Saturday 18 September, 1993:
"Is Miss Lena sure she's had enough to eat? It would be no trouble for Tizzy to make one of Miss Lena's favourite caramel tarts, or if there was something else Miss Lena was feeling like–"
"I'm fine, Tizzy, really," Lena assured the house-elf, who was looking up at her imploringly. "The quiche was more than enough." Tizzy still appeared unconvinced, so Lena added, "I promise I'll come back later tonight if I feel hungry."
This promise seemed to satisfy the worried Tizzy, so Lena bid her and the rest of the house-elves goodbye, thanking them for her dinner, and began to make her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. A mixture of anticipation and dread was building inside her, as each step she took brought her closer to her first Patronus lesson with Professor Lupin.
When she had asked the Defence teacher the previous night to teach her the Patronus Charm, she had not expected his initial reluctance. It had, in fact, been somewhat alarming. The moment Dumbledore had told her that the Patronus was the only spell she was allowed to attempt casting in the foreseeable future, she had clung onto it like a lifeline. It had also finally presented Lena with an answer to Lupin's offer from their first class– something he could do that she couldn't.
She had tried to teach herself, of course. Over the summer, as soon as Dumbledore had written to her about the Dementors being stationed outside Hogwarts, Lena had desperately tried to call forth her Patronus, but to no avail. She knew the incantation and she knew it required focusing on a happy memory. But Lena couldn't even get a spark of silvery light out of her wand. Perhaps, then, learning to cast a Patronus necessitated an extra element – something that needed to be taught by someone who actually had experience. At least, that was what Lena was hoping. Surely, there had to be another explanation as to why Lena couldn't learn it herself, other than just incompetence.
Lena glanced down at her right hand. The fingers were twitching, hovering just above the pocket in which her wand was kept. She was literally itching to use it. It had been well over thirty hours since she had last used magic – the longest, as far as Lena remembered, she'd gone without it since...
She frowned, genuinely struggling to recall a day in her life where she hadn't used magic. After she had begun lessons with Voldemort when she was four years old, she had practised her wandless magic daily, and had continued to do so even after his disappearance. Then when she was seven, Valeriya had bought her a wand, and she'd started learning to use that. Even during the summer holidays, when the underage Hogwarts students were specifically told not to use magic, Lena hadn't stopped. That was one of the perks of living in Knockturn Alley: there was so much Dark magic, and so many protective enchantments everywhere, that the Trace just didn't work there.
But Lena had promised Dumbledore yesterday, that, with the exception of the Patronus Charm, she would not use magic unless faced with absolutely no other choice. And it was already driving her mad – not to mention that the possibility of any other student finding out was scaring the absolute shit out of her.
The reputation that Lena had built for herself since First Year to stop anyone from going after her revolved principally around one idea – any threat she made, could and would be carried out if her warning was ignored. But without magic, what was the worst she could do? Sneak up behind people and hit them over the head with a particularly heavy book? If anyone decided that they wanted to have a go at Lena, she was defenceless against them.
Of course, Lena knew if that were to happen, she would use her magic to protect herself – and thereby saving herself from the present danger, bring her closer to the future one.
So now, Lena was chiefly relying upon her reputation as her protection. And she hated it.
Reaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Lena paused outside the door. She checked her wristwatch. It read three-minutes-to-nine, just before their agreed beginning time for the lesson.
It occurred to Lena that since leaving Dumbledore's office yesterday, Lupin was the only person with whom she'd had a proper conversation. When she'd seen Maggie and Rolf again in their Care of Magical Creatures class, she knew they'd wanted to ask her what Dumbledore had spoken to her about. But Lena, still trying to process everything, had retreated into herself, and Maggie and Rolf knew her well enough to realise that she hadn't really wanted to talk. So they had simply asked her if she was okay, to which Lena had responded with the blatant lie, "Yes."
Then, after her final class of the previous day, Lena had wandered aimlessly through the secret passages of the school until she felt composed enough to speak to Lupin. She had avoided anyone else from then until this evening, when she'd finally regained her appetite, and had gone to the kitchens for dinner.
Lena opened the classroom door and entered. Lupin was sitting at his desk, staring blankly ahead with a concerned expression.
When he saw her, he stood up. "Lena, there you are."
Lena registered the use of her given name for the first time with interest, but she was more surprised by the slightly relieved tone of Lupin's voice. She frowned. "I'm not late, am I?"
