She didn’t know. She wished she had, later, as she tried to avoid the inevitable, as she held up an umbrella to try and stop a tsunami, but by then it was too late anyway. Still, she didn’t regret most of the choices she made. Knowing, understanding, there was little she’d change, she was fairly sure. Granted, the little could have proven useful, but she didn’t make a habit of crying over spilt milk, even if, in the end, spilt milk was something she’d rather have gotten instead.

Where was she, where boys who called themselves ‘Marauders’ lay on a deserted road because someone who convinced and manipulated and dark-charmed people away from right and wrong and morals and principles wanted a change that would make more boys like Peter end up right there with him? Why was she fighting his follower, how come she was fighting for her future life now, how come she had to fight for her life at all?