"George is hardly an active member of the Order," Antha answered slowly, after a moment of hesitation. "He's perhaps attended... Five of the meetings I had seen. That does not mean, however, he is unimportant." Antha tried to word her defense for the ginger delicately. He had to seem important enough to live, but not important enough to keep here. "Perhaps, my Lord, we let him go. Wipe his memory of this encounter."

"Your defense of him intrigues me," the Dark Lord murmured to her, his eyes meeting hers, sparkling in amusement. "Don't tell me you've grown to care for the boy."

"Of course not, my Lord," Antha remarked. His pale lips twitched as he seemed to catch her lie. She let out an even breath, her eyes darting back to the quaking boy painfully. She almost winced. "I fear keeping him would do nothing more than slow us down, however. I propose you let him go."

"And why should I?" the Dark Lord pressed, his eyes glinting maliciously. Antha didn't falter. Her eyes returned back to his and she said quietly so the others couldn't overhear her over George's labored breathing.

"He's hurt," Antha bargained. She stiffened her jaw as her eyes teared up and she bowed her head quickly, so he wouldn't see. "I … I'll be punished in his place. I ask you let him go. I beg of you, my Lord."

"Assess his wounds and tell me what's so life threatening," the Dark Lord spoke, louder than she, and a murmur rang through the crowd. Antha obeyed, walking towards the injured man and she gently touched George's face. The twin flinched violently, spitting at her feet. "Cruci-"

"Wait," Antha interrupted, halting the spell from leaving a furious Dark Lord's lips. She pulled her skirt up so that it wouldn't get dirty, and knelt down beside George. His face was bloody, as though he had been roughed up before she arrived. She gripped both of his cheeks between her hands and forced him to look at her. "What do you wish for me to find?"

"Whatever you can."

Antha swallowed, nodding, and wiped some of his wet hair from his eyes. He had been sweating, as a result of the spells cast on him, and his eyes finally focused on her, taking a while to adjust. He seemed surprised to see her, but he relaxed in her grip and his eyes didn't waver from her own.

She felt tears build up in her own eyes. "Everything's going to be fine." She blinked once, and a tear escaped. "I promise." But it wasn't a promise she could make. "My Lord?"

"My dear?"

"I require a wand to do legimency," Antha stated. "That is what you wanted, isn't it, my Lord?"

There was a pause and she glanced towards the Dark Lord, to see him scanning the Death Eaters. As she watched him, George's hands lifted, his hands shaking, but grasped her wrists. "Why are you dressed up?" he murmured, confused. Even his voice was trembling, like his body. "You don't look bad... and you're talking like-"

"You know who my mother is," Antha answered simply, cutting him off without glancing at him. If she had, she might have seen the briefest spasm of distrust.

"Antha, stand." Antha did so immediately, smoothing out her skirt with the back of her hands, as her palms were covered in her almost love's blood. She faced the Dark Lord and he stared at her a moment. "Tell me, whose wand do you wish?"

He was serious. He hardly ever was anything but. She gazed around the crowd, but smirked as she saw the face of the man that was responsible for putting her in the rat infested dungeons. "I believe Dolohov's will do beautifully, my Lord."

"Wonderful. Dolohov?"

"My Lord-"

"Now." He didn't question the Dark Lord again, relinquishing his wand. "I'd like to talk about a few things, first."

"A few things, my Lord?" Antha repeated, confused. Her grip on Dolohov's wand was her lifesaver. This wand would do everything she needed to make a plan – any plan she could come up with in that moment – work.

"I recall a certain someone four years ago that insisted upon spying on the Order," the Dark Lord began, walking slowly around the outer edge of the clearing in Death Eaters. "Do you recall this event?"

"I do, my Lord," Antha answered, swallowing as she turned to keep her front facing him. She didn't know what this had to do with anything.

"And do you remember that persons specialty? Much like her mother's." Antha nodded her confirmation. "Are you still as adept in the cruciatus?"

"I have been out of practice, my Lord," Antha answered simply, her heart clenching as she glanced quickly at George. "I don't-"

"Why don't we test it out, hmm? On dear George Weasley." The Dark Lord paused directly behind George. "Antha?"

Antha's new thin wand aimed itself at George, and it trembled only slightly, before she straightened her arm and set her jaw. She had to be strong. These people would kill her if she wasn't. She didn't know if she could say the curse, though. It was on the tip of her tongue. The vowels formed and ready to be uttered, but she couldn't.

"Any day, my dear."