Lupin stepped out from behind the desk. "No," he said, "I didn't see you in the Hall at dinner..." he rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I was just wondering if everything was all right?" He sat on one of the student desks in the front row.
"Oh." Lena stared at him. He seemed genuinely concerned.
'Well, I recently found out that due to my stupidity as an eleven year old, I am incurably sick and will most likely be dead before I'm twenty-eight. Or quite possibly much earlier than that, because currently, the only way I'll make it to my eighteenth birthday is if I stop using magic. Which is not only terribly inconvenient, but also fucking terrifying. And because of my screwed-up childhood – the highlights of which include having a totally disinterested father and a completely psychotic mother, absolutely adoring my teacher who is generally regarded as one of the most evil people in Wizarding history, and almost murdering my grandmother – I am so emotionally stunted that I can't even bring myself to tell my best friends that I am dying.'
Lena smiled. "Yeah, everything's fine," she assured Lupin. "I was just working and lost track of time. But I stopped by the kitchens before I came here and grabbed something to eat, so I'm all good now."
Lupin returned the smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I know Seventh Year can be stressful – even more so if you're Head Girl, I imagine – but it's important to make sure you're taking care of yourself."
Lena took a seat on the desk that was separate but directly to the left of Lupin. "Well, I try my best," she said.
Lupin nodded, shifting so he was facing her front-on. "So," he began, "the Patronus Charm. What do you know about it?"
"A full, corporeal Patronus basically works as a magical guardian. It generally takes the form of whatever animal or magical creature with whom the caster shares the greatest affinity. The Patronus can serve as protection against Dementors, and also Lethifolds. The incantation is Expecto Patronum, and in order to be cast successfully, you must focus on a happy memory."
"Succinctly put," said Lupin. He cocked his head. "I'm curious – have you attempted casting it before now?"
"Yes. But obviously," Lena gestured around the classroom, "I was unsuccessful."
"It is an extremely difficult spell," said Lupin, and Lena got the sense he was trying to make her feel better about her failure.
But that only served to irritate her. "Difficulty," she said stiffly, "is not an excuse for failure. Only impossibility."
Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you draw the line at impossibility?" He sounded faintly amused.
"No, I said it's a reasonable excuse for failure. But I don't draw a line. That would imply the impossible is never achievable."
"Surely, by definition, that is the impossible," countered Lupin, folding his arms.
"To the narrow-minded, perhaps," replied Lena derisively. "To those who are more enlightened, the impossible is what is yet to be possible."
Lupin unfolded his arms, and leant back. He looked... impressed. With Lena. Which made her feel very self-conscious.
She smoothed back a few loose tendrils of hair. "We're getting off topic," she said coolly, hoping to hide the wave of nervousness that had unexpectedly affected her.
Lupin cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Yes, of course. Right. Well, do you mind if I ask what memory you used when you last attempted a Patronus Charm? I know it's very personal," he added, upon seeing Lena's immediate discomfort. "You don't have to be detailed. It just gives me an idea of what you were working with."
Lena fidgeted with the hem of the cardigan she was wearing. "The first time I successfully Disarmed my aunt."
Now, Lupin gave her a look that was markedly unimpressed. "That was the happiest memory you could think of?"
"My aunt's an extremely talented duellist," said Lena defensively, "and I was ten years old at the time. It was a pretty significant accomplishment."
Lupin appeared to be struggling to find the words to describe how ridiculous he found this. He shook his head in disbelief. At last, he asked, "Do you usually measure happiness in terms of accomplishment?"
Lena glared at him. "Are you under the impression," she began to say heatedly, "that my li–"
'Shut up!' yelled a voice in Lena's head, and she quickly clenched her mouth shut.
"Am I under what impression?" asked Lupin sharply.
Somehow, Lena had to turn this around, and she didn't think it would be as easy as fixing her gaffe from their conversation the previous night. She internally cringed at the memory.
'I appreciate that is something concerning you. But I'm also getting a sense that you're not being entirely honest with me.'
Lena had narrowed her eyes. 'No, I'm not. But nei–'
'But neither are you.' That's what Lena had almost said, about to bring up the point that Lupin was hiding that he was a werewolf. She had only stopped just in time. Otherwise, she was fairly certain that Lupin would have taken it as an attempt to blackmail him.
And yet again tonight, she had to backpedal. "I was just going to say that I'm very much a goal-oriented person, so–"
"No," interrupted Lupin, his voice surprisingly forceful. "You did this last night: you start saying something, then you stop yourself and say something completely different."
Lena stared at him, stunned that he'd actually called her out on it.
