Friday 10 February, 1978:
"What do you mean you don't have the map?" screeched Sirius.
Peter squirmed. "Filch confiscated everything in my pockets," he said in a small voice.
They were in their dormitory. Peter was standing opposite Sirius and James, fidgeting uncomfortably under their angry glares. Remus was sitting on his bed. He'd been trying to finish off a Transfiguration essay before they headed to dinner. It now lay forgotten beside him, his attention completely held by the fact that Peter had just lost the Marauders their most valuable asset.
"But the map just looked like a blank piece of parchment, right?" said James. He narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you hadn't left the map on."
"Of course not," snapped Peter. "I'm not an idiot."
"You just got caught walking around the dungeons with pockets full of dungbombs," Sirius pointed out, "because you forgot where the entrance to the Slytherin common room is – despite the fact we've only been there about a hundred times!"
"Not to mention you actually had the map with you," Remus chimed in.
"Exactly," agreed Sirius. "So yeah, the question of your level of intelligence does have to be raised."
"That's not fair," whined Peter, "I didn't have the cloak!"
"You shouldn't have needed it," said James, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "In fact, you shouldn't have tried to pull the prank at all without talking to us first."
"Yeah," said Sirius, "you're supposed to leave the planning to us." He indicated to Remus, James and himself.
"Now we're going to have to break into Filch's office to get it back," said James irritably.
"That's if he hasn't already thrown it out," said Remus. "I mean, if it just looks like a blank piece of parchment to him, I don't see why he'd keep it."
Saturday 12 February, 1994:
But Filch had kept the Marauder's Map, and astoundingly, after sixteen years, it had found its way back into the hands of one of its creators.
Remus stared at the map. After he and Sirius had searched Filch's office for it all those years ago and hadn't found it, he'd assumed it had been destroyed, and that he would never see what was perhaps their finest creation ever again. But here it was, and he had found it in the possession of James' son.
Now, he wished he'd asked Harry how exactly he'd come to have the map. At the time, he'd been so angry that Harry had been sneaking out of the castle when a murderer was actively searching for him that he hadn't cared. But now, he was wondering not only how the boy had got it, but for how long he'd had it. Was it simply a coincidence? Clearly, Harry had been unaware of his connection to the map's makers.
He looked down at the spot on the map marked 'DADA teacher's office' and traced his own name, which was written in the centre. Then he noticed that another name was quickly approaching his office.
'Lena Lestrange'.
Remus swallowed, suddenly feeling very nervous. He hadn't seen her since he'd overheard the end of her conversation with Gemma Farley the previous Wednesday night.
When she'd said she was in love with him.
He'd be lying if he didn't admit he was flattered. Lena was unquestionably brilliant – a once-in-a-generation mind. Yes, she was a little... well, very screwed up. On the other hand, she had one of the least antagonistic attitudes towards werewolves that he'd ever encountered. And Remus was so accustomed to his own ill appearance that her own wasn't at all off-putting – to be truthful, he found her quite attractive. Beautiful, even.
He was drawn to her. That much he knew for certain. But in love? He'd have to be either a fool or a glutton for punishment. She was a dying woman. And even if the IHO did find a cure in time, surely loving her would still only end in heartbreak. She was too volatile. If one gave her their heart, there was no knowing what she'd do with it. And he could hardly see Lena ever truly giving her own to anyone else.
'In fact,' he thought, 'she probably only thinks she's in love with me. If she wasn't sick, the thought would have never crossed her mind.'
Yes, Lena was just confused. The last five months were the first time she'd ever been without magic, and compounded with her illness, undoubtedly she was unsure of her own future for the first time in her life. And since Remus had been doing his best to comfort her during all of this, she had mistaken her affection for him – their closeness – as love.
Remus glanced down at the map. Lena was in the classroom, about to climb the stairs.
'Yes,' he decided. 'She's just making a mistake. And I need to help her see it.'
"Mischief managed," he muttered, tapping the map with his wand. Just as the ink disappeared, the door opened.
"Hey," Lena greeted Lupin, closing the door behind her. "Sorry I haven't seen you since – when was it, Monday evening?"
"That sounds about right," said Lupin, folding up a piece of parchment and putting it away in one of his desk drawers.
"Wow, almost a week," said Lena, flopping down into the chair opposite him. "It's just I've been working on this essay about reflections for Dumbledore, and there's basically nothing in the library on the subject, so I've been writing to all these people I know through Valeriya to see if they've got anything useful, and–" She paused. Lupin was staring down at his desk, and Lena got the sense he wasn't really listening. "Erm, is something wrong?" she asked.