"My Lord," Antha said instead of the spell. "I believe that perhaps someone else should have a go. Such an honor should not go to me-"

"Bellatrix, do the cruciatus before I grow bored. I do not want him too damaged. I'm trying to figure out what to do with him still." George's eyes widened as Antha was grabbed by the arm, Dolohov forcing her to watch as Bellatrix cast the spell. Dolohov held Antha tight, as she struggled to stop from being under the choke hold as George screamed in pain.

It hurt her ears, being so close to him, and feeling the pain he had to have felt. She knew exactly what it was like, to be at the mercy of the person you hated the most. To have your insides burning and knowing you'd be given no mercy at all. It wasn't a fun feeling.

As Voldemort stared at Antha, he saw tears build in her eyes as the single-eared man writhed in pain. The Death Eaters laughed manically at his pain, knowing they were not the ones at the end of it. They were encouraging Bellatrix to kill him, disobey the Dark Lord's wishes.

"Bella, I said make him suffer. Not make him cry."

Antha knew George felt no shame. How could he? He was in extreme pain, and the Weasley twins were anything but ashamed of themselves or their actions. Antha relaxed in Dolohov's grip as Bellatrix flashed her eyes angrily at the Dark Lord. "My Lord-"

"Antha, kill the boy-"

She whipped her head to face the Dark Lord, her eyes wide. "My Lord-" George gasped for breath, his lungs no doubt over exerted from his screaming. His noise filled the silence as Antha stopped herself from speaking. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate disobedience. "Perhaps we could keep him a while longer. Until he talks about where Potter's gone?"

The Dark Lord mulled this over. "You're very keen on protecting this one."

"He seems to have potential to me, my Lord," Antha recovered, shooting Dolohov a nasty glare as she moved from his grip. "Don't touch me again," she spat at the Russian. "My Lord, I simply think he's not telling us something, but is too weak to properly think."

"And what gives you that assumption?"

"I was told you've been torturing him all day."

He seemed to remember. Antha clutched Dolohov's wand tightly, wondering how long it'd take her to get to George and apparate away. The Dark Lord's eyes warned her that she shouldn't try it. He always knew what she was thinking.

"Take him to the dungeons, Antha. I have an idea for him."

Antha wondered if this was another test. As she stepped towards George, her hand grasping his elbow, she found the Dark Lord seemed to lose interest in the only Order members there. The crowd parted as Antha took steps towards the long, dark hall that led to the dungeons.

"Antha-"

"Shut up," she snapped. She immediately regretted it as he winced, and stumbled along after her. Once safely in the empty hall, she made sure no rats were around, before making him look at her. "Why are you here? I told you-"

"You never got back to headquarters. Mum and Dad told me what happened-"

"Nothing happened," she said dangerously, glancing around them. She gripped his arm tightly and pulled him along quickly. "You shouldn't have come. We all have to do what we can to keep others safe. Tell your mother to keep my wand from sight," Antha answered under her breath. "I never got them out, alright? I never helped them."

"But-"

She reached the cell door and glanced back at the hall they had come from. "I'll be back tonight to leave. I'll probably manage to steal a wand or something..." Antha looked him over. "Where's yours?"

"They took it."

"I'll find it," she answered quietly. "I'm so sorry... You aren't supposed to see me on their side. I'm on the Order, I promise. I-"

"I know you are... You wouldn't have begged for my life if you were on theirs."

Antha swallowed tightly, opening the cell door and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead in the dark room. He was already leaning down from his aching muscles. The feat was nothing. She pulled back, her hands gripping his own. "I don't know who will come by before I do... Stay as strong as you can, alright? I really... really don't want to bury you."

She shoved him inside the dark, barely lit room, and shut the cell door. She waved Dolohov's wand to lock it and then returned back to the ballroom, ignoring her own heavy heart, weighing more with each step she took.

The Death Eaters seemed surprised she returned, but took it as a sign of loyalty. As the Dark Lord raved about how they were all stupid and easily replaceable if they let Potter escape again, the message was expressed vividly. Thankfully, she was spared from any form of torture at all. The Dark Lord kept glancing at her though, mid-tirade, and she wondered what that meant.

Death Eaters dispersed. The night grew to darkness.

The tea cup in her hand had grown cold, no longer the steaming warmth that kept her happy. The Dark Lord was across from her, not touching the tea cup she had poured for him. Her legs were tucked under her body, the dress from earlier in the day exchanged for a skirt and blouse. Her bare feet were dirty, but she didn't mind.

"When are you leaving?"

She glanced up. It was the first words they had spoken since they had first joined just a few hours before. "What do you mean?" She knew, of course.

