was the most hospital-like canteen one could imagine.

Margaret had too much of an experience with being in the coffee-smelling, plastic-chaired, dully-lit place for her to feel any better than she did in the Janus Thickey ward. There was no one else there except for the bored-looking wizard behind the till.

She had asked if she could go get some coffee before they left, and so there she was. Quite honestly, she just needed to get away from the whole recap Ron was giving to his parents.

It was the third consecutive year she was in a hospital on Christmas day and she had found herself near death once again. She didn't know if the thought made her want to laugh in disbelief or burst into tears.

The coffee cup in her hand was scorching, but she didn't flinch away from it. She seemed to welcome the pain. She looked down at it in thought for barely a second before being crashed back into reality when a girl screamed at the wizard behind the till.

"What do you mean you've run out of coffee, you stinking turnip!"

The boy sighs, "Listen, you can call me all the things you like but we've run out of coffee. The visiting hours end in fifteen, it's Christmas-"

"I don't care what it is!" she shrieks, making Margaret cringe. "Sickness doesn't care if it's Christmas or not, so neither should coffee! If you want to keep your job, do as I fucking say or I swear to Merlin I will get you fired."

The barista did not look at all bothered. He seemed far too used to this for his own good.

"Miss Greengrass, why don't you have tea just for today? Maybe a cup o' hot cocoa?"

Margaret straightened in her seat, now noticing the unmistakable straight blonde hair tied into a loose braid over the girl's shoulders.

"Tea?!" she screams again, sounding rather distraught as she throws her hands in the air. "You- You know what? I think I'm just going to get you fired...!"

"Miss Greengrass-"

"No, nope; you think you're so lucky just... being here... leading a normal life," she mumbles incoherently, choking back a sob. "I'm going to get you fired, you filthy Mudblood!"

The boy looked even more sympathetic now as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the tearoom, not noticing the other figure in the room.

Margaret shot a bewildered look at him when she caught his eye. He shrugged in response.

"People tend to take out their stress on baristas," he says with a half-smile, "especially if he's a muggle-born."

Glancing down at her coffee that she had not taken a sip from yet, and she sighed, making her decision.

"Well, purebloods are overrated anyway," she tells him. He raised an eyebrow at this, looking somewhat amused. She noticed now that he looked rather young, only a year or two older than her; and if she was being honest, he was kind of attractive.

She shook her head with a small smirk and walked out of the place.

He was cute and if she had met him back in her world, she would have flirted until she got his number. If she was bored one Friday night, she would text him and would agree to go out with him the next day if he asked. If their conversation had not interested her, however, she would block his number. It was a simple game.

At the moment, however, not only was she too far away from any mobile technology but she was not the same Maggie anymore.

She was Margaret. And Margaret had responsibilities that could not be ignored for casual dating. She had a duty that could not be put on hold. She had powers that were supposedly still out of her control. Apparently, she also had a knack for finding Daphne Greengrass in the oddest situations.

Like crying her eyes out in a white-tiled corner of a hospital hallway.

The last thing that Daphne Greengrass expectedwasto find a cup of coffee held out to her by the snarky Gryffindor girl who seemed to have materialised out of nowhere.

"You look like you need it more than I do," she tells her, keeping any sort of pity out of her voice.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Daphne exclaims, wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her black coat and getting to her feet. She pushed past Margaret, slumping down on one of the wooden chairs on the side before exclaiming, "Leave me the hell alone!"

Margaret frowned, walking over to her. "Just take the coffee and I'll leave. I promise it's not poisoned."

Daphne shot her a scathing glare. "I don't need any charity from a Mudblood like yourself!"

Her words did not have the same effect on Margaret as Pansy's always did; mostly because Daphne was in the middle of sobbing a moment ago so her voice sounded strangled.

"Technically speaking, you don't even know what my blood-status is," Margaret says, taking a seat next to her and placing the cup of coffee on the wooden armrest between them.

"Your surname isn't pureblood," Daphne snaps, glaring at her out of the corner of her eyes.