"I'll ask you again," continued Lupin. "Am I under the impression that your what?" His eyes were boring into hers.
Nervously, Lena tugged on a loose lock of hair that had escaped her messy bun. She did not want to finish that sentence – especially honestly – but she suspected that if she didn't, Lupin would call off the Patronus lessons.
She sighed, giving in. "Fine. Are you under the impression that my life has presented me with a wealth of happy memories?"
Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Lena, I don't really know anything about your life," he said, sounding bemused. "So why do you think I'd make an assumption either way?"
His response threw Lena. "You know my parents are in Azkaban, right?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes," said Lupin. "But since I don't know what your relationship with them was before they were incarcerated, I wouldn't know what effect that's had on you."
Lena didn't really know how to reply. Such non-judgmental behaviour was a rarity.
She twirled the loose lock of hair around her index finger. "Being good at stuff," she said finally, "is what has always made me happy. Excelling. It's part of who I am – more than my face, more than my name. That's why I chose the memory of Disarming my aunt."
Lupin nodded slowly. "I respect that. I really do. But the memory you select when casting a Patronus has to elicit a strong emotional response within you. It can't just be contentment, or satisfaction, or even pride. It has to be a moment where you felt pure joy. A euphoria. Now, is that honestly the feeling you recall from that memory?"
Lena bit her lip. "No," she admitted.
"Then try to think of something that does."
It was easier said than done. Desperately, Lena racked her brain, but a moment of joy was not forthcoming.
"Many people find that a memory pertaining to their loved ones is most effective," suggested Lupin.
'Wow, that's super helpful,' the internal voice said snidely. Lena wasn't even sure who her loved ones were. She regarded Valeriya as an important person in her life, and in their own particular ways, they did care for each other. But she didn't think they'd shared any moment of pure, unadulterated joy.
Maybe something to do with Maggie and Rolf, then. That Christmas morning at Newt and Tina's house, Lena decided. She'd definitely been happy.
"I think I've got one," she told Lupin.
"All right," he replied, standing up.
Lena followed suit.
"Now," continued Lupin, pulling his wand out of his pocket, "focusing on that memory, point your wand very deliberately," he demonstrated so, "and in a loud, clear voice, say Expecto Patronum."
Pulling her wand out of her pocket, once again Lena felt a slight resistance coming from it. Considering she was only supposed to be using the purest, lightest magic, hopefully it would behave better than it had for the Anti-Alohomora Charm.
She pointed it at the wall, and focused hard on the memory of that Christmas morning, exchanging gifts, finally moving to first-name basis with Maggie, and Newt's delight that she had listened to him and was making an effort to form human connections.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing. Not even a flicker of silver light. Lena glared at her wand.
"That was perhaps a tad too... aggressive," suggested Lupin. "I understand it's very important to you that you learn this, but you can't let desperation be the motivating emotion behind a Patronus. Take a minute to clear your mind of everything but that happy memory, and then we'll try again."
Lena nodded, closing her eyes. 'It's just another spell,' she told herself. 'You can do it.'
Yes, just another spell. She'd had a false start, but surely someone as talented as herself would be casting a full, corporeal Patronus by the end of the lesson.
Saturday 2 October, 1993:
"It's no bloody use! I can't do this stupid spell!"
Remus stared at the angry girl. She was clutching her wand so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and her lips were curled in a furious snarl.
It was Lena's third Patronus lesson, and she was still yet to create even the smallest silvery light. Remus had meant it when he said the spell was difficult, but even so, he was a little surprised that a witch as skilled as Lena had made no progress. He knew some wizards and witches were never able to cast a Patronus in their life, but he hadn't expected that she might be one of them.
"Ugh!" Lena threw down her wand on the desk behind her and rubbed her face, her frustration evident in her posture.
Remus sighed, sliding off the desk on which he'd been sitting. "Maybe it's time to pick another memory," he began to say, but was cut off.
"I have tried eight different memories," snapped Lena, her eyes the iciest Remus had even seen them. "And that's all I have. There aren't any more."
"There has to be something else you haven't tried–"
"Did you not hear me? There isn't anything else!" Lena agitatedly ran her fingers through the hair on top of her head, messing up the tight, high ponytail it'd been in. "What kind of ridiculous spell relies on fucking happy memories, anyway?" She let out a small scream of anger. "Argh!"
Remus stared at her, bewildered. How could this girl be the same one who had so calmly confronted him over giving her a completely different test to everyone else in the class? Her manner was usually so controlled, so composed. Now, it looked like at any second she might start throwing the chairs and desks around the room.
