Hi, everyone! This is a short story written as a Christmas present for a friend who insisted I base a character upon her (enter Darcy Rathmore, stage left). This'll probably make more sense for those people who have read my other story The Ravenclaw Marauder, but I warn you, it contains spoilers. So, Merry Christmas, Suzie.

P.S. When I said short, I think I was underestimating…

Lots of love, Annie xx

"In conclusion, we the Wizengamot hereby find the accused, Theodore Edmund Nott, not guilty, and innocent of crime. Let the Wizengamot adjourn."

Darcy looked up from her pad, outraged. Minister for Magic Bagnold was not looking around at anyone, swiftly leaving the Dungeon after ignoring the leering smile she received from Nott.

The evidence for Nott's being a Death Eater had been unassailable, definite. The Prosecution had brought in eye-witnesses who had seen him brutally torture and kill three Muggles, and yet the whole of the Wizengamot had voted in Nott's favour.

Darcy's eyes flew to Nott, and she gave a start when she realised he was looking back at her. She smiled at him, as if for all the world she could not be gladder at his proof that the legal system was corrupt and compromised. His eyes narrowed, unconvinced, but Darcy didn't care, quickly looking back down at her pad and jotting down the summary of the session. She had been to school with him, and knew that for all his burly physique, he was terrified of snakes (ironically, considering his house) and had all the brains of an underdeveloped gorilla. This, coincidentally, almost exactly mirrored how he looked.

But, with a jolt, Darcy remembered that Nott was no longer an acne-ridden teen, and that she had a very real reason to fear him.

For if Nott doubted Darcy's pretences of being entirely in agreement with the Dark Lord to such an extent that he believed her loyalties lay elsewhere, Darcy was in very real danger. In theory, Darcy was very safe. Her parents were extremely pro-wizard, and had been responsible for a lot of Muggle baiting over the years. Darcy herself had dated a member of an ancient family that had been mostly anti-Muggle since the Middle Ages.

However, five years ago, events were put in place that made both sides of this war doubt her loyalties to them. She had made friends with a Ravenclaw from a very respectable wizard family who had rebelled against that image. Darcy had been advised to put her on the right track… and she had failed, merely getting dragged into the issue herself, finding in Rune the first true friend she had ever had.

Rune had then been taken from Hogwarts by her mother, father and brother, Malum. Darcy and Rune's friends – three Gryffindors – had tracked her down to a remote house in the countryside and rescued her, a feat that would have been impossible had Malum not switched sides at the last minute and helped them get Rune away.

Rumours of Darcy's involvement had flitted around the Wizarding world for a while, but they had never been proven, and she had tried hard to ensure her safety by putting up a Death-Eater-like front. Even so, she had made her house – the renovated Rathmore mansion – unplottable, and never went out to socialise publically. She wasn't brave enough to do something so stupidly reckless.

Malum, on the other hand, was on the run, hiding from the supporters of the Dark Lord he had betrayed. It had been three years since Darcy had last seen him, just a glimpse of him in the crowd on the way to work once, but she had never forgotten him. That angular face, piercing blue eyes and midnight-black hair occasionally drifted through her dreams, haunting her.

He'd laugh if he could see her now, working as a court scribe for the Wizengamot, in a ministry that was in disarray with the rise of the Dark Lord. She'd laugh with him, but, deep down, she knew this life was crushing her. Darcy was a social person, and she hadn't been to any gatherings in about a year, when Mulciber, another old school friend turned Death Eater had threatened her with the news that he doubted her loyalties. Despite the reassurances of Rune, Darcy had kept herself to herself, watching the world that she loved descend into chaos.

Finished with her notes, Darcy stacked them up on the Minister's desk, stowed her quill away in her satchel, and left the court room, doing her best to ignore the burning gaze of Nott on the back of her neck.

She jogged up the steps from Courtroom twelve, hurrying into the last empty lift before the doors closed. Ascending through the levels, she tipped her head back against the cool wooden wall and closed her eyes.

Darcy was so tired. She collapsed into bed at midnight each night after a hard day's work and awoke at six in the morning, ready to get into the Ministry by seven. As a matter of fact, she mused, her concealer was running out. At least at the moment she didn't have to look like death warmed up, no matter how she felt.

It took a few moments for Darcy to realise that the lift had come to a smooth halt, and that there were a couple of curious people gazing in at her. Colouring slightly, Darcy slipped past them into the atrium, slipping into the tickling warmth of a fireplace and muttering "Rathmore Mansion".

In a few moments, Darcy found herself in her warm kitchen. Glancing up at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner, she saw, with some surprise, that it was barely only eleven. She smiled, looking forward to the extra hours sleep when –

She heard something. A creak outside in the hallway echoed slightly, the sound of either plain old house settling or … a foot on ancient oak floorboards.

She pulled out her wand silently, heart suddenly hammering a wild drumbeat in her chest. She moved towards the door like a cat, and then gently opened the door a crack.

A dark figure was standing in the hallway.

Review, please!