Warning: Violence, injury, and death.

Chapter 52. The Death Chamber

Clara knew she and Rachel couldn't stay in the circular room. It seemed that despite the Department of Mysteries' twisted halls and many connecting rooms, one always ended up somehow re-emerging into the circular room, and in this particular situation, the most likely people to emerge were Death Eaters.

She tried a door—locked. She drew her wand, doubting this would work. "Alohamora," she said quietly, pointing her wand at the locked door. It did not yield.

Clara turned around and tried another door, pushing it open.

The Time Room again, with its hourglasses and the bell jar with the bird that kept shrinking and growing.

Clara eyed the door down at the end that led to the Hall of Prophecy. She pushed two desks apart a ways and pulled Rachel between them. She knelt down so that they were effectively covered by the desks from either door.

She rocked back on her heels and thumped to the ground, her back clanging against the metal desk. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the exhaustion of the night so far hitting her like a train. She sat like that for five heartbeats, and then she knelt again, sitting on her heels beside Rachel's still form.

With shaky, unpracticed fingers, she felt along Rachel's neck to feel her pulse. It was weak but sure and regular.

"Rachel," she said. "Rachel, wake up."

Rachel didn't wake.

Clara drew her wand. She had never tried this spell before, but—"Rennervate," she said quietly, concentrating.

Rachel's eyes fluttered and she groaned. "Clara?" she said, and stirred, reaching up to fix her glasses—somehow, miraculously, still on. "Where's everybody else?"

"No idea," Clara answered, helping Rachel sit up.

Rachel reached into her robes. "I feel damp," she said, pulling out her wand.

"Yeah, you took a swim," Clara said. "Remember?"

Rachel shuddered. "Unfortunately," she said. She rubbed her limbs where the brains had constricted them. She used her wand to blow hot air at herself, drying her chilly robes. "So what's the plan?"

"No plan," Clara said. "I'm sort of a make-it-up-as-I-go-along sort of person."

Rachel shook her head. "Hufflepuffs," she muttered.

Clara would have been highly offended if she didn't sound so affectionate.

"Do you think Easton managed to get help?" Rachel asked.

"I hope so," Clara answered uncertainly. "I think so. Probably."

"Encouraging," Rachel said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

The door opened, and Clara and Rachel froze.

"The time room again," said a vaguely familiar female voice.

"Okay," responded a male one. "Okay. Now what do we do? What do we do now?"

"Well first you stop panicking, Derek," said a third voice, strained from either pain or annoyance or some combination therein.

"Right," said Derek's voice. "And now we find Clara?"

"And now we find Clara," said the third voice that was Romilda.

Clara grinned. "I might be able to help you out with that one," she said, crawling out from her hiding place to the surprised shrieks and yells of her friends. Derek raced toward her and hugged her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Clara answered when he released her a moment later, holding out a hand to help Rachel up.

Clara gave Romilda a hug, too.

"Ow. Ow ow," Romilda said, and Clara quickly released her.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"No, you were touching me," Romilda said sourly, waggling her eyebrows at Clara.

Astoria stepped forward, helping Rachel sit at one of the desks. Derek knelt next to Rachel, pulling up one of her sleeves and whistling at the damage the brains had done. Astoria looked rather like a ghost with her pale skin and long white nightgown that looked so out of place here in the Department of Mysteries. "You were probably hurting her," Astoria said to Clara. "She took a bad spell."

"Shut up, Greengrass," Romilda said.

Clara eyed Romilda, who was a bit hunched over in pain. "You okay?"

"I'm alive," Romilda answered grimly. "You?"

"Also alive," Clara said.

"Sort of amazing, isn't it?" Rachel put in. "That we're all still alive."

"Don't count your dragons before they hatch," muttered Astoria. "We still have to get out."

"Yeah, let's get on that," Clara said, carefully slipping her arm around Romilda's waist to support her.

Romilda accepted her help. "What, no blazing heroics? No finding your dads and entering the battle with wands drawn and a snarl on your face?"

"No, thanks," Clara said. "Not for me. I've had enough of that." She gulped, the worry that had been filling her gut since the moment this had all begun roiling in her stomach. "Besides, Padfoot can take care of himself, and—wait. Did you say dads? As in plural?"

"I ran into Mr. Lupin on the way to get help," Derek explained. "He sent a Patronus for backup and then went to help Mr. Black."

"Okay," Clara said, trying not to feel sick to her stomach now that two people she loved were locked in mortal combat with fifty Death Eaters. "Well, they can take care of themselves," she reiterated. "Let's go."

They re-entered the circular room. Astoria was about to shut the door when Rachel said, "Wait." She pulled out an inkwell from the pocket of her robes and unstoppered it, sloshing some of its contents on the door they had just exited. "So we don't choose that one again."

They all nodded, and Astoria shut the door. The room spun around them.

When it stopped, they all looked around them.

"What do you think happens if all five of us open a different door at once?" Rachel asked.

"Probably the universe implodes or something," Romilda said.

Derek looked at her. "You get sarcastic when you're not feeling well," he informed her.

"Ha ha," Romilda said. She turned back to Rachel. "Good idea, Chambers, let's do it."

There was a murmur of acquiescence and all five of them chose a door, ignoring the one with an ink stain running down it.

"Nobody actually go in, though," Derek cautioned. "Not alone."

"On three," Clara said. "One, two...three."

Five hands pushed down on five handles.

"Brain room," Rachel said dismissively.

"There's some kind of cages in mine," Astoria said. "I can't really...see..." She made no motion to take a step inside to see.

Romilda rattled her handle. "Mine's locked," she said. A wave of pain ran through her and she cried out softly, falling partially forward onto the door.

