Chapter 6: Lines in link and Blood

History of Magic was usually the one class where my mind could wander without consequence. Professor Binns droned on, the air was warm, and even Hermione sometimes struggled to stay fully alert. Today, however, was different. “Today,” Binns said, floating a few inches above his desk as usual, “you will be researching your family lineage in relation to the last three major wizarding conflicts. Family alliances, bloodlines, and inherited loyalties played a significant role in shaping magical history.” A low groan rippled through the room. I exchanged a look with Hermione. Her eyes were already bright with interest. “A family tree assignment,” she whispered reverently. “This is fascinating.” “Of course it is,” I muttered, pulling parchment toward me. Stacks of old records, ministry registries, and dusty genealogy books appeared along the tables. Hermione dove in immediately, quill scratching at lightning speed. I hesitated. The Thatcher line was not particularly famous, old yes, but quiet. No dark lords. No heroes. Just names. Or so I thought. Halfway through the lesson, Hermione froze. That alone was alarming. “Melody,” she said slowly, flipping one of the books around. “What is your grandmother’s maiden name?” “Eleanor Fairbourne,” I answered without thinking. “Why?” Hermione’s mouth fell open. “No,” she breathed. “That cannot be right.” My stomach tightened. “Hermione?” She grabbed another book, then another, piling them together. “Okay. So. My great-aunt, my mother’s aunt, was a Fairbourne. Eleanor Fairbourne.” I stared at her. “That is not exactly a common name.” Hermione looked up at me, eyes wide and almost sparkling with disbelief. “Melody. Unless wizarding genealogy has rewritten itself overnight…” “We are related,” I finished faintly. She nodded. “Second cousins, I think. Maybe once removed. But still cousins.” For a moment, the classroom noise faded. The scratching quills, the whispering students, even Professor Binns’ voice dissolved into nothing. “You are telling me,” I said slowly, “that we have been sharing a dormitory, surviving trolls, exams, and near-death experiences…” “And we are family,” Hermione finished, grinning despite herself. I let out a short laugh, half hysterical. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” Hermione reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Honestly, it makes a bit of sense. You always felt familiar.” “I thought that was just trauma bonding.” She laughed, then sobered. “Do you think your parents know?” “Probably,” I said. “Mine never talked much about extended family. Especially wizarding ones.” Hermione glanced back down at the parchment. “History really does repeat itself, doesn’t it? Same bloodlines, different generations.” My eyes drifted across the room without meaning to and landed on Draco Malfoy. He was slouched in his chair, idly twirling his quill, looking bored out of his mind. Completely unaware that a few feet away my entire understanding of my place in the wizarding world had just shifted. Family. Blood. Lines drawn centuries ago, still echoing into the present. I swallowed. This castle was full of secrets, and apparently some of them were written right into our names. Hermione leaned closer and whispered, “Well. This makes you officially stuck with me forever.” I smiled weakly. “As if I was not already.” But even as I said it, my gaze flicked back to the blond Slytherin across the room, and I could not shake the feeling that this new revelation was only the beginning, that history, inconvenient and persistent, was not done with us yet. Hermione cleared her throat and raised her hand. Professor Binns drifted to a halt mid-lecture, turning slowly in the air as though the motion itself inconvenienced him. “Yes, Miss Granger. If this is a question about goblin rebellions, kindly hold it until-” “Actually, Professor, it’s about the assignment,” Hermione said, sitting straighter. “We believe we’ve discovered a direct familial connection between two students during our research.” A ripple of murmurs moved through the class. I felt every eye turn toward us and fought the urge to sink under the desk. Binns blinked, which was always unsettling. “A connection, you say. Entirely expected. Most wizarding families intersect eventually. Which houses are involved?” Hermione glanced at me, then back to him. “Mine and Melody Thatcher’s, sir. The Fairbourne line.” Binns floated closer, peering down at our parchments. “Fairbourne… Fairbourne… ah yes. Minor but persistent lineage. Neutral in the First Wizarding War, divided loyalties in the second-” “That’s my grandmother,” Hermione added quickly. “Eleanor Fairbourne.” “And mine,” my voice surprised me by not shaking. “She was my grandmother too. Maiden name.” The room went very quiet. Binns nodded slowly. “Indeed. That would make you second cousins, once removed. Possibly closer, depending on undocumented branches.” Ron’s voice carried from behind us. “Blimey. That explains a lot.” Hermione shot him a look but couldn’t quite hide her smile. “This is precisely the point of the exercise,” Binns continued, already losing interest. “Bloodlines are not abstract concepts. They are living threads. You may find them inconvenient, enlightening, or both. Kindly document the connection and continue.” And just like that, he drifted back toward the blackboard, resuming his lecture as if we hadn’t just rewritten our personal histories in the middle of class. Hermione exhaled. “Well. That went better than expected.” “I half thought he’d start reciting our entire family tree,” I muttered. “Give him time.” We bent back over our parchments, adding neat notes and careful lines. Cousins. Fairbourne. Confirmed. I felt strangely lighter for having said it aloud, as if the knowledge had stopped pressing so hard against my ribs. Across the room, Draco Malfoy glanced up briefly, eyes flicking toward us before darting away again. For a split second, something unreadable crossed his face. Interest, maybe. Or calculation. Hermione followed my gaze and leaned in. “You’re thinking this matters beyond a history essay, aren’t you?” “I’m thinking,” I said slowly, “that if bloodlines really are living threads, then someone always tries to pull them.” Hermione’s expression sharpened, thoughtful and serious now. “Then we’ll be ready.” I nodded, though unease curled in my stomach. Because history had noticed us. And it rarely did so without expecting something in return.