Lupin's head snapped up. "What?"
Lena sat up properly, frowning. He was looking at her with a very odd expression, one that she couldn't quite read. Which was unusual, because she generally had a pretty good idea of what Lupin was feeling.
"Is something wrong?" she repeated.
Lupin's eyes flicked down again. "No, no," he said quickly. "Not really."
'Okay, I'm definitely getting some weird vibes,' thought Lena.
"Well," continued Lupin, glancing back up at her, "there's sort of something. But not wrong, per se." He definitely looked uncomfortable.
Lena folded her arms. "Then what is the something?"
"It's just..." He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "It's just something that's, er, concerning me. A little." He sighed, then leant forward on his elbows, finally looking her directly in the eye. "I just want to firstly say, Lena, that I really do appreciate your openness with me over these last few months. I know it's not something that comes naturally to you, so I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to share so much with me."
"Erm, right," said Lena uncertainly. "You're welcome."
Lupin nodded. "And I really enjoy our discussions. But – well, I am concerned that we've, er... you see, certain things have – how shall I put this – er, have come to... what I mean to say is, I think we might need to, er, perhaps take a step back." He took a deep breath. "From each other."
Lena stared at him. "You know," she said after a short pause, "it kind of sounds like you're breaking up with me. Which is odd, because as far as I'm aware, we're not a couple."
A bark of nervous laughter burst out of Lupin. "Ha! Yes, well..."
Lena was completely at a loss. Why was Lupin acting so flustered? And just what the hell was he talking about?
"I feel like I'm missing something," she said.
Lupin cleared his throat. "Ahem. What I'm trying to say, Lena," he said, looking at her earnestly, "is that I'm worried you've got the wrong impression."
"Impression of what?" asked Lena exasperatedly.
"Your feelings," said Lupin. "Towards me."
"My feelings?"
Lupin nodded. "More than platonic feelings."
Lena incredulously stared at the Defence teacher, momentarily speechless.
"Obviously," Lupin went on, "we've been spending a lot of time together over the past couple of months, and as I said before, I very much enjoy that time – so I suppose, in some part, that I am to blame for your, er, confusion for not setting out some appropriate boundaries–"
"Okay," said Lena, finally regaining her voice, "let's just hold on a damn second. What, in the name of all that is magical, are you talking about?"
Lupin looked at her with a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy. "Lena, on Wednesday evening, I happened to overhear part of your conversation with Gemma Farley," he said gently.
Lena's eyes widened. 'Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.'
"And well, of course it's very flattering," continued Lupin, clearly mistaking Lena's panicked expression for confirmation of her supposed romantic feelings towards him. "But you must understand that for so many reasons, this–" he motioned between Lena and himself, "– could never, er..." He appeared to be struggling for the right phrase.
When Gemma had suggested that Lena was in love with Lupin, she had thought it was the perfect excuse because nobody would get hurt. It had never occurred to her that Lupin might hear about her 'declaration of love'.
'Well, he shouldn't have been listening in on a private discussion,' thought Lena indignantly. And in any case, she didn't think he would be hurt when he found out she'd been lying – evidently, by the way he was trying to discourage her, he had no such feelings for Lena. So, she'd just tell him the truth – she only said she was in love with him to let Gemma down gently.
Of course, she wouldn't tell him that until after she'd had the opportunity to mess with him. Without magic, she was sorely in need of entertainment, so she wasn't going to miss this chance for some.
Lena stood up so suddenly her chair toppled backwards. "All right, yes!" she cried dramatically. "Yes, I love you!"
Remus' face paled, and he also quickly stood. "Lena, please–
"When I'm not with you, all I think about is you! When I sleep, I dream about you!" She was gazing at him adoringly.
This was not at all how he'd imagined this conversation going. "I'm sorry Lena, but–" She started moving around to his side of the desk, causing Remus to move backwards in the opposite direction, shaking his head frantically. "But you know I could never–"
"Never what?" asked Lena passionately. With Remus now standing on the other side of the desk, they had swapped their original positions. "Never love me? Never kiss me?"
"I'm a teacher," he protested, his voice unusually high as the image of himself locked in a passionate embrace with Lena flashed in his mind. "You're a student. This is entirely inappropriate!"
"Inappropriate?" scoffed Lena. "You think I give a damn about what's appropriate?" She smacked a hand down on his desk. "I'd let you have me on this desk right now, if you wanted."
