"Miss Roth!" Slughorn boomed jovially.

Sara started, taken aback by Slughorn's energy so early in the morning.

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry I'm late."

Sara slunk into the dungeon, acutely aware of all the eyes on her. And with good reason—she was 20 minutes late for their lesson. Cauldrons were already simmering over their fires and people had already gathered their ingredients.

"Not to worry, my dear, not to worry," Slughorn chuckled as Sara set up her cauldron. "Actually, I wondered if I might have a word with you?"

"Of course, sir."

"Do you recall me asking you if you'd perhaps be willing to help out a few students with a bit of Potions help?" he asked as he followed her to the ingredient cupboard.

"I do," she nodded tentatively.

"Well, I've narrowed it down to just one who seems to need just a bit of motivation as of late. Would you be free to perhaps stop by tonight? Say 6:30?"

"I suppose I can."

"Wonderful!" he clapped his hands together. "You know, I have a feeling you know how to whip up a Pepper-Up potion, why don't you take the morning off."

So, Sara found herself in the Great Hall with a smattering of third years who had an early morning break. She was thankful to Slughorn, as she had woken up about 10 minutes before and had not eaten breakfast. She piled a bit of eggs and sausages on her plate and delved in hungrily.

The sound of swooping overhead drew her attention away from her food and to the two owls that landed gracefully in front of her plate.

"Two of you?" she asked curiously, unraveling the letters from both and feeding them a few nibbles of toast.

The first letter took her by surprise. It was from Ivan, in response to one she had sent him weeks before.

Dear Sara,

I'm very glad to hear from you again. It has been far too long. Romania is amazing. Working with the dragons really has been one of the most wonderful things I could have ever done. Charlie has been a great mentor, and I have learned a lot from him.

I think you (and perhaps more so George) would be glad to know that I have met the woman I intend to marry. Her name is Amelia. She works as a healer in the medical center here. She had to heal up my arm when a dragon fang ripped it open, told me that I was stupid for not paying more attention around dragons. I'd never had a woman call me stupid before, so naturally it was love at first sight. We're engaged now. I've honestly never been happier.

It is most regrettable, but the name in the article was indeed my mother. She disappeared about three months ago. Her body was recovered near a dark mark, and as she had no injuries, it was suspected that the Avada Kedavra was used. She worked for our Ministry of Magic as an Unspeakable, and we think You-Know-Who may have wanted information from her. Her death really hit my father hard. But I'm doing alright

Keep your eye out for a wedding invitation.

Most Sincerely,

Ivan Isator

An Unspeakable's job was secret enough. No one knew what they did in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. What had Voldemort wanted from Ivan's mother? Had he really wanted anything? Was this just a statement of his power? Or had he gotten what he wanted from her and simply killed her?

A shudder passed through Sara. When had she become someone that considered motives behind a person's death before actually mourning the death? It seemed that Voldemort had that effect on the world.

She shook off the feeling of disgust and instead ripped open the letter from George. It was his typical profession of love for her, with a few choice sentences that brought a tinge of red to her cheeks. She folded it shut and tucked both of the letters into her bag, looking around to make sure no one had seen them.

That was when she noticed something very odd.

The white-blond head of Draco Malfoy had ducked into the Great Hall, keeping his face low so as to avoid the eyes of the other students. He stepped up to the Slytherin table, grabbed handfuls of fruit, and walked brusquely back out the doors. Without thinking, Sara grabbed her bag and followed him.

She kept a safe distance, making sure she stayed around corners and behind tapestries so as not to be seen. He stopped every so often—she assumed to check for anyone following him—but always resumed at a quick clip. They were to the fifth floor by the time she heard him speak.

"Has anyone come by?" he asked brusquely.

"No," a glum voice replied.

"And it should stay that way."

"No one ever sees you anyway," the deep voice grumbled.

"You were told to stand guard, weren't you?" Draco barked.

"Yes."

Without another word, she heard Draco's quick steps disappear. The deep voice mumbled about how he shouldn't have to put up with all of this. Sara would have to pass by whoever this mysterious person was to continue her pursuit of Draco, who would probably be told that she had been by—something she would rather he not know.

With a sigh, she returned back to the Head chamber, where she collapsed onto the giant couch, enjoying a short nap.

That afternoon, Snape strode in to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, and everyone fell silent (as they always did). He turned to face them all, staring down his hooked nose at them. He looked, if anything, more sour than usual.