"Weasley. When is it?"

"I haven't the foggiest," she replied, sipping the cold tea and grimacing slightly.

"Tonight?"

"'Twas the plan."

The Dark Lord stared at her with narrowed eyes, unable to express some emotion he was no doubt feeling. "What is it about him that will make you leave everything here? What is it about the Order that draws you in?"

She leaned forward in her seat, as if she were sharing a secret. His eyes sparkled at the movement, hoping for a good secret, but he was sourly disappointed as she remarked, "There's no torture."

"I already knew that."

"Then why ask?"

He growled in frustration. "What do they do instead of torture?"

She shrugged, thinking. "Reprimandings. Warnings. Overnight stays in the Auror department doing paperwork, really. No one in the Order screws up in order to get punished."

"And yet people remain loyal."

"The Dark Side is alluring," Antha admitted, frowning as she set her tea cup down on the table between them. "Attractive. Strong and honest, I suppose. It's tempting to join, but the right thing wills out – kindness. Love. You may not understand it, but people view love as a stronger bond than loyalty. Kingdoms have been torn apart because of love. The Bloody Baron killed himself because of his love for Helena Ravenclaw, or do you not remember that story?" She knew he did. "Love is the most powerful weapon of them all."

He grimaced, his eyes not wavering from her form. "Leave."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your mission is to continue watching over the Order," the Dark Lord remarked.

"But I don't have a mission-" she began, frowning.

"Precisely why you should leave before others figure that out."

She wondered why the man that had put her in the dungeons bleeding and dying was now telling her to run. "I run, you'll kill me if you catch me," she said slowly.

"Who said that?"

"Your history."

He didn't deny it. She didn't expect him to. Her eyes darted around the quaint study that had once belonged to Lucius. Now it was the Dark Lord's. When he fell, and Lucius was in Azkaban, it would be Draco's study.

"Why do you kill?" she asked him, much like his previous bold question. "Does it... help you? Do you feel better?"

"Of course I do," he murmured. He waved his wand and the steam began to sprout out of the tip of the tea pot. Warm tea once more. He repoured a cup and sipped from it daintily. "My passion in killing does not lay with the power, though that is a small part of why I kill... I kill because it makes me feel alive."

"And you feel dead when you aren't killing?" Antha pressed curiously.

"I thought I told you to leave."

"I haven't a wand," she remarked, her lips quirking up into a smile. The Dark Lord stared at the woman before him before procuring a wand with a wave of his own. Antha recognized it immediately. George Weasley's wand. The joker's wand had been given to her many times over the years – many as a result of her attempts to stop him from nearly murdering the poor first years with their products. Most recently, she had acquired it because he had charmed their tent, before they split up and searched separately for Potter, to have a see-through room that she was changing in. She hadn't been amused. She grasped it, confused. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why does the Order not torture?"

Love.

She held the wand in her hand as she moved down the dark, silent hallway. Silencing charms were placed around her, muffling her footsteps, and the creaking of doors opening. Only a single breath left her before she quickly silenced herself again.

No one was awake. No one she could hear anyway. The Death Eaters typically didn't survive in the art of being silent. They were rambunctious, often dragging out the torture, in order to show off.

So seeing Bellatrix Lestrange in the dungeons, silent and mulling something over as she leaned against a far wall – not yet seeing Philantha, was strange. Antha considered trying to slip by her, but knew she'd be dead instead. She raised George's wand, her fingers tight against the wood, and aimed it at her mother.

"Who's there-?" the woman spun around, but Antha was faster.

"Avada Kedavra."

The matriarch, only in blood, to the troubled teen crumpled to the ground, and Antha rushed forward, removing any magical signatures so they wouldn't trace it back to George, and then continued cautiously through the dungeons. She reached upon the cell she had dumped George in and opened the door softly.

He was resting against a wall, half asleep, and looking like he was desperately trying to keep his eyes open. "George," Antha hissed. He jerked awake and stood, defensive. "Let's get going."

Since there were no anti-apparation points, Antha gripped George's wrist as he approached her and apparated them both away.

They landed on the stoop of headquarters, teetering dangerously over the edge. She shoved the door open, throwing him inside, before shutting the door behind her and leaning against it.

"Bloody hell," George murmured, turning to look at her. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Antha insisted quietly. "We're fine. We're alive-"

"Fine? I just got tortured for six bloody hours!" George cried. "And what did they do to you?" He gestured towards her, taking an arm. "Death Eater? Look at this? They've destroyed you."