Maybe this anger didn't just stem from her unsuccessful attempts at the Patronus Charm. Maybe there was something else happening that was adding to this frustration.
He slowly approached her."Lena," he said cautiously, "is there something causing you a lot of stress?"
"Stress?" She glared at him as if he was a fool. "No, I'm having an absolutely wonderful time being a complete and utter failure!" Vitriol was entrenched in her voice.
"I meant outside of these lessons," Remus quickly clarified.
"What's that got to do with anything?" she snapped.
"That might be what's causing you problems–"
"What is causing me problems," hissed Lena, "is that the only way to cast this fucking spell is to use some childish sentiment, instead of actual skill."
That was when it hit Remus. "This is actually an entirely new experience for you, isn't it?" he said, looking at her with wonder. "You've never not been able to cast a spell before."
"Of course I haven't!" said Lena angrily and, to Remus' amazement, stamped her foot. "When I want to do something, I do it!" Her voice grew louder in its fury. "Failing is what idiots do!"
Remus crossed his arms, and frowned at her. "No, it's what normal people do."
"Same thing!"
Well, that was telling. "That's how you see everyone else, is it?" inquired Remus, his tone mild but serious. "As fools?"
Lena appeared to lose what little control she had left of her temper. "How else am I supposed to see them?" she shouted. "I've been doing wandless magic since I was four! I was an accomplished Occlumens by the time I was six! I successfully Apparated on my first attempt! I have performed magic that you couldn't even dream of! And normal people struggle to understand the basic concepts behind Conjuring and Vanishing! So if I can't do the Patronus Charm, then there isn't something wrong with me – THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS STUPID, BLOODY SPELL!"
The classroom fell silent, with the exception of Lena's heavy breathing. She was glaring at Remus, her shoulders heaving and her fists clenched. Her expression was one of untempered fury, and she looked quite unhinged. For the first time, Remus could see more than a passing resemblance to her mother. And it disturbed him.
"Perhaps," he said, slightly colder than he'd intended, "we should end tonight's lesson and try again next week–"
"Don't you get it?" interrupted Lena, quieter than before, but still bitter. "There's not going to be a next week. If I haven't done it by now, I never will."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you tell me two weeks ago that the impossible is just what is yet to be possible?"
Lena picked up her wand and unceremoniously shoved it in her pocket. "Well, congratulations, "she said, not looking at him. "You've proved me wrong."
That didn't sit well with Remus. "Are you implying that I was hoping you would be unsuccessful?"
She looked at him, then shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I don't really know anything about you." Her tone was belligerent, and that irritated him.
"You may be clever, Lena, but I will not tolerate disrespectful behaviour from you," he warned her.
She looked at him contemptuously."Well, I believe that respect has to be earned."
Remus stiffened. "Your lack of progress with the Patronus Charm is not a reflection of my teaching ability," he said harshly. "That failure is completely on you."
Lena's expression became murderous. Her right hand twitched, and for a second, Remus thought she was going to pull out her wand and curse him. Instead, she clenched it into a fist. Her face, though still angry, regained some of its former composure.
"I'm not sure if you're aware," she said coldly, "but the headmaster is now taking me for private lessons for Charms and Transfiguration. He's also offered me the same for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I think I'm going to take him up on it."
"I think that's a very good idea," replied Remus, equally icy. "I won't be expecting you in class, then."
"No, you won't." With that, she turned around and stalked out of the classroom.
The door slammed shut behind her. Remus, desperate to let out some of the anger that had been building inside him over the last few minutes, violently slammed his fists down on the nearest desk. It hurt, but at that moment he didn't care.
He had been intrigued by Lena ever since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. The daughter of Death Eaters who appeared to have some sort of friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived. Head Girl, academically brilliant, and respected by her Slytherin classmates. His conversations with her had only served to further that fascination – that calm but confident comportment, an admirable determination and self-discipline.
But tonight, he had seen something else. Something volatile. Something bitter. Something... Dark.
And now, Remus felt certain that something, that someone, was the real woman behind the carefully-worn mask.
That had been the real Lena Lestrange.
Sunday 3 October, 1993:
The next morning, Lena left her dorm before dawn and made her way to the Great Hall. The house-elves started sending the breakfast out at about six o'clock every morning, but as it was a Sunday, Lena doubted anyone else would be there before seven. Which would be ideal, because now, more than ever, Lena wanted to eat in isolation. Even the house-elves were too much company for her this morning.