"Today is our final day of Occlumency. Those of you who have not been tested will be called back today. Whether you have been tested or not, pair up with one another and attempt to penetrate the mind or protect it."

Only about a fourth of the class had yet to be called, so most of the room was filled with muttering as Snape disappeared into his office.

"Marietta Edgecombe," Snape called.

The curly-haired Marietta shuffled nervously into Snape's office. Sara sat by herself in the back of the room. Since Katie had been sent to St. Mungo's, she had sat alone in most of her classes, doing her best to keep to herself. The rest of the class had quickly learned that there would be no tapping into Sara's mind, so no one even bothered anymore.

After a few minutes, Marietta edged out of the office, tears very evident in her eyes. He called Anthony Summerby in, then Jacob Summers, then Darren Urquhart. And then, finally…

"Sara Roth."

She stood from her seat and made her way into his office, closing the door behind her as the others had. His office looked as it had the past few years, though it wasn't as cold as it had been in the dungeons.

"Sit," Snape commanded.

Sara took a seat across from him. She was somewhat nervous, even though she was fairly certain she would do alright. For a full minute, he did nothing but stare at her. She was almost worried she'd done something wrong.

"You will attempt to penetrate my mind," he commanded.

"Y-yes sir," she replied.

With a deep breath, she concentrated on his face, grasped her wand tightly, and whispered, "Occlumens."

It was as if she had turned on a television. She was in Dumbledore's office, exactly as it had looked a few weeks before. Snape was seated in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. The man himself was sagged in his chair, looking particularly exhausted.

"The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed," Snape muttered. "This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents; while they watch him fail and pay the price."

"In short, the boy has a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have," Dumbledore said grimly. "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"

"That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan," Snape replied after a pause.

"Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore queried.

"He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes."

"And if it does fall into his grasp, I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked seriously.

Snape nodded stiffly.

With a jolt, Sara returned to her seat across from Snape in his office. She was certain this was a conversation she was not welcome to hear. Snape's expression was unreadable—a look of mingled fury, confusion, embarrassment, and almost a tinge of awe that she had managed to get in.

"That is all, you may go," he said tersely.

"But… But sir, don't you need to—" Sara began.

"You may go," he repeated.

Sara stood and quickly left the room, returning to her seat. Snape did not come out for the rest of the lesson, and the students shuffled out uncertainly at the bell. Sara followed the crowd down to the Great Hall for dinner, but she quickly realized she had no appetite. So, she turned to swim against the crowd and headed back to her dormitory, flinging herself down on the overstuffed couch for the second time that day.

The conversation she had witnessed in Snape's head kept replaying in hers. It seemed to be very recent. Sara had never seen Dumbledore look that exhausted before this year. Snape looked exactly same as he did now. This was not the disconcerting thing. Why did Snape know so much about Voldemort's current plans? Narcissa had not clued him in on all that, certainly.

A sick feeling filled her stomach. Snape was not as reformed as everyone thought he was.

But still, he was informing Dumbledore. A double agent—she'd read that in a spy novel. So now, Dumbledore knew that Draco was tasked to do something by Voldemort—and though she had no idea what that was, the two of them seemed to know. If he was to fail, Snape would finish the job. Whatever that job was, it would mean that Voldemort would soon control Hogwarts.

All of these thoughts swirled around in her head. They only served to make her miss George more than she already did. He was her sounding board. She talked everything out with him, and after, he always made her feel better with some joke or a kiss. But instead, she was alone, unable to stop thinking about what Draco could possibly have to do for Voldemort.

About an hour later, it was with some frustration that Sara found herself descending the stairs to the dungeons for the second time that day. It was even colder now—something she never thought possible. She crossed her arms tightly and made her way down the hall at a quick clip. The classroom door was open, so she made her way inside. She was immediately hit by a rush of heat, for which she was grateful.

What she was not grateful for was the blond head of hair belonging to Draco Malfoy that looked up as she entered.

"Welcome, Miss Roth! So glad you could come!" Slughorn roared.

"My pleasure, sir," she managed, trying to cover up her disdain.

"Well, let's cut to the chase," Slughorn said as he clapped his hands together. "Mr. Malfoy here has been struggling a bit in my class. According to Professor Snape, he's normally a wiz at Potions, so perhaps it's my teaching. Thought maybe he could get a bit of help from another very learned mind. Up for the task?"

"Sure thing, sir," she nodded dutifully.

"Wonderful. Perhaps it would be best to select something that can be brewed and completed tonight, and if all goes well, next time the potion may be a bit more complicated," Slughorn suggested. "Best of luck, I'll be in my office when you're done."