"Lena!" yelped Remus, his face going bright red. There was another mental image he wasn't going to forget in a hurry.
She quickly moved around the desk, advancing on him once more. "It's been driving me insane, you know," she said breathily, locking eyes with him. "Being so close to you all these weeks. Close enough to touch you–"
Remus began retreating as quickly as he could.
"–Close enough to kiss you."
His back hit the wall, and Lena practically pounced upon him, her hands firmly gripping his shoulders.
'Oh dear lord,' thought Remus, as Lena angled her head up towards him, 'she's going to kiss me.'
Her body was so close to his that their chests were practically touching. Her eyes, so piercing in their icy colour, stared into his light green ones, and their lips were mere inches apart.
Remus should have still been protesting. He should have been pushing her away. But he wasn't.
'She's going to kiss me, and I want her to do it.' Not out of love, but a sort of morbid fascination. Just to know, for even a second, what it would be like to be loved by Lena Lestrange.
Her lips now less than an inch away, Remus closed his eyes. But instead of feeling her lips on his, he felt a light breath upon his right ear. Then Lena whispered something into it.
"But of course, we never could."
Remus' eyes flew open as Lena let go of his shoulders, and took a step back, an unmistakable smirk on her face.
Finally, he understood.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You absolute little shit," he growled.
Lena burst into laughter. "Your – face!" she choked out. "Oh, sweet mother of Merlin, you should have seen your face!"
"Hilarious," said Remus darkly, crossing his arms as he continued to glare at her.
"And your voice!" continued Lena between shrieks of laughter. "Bloody hell, when I said the thing about having me on your desk – I didn't realise your voice could go that high." She doubled over, her eyes wet with tears of mirth. "I thought for sure that was when you were finally going to catch on, but you just went with it!" This brought a wave of fresh peals of laughter.
"You're the worst," grumbled Remus, "you know that?"
Lena straightened, still grinning. "Serves you right for eavesdropping on a private conversation."
"You were in a corridor, it wasn't that private!"
"Are you telling me you only heard what you did as you were walking by?" asked Lena, quirking an eyebrow. "You didn't stop to listen to more?"
"My name got brought up," protested Remus. "What was I supposed to do? Don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. Anyway," he added, "if it wasn't the truth, why did you tell Farley that you did love me?"
"Because she asked me out," said Lena, shrugging. "And when she suggested that I said no because I was in love with you, that seemed like a decent excuse that wouldn't hurt her feelings."
"Farley asked you out?" said Remus, surprised.
"Yeah," said Lena, moving back to the desk and taking a seat on its edge. "Tuesday evening. She asked if I wanted to go with her to Hogsmeade today. I wasn't sure then if she meant as a date, but..." She smiled. "Well, she clarified that for me."
Remus looked at her in confusion as he walked over to her. "What do you mean?"
Lena traced her lips with a finger.
"She kissed you?" asked Remus in a slightly strangled voice.
"Yep," confirmed Lena. "And you know, I was so shocked at the time, but looking back on it, it wasn't half-bad." She bit her lip. "To be honest with you, if it wasn't for the illness, I'd probably have said yes."
"Oh," said Remus, trying to keep his voice light as he sat on the chair Lena usually took.
He wasn't jealous. It was a good thing that Lena wasn't in love with him – it made everything much simpler. But there was just something about the idea that she was interested in someone else that didn't sit right with him.
Lena was relieved when their conversation soon moved away from the topic of Gemma and on to the subject of the essay on which she'd been working. It had felt a little weird mentioning her kiss with Gemma to him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why.
On Wednesday evening, after Lena had told Gemma that she was right about her feelings towards Lupin, she had asked how she had known.
"Every time I mention him, or tell you about his lessons, your eyes... well, I know it's a cliché, but your eyes sort of light up," Gemma had said. "And sometimes during meals in the Great Hall, when I'm watching– oh, Merlin." She had broken off, sounding embarrassed. "This makes me sound like some kind of stalker." Then she had taken a deep breath. "Okay. In the Hall, often, I'll look at you. But you don't notice. Because you're nearly always looking at him."
Lena supposed she could see how Gemma had got the wrong idea. Because it was true: she did like to hear Gemma talking about what they did in Lupin's Defence classes, and she did frequently look at him when she ate in the Hall. But neither of those things were because she loved him. Liked him, yes. Cared about him, even. But she certainly wasn't in love with him.
Of course she enjoyed spending time with him – after all, he understood her better than practically anyone. And there was just something so inherently good about him, that to Lena – who was so used to people who were morally ambiguous at best, and unequivocally evil at worst – was so captivating, if not a little endearing too.
