Warning: Violence, injury, and death.

Chapter 38. Lie There Forever

It was a graveyard. That much was immediately apparent, and it filled Clara with chills.

"Clara," said Cedric's surprised voice. "What in Merlin's name—"

"Avada Kedavra!" shouted a voice, loud and raspy.

Clara saw the speeding green light and didn't even have time to register that she was going to die before it flashed past her. Her knees crumpled and she rolled on her shoulder away from any more curses that might follow. She scrambled back to her feet and looked back, momentarily grateful for the fake Moody's lessons—though her teacher had been corrupt, she was lightning fast at avoiding curses.

"What? Two? My lord, there's two!" Cries of surprise filled the night.

"Cedric," Clara whispered, hiding herself behind a large gravestone. His figure lay unnaturally still on the ground. She watched his chest, holding her breath, waiting for it to rise. His face was turned away from her.

"Where did the other one go?" demanded another Death Eater. There seemed to be a whole crowd of them, there in the night, lying in wait for the champion's arrival—but they were not ready for her, apparently.

"Fools!" said a terrible voice. Clara couldn't have described it. It struck fear so deep within her that she knew: this was the man who had murdered her father and brother. This was Voldemort. "Look for it! It could ruin everything!"

Clara gasped in a breath, realizing she'd been holding it. Cedric's chest remained resolutely still. "Cedric," Clara murmured, unable to comprehend the danger she was in. How could it matter when Cedric was dead?

"I found her," called a Death Eater. His voice was much too close. Clara looked up, too late, and drew her wand. Hands closed on her wrists and dragged her roughly out from behind the gravestone. People were laughing. Her wand was ripped from her hand.

"Tut, tut," said Voldemort, and Clara caught her first glimpse of him. He was tall, thin, and wiry but he looked very strong. His face was devilishly handsome but marred by lines of hatred and red eyes. He had thick, black, wavy hair that rustled in the breeze. "So young."

He reached out a hand.

"Don't touch me," Clara hissed. She tried to spit at him, struggling against her captor.

"A bit of spirit, too!" said Voldemort, looking around. "Where's Bellatrix? She reminds me of you, Bella."

"My lord, I would never speak to you in such a way," said a woman's voice behind a mask.

"Yes, yes, I know, Bella," Voldemort said with a humorless laugh. "What's your parentage, girl?"

Lifting her chin proudly, Clara said. "James and Lily Potter," she said arrogantly.

Voldemort's eyes widened as he recognized the names of the people who had three times defied him to his face.

Clara used his moment of distraction to turn and dig her elbow deep into the fork of her captor's legs, knowing she had hit home when a high scream echoed around the graveyard. His hands released her wrists and she dove behind a gravestone, avoiding the four flashes of green light aimed at her.

"No," said Voldemort's cold voice. "Let me play with her."

Clara felt ice in her stomach, and a pang of fear rose up in her throat.

"Come out, little girl!" said Voldemort. "Come out and play!" A spell hit the other side of the gravestone she used for cover. Rubble cascaded onto her head and shoulders, and she covered her head with her arm.

Clara forced herself to let out a laugh. "I would, but I've got plans today," she said. "How's Friday for a play-date? You know, have your people talk to my people."

"Smart mouth, too?" Voldemort said.

Clara dove for another gravestone as his second spell completely destroyed the first. She sat panting, panicking and racking her brains for anything—anything—she'd ever heard about how to fight Voldemort.

Only one voice filled her head, teasing and filled with mirth. Bad guys love to talk about themselves, said Sirius inside her head. So if you ever come face to face with Voldemort, all you have to do is get him monologue-ing.

"I always have a smart mouth when I feel cornered," Clara said, making things up wildly. "My therapist says it's a defense mechanism."

"You're lying," said Voldemort smoothly. "You don't have a therapist. Anymore."

Clara cursed. How could she have forgotten his skills with Legilimency and simply knowing when he was lied to? What had Severus said?

You need to actually believe the lies you tell to Voldemort.

It had been easy enough, there in his quiet office, to spin tales she could practically believe herself. But here, it was different. The adrenaline coursed through her, muddling her thoughts.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Clara said politely.