Derek, at the door beside her, held it open with his foot and leapt with the rest of his body to her side, bracing her waist with one hand and putting the other hand on hers, which was resting on the doorknob.

And if the handle began to turn under their touch, no one noticed, because Clara took that moment to speak up.

"Guys," she said.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"I found the..." she trailed off.

"Exit?" Astoria supplied hopefully. Romilda gave her a disdainful look.

"Battle," Clara finished.

"Close it," Derek said instantly.

"Clara, no!" Romilda said. "We can't just leave them. Are the reinforcements here?"

"No," Clara answered.

"Are your dads-?"

"Fighting for their lives," Clara answered. Her hand gripped her wand. And losing, she wanted to add, but didn't say it aloud.

"Do not go in there alone," Rachel warned, wisely reading Clara's mind.

"I'm with Easton; close it," Astoria said. "We've got to get out. What use are we in there?"

"We're five extra wands," Romilda hissed.

"No offense, Vane, but you're practically a cripple—"

"I'm not supposed to take offense to that?" Romilda replied heatedly.

"SHUT UP!" Clara shouted. "I'm going in. Anyone else is welcome, but I'm not going to ask you to go. Stay here and find the exit. Mark your doors."

"I'm coming," Romilda said instantly.

"Me too," Derek answered.

Rachel clenched her teeth a second in thought. "Fine," she agreed.

"I'm in," Astoria said finally. "Five wands are better than four."

"I suddenly understand the problem with opening more than one door," Rachel said.

Everyone looked at her, except Clara, who was still watching Sirius and Remus battling in the room with the dais.

"As soon as one of these doors closes, the room will spin," Rachel said. "We have to all get through Clara's door before any of ours close."

"On three," Romilda said. Derek gripped her hand tightly.

Clara held her door open wide.

"One, two, THREE!" Romilda shouted, and all four of them raced through Clara's door and into the Death Chamber.

Which, unbeknownst to any of them, would soon live up to its name.

Lily charged through the empty Ministry of Magic, a host of the Order of the Phoenix on her heels. It was still early in the morning, but soon the whole Ministry would be flooded with some combination of further support for the Death Eaters and a troupe of innocent people coming to their desk jobs.

This had to be settled quickly.

There were about forty Order members behind her.

Lily briefed everyone as they ran. "The object is to rescue the five third-year witches and wizards—Clara Potter, Derek Easton, Romilda Vane, Rachel Chambers, and Astoria Greengrass. There are also two Order members who may or may not be in need of rescue, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin." Her eyes flickered to Tonks, who was white as a sheet in terror. "Let's try to get everyone out safe, people, and take a few Death Eaters out if you possibly can. Sounds like there'll be more than enough opportunity."

Lily made sure everyone was inside the circular room in the Department of Mysteries before shutting the door. The room spun around them and Lily pulled a small, compass-like object from her pocket and examined it.

"Does that identify the doors?" someone asked.

"Mmm," Lily said in assent. "I used to work here."

"And they just let you keep it?"

"Couldn't do much else when my version of quitting was just not showing up for work one day," Lily answered darkly. "They could be anywhere. Let's split up—four groups of ten, pick a door and start searching. Stay together. Have someone send a Patronus to the other groups if you find any of them. Remember—five teenagers, two Order members. Account for all of them if you can, and detail which you've found in your Patronus. Kingsley, Arthur, Hestia—you three are in charge of the other three groups. I'll take the last. Move!"

The groups split off efficiently. Lily led her group through her door into the Time Room. "Check the offices and search the room," she said, beginning to throw open doors in the line of offices along the Time Chamber, hoping beyond hope to find her daughter and the other children in one of them, huddled and afraid but alive and safe.

No such luck.

"Right," Lily said when the room had been searched. "On to the Hall of Prophecy, then. Let's go!"

Clara was fighting with Astoria at her back half-way up the ledges. There were at least fifty Death Eaters here, and only seven on her side. She couldn't see Romilda, Derek, or Rachel anywhere. Sirius and Remus were back to back on the dais in the middle of the room.

Clara knew they were losing badly.

"Be careful!" shouted one Death Eater. "That's the Greengrass' daughter!"

"Daphne?" asked another one in a yell.

"No!" shouted Astoria over the din. "It's As-tor-i-a!" She punctuated each syllable of her name with a nonverbal spell that seemed to be more raw magic than any actual spell. It knocked the Death Eaters back off their feet.

Clara would have been impressed if she hadn't been locked in her own battle with a number of other Death Eaters. One of their spells knocked into her hard, taking her breath and knocking her backwards down the steps into the middle of the room, Astoria with her.

They landed in a battered pile, the Death Eaters in pursuit. "We're going to die," Astoria whispered, ripping off the hem of her nightgown and pressing it to the cut along Clara's hairline where she had hit it on the stone.

"Nobody's dying," growled a voice.

"Moony!" Clara said in relief as Remus hauled both of them up one at a time, throwing spells over their heads as he did so.

"Get out," Remus told her. "Get out! Take this one and go—I'll get the others—"

"But you need us—"

"No, Clara," Remus said. "The rest of the Order will be here any moment, raining down hell on the Death Eaters. You'll see. They're coming. Now get out! Maybe you'll even meet your mum on your way out." He offered her a brief smile before the feral snarl went back on his face, his many scars standing out as he took out two more Death Eaters on his own.

Clara gripped his robes and used her hand as leverage to throw a Full-Body Bind over his shoulder at an approaching Death Eater. "They aren't here now," she argued. "You need us until they get here."

"No," Remus said. "Leave now. That is not a request. Go!"

"But you'll die," Clara said.

Remus removed her hand from his robes and squeezed it for the barest second. "You don't know that," he said, and paused to cast another spell. "But some things are worth dying for."

