by Amy
<><> "Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches--terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him--an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway."
From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, chapter four, "The Keeper of the Keys."
~
<><> Elizabeth Wells, Gryffindor, turned a page of her textbook, blinked tired brown eyes, and sighed. Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow--she'd begun to dread that class over the years, as it grew more and more difficult, and not a little depressing. Yet she, and everyone else, studied hard for it--You-Know-Who's power grew by the day, and they knew their lives could truly depend on what they learned. Dumbledore himself was teaching the classes now. The previous teacher, Professor Sewell, had been killed defending the Ministry of Magic headquarters a month ago. He was the sixth Defense teacher she'd had in her five years at Hogwarts.
<><> The next morning, at breakfast in the Great Hall, Elizabeth got an owl from her parents. It was addressed, in her father's harried-looking scrawl, to:
Hogwarts (Gryffindor)
Hogsmeade, UK
Dear Elizabeth,
<><> Please, don't come home for Easter Holidays. You are safer at Hogwarts. Remember, when you were at home for Christmas, we told you we were afraid your mother's brother Kyle was in league with You-Know-Who? We were right. The Ministry has promised to do their best to keep us safe, so your mother can continue her work, but we are something of a liability to them at the moment. Don't worry about us; hopefully you will be able to come home over the summer, but things are a bit mixed up right now. We know Dumbledore will keep you safe, but take care anyway. <><><><> Love, <><><><><><> Mum and Dad
<><> Elizabeth just stared for a moment, and then her eyes filled with tears of homesickness and fear.
<><> Samantha Caine, Slytherin, watched a Gryffindor girl from her year put down a letter, lower her head into her hands, and shake with silent tears. It wasn't a new scene; she'd been seeing it for several days now. The holidays began in a week, and many parents hoped their children might be safer at the school
<><> Samantha would be getting no such letter. Her parents served Voldemort now. Samantha was a ward of the Ministry of Magic, or what was left of it. No one would take in a Slytherin, these days, even if her parents had died fighting against You-Know-Who. In fact, they weren't too welcome at Hogwarts either, she thought, trying to meet the eyes of a bunch of Hufflepuffs staring menacingly in her direction. Samantha felt an urge to cry herself, for just a moment, but she had spent all her tears years ago. She rubbed dark gray eyes with the backs of her hands and returned her attention to her toast.
<><> "Blood is strong," the Dark Lord had told Kyle Benedict. "Stronger, perhaps, than you believe possible." Benedict's contention that there were those on their side whose children went to the school had rolled off him like water. "It cannot be a Slytherin," he had said, and that was that.
<><> Benedict repeated the conversation in his mind as he stirred the two potions. One glimmered palely; it had taken him a month to distil the required amount of moonlight. It was lovely, outwardly, but it had been brewed for a dark purpose.
<><> The other looked the part it was to play. Benedict didn't know what was in that one; the Dark Lord had given it to him.
<><> He poured some of each potion into two small flasks and set them in the distillation apparatus. He conjured a single flame for each burner.
<><> When the dark potion began to bubble, Benedict removed a small silver knife from his pocket. He cut his finger, deeply, and flicked two drops of blood from the knife blade into each flask. Then he sat back to watch. A little bit of dark appeared in the light, the common blood allowing them to combine slowly.
<><> Elizabeth had been sleeping more uneasily than usual lately. Nearly every night, she woke in terror, though she didn't know why. Tonight, though, was different.
<><> She remembered the dream.
<><> A handsome young man with curly black hair had been talking to her. She couldn't quite remember what he said, but he spoke earnestly and persuasively, and she had been certain that whatever he was telling her was true.
<><> Then she woke up, sweating as though she had seen her own death. Why such an ordinary person, in an ordinary dream, should scare her so was beyond her.
<><> She had been growing quieter and more moody in the last few days before Easter Holidays. Her friends asked if she was all right, but she couldn't explain, even to herself, so she laughed and challenged them to games of Exploding Snap or wizard chess.
<><> Most of them were going home over the break; she would be the only fifth-year Gryffindor left. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse; she already missed her home and her parents. She shrugged, lay back down, and stared at the canopy of her bed until sleep came again.
<><> Samantha sat alone in the Slytherin common room, wrapping a strand of reddish blond hair around her finger and wishing for something to do. Two other Slytherins were staying here over the break, but they were sixth-years and had their own hangouts around the school. They rarely talked to her; trust was uncommon among Slytherins these days.
