I know that I said the updates would be coming less often...but, well, I wrote this in about a day because I couldn't resist.

Georgina couldn't be happier.

She had finally graduated from Hogwarts with a Head Girl badge, and she had achieved stellar marks. The Ministry had even come forward to her with an internship, and she was seriously considering their offer. But for now, though, she was content to spend the summer in Albania with Skender—she'd deserved it.

Alyssa had written to her informing her of Tom and Clara's wedding in March. Georgina wasn't sorry that she hadn't been invited; from the tone of Alyssa's letter, it hadn't been anything special, and she wasn't even certain she would have been able to sneak out of Hogwarts. The fact also remained that Clara was still angry at her, and Georgina couldn't blame her—she had nearly been killed, after all. She had refrained from telling her that Holstone was working at Hogwarts for the simple reason that she didn't want to worry Clara any more than she already was. Besides, she had never expected that Clara would return to Hogwarts again with Dumbledore dead. But Georgina couldn't muster up a feeling of guilt; it wasn't entirely her fault. At any rate, she was going to see how long it took Clara to get over her grudge.

And now her friend had gotten married to Tom Riddle, who had the potential to become one of the Darkest wizards of all time. Georgina shuddered at the thought, moving closer to Skender. "What is it, e dashura?" he whispered.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to shrug it off. They were sitting by the swimming pool at Skender's house in Tirana—Georgina had moved in with him after she'd graduated—and she was just about to lean over to kiss him when the front doorbell chimed distantly from inside the house. "It's probably just a Muggle," she groaned, pulling away and getting to her feet. "I'll answer it."

Skender smiled warmly at her before pulling his hat down over his eyes, shielding himself from the hot July sun. Georgina headed back inside the house, letting herself bask in the cooler air for a moment before opening the front door, expecting to see a Muggle who had gotten the wrong address.

But it wasn't a Muggle: it was a wizard, and he was pointing his wand directly at her. Georgina's eyes widened and she jumped backwards, reaching for her own wand, but the wizard Disarmed her before her fingers could even reach the wood. "Georgina Taylor," he began, striding toward her, "This can be done the easy way or the hard way. I require some information, and I know that you possess it."

Shocked, unsure whether or not to call out for Skender, Georgina stared up at the man. He was handsome in a brutish way, with slicked-back dark hair and narrowed green eyes. His features were sharp and angular, not unlike Tom's, and the detached look in his eye was similar to his. "Who are you?" she stuttered, taking another step back so that she was pressing herself against the wall.

"My name is Heinrich Schefflur," the stranger declared, and jabbed his wand hard into her throat. "Now, if you cooperate, I will spare your life. Where is Clara Ashford?"

Georgina thought fast; she knew she couldn't scream, but Skender would come looking for her when she didn't come back, and hopefully he would be able to help her. "I don't know," she said truthfully, trying not to betray her fear. "She moved away months ago and I haven't been speaking to her!"

"I find that difficult to believe," Schefflur sneered. "I'll give you one more chance. Where is she?"

"I honestly don't know!" cried Georgina, beginning to squirm in his grip. "We had an argument—I swear I haven't talked to her since February!"

Schefflur's hand abruptly released her, and she slumped to the floor, gasping and clutching her throat, but she wasn't to be reprieved just yet: he merely drew back his wand and ordered, "Crucio!"

Georgina screamed, the sound audible for a mere second before Schefflur cast a Silencing Charm and she was quieted, her writhing body the only testament to the blinding pain. He stood over her, his expression twisted in fury. Digging into her mind was easier this way, and he ruthlessly sorted through memories until he touched upon the truth: she honestly didn't know where the Ashford girl was.

Schefflur growled in annoyance and spun around as Skender rushed into the room, finally coming to Georgina's aid. But he was Disarmed almost as quickly as she had been, and Schefflur cast a Body-Bind Curse on him, pinning him to the wall. He was forced to watch Georgina being tortured, silently shrieking and twisting on the floor, tears streaking down her face.

"Now," hissed Schefflur, teeth bared as he bent over her. "Let's try a bit of a different question: is Clara Ashford a time-traveller? What is her real name?" When Georgina still refused to answer, he lifted the Cruciatus Curse and hauled her up by her hair, digging his knee into her ribs until there was a dull crack. "What year is she from?"