Clara wanted to throw up. This was all her fault.

Remus released her and charged into a knot of Death Eaters, presumably around Clara's other friends. Astoria grabbed her arm. "Let's go," she said.

At that second, there was the shriek of a battle cry, joined by a chorus of other voices. One of the doors had opened and Hestia Jones led a group of the Order into the battle. Hestia raised her wand and shouted a spell, and a silver squirrel leapt from the end of her wand and scampered off through the walls.

A stream of green light flew toward Hestia and Clara saw it strike her. Hestia froze and then tumbled down the stairs limply. Beside Clara, Astoria screamed in horror.

The rest of the Order charged down the stairs, going around and over her body, immersing themselves in the fight.

"She died," Astoria said. "She just died, she died, oh Merlin, oh Merlin—"

"Shut up! Shut. Up!" Clara snapped. She grabbed Astoria's hand. "Come on, Hestia dying means that Patronus message she sent out did too, reinforcements can't find us if they don't know where to go."

"Can you send one?" Astoria asked.

"Don't be stupid, no fourteen year-old witch could do that," Clara said. "We've got to find Moony again."

The silver squirrel found Arthur's group, who was closest, first.

It zipped up to them, and opened its mouth to speak in Hestia's normally jolly and quick tones.

And then it disappeared into thin air.

"What does that mean?" asked Crystal Martin from the back of his group.

"It means Hestia found the fight," Arthur said grimly. "And it means that there is at least one casualty tonight."

"So that's some kind of code?" asked one of the new members of the Order.

"No, you idiot," snapped Tonks. "It means Hestia's dead. That's what it means."

"So what now?" said someone.

Arthur gripped his wand. "We keep looking," he said. "It's all we can do for now."

He opened another door, leading them into an empty corridor. A silver wolf materialized at the end of the hall through the door that was there, and it ran up to them with speed and agility.

"Remus," Tonks breathed.

It spoke quickly. "Large room with dais," said Remus' voice from the wolf. "Multiple casualties. All children still alive, I believe. At least fifty or sixty assailants. Come quickly."

Tonks pushed to the front. She reached out her hand as if to touch the wolf. "Can you lead us there?" she asked.

The wolf wheeled around and led the way back down the corridor from which it had come.

"Follow that," Arthur ordered, taking off after it in the lead.

Clara was dimly aware that the Order's numbers had grown. Perhaps Remus' Patronus had found another search party.

She was fighting alone now. Astoria had taken a spell to the gut that had made her double over in pain, clutching her belly, and Clara had lost her in the hubbub of battle.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Clara cried, freezing a Death Eater that was about to deliver a fatal blow to Rachel. Rachel scrambled to her feet and nodded at Clara, turning to face another assailant.

Clara headed for the dais where Death Eaters were thickest and Sirius was fighting alone. She couldn't see him through the knot of Death Eaters, but he must be there and still fighting or they wouldn't be congregated around him.

The Cruciatus Curse hit her like a blow from the side. A woman cackled as Clara screamed in pain, her nerves on fire. "Do you want to play, wittle baby Potter?" simpered the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Didn't anybody tell you that a battle is no place for a baby?"

The spell was lifted a moment, and Clara reacted instantly. "Incarcerous," she intoned, and ropes flew from her wand towards the other witch, who deflected them easily with a spell.

"Oh, you do want to play!" shouted Bellatrix gleefully. She raised her wand and Clara braced herself.

Bellatrix toppled over, Stunned from behind.

Clara looked up at her savior. "Mum!" she cried.

"Clara, run!" Lily shouted, hurrying toward the dais. The Death Eaters were dispersing from it now, as if terrified by the approach of Clara's mother. Clara didn't blame them.

With the addition of Lily's group, they were actually rather well-matched in terms of numbers. Death Eaters fell every which way.

Clara searched frantically for Romilda and Derek. There, across the room, back to back, Romilda's face drawn up in pain and Derek limping badly but both of them alive. Clara did run, she ran to her friends, fighting as she went.

"Clara!" Derek panted when she came into view. "You okay?"

"Fine," she answered shortly. "Are you—"

"Look out!" Romilda shouted, shoving Clara down and landing on top of her as a streak of green went through the place they had just been standing.

Romilda lay writhing, groaning, the extent of her injuries only aggravated by her fall. "Stay still," Clara told her, scrambling to her feet in time to incapacitate a Death Eater who was taking aim at Derek.

They stood on either side of the crippled Romilda, fighting off Death Eaters.

Derek cried out suddenly behind her and Clara whipped around to see that he had fallen. A devilishly grinning Death Eater advanced on her, raising his wand. Clara never saw or knew what he was going to cast, because in that moment she felt an impact of a spell on her back and she toppled forward.

And knew no more.

It was the aftermath of the battle, Rachel thought, that was the scariest.

A few Death Eaters had been captured, but most had fled when the remainder of the Order's reinforcements had arrived.

The room was hushed as the dead were laid out on the dais before the arch with the veil. Their friends and family that was present were white and stood beside them in shock. One red-headed woman was crying softly.

The injured sat on the long stone steps that surrounded the room, waiting for one of the Healers to attend to them.

It was the quiet that was most unsettling to Rachel.

"These will scar," said the Healer who was examining her arms and legs where the brains had grasped her. Rachel jumped at being addressed out of the silence. As the Healer waved her wand over them, the cuts paled into scar tissue. "But you'll be all right. Are you in much pain?"

Rachel shook her head mutely, and the Healer moved on.

Someone sat down beside her, and she looked up to see Astoria sitting there. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Astoria answered. "Got hit with a Gut-Twisting Hex. It hurt, but it was fine once the Healer removed it. You?"

"Just got these lovely scars," Rachel answered.