"My mother likes to have fun," Antha remarked, pulling her arm from his gentle grasp. She eyed the portrait of Walburga worriedly before she stepped closer into the home. "Where is your family?"

"They were heading to the Burrow when I left... That's how I got away with it."

"Of course," Antha smirked. She passed him his wand and touched a small knick knack on a dark table hidden in the hallway. "We should get to them."

"I'm horrid at rescuing you."

"It was a good attempt. Foolish, but good," she praised. "Don't do it again."

He let out a laugh, "Definitely not going to."

She took his arm carefully, and noticed how his hands were trembling. "The pain will pass through your system with a good rest," she told him quietly. "I'm so sorry..."

"Why?"

"I should have told you... I mean, I assumed you assumed where I was over the summers, why I didn't write you in school... I thought you knew, but... I'm so sorry." She bit her lip as she glanced down. "You were never supposed to follow me."

"I thought you were in trouble."

"I was fine."

"It sure looks like it," he stated, his hand clutching her own once more and staring at the scars on her cheek. "What the-"

She apparated them both with a crack, cutting off his sentence. They landed in the field of the Burrow, which looked much better than it had two days previous. She was in desperate need of a bed and a shower, but she led George to the door and knocked lightly.

It was pulled open and Molly's wand was pointed directly at Antha's throat. The girl halted, her chin up in fear as she stared down the end of the wood. "Well, hello to you, as well."

Molly's grip didn't falter. "The last words we spoke?"

Antha racked her brains before looking relieved, "You told me to come with you. I said go, and you left." The wand lowered and the two women stared at each other before Antha was enveloped in an embrace.

"My dear girl, where were you? I told you-"

"Damage control," Antha answered easily. She swallowed as she pulled away. "See? George is fine? I did the damage control."

"George!" Molly cried. "What in the world-" She hugged her son fiercely, rocking from side to side with him in her arms. And then she pulled the pair into the house. "Oh, Antha, what happened to you? Your face is all-"

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"I saw you in the dungeons," George interrupted whatever Molly was going to say. "I saw you with the screaming night terrors and the-"

"I was healed. I'm fine," Antha cut him off. She shot George a nasty glare. "Like you weren't under the cruciatus."

Molly gasped and fussed over her son more. Antha tuned out Molly's worrisome comments, noting how he was pale and shaking, and instead focused more on the people located in the living room. Ginny and Fred, Charlie and Bill, Fleur and Tonks. Lupin. Antha gave them all a weary smile, gently sitting herself down on a vacant chair. The few Order members around her avoided her gaze and she shifted uncomfortably.

"What happened?"

"Well, I'm sure Molly and Arthur told you what happened," she remarked. "I got caught, the Dark Lord made sure I learned my lesson, and then I was treated just like a fine and dandy Death Eater."

"Who did this to you?" Molly pressed suddenly, flocking to the girl's side. She brushed the dark hair from the girl's face, exposing the pink scars that were still fresh. "Merlin-"

"My mother," Antha answered shortly. She moved her hair so it was hanging in her face once more. "It's fine... They're fine."

"They look like they hurt."

"They don't," Antha insisted. They didn't, really. The muscles ached as she talked, moved her arms, swallowed, but they didn't hurt. Just the tissue healing back together.

The Burrow took not even two hours to replenish, the garden being one of the last to do away with. Antha decided to hand weed the dead brush, liking how the menial task set her mind away from the sympathies of the Weasleys. It relaxed her, the isolation. She had much of it when she was away, chasing after Potter.

"The Dark Lord tortured you?"

She jumped at the question, glancing behind her to see George kneeling beside her, picking up some brush and putting it into a plastic bag. Muggle cleaning. He seemed to like it too.

"No... Not really. He has others do his dirty work."

George frowned, glancing at the teen girl that was from the same house and year he was. "But how did you get my wand? He took it... How did you get all cleaned up and look all … like you worked for him?"

Antha winced, "I never told you-"

A breach in the wards made the alarms go off – a horrible cat screeching noise – and the two teens glanced up just in time to see a swirl of black landing in the field before them. "Never told him what, my dear?" the Dark Lord asked maliciously. "How you murdered your mother – my very best Death Eater – to save him?"

Antha swallowed, her eyes dropping to the grass her hands were waved into. George shot her an astounded look. "Antha-"

"She used to love it, you know," the Dark Lord remarked maliciously. "Loved to torture, to kill... She'd smile in this way that turned all my followers to puddles, just because she heard someone's screams. Order member?" The man laughed heartlessly. Antha didn't think he had any other laugh. "What Order can she possibly be apart of?"