When Bailey awoke from her nightmare, she wasn't quite sure where she was, because it certainly wasn't her canopied bed in the Slytherin dorms. It took her a few moments to realize to recognize her room at Grimmauld Place. It took a few more seconds to register why she had awoken—her mother's heartwrenching sobs.

It was no nightmare.

Slowly, as though she wished that by staying in bed she could keep believing everything that had happened over the past day? days? was just a nightmare and not real life, she pushed herself up (discovering in the process that her wrist was no longer broken) and crept out the door and down the stairs, where she could just see inside the dining room.

Potter—Harry, she supposed—was standing with little cuts all over his face studying one of the cabinets as if it would give him all the answers to his screwed up life. She recognized the look well. Uncle Rem was sitting with his head hung low, muttering something Bailey couldn't make out, tears streaming down his face. Finally, her mother—oh sweet Merlin, her mother—was clutching her godfather for dear life, wailing as though someone had torn out all of her insides. Bailey felt sick.

Dumbledore. Dumbledore had been there. Dumbledore was there and didn't stop her father from… Dumbledore wasn't supposed to have let this happened. He had sworn to her.

Harry suddenly looked up and saw Bailey standing there. She could see the tears in his green eyes now. Slowly, as though she were a wounded animal, he held out his hand for her to take. Amazingly, Bailey found herself accepting the gesture. Grief didn't care about House boundaries or childhood rivalries—it took whatever comfort it could find. And her godbrother needed the comfort just as much as she did.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice so that the adults couldn't hear. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should've—"

"As much as I would love for my blame in this to be erased, I was no less reckless than you," she said gruffly. "Most of the blame lies on someone else who had best not need me to explain why our deal is off."

At that point, the adults had finally noticed the new addition to the room. As one, they stood to embrace her, though her godfather was a little quicker. She stood stiffly in his arms.

"I'm sorry—I did what I had to—Harry was going after Lestrange—I had tried to keep him from coming and I didn't want to have to hex you—"

"It's fine, Uncle Rem," she said in a small voice. It wasn't two seconds later that her mother had a hold of her.

"Don't yeh ever scare me like tha' again, I swear Bailey Ann," she muttered in her daughter's ear.

Finally, Bailey just broke down, despite the fact that Potter was standing right there, despite the fact that they were in the middle of Headquarters right after a huge battle and anyone could walk in and see her, despite the fact that she hadn't let her Uncle Rem see her cry since third year, when he denied that her father could possibly be innocent. She just cried on her mother's shoulder, wishing that she could have what she had been denied most of her life—her daddy.

Eventually, they all calmed down, at which point Bailey's mother let them in on some news—apparently Harry was now legally hers and would not have to go back to the muggles. At that point, the poor boy broke down into tears, thanking Tilly over and over and over before apologizing for what happened to Sirius just as many times. Finally, Tilly just told him it was not his fault, and no, she'd never even consider turning him out to the streets.

Because this was no nightmare, as much as all of them wished. This was real life.

When Harry and Bailey went back to Hogwarts that Sunday evening, they walked into the Great Hall together, neither one was wearing their House colors. Instead, they wore simple black robes, each with a sky-blue flower pinned on their chest—her father's favorite color. There was a great hush over the Hall at the sight of the two of them together, but it quickly turned to whispers when Harry gave her a quick hug before finding his seat at the Gryffindor table. Bailey practically ran to hers, all of Narcissa Malfoy's etiquette lessons forgotten. She could not stand all the eyes on her today of all days.

When she took her usual seat across from Draco, the blonde quickly turned away from her. Bailey frowned—she knew it had been coming. After all, her friend likely blamed her for her involvement in his father's arrest, but it didn't make her feel any better. At least his father was still alive, and sure to be busted out by the Death Eaters before long. Amelia was giving her sympathetic looks (though Bailey was sure she would be fussed at for coming in with Harry later) and Blaise simply loaded up a plate for her of all her favorites from the feast, knowing her well enough to know that she had not ate much in the past few days.

