As always, welcome to any new readers, and thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story - and a special thank you to the reviewers who took the time to respond to the questions I asked in my AN at the end of the previous chapter. Your answers gave me some things to think about, which I really appreciate.

Monday 25 December, 1995:

The small, furry and prickly creature stretched out its tiny body as Lena gave its stomach a tickle. The knarl made a happy, squeaky sort of noise, and Lena grinned at Newt, who was watching her with a smile.

"He's adorable," she said, and gently turned the knarl on its side, revealing a long scar that had not yet fully healed. "How long until he's ready to go back out on his own?"

They were at the back of his house, in what Newt called his 'creature room', where he tended to the injured beasts that found their way to him. Further along the counter upon which the knarl was lying were a couple of bowtruckles in a large, open tank that Mortimer was cautiously greeting, and in a small pen on the opposite side was a young mooncalf with an eye-patch over its injured eye. A fwooper with burn marks was sat on a perch at the end of the room, and in the corner slept an old demiguise on a small mattress.

"I'm hoping that with another week of care he will have healed," answered Newt. "Harmony," he gestured towards the fwooper, "should be ready to leave a couple of weeks after that."

"And what about Magnus?" asked Lena, nodding at the slumbering demiguise.

Newt followed her gaze and sighed. "Poor Magnus," he murmured. "He's so old that I think it might just be kinder to let him live out the rest of his days here. Particularly with the recent rise in illegal demiguise hunting."

Lena clenched her hand that wasn't stroking the knarl. During her travels with Valeriya as a child, she had occasionally come across hunters of magical beasts, and despite how lacking in empathy she had been then, she had still felt an innate disgust with the hunters. There were very, very few occasions on which the creatures they hunted actually needed to be killed in order to collect whatever body part might be used as a potion ingredient or for any other purpose, so when one was slaughtered, it was usually just for sport. And in Lena's book, that was no better than cold-blooded murder – sometimes, even worse.

Now, on the rare occasion she bumped into such a person while she was working, she took great pleasure in sabotaging them however she could, and bringing them to the attention of local authorities if what they were doing was illegal.

"Newt! Lena!" came Tina's voice from outside the creature room. "Lunch is ready!"

Lena gave the knarl one last scratch, then followed Newt out – pausing momentarily to let Mortimer spring onto her arm and scurry up to sit on her shoulder – and into the dining room, where everybody else was already seated.

Rolf's parents were spending the day with his maternal grandparents, so it was just Newt, Tina, Rolf, Maggie, Oliver and Lena who were having Christmas lunch together. Remus had been invited, but he had elected to stay at Grimmauld Place, and join Harry, Hermione, Moody and the Weasleys in visiting Arthur in St. Mungo's.

"This smells incredible, Tina," said Lena, inspecting the heavily laden table as she sat down.

Tina returned the smile. "Thank you. I wouldn't say I have the natural talent my sister had when it comes to cooking, but when you've been alive for ninety-four years, you pick up a trick or two."

They pulled Christmas crackers before they ate. A top hat fell out of the one Lena pulled with Rolf. He picked it up off the ground, and offered it to her with a smirk.

"I think this one's for you, m'lady," he said.

Shrugging, Lena accepted the hat, and popped it on top of her head at a slight angle.

Oliver, who was sitting opposite her, gave Lena an impressed look. "I don't know how," he said, "but you're actually pulling that off." He glanced down at the tricorn hat in his hands. "But I don't think I'll be able to say the same for myself." He stuck the tricorn on his head.

Lena tilted her head to the side, studying him. "It's not completely awful," she said honestly.

"You're welcome to swap with me," Maggie chimed in, holding up the fez she had received from her own cracker.

Oliver eyed the proffered hat, then grinned at his girlfriend. "I'm good, thanks. But–" He quickly took the fez out of her hands and put it on her head. "There." He winked at Maggie, who glared at him. "Stunning."

Rolf, who now had some sort of fascinator stuck in his hair, held a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh at Maggie, who was decidedly not pulling off the fez. This didn't go unnoticed by Maggie, and a moment later Rolf let out a small yelp of pain. Lena could only assume that under the table, a foot had ferociously connected with a shin.

"All right, children," said Tina sternly, a red fedora upon her own head. "No squabbling, or I'll Vanish all this food before you've had a chance to take one mouthful."

There were muttered apologies from the young adults, inducing a chuckle out of Newt, whose head was clad in something large, woolly and indistinctly shaped. It could have been a beanie, or possibly a tea-cosy.

Fondly looking around at everyone, Lena picked up her goblet of mulled wine and raised it. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

Everybody else raised their glasses too, chorusing, "Merry Christmas!"

When Bill, Fred and George returned to Arthur's ward and told the others that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had never joined them in the tearoom, Remus set off to find the four teenagers, hoping they'd managed to stay out of trouble. He was quickly able to determine they weren't anywhere on the first floor, and so climbed the staircase to the second. After a brief search there, he concluded he would have to continue on the third. However, just as he reached the landing, he was greeted by the subjects of his search descending the stairs above him.

"There you are," he said, relieved. "Come on, Arthur wants to chat with all of you, now that he and Molly have, er, finished their discussion."

Upon seeing him, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had all stared at Remus for a moment, then very deliberately looked away – not as if they were ignoring him, but like they were unable to meet his eyes. Harry, on the other hand, looked at Remus, but his expression was both distracted and disconcerted.

Remus frowned. "Is everything all right?" he asked as they headed back down the staircase.

They all exchanged quick looks with each other, hesitating before answering.