"Could be half-blood, I'm not from Britain," she shrugs nonchalantly. Truthfully, she did not know where she would fit in on the blood purity chart.

Daphne scoffed at this but it promptly turned into a choked sob. She wiped under her eyes again before folding her arms and holding them close to her chest as though trying to shield herself.

Seeing this, Margaret holds out the coffee cup again, saying gently, "Just take it..."

Daphne looked down at the polystyrene cup and scowled, glancing up at her briefly before looking away.

"I know you're going to go tell all about this... about this to those blood-traitor friends of yours... so that all you filthy scums can laugh together... You don't have to pretend to be nice to anyone."

"Oh, please," Margaret rolls her eyes, "we ran into each other in a damn hospital, Daphne; how insensitive do you think I am?"

"I know you Gryffindors very well," she grits out venomously. "You little attention-seeking prats would do anything. Just look at your friend Potter - him and his made-up tales..."

Margaret raised a brow. "I know what you're doing."

"Oh yeah?" she challenges.

"You're upset... so you're taking your anger and sadness out on someone else-"

Daphne let out a laugh of disbelief. "Don't go acting like you understand-!"

"Trust me, I do," Margaret mutters to the ground. "It's easy for you to assume you're going through the worst thing. And that's okay to think... Crying doesn't make you weak... Just because everyone else is going through shit, doesn't make your shit is any less shitty-"

"No!" Daphne exclaims suddenly, scrunching her eyes closed and hiccupping, "Stop it!"

"Stop... what?"

"Stop what you're trying to do-"

"I'm not-"

"No, no, no; stop trying to- stop trying to understand-" she covers her ears. For a moment, Margaret doubted if Daphne was going insane.

"Da-"

"STOP TRYING TO BE NICE!"

There was a beat of silence, the words resonating in the hallway.

She got to her feet and began pacing, her hands trembling and her side as her breathing laboured. Seeing this, Margaret straightened in her seat.

"You think you're so- so clever and important like your pathetic friends - but you never had to face anything that makes you want to... want to- forget everything and leave, but you can't because you're fucking stuck and you have to watch people you love get hurt because you've got no way of helping them; So don't go acting like you understand- because you don't! No one knows what it's like- living in a nightmare, wanting to wake up but you can't, you can't... because you're not dreaming... and... and...-"

Her voice increased in pitch until she choked on her sobs. She turned around and pressed her hands to her mouth, her muffled cries echoed in the tiled hallway but she made no move to leave.

Margaret was not exactly surprised at her outburst, she was worried if anything. She knew Daphne needed to vent about whatever it was that was upsetting her. So she frowned at her lap, giving her a few moments to compose herself before she got to her feet as well.

"I'm not trying to do anything, Daphne..." she tells her quietly. "I thought maybe you, of all people, didn't believe in House stereotypes-"

"Everyone be- believes in House stereotypes," she scoffs, her voice small. "You do too."

Margaret frowned. When did she ever come across as rude to Slytherins- Oh, right... Pansy. She'd made Pansy cry.

"I'm only rude to people who are rude to my friends," she sighs, remembering Zacharias Smith, who was a Hufflepuff and she had still taught him a lesson for being rude to Harry. "As for Slytherins in general..." She exhales before muttering, "The Sorting Hat took way too long in trying to convince me that Slytherin would do me good..."

Daphne glanced over her shoulder but did not look at her directly.

"I'm not biased on Houses, Daphne," Margaret continues softly, "I never was... I guess I should tell you that... I saw you comforting that little girl a while ago. Ammon, I think her name was... Ammon Darlow? You saved her from getting bullied."

"Tend to eavesdrop too, do you?" she asks bitterly, folding her arms and glaring at the ground.

"I just happened to be there," Margaret shrugs. "I was gonna go help her before you showed up... And to be honest, I'm glad you did. I didn't know some first years could feel so... er-"

"Left out? Guilty? Out-casted? Like they don't belong?"Daphne offers, sniffling.