But Georgina only stared back at him defiantly. To give away Clara's true name and circumstances would mean revealing the truth about herself, and the entire wizarding world would go to pieces if the truth were to be found out. She didn't know who Schefflur was or why he was so desperate to get information about Clara, but that didn't matter. Whatever the cost, he couldn't find out the truth.

Georgina could only see one way out of her situation now, and it was something that only a true Gryffindor would be able to attempt. With courage that even she didn't know she possessed, she leapt to her feet, startling Schefflur, and kicked him in the groin. While he doubled back, momentarily winded, she sprinted out of the room, pausing only to whisper to Skender, "I'm so sorry, my love," and kiss him one last time on the mouth before forcing her legs to push themselves up the stairs and into the bedroom, where she frantically scrabbled through the drawers in her-dressing table, searching for the gun that Skender had found when he had first moved into the house.

She was going to die one way or another—it was foolish to hope that Schefflur would spare her. There was no conceivable way he would let her live when he had told her his name and when she knew what he looked like. No, the only way to save Clara was to do something so noble, yet hideously idiotic, that even Godric Gryffindor would be shocked.

If Georgina had more time and been of a less panicked mood, she would never have attempted to do what she was about to. Even now, her brain was screaming at her to escape, to grab Skender and flee the house. But she had no time. She could hear Schefflur pounding up the stairs towards her, and she couldn't Apparate away without Skender. She just prayed that he would understand why she had to do it.

Her trembling hands finally closed around the gun, and she lifted it up, turning back to the door where Schefflur skidded to a stop. His eyes widened briefly as she saw her pressing the gun to her heart, her thumb on the trigger—

And Georgina's bravery failed her. She saw the blackness of oblivion, of death, stretching out before her, and she knew she wouldn't be able to actually go through with it. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop, and her heart was pounding madly, and she began to lower the gun, never taking her eyes off Schefflur staring in rage at her. Oh, she would die that day, she knew, it just wouldn't be of her own accord.

"What is it?" Schefflur asked her, his voice mocking and his eyes sparking in triumph; he knew that he had won. "Are you too much of a coward?"

"I am not a coward," Georgina growled, but her shaking voice betrayed her. Schefflur lifted his wand, and she saw his mouth form the word "Crucio," and she dove out of the way, forgetting about the loaded gun that was still clutched in her hand.

In much the same way as Clara's hand had first accidentally slipped on the Time-Turner when she'd been startled, Georgina's finger slipped on the trigger as she leapt aside.

The gun went off.

Danielle stared unseeingly down at the mountain of paperwork in front of her that seemed to become larger every second. She had woken up that morning feeling nauseated and with a strange ringing in her ears, as if she was coming down with the flu, and whatever hope she had that it would disappear once she got to work had by now been completely extinguished. She had sat completely still for three hours straight, afraid to even Summon one of the parchments over to her in fear that she would be sick all over it.

Silently cursing Alyssa for getting her sick (she'd visited the Blacks the weekend before and Alyssa had been bedridden) Danielle rested her head in her hands and tried to take deep breaths. She couldn't even visit Tom, as she was sure he would be unsympathetic. Perhaps Bode would let her out of work early…

In the four months that she had been married, Danielle hadn't taken a day off work, not even when it was a dark, cloudy day and she would much rather have stayed in bed with Tom all day instead—never mind the fact that he would be at work as well. They needed the money if they wanted to be able to keep the manor.

So far Danielle loved the new house, which Alyssa had dubbed "Riddle Manor", and although she only used about a quarter of the rooms because it was just so big, she was already thinking of it as home. She was looking forward to curling up in front of the many fireplaces once winter came, and to her relief Alistair and Fawkes weren't fighting as often since they had more room to themselves.

Her relationship with Tom hadn't changed since the wedding, despite her new name as Clara Riddle, which she still hadn't gotten used to saying. He was still as infuriatingly distant and cold as ever, and she was still trying to coax him out of his shell, but there had been rare times when she had caught a flash of something in his eyes that was almost like fondness. He also seemed to be tolerating her friends' presence more than he had previously done, and would even allow Felicity inside the manor, despite Danielle's fears that he would refuse to let a Muggle cross the doorstep. She was daring to hope that he was beginning to reveal himself to her, slow though it was, and now he didn't recoil away from casual hand-holding or physical affection—in fact, he was often the one to initiate it. But even so, Danielle would occasionally walk into the room to see him pacing relentlessly with that emotionless expression on his face, and she would say something that would cause him to delve into one of his brooding moods and he would shut himself off her completely, at least until she managed to bring him back with a kiss or seducing him in a terribly awkward way—she hadn't gotten any better at that.