But from what Lena understood, to be in love with someone also required an element of passion, of desire. And yes, she thought Lupin was quite attractive – scars, grey hairs and all – but surely if she truly desired him, every time she looked at him she'd want to climb him like a tree.
Rather than just on the odd occasion she barged in on him when he'd only just woken up, his hair tousled, and wearing that white t-shirt...
Instead, she was generally content to just sit with him, talk with him, or even argue with him. So obviously, her feelings towards him weren't romantic in the slightest. And it was a good thing Lupin didn't harbour such passion for her either. His discomfort and utter fear when she had 'confessed' her love and pretended to attempt to kiss him had clearly shown that.
'Good,' thought Lena. 'The last thing I'd want to do is screw up this friendship too.'
Friday 25 February, 1994:
"Yet another fascinating and extremely well-written essay," said Dumbledore, handing her essay on the magical properties of reflections back to Lena. "I thoroughly enjoyed reading it."
"Thank you," murmured Lena, scanning the essay for the headmaster's scribbled comments. There were only a few, but they were all very positive.
"I'm curious to know," said Dumbledore, "if you ever considered a career as an Unspeakable?"
Lena glanced up from the essay, slightly frowning. "No," she told him, "I've never given any thought to working for the Ministry."
"A pity," said Dumbledore mildly. "I would have thought working in the Department of Mysteries would be very much aligned with your interests."
"The work they do, yes," said Lena, turning her gaze back to the essay. "Not so much who they're working for."
Dumbledore made a small "Hmm" noise, but said nothing else, allowing Lena to finish reading his feedback. When she had she put it back down on his desk, she cleared her throat. There was a topic she was rather hoping to finally discuss today.
"Sir," began Lena, "when we talked the first morning back, and I told you about the mark's growth, you said something about the connection between a body and a soul – that it was a longer conversation for another time. Could that time perhaps be our lesson now?"
"I can't see why not," replied Dumbledore, although he looked a little surprised. "May I ask why the sudden renewed interest?"
"Well, I've actually been wanting to ask you about it for a couple of weeks," said Lena. "Ever since I read the case about Ásbjörn Ólafursson." She motioned to the essay.
"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, nodding. "The wizard who accidently separated his mind from his body trying to cross into the reflection dimension – a fascinating incident."
"It made me remember what you said," explained Lena. "And now we've finished covering the topic of reflections, I thought it was an appropriate time to have that discussion. Because I was wondering, is the mind a separate thing from the soul? What exactly is the relationship between all three things – body, mind and soul?"
"That is an immensely complex question," said Dumbledore, "and one, I am afraid, I am only going to complicate further by adding a fourth aspect: a wizard or witch's magic."
Lena checked her watch. "Well, I've got nearly an hour before I have to go Potions," she said. "Do you think that's enough time for me to get a good grasp on the basic principles of the matter?"
"I should think so."
After putting the essay away in her bag, Lena pulled out the notebook she used for her lessons with Dumbledore, a quill and some ink. Once she was prepared to write, she asked, "All right, where do we begin?"
"As I said, let us break down a wizard or witch into four key elements: their body, mind, soul, and magic. All four are intrinsically connected. Now, the soul exists within the body, but the only point where the two actually connect is the heart. The soul is attached to it by what is essentially a thread, which acts as a bridge between the two, allowing certain aspects of each to affect the other."
"Like the Orb's magic," muttered Lena, furiously scribbling down everything Dumbledore was saying.
"Exactly," confirmed Dumbledore. "The actual bond made between yourself and the Orb was through your soul, which then crossed that bridge into your heart, and subsequently the rest of your body. Now, when someone dies, that thread is snapped, allowing the soul to detach from the body, and either manifest itself as a ghost – which, of course, is only an option if one is a witch or wizard – or to move on to whatever comes next."
"So is the reason the option of becoming a ghost is only available to us and not Muggles or Squibs because of how our magic affects our souls?"
"Correct. Magic exits within our blood, so it is able to connect to the soul because–"
"–Because the heart pumps blood through our body," finished Lena. She paused in her writing. "But the body, our blood – those are physical forms of matter. What are souls and magic actually made out of?"
"They are not the exact same material, but they are both different forms of a kind of primordial energy," explained Dumbledore. "Like oil and water – different, but both liquids."
Lena nodded, jotting that down. "Okay. So how about the mind? What differentiates it from our soul?"
