Mass Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nor will I own Harry Potter in any future chapters, and this is a mass disclaimer for the entire fic so I don't have to put one at the beginning of every chapter.

Author's Note: Shira Lansys's Long Haul Competition, over on the HPFC forum, is what will keep this updates coming every single week.

Anyway, this story focuses on Morag MacDougal. She is indeed a canon character - she was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and is in the same year as Harry and company. That's all that's known about her, which gives me a lot to work with.

In advance, thanks for reading!

It was late when seventeen-year-old Morag MacDougal woke up. She had an excuse - after all, she had been up late replying to Padma's letter, which had been nearly as long as some of the essays that the students at Hogwarts wrote. It had taken her a long time to write a response - a response which was nearly as long as Padma's original missive - and by the time she had finally fallen into bed, it was nearly three in the morning and she was exhausted.

It was probably close to eleven o'clock - if not noon - now, and she stretched her arms above her head before climbing out of bed. The house was quiet, as it usually was. Morag's parents worked at the Ministry, and they were usually there from eight in the morning until eight at night. Their jobs were more important than anything else, in their minds. They cared for their two daughters, but it was still obvious that work was certainly more important than spending time with their teenagers.

It didn't really bother Morag. She was used to it by now, and since she had spent the past six years at Hogwarts, away from her parents, it's not like they were very close to begin with. It bothered her younger sister, Katrina, much more, but then, most things bothered Katrina.

Shaking that thought out of her head - she'd deal with her sister soon enough, might as well have a few moments of peace - she glanced at her reflection in the mirror quickly before heading to her closet. As always in the morning, her brown hair looked like a bird's nest, and she knew that her sister wouldn't hesitate to point that out. She had taken to getting dressed and combing her hair before going downstairs; Katrina was already abrasive enough without adding comments about appearance to the mix.

She hurriedly slid out of her pyjamas and threw on a pair of robes. The MacDougals were not pureblood fanatics like the Malfoys, by any means, but their bloodline went back enough generations to where magical things were generally more accepted than Muggle ones. They were very neutral in almost everything - they didn't argue for or against Voldemort, nor did they argue for or against Dumbledore or Fudge or Harry Potter or whoever the current person of interest was. They kept their heads down and went along with their business, and they didn't get into trouble.

It was a philosophy that Morag had also implemented at school. Although she had hated Dolores Umbridge with a passion - the woman looked like a toad forced into a pink dress, as she had once told Padma - she hadn't made this common knowledge. As a result, she had been one of the students to never experience detention with Umbridge; she had never felt the sting of the illegal Blood Quill. It was something that she was secretly proud of, managing to keep her temper under control that whole year, never standing up in the middle of class and calling the professor all the names that she thought in private.

She ran a brush through her hair, looking in the mirror the whole time. She was tall, something that petite Su always was jealous over. She wasn't classically beautiful, like Lavender in their year, but, at least, she thought, smiling slightly, she wasn't always scowling like Katrina. Morag tossed the brush back on her end table, grabbed her wand, and headed down the stairs, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation with her sister.

Katrina was seated at the dining room table, looking rather bored. Most of the reason for her bad behavior, Morag knew, was her lack of magic. Katrina was a Squib, and she was bitter about it. She resented Morag for having the ability to do magic, for going off to Hogwarts year after year while she was stuck going to the local Muggle school, which she despised. She resented their parents for having the bad luck to have a Squib child and for not being able to do a single thing about it. Her bad mood extended all the time, as far as Morag knew; the only times she could remember Katrina being happy were either when she was very little, before she actually understood what not having magic meant, or, rarely, when she was caught off-guard.

"Hello," Morag said warily, passing by her sister to the counter, where she began fixing up a sandwich. "Did the Prophet come today yet?"

"Of course," the younger MacDougal girl said condescendingly. "It's nearly twelve o'clock. It came over three hours ago - while you were still laying in bed."

"For your information, I was up until three in the morning." Morag sat down at the table, biting into her lunch. "I was writing to my friend." She was tempted to add something along the lines of 'Not that you'd know anything about that, seeing as you don't have friends', but decided against it. That was a low blow, and the low blows only occurred in real arguments. This was just normal Katrina-Morag interaction. "So was there anything important in the newspaper?"

"And what do you mean by important?"

"Out of the ordinary," Morag sighed. She knew her sister realized what she meant; Katrina was just being difficult. "As in, anything other than constant deaths and disappearances, and the Ministry trying to convince everybody that everything is okay."

"That's the extent of it," Katrina replied. "I already looked at it. While you were -"

"Sleeping, I know." She rolled her eyes. "Anybody we know?"