<><> As she sat staring into the fire, a ghost floated through the wall above the mantelpiece. Samantha did her best to hide a shiver; the Bloody Baron always did that to her. The Slytherin ghost gestured with one bloodstained arm as he said: "The headmaster needs to see you in his office."
<><> Samantha peeked warily around the door's edge. Professor Dumbledore was sitting at the teacher's desk.
<><> "Sir?" she asked.
<><> "Ah, Miss Caine, please come in and sit down."
<><> "You wanted to see me?"
<><> "Yes, unfortunately."
<><> She looked at him quizzically.
<><> "May as well begin at the beginning," Dumbledore sighed. "This morning, a bat was found trying to deliver a package to the school."
<><> "A bat?" Samantha was incredulous. Owls delivered messages--unless you were a Dark wizard.
<><> "The package contained only this." Dumbledore withdrew a small, thin dagger--really, Samantha thought, it would be more accurate to call it a spike--from a pocket of his robe. On the handle end was a red stone the size of a marble. It glowed dully, but seemed somehow to suck the light from the air around it. She quickly moved her gaze somewhere else; it hurt her eyes.
<><> "This weapon is poisoned. It means certain death to anyone it wounds," Dumbledore said gravely. "It is a tool of dire murder."
<><> Samantha couldn't contain herself. "I can tell," she said caustically. Then she realized she still didn't know why Dumbledore had called her. "What has this got to do with me?" she asked.
<><> The headmaster looked at her sadly. "I reported this implement to the Ministry, as is my duty, and, not unreasonably, they concluded it must have been meant for a Slytherin."
<><> Samantha felt a creeping suspicion coiling in her stomach, but she nodded calmly.
<><> "The parents of the other two members of your house currently at the school are dead and working for the Ministry, respectively." He met her eyes, and there was a sense of apology about his next words. "The Ministry is made up of human beings, Samantha, and in times such as these it is a human tendency to look for a scapegoat.
<><> "The Ministry of Magic believes that this implement--" he indicated the dagger "--was intended for you. Under that assumption, it is my duty to expel you from Hogwarts."
<><> Samantha's eyes widened. "Sir, I didn't have anything to do with this--this--" She trailed off incredulously.
<><> "I don't believe you did, which is why you are to stay here for the rest of the break while I do my utmost to change the ruling. If you had wanted to join your family, you would not have run away from them three years ago. You will pardon my frankness, but you do not seem one for subterfuge, Miss Caine."
<><> He nodded at her and returned to whatever he had been writing before she came in. Samantha took this as a dismissal and rose to leave.
<><> "Oh, and Samantha," Dumbledore said as she reached for the doorknob, "please don't tell your House Head about this--he ought to hear it from me. Professor Snape has enough difficulty with the current attitude toward Slytherins, without pouring more salt in the wound." Samantha nodded, closed the door, and left.
<><> On her way back to the Common Room, she considered the headmaster's last words. He was probably right. The brilliant but moody young Potions Master, barely out of school himself, had brooded for hours after a crowd of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors had taken their frustration out on a couple of Slytherin fifth-years. It wasn't just Slytherins that Voldemort brought out the worst of.
<><> The scrying pool rippled, then focused with unusual clarity on the headmaster's face. The hooded figure laughed, a hissing, snakelike sound.
<><> Kyle Benedict, watching over his master's shoulder, flinched at the sound. Then, wondering what had provoked the unusual outburst, he returned his attention to the pool. Reflected there was Professor Dumbledore. He had new lines on his face, and there were faint circles under his eyes.
<><> "He wearies," the cloaked man said, so sibilantly that for a moment Benedict had been unsure whether he spoke in Parseltongue or a language of men.
<><> "Indeed, Lord." If his master was pleased, then so was Kyle. "It is your new connection with one of the students that allows us vision behind the wards," he added, tentatively.
<><> "Your connection," the Dark Lord said, and the suggestion of a smile in his voice was terrible to hear. "I have not forgotten your work. You shall be rewarded in time."
<><> Benedict smiled, for he knew from his Lord's efforts that that time would not be long in coming.
<><> Elizabeth's gaze rested on one of her pawns as it fidgeted on its square. Theo was taking his time about his next move, touching one piece, then another, stopping to listen to a rook's advice, then staring at the board some more. Finally, he poked his king, and it moved a square to the right.
