Hello everyone!

TO MY FIRST-TIME READERS: Be sure you have read The Tale of Civia Potter first!

Now, to everyone:

This is Part Two of the Civia Series. When we left her, she was in the Hospital Wing, from shock, and recovered to visit Albus Dumbledore's grave. The Prologue goes back a bit to when she is watching the funeral from her window. It sets the mood and gives you an insight to her emotional frame.

The first few chapters are very angst-y, I warn you. THIS IS NOT, for the most part, A HAPPY FANFICTION. It is in the middle of a war, within which, Civia finds herself doubting their chances of victory or even simply surviving.

I try to keep it as canon as possible, but that can only go so far with an OC as the protagonist.

So- My thanks to:

1 - JK Rowling, who owns the Wizarding World completely, except Civia.

2 - My beta and best friend: ZoeyAradiaMystique

3 - ALL OF YOU!

THANK YOU!

ALSO - Anything you recognize comes directly from The Deathly Hallows

Everyone knows that, as in all wars, life goes on.

The fighting doesn't stop children from going to classes and lessons, or the daily schedule of a school. It doesn't stop business of a grubby old bar, or of a popular tavern. It doesn't stop the shopkeepers from opening their stores, or customers from buying from them. It doesn't stop teenagers from flirting and fighting and falling in love. It doesn't stop children from playing and getting into fights, and being sent to the nurse.

It doesn't stop people from living their lives.

Birds will still fly in the soft blue sky above. Creatures—seen or unseen—will still whisper about in the forest. Plants will still grow and flourish.

Life goes on; even when it feels like it is all falling apart before your eyes, like the ground is breaking apart under your feet. Life still goes on, despite the war, until it is in your home.

When war has come to and past through the threshold of your home, suddenly gravity is not what's weighing you down—it is the sorrows, the grief, the losses, the weight of the world on your shoulders that does.

That was what Civia was thinking as she watched Albus' funeral at Hogwarts from the Hospital Wing window.

That was what she felt like—as if gravity didn't have a hold on her, and it was only her grief and sorrow holding her on the ground, as well as the responsibility for the future of the world and the lives in it. Yes, Harry may carry a great burden, but he was not the only one.

She and her nephew were one of many whose burdens had grown considerably…

But under that crushing weight of responsibility, her heart lay shattered in the wreckage.

"My daddy said, that the first time you fall in love, it changes you forever and no matter how hard you try, that feeling just never goes away."
— Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook)

Summer passed idly by, days slipping into weeks…

Civia operated mechanically for the longest time, simply brewing and re-organizing out of habit rather than thought.

Harry was at the Durselys, with only her as his occasional visitor, when she was under the guise of a mail owl. The Dursleys were none the wiser as she visited and kept Harry better fed than usual. He was adamant of not returning to Hogwarts, and Civia did not push him. He would soon be of-age, and she had no control for what he did. Both knew that she could not go with the trio.

Civia's place was at Hogwarts, to protect her students and her home.

She knew it, and everyone else did too.

It was a week before Harry's birthday, as an Order meeting began that Civia snapped out of her grieving, robotic stupor.

They had been arguing for an hour—over the date, over the method, over the operatives. In short, over everything.

Moody planned upon Apparating to and from Privet Drive, before Kingsley pointed out that the Death Eaters had wormed their way into virtually every Department and sub-department of the Ministry.

Beside her, Mundungus Fletcher was trying to doze, trying to not get chosen to do anything dangerous, the coward. He shifted in his seat and muttered something unintelligible—from which Civia only caught two words: "decoys…Polyjuice".

Her head tilted to the side as she froze, deep in thought…

"Polyjuiced decoys."

Her voice silenced the bickering more effectively than a silencing charm. "What?" asked Moody gruffly.

Civia looked up to the group and spoke softly, working her way through a plan with Dung's idea. "Polyjuice potion. We can make several decoy Harry Potters…Each decoy and Harry would have one protector. Some could fly on brooms…thestrals possibly…Hagrid and his decoy could take the flying motorbike…"

There was a pause as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Moody nodded. "Perfect."

After the meeting in the Burrow's sitting room ended, Civia lingered in the doorway as the others chatted.

Molly paused as she headed towards the kitchen. "Civia, stay for dinner, why don't you? You're looking too peaky—have you been eating properly?"

No, Molly.

"Yes, Molly."

The Weasley matriarch gave her a doubtful look. "You're getting far too thin, Civia. You were always petite, but this is unhealthy. You need to eat—if not for you, then for Harry and Hogwarts!"

"I'm fine, Molly."

Even to her, her voice was dead, hollow. Molly pursed her lips, but motioned for the Potions Mistress to follow her into the kitchen.

The older witch bustled around for a minute, before setting two cups of tea on the table and seating herself beside Civia.

"What's wrong, Civia?" she asked motherly.

The Potter woman drew a shuddering breath before sipping the tea. "Snape," she whispered.

Realization bloomed on Molly's face, followed by sympathy. "Oh, Civia. I should have known."

"I don't know what to do, Molly," the Potions Mistress confessed. "I loved him—I truly did with all my heart…and I thought he returned that love…"

The older woman patted her friend's shoulder consolingly. "Don't blame yourself, dear. He tricked us all, even Dumbledore."

A pang echoed in her chest at the name—the reminder of the loss she'd suffered—not one, but two loved ones lost…

Pain that she had never known before that night still ached in her chest, suffocating her, crushing her. It made her feel like she was dying slowly inside.

Somehow, it made Civia realize that, though she hated him now, she had loved Snape, and she had changed because of her first love—and nothing was ever going to change that or undo it.