"No." Morag wasn't even sure if Katrina would answer that correctly - after all, Morag knew many more people than Katrina. For now, she decided to trust her sister's answer, as she didn't particularly feel like looking through the newspaper. Pius Thicknesse's face stared out from the front page as he mentioned Harry Potter's Undesirable status, and she glanced away. The Death Eaters had just recently taken over, and few people had really been in a position to oppose them. The war was over to most people.

"I'm going to Diagon Alley today," Morag said next after a brief pause, finishing her lunch. "I need to get my school supplies." She didn't bother asking if Katrina wanted to come. First of all, there was no way she'd want to, not to mention that it wasn't really safe for a Squib to be wandering around in broad daylight. Not many people knew that the MacDougals had a Squib daughter, and it was unlikely that anybody would recognize her face, but it would be too suspicious when a thirteen-year-old didn't buy any Hogwarts supplies, and people would ask questions.

They couldn't afford questions.

"Whatever." Katrina rolled her eyes. "Who's even running the school now? The old bloke died."

"Professor Dumbledore was murdered," Morag corrected, her eyes flashing. "Our bastard of a Potions teacher killed him. Now, I have no idea who's going to be Headmaster." She glanced at the front page again. "I don't think it's going to be that good, though. The Ministry's already fallen - Hogwarts would be next." Nervousness ripped through her at the thought. Umbridge had been bad enough, but at least she was no Death Eater. Now...she couldn't even imagine who would be appointed to the position of Headmaster. It would be fair for Professor McGonagall to get it, but she wasn't sure if the Transfiguration teacher even would. After all, if the Ministry couldn't resist the Death Eaters, could Hogwarts?

"Have fun with that," Katrina said, picking up the newspaper and tucking it under her arm. "I'm going up to my room."

"And I'm going to Diagon Alley." Morag left the dining room as well, although while Katrina headed upstairs to her bedroom, the older girl went into the living room, looking at the large fireplace that was in front of her. She took out her wand, muttering, "Incendio" in order to get the flames to rear up. They did, and she tucked it away again, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and throwing it into the fire. It promptly turned emerald green, and she jumped in, calling, "The Leaky Cauldron!" right before they whisked her away.

She tumbled out at the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, landing in an ungraceful heap. One of the people sitting at a nearby table looked disdainfully at her, before sniffing and turning away, but most people ignored her. Good. She stood up, brushing soot off herself before deciding that a cleaning charm would work better. It did, and, not for the first time, she was happy at the ability to do magic outside of school. It was good to be seventeen. She weaved her way through the people there and found her way to the back, where she tapped her wand on the bricks, opening the entrance to Diagon Alley.

It was rather empty. Some of the stores, like Ollivander's and Florean Fortescue's, were closed, but the ones she needed remained open, although the atmosphere was still subdued. Less people were there, and the ones that were hurried by, clutching their children tightly to them and not making eye contact with anybody. She did the same; although she doubted anybody would actually do anything to her, it didn't hurt to be cautious. She bought her books and supplies quickly after stopping at Gringotts, not lingering as she usually did.

This was the first time she had ever come alone. Even with her parents being busy as they were, they would still have time to take Morag to Diagon Alley. Usually, they dragged Katrina along simply so that she wasn't home alone even more than she usually was, and it was one of the few family outings they had. Most of it was because Morag had been underage, and they certainly weren't about to make their underage daughter go shopping by herself. After all, Morag had thought snarkily at the time, it might ruin their precious reputation.

Now, though, she was seventeen. She was technically an adult in the Wizarding world, which meant that she could do what she wanted. She could take money from Gringotts without anybody eyeing her strangely, and as she passed through the Leaky Cauldron she quickly ordered a small drink just for the hell of it. She gulped it down - Merlin knew she needed it if she was going to be home with Katrina all day - and used the fireplace again, this time to return back to her house.

Morag went up to her room as soon as she arrived. Now that she had her things, she might as well pack. She hadn't done it at all yet, and school was barely two weeks away. As carefully as possible she dumped her things into her large trunk before adding her uniforms and clothes, looking around her room several times to make sure she didn't miss anything. Satisfied with the results, she locked it with a flick of her wand and set it upright. She was ready for September first.

That didn't mean she was ready for the Hogwarts year. She was still apprehensive about what it was going to be like, and she flopped back on her bed, attempting to reassure herself that it would be fine, dull, with nothing out of the ordinary.

She couldn't convince herself.

My next multi-chapter...and my first Trio Era one! This is exciting, haha. Morag's one of my favorite minor characters, and I've always wondered, after writing my most recent story with her, what her seventh year would be like. Which is how this story was born. Anyway, thanks for reading!