Moony. Think he's starting to like him better than me."

Jo nods. "Hmm. Remus is much more charming and likeable," she comments, arms over her chest and she looks over his shoulder to avoid his eyes.

"Alright there Josie?" he asks, with a tilt of his head.

"Alright," she says, giving her older brother a tight smile. "Ready for your last year?"

This makes James break out into a grin, one of his bright, infectious ones. "Of course I am. Wait till you see what we've got planned for this week."

"Something incredibly stupid, I presume?"

"Certainly stupider than anything we've ever done before," he tells her, and starts to step away, starts to rush towards his own compartment with his own friends, "I'll see you in the Great Hall," he calls to his little sister, leaving her to stand there alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I mean, it's absolutely outrageous!" Emmeline Vance raves, waving her hands in their air wildly. Jo catches the movement in her peripherals as her eyes linger on the ground, between the shoes and the bags and the small white cat that's curled up by her feet. Emmeline is a girl with hair and a heart too big for her body. She's constantly moving, energized and envigored. And once she gets going, she can never really stop. She's sitting there, in the compartment those four girls have sat in every year for the past five years, waving around this morning's Prophet. Emmeline is red in the face and absolutely raging. "They left the Dark Mark above their home and the Ministry's acting like it's some big mystery."

And though the incident hasn't left Jo's mind, she's not as eager to rant and rave as her Ravenclaw companion, so she sits there, arms crossed and jaw clenched, while her friends discuss the latest atrocity to hit the news stands. "Well," Hestia Jones starts, voice tamer, hushed, as she leans in towards her friends, "I heard my dad and my uncle talking this morning. They said they have no clue who did. Really, it could've been anyone of You-Know-Who's followers. He's got so many know they can't even keep track."

The words make something churn and grumble inside of Jo. So many followers they can't even keep track. She bites down on her lip, thinking of all the hushed, urgent conversations she's walked in on her parents having. She thinks of the dead muggles. She thinks, with a rather unpleasant feeling, that out of this compartment, only her and Vance won't face any harassment for their blood status. Something in her boils.

Dorcas Meadowes shoves a gentle elbow in her side, eyebrow quirked and small frown. Jo jolts. "Alright, Potter?"

It takes a few blinks for her to register the words, take in her surroundings, push those three muggles to the back of her head. "Oh," she lets fall from her lips. "Yeah, 'm alright."

"You haven't said a word the whole ride," Emmeline comments.

Hestia nods in agreement, looking Jo up and down. "It's strange."

"Normally we can never get you to shut up," Emmeline says again, concern etched into her features, and all Jo can do is roll her eyes.

Dorcas leans towards her. They're not a group that's so easily convinced, and Jo's contemplative silence is a new development they're not likely to let go. Not Dorcas, especially. "You sure you're alright?"

"'Course," she answers simply, a tight, forced smile on her lips.

"C'mon, Potter, what's on your mind?" Hestia presses.

There's a flash of red hair outside of the compartment, and now Jo's growing a smirk. "Suppose I'm just thinking about how Prewett's walked past the door three time trying to get your attention, Jones."

Hestia flushes, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "He is not."

"He is!" Jo insists, laughter in her voice, and points out the compartment door, the lanky redhead stalking past them once again. "Look, there he goes now!"

The small girl is shrinking, sinking into her seat and trying to fight the smile that's growing. "Maybe he's just, y'know, a new prefect, doing rounds."

This makes Emmeline gape. "Fabian Prewett is not a prefect and you know it."

"He fancies you, Hestia!" Dorcas insists.

"Fancied you since third year."

"He does not!"

Emmeline waves a hand toward the door once more. "Oh, look, there he goes again."

"Probably itching to be in Emmeline's place right about now, I reckon."

And as her friend's laughter carries over, Jo feels herself settling back into her thoughts once more, and she fades again, eyes dulling.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The crackling fire of the Gryffindor common room provides some solace. Or, at least, it would if it weren't for the first years, grouping together and whispering loudly. Some of them crying, some of them laughing too loud, and Jo trying her best to ignore them, trying to force herself to empathize. The fire is hot on her shins and the welcome feast is heavy in her belly. She's leaning against Dorcas's legs. "Hey Meadows," Jo starts, staring into the fire, feeling sort of transfixed.