Voldemort was silent. He was taken aback, Clara could tell.

"Smart little plan you've got going here, though," Clara said, and though she was trembling, her voice sounded calm. "Once you've killed me, you'll all appear outside the maze, right? Take the Portkey back? Start killing people on Hogwarts' night of joy?"

Voldemort laughed. "Good job," he said. "Perfect end to a perfect set of games, right?"

"Personally, I think it's despicable," Clara said, her voice still forcibly polite. "But I was raised by the other side, so I'm biased. What was the term your daughter used, Parkinson? Order brat? Yes, that was it."

A sharp intake of breath told her she'd assumed correctly. Pansy's father was out there, behind Voldemort.

"Aren't you scared, Lord Voldemort?" Clara asked. "You know Dumbledore's there. At Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore doesn't concern me," Voldemort hissed. He was losing his cool. Clara could tell. She launched herself behind yet another gravestone, hitting her head sharply on the wings of the marble angel perched upon it. She felt no pain, but she could tell that there was blood running down her forehead. A spell destroyed the hiding spot she'd just been occupying. "The only ones who could have ever defeated me are dead by my hand."

"I suppose you're referring to the prophecy," Clara said, trying to make her voice dull.

Voldemort was silent. She'd shocked him. And then it hit her. Her window of opportunity, with faint, glimmering hope behind it.

"Funny," she said. "You'd think you'd be more nervous." She glanced to her right.

"What?"

"Oh, wait, you never heard the prophecy all the way through, did you?" Clara said, her voice dripping with derision. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,... How far did you get?"

"Far enough," Voldemort snapped. He was losing it.

"Oh, so you heard the part about the sibling?" Clara demanded. In that moment, she felt a heavy weight on her shoulders, as if she actually was the one to defeat Voldemort.

"What?"

"The one born in July was just a protector," Clara said. "Fitting. Aren't older brothers supposed to protect their little sisters? And he fulfilled his duty when he was just one year old, dying for my mother so that she could live and have me."

"You..you..."

"Me," Clara agreed, with a terrible laugh she couldn't believe had come from her mouth. "What if you killed the wrong person, Voldemort?"

"Liar!" Voldemort screamed.

Clara looked again to her right. It was just there, the Portkey, her wand lying helpfully beside it, and... Cedric. Just meters away, but nothing to cover her, to hide her from killing curses as she ran for it. She had come almost full circle around the ring of graves.

"It's the truth!" she cried.

"Come and look me in the eyes!" Voldemort shouted.

Clara opened her mouth to shout back a denial, but choked it back.

"This better work, Sev," she muttered to the heavens.

She stood and stiffly walked around the grave, getting close enough to the Portkey to launch herself for it. She looked Voldemort in the eyes. She felt him delve into her mind, sifting through her thoughts. He clutched at her fear. She pretended to pull back and let him at the 'truth.' A deep feeling of responsibility. A memory of Sybil Trelawney in true prophecy state. As he sifted through the images she gave him, in that moment, Clara was totally and completely convinced of her own lie. It was the truth to her.

"NO!" Voldemort screamed.

Clara broke eye contact with difficulty, wrenching her head around. She snatched up her wand and grabbed the front of Cedric's shirt with the same hand, and reached for the Portkey. Streams of green light flashed around her, somehow not hitting her at all.

Her fingers closed on the handle of the Cup, and the world disappeared in a whirling vortex of color and sound.

She was dropped with a thud on the grass outside the maze. The Cup rolled away from her, but Clara maintained her grip on the front of Cedric's shirt, unwilling to let go. She felt the blood from the deep gash on her forehead roll into her eyes and set them stinging. Tears poured from her eyes, though whether from the blood or the anguish she felt she couldn't be sure.

The crowd seemed to just be noticing their appearance now. It seemed much thinner and quieter than when Clara had left, but someone cheered slightly and halfhearted applause filled the stands, before dying out. They had realized now that something was wrong, and they had faded from celebration to eerie fear.

"Clara?" said a familiar voice, but no, she was hallucinating, Moony wasn't here, he couldn't be.