"The mind has the capacity to think, to grow and develop. A soul does not."
"Hang on," said Lena, looking up from her notebook and frowning. "What about a Horcrux? Wasn't Riddle's diary thinking for itself? It definitely, erm," she remembered standing so close to Riddle, touching his chest, "developed."
Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "The diary was not a typical Horcrux," he said. "It contained not only a piece of Voldemort's soul, but a great deal of his memories too. And memories are a creation of the mind, not the soul – although they do, for lack of a better word, bleed through into it."
Lena recalled what Harry had told her about actually going within the diary to see one of Riddle's memories. "It worked as a sort of Pensieve."
"An ingenious innovation of magic," admitted Dumbledore, nodding. "I believe that it was in fact those memories, rather than the piece of his soul, that managed to very nearly bring itself to a fully-formed living being. But even if a Horcrux is not also imbued with memories, it can still put up some kind of defence. This is because when a piece of the soul is ripped from the body, it also takes a very small bit of the mind and your magic with it."
"It has an effect on your body too, doesn't it?" said Lena thoughtfully. "Removing part of your soul changes the way you look."
Dumbledore eyed her curiously. "What makes you say that?"
Lena paused. Unlike Harry and Lupin, Dumbledore wasn't fully aware of her history with Voldemort. She knew she should probably tell him, but right now, she was more interested in the subject at hand.
"My parents were pretty high up in the Death Eater ranks," she eventually said, shrugging, "which meant Voldemort was frequently at our house. So I saw his face often enough to remember there was something not quite human about it."
There was a flicker of something across Dumbledore's face – perhaps concern, maybe suspicion – but it had gone by the time he replied, "Yes, I imagine the difference is probably imperceptible if only one Horcrux has been made. But a few more would certainly produce a marked change."
"So murder is one way to damage a soul," said Lena. "And Dementors – that's another way."
"A Dementor has the ability to snap the thread between the soul and body while the victim is still alive," affirmed Dumbledore.
"And it does that by sucking it out," said Lena, "and consuming it. That makes them stronger–" She stopped suddenly, freezing as a realisation struck her.
Dumbledore, noticing an epiphany had occurred, leant forward, looking at Lena with great interest. "What is–"
He was interrupted by the door to his office being violently flung open. Professor McGonagall was standing in the doorway, ashen-faced, and also looking slightly out of breath, as if she'd just ran up the stairs.
"Albus," she said, her voice slightly trembling, "you must come to the hospital wing right now."
Dumbledore stood up quickly. "What's happened?" he asked sharply.
Lena stood up too, quickly stuffing her notebook, quill and ink away in her bag. McGonagall seemed even more distressed than she had last Halloween when she'd burst in on her and Lupin in the courtyard to tell them that Sirius Black had attacked the portrait of the Fat Lady.
It was only at this point that McGonagall seemed to notice Lena's presence as well. Her expression became oddly pitying. "Miss Lestrange," she said, "I think you should come too."
Lena looked at her, surprised. For what reason could her presence possibly be required? As Head Girl?
"But what has happened, Minerva?" repeated Dumbledore urgently, quickly crossing over to McGonagall. Lena slung her bag over her shoulder, following closely behind.
"A student has been attacked," replied McGonagall, "with Dark magic."
Lena opened her mouth to inquire exactly just how Dark the magic used in the attack was, but was stopped by Dumbledore asking, "Which student is the victim?"
McGonagall's eyes lingered for a second on Lena, before she replied, "Maggie Skelton."
Lena only caught a brief glimpse of Maggie in the hospital wing before she had been whisked off to St. Mungo's. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at her and had wasted no time in contacting the healers there. But a glance had been enough for Lena to tell that Maggie had been hit by a Blood Boiling Curse – something that could potentially be fatal if under its influence for too long, and inflict serious, lasting damage after even just a short time.
When Maggie hadn't turned up to Defence Against the Dark Arts despite the fact the class was supposed to be sitting their first practice test for NEWTs, Lupin had sent Gemma and Kahn – after they volunteered – to go look for her. They had found her lying in one of the corridors in the dungeons. There had been several hexes and curses upon Maggie, so the two Prefects had reversed what they could immediately, then brought the still unconscious girl up to the hospital wing, running into McGonagall on the way.
"It's just sick," said Kahn, as he, Gemma and Lena left the hospital wing, heading to the Slytherin Dungeon. "Jinxes, I can tolerate. But a Blood Boiling Curse? That's just messed up."
"I hope Dumbledore expels whoever did it," said Gemma quietly, looking ill.
