Dark Arts, Oliver Wood

One: Cruel Summer

Mae suddenly feels so homesick that she can't breathe. She goes back to staring out the window, watching the street lights blur into each other, painting fluorescent shooting stars across her vision.

It hurts so much that she can't stop herself from saying, "You could be a bit happier, you know. It's just Hogwarts. I mean, I could be in Azkaban right now, or the magical electric chair, if that's even a thing..."

At least it breaks the silence. At least it gives them something to talk about.

"You think," her father says in that painfully slow way, the way that means he's fighting back his anger, "that I'm happy?"

Mae shrugs. "Why not?"

"You think I'm happy that you've dragged me halfway across the world just to humiliate me in front of the Wizengamot? That you've brought me back to the place that I–" His grip tightens on the wheel, knuckles going so white that it must be painful. Mae wishes she knew how he was going to end that sentence.

"I didn't do it to you. The world doesn't revolve around you, believe it or not."

They spend the next few minutes in a tense silence that's worse than if he'd just yelled at her. That's one of the worst things – the whole summer, her father has been tangibly angry, but he's barely even raised his voice, never berated her, never screamed his throat hoarse. He had that first night, at everyone and everything, not just Mae. But ever since then Mae feels like she's been waiting for the dam to break and for all his rage to crush her.

She wonders how far she can push this before he snaps. "You just ran a yellow light," she tries. "And while we're breaking the law, why don't you reverse and run those pedestrians over? I think you missed a few at the last crosswalk."

"I don't need you to lecture me about breaking the law."

"You sure? I'm happy to give you some pointers."

It's a miracle, she thinks, that he doesn't crash the car.

No, he just slams on the brakes at the next red light, whirling to face her. "Adult wizards have gone to Azkaban for less , Mae! Do you – do you even have any inkling of an idea of what you've put us through? Of the example you've set to the world? I have done everything in my power to protect you, but I won't be able to do it if you pull another stunt like the one this morning."

Stunt isn't exactly the word Mae would use to describe this morning, and in her defence, she did try her best. Really and truly. She'd sworn to tell the truth, and so she had, even if it wasn't the kind of thing anyone wanted to hear.

Miss Courtley, the Wizengamot had said, every one of them staring her down with eagle-like intensity, you're a talented witch. You excel in your studies, and you've never shown any inclination towards or affinity for the dark arts, much less necromancy. So please, answer us this: why did you do it?

It was a stupid question, and so, obviously, Mae had leaned forward and said, For fun. Big mistake.

"Tituba's tits," Mae says, leaning back in her car seat, not caring that her dad hates that expression. "What did you want me to say to them? What do you want me to say to you ?"

"Why don't we try driving in silence for a little while? Think you can accomplish that?"

Mae doesn't dignify that with a response; she settles for glaring at the car stereo like that'll fix her problems.

They spend the next half hour driving in silence, her dad occasionally muttering something under his breath when someone cuts him off in traffic. It's too dark for Mae to really look at the landscape; she just gets close enough to the window that if she exhales with an open mouth, it fogs up the glass, and she can draw little skulls with hearts for eyes. Once, her dad looks over, and she swears he smiles. Just a little.