"CLARA!" It was another voice she recognized, but this was crazy, if Padfoot and Moony were here then why couldn't she have told them about Moody, and they could have handled it for her—

Suddenly they were both at her side, real and in the flesh, and Clara sobbed because they were really there.

Remus' fingers traced the deep gash on her forehead as Sirius checked Cedric for a pulse. He turned to say something to whoever was just behind him, Dumbledore, it must have been.

There was an anguished cry and a man Clara assumed to be Mr. Diggory raced from the stands to Cedric's side.

Clara released him, knowing he was safe now in the arms of his father.

Remus was talking to her. "Clara, sweetie, what happened?" he asked.

Clara started babbling, knowing she wasn't making any sense. "V-voldemort. He killed... Voldemort, he killed Cedric, he...Crouch, he—the Map—and Moody. We went and—Romilda! Romilda and Derek!" she realized suddenly. "Did they get out?"

"Get out of where?" Sirius asked. He was beside her now, no longer talking to Dumbledore. He conjured a bandage for Clara's face.

"The maze, they came in the maze to stop—" Clara stopped suddenly as black waves went through her vision, blood loss making her words slurred.

Dimly, she was aware that the crowd was screaming and crying.

"They're in the maze?" Sirius clarified, and Clara nodded helplessly.

The two men exchanged glances.

"I'll go, you stay," Remus said, and he got up and hurried over to some other members of the Order, who were milling about the green looking helpless. No one knew what was going on.

Sirius tilted Clara's chin so that she was looking at him. "You need the hospital," he said. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Clara said softly, and allowed him to help her up. She took one step and staggered forward. She would have fallen if Sirius' hands hadn't still be there, supporting her. She wilted, any fight she'd had left going out of her. "No."

Sirius gripped her arm with one hand and put the other around her shoulders, holding her tightly against his warm and strong body. "C'mon," he said. "I would conjure a stretcher for you if I could, but I'm afraid some people might get the wrong idea."

That I'm dead, Clara thought, and took another shaky step, leaning on Sirius heavily. Like Cedric is. She stumbled again as that thought hit her.

They made it up to the front doors; completely alone in the Entrance Hall. Clara felt her legs quivering and then they weren't supporting her anymore, she was falling toward the stone.

Sirius' strong arms swept her up so that he was cradling her in his arms. "It's all right," he said. "We're alone now. I've got you. That's my girl."

He was carrying her up the marble staircase. Clara buried her face in his robes, breathing in the scent of him, so warm and familiar. Whether it was minutes or hours that passed before Sirius laid her gently on a bed in the Hospital Wing Clara would never know.

She was only dimly aware of Madam Pomfrey bustling around her, coaxing potions down her throat and casting spells on the gash on her forehead.

One of the potions must have been a restorative, because Clara saw the room come into sharper focus. Sirius was beside her bed, holding her hand tightly, looking white. In another bed lay a still figure with long white-blonde hair—Fleur, Clara realized after a moment of consideration.

The hospital doors opened and in walked Remus, who was floating a stretcher beside him with his wand, a sitting figure atop it, and another figure walked beside him. The figure on the stretcher and the one beside him were smaller than he, but they looked no less battle-weary.

Clara's friends looked as if they had aged years in several hours, and Clara would have been willing to bet that she looked much the same way.

"Clara!" Derek said, and he raced to her side, giving her a careful hug with his un-burned arm.

"Derek," Clara whispered, and looked over his shoulder at Romilda, who was being lowered to a bed, holding her messily bandaged ankle tightly. She smiled grimly at Clara.

"What happened?" Derek asked her.

Clara glanced at Sirius.

"Professor Dumbledore is on his way," he said. "Perhaps you'd rather not tell the story more than once?"

Clara nodded dumbly. She looked Derek up and down. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Derek said. "Just lots of scratches and those burns I got. The hedge wasn't happy about giving me up. I think it wanted to keep me there forever."

He was teasing, but Clara couldn't bring herself to smile.

"Romilda?" she asked.