"Expelled? They'll be lucky if they can avoid a stay in Azkaban."
Lena said nothing. She hadn't really said anything since McGonagall had said who'd been attacked.
If Dumbledore had been paying a little more attention to Lena, he might have noticed the momentary anger and distress that flickered across Lena's face when McGonagall told them, and how quickly it had been replaced by an expressionless mask, an icy calmness in her eyes. And that probably would have concerned him, and he would have ensured that he kept in Lena in his sight until he had a chance to talk with her.
But he was firmly focused on Maggie and the attack upon her, so he'd allowed Lena to go with Gemma and Kahn back to the Slytherin Dungeon, to join the rest of their house.
In the wake of the attack, everyone had been sent back to their common rooms. No doubt they were under the impression that Sirius Black had ventured into the castle for the third time. Lena vaguely wondered if any of them would be more horrified when they discovered that a student – or more likely a group of them – were behind this attack.
As Lena had left the hospital wing, she had heard the headmaster and his deputy begin planning their investigation into finding who was behind it.
Maggie was a Muggle-born. Lena had a pretty good idea in which house they could start their search. And although the Blood Boiling Curse wasn't a particularly complex spell, it did require a great deal of confidence and force, and a certain awareness of the Dark Arts. Lena sincerely doubted anyone below NEWT level could have used it.
But the one thing Lena did know, without a trace of doubt, was that what had happened to Maggie was her fault. If she hadn't cut ties with her, nobody would have dared attack her.
Well, Lena was going to find out who did it, and they were going to pay for it.
And she didn't care what it cost her.
She gave Gemma and Kahn a side-long glance. They were both clearly appalled by what had happened to Maggie.
'Because they're decent people,' thought Lena. 'Maybe too decent to let me do what I need without trying to intervene.'
Just as they were about to descend the staircase to the dungeons, she had an idea. "I need you to go round up all the other Prefects," she told them. "I want to hold an emergency meeting about what's happened. I'll go get the others from Slytherin, and you two get everyone from the other houses. I'll see you in our usual meeting room in fifteen minutes."
Gemma and Kahn both looked surprised, but they nodded and turned around, presumably heading off to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, as that was the nearest.
"See you soon," Gemma called back.
Lena didn't reply. They wouldn't, but they didn't need to know that yet.
She quickly descended the stairs, and made her way to the stone wall that held the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
"Potentia," she said, and an opening appeared. She walked through the passageway to the common room. It appeared that almost the entire house was there, and the room was buzzing with their low conversations.
The noise, however, gradually died out as Lena slowly made her way across the room to the glass wall on the other side that looked out into the Great Lake, acutely aware of all the pairs of eyes turning to her.
Lena stopped directly in front of the glass, staring out at the dark, greenish water. Then she turned around to face her housemates, who were all watching her silently.
When she spoke, her voice wasn't loud, but it easily carried across the room. "Anyone not in Seventh Year is to go to their dormitories right now, and stay there until they've been called out."
Most of the students in the younger years hesitantly – with the exception of Tiffany and Eve, who immediately did as Lena asked – stood, as many confused faces looked around at each other.
"Why?" called out a loud, obnoxious voice. The source of it was Draco Malfoy, who was defiantly staring back at Lena.
She met his expression with an icy stare – the same she had used over two years ago when they'd first spoken, and he'd called Maggie a Mudblood.
"Don't ask," she replied coldly. "Just leave."
Evidently, her cousin remembered her expression and tone from that first conversation, because he gulped and nodded, quickly standing up. He hastily made his way to the dormitories, closely followed by his fellow Third Years. The rest of the house took this as their cue too, and soon the common room was empty, with the exception of Lena and her ten fellow Seventh Years. Some were looking at her nervously, while others appeared more blasé.
Lena allowed her bag to slide off her shoulder and fall to the floor beside her.
"I know," she said calmly, "that one of you attacked Maggie Skelton with a Blood Boiling Curse. I am also confident in the suspicion that more of you were involved, either as participants in the assault, or as bystanders. Now, if you were involved, I am going to give you two options. The first, which would be more beneficial to you, is to go to Dumbledore now and admit your guilt, as well as the names of everyone else who is responsible or complicit. Then you will accept whatever punishment he deems appropriate – which, in the case of whoever cast the Blood Boiling Curse, will almost certainly be expulsion."
"And why the fuck," interjected Tara Selwyn, "would anyone do that?"