"Something like that, yeah..." Margaret says, looking at her curiously.

Before she could say anything else, a blond-haired man in the Healer uniform appeared from the stairs.

"Miss Greengrass?" the Healer calls, walking up to the two.

Daphne's head snapped up so fast, there was a crick in her neck. Rubbing it, she asks, "Healer McKinley? Is my sister okay?"

Margaret blinked, the puzzle pieces falling together. Her sister... Astoria Greengrass. Of course!

"Your sister is feeling just all right, dear," the Healer informs kindly.

"But they said-"

"I am aware," Healer McKinley says solemnly. "Her condition is worsening... I'm afraid this time the prediction might come true..." He gives her a comforting smile now close enough to place a hand on her shoulder as she trembles slightly. "But it might not, you never know. She's lived past everyone's expectations - all she needs is hope to keep going. And for that, you need to be there for her."

Daphne nodded once. "Thank you..."

Healer McKinley patted her shoulder. "Your parents are looking for you."

"Er, I'll be... I'll be there in a moment..."

The Healer nodded and made his way back downstairs.

The atmosphere in the corridor stilled. Margaret had a single second to take a step back as Daphne took out her wand and pressed the tip to her throat.

"Whoa; easy, there," Margaret says calmly, her senses alert. She could still block any attempts at jinxes if she used telekinesis - but then Daphne would find out about her powers... She will have to be very patient with this.

"If - you - tell - anyone-"

"I won't; I swear I won't," she promises. "Because believe it or not, Daphne, I do know how you feel."

"You've said that to everything," she grits out, looking very pale; her eyes were red and puffy and her hand shaking uncontrollably.

"If you haven't noticed, you've been saying the same thing in different ways," Margaret points out, looking quite chill for someone who was currently getting a wand-burn on their throat. She frowns as she adds, "In my case, it was my brother..."

Daphne narrowed her blue-green eyes at this. The burn on Margaret's throat got worse but she tried not to flinch.

"And?" she snaps.

"He... He passed away," Margaret says emotionlessly, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest. "There you go; a secret for a secret..."

"For all I know, you could be lying," Daphne hisses, pressing her wand harder to her throat.

Margaret's eyes swirled with scarlet and she slapped her wand away.

"Do you think I'd joke about something like that?"

Daphne gazed suspiciously at her eyes for a moment but did not raise her wand again. Finally, she looked away and sat down on the edge of the chair. Margaret analysed her for a moment then sat down next to her slowly.

"My little sister, Astoria, is a Maledictus," she says croakily after a moment. "It's heredity... She's not dangerous, though! Not at all... She's a sweetheart, if anything... They keep saying... They keep saying every year that she only has a year left to live. They've been saying that since she was five."

Bearers of a hereditary blood curse were prone to illnesses. The worst part of it was that they turned into beasts; initially on will, but the older they grew, the more they lost their human form. Nagini was once a woman, after all, and a Maledictus.

"But doesn't the blood curse cause sickness? I mean, maybe her immune system isn't fully matured but why would that cause her to- I don't know, why'd they say something like that," Margaret questions unsurely. Maledictus led the person to early death but their life span wasn't as short as five or fifteen years.

"This is different," Daphne replies, chuckling humourlessly. "She hasn't yet turned into some kind of a... beast... It- The curse should have made her into one... at least occasionally while she slept. That's why they're confused - and they won't admit it but they're scared. They keep saying the longer it takes for her to turn into one, she'd- she would become more... dangerous."

Margaret did not have any words for that, a dull ache growing in her chest. She bowed her head wordlessly.

"What happened? To your brother, I mean," Daphne asks quietly a moment later.

"He was in an accident. He lived for a week after that... unconscious but alive. But..." Margaret answers softly, wriggling her fingers together. "On this very day. Two years ago, today..."

She remembered the exact moment she was asked by a nurse in the hospital cafe why she was not in the room with her brother during his last moments. She was confused because Mark was not dying; the doctors had said that his chances were low but there was still hope, and she had held on to that hope. She believed that he would recover and promised that she would be there for him, no matter how long it took.