Romilda, from across the ward, was flexing her ankle as Madam Pomfrey fixed it. "I'm all right," she said, hopping off the bed despite Madam Pomfrey's protests. ("Really, Miss Vane, I must have you resting that ankle!") She limped over and sat on Clara's bed. "You're covered in blood," she informed Clara.

"I know," Clara said, touching her hair, which had gone stiff with dried blood.

Remus emerged from his whispered conversation with Madam Pomfrey to come over and rub Clara's shoulder a moment. "Are you all right, munchkin?" he asked.

The doors to the Hospital opened with a BANG.

"Where is she? Where is the little brat?" shouted Igor Karkaroff, storming into the ward. He spotted Clara and charged at her, his wand drawn—

He found himself facing down Padfoot and Moony, both with wands at his throat and murderous expressions on their faces.

"She ended my champion's chances for the Cup!" Karkaroff snarled, attempting to push past them, but he was thrown back. "She Stunned him!"

Remus glanced over his shoulder at Clara. "Is that true?" he asked quietly. There was no judgment in his eyes.

"No, it's not, sir," Derek piped up. "She didn't Stun Krum. I did."

"You see!" Karkaroff screamed, livid. "They're crazy, her and her little friends. I'll kill them-They Stunned my champion and then they killed the other one—"

Clara, Derek, and Romilda screeched in outrage and denial as one.

"Silence!" said a new voice from the door. Dumbledore stepped in. His voice went deadly quiet. "I'll thank you to stop threatening my students, Igor."

Karkaroff subsided. "Albus, they—"

"I'll have no more accusations against my students until I have heard the entire tale from those who were there," Dumbledore said. He turned expectantly to Clara, Romilda, and Derek, who were now settled all on Clara's bed.

"Professor, I can't condone interrogating them now, the shock—"

"Poppy, if I could leave the explanations until later, I would do so," Dumbledore said. He waved his hand gently at the three. "When you're ready."

Clara felt her stomach drop and her hands begin to shake. She had just lived it, lived it all, and now she would have to live it again.

Romilda gripped one of her hands tightly. Derek took the other, and suddenly the idea of telling the tale seemed less daunting. Romilda opened her mouth and began. "We were sitting in the stands just before the Task began when we saw something odd on the Marauder's Map..."

"And you believe their tale?"

"Yes, Minerva, I do," Dumbledore said, leaning forward earnestly in his desk chair.

"You believe that a second year witch was able to get through the maze designed for adults?"

"No, I believe that three second years together were able to get through it," Dumbledore said. "There is a difference. And the three of them told no lies throughout their tale."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that Voldemort has a new quarry, and one who will be completely unready for his onslaught no matter how we prepare her."

"The Potter girl?" McGonagall asked, looking white.

"She did the one thing that she could to escape from him," Dumbledore said, almost sadly. "And in doing so has placed herself in even more danger."

"And what of Cedric Diggory?"

"Pomona is with his parents," Dumbledore said, and this time there could be no mistaking the sadness in his voice. "And Hagrid is taking care of the other arrangements. I had hoped...after the events of 1991, to never lose another student. Alas, it was not to be, not in a time of war."

"I fear we'll lose more," McGonagall said.

"I share that fear," Dumbledore answered. "The only thing that we can do is prepare the young, so that they have enough weapons in their arsenal to have a prayer of a chance."

"No spell could have stopped You-Know-Who from murdering that boy," McGonagall said.

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore said sadly, leaning back in his chair. "But I fear that I could have."

"You're not to blame for this, Albus," McGonagall said. "You did what you could to stop this tournament."

Dumbledore inclined his head to acknowledge her words but did not answer.

"At least the dementors have gone from the school," McGonagall said.

"Yes, the mixed efforts of over forty Patronuses do tend to have that effect," Dumbledore said. "Remind me to thank Remus for that bit of inspiration, won't you?"

"I should think that keeping his soul is thanks enough," McGonagall sniffed.

"You should go and see to your students," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall stood. "Do you think he will attack the school?" she asked.

"No," Dumbledore said. "Not now. Especially as he's now got a new problem to deal with, or so he thinks."