The first few weeks of life at the manor had been tense, especially since Danielle had been dreading that Slytherin or Schefflur would discover them, but neither man had turned up anywhere, at least to their knowledge, and Tom would check on the diadem and Cloak more often—wherever they were. He had thrown himself into researching Slytherin and Schefflur, but Danielle was unsure if he'd actually managed to obtain any useful information about them. If Slytherin really had invented an object that would allow the user to travel between different timelines, she wanted to find out as soon as possible. It was frustrating beyond belief that she couldn't tell the Minister about finding the real Holstone in the Thought Chamber, or even that Schefflur had attempted to murder her in Myrtle's bathroom—to do so would be risking exposure of her as a time-traveller, for which the consequences would be even more severe than revealing Schefflur as an imposter. All Danielle could hope for now was that no news was good news.

The only halfway peculiar thing that had caused her to frown in confusion had occurred back in May, when she had sworn that the healing potions in the cabinet had been moved around slightly, and a bottle of Pepper-Up Potion had gone missing. Danielle had questioned Tom about it, but he had told her that he hadn't been anywhere near the cabinet that day, so she was forced to brush it off as her own miscounting. Nevertheless, she kept her eye out for any other strange happenings in the manor—perhaps they had a ghoul or poltergeist she didn't know about.

"Ah, Clara!" a friendly voice called out from the door of the office. Danielle spun around in her chair to see Bode standing next to an exceptionally tall, well-dressed man with sandy hair that was balding at the roots. "How is your work going?"

"Very well, sir," Danielle lied, surreptitiously covering the papers with her arm so neither of them could see that they were all blank.

"This is—sorry, what's your name, again?" Bode asked the man.

"Saxon Scamander," he answered, looking more than a bit embarrassed.

"Scamander?" Danielle asked, realizing too late that the question probably wouldn't be welcome to him. "Like Newt Scamander?"

"Yes, I'm his brother," Saxon replied, looking uncomfortable and a bit resigned, as if he had heard the question thousands of times.

"Mr Scamander is interested in a job here," explained Bode. "I'm giving him an exclusive tour of the area."

Danielle wished she could tell Bode that she wasn't feeling well and just wanted to go home, but didn't want to appear anything less than thrilled with her job in front of a potential employee. Bidding them goodbye, she turned back around and pretended to concentrate on her paperwork.

"Clara Ashford—oh, she was just married so I believe her surname would be Riddle now—is one of our youngest and hardest-working employees," she heard Bode say proudly as the two men filed out of her office. "She's only eighteen…"

"I'm nineteen, actually," Danielle called after him, but he didn't acknowledge her correction. You're lucky I don't live close to you, Lyssa, or you'd be in for it, she thought darkly, slumping back down in her seat.

She only managed to get half a page of work done before Bode came circling back to her office again, whistling to himself and with a slight skip in his step—the tour with Scamander must have gone well. As soon as she heard his footsteps she jumped up and ran to the door. "Sir," she began, "I'm really not feeling well today and I haven't been productive at all. Do you mind if I go home early?"

Bode looked, thankfully, sympathetic. "Of course, Clara. You do seem rather pale. I trust that you will finish your work when you return."

"I promise, sir," she said, but work was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She wondered if he would send the papers to the manor if she took more than one day off.

By the time she managed to get home and settle into bed, fully prepared to sleep for the rest of the day, it was nearly her usual leaving time anyway. Danielle groaned and stared up at the ceiling, thinking that she could have managed just a while longer and Bode wouldn't have been so disappointed in her. She guessed he would probably end up doing the work himself if he thought she would return the next day.

After half an hour of tossing and turning, Danielle finally managed to fall into a dreamless but fitful sleep, always on the verge of waking up. Dizzy and disoriented, she was awoken for good by a faint but audible pounding on the front door. Ophelia, clearly startled, began twittering excitedly, buzzing frantically around the room. Danielle rolled out of bed and went over to the window, wondering who on earth would need to speak to her this urgently.