Just thinking about the previous night made Lena want to punch a wall. It hadn't only been stupid of her to let herself get so angry, but dangerous too. She'd almost lost control and used accidental magic, which would be bad enough in normal circumstances, but now would have been tantamount to suicide.
She'd done enough damage without it, anyway. Lupin clearly despised her now, and she didn't blame him. He had seen – well, she wished she could call it the 'ugly side' of her, but it had been much more than that. What her failure with the Patronus had stirred inside of her was the oldest part of Lena, the part that had remained unchanged since childhood. Angry, resentful, and contemptuous. The part of her that hadn't cared that Voldemort was a murderer, only that he was very clever, and thought she was too.
Opening the door to the Hall, Lena was surprised to discover that she wasn't the only exceptionally early riser that morning. Sitting at the Ravenclaw table and staring off into the distance was Erin. She appeared to be so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Lena's entrance.
Ever since the blood test results had confirmed that she was dying, Lena had done her best to avoid the four First Year girls. In truth, she'd being doing her best to avoid everyone, even Maggie and Rolf. In some respect, it was hardly surprising she had blown up at Lupin – apart from Dumbledore, he was the only person with whom she'd recently had extended conversation.
Lena did her best to not make a sound as she went over to the Slytherin table, so as not to alert Erin to her presence. But as she drew nearer, the more apparent it became that all was not well with the young girl. Her eyes were puffy and red, as though she had been crying all night, and her whole body language seemed to indicate she was in the throes of devastation.
It made Lena pause. Trying to provide comfort to someone else was just about the last thing she felt like doing right now. On the other hand...
'You're the Head Girl,' a more rational, emotionally detached internal voice reminded her. 'You're supposed to help other students in whatever way you can. Just because you're in the middle of a personal crisis doesn't mean you let others suffer too.'
Lena sighed, and changed course. "Erin?" she called out softly.
A startled Erin dropped the spoon she'd been holding into the full bowl of cereal in front of her. She turned around to look at Lena. "Oh, hi, Lena."
Lena sat down beside her, but facing away from the table. "You're up very early," she said.
Nodding, Erin sniffled slightly. "Yeah. Bad night's sleep," she muttered.
Using the gentlest tone she could, Lena asked, "What's the matter?"
Erin bit her lip, and Lena could tell she was internally debating what to say.
Finally, the younger girl made up her mind. "I don't know if you remember," she began quietly, "but on the train, when you were helping me, I sort of told you what the Dementor was making me remember."
"Your father," recalled Lena. "You said he'd collapsed." She'd remembered it because at the time she'd suspected that Erin's father hadn't... well, hadn't gotten back up again.
Erin nodded slowly. "He died," she said in a very small voice.
So Lena had been right. "I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," murmured Erin, staring down into her bowl.
"And you didn't sleep last night because you were thinking about it?" asked Lena.
Erin made a noise of agreement, but didn't look up.
Uncomfortable, Lena scratched her neck. Obviously, there was more that Erin wasn't saying, but she was hesitant to push her. Sighing, she spun around so she was facing the table and grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruit.
"Why don't you eat something," she suggested, "and when you're done, we can go outside and watch the sun rise."
At last, Erin looked up at her. "That sounds nice," she said, trying to smile.
Lena shrugged, returning the attempted smile. "I find it sometimes helps if I haven't slept well. Makes me feel," she hesitated, "I don't know, calmer, I suppose." She took a bite from the apple.
"Did you have a bad night as well?" asked Erin, picking up her spoon again. "Is that why you're up so early?"
"Well, it wasn't great," said Lena drily. "But I'm pretty used to it." About to take another bite, she noticed Erin's questioning gaze. "I have a lot of bad nights," she explained.
Erin nodded, then began her cereal. She finished it about the same time as Lena finished her apple, and together they left the Hall, which apart from them, was still empty.
Reaching the castle's main entrance, Lena pushed open one of the doors and looked outside. It was still quite dark, but Lena could make out the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. Gesturing for Erin to follow her, she exited the castle and made her way to the hillside that overlooked the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's cottage.
They stood there in silence, gazing at the sky as a cool wind washed over them. Golden and pinkish light began to fill the sky, the sun slowly rising.
After a while, Erin broke their companionable silence. "It was my fault," she said, barely audible over the wind.
Lena glanced down at her. "What was?"
"My dad's death."
Raising an eyebrow, Lena simply asked, "How so?"