"So the girl drew his attention away from the school and brought all of his fury down on herself," McGonagall said. "It's a wonder she wasn't Sorted into my House."

"She was raised by Gryffindors," Dumbledore said, "and is best friends with another. No doubt their tendencies have rubbed off a bit on her. And despite what many may think, I have never known Hufflepuffs, on the whole, to be cowardly. Nonetheless, I wish that there had been another way."

"How will you protect her?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I cannot," he said eventually. "Not permanently, at least."

"Then she is the next student we will lose?" McGonagall asked.

"I sincerely hope not, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall drew her lips into a thin line and headed out the door to tend to her students. A thought struck her. "Where is Crouch, now that he has been ousted?"

"Messrs. Black and Lupin are guarding him carefully," Dumbledore answered. "I doubt that he could get past two men with such passion about keeping him contained and getting justice for what he, essentially, brought on their daughter."

"Their daughter?"

"She views them as fathers, I believe, and they see her in the same light," Dumbledore said. "Who am I to deny them family in these troubled times, even if it is not the most traditional kind?"

Minerva nodded. "You're right, Albus," she said. "Especially now, we need all the love in this world that we can possibly get."

Clara received a swarm of visitors the next day in the Hospital Wing, all of them hoping to get an account of what had happened before she appeared outside of the maze clutching a dead Cedric and a Portkey.

Once Clara (or rather, Romilda, who had a much more capable set of lungs on her when it came to yelling at crowds of people) had made it quite clear that that particular story was not going to be told, a few members of the crowd deserted and went away, but an encouraging amount remained.

"You're actually sort of lucky that you weren't in the stands," Astoria Greengrass said, staring at Clara's bedspread and blushing furiously when most of the eyes in the group turned to her. Clara was proud of her for being there at all. "While the task was going on, all these dementors came up from the gates."

"It was awful," Rachel Chambers added. "Just terrifying. And the feeling..."

"Like you'd never be happy again," finished one of the Weasley twins, nodding. "Exactly."

"There were hundreds of them," added Diane Honeycutt. "They flooded the stands and everything."

"How'd you get rid of them?" Derek asked from his place beside Clara's bed.

"It was your dad, Clara," said Astoria. "He stood up and shouted 'Patronuses on three!'"

"And then all the adults in the crowd stopped panicking," Carina Freeman said. "And they cast a spell that made an animal go out of their wands, all at the same time, like Professor Sprout did in Herbology. And the animals chased the dementors away."

"Haven't seen them since," Ritchie Coote added, grinning. "I think they're gone for good."

"Well, that's good news, anyway," Romilda muttered.

"They aren't," Sarah Capper whispered, and the group fell silent, looking at her. She flushed red, but went on. "They can't be gone for good, because... because they're his. Aren't they?"

She met Clara's eyes, and Clara nodded slowly.

"So as long as You-Know-Who's around, the dementors will be around, too," Sarah said.

All the occupants of the Hospital Wing were quiet.

"Well, on that note," began Fred Weasley when an acceptable amount of time had passed, "who's for Exploding Snap?"

Remus sank facefirst into the bed in the guest chamber that Dumbledore had so thoughtfully provided for the members of the Order that had helped to keep the school under control the night before. He hadn't slept for ages, it seemed, and a trip back to Grimmauld Place in his exhaustion would have been too much. Plus there was still so much to be done.

Bartemius Crouch, Jr. had returned to his original form, clearing up much confusion as to whether or not Barty Crouch, Sr. was actually dead. The real Mad-Eye Moody had been rescued from his magical trunk and was being cared for privately in his chambers so as to avoid the prying eyes of many students seeking answers after last night's tragic loss.

Which brought Remus to one of his chief worries, which was the death of Cedric Diggory and what it meant to the school. Remus tried hard not to think about what it would mean to a particular young girl who was lying upstairs in the Hospital Wing.

The students from Durmstrang were long gone, back to their own school, claiming that Hogwarts was not safe for their students. After a dementor attack and an attempted Death Eater attack in one night, Remus wasn't sure he could blame them.

"Hoy, you in there!" said a voice from over near the portrait hole of Remus' chamber. "You!"