The girl behind her shuffles at her name. Jo hears as she takes a brittle page of a book between her fingers, hears as her fingers dance against the cover. "Hmm?"

Jo's mouth feels dry when she speaks again. "Don't go anywhere alone this year, alright?" she asks, there's something thick in her voice. She doesn't think she can look Dorcas in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" Dorcas asks, and there's something light in her tone. Jo can hear the smile, the levity in her voice and it makes Jo smile, involuntarily. Jo thinks she would do anything to keep it that way.

"I mean," Jo starts, wringing her hands together, "just stick with me this year," she insists, so desperate for her to just agree.

"Don't I always?"

Jo smiles again, enjoying the way the warmth of the fire feels against her skin. She feels warm here. "Yeah, suppose you do."

"Don't worry about me, Jo," Dorcas tells her, and she places a small hand on the top of Jo's hand, lightly playing with her curls. "I've been getting better marks in Defense than you since second year."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

With a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth, Jo is suddenly sandwiched between James and Sirius, the two of them worming their way next to her, shoulders pressed hard against hers. Jo frowns, shooting a desperate look at Dorcas from her spot across the table. James cracks a wide grin at his sister. "Josie," he greets in the sweetest voice he can muster.

Sirius, from her left, rests his head on her shoulder and bats his eyes up at her. "Little Potter."

Jo is sour, from this mood that's been plaguing her and the way her meal was, rather rudely, interrupted, and she is not in the mood for whatever they're asking for. "What do you lot want?"

"Josie!" James gasps, placing a delicate hand over his chest. "I'm offended!"

"Can we not just greet our dear little sister-"

"-our darling little Josie-"

"-without an ulterior motive?"

Jo shrugs. "You can, you just never do."

"Well, as it so happens," James starts, tone casual, nonchalant, "we are interested in just a little favor from you, dear Josephine."

Sirius nods. "Really, it won't be any trouble to you at all."

"I think you'll rather enjoy it, actually."

"Hmm," Jo muses, doubting it.

"I need you to try out for Keeper," James informs her, never letting that hopeful smile of his fall.

Jo groans. "Piss off."

"Oh, c'mon little Potter," Sirius complains, tugging on the arm of her robes. "If it's not you, then we're gonna end up with Bainbridge."

Jo tilts her head, and peers down the Gryffindor table to see Leo Bainbridge, the stocky fifth year, with a mouthful of porridge, some of it leaking out of the corner of his mouth. "Then you'll end up with Bainbridge."

"It's our last year little Potter!"

"Would you stop calling me that?" Jo snaps at him. Little Potter was a cute name for her when she was eleven. Now it just seems like a way to remind anyone who might be listening that Jo is James Potter's little sister, a possessive little quip that she's been growing tired of.

"And we would actually like to win, " James whines.

"You won last year."

"We'd like to win again."

"Then you better start tossing Quaffles at Bainbridge, if you want him to be ready for your first match."

Dorcas, who thus far has seemed content to just watch them bother Jo, chimes in, "Why don't you play, Jo? You're good enough."

"If I'm going to be a Healer then I have to focus on studying-" she is interrupted by a loud, long groan from her brother. James stomps his feet a little, just a gentle temper tantrum, and Jo cuts him off with an elbow to his arm, "- and I would like to keep all my limbs this year, thank you very much."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "You are really a devastating bore, you know that right?"

Jo drops her hands on the table. "Why don't you make Remus be Keeper?"

"Oh, we wouldn't dream of depriving this school of Moony's narrative skills," Sirius responses.

"Really paints a picture with his commentary, doesn't he?"

"Besides, if we put Moony on a broom," Sirius laments, shoulders slumping, "he'd end up flying arse first into the Whomping Willow."

"Well, looks like Bainbridge it is then."

"Oh, c'mon Josie!"

"Please!"

"Please!"

"Oh, pretty, pretty please, little Potter."

"I'll give you ten galleons," James bribes.

Sirius perks up as well. "I'll give you twenty galleons."

"I'll let you borrow the cloak whenever you want."

"I'll buy you whatever you want from Honeydukes."

"Please!"

"Alright!" Jo relents, feeling a headache growing from their pestering. "Fucking hell."