Astoria examined them. "Wow," she said simply.

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "You seen Clara and the others?"

"They're over there," Astoria pointed across the room. "Clara and Derek are unconscious, and Vane's being seen to by a Healer. Apparently she's got massive internal injuries, but she yelled at me when I went over there."

Rachel's lips quirked upwards in a smile for a second. "Sounds like she'll be all right, then."

"Yes," Astoria agreed. She rubbed her hands up and down the skirt of her dirty and bloodied nightgown. "Chambers—"

"Rachel," Rachel corrected, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I think after today we can be on first-name terms."

"Rachel," Astoria repeated with a small smile. "Do you think we'll have to fight in another battle like this one someday?"

"I hope not," Rachel answered. She paused. "But probably."

Astoria nodded slowly. "Right," she said sadly.

Clara blinked slowly. Her hand tightened where her wand should be, but she wasn't holding it. She tried to shoot up in panic, but a strong hand held her down.

"Take it easy," said the soft voice of a wizened older Healer, his hand on her shoulder. "The fight is done. As far as I can tell, you were Stunned. How do you feel? Any pain?"

Clara shook her head. "My wand..." she said, her mouth dry.

"Here," said a familiar voice, and Derek's face loomed into view. Her wand was pressed into her hand.

Clara sat up slowly, looking around.

Romilda sat up beside them, leaning against the step behind her and wincing as another Healer waved her wand repeatedly over her torso. Rachel and Astoria were on the other side of the room, sitting together and talking quietly.

Lily knelt on the dais, cradling the head of a fallen figure that Clara couldn't see. Her mother was crying.

Remus stood behind her, Tonks folded up in his arms. Clara stared at the pair of them, her brow furrowed.

Since when do Moony and Tonks hug each other like that? she wondered. And why do they all look so sad?

She kept looking around the room.

"Padfoot...?" she said aloud, looking for him.

Derek's eyes looked watery. Romilda looked stricken, her eyes on Clara.

Clara felt as though she were in a dream. She got to her feet, not even hearing the Healer's protestations, and half-walked, half-drifted into the center of the room. She ascended the steps to the archway.

Tonks noticed her first, and pushed away from Remus.

"Clara," she said. "Don't—"

But it was too late, and Clara's eyes fell on the figure whose hair Lily softly stroked, crying.

There, never to crack another joke, never to prank war with Moony again, never more to curl up on the end of Clara's bed when she was sad or afraid, lay the man who Clara could only describe as a father. His grey eyes were glassy and stared up at the ceiling without a trace of their usual good humor. Without a trace of anything.

Sirius Black was dead.

The next few days went by in a blur of numbness.

There was a funeral.

Clara put on her best black dress robes and sat between her mother and Remus. She cried when she was supposed to and said things when she was supposed to.

Remus talked about the Marauders, and how Sirius had been a brother to him. He talked about how he knew Sirius and James were somewhere pranking the hell out of the afterlife. People laughed with tears in their eyes, the kind of laughter that one used at funerals. Clara did too, because she thought she might be supposed to.

Clara said "Thank you" to a hundred faceless people who endlessly told her how sorry they were for her loss. Her loss. As if she had misplaced her keys.

She slept on the pull-out couch in Tonks' flat with Lily, while Remus stayed in with Tonks. Moony and Tonks were hugging and kissing in front of Clara, and she still couldn't figure out when this had happened but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Lily had a horrible nightmare the first night they slept there. She woke Clara by screaming out Harry's name in terror. After that, Lily was jumpy, especially around Clara.

And Clara did not know how to exist in a family where Sirius did not.

She just didn't.

There was a knock at the door of Tonks's flat.

Tonks was out. Remus was nursing his tea at the kitchen table. Lily was busily cooking—she hadn't stopped cooking and cleaning in two weeks.

Clara looked up from her Transfiguration. She had been staring at it for two hours without really seeing it. There was no way she was going to pass a single one of her exams, anyway.

Lily stopped stirring the pasta and set down the spoon, wiping her hands on a towel and going to open the door. "Mrs. Abbott said she was stopping by with a casserole," she said, putting a smile on her face and opening the door. Her smile faded. "Yes?" she said to whoever was behind it.

"Mrs. Potter?" said a voice. "I've been sent to collect your daughter, Clara Potter, to return to school."

"Clara was granted a leave by her Head of House," Lily said blankly.

"The Headmistress has revoked it," the voice said.

Clara looked at Remus. He looked livid.

"Why?" Lily asked haughtily, and Clara could tell that she was giving the man one of her best icy glares.

"She said..." the man hesitated under Lily's piercing stare. "She said that leave could not be allowed for the death of persons...who are not...family."

He seemed aware that he was saying something horrible to them.

Lily did not answer. She stared at him, dumbfounded and furious.

Clara got to her feet, closing her Transfiguration book and going to the door. "Say that again," she said, not bothering to hide her red-rimmed eyes or the robes that she hadn't changed out of for several days.

"You can't have an extended leave if the death is not in the family," the man said, more strongly this time.

"Not...in the...family?" Clara repeated quietly.

Suddenly, the numbness was gone, and it was replaced by a rush of emotions. Anger and grief and sadness and fear and uncertainty and mind-bending fury. Clara was aware she was crying disgustingly and snottily, and her little fist balled up and she punched the guy at the door hard in the face. She felt his nose break and blood began to flow.

Still sobbing, Clara turned and picked up her Transfiguration book. The man flinched as if she was going to hit him with it, but she just tucked it under her arm. "Let's go," she said, trying to sound authoritative through her tears, and apparently succeeding, because he led the way away from Tonks' flat. Though perhaps he was just afraid she would punch him again.

"Will you meet me at King's Cross?" Clara asked before walking away.