Remus dimly recognized the voice as that of the portrait guarding his door. "Mmph?" was all he could muster in response. Apparently it was enough.

"There's someone here t'see ya," the portrait said. "Should I let her in?"

"Mmph," Remus repeated.

"You sure? She seems to be having a mite of a temper tantrum."

Remus lifted his head. Who could possibly be having a—

Oh.

Remus got up. "Let her in," he called wearily, and the portrait swung open to reveal a very angry Lily Potter.

"You—told—me—about—Clara—being—in—mortal—danger—" Lily was punctuating each word with a swat with her handbag.

"How's that wrong?" Remus demanded, outraged.

"Twelve—hours—later!" Lily finished with a snarl. "Explain yourself."

"I sent you an owl after the initial panic had died down," Remus defended.

"An owl? An owl!" Lily roared at him. "Owls take ages to deliver letters overseas, you know that!"

"And how would you have had me tell you?" Remus demanded. "Floo, so that the Ministry could track me and know where both of us are? Or perhaps you'd have liked me to Apparate there to tell you, and more likely than not Splinch myself by going such a distance? Maybe you'd have rathered if I hopped on a Muggle plane like you did, leaving everyone here to deal with everything by themselves? Merlin, Lily."

Lily had subsided somewhat. "Remus, I—"

"You could at least give me the benefit of the doubt—"

"Remus!" Lily cut him off, looking aghast. "Stop, all right? I'm sorry. I really am, I'm sorry, just stop this now. It isn't like you."

Remus sank backwards onto the bed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his hands coming up to rub his eyes and cover his face.

Lily sat down next to him and encircled his shoulders with an arm. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am," Remus said wearily. "I'm just so tired."

Lily gently massaged his shoulders, rubbing the tension out of them. "Then sleep," she said. "I'm going to find Clara and—where's Padfoot?"

"Still down in the dungeons with Crouch," Remus said, falling back against his pillows. "Tonks is there with him. Clara's upstairs. The Hospital Wing."

Lily kissed his forehead. Remus was already asleep. "Sweet dreams," she said and then took off out the portrait hole and up the stairs to find her daughter.

She found her in the Hospital Wing with just Romilda and Derek (Lily would learn later that Clara's temporary fan club had gone down to lunch.) Normally Lily would have raced up to her daughter and gathered her in her arms, but today she approached slowly, for mostly the reason that that particular position was already filled by one Romilda Vane.

Romilda was seated on Clara's bed, holding her friend close and working a comb with the hand that wasn't holding Clara, combing out the—Lily's heart almost stopped—remnants of dried blood that was caked there.

Derek was seated in the chair next to the bed, chatting quietly with Romilda about unimportant nothings. They were just quietly talking, not arguing. And if Lily had known her daughter's friends better, this would have been sign enough that Clara was badly off.

But Lily's eyes were drawn instantly to the still figure on the bed. Her eyes were wide and seemed to stare off into space. She didn't seem to be listening to her friends, but neither did she pull away from Romilda's gentle embrace.

All in an instant, Clara's eyes gravitated toward Lily and she pushed gently away from Romilda. "Mum?" she whispered as though she didn't even dare to believe it.

Romilda clambered off the bed awkwardly and Lily ran to take her place, holding Clara close.

"But...I thought you were in America," Clara muttered wonderingly.

"And you thought that I wouldn't come home for you?" Lily admonished. "I'd swim the Atlantic and fight through a horde of Death Eaters to get to you if I had to."

Clara held her mother close, and tears began to spill out of her eyes. "Mummy," she whispered.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Lily said, and rubbed small circles on her daughter's back. She was only dimly aware of Romilda and Derek slowly taking their leave.

"I'd love to kill him."

Sirius's partner looked up from the letter an owl had just delivered. "Me, too," she said wearily. "But we can't just go around killing everyone on the other side."

"Because then we'd be just like them," he supplied dully.

His partner grinned at him in her signature impish way, even if it was a bit tired-looking. "No, because it's so much more fun to let the dementors at them."

