Rebecca Roman held her breath, praying that Professor McGonagall's all-seeing eye would pass her over. Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, trying to blend in with the older students, who were actually permitted to stay. The Tramsfiguration instructor's gaze swept to the Hufflepuff section, and she was safe. Well, not exactly, since she was attempting to sneak into a deadly battle. Rebecca was nowhere near of age, being only twelve. But she was tall, looking nearer to a seventh-year than her best friend Wren ever would.

Wren Jacobson could have passed for a seven-year-old, not a seventh-year. She was tiny, even though she was the same age as Rebecca. Wren's real name was Erika, not that it mattered at Hogwarts, where the teachers only address you by your last name. Why Wren? Because she was so small, like the bird. Wren was camped underneath the wooden table, quickly braiding her long, fine blond hair into a complicated yet practical plait. Nothing that Rebecca could ever do. Her coppery, shoulder-length waves were totally unmanageable.

Oh, no. Professor McGonagall was snapping at some Gryffindor sixth-years who were attempting to evade detection. Now she was going to make another sweep of the tables...or not. She was too distracted to concentrate, what with the numerous magical defenses that she had to set up, plus the impending doom and all that.

Suddenly, the students were pouring out of the Great Hall into the main foyer, and from there spreading all over the castle. Wren's blue eyes sparkled in the excitement. That was all that life was to her, Rebecca reflected. A non-stop adventure. Rebecca was different. Her emerald eyes glowed in an academic pursuit, not a deadly war.

"C'mon, Beck! The Astronomy Tower is an amazing place to defend from. We can drop firebombs and cursed rain and bobotuber pus balloons and..." Wren chattered on, letting her friend know that she was nervous. That was her tell, her sign that all was not well. Rebecca had not really wanted to fight in this battle. But it was what was right. Sometimes that was what happened, doing the right thing by disobeying orders. The paintings displayed on the walls of the spiral staircase were all a-fluster, shouting in medieval tongues about the castle being desecrated. Then came the fireball.

The world exploded in a flash of fiery light that came from nowhere. It was heat and it was brightness and it was magic and it was not death. Not yet.

Wren got her senses back first.

"Beck! Beck! Get up! We have to go! Now! You're alive. Deal with it! Come on! Now!" The flurry of rousing words drove the stunned Rebecca awake.

She began to scream.

"I need to go! Now! Right now! We almost died! Wren, Wren, we almost, we almost..." The smaller witch dragged her hysterical friend up past the demolished section of stairs and farther up the tower.

Finally, they reached the top. With the enchanted telescopes and wide view of the campus, it was a good place, strategy-wise. But Rebecca was still shaking in fear.

"I want to go back. Now. To Hogsmeade. Through the Room of Requirement. I can't be here, in this castle of death." Even in her terrified ramblings, Rebecca waxed poetic.

"Okay, okay. I get it. Let me just remind you of someone. Cora Simmons."

Cora. Cora. The smartest witch since Hermione Granger. Rebecca amd Wren's roommate. She had innate magical talent, and was born to be a great sorceress. But her birth was the problem.

They had been on the Hogwarts Express, bound for their second year. Everyone knew that this year would be different for everyone, but nobody could have predicted just how much. Cora was in their compartment, reading ahead in the Transfiguration textbook. For fifth-years. Suddenly, the train stopped. Hooded figures boarded the cars in pairs. Rebecca had been reminded of a story an older student had told her, of the time that dementors invaded the Hogwarts Express. But Rebecca still had a happy, first-day-of-magical-school excitement within her, and from the tales she had heard, she would be quaking in her robes if dementors had truly come on board. However, a different chill pervaded the atmosphere.

Suddenly a witch and a wizard, both clad in black robes, flung open the door.

"What do you want?" Wren had demanded, ever the brave one.

"Shut up. What's your name, little one?" The witch snarled.

Wren fumed at that, but replied,

"Wren Jacobson."

"House and year?"

"Ravenclaw, going into second."

"There ain't no Wren Jacobson on here." The wizard told his companion as he studied a parchment.

"Erika, I mean Erika."

"That's better. Blood status?"

"Halfblood. Got a problem with that?" The girl should have been in Gryffindor.

"I can, if I want to. The Minister gave me permission."

"So did the Dark Lord," muttered the wizard, giving the students the realization that these were Death Eaters. The witch slapped him and interrogated Rebecca, who passed muster with a pureblood status. Then came Cora.

"Name, house, year, and blood status?"

"Cora Simmons, Ravenclaw, Second, uh, Muggle-born?"

They all knew that it was the wrong answer.

"A Mudblood, eh? Magic thief? Looks like someone forgot to register with the Ministry. Hmmm. I think we should go easy on her. Yes, I will personally vouch for her, and, fingers crossed, this sweet little excuse for a so-called witch will get the nicest cell that Azkaban has to offer. How about that?" Wren lunged for the Death Eateress, but was frozen in midmovement by a wave of the wizard's wand, as was Rebecca. And then the evil duo dragged Cora off, her horrified screams mingling with the sound of others who didn't have the right family tree.

All of this flashed in Rebecca's mind in an instant. In that instant, she remembered what she was fighting for: Cora and all those others' right to be free. For everyone's right, Muggle and magical alike.