Erin folded her arms across her chest, tightly hugging herself. "It was just us at home. My mum was out visiting her mum. We were in the kitchen together, making dinner so it would be ready by the time she came home. Then he started shaking, and fell to the ground, and instead of calling the ambulance right away–" she paused, looking at Lena. "Um, an ambulance is this thing that–"
"I know what an ambulance is." Lena had learned when she was getting her driver's license. "Go on."
But Erin didn't immediately restart her story. "I'd only recently turned ten," she eventually said, "and I had no idea I was a witch. I thought I could just make extraordinary things happen. Like stopping a falling tree branch from crashing into our car, or when for a class project, we each had a pot-plant to look after, and mine lived for twice as long as everyone else's. And one time my mum fell off a ladder and broke her arm so badly the bone was almost pushed out of the skin, so my dad drove us all to hospital, and I didn't let go of her hand the entire way. By the time, we'd arrived, her arm had completely healed." She breathed in jerkily. "So when Dad collapsed, the first thing I thought was that I could fix him." Her shoulders began to shake, and a sob escaped her. "I was holding onto his arm, hoping, just hoping, that I would make something happen. But in the end, the only thing that happened was that he went still." She wiped her eyes. "It wasn't until then I even thought of calling an ambulance."
Lena hesitantly placed a hand on Erin's shoulder. "I don't think that really makes it your fault," she said quietly.
Erin stared up at her with tearful eyes, shaking her head. "Even if they couldn't have arrived in time, they might have been able to tell me how to help him over the phone."
"Did you ever ask?" inquired Lena. "When you found out the cause of death, did you ask if there was something that you could have done to prevent it? Whether anyone could?"
Hanging her head, Erin replied so quietly that Lena almost missed it. "I couldn't. I just couldn't ask, because if I did..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence; Lena understood.
She removed her hand from Erin's shoulder and looked down at the upset girl, unsure of how to proceed. Clearly, Erin was still grieving her father. But grief wasn't an emotion that Lena was particularly experienced in feeling. Abandonment, resentment, loneliness – yes. But not grief.
"Have you spoken to anyone else about all of this?" asked Lena. "Your family, friends, a teacher?"
"I can't," answered Erin. "I'm just – just – just scared." A fresh wave of tears began to roll down her face.
"But you just told me," pointed out Lena.
"It's d-d-different with you," sobbed Erin. "I thought you w-would underst-t-tand, because you j-just have this, this k-kind of – of sadness."
'Wow, thanks,' thought Lena, feeling a little miffed. Erin must have noticed the slightly affronted look that had crossed Lena's face, because she suddenly looked embarrassed.
"I didn't mean you always look sad," said Erin quickly. "Just that, well, you sort of give off this, this – vibe – that you've, um, been through a lot."
Lena put her hands on her hips. "Oh, so now I look old as well as sad?" she said with mock indignation.
It was enough to finally get a smile out of Erin again. "Sorry."
She waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine," she said, smiling wryly. "I think I get what you're trying to say." She became serious again. "But to be honest with you, I can't really understand what you're going through. I don't think I can even imagine it."
This seemed to surprise Erin. "You can't imagine it? Losing one of your parents?"
Lena pursed her lips, not sure how to respond. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, "I take it no one's told you, then."
"Told me what?"
"Erin, both my parents are serving life sentences in Azkaban, the Wizarding prison."
The small girl's jaw actually dropped. "Your parents are in jail?"
"They have been for twelve years."
Erin blinked several times, before tentatively asking, "Do... do you miss them?"
"I really don't."
Lena's blunt response seemed to take Erin aback. "Oh." She swallowed. "Did they do something... really bad?"
"They did a lot of very bad things," replied Lena flatly. "But the only thing they were actually charged with was torturing a witch and wizard into insanity."
"Oh."
"So, do you get why it's a little difficult for me to imagine grieving for a parent?"
Erin nodded slowly. "It makes a little more sense now, yeah." She looked up at the sky. The sun had risen. Morning had broken. "Shall we go back inside now?" she asked.
But her conversation with Erin had sparked a sudden desire in Lena. "You head in," she told Erin. "I'm going to stay out here a bit longer."
"Oh, okay." Erin made to leave, but paused. "Thank you," she said, "for, you know, listening."
Lena smiled. "No problem." But as Erin began to walk away, she called out, "Erin?"
"Yes?"
"Talk to your friends about it," advised Lena. "When you're ready, of course."