She frowned when she saw a familiar mop of red hair on the doorstep—why was Dylan here? Surely he would want to spend the majority of his time with Felicity, since the baby was due in just under two months. Danielle grabbed her dressing-gown and loosely tied it around her waist before pulling her hair back and hurrying downstairs, gripping onto the banister to avoid losing her already precarious balance. As she ran past the grandfather clock she saw that it was nearly six; Tom would be arriving home soon.

"What is it, Dylan?" she asked, throwing open the door and letting him inside. "Is Felicity all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Dylan said, but he looked agitated. "Listen, Clara—Skender showed up at our house just now and was asking where you live. Apparently Georgina's dead."

Danielle's limbs went weak and she had to grip onto the door to avoid falling over. "What?"

"She was killed earlier today by a man called Schefflur. Skender said that he used the Cruciatus Curse on her and tried to force her to give up your whereabouts. When Skender tried to attack him he was Petrified and forced to watch her being tortured. Georgina ran upstairs and he heard a gunshot. When he finally managed to break free he found Georgina's body and no sign of Schefflur."

"Oh, God," Danielle whispered brokenly. "Oh, Merlin…Georgie." And she had fought with Georgina; refused to speak to her. The other girl had done nothing but help her and now she was dead. "So Skender wants to see me?"

"Not quite," answered Dylan. "He…he blames you for it. I tried to talk him out of it, but he says it's your fault that Georgina is dead."

And it was. Schefflur had gone after her friends in an attempt to get at her and Tom. Danielle felt herself turn pale and she rested her head against the doorframe. She remembered her last conversation with Skender: "Either you or him needs to change," he had said. Now, he wouldn't care that she was one of Georgina's best friends. He would see her and Tom as being on the same side now.

"There's…there's something else, Clara," Dylan continued quietly, as if speaking in a lower voice would somehow lessen the blow. "He said, 'I'm going to kill her.' And…and Felicity didn't know. She gave him the address."

"So…you've come to warn me?" Danielle asked. She dimly knew that she was going into shock; she felt as if she was barreling down a tunnel with no way of slowing down and one she knew had a brick wall at the end. "About Skender."

Dylan nodded, wringing his hands together. "Do you know who Schefflur is? I've never heard the name before."

"It doesn't matter," Danielle said, but she could hear her voice sounding dangerously close to breaking. "Thank you, Dylan. I'll find Tom and let him know—"

"Aren't you going to hide?" Dylan asked, sounding worried. "Clara, he's serious about it."

"Yes, I know he is," Danielle said; she had begun to tremble uncontrollably. She remembered the hard look in his eyes when he had spoken to her in Albania after Marigona's death; remembered his warning to her. "Go back to Felicity. Let her know that I don't blame her. It wasn't her fault."

"Are—are you sure?"

"Dylan," she choked, finally losing all sense of composure. "Go!"

And, after one more questioning glance at her, Dylan Disapparated, leaving Danielle alone and staring out at the empty grounds. In the pond across the way, the ducks quacked happily, chasing each other across the lawn, but she watched their antics with unseeing eyes.

Schefflur had killed Georgina. And it was all her fault.

A wave of nausea rose up in her stomach, and Danielle barely managed to dash upstairs before she was violently sick, shaking with the thought that Schefflur would go after Dylan and Alyssa as well. Damn it—she had to warn them—no, she had to find Tom and tell him what had happened—

There was a loud creak from downstairs, as if someone was starting up the stairs, and Danielle froze, putting her hand to her mouth in case she started vomiting again. Someone was in the manor. It couldn't be Tom—he was quieter than that—and she could hear Ophelia chirping loudly, obviously still agitated.

Danielle forced herself to her feet; she was shaking uncontrollably and she could barely see as she pulled herself out of the room and into the hallway, coming face-to-face with a towering, bulky figure a foot taller than her.

Skender.

She didn't even have time to scream before his arm swung out and cuffed her hard around the head. Danielle was thrown off her feet, tumbling head over heels down the stairs where she came to a graceless halt in the middle of the entryway. Moaning in pain, a stabbing ache jolting through her stomach, she could barely move as Skender grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, thrusting her into the sitting-room. He slammed the door shut behind them, so hard that she heard one of its hinges snap.

"I told you," he hissed, his voice so close to her ear that he was about to spit, "That you had to be willing to sacrifice yourself if you were truly in…love…" he sneered, "—With Riddle. It's about time you followed through with that."