Lena eyed the thin, blonde girl who was sitting in an armchair with distaste. She had rarely interacted with the girl since beginning their NEWT studies, as they shared so few classes. Now she was reminded of how much she had loathed the girl ever since First Year.
"Apart from it being the decent thing to do?" she said quietly.
Selwyn let out a nasty laugh. "Decent?" she said derisively, standing up. "The girl's a Mudblood – she doesn't deserve decency."
Before Lena could reply, another one of Selwyn's friends who she despised, Flavia Warrington, also stood, sneering.
"Why do you care anyway, Lestrange?" she asked. "Everyone knows you guys haven't been friends–" she pronounced the word with disgust, "–for months."
The rage building inside Lena was completely hidden by her expressionless face and voice. "So that makes it okay, does it?" she said flatly. "That makes her fair game?"
Warrington opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped by Selwyn smacking her arm.
"Don't say anything else, Flavia," Selwyn warned her, before turning her eyes, which glinted with malice, to Lena. "We don't answer to you, Lestrange," she drawled, taking a step forward. "You know, after you finally ditched the Mudblood, I thought maybe you'd finally come to your senses, actually taken some pride in your family name–"
"You see," interrupted Lena, "that's your problem, Selwyn." Her eyes swept across the rest of her housemates. "That's the problem with all morons who think blood purity actually matters." Her gaze snapped back to Selwyn. "You think pride is something to be inherited, rather than earned. You buy into this invention of blood status, because it's so much easier to demand respect than to work for it." Her lips curled in disgust. "You care about your bloodline because you can't be proud of anything else. Because you're worthless."
In a flash, Selwyn had drawn out her wand. But before she could even begin to cast a spell, Lena had raised her hand and Selwyn's wand flew out of her grasp. It zoomed through the air straight into Lena's hand, and she promptly snapped it in two.
A jolt of pain shot through Lena, but she ignored it. She knew without a doubt that it was only going to get worse.
Selwyn and her friends, the rest of whom – Dahlia Runcorn and Olivia Bulstrode – had also stood, gaped in horror at her broken wand.
"How dare you?" shrieked Warrington, pulling out her own wand.
"Don't be an idiot, Warrington," said Aloysius Burke, who was perched on the arm of a couch. "She'll just Disarm you and break it too." He looked at Lena with a mixture of interest and apprehension. "So what's the second option, then? You said there were two."
"That I deal with all of you myself," replied Lena.
"All of us?" exclaimed Thaddeus Accrington. "That's not fair, it wasn't any of us." He gestured to the five of them who took Defence Against the Dark Arts – himself, Burke, Flint, Terence Higgs and Nicole Bletchley.
"Yeah," said Higgs. "You can ask Gemma and Fakhir, all of us were pretty much together from breakfast to Defence."
"And none of us would use a Blood Boiling Curse," added Bletchley. "You told us last year that you could get sent to Azkaban for using it on someone – we wouldn't risk it."
"Whoever used it," said Accrington, "was one of them." He pointed at the other five Seventh Years – Selwyn, Warrington, Runcorn, Bulstrode and Merrick Murton.
"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" hissed Runcorn. "Are you seriously picking a Mudblood over us?"
Flint stood up, drawing everyone's gazes. There was a pause, before he grunted, "I'm with Lestrange."
Selwyn let out a small angry scream. "Argh! You're a bunch of Blood Traitors, all of–"
"Enough."
Everyone turned back to Lena. It was the first time she had properly raised her voice since entering the common room.
She threw down the broken pieces of Selwyn's wand onto the floor, then pointed at the members of the Defence class. "You lot, out," she ordered, flicking her hand in the direction of the staircases to the dormitories.
The five of them looked at each other, then silently walked over to the stairs and disappeared down them, leaving Lena alone with the other five.
"Would any of you," Lena asked quietly, "like to make a confession?"
They all stared back at her resentfully, but said nothing.
After an extended period of silence, Lena said, "Perhaps you are unfamiliar with what an admission of guilt is. Allow me to demonstrate: in my First Year, I used Dark magic to attack Lenora Travers, with such consequences that she remains in St. Mungo's to this very day."
Their eyes all widened, stunned. No doubt they had all suspected Lena was responsible, but to hear her confirm it was apparently a whole other thing.
Then Selwyn's lips curled into a sneer. "Well then, if you tell Dumbledore that you think any of us attacked Skelton, then we'll tell him what you just told us."
Lena arched an eyebrow. "But he already knows. I told him myself. And you know what he did? He made me Head Girl."