<><> Elizabeth sighed and moved a knight. Theo sat back to consider the board. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Theo was her friend Kestra's older brother, a seventh-year. Kestra had gone home for break, but Theo had to do a major project for the new Potions Master and had decided to stay at the school. For lack of better company, Elizabeth had latched on to him. He didn't seem to mind.
<><> Theo wasn't a bad sort, she considered. He was polite, kind, with light brown hair and a tall, lanky build. Girls asked Kestra after him. However, Elizabeth would be the first to admit that she and Kestra were crushing over Greg Avery, a Hufflepuff Chaser. Theo was what she would consider "an acquaintance." They just had very little in common, beyond being wizards and Gryffindors. Besides which, she had the sense that her label, to his mind, would always be "Kestra's little girl-friend."
<><> And he thought way too hard about his chess moves, she decided as he finally moved a bishop. Beyond the portrait hole, a voice murmured "Tenebrae."
<><> "What an odd password," Theo said musingly. "I wonder why the Fat Lady chose it?"
<><> "I think it's an accurate summation of the times," Elizabeth said moodily as the portrait creaked aside.
<><> The Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall, stepped in. She nodded to Theo, but her attention was on Elizabeth. "Miss Wells, in my office, please."
<><> As Elizabeth got up, Theo grinned reassuringly at her. She smiled absently, but her mind was racing. Why would Professor McGonagall want to see her? It couldn't be about her grades, and although Theo had shown her that odd map with the moving dots, they hadn't actually gone down any secret passages....
<><> She followed Professor McGonagall back out the portrait hole, down a short corridor, and through a door hidden by a tapestry. She had been at Hogwarts for four years, but she had never seen her House Head's office before. She suspected that if she looked for it in the same place tomorrow, she wouldn't find it.
<><> McGonagall sat down behind her desk and gestured for Elizabeth to take the high-backed chair across from her. The office matched the neatness and austerity of the Head's personal appearance; the height of its ornamentation was a Gryffindor crest over the mantel.
<><> Elizabeth realized the Professor was waiting for her attention. A bit sheepishly, she turned around and faced forward in her chair, folding her hands in her lap and fixing her eyes on them.
<><> Professor McGonagall considered her for a moment before she spoke. This never got easier. It's bloody ridiculous I have to do it at all, she thought, but wishing wouldn't change the reality. There were some things magic couldn't do
<><> "Elizabeth," she said softly. Elizabeth met her eyes nervously. "Kyle Benedict visited your parents' house yesterday. He got past the Ministry's wards somehow. There was an argument. Your parents are dead, Elizabeth."
<><> The girl blinked, uncomprehending. "You-Know-Who killed them. Your mother had found the countercharm for the Sable curse."
<><> Elizabeth looked up bleakly. "My uncle killed them. Her own brother. And she told me there is no countercharm."
<><> "It is the oldest and most difficult. More, I can't say." Professor McGonagall turned her mind to more practical matters. "Your mother had no other living relatives. Your father was an only child. What about your grandparents?"
<><> "They died when I was quite young."
<><> "Then you are a ward of the Ministry."
<><> If this surprised Elizabeth, she made no sign. "May I go?" she asked softly.
<><> Professor McGonagall nodded. Then, moved by Elizabeth's apparent calm more than she had ever been by tears, she spoke. "You're not the first to lose your parents to the Dark Lord, one way or another. If you need anyone to talk to--"
<><> Elizabeth smiled weakly, then rose to leave. "I'm sorry," Professor McGonagall whispered, on impulse, but the door was already swinging closed.
<><> "Tenebrae," Elizabeth said expressionlessly, and the Fat Lady's portrait swung aside. Theo was still sitting behind the chessboard. He looked up from his reading as she came in.
<><> "I went; it's your turn."
<><> "You won," she said, and headed for the dormitory stairs.
<><> "Elizabeth, what's wrong?"
<><> "My parents are dead." She left the common room and started up the stairs. Theo followed her silently. When they reached the top, Elizabeth sank down on her bed and Theo perched on Kestra's.
<><> "You aren't allowed up here," Elizabeth said reproachfully.
<><> "What happened?"
<><> Elizabeth lay back on her bed and stared at the canopy. "My uncle--went bad. I don't know how long ago. My parents just found out for certain a couple of weeks ago, and went into hiding. My uncle found them and killed them."