Sirius sighed. "That'd be a lot more fun if we didn't know that they'd be able to break out in about a week anyway," he said. He glanced through the barred window of the door they guarded at Barty Crouch, Jr., who was lying Stunned on the floor in the room.

"Yeah," Tonks agreed. She held up the letter. "Well, you only have to refrain from killing him for about another hour. They're lowering personnel on the search for that graveyard. It's not likely we'll find anyone there anymore, so it's not so much of a priority. Some of them who've been searching are coming back here and can relieve us." Sirius nodded.

"Have you visited her?" Sirius asked.

"Who, Clara?" Tonks said. "No. I've been too busy. How is she?"

Sirius shrugged. "Haven't seen her since Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion last night to help her sleep," he said. He rubbed his tired eyes with the back of a hand. "It's not fair for her, you know?"

Tonks nodded and laid a hand on his arm. "I know," she said. "She'll pull through. She's tough."

"I'm not sure she's even absorbed what she's done, though, is the thing," Sirius said. "She thinks she's out now, and it's over. But that's only partially true, because now Voldemort's looking for her."

"He'll figure out she was lying, though, won't he?" Tonks asked. Dumbledore hadn't made the real story of how Clara had escaped public, even to the Order, but Remus had filled Tonks in on everything by the time Sirius had gotten around to talking to her. "And then he'll leave her alone. Or he'll leave her alone as much as he'll leave any of us alone that are fighting against him."

Sirius rubbed at his face some more, trying to wake himself up. "I hope so," he said. "I hope he leaves her alone." He sank down on a wooden bench next to the door.

Tonks checked the lock on the door to be sure of its security and then flopped down next to him. "We'll just take it as it comes, Padfoot," she said.

Sirius squinted and regarded her. "When did you grow up?" he asked.

"I think it was somewhere around the time my dad was murdered, I got caught up in a war, I unofficially adopted myself a little sister, and then fell in love with her father," Tonks said.

"Love?" Sirius repeated, suddenly wide awake. "I knew you and Remus were flirting, but—"

"No," Tonks said quickly, "just a slip of the tongue. I must be more tired than I thought. Sorry."

"Okay," Sirius said after a moment. "If you say so."

There was a moment of silence.

"When did you learn to tactfully drop a subject?" Tonks teased when the moment had passed.

"I think it was around the time you fell in love with Remus—"

"Shut up."

Sirius laughed shortly. "I suppose I'm still learning, then," he said.

Clara climbed slowly out of her bed in the Hufflepuff basement.

Today was the day.

She took her time fixing her bedcovers tidily, knowing that it would only irk the house-elves that she had done their work for them but wanting to put off getting ready for the day as long as she could. She pulled on her dressing gown and went through the tunnel and the common room. She walked the short distance down the hall to the nearby bathroom, where she went through her morning routine as slowly as she could.

By the time she returned to the common room, it had mostly filled, but people parted as Clara passed, as they had been doing since she had returned to the dorms.

Clara felt their eyes burning into her with curiosity, but she could not bring herself to look back at them. Not today. Not on this day.

She returned to her dorm and shrugged out of her dressing gown, staring at the robes which had been laid out for her. She felt her dorm mates' eyes upon her and carefully picked up the robes, pulling them on and fastening them, a sick feeling in her stomach.

She finished the last fastening on the plain black dress robes and glanced at herself in the mirror. Presentable, she decided, and led the way out of the dorm, followed by the rest of the girls in her dorm.

Derek waited for her beside the barrel hole at the entrance to the common room, also clad in his new formal black dress robes. He offered her a one-sided smile and his arm.

Clara took it gently and they proceeded up to the Entrance Hall, where they met Romilda coming down the stairs with the rest of the Gryffindors. Romilda's robes were more ornate than Clara's or Derek's, with black lace adding texture to the ebony fabric beneath, but her expression was more somber than Clara had ever seen it.

The Great Hall was practically void of discussion as the students entered. The tables had been removed and replaced with a great fleet of black chairs.

They were directed to sit by House, but Romilda clung tightly to Clara's hand, and when McGonagall spotted her a sad expression crossed her face and she made no comment.

