"Remind me again why you can't just get your mail delivered to the Great Hall like everyone else?" Sirius asked. He reached for the folded piece of parchment in Geoff's hand, but his heart wasn't in it, and the lanky ginger deftly moved the letter out of Sirius's reach.

"Don't worry about it, mate," he answered. "Besides, this way we get first dibs on the morning news, remember?"

The morning ritual of Sirius trying stealing Geoff's mail and James taking the Prophet was still intact, but petty squabbles over the mail had become lackluster as the year had progressed. Admittedly, James's scouring of the Daily Prophet was much more thorough now than it had been in the past, rigorously scanning through every column on every page for hints of subtle Death Eater movements rather than just skimming the front page for news of major attacks, but this simple routine helped keep a sense of normalcy about everything despite all that had happened.

The Gryffindors settled into their usual seats at their table in the Great Hall, piling their plates high with sausage and bacon and toast, passing around pages of newsprint and jars of marmalade and pitchers of pumpkin juice. With the spring term drawing to a close and exams quickly approaching, textbooks and rolls of parchment were not uncommon decorations at the tables, and the conversation often revolved around their impending N.E.W.T.s as much as it did the war. And it wasn't just them. Since their release from the Hospital Wing, Alice Prewett and Frank Longbottom had joined in on their meetings. The only noticeable absence was Lily, who had also been released from the Hospital Wing, but was resigned to distancing Mariah from the Order following her discharge. The two of them sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, both of them glancing over every so often, Lily wistfully, and Mariah with some confusion.

As Geoff poured himself another goblet of pumpkin juice, he glanced over at the Slytherin table. Lovell and Snape and Rosier were crowded together at one end of the table, the rest of their gang crowded around them, speaking in confidential tones, occasionally glancing over their shoulders and pointing at other students scattered around the Hall. Emilie was back in her old place at Rosier's side, although she no longer held his hand like she used to. That was a small comfort, Geoff told himself, although he and Emilie hadn't spoken since that day on the Quidditch pitch.

He saw Emilie stand and pick up her books, tucking her hair behind her ear as she made her way across the Great Hall. As she passed the Gryffindor table, her eyes scanned down the line of Marauders, lingering on Geoff for a moment as they had every day for the past three weeks, but as usual, neither she nor Geoff made a move to speak to the other, though Geoff kept watching her until she'd left the hall. He wondered if anyone else knew the secret she'd shared with him on the Quidditch pitch; he certainly hadn't told anyone, and from the looks of things, her fellow Slytherins either didn't know, or didn't care.

"You've got to try and move on, mate," Sirius said beside him.

"Believe me, I'd like to," Geoff sighed, glancing down at his watch and immediately started to gather his things. "Would you look at that? Time for history of magic. Better get going..."

"You are the only person I know that actually cares about showing up to that class on time," Sirius said. "Even Binns doesn't show up half the time."

"Yeah, but Emilie shows up all the time," James muttered beside him.

"Let her go, mate!" Sirius called after Geoff. "She's not worth it!"

Geoff ignored him, making his way out into the corridor. It was true that Emilie was one of the few other students who regularly showed up to their N.E.W.T.-level history of magic class (indeed, one of the few other students who had actually signed up for N.E.W.T.-level history of magic), but more importantly, the nearly empty class allowed him time to himself. Between classes, nightly patrols, and reconnaissance missions, he barely had time to get a good night's sleep - the nightmares didn't help in that regard, either - let alone clear his head. History of magic allowed him a moment to catch his breath and, occasionally, a quick nap.

Arriving in the classroom, he saw Emilie already sitting in her typical seat - front row, far right - scribbling something onto a long roll of parchment. He slid into his usual seat - back row, far left - and pulled out his own roll of parchment. Following his meeting with Dumbledore, he had hastily written a response to Claire's letters, and the two had kept up a steady correspondence in the weeks since, Geoff writing most of his letters during history of magic. The letters he and Claire wrote to each other were filled with small talk. Initially this had been a nice reprieve from Sirius and James's constant talk of the war, and Geoff had liked to think his letters to Claire had provided her some comfort in the wake of her husband's disappearance and murder, but lately he found himself craving more news about the war from beyond the walls of Hogwarts. But Dumbledore had warned him away from including too many details or questions about the ongoing war, and so his letters remained free of any mention of reconnaissance missions, the Order, or Death Eaters.

Professor Binns drifted in through the blackboard like he always did, and began his lecture, either not noticing or not caring that of the twelve students taking the class, only half had decided to show up for the day, and of those six, two had already drifted off to sleep. But not Emilie.

She never slept in class. She was constantly scribbling notes on her roll of parchment, but rarely looked up at the board. Geoff wondered if, like him, she used history of magic as a reprieve from everything else. He imagined Snape and Lovell and Rosier to be like the Marauders, constantly talking about the war, preparing, planning, plotting. He didn't envy her; the Marauders talked about the war ad nauseam, but at least they included Geoff in their discussions. At least Geoff was invested in what they were doing. From what he could see, Emilie drifted on the fringes of her group these days, and seemed fairly indifferent to the rest of the Slytherins - or was that just wishful thinking?

Ignoring the fact that Emilie Delacroix is a Death Eater is stupid.