Lily paused and glanced at Remus. "We'll owl you," she said cryptically.

Clara furrowed her brow, wiping at her cheeks. Finally, she nodded, still confused, but followed the Ministry man down the hall.

The Dark Lord was angry.

"How," he asked quietly, "were fifty of my best Death Eaters not capable of forcing a single child to touch the prophecy?"

Lucius Malfoy bowed down before him, his nose brushing the floor. "My Lord," he said, "she had help."

"Four teenagers," Voldemort said, raising one dark and sculpted eyebrow.

"And the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Malfoy.

"Your incompetence disgusts me," Voldemort said snidely. "Perhaps, if I want something done, I ought to do it myself. Prepare the way for me."

"Prepare...what way, my Lord?" Lucius asked timidly.

"The way through the Ministry of Magic. I have had enough of hiding behind rumors and ruling from afar. I want the world to know that England is under my control," Voldemort hissed. "I have tolerated Mudbloods and blood traitors in my Ministry until now—those who are smart got out ages ago—but no longer. Take the Ministry, Lucius. And do not dare let me down again."

Lucius bowed lowed once more. "Yes, my Lord," he said, and got to his feet, backing from the room with his head bowed as a priest might leave an altar.

Astoria and Rachel parted ways at the Grand Staircase on the fourth floor. They had just been released from the Hospital Wing together. Romilda was still there, recovering from her internal injuries, and Derek had left several days ago. Astoria probably could have left earlier, but she had feigned fatigue and remaining illness in order to avoid this moment: returning to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Will you be okay?" Rachel asked quietly before they parted. Astoria hadn't told her of her worries, but it seemed that Rachel was shrewd enough to deduct them for herself.

Astoria nodded wordlessly.

"Come find me if you need me," Rachel said with an uncharacteristically concerned tone.

Astoria looked at her, feeling some of the tightness in her chest loosen in the knowledge that she had a friend that cared about her. She wished Clara was back at school, too. She knew Derek would be kind to her as always, and that even Romilda had been warmer to her since the final battle in the Death Chamber, but it was nice to know that she had a friend in Rachel. A real, live friend who offered comfort if Astoria was disowned by her whole House.

Astoria nodded again, smiling slightly at Rachel, and went down the Grand Stairs while Rachel went up towards Ravenclaw Tower.

She reached the dungeons, navigating the twists and turns to get to the common room without thinking about it. "Amortentia," she muttered to the wall, and went inside.

Everybody inside looked up when Astoria came in. They stared at her and whispered. Astoria smoothed the front of her robes nervously, resisting the urge to twist them in her fists or let her curtain of brown hair fall forward to cover her face. She was not ashamed of her opposition to Voldemort.

"Well, if it isn't our resident Slytherin hero, returned to her humble beginnings," said a loud and sarcastic voice, its owner rising from her place beside the fire.

"Daphne," Astoria whispered as her sister approached slowly, like a cat on the prowl.

"Do you know what happens to traitors who return to the snake pit, sister dear?" Daphne said menacingly, her ice blue eyes flashing coldly. Everyone was watching in silence. "They get bitten."

"I'm not a traitor," Astoria said, cursing her voice for quivering.

"Oh, no?" Daphne said. "Then who was it who fought on the side of Mudbloods and blood traitors against the man who is trying to wipe that scum off the earth?"

"You-Know-Who is a tyrant and a murderer," Astoria said, her voice growing stronger. "I'll fight against him until the day I die alongside the only people who've ever actually cared about me."

Daphne whipped out her wand. "You're no sister of mine," she snarled.

The enormity of what was happening to her hit Astoria like a ton of bricks. "I know," she answered quietly. Her head threatened to hang, to tuck her chin down away from Daphne's hate-filled gaze. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

Daphne turned around and walked away, and Astoria knew that she was as good as dead to her sister now. The idea that she would never speak to Daphne again was both devastating and, at the same time, liberating.

Astoria stood looking around the common room. Most eyes were still on her, staring at her, the spectacle of the evening. She could see Draco Malfoy watching her with his brow furrowed, but when he saw her looking he looked away.

While most of the gazes were mistrustful at best, Astoria picked out a few that were different. A boy a year younger than her, perhaps by the name of Graham Pritchard, was watching her with shining eyes, a look of what Astoria could have sworn was admiration. Gathered on one of the couches in the corner was a group students, varying years, most of whom Astoria did not know. The looks they gave her ranged from sympathy to pride. She made eye contact with an older girl among them. The girl smiled slightly, shifted along the sofa and delicately patted the space beside her.

Perhaps, Astoria thought, I'm not alone.

Perhaps even in a nest of snakes there could be a den of lionhearts.

Astoria smiled back and walked over slowly.

"Potter," said a cold voice in the Entrance Hall as Clara made to enter the Great Hall for what remained of supper upon her arrival back at Hogwarts. She turned around. Umbridge stood there, on the stairs, coming toward her, a sadistic smile on her face. "I hoped I would run into you."

"Funny, I had been rather hoping the opposite," Clara said, fiercely wiping her cheeks free of tears so as not to give this woman the satisfaction of seeing them, but there would be no hiding her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.

Umbridge's smile grew wider and she descended the stairs. She reached into her robes. Clara tensed, her hand floating toward her wand without her deciding to send it there.

"Nonsense, Potter, I'm not going to curse you," Umbridge snapped. "And in any case, I doubt you'd have the courage to attack a teacher."

Clara merely glared, because any of the things she could say would land her in detention.

Umbridge's hand emerged from her robes, and she held out a scroll. "A list of the classes you have been absent from over the past two weeks," she said, "and your corresponding detentions. And we'll have to add on another few for leaving school grounds without permission."

