We are young, but we will be a part of this glorious new future. No more will I have to hide my true parentage and history. Someday, the name “Tor Yaxley” will inspire greatness, as the mention of my father will bring lesser wizards to their knees in homage. 

 When Pansy sees Malfoy, she simpers – an awful thing to see on a face that looks like a pug – and throws herself down into his lap, wrapping her thin arms around his greasy head. I turn away in disgust, and wiggle my eyebrows at Pyxis. He sticks out his tongue, mocking panting like a dog, and I stifle a laugh before Pansy starts glaring at me. 

The strange boy jumps up in surprise as I enter, and my first thought is that I’ve never noticed him before.

Quidditch, the Dark Lord thinks with bated amusement. What a thought.

“You must watch and train them carefully, Severus. I need young blood for my cause, young eager blood. This is your task: I entrust the young to you.”  

  Its strange to think of Muggles having wars, having kings and leader and revolutions. I usually don’t think of them much. 

 I am a fool.

  Emma smiles brightly at me. “I’d had a vision about you, and I thought you should know. I don’t usually reveal my visions to people unless I think they need to hear them." 

 “Alright,” I tell him reluctantly. “But if you screw this up, its your head on the chopping block.”

            Neither of us acknowledge the terrible truth of that statement.

 Snape sits down again, wearily massaging his temples. "If you five put your magical talents and resourcefulness towards your academics, I would have five of Hogwarts' highest students sitting in front of me."

Amaris beams, looking around as if to check if we’ve heard the compliment. 

  Anne sniffs a little. "It was my own power and foolishness that brought me to my death, and of course the foolish Muggles of the time. You would do well to heed my warnings, young Astoria." 

Halfway down the spiral stairway I come face to face with Terry and the Ravenclaw girl Leanne, who is laughing hysterically at something Terry has just said.

Everyone knows the real business goes down in the back rooms. There are whole wings barely anybody sees.

"I can trust you, right, Tor? I know... you're different. And I think I might know your secret too."

I never thought Demetria would be the one to drive the wedge in the relationship between Terry and I, the nail in the coffin of a relationship that was doomed since its inception.

There is no sign of a thin figure moving through the darkness, and I light my wand as the path narrows and I find myself next to Greenhouse Three. As Terry promised, one of the higher glass window panes is open, and I eye it nervously.

I raise my eyebrows at Pyxis. His eyes are shrouded by dark circles beneath them, his dark hair messy and unbrushed, his robes hanging off his thin body.

The thing is more than a memorial, than a grave: it is a symbol of lost hope, of possible futures forever beyond reach.

My father comes home very happy one July night. A secret smiles lingers at the corner of his face, and he kisses my mother on the lips and brings out rather expensive chocolates for Daphne and I and asks if we need any help with our schoolwork.

My heart beats in my throat. Carrow's eyes say it all.

I draw my wand, rushing through the defensive spells that I know. My heart pounds in my chest, up into my neck, constricting my airway, but my mind is strangely clear.

The next day is the sort which leads to frost gathering at the edges of windows, creeping and creeping towards the glass, casting a silver glow over the view of the garden. It is the sort of morning where my eyes sting from the tears that stained my pillow, my jaw sore from the clenching of teeth, my skin cold, the hair rising on its ends.