A number of the Order, including Lily, Sirius, and Remus entered from a side door as Clara took her seat between her friends. Lily scanned the crowd until she found her daughter, and gave her a reassuring smile.

Clara nodded in recognition of the smile, unable to dredge up one in return.

The Order took seats in the back of the Hall.

Mr. and Mrs. Diggory seated themselves in the front row of seats, looking shell-shocked still.

The Hall was silent except for the occasional mutter and the sound of a girl who was already quietly sobbing. Clara would have been willing to bet Galleons it was Cho Chang, but for the first time, thinking of that name did not fill her with a thrill of envy.

From the front row of Hufflepuffs, Maxton Dancewell stood up, a basket of sorts in his hand. He began offering it around to his fellows. His eyes were rimmed with red from crying, and Clara remembered all the times she had seen Cedric and Maxton together beside the fire, laughing or playing chess.

Her loss was enormous, but she suddenly felt guilty for not considering his friends' losses. His girlfriend's. His parents'.

Maxton had come around to her row and offered her the basket wordlessly. Inside the basket were tiny pins, meant for a lapel. They were the yellow and black of Hufflepuff and were shaped like tiny hearts, with the initials 'C.D.' embossed on them. Glancing around, Clara saw that everyone in Hufflepuff was wearing one.

Telling herself firmly not to cry, she took one and pinned it to her robes.

Maxton moved on, offering the basket to the last person in the final row of Hufflepuffs, and then he stopped short, seeing that it was Romilda. Then, slowly, he offered it to her, a questioning look on his face. She glanced at the Hufflepuff-colored pin, and then deftly snaked out a hand and picked one up, pinning it to her robes in one swift motion, and expression on her face saying what-you-thought-I-wouldn't? as plain as day.

Then she gently took the basket and turned around to the first row of Gryffindors. She held out the basket until Angelina Johnson took it from her. The older girl stared at the pins and then waved her wand over them, multiplying them so there were too many to count. Then she took one and pinned it to her robes, passing it down the line.

Maxton had begun to cry, tears pouring silently down his face.

The basket went up and down the rows, through the Gryffindors, the Slytherins, and the Ravenclaws, until Clara couldn't see a single student in the Great Hall who was not proudly wearing the yellow and black of Hufflepuff upon their chest.

Maxton sat down as Dumbledore got up at the front.

And so Cedric Diggory's funeral began.

Clara sat out by the lake, trailing her bare feet in the water, still in her dress robes but not caring if they got muddy.

Cedric was gone; they had taken his body away to bury it somewhere far off.

Romilda and Derek had left her alone at her request, and the other students sitting along the bank were politely ignoring her. She felt the tear tracks drying on her face, making it feel tight and splotchy, but she didn't wipe them away. They were part of her now, the tears.

Someone came up behind her and offered her a handkerchief.

She took it but didn't use it.

"Thanks," she said thickly, and her voice cracked from how little she had used it over the past few days.

"Don't mention it," said a voice, and Clara jumped slightly. She didn't recognize it.

She turned slightly. "Malfoy?" she said.

He just walked away, leaving Clara alone again with only a handkerchief for company.

"Could be he's not all bad," she said to the handkerchief. "Then again, probably he is, but...you never know, do you? You just never know. You never know."

And something inside her told her she wasn't talking about Draco Malfoy anymore. She was talking about something bigger. About death. About love. About friendship. About life.

"You never know," Clara whispered again, and mopped her face with the handkerchief. She got up slowly and walked along the bank of the lake and sat with the other Hufflepuff girls in her year, who were playing Exploding Snap with Rachel Chambers. They smiled at her and dealt her in to their game. Sometimes, Clara reasoned, it was nice to not know things together.

(A/N) And that brings us to the end of second year! Stay tuned for third year. Thanks for all the favs, follows, and reviews. You guys are awesome.

Also, fun fact, "Severus" is Latin for "stern." I've also seen the translation "grumpy," but that didn't vibe as well with my creepy prophecy.

Sorry I didn't get to individual review replies for the last chapter, I really had a hell of a week. I'll try to get them done this time, though.