"You sent me off school grounds," Clara said, her mouth agape in horror. "You literally pushed me into the fireplace."

"Now that doesn't sound like something a high-ranked professor and Headmistress of Hogwarts would do, does it?" Umbridge said sweetly. "It's my word against five delinquent students, I'm afraid, Miss Potter. You'd do better not to cross me."

"This is over fifty detentions," Clara said, unscrolling the list. "There's only two weeks left until the holidays."

"We'll do three hours a night until school is done," Umbridge said with a nasty smile. "And then I'm sure we can pick up where we left off in September. You see, Miss Potter, I'm not going anywhere."

Clara stumbled through the next two weeks badly.

She was certain she'd failed all of her exams, what with the near constant crying and the hand that was so stiff from her detentions that she accidentally tipped the whole vial of pickled slugs into her cauldron at the Potions final instead of just a dash. She managed to control the damage by adding dandelion root, newt spleen, and a dash of baking soda, but she'd still be surprised if she managed to scrape anything above an 'Acceptable' in what was normally her best class.

Derek was always there to help her and support her however he could, and Romilda outside of class. It was good to know they loved her and wanted to help her, but it was like Clara's heart was a cauldron with a hole in the bottom in the shape of Padfoot—endless love could pour in, but she simply couldn't feel full.

Clara constantly felt raw with emotion, grief and anger sweeping across her at every moment. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't eat. And no matter how much she wished it would stop, it wouldn't.

The day after exams, on the night of the final feast, the school began to buzz quietly. Though there were no news outlets available to students and letters from home were carefully screened, someone had caught wind of what was going on outside of Hogwarts' gates. The buzz began to fill the halls and grow louder and louder, until it was no longer a buzz but a roar.

Mass casualties at the Ministry, the roar said. You-Know-Who publicly takes power. Minister of Magic revealed as Death Eater. All Muggleborns at work in the Ministry slaughtered. You-Know-Who sweeping through his newly claimed territory down to the Department of Mysteries.

It's over then, Clara thought, It's done. He knows it's not me. He won't come after me anymore. I'm not important anymore. It should have been relieving, but Clara was too busy wading through a sea of emotion.

She missed the first hour of the feast because of her detention with Umbridge. When Umbridge left for the feast, she told Clara to write two hundred more lines and leave them on her desk for her inspection before she could go.

Instead of heading to the feast to join Romilda and Derek, Clara wandered toward the Hufflepuff basement. She had barely even begun to pack, and the train was leaving tomorrow. She also didn't feel in much of a celebratory mood.

A large, bat-like figure was staring at the barrels that hid the entrance to the Hufflepuff basement, his hands behind his back as he often stood when he was thinking.

Clara came up beside him, saying nothing, and looked at the barrels with him.

"You know," Severus said after a minute, "in all my years of teaching here, I have never found out how to enter the Hufflepuff common room. I know Slytherin's of course, and I have discovered through the course of overhearing various Ravenclaws and Gryffindors the locations and method of entry into their common rooms, but never, either as student or teacher, did I hear a single Hufflepuff reveal how to enter their common room."

Clara considered this. "Probably the loyalty thing," she said dully.

"Most likely," Severus agreed. There was a pause. "Why are you down here?"

"I live here," Clara said, and fired back, "Why are you down here?"

"Looking for my wonderful goddaughter who isn't at the feast."

"Let me know when you find her," Clara said, unable to dredge up the accompanying smile that she meant to go with her words.

Severus looked at her for the first time during their conversation, turning away from the barrels. "How are you?" he asked.

"Spectacular," Clara said dryly, avoiding his eye, aware that her own hazel orbs were puffy and bloodshot.

"I need to speak with you," Severus said after a minute, obviously not knowing what to say to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, what exactly are we doing right now?" Clara said sarcastically.

"I have word from your mother and Lupin," Severus said instead of commenting on her attitude.

It made Clara physically sick to her stomach to hear her mum and Moony referred to without Padfoot's name tacked on. She nodded, not trusting her mouth to open, and she followed Severus through the halls to his office, where they could be sure of not being overheard.

"Sit," Severus said, waving his wand to make the uncomfortable chair he kept opposite his desk fly against the opposite wall and a soft black leather armchair appeared in its place. Clara sat.

Severus sat down across the desk. "There are, first, a few things you should know," he said.

"The Ministry?" Clara supplied.

"You heard."

"Everyone heard."

"Surprising, considering there are no sources of news allowed in this school," Severus said with lightly lifted eyebrows.

"There are a lot of things in this school that shouldn't be," Clara snapped.

Severus nodded. "Yes," he agreed, and looked at her with his piercing dark eyes for a few seconds before going on. "So, the Order is very busy putting the surviving Muggleborns as well as all the Ministry workers who turned on the Death Eaters in the attack into either hiding or inducting them into the Order."

"That's good, isn't it?" Clara said. "I mean, obviously it's horrible, but more recruits?"

"I do not mean to alarm you, but the addition is no more than a drop in the bucket when it comes to the practically endless forces the Dark Lord possesses," Severus said quietly.

Clara furrowed her brow. "Numbers don't win a war," she said.

"No," Severus agreed. "But they do help."

Clara didn't respond.

"There is also the matter of Headquarters," Severus said, "and your home. As I'm sure you know, your...Black...was the Secret Keeper." Clara nodded once. "What you may not know is that upon his death, every person who knew the location of Grimmauld Place became a Secret Keeper."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone," Severus confirmed. "Which, as you know, is a very large number of people, many of whom are no more than cursory to the Order and not all of whom can be trusted with such a large secret."

"So you're moving Headquarters," Clara said.

"Yes," Severus answered. "To where, we do not know."

"Okay," Clara said, unable to bring herself to care. "Why are you telling me all of this? Isn't it kind of dangerous to talk about this where Umbridge is everywhere?"