James cheers, leaping away from the table and ruffling the top of his sister's hair. "You're the best little sister in the world!"

"One of a kind!" Sirius says, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek that makes her bat him away.

"I'm holding you both to the thirty galleons, and the cloak, and Honeydukes," she calls after them as they retreat to the other end of the table.

"Of course you are, little Potter."

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

Jo turns back to her dinner to see Dorcas giving her a bright grin. "What are you going to do without them next year, honestly?"

She gives her friend a shrug. "Maybe I'll get an ounce of sleep," she answers, but the mention of it makes her uneasy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At the end of her first week, Jo develops the habit of wandering about the castle in the early hours of the morning.

It was never something she had done before. Josephine Potter was exactly the type of person who required no less than eight hours of sleep, and if she got any less than that, she looked like she was about ready to start ripping heads off. But now she finds herself tossing and turning, restless and unable to keep her eyes closed.

The air in the halls is heavy. The portraits eyes are sleepy and heavy, watching as she mindlessly drifts down the hall. Her footsteps echo, heels of her shoes clacking against the floor, bouncing against the walls. It's so still, so quiet. Jo is alone with her thoughts, wand twisting between her fingers.

There's something calming about the empty halls, something about the way the silence hits her ears, fills her up, that eases her, takes her worries down. And maybe that's why, every day since she's come back, she finds herself mindlessly wandering. It's the only time, the only occasion, she can stop thinking about those three muggles, stop thinking about what their face must've looked like, stop imagining it happening to her friends.

Her hands are in the pocket of her pajamas as she walks, head down and wild curls bouncing with each step. And then she hears it. The sound of it makes her freeze, the sniffling. She hears the deep, gasping breath and the sniffles, the unmistakable sound of crying. And Jo doesn't have to think about it before she finds herself inching towards it, step by step, turning the corner until she finds the source of it.

The floppy head of black hair makes her freeze. She stares, for a moment, confused, shocked. Jo is looking back and forth between the crying figure on the floor and the empty corridor behind her. She knows at once it's him, from the long limbs that are slumped against the wall, the curls that fall in front of his forehead, the long, ring-adorned fingers pressed against his eyes. Regulus Black's shoulders are shaking as he curls up on the ground. Jo thinks for a second, before she calls out, "Black?" Her voice echoes against the empty hall, she hears it back, the surprise in it. At the sound of it, Regulus snaps his head up, stormy eyes narrowed, harsh. "What are you doing down here?"

Jo watches him, his regal features twisting and his fingers working quickly to rid his cheeks of any evidence of crying. She watches the way he hardens, eyes going from wide to narrowed, mouth pressed into a hard line. "I'm a prefect. I'm doing rounds," he spits at her, tone sharp, cutting through the air.

"At three in the morning? On the floor?" she questions, and against her better judgement, Jo takes a few steps towards him. She doesn't know what she's doing when positions herself across from him, leaning against the wall opposite of him, sinking into the ground. She knows who he is, who his family is, and still, she sits, against her better judgement. "Are you crying?"

His eyes are red and puffy, face still wet, and breath irregular, but he still spits out, "Obviously not," contempt clear in his voice.

"Erm, will it make you feel better if I act like I believe you?" Jo asks, and she pulls her legs close to her chest, arms holding them tight. And she looks at him, looks at the way his hair hands in his face and the quiver in his lip and she sees Sirius, sees a younger, more haughty version of the boy she sees as her brother. And maybe that's why she doesn't leave, why she sits there, watching the way he avoids her gaze.

"Why do you care, anyways?" Regulus snaps, eyes dancing across the corridor floor.

Jo just gives him a simple shrug. "Suppose I don't like seeing people upset," she answers, easy and simple. "Do you, erm, want to talk about it?"

And this is when his eyes meet hers, storm gray and pouring into hers, intense and harsh. "So you can just run off and tell my brother?"

"What would I get from that?" Jo asks, thinking of the dynamic between the Black brothers, thinking of the look in Sirius's eyes anytime someone so much as mentions Regulus's name in passing. "I tell Sirius I spoke with you and all I get is him acting moody for a while. It's actually quite annoying. Every time he so much as sees you, he sulks for hours."

There's a brief moment of silence. Jo watches as that information hits him, watches him