And with that, he swept from the room and closed the door, leaving Sara and Draco alone. Neither knew what to say. The tension in the room was palpable.

"You don't have to do this," Draco mumbled.

"We don't have to do anything except talk about potions," Sara corrected. "What do you want to brew?"

"We brewed a Calming Draught today and mine boiled over, I guess we can do that," he suggested.

"Get the cauldron going, I'll get what we need from the cabinet," she said shortly.

She was quick as a bird as she gathered up the supplies they needed, not wanting to spend any more time with Draco Malfoy than she needed to. She dropped the ingredients onto the table as he opened his textbook up to the appropriate page.

"What does it say to do first?" she asked.

"Grind the sea kelp into a paste," he read aloud.

"Well, get to it then."

They were mostly silent for the next half hour, speaking only when Sara asked what came next and when Draco replied. His potion looked the proper color and consistency, even smelling as Sara knew it should.

Then she noticed Draco wince in pain. He attempted to discretely rub his left arm, but there was no fooling Sara; she knew what was there.

It was when he returned to brewing the potion that Sara finally realized why he was struggling in this class. Despite the fact that he had told her moments before that the tubeworms were to be sliced lengthwise and dropped into the solution, he instead chopped them up into small pieces and tossed them into the cauldron, a vacant expression on his face.

"You know you've ruined it now," Sara pointed out.

"What?" he asked, coming out of his trance.

"I suppose you'll see soon," she shrugged.

He added the rose oil and began to stir counterclockwise. It didn't take more than 10 seconds for the potion to take on the consistency of curdled milk.

"What the fuck?" Draco exclaimed.

"When you slice the worms lengthwise, they absorb the fat from the oil, and you can pull them out after a few minutes," Sara explained. "But you chopped them up, which means they absorbed the oil in clumps, while still secreting their own innards. As I said, you ruined it. And all because you got distracted."

"I wasn't distracted, it's these books, they're so ancient, you can't even—" he tried.

"Stop making excuses," she interjected. "For the past five years you've done well at Potions. Now, some might argue you received special treatment because Snape likes to shower Slytherins with his good graces, but I have reason to believe you had a knack for this, considering you managed to pass your O.W.L.s and end up in a N.E.W.T. level class. You can't make a potion to save your damn life this year because your mind is elsewhere."

"Trying to diagnose me now, are we?" Draco spat; Sara realized that she'd struck a nerve somewhere in there. "Can't make a potion because I've got too much on my mind, is that it?"

"I think that's exactly it," Sara replied calmly.

"How dare you pretend to know about my life," he seethed. "You don't know anything about me."

Sara leaned across the table, ignoring the stench from the cauldron to her left. The expression on her face was dark now.

"I know that little mark on your arm is burning, which means your precious Dark Lord wants his minions to come running. And you're stuck here, a helpless teenager. Oh yes," she spat venom, noticing the look of shock that crossed his face as he tugged at his sleeve, "mummy came to see me over the summer, pleading for me to help her crown prince. Didn't mean to let it slip that you were one of them now."

"She had no business… No right…" his voice trailed off, significantly less full of conviction now.

"Mummy should have used her head. It's tough for me to pass on a wayward soul in need of guidance. But when I realize that soul now consorts with the people who killed my mother and so many others, I take a step back. In fact, let me make this perfectly clear: Draco Malfoy, I despise you. I detest your very existence, and the sooner your precious Dark Lord disposes of your shamble of a family, the better."

And without another word, Sara swept from the room, slamming the wooden door behind her. She stormed up the stairs, not paying attention to her surroundings. She rounded a corner and met an equally fuming Ginny.

"The next time you see Ron, I beg you to give him a punch in the jaw," Ginny grumbled.

"Only if you'll do the same to Draco Malfoy," Sara replied. "What's Ron done now?"

"Walked in on Dean and I snogging, acted like we were doing something horrifying," she complained. "Basically called me a harlot and tried to curse me!"

"That's just because he's never snogged anyone in his life."

"That's what I said!" Ginny exclaimed.

Sara couldn't help but laugh, and Ginny couldn't help but join in.

"So what's Malfoy done?" Ginny asked as they slowly headed down the hallway.

"What hasn't he done?" Sara muttered. "I know he's my cousin, but I really hate him."

"You're not alone there," Ginny reassured her.

No, she thought somberly, but I'm sure not many people hate him for the same reasons I do…