She watched Erin make her way back to the castle for a little longer, then turned around and set off towards the Forbidden Forest.
Talking about her parents had brought all kinds of thoughts and memories to the forefront of Lena's mind.
"Could you teach me to hurt her back? Like, properly hurt her?"
"I could teach you to kill her, if you like."
"Really?"
"Really. Oh, believe me, Lena – I understand what it's like to want to rid yourself of a parent."
Yes, Lena had imagined losing a parent. But in a very different way to what Erin had meant.
Reaching the edge of the Forest, Lena wondered how she would react if she received news that either of her parents had died while in Azkaban. She assumed her feeling towards Rodolphus' death would be much the same as she remembered his own towards her – indifference. But if Bellatrix died, Lena was genuinely unsure of whether she would be happy that she was gone, or angry that she didn't get to be the one who'd done it.
After a couple of minutes of traversing through the Forest, she arrived at her intended destination. It was a small clearing, and at present, empty of anyone except Lena.
That soon changed, as something else entered the clearing.
A Thestral.
Professor Kettleburn had taken Lena's Care of Magical Creatures class here for one of their final lessons the previous school year – a lesson that hadn't exactly worked the way Kettleburn had planned, as Lena was the only in the class who was actually able to see Thestrals.
The Thestral noticed the human intruder and came to a stop, staring at Lena.
Slowly, Lena approached the creature, stretching out her hand. The Thestral eyed her warily, but didn't move a muscle. When she was about five feet away from it, she came to a halt, but left her hand outstretched. After a few seconds, the Thestral edged towards her. It sniffed her hand curiously. At the same time, Lena noticed another four Thestrals standing around the edge of the clearing, watching her interaction with their kin.
Once the first Thestral was done inspecting her hand, Lena backed away to the edge of the clearing, and the other four Thestrals joined the first. Leaning against a tree, Lena watched the creatures intermingle with each other. They didn't seemed bothered by her presence.
Lena had liked Thestrals ever since she'd first seen them pulling the carriages from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Station at the end of her First Year. There was a certain beauty to them, she found. Not just in their unusual appearance, but their nature – that nature which caused them to be misunderstood by so many people. And now, it was not only the misconceptions about them that were making Lena feel a connection, but also their close relationship to death.
If Bellatrix or Rodolphus were to die today, Lena doubted there was anyone who would truly miss them – even each other. Nobody would be devastated by it, not in the way that Erin had been devastated by her father's death.
But what if Lena died today? Or tomorrow? Or any time in the next few months? Sure, anyone could die at any time, but for Lena, it was more than just chance, a potential consequence of external forces that were out of her control. She knew for a fact her death was impending, and there was a very real possibility it could happen before the end of the year. And if that were to happen, would there be anyone to miss her? Were there loved ones who would be inconsolable if she shuffled off this mortal coil?
She struggled to see Valeriya being devastated over her passing – particularly when her aunt knew that Lena had brought her untimely death upon herself by messing with something that Valeriya had told her to leave alone. So what about Maggie and Rolf? Or Harry? Was she close enough to any of them that they would grieve her passing?
A pang shot through Lena at the thought that nobody would mourn her, that nobody would feel that raw pain she had seen on Erin's face when she spoke of her father.
'On the other hand,' thought Lena, 'surely it's better that way.' Wouldn't it be kinder to leave behind no mourners? Wasn't it selfish to actually want people to miss her, to want them to feel pain?
Everything now happening to Lena was her own fault. She was paying the price for her own stupidity, and feeling sorry for herself was childish and weak.
'But,' thought Lena, 'so much easier than accepting responsibility.'
Lena stayed with the Thestrals for nearly an hour before heading back to the castle. She had a Transfiguration essay to finish for her privates lessons with Dumbledore. She went to her dorm to pick up her stuff before going to the library.
Opening her dormitory door, she saw that Maggie was sitting on her bed, flicking through her Herbology textbook. Upon seeing Lena, her expression became very serious.
"Lena," she said, "we need to talk."
Lena halted, and looked at Maggie warily. "About what?"
Maggie closed her book and put it on the bedside table. Then she looked back at Lena. "About the fact you've been avoiding Rolf and me for the last two weeks." She crossed her arms. "We get that sometimes you need space. I respect that. But ever since you told us that Dumbledore's taking you for Transfiguration and Charms, you've completely cut yourself off from both of us. I thought that a week would be enough time for you to either get over it, or feel ready to tell us what's happened. But it's been two weeks now, and you haven't given any sign that things are going to go back to normal. So, we need to talk," she finished.