<><> "That's awful," Theo said. It sounded silly and inefficient to his ears.
<><> "I know," she said flatly. She sniffed.
<><> "Why aren't you crying? I would."
<><> His confession seemed to open a dam. Tears began to stream down Elizabeth's face, although she made not a sound. Theo got up from his sister's bed and sat next to her. He offered her his handkerchief, but her eyes were closed and she couldn't see it. Instead, he dried her face with it, gently. She didn't seem to notice.
<><> They stayed that way until evening, when a Gryffindor prefect, Lise Martin, saw them through the open door on her way up to the seventh-year dorms. She shooed Theo out, but by then Elizabeth was asleep.
<><> Her dreams were filled with the dark-haired young man.
<><> Samantha fidgeted, eyeing the gargoyle door-guard nervously, as she waited for Professor Snape to emerge from the gap in the wall. The headmaster had accurately anticipated his reaction to her news--the day he had been told, the students watched the High Table nervously as his face alternated between chalk white and indignant red. It didn't matter to the young Professor that none of the other teachers believed the weapon was meant for Samantha either. They couldn't change the Ministry's ruling-only Professor Dumbledore had a chance of that.
<><> Maybe he had a point, Samantha thought, but people should be judged by more than their inability to do the impossible. She thought perhaps Professor Snape expected the world to be a better place than it was. He certainly expected a lot of his students.
<><> She brought her thoughts back to the present as the stone staircase began to move again. Like a Muggle escalator, she thought. Just then, the Head of Slytherin House appeared.
<><> "He'll see you now." Samantha nodded and waited for the Professor to start up the stairs again, but he just stood there. "Just you."
<><> "Oh."
<><> Professor Dumbledore heard nervous footsteps scuffling on the stairs. He sincerely wished his students were less timid around him, but he supposed it came of being headmaster. In their eyes, he had power of life and death over them--or life and expulsion anyway, which to an ordinary Hogwarts student was not far different. Had not been far different. Death was more real to everyone now than it had ever been.
<><> The footsteps stumbled off the staircase and stopped, but Samantha didn't enter the office.
<><> "Come in, I don't bite," said the headmaster encouragingly. "Neither does Fawkes," he added, as an afterthought.
<><> Samantha entered; guessing as she did that the creature on the perch alongside the door must be Fawkes. It, or he, looked like a huge bird of paradise made of shifting, red-and-golden fire. Not something she would want to be bitten by, but also not something she would suspect of biting.
<><> Professor Dumbledore motioned for her to sit, and she took one of the two chairs on the near side of his desk. It was large and padded, and made her light frame seem quite small in comparison.
<><> Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose you know why you're here?"
<><> She nodded.
<><> "Despite the objections of myself and every other member of the Hogwarts faculty, especially Professor Snape, the Ministry of Magic continues to believe that you are, or at least have been, an agent of Voldemort--"
<><> Samantha flinched. "You have nothing to fear but fear itself, Miss Caine. Of course, the Muggle who said that didn't live in our...interesting times, but at any rate the name will not summon the wizard. When you know your enemy's name, use it. He may be the weaker for it."
<><> "If you believe the government, You-Know--I mean--Voldemort isn't my enemy," she said bitterly.
<><> "But I don't," he said. "Now, if you cannot stay here, where will you go?"
<><> She stared at him. No one would have her before; why should it be any different now? Looking for the first time out the windows, she noticed it was raining. The wind must just have turned, because the heavy raindrops had begun to batter at the panes mournfully. The rain seemed to her to be so appropriate it bordered on cliché.
<><> There was a soft knock at the door. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "If you don't mind, Miss Caine?" She nodded bemusedly. "Come in," he said.
<><> The door opened to admit a girl Samantha remembered vaguely from a joint Herbology class. Liz...Elizabeth something, a Gryffindor.
<><> "Professor Dumbledore! I'm sorry; I didn't know this was your office. I was lost...." Elizabeth trailed off uncertainly as Dumbledore smiled at her.
<><> "Was there something you wanted to tell me, Miss Wells?"
<><> "No, sir, I was just looking for Professor McGonagall's office, and the wall opened, so...."
<><> "I suppose because the gargoyle thought you should be here. The minds of most statues are beyond even those who enchanted them, and that one's dealt with generations of Headmasters and their appointments. At any rate, since you're here now, and from your state it's something I'd have heard of anyhow, why don't you tell me instead of Minerva?"