Danielle managed to open one of her eyes; she was so ill and wracked with pain that she could barely see. But no human expression she had ever seen had ever compared to the look on Skender's face: it was twisted in simultaneous anger and rage, and she could see the outlines of tears still on his face. His fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles seemed about to pop out, and there were rips and tears in his clothing, as if he had pulled at it in his grief and despair. He would almost have been a tragic figure if his face wasn't also displaying murderous fury. "Get up, you worthlessgirl." But Danielle was yanked to her feet anyway and smashed against the wall. She could taste blood in her mouth and feel it trickling down her forehead; she idly wondered if she had a concussion. Skender advanced on her, teeth bared in a feral grimace. "Të hëngert morti," he snarled, and she didn't need to be able to speak Albanian to understand what he was saying.

"Skender…please…" she tried to tell him. "Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" he said, digging his wand into her collarbone, just above the locket Horcrux. "You're the reason my girlfriend is dead. She wouldn't tell Schefflur where you were, but I intend to kill you before he does."

Georgina hadn't told Schefflur? A jab of guilt stabbed at her, but her attention was briefly diverted by Ophelia, who had been hiding in one of the plants, flying straight at Skender, her tiny claws attempting to scrape at his eyes. Danielle was released for a second, and she poised herself to run, but Skender reached out and grabbed Ophelia, squeezing her in his enormous hand until she went limp, letting out one last, keening cry. He tossed her to the ground, and the Snidget's body fell to the ground at Danielle's feet. "Ophelia," she whispered brokenly, and fell to her knees, stroking the bird's tiny, lifeless head.

"How does it feel?" Skender asked, his voice shaking in the same way as hers was; with mingled pain and anguish. "To have something you love taken from you so quickly? Horrible, isn't it?"

Danielle stared up at the boy who had once been her friend, the boy she had saved from Nurmengard and who had saved her from a Dementor. Tom was wrong, was all she could think. Love doesn't make you weak. It's the most destructive force there is.

The fireplace flared green in the corner, and Skender whirled around to see Tom, who had stepped calmly out of it. His calculating eyes took in the situation right away: Skender's obvious wrath and unstable mood, Ophelia's dead body, and then to Danielle herself, broken and bleeding. "What have you done to my wife?" he asked quietly, a dark undertone to his voice. It was one of the few times Tom had referred to her as such, and Danielle would have been pleased had the situation been less calamitous.

"Because of your wife," Skender spat, "My girlfriend is dead."

Tom was quiet for a long time, and Danielle could sense him analyzing the numerous ways he could respond. "I fail to see why you are upset over the death of a girl you barely knew," he said. It was clear—at least to Danielle—that he was also mocking Skender over how little he'd actually known about Georgina.

Skender let out a howl of rage, like a wounded animal, and lunged across the room, but Tom easily evaded his grasp. With one stride, Tom was across the room, standing in front of Danielle and shielding her from Skender. "I am…merciful," he began, still in a calm tone, "So I will allow you ten seconds to leave the manor before I kill you."

The locket was now blistering with heat, and Danielle screamed, trying in vain to wrench it away from her. "Get out of the way, Riddle," Skender yelled, but Tom refused to move.

The Albanian boy raised his wand, and Danielle saw a bright flash of green—but a large red shape swooped into the room and swallowed the Killing Curse whole, exploding into a pile of ashes on the ground from which a tiny baby bird poked its head out. Fawkes.

Skender stared, shocked, at the phoenix that had just saved Tom's life. "There is a myth," he began, "That if one dies to save someone else, that person may be spared. Would you like to test that theory?"

But Tom can't die, Danielle managed to think through the pain; the locket was now burning so hot that she was sure she was about to faint. Through her blurred vision, she saw that Skender was clutching a handful of black powder in his hand. Tom took a step forward, and Skender opened his hand.

The room was instantly blanketed with darkness. Danielle began to choke, stumbling forward and unsure of where to go. "Tom?" she croaked, and just as the powder began to settle, she felt Skender's wand at her throat. Now Skender was in front of her while Tom stared at them from across the room.

Skender whispered something in her ear, two words that almost sounded like a caress, and Danielle kept her eyes on Tom's face as a bright green light lit up the room. The last thing she heard was a rushing noise, and she fell.