This was the moment, Lena realised. She was standing on the brink, being faced with a choice. To tell Maggie everything: she was dying, she couldn't use magic, she did truly care about Maggie and was so grateful to have her as a friend. Or to keep it all shut up inside her, and tell Maggie to mind her own business. It was the moment to decide: did she pull her in, or push her away?
'It's between being nice,' Lena realised, 'or being kind.' And when she put it like that, she knew what she had to do.
Lena walked over to the trunk that lay at the end of her bed. Her bag was sitting on the lid. She started rifling through it, to check everything she needed for the Transfiguration essay was in there.
"You know," she said, affecting a bored tone, "we never used to need to talk." Certain everything she required was in the bag, she swung it over her shoulder and faced Maggie. "Especially about ourselves. That was actually one of the main reasons I let you hang around me."
Maggie's eyes flashed with anger. "Excuse me?" She stood up. "You let me?"
Lena shrugged. "Yes. It was that, but also because what better way to show the rest of Slytherin that I didn't need them? That I didn't need their approval."
Maggie stared at her, disbelieving. "Oh, so your decision to associate with me was just some political manoeuvre? A– I don't know – a power move?"
"Essentially."
Maggie shook her head. "I don't believe you. I don't fucking believe you."
"Whatever." Lena turned to leave.
"And Rolf?" Maggie called out. "Was that some... show of strength too?"
Lena turned back to Maggie. "Partly," she said unconcernedly. "But also the connection he could provide me to Newt."
Maggie was staring at Lena like she'd never seen her before. "What is wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me?" Lena laughed mirthlessly. "Nothing's wrong with me, Maggie. But Merlin, have you gotten weak over these last few years."
"Weak?" retorted Maggie. "What, because I'm actually able to express emotion now? That's not being weak, that's called opening up, and it's what normal people do!"
As soon as Maggie said 'normal people', Lena felt that angry and contemptuous part of her burst out.
"What is it," she snarled, "about being normal that makes people so desperate to be it? Normal is what people want to be when they know they can't be important."
Maggie looked bewildered. "Lena, just what the fuck has happened?" she cried. "You're acting like, like–"
"I'm acting like myself," said Lena coldly. "You see, that's what happened – I decided to stop pretending that I was someone else."
"And you think this is your real self?" asked Maggie angrily. "This bitter and spiteful bitch?"
Lena stared at Maggie for a moment. Then she gave her a twisted smile. "Tell me, Maggie – what do you think happened to Lenora Travers?"
Clearly, Maggie hadn't expected her to say that. "What?"
Lena took a step towards her. "Do you believe the official report, that she messed around with potions and accidently poisoned herself, or do you believe the rumours, and think I'm to blame? Because you–" she pointed at Maggie, "–never asked me. So, either you were naive enough to wholeheartedly believe that I would never do such a thing. Or you did suspect I was behind it, and were either too much of a coward to confront me over it, or you just didn't care if I attacked people with Dark magic – which really wouldn't say much for your moral compass." She spread her hands in an I-don't-know gesture. "Which one is it, Maggie? Naive, coward, or uncaring?"
Maggie looked sick. "Get out," she said, her voice hoarse.
"Gladly," sneered Lena. She turned around, then half-looked back over her shoulder. "So, a coward, then."
Almost at the door, Lena heard Maggie hurriedly reaching for something on her bedside table. Quickly, she spun around.
Maggie was pointing her wand directly at Lena.
Inwardly, Lena panicked. For the first time – the first time of her entire life – she was going to have to bluff.
She spread her arms out wide. "Go on, then," she dared Maggie. "Try it. Start a fight, and let's see how well you come out of it."
For ten seconds, neither of them moved. Then Maggie brought her wand down and turned around, Lena catching a glimpse of a tear beginning to roll down the other girl's cheek.
Lena spun around and pulled the door open. She exited the dorm, letting the door slam shut behind her with a bang.
Instead of going directly to the library, Lena first went to the girls' bathroom on the ground-floor, which to her relief was empty.
She pushed open one of the cubicle doors, dropped her bag on the floor, and threw up into the toilet.
Her chest heaving, she braced herself against the sides of the cubicle. 'You did the right thing,' she told herself. 'It would have been selfish of you to let her in, to get closer.'
She threw up again.
Lena closed her eyes. She could tell herself she'd done the right thing as much as she liked. But she still couldn't get the image of that tear rolling down Maggie's face out of her mind.