<><> Samantha was forgotten temporarily. She was listening, although she knew she ought not to be. She let her eyes wander among the seemingly random items on Dumbledore's desk: A small stuffed newt, a silver ball on a stand, vibrating gently--she started. For whatever reason, the headmaster still had that...thing on his desk. The thing that wasn't hers, but had gotten her expelled anyway. Why was it still here? Perhaps the headmaster thought it safest in plain sight....
<><> Something about Dumbledore's manner seemed to reassure Elizabeth a bit. "You know--my parents-" Dumbledore nodded understandingly, so she rallied and continued. "Since I...found out, I've been having...dreams. There's this--this man in them, and he seems perfectly nice, but it's like he's got me at the end of a rope, and whatever he does, I have to follow him. And it seems like a perfectly ordinary dream, but then I wake up, and I'm terrified." Her voice grew fearful at the memory.
<><> A small line appeared between Dumbledore's eyebrows. Elizabeth kept talking, seeming relieved just to be telling someone-whatever it was that she was telling. "And then yesterday, and the day before, too, I was on top of the Astronomy tower. Not for any reason, though--I was just there, and I can't remember how or why. And Professor McGonagall said if I needed someone to talk to...."
<><> Samantha thought that anyone who would seek out a long talk with Professor McGonagall must be worried indeed. Elizabeth, her rush of words over, slumped tiredly into the other chair.
<><> Dumbledore looked truly concerned now. "What did the man in your dream look like?" he enquired in what, for him, was an anxious tone.
<><> "Uh--black hair, young, dressed like a wizard...."
<><> "Thank you." Dumbledore found ink, parchment, and quill somewhere in the drawers of his ornate desk and began writing furiously. "Professor?" Elizabeth asked nervously.
<><> "You were afraid your mind might not be completely your own?"
<><> She nodded slightly, wondering if she'd been that obvious.
<><> "You may have been right."
<><> Both girls were struck silent. Eyes wide, they watched as Dumbledore finished writing, signed, folded, and sealed the letter, and scrawled "The Office of the Minister" on the envelope. He stood and turned to the window, and Fawkes--He must be a phoenix, Samantha realized--swooped across the room in a stately manner and took the envelope.
<><> Dumbledore opened the window, and Fawkes glided out, the rain hissing and steaming when it landed on him. "A phoenix is quite possibly the most faithful creature in the world," Dumbledore said reflectively, gazing after the departing specimen. Samantha nodded politely.
<><> In the chair beside her, Elizabeth stiffened. She sat up straighter, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her hand twitched, and the dark steel spike slid off Dumbledore's desk. She clutched at it with nerveless fingers.
<><> Samantha watched, paralyzed, as Elizabeth gasped painfully and launched herself at the Headmaster. He was still standing at the window, back turned, but when he heard the agonized hiss he whirled, his wand unexpectedly appearing in his hand.
<><> "Trappeliam!"
<><> The spell was still echoing around the circular office as Elizabeth jerked up, then froze, hanging in the air. The point of the blade was a half-dozen centimeters from the headmaster's chest, at most.
<><> A wave of thought washed over Samantha and the Professor. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.... Remorse mingled with confusion and frustration threatened to overwhelm them. It trailed away, reluctantly, after several eternities seemed to have passed.
<><> "W--what happened?" Samantha knew she sounded foolish, but she felt quite lost. The last minutes had been a blur to her shocked eyes and brain.
<><> Professor Dumbledore's face and voice were grim. "She was under outside control, as she feared. The man she described, I suspect, is the one who came to be known as Voldemort."
<><> Samantha recoiled at the name, and then there was a moment of shocked silence. Finally, she managed to speak: "How?"
<><> "I don't know. Possession of the unwilling is no easy thing." Dumbledore placed a Full Body Bind on Elizabeth, then released her from the position she had been frozen in: leaping, in mid-air. She rested stiffly in a chair, eyes wide and unseeing.
<><> Samantha joined Dumbledore at the window. "Was that thing meant for her?" She indicated the spike still gripped in Elizabeth's rigid hand.
<><> "Most likely."
<><> "Will they let me stay now?"
<><> "I think so."
<><> "Are we waiting for Fawkes?"
<><> "Yes."
<><> There was a grating hiss of expletives, some in Parseltongue, some in English. Then a silence that could have been cut with a knife, if one could be found that was sharp enough and hard enough.