"Dolores Umbridge doesn't hear what I don't want her to hear," Severus said, his proverbial feathers ruffled. "But in any case, it does pertain somewhat immediately to you."

"I'm listening," Clara said when he paused.

"Grimmauld Place is not just unsafe for Headquarters," Severus said. "It is, for the time being, unsafe for inhabitance. As such—"

"So we're staying in Tonks's flat or something?" Clara interrupted.

Severus gave her a long, flat look until she sank somewhat into her chair, mildly apologetic. "No," he said. "Your mother and Lupin, along with most other prominent Order members, are travelling in order to situate the Ministry refugees who chose to run, and will be so for the next month or so—"

"Are there really that many?" Clara said, unable to fathom that there were more than a handful of people who had been so directly hurt by Voldemort's reign and yet were unwilling to fight it.

"There is nothing wrong with self-preservation, Clara," Severus said calmly.

Clara's brow furrowed and rage stirred within her. She felt like she was seeing her godfather in a new light. There were a million things she could say in argument, but none of them seemed to want to form coherently on her tongue.

"Your mother has decided that the best place for you is someplace the Dark Lord would never look," Severus went on. "Just in case he still has something of a personal vendetta against you. Which I have not caught wind of, but I am far from his most trusted advisor. In any case, you will be staying in the Muggle world with your aunt and uncle."

Clara narrowed her eyes, trying to recall everything she'd ever heard about Petunia and what's-his-name who was her husband. There wasn't much, but none of it was good.

"Your mother has already written her to make the arrangements," Severus went on. "I realize it is not ideal, but—"

"No," Clara said, getting to her feet. "It's fine. It's a war. If I have to be a little unhappy for a while in order for everything to work out for the best, then that's what I'll do. Because I don't put self-preservation before everything else."

Severus looked at her sadly. "I do sometimes wish that you would," he said.

Clara turned to go to the door.

"There is the matter of the will," Severus said before she could reach it.

Clara slowly turned. "The what?"

"Black left a will in the care of Lupin and your mother. In it, he bequeathed everything he owned to you, Clara. The house, what remains of his fortune...everything."

Clara had no idea what she was supposed to do with a dangerous house full of memories. "Okay," she said simply.

"He loved you, Clara," Severus said as Clara's hand rested on the doorknob. "He really was a good man, and—"

"Dragon dung," Clara snapped angrily. "Absolute dragon dung. You hated him. You hated every second of being around him. You hated him, so don't talk to me about Padfoot like you knew him and like you were his friend and how you're going to miss him. I bet you're glad he's dead. You are not even worthy of saying his name, much less pretending that you were his friend. You hated him, Sev. You hated the man who was the most perfect and loving father to me than any one I could have dreamed of, who fixed my accidental magic, and turned into a dog and let me pull his tail, and taught me how to prank, and cuddled me when I was sad, and carried me when I couldn't walk, and was so bloody impossible to hate that I cannot fathom your hatred for him. Don't speak about him to me ever again like you even knew who he was. You hated him. And I love him."

Tears were streaming out of Clara's eyes as she let Severus' heavy door slam shut behind her, taking off at a run down the dungeon corridor.

She raced up the stairs, wiping blindly at her eyes. Her foot caught on a jagged stone step and she tumbled to the stairs. She lay there, unwilling to get up, the cool stone soothing on her hot cheeks.

Perhaps I will lay here forever, Clara thought whimsically, the thought actually more appealing than she wanted it to be.

There were steps. Perhaps the feast was ending, and she would be trampled to death by careless Slytherins who were too worried about their self-preservation to bother going around her. Clara was vaguely aware that this was discriminatory against Slytherins, and that she didn't really feel that way. But she didn't care. She was also vaguely aware that there were far too few sets of steps for the feast to be over.

"Merlin, that Umbridge woman would not shut up," said a voice, a girl. "Glad we ducked out when we did. Good thinking, Drakie-poo."

"Thanks," said the familiar voice of someone who obviously took offense to being called Drakie-poo.

"Merlin," said another voice. "Did somebody die?"

"Wouldn't be surprising," said the girl's voice. "With the toad's idea of punishment. That's why you just don't get on her bad side." She sounded snide.

Self-preservation, Clara thought.

A hand gently pressed at her neck, feeling for her pulse.

"Is she dead, Blaise?" said the girl.

"No," said the voice that was just above her. "Hey. Girl. You okay?"

Clara vaguely shook her head.

"Need help?"

No. Another shake.

"Is that a Hufflepuff crest on her robes?" said the snide girl's voice. "Ugh, why even bother with her? Let's go."

Anger stirred in Clara, but she was too drained to retaliate. Three sets of footsteps walked slowly away, and then the familiar voice that was not the girl or Blaise said, "You two go on. I'll catch up with you in the common room."

And one set of feet came back toward her.

"Potter," said the owner of the feet.

Clara pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. "Malfoy," she greeted, wiping at her eyes.

"Are you..." he trailed off, obviously deciding not to ask if she was okay, for which Clara was grateful. He came over and put an awkward hand on her shoulder. "It'll get better someday," he said.

Clara looked up at him, surprised by his compassion.

This time the sound of approaching feet was clearly that of seventy Slytherin students returning to the dungeons. Draco looked up toward where they would appear at the mouth of the stairs in alarm, like a deer in wandlight. He got his composure back, and helped Clara up by her hands, guiding her into a small niche in the wall at the base of the stairs in which she could be invisible while the Slytherins passed. Then he took off down the hall towards the Slytherin Common Room.

Clara waited for them all to pass, keeping her silence as they went by, and then slipping out of her little nook and going up the stairs toward Hufflepuff.