But the nurse had told her that their father had signed the papers and given the permission to let him go, even though they had asked him to wait until the New Year of 2018. But their father refused, saying that he could no longer see his son in pain.

Their poor mother had no idea, and neither did Margaret.

Maybe that was why she got used to the Wizarding World of 1995 so quickly - here she had a new purpose, a chance to start over, and a chance to do things the right way. Her family never existed here. She could move on....

Even if she felt guilty for being alive.

"Was he younger than you?" Daphne asks, snapping Margaret out of her depressing thoughts.

"By two minutes and twenty-two seconds," she says with a small smile. "We were twins."

Daphne no longer looked on the verge of tears, even though her appearance was messy - eyes puffy, cheeks red and strands of her hair that had escaped her braid falling on her face. Somewhere between yelling, threatening and sobbing, she had managed to compose herself.

Looking down at the floor, Margaret mutters quietly, "Sometimes I wish it was me rather than him."

Daphne exhales shakily, "Me too..."

"I'm guessing she's here, then," Margaret says gently, changing the topic a bit.

Daphne nods, "On second floor. We usually have a doctor over at our house but..." Her brows draw closer and she quickly changes the topic, "Who're you here for?"

"A friend's Dad got injured at work, and since I'm staying with their family for the holidays, I came along to visit too," she responds.

"What about your family?"

Margaret smirks, "That's enough secrets for one day, Greengrass."

"...Fair enough," says Daphne, exhaling.

She finally took notice of the coffee on the armrest and pointed her wand at the space beside it, transfiguring an empty mug. She poured half of the coffee in it and held out the polystyrene cup.

Margaret took it, a little touched but more amused.

"You're not allowed to do magic outside of school," she points out, taking a sip and trying not to cringe. The coffee was not deserving of being called coffee.

"That law's mostly for Muggleborns and Half-Bloods," Daphne says, cringing and looking down at the beverage. "This coffee is terrible..."

Margaret didn't miss how she did not use the term 'Mudblood' again. "And why is that?" she questions.

"Honestly, don't you read?" she says, rolling her eyes; reminding Margaret so much of Hermione Granger. Daphne continues, "Kids involved with Muggles are more tempted to break the International Statute of Secrecy. Pureblood families don't have their children involved with Muggles; hence we're not bothered about showing off to unworthy scums."

Margaret chuckles, "You'll be amazed at the achievements of these 'unworthy scums', mark my words."

She raises a perfect brow, "Surprise me, Xenakis."

"Who knows? Maybe I will," she says, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. "You know, this is the first time I've seen you not hiding behind your hair."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daphne states, staring at the opposite wall, silently sipping her coffee and wincing at the taste.

Margaret shrugs, "It suits you."

stood handsome and proud on the outskirts of Wiltshire, England, its windows glittering like diamonds in the afternoon sunlight; surrounded by elaborate gardens with neatly trimmed hedges, wandered by majestic albino peacocks that were camouflaged in the snow of late December. The grounds stretched along on either side for acres and acres, blending into growths of various types of trees and plants.

The air was freezing around the glacial pond that was found a little ways north-east of the mansion. What was colder, however, was Draco Malfoy's glare.

"You find that funny, do you?!"

His friend was kneeling on the icy pond, shoulders shaking with incessant laughter. Draco scooped up a fist-full of snow and tossed it at him, hitting him square on the ear.

"Ow! Oh, you're so gonna regret that-"

Another ball of snow hit him right in the face, cutting him off, and it was Draco this time who chortled, ducking as his friend retaliated. This went on for several minutes until both of them, covered in snow, collapsed on the bank of the pond, half-panting and half-laughing.

"I... won," Draco claims in between breaths.

"No, no-"

"Yes, I did."

"No, no, no... no, you did not, you started it-"

"I started it?! You were the one laughing your arse off-"

"I threw the last snowball; and for the record, you absolutely suck at ice-skating," his friend retorts.