With all the whispers coming from her own table and the rest of the Hall, Bailey found that she just couldn't stomach any of the food before her and eventually stood up to leave. The curious and pitying looks she was receiving from all over the hall were putting her on edge. She felt as though she may suffocate from the stares if she were in there any longer.

"Where are you going? You've barely touched your plate!" Amelia exclaimed behind her. Bailey merely shrugged and left, making her way to the Slytherin dorms as quickly as she could.

As soon as she closed the door to her dorm behind her, she picked up whatever was closest to her—a bottle of half-drunk butterbeer—and threw it at the wall so that it shattered into a million pieces with a guttural scream.

"Wow," a voice said behind her. "Powerful throw."

Bailey jumped and turned to see Daphne Greengrass slipping into the room behind her. She relaxed. Greengrass was a stuck-up socialite—much like the majority of her classmates—but, the pretty brunette wasn't horrible to share space with. The two had shared chocolates and gossip over the

"Greengrass," Bailey acknowledged before walking over to her bed, ready to pull her curtains shut and go to sleep. That was all that she had felt like doing for the past few days. But, Greengrass had decided to lean on Bailey's bedpost preventing her from doing just that.

"I am very sorry to hear of your loss," the other girl said. Bailey looked away from her. "I mean, the way he was, I know you must not have known him very well, with him not being able to be a father and all—"

"He was," Bailey interrupted.

"He was what, dear?"

"He was my father," she asserted. She hated when people made him seem like less than one of the most important people in her life.

"Of course he was," Greengrass simpered, laying a hand on her arm. Bailey bristled at her patronizing tone. "I understand that Dumbledore hasn't responded to your mother's pleas for safety spells to be set around your home? I can't even imagine the stress you've been under, after your father's sacrifice in this war. Especially given that there is a possibility that the Ministry may withhold your inheritance."

Bailey jerked. She hadn't even let her mother in on that little fact. She had never been formally declared heir to Grimmauld Place, and the Black fortune being from somewhat controversial beginnings, and as she was still a minor… well, the Ministry loved its red tape.

"How did you—"

"Oh, Bailey, darling," Greengrass laughed theatrically, "I am very well-connected with very powerful people."

Bailey stared at her for a few moments. All Slytherins were well-connected, and all were likely to brag about said connections. But, this comment seemed different, darker, more dangerous, what Greengrass was implying.

But that was insane. Bailey had known Greengrass since she was eleven; the girl was a gossip, completely boy crazy and liked to find out information on everyone in her world in order to have something to hold against them, but she was not dangerous. Not in this way, at least. Of all the people in Slytherin…

"You don't mean," Bailey lowered her voice, "the Dark Lord, do you?"

Daphne, of course, evaded the question. She was ever the model Slytherin.

"There are some people who pay well for a few rumors verified, a few more spread, which, as you well know, is my specialty," she said casually

Bailey snorted. She was fairly sure that Daphne had personally informed at least half the school of her parentage, perhaps even before the news had broken.

Daphne continued, ignoring Bailey's small amusement. "Those same people would not be unwilling to provide some security and even more than a few galleons for some high-quality, discreetly made potions. Which, I am sure, you could easily provide with your skill set."

Bailey ought to have yelled at her to stay away from her, to never speak to her about anything like that again. She should have gone straight to Dumbledore or Uncle Rem, or even Snape. She should have hexed the girl then and there, obliviated Greengrass and herself so that it was as though the whole conversation had never even happened. She should have simply said no and made sure to never find herself alone with Greengrass again.

But she didn't. She remained silent.

"Here is how to contact him, when you are ready," she said quietly, handing Bailey a piece of a paper. She should have ripped it up into a million piece. She should have thrown it into the fireplace. She should have—

She tucked it into her robe pocket.

Greengrass smiled.

"Just in case."