She passed the big notice board in the Great Hall. New decrees were still going up every day, layering one on top of another on a board that couldn't contain all of them. Clara paused in front of the board, something nagging at the corner of her mind.

Educational decree number 129, Clara read absently, Games such as Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap may be played only in a civilized manner on Sunday afternoons. The Ministry of Magic seal that had become synonymous with Voldemort himself was pressed in red wax on the bottom of the page. The decree had been tacked up onto the board so soon after being signed that the wax, still hot, had dripped down the page, making it look like the page was bleeding or crying hot red tears.

Clara stared at it. Something sparked in her memory, and her mouth fell open, her feet rooted to the spot. She wrenched them away from the stone and took off through the front doors of the castle, wishing she had her Invisibility Cloak but not willing to take the time to go down to the basement and get it.

She headed straight for the greenhouses and her Head of House's office.

Professor Sprout was not there yet—though the feast was over she probably hadn't had enough time to get down to her office—so Clara sat down outside her door on the dirty greenhouse floor, tapping her fingers anxiously. Perhaps she ought to take this to McGonagall, who, after all, was higher up in the Order than Sprout was. But Clara trusted Professor Sprout to take her seriously.

"Potter?" said her kindly Head of House's surprised tones as she came into the greenhouse.

Clara leapt to her feet. "Professor Umbridge isn't just an evil Ministry hag," she said instantly. "She's a Death Eater."

Sprout looked around the greenhouse sharply. "Into my office, Potter," she said, ushering Clara through the door, locking it with her wand as they entered. She waved her wand to shut the open windows, closing out the beautiful early summer night. "Now, I know that Professor Umbridge is unpleasant to say the least, but—"

"No, listen," Clara interrupted. "The Ministry's been publicly taken over, right? All the people who even mildly opposed the takeover are either dead or on the run. She's got to be a Voldemort supporter, or else he never would have let her stay here as the Headmistress to boot."

Sprout tipped her head, listening, but not looking as though she hadn't thought of all of this before. "It could be that You-Know-Who is just unwilling to directly siege the castle at this time," she said.

"There's more," Clara said. "Before she sent me to the Ministry, she said something that didn't make sense, but it makes sense now. She said that he would be so pleased. I thought she meant the Minister or something, but I couldn't imagine why Yaxley would have a particular care for finding me. But she didn't mean Yaxley, she meant Voldemort. She'd spoken to him. He'd probably given her orders to send me to the Ministry as soon as possible. She's a Death Eater."

Sprout watched her consideringly. "Thank you, Miss Potter," she said after a moment.

"You don't believe—"

"I believe you, Potter," Sprout said. "But now I need you to please promise me something. Do not act on this. Let me and other capable adults handle it."

Clara, eyes wide, nodded, feeling a mild bristle at the insinuation that she was not a capable adult, but at the same time knowing it was true.

"Good. Now spit spot, off to bed. The train leaves at exactly eleven o'clock, and you wouldn't want to be stuck here for the summer!" Sprout said with a somewhat forced laugh. She reached into one of her drawers as Clara got up. "Pumpkin pasties?" she asked, holding out the box of treats.

Clara shook her head and began to leave.

"Potter," Sprout said, and when Clara turned around her professor was wearing a very somber look. "I just wanted to say that I am sorry for your loss, and should you need to talk at any time, I am nearly always here."

Clara bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, not trusting her words. For about ten minutes, she had almost forgotten.

"Now I don't care what anybody says about it being safer for you in a place Moldy-farts won't look," Romilda said, putting her hands on Clara's arms just before the trio parted. "If the Muggles start treating you bad you just say the word and I will come for you. You can live in my broomshed; the place is practically a four star hotel, and my mum and dad won't even know."

Clara smiled. "Thanks, Romilda," she said softly as Romilda spotted her parents and took off toward them morosely, dragging her trunk. Clara turned to Derek.

He gave her a hug. "Write me, okay?" he said with the concerned smile he'd been using for weeks. Clara nodded.

"Potter," said a voice behind them. A woman Clara recognized as a member of the Order stood behind them. "That's you, right?"

Clara nodded, gripping Hedwig's cage grimly and bidding a quick goodbye to Derek. It seemed Mum and Moony couldn't even be bothered to come and drop her off at her aunt's house themselves. That was unfair, she knew, since her parents were off fighting evil and saving innocent lives, making all manner of trouble for Voldemort.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit abandoned as this practical stranger dragged her off the platform and into a Muggle vehicle.

Astoria stood on the rapidly emptying platform, watching the place where her older sister had disappeared with her parents.

"Hey," said a sharp voice behind her, and she turned around to see Rachel standing there, her reddish-brown hair bobbing behind her head in a ponytail. "You okay?"

"It has just now occurred to me that I can't go home," Astoria said quietly.

Rachel's eyes, normally so abrasive, were wide with concern, and she slipped her hand into Astoria's, making Astoria jump. "Come on," Rachel said, and led Astoria towards the barrier into King's Cross. "My parents are waiting. We shouldn't keep them."

"We?"

"Yeah, they'll be thrilled," Rachel said with a small smile. "They've been on me to bring friends home for ages. My dad will welcome anyone who's against You-Know-Who. And my mum...she just likes people. About her..." Rachel trailed off.

"Yes?" Astoria said, hardly daring to believe Rachel's generosity.

"She's a professor of European History," Rachel said.

Astoria looked at her, blank.

"She's a Muggle," Rachel clarified. "Is that okay?"

Astoria took a deep breath, feeling herself sever whatever ties remained with her family. "Yes," she said. "Of course. I look forward to meeting her."

Rachel grinned and heaved Astoria's trunk onto a trolley.

(A/N) Hope this chapter was worth the wait!