The other five Slytherins looked around at each other, their expressions varying levels of panic-stricken.
"No," continued Lena. "I was just informing you of the fact to provide you with some extra motivation in these last ten seconds I'm giving you to take the first option. Nine... eight... seven..."
Murton suddenly took off in a sprint towards the common room's entrance. Lena's hand shot out, and he was yanked back through the air, as if grabbed by an invisible hand. He landed on his back with a cry of pain.
"... Six..." continued Lena, as the pain inside of her body increased. Usually, it would be enough to make her double over, but now her calm fury allowed her to ignore it. None of it would matter in a few seconds anyway. "Five..."
As Murton struggled to his feet, he pulled his wand out of his pocket. Without hesitation, Lena made a gathering motion with her hands, and his wand, along with those of the three girls who still had theirs, flew out of their hands and into Lena's.
"Four," she said, dropping them too. "Three..."
"What are you going to do?" shrieked Runcorn angrily. "Use the Cruciatus Curse?"
"No," said Lena, pausing her countdown, "that's more my mother's style. I'd like to think I'm more creative than that. Two..."
"You're mental!" shouted Warrington.
Lena gave her a twisted smile. "Oh, you have no idea. One."
Then she clenched a fist, turned around, and punched the glass wall with all her strength – both physical, and magical.
It took one-and-a-half seconds for the cracks to spread the full length across the wall. The moment they reached the edges, all the glass shattered, and the water from the lake flooded the common room.
Remus was walking back from the hospital wing, after speaking to Dumbledore about the attack on Maggie Skelton, when he saw a group of nearly twenty students filing into a classroom.
"Hey," he called out, "what's going on here? Why aren't you all back in your common rooms?"
One of the students, Fakhir Kahn, turned around. "We have a Prefect meeting, sir," he said.
Remus frowned. "Organised by who?"
"By Lena," said Gemma Farley, coming out of the classroom. Her brow furrowed. "I'm surprised she isn't here yet."
When Dumbledore had told him that Skelton had been attacked, Remus' first thought had been of Lena. She hadn't talked to him about it much, but it was clear to Remus that since she'd found out about her illness, Lena had pushed away her friend. And whenever she mentioned Skelton or Rolf Scamander, he could see, even just for the briefest of moments, how much Lena missed her best friends. No doubt she'd taken the news of the attack badly – he wouldn't be surprised if she blamed herself.
"Where did you last see her?" he asked Farley and Kahn.
"At the staircase leading down to the dungeons," replied Kahn. "She said she was going to tell the Fifth and Sixth Year Prefects in our house that we had a meeting, and she'd see us up here. And that was over twenty minutes ago."
There was no way it should have taken Lena that long to tell the other Prefects, then make her way here. Something was wrong.
"How did she seem when you spoke to her?" asked Remus, trying to hide the urgency in his voice.
"You know, I thought she might be a bit angrier," said Kahn with a slight frown. "I guess she and Skelton really aren't friends anymore."
Remus went very still, as an inward panic started to take hold of him. "She wasn't angry?" he said anxiously.
"No," answered Farley. "To be honest, she seemed pretty unaffected by it."
Remus swore loudly, startling all the students. They stared at him, stunned a teacher would use such language. But at that moment, Remus couldn't care less what they thought of him.
"Stay here," he warned them.
Farley took a step forward. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Just stay here!"
Remus ran all the way down to the dungeons, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.
If Lena had felt the need to pretend she wasn't bothered by the attack on Skelton, that meant she didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions. Which meant she was planning on doing something that was most likely very dangerous – and not just to whichever idiots had decided to send a Blood Boiling Curse at her best friend, but to herself as well.
And those idiots were undoubtedly with her in the Slytherin common room right now.
Remus had just turned the corner into the corridor on which the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon could be found when the stone wall opened and Lena staggered out.
Black veins were running up her neck.
"You stupid girl!" Remus shouted, unable to contain himself. "What have you done?"
Lena looked at him, swaying on her feet. "What I had to," she whispered. Slowly, she raised her hands and held them in front of her face, staring at them. They were covered in black veins too.
"No," said Remus hoarsely, shaking his head as he quickly closed the distance between them. "No, you didn't–"
He was cut off by Lena violently coughing. Black liquid dripped out of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.
Just as Remus reached her, she met his gaze. "I had to," she repeated quietly. Then her eyes rolled up, and she toppled over, Remus only just managing to catch her before she hit the ground.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far, your words are very much appreciated. And if you have any thoughts on this chapter, I'd love to hear them :)