<><> Kyle Benedict slumped on his stone bench, drained. "I've failed, Lord," he said, head bowed.
<><> "Yes," said the cloaked man, "you have."
<><> Benedict cringed. In the corner where the Lord's inner circle stood, there was a dry, abrupt, "Hah." That was Malfoy, but it might have been any of them--the tendency to laugh at the misfortune of others was a common one among the Dark Lord's followers. Of course, the ones who rose to the top were those who would not only laugh at men that fell, but use them as stepping-stones before they could get up.
<><> "But I will catch you," Voldemort said, "this time."
<><> Elizabeth was building a dam. She could not see, or hear, or feel anything. She could not remember or even think anything. All she knew was that this must be done. The little control that remained to her rallied and made a last stand. It was brave, but hopeless.
<><> Elizabeth's hand twitched, unnoticed by either Samantha or the Headmaster. Her lips moved, slowly and painfully, forming the word "No," but she made no sound. She raised her hand, then her arm, shaking off the spell. She stood up, compelled, like an automaton, and began her advance.
<><> Samantha heard the footsteps before Dumbledore did. She spun around, grabbing Elizabeth's wrists as she lunged. She was shoved against the headmaster, and both were pinned against the window as Elizabeth bore down with strength unnatural in anyone only fifteen years old.
<><> "Elizabeth," she shouted, trying to meet her opponent's eye. "Can you hear me?" The girl just bore down harder, trying to twist her hand free. "Elizabeth!" Dumbledore's wand dug in to her back; he had stuck it through his belt behind him. No help there, then.
<><> Elizabeth jerked her hand back, and Samantha's sweaty fingers slipped. A hiss of triumph seemed to come from her as she pulled her hand back for the strike, though her lips did not move.
<><> The point came down, aimed unfailingly at the headmaster's ribs. Samantha tried to catch Elizabeth's wrist again, but her hand, slicked with perspiration, slid aside. Time seemed to slow, and instinct took over. When the point was too close to change direction, she jammed her shoulder between the blade and its target.
<><> Darkness, for just a moment.
<><> She slid to the floor, eyes opening in time to see Elizabeth crumple beside her. Then she felt the scalding ice spreading from her shoulder, and there was darkness again.
<><> Professor Dumbledore knelt between the two girls. Elizabeth was flushed, her face contorted with struggle and her eyes wide, bright, and unseeing. Her hand still held the dagger, bloodstained now, but still with its dark lustre. Samantha's hands lay limply at her sides. Her lips and fingernails were tinged with blue and her skin was pale. The wound in her shoulder hadn't bled much; there was just a puncture through the thin black robe and deep into the flesh beneath.
<><> He picked up his wand from where it had been knocked to the floor and said "Mobilicorpus," and the two fallen students rose stiffly into the air. He was headmaster of Hogwarts and a powerful wizard, but poisons and physical wounds were Poppy Pomfrey's specialty.
<><> "No, Professor, nothing." Madam Pomfrey's face was grave.
<><> Professor Dumbledore took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well. Find Minerva, Poppy. Tell her to send an owl to the Ministry at once. I'll stay here."
<><> She nodded tiredly and left, the bustle that normally accompanied her comings and goings sadly diminished. The headmaster set his glasses on a shelf brimming with jars and bottles of occult medicines, and sat on the chair between the two occupied beds, keeping the vigil.
<><> Elizabeth woke to an agony of headache. That is, her head hurt more than any other part, so it was what she noticed first. Full awareness arrived quickly. She groaned weakly, but it only made matters worse. What didn't ache was numb. That was most places, alarmingly.
<><> She opened her eyes and saw not the red brocade of her bed's curtains but the white plaster of the infirmary ceiling. The soft snores came not from Kestra, but from Professor Dumbledore, dozing sitting up on a chair. Memory returned in a painful stream. She moaned again, softly.
<><> There was an answering sound from the next bed. Alarmed, Elizabeth turned her head. She tried to raise herself on an elbow, but found it beyond her ability. Forcing her eyes to focus, she identified the face staring back at her.
<><> It was Samantha. She looked terrible. Her lips were blue, and indeed all of her skin had taken on a bluish tinge. Elizabeth could see a fine veil of sweat across her face, and her ribs moved visibly under the sheets. Every breath seemed to be difficult.