He glanced up at her at the front of the room, scribbling away on her parchment. He had seen her Dark Mark. She was undeniably one of them.

He had tried to convince himself it wasn't true, that he hadn't seen a skull and snake branded on her arm. She'd tried to talk to him that week after he first saw her Mark, and he'd pushed her away. He had tried to distance himself. She'd left him alone. And then, that day on the Quidditch pitch, I'm late. It had been nearly a month since then, and they hadn't spoken again. He'd wanted to, but hadn't been able to find the words. What do you say to the girl you accidentally knocked up? How were you supposed to have a family when you were fighting on opposite sides of a war? He wondered if she'd told her family. He guessed not - the news that the heiress of the Delacroix family was carrying the bastard child of a blood traitor would surely not go over well.

Another thought nagged at him - what if she was lying? It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. It was this notion that pushed him away. And yet, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to fix things.

The fact is, she's a Death Eater.

A bell rang somewhere, but it wasn't until the other history of magic students awoke from their stupors and began packing up their materials that Geoff realized class had ended. By the time he began gathering his belongings, Emilie had stood and turned to walk to the back of the class and out the door into the hallway. Their eyes met briefly, but she continued onward without speaking to him, just as she did every day. This was ridiculous, he thought as he stuffed his parchment and quill into his bag. He was supposed to be a Gryffindor, courageous and daring, but couldn't work up the nerve to talk to a girl. One of these days, he would, he promised himself. But not today.

I don't understand why you had to pick her, but... I understand that love makes you crazy.

Crazy, indeed.

Kurt Lovell was not having a good day.

Halfway through Charms he had felt a searing pain in his arm and bitten his tongue so sharply that it bled to keep from crying out. Sitting next to Mariah meant sitting next to Lily Evans, and he could not let either of them realize something was amiss. He had suffered in silence for a few minutes before excusing himself quickly from class and heading off toward the Entrance Hall, where he had made a beeline out onto the lawn towards the Forest.

His arm throbbed as he had broken into a run once safely within the trees, hurrying to the border of the Hogwarts grounds. The minute Hogsmeade station came into view, he Disapparated.

He landed sprawled on a cold stone floor, breathing hard.

"So nice of you to join us, Lovell," said a high cold voice, piercing the still air like a spear.

"My lord," said Kurt, looking up at the snakelike face that had spoken. "You summoned me."

"I did," said the Dark Lord. "You haven't checked in in quite a while, Lovell. I was beginning to get concerned."

Kurt got to his feet, quickly making note of the six Death Eaters to either side of Voldemort. "It has been hard to get away, Dumbledore's eyes are on me now since he's modified the Jaeger girl's memory."

"Honestly, Lovell, your plans of late have been a disappointment," said Voldemort. "You've been giving this Mudblood too much agency, I don't see the point of it. And you made it seem like you had some sort of plan by releasing her father back to her, but the more I think about it, the more I grow tired of thinking about it. Kill them and be done with it."

"My lord, I have an informant in the Order of the Phoenix. He tells me Jaeger will be sent home soon to see her father. I placed her father under the Imperius Curse before I released him. Rather than incriminate myself under Dumbledore's nose, I thought I would let her father take the credit," said Kurt quickly.

"Interesting," said Voldemort.

"But, my Lord, I think it is worth reconsidering killing Jaeger. If she gets back in Dumbledore's good graces, she could provide valuable information about his movements," said Kurt.

"Ah yes. But you see, Dumbledore is not going to let Jaeger back in the Order anytime soon. And as you've said, you already have an informant, so I don't see the point." Voldemort's fingers traced his wand.

"But my Lord-"

"I admire your cunning, Lovell, but need I remind you who is in charge here?"

Kurt's eyes widened.

"No, my Lord, of course not."

"I think a reminder would serve you well."

"My Lord-"

"Crucio!"

Kurt cried out, convulsing on the floor as pain racked his body. He was suspended in agony, able to think of nothing else, to feel nothing else, until, at long last, it ended.

"Do not question me again, Lovell," said Voldemort coldly. Kurt shook violently, flexing his hands against the tremors. His nails had cut into his skin, and his palms were bleeding.

"Yes, m-m-my Lord," he said, stuttering. Voldemort sighed, straightening his robe as Kurt staggered to his feet.

"Kill the Mudblood. However you like, but do it soon."

"Yes my Lord," said Kurt, his voice stronger now.

"Leave us," said Voldemort. Kurt bowed once, and Disapparated. He reappeared at Hogsmeade station, and calmly made his way back towards the castle, past the gates topped with winged boars. He entered the Forest to avoid wandering eyes, and it was there that he let the full impact of what he just experienced wash over him.

He emerged from the Forest a few minutes later and reached the castle just as the bell rang. When he reached the Charms classroom, he found Mariah waiting outside the door with his bag.

"Hey, are you alright? Where'd you run off to?" she asked, as he took it from her.

"Hospital Wing," said Kurt. "Was feeling suddenly unwell. Madam Pomfrey gave me just the thing, I feel much better now."

"Oh, well. Glad to hear it. Come on, we're running late to Transfiguration."

"Mariah," said Kurt. Mariah stopped, looking at him.

"What?"

Kurt kissed her on the forehead, and she grinned. "What was that for?"

"Never you mind," said Kurt, smiling.