<><> "What happened to you?" whispered Elizabeth, afraid of the answer.
<><> "You happened," Samantha rasped, but there was only a hint of bitterness in her tone.
<><> "God...." Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wished she was still holding the dagger, to sink it into her own shoulder, but she doubted she'd have the physical strength to manage it.
<><> "It's not your fault."
<><> "I don't see how you can say that."
<><> "It's true."
<><> "But I don't see how you can say it--"
<><> "Touché." Samantha tried to smile, but her face was stiff, as though all the blood was rushing from her head. "But if I were inclined toward retribution, your life after today will be what mine's been for the last three years. That's bad enough without the vengeance of a ghost."
<><> Elizabeth's mind, slowed by fatigue and muddled by pain, took a moment to unravel Samantha's hoarse words. "A ghost? What are you talking about?"
<><> "Me."
<><> "You're not going to die!"
<><> "That thing you stabbed me with was poisoned--" <><> "So?" Elizabeth sounded desperate to her own ears.
<><> "It's in my blood already. It burns--and I can't breathe properly. Professor Dumbledore told me it's deadly." Her voice trailed off. Elizabeth realized she hadn't sounded really frightened until now.
<><> "It's okay...." She reached out her arm painfully, feeling as though it was moving through half-set cement. Samantha's hand met hers halfway. They clasped stiffly and both were silent for a moment. Elizabeth watched the rise and fall of Samantha's chest and wished that she could die instead.
<><> When Madam Pomfrey returned, a quarter of an hour later, the two were asleep, holding hands between the hospital beds. She unclasped them, gently, and woke Professor Dumbledore.
<><> "She's got perhaps an hour left," she said, indicating Samantha.
<><> Dumbledore sighed. "Who won, Poppy?"
<><> "Excuse me?"
<><> Dumbledore's gaze fell on the inert shapes in the beds. One would be dead before tomorrow. The other would probably live, though whether she'd want to was in question. "Was this a victory or a defeat? It appears we lost more than Voldemort did."
<><> "Albus, you may be able to say that name, but most of us would prefer not to," she said briskly. After a brief flurry of unnecessary activity, she said, "I don't know. At least You-Know-Who didn't win."
<><> "Stalemate," Dumbledore murmured.
<><> "Minerva sent the owl."
<><> "Good."
<><> The rain battering at the windows was the only sound for some time.
The Ministry of Magic
Main Offices
London, England
Professor Dumbledore:
<><> It is the decision of the Ministry to entrust the fate of Elizabeth Wells to you, as headmaster of Hogwarts and surviving witness to last Tuesday's events. The Ministry recommends that she be removed from the school, but recognizes that her circumstances are unusual and bows to your experience and judgment.
<><> The Ministry also wishes to award Samantha Caine, posthumously, the Order of Merlin (First Class), for her valiant actions on that same day.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Cornelius Fudge
<><> Professor Dumbledore refolded the letter, which was still damp from being delivered during one of April's notorious "showers." This one better resembled a tropical deluge.
<><> He glanced toward the infirmary bed; Elizabeth seemed unlikely to waken any time soon. Rising, he placed the letter on the small bedside table, where she would see it the instant she woke up. Madam Pomfrey would deplore the fuss it might cause, militant as she was about keeping her infirmary free of excitement, but this was something Elizabeth would need to know.
<><> She hadn't stirred since she had been brought to the infirmary three days ago, but Madam Pomfrey reasoned that she was healing. This seemed fair enough to Dumbledore--she certainly had a lot of mending to do. He suspected, however, that a great deal more of it would have to be done when she was awake. Hopefully Professor McGonagall was up to the talk that was undoubtedly coming at last.
<><> He left the infirmary resignedly. The business of the world went on, no matter what tragedy sought to interrupt it. Classes began at the start of next week, and there were lessons to prepare. This war might still be won, or at least, might not be lost. Perhaps Elizabeth would fight of her own will next time.
Endnote: "Tenebrae" is my second story, and may be some kind of an achievement in that it contains neither Harry, Ron and Hermione, nor James, Sirius, Lily, Remus, and Peter. Neither Samantha nor Elizabeth is meant to be me; if this had been a self-insertion 'fic the characters might actually have behaved, but nooo.... And now, for my last trick: begging for feedback *beg, beg, beg* (I'm getting good at that). Please review this or send me an owl at chimara.geo@yahoo.com.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Minister of Magic Elect