"We, er, ran into someone on the fourth floor," said Ginny, sounding overly-cautious.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," said Hermione hurriedly. "In the long-term residents' ward. And obviously, it was a bit strange to see him, because–"

"Because it was kind of my fault he ended up here," Ron chimed in. "Well, I mean, not really, because the git was trying to wipe our memories, but it was my broken wand that he used..."

"Uh-huh, I see," said Remus, as Ron trailed off. The three of them were still studiously avoiding looking at him, and while he didn't think they were lying, he got the sense they were omitting something else, and that was why they were all acting so strangely. Meanwhile, Harry's gaze kept flicking over to Remus, but he didn't appear to want to say anything in front of the others.

So when they reached the corridor outside Arthur's ward, Remus slowed his pace to drop back a little further behind the others. Harry noticed this, and did the same so that when the other three rejoined everyone else in the ward, he could close the door behind them. Then he turned around to face Remus, who leant against the corridor wall and looked at Harry questioningly.

"We ran into the Longbottoms," said the boy simply.

Ah. "Do you just mean Neville and his grandmother, or–"

"His parents too. We saw them. They're in the same ward as Lockhart."

Remus' stomach churned. "Ron, Hermione, Ginny – they didn't know anything about it, did they?"

Harry shook his head. "But they do now, including the fact it was Lena's parents who tortured them. They know Lena hates her parents," he added quickly, seeing Remus opening his mouth to interject. "Still, it was a bit of a shock for them."

Well, that explained why they had acted so oddly when they'd seen him – after all, he was the man who loved the girl they'd just discovered was the daughter of the people who'd taken their friend's parents from him. Harry, however, had known all this, so that didn't explain his behaviour.

"Then what's bothering you?" Remus asked him.

Harry looked down at the floor. "Lockhart and the Longbottoms weren't the only ones in that ward," he said quietly. "The others didn't notice – they were too distracted with Neville's parents, and Lockhart trying to give us all autographs – but I caught a glimpse as one of the Healers went through the curtains."

Remus furrowed his brow. "A glimpse of what?"

"A woman, lying in one of the beds," replied Harry, looking back up at him. "Covered in black veins – just like the ones Lena had when she was ill."

Remus blanched. Lenora Travers – when Hermione had mentioned the long-term residents' ward, she hadn't even crossed his mind.

"That's the girl Lena was accused of attacking in her First Year, isn't it?" continued Harry. "I never put the two things together, back when I saw those veins on Lena's hands, but when I saw her lying there, I remembered what Percy told me years ago, the first time I ever asked anyone about Lena."

Ever since the revelation that Lena had killed her grandmother, Remus had barely given any thought to the Travers girl. Her situation had seemed... inconsequential. But now that the girl – or rather, young woman, as she would now had to have been in her mid-twenties – was in such close proximity to him, he felt a surge of guilt. Sure, according to Lena, Travers had been an unpleasant person and a blood purist, but her fate was still tragic for someone who had been barely more than a child.

"Remus."

Harry's voice snapped him back to the present, and Remus refocused his gaze on him. "Yes?"

"It wasn't just a rumour, was it? Lena truly is the reason that woman is the way she is now."

Chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, Remus carefully considered his reply. At last, he inquired, "How much has Lena told you about her illness?"

"Pretty much nothing," said Harry, "except for the fact she now manages it with daily injections." He tilted his head to the side. "Are you saying Lena didn't actually attack her? That it was more of a... an infection?"

Sighing, Remus rubbed his chin, and said, "I don't know if it's really my place to explain everything, Harry."

"Then will Lena tell me?" demanded Harry. "If I ask her?"

"I think she owes it to you," said Remus frankly. "Trust goes both ways, after all."

On New Year's Eve, the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place gathered in the drawing room to welcome the new year – apart from Mrs Weasley, who had gone to bed not long after dinner. She had permitted the teenagers to stay up until midnight, but had instructed Sirius, Remus and Lena that they were to be sent to bed after that. Harry suspected that Remus was the only one who would really enforce it – and even he would probably be quite flexible about the exact timing.

At the moment, the three adults weren't doing much supervising. Sirius was lying on his back on the floor, his eyes closed as he listened to a record Lena had given him for Christmas. Crookshanks was curled up on his chest. Remus was sitting in one of the armchairs with Lena, whose bottom was tucked between one of the chair's arms and his lap, her legs swung over him and feet propped up on the other arm. Their arms were around each other, their faces not far apart, and they were intently speaking to each other in soft murmurs that Harry couldn't hear – which was probably a good thing.

Not that the teenagers needed much supervision. Mrs Weasley had made it very clear that none of them were to touch a drop of alcohol, an order to which Sirius, Remus and Lena had acquiesced. Fred had jokingly asked Harry if he had any trosgynnol poppy seeds left over to share, so they could all "end the year on a high" – a quip he'd hastily retracted when his mother overheard and gave him the filthiest of looks. Now, at a quarter-past-eleven, they were sitting in a circle on the floor, playing cards. Hermione, sick of losing round after round of Exploding Snap, had introduced them all to the Muggle game of Cheat, at which Ginny was excelling. Harry, on the other hand, wasn't doing too well. His mind was preoccupied by his conversation with Lena on Christmas night, when she had finally told him the truth about her illness, and of a mysterious, dark, magical artefact called Hecate's Orb.

'... I want you to understand that I've done bad things, thought bad things. And there are some connections to... to who I was that are hard to break. Some things are just part of me, and I don't think I can ever be rid of them...'

That was what Lena had said to him, in the secret room in Hogwarts where they'd used to meet, after the events of the Chamber of Secrets. Now, Harry understood that she hadn't just been referring to her relationship with Voldemort.

'And that was before she knew she'd killed her grandmother,' thought Harry, his eyes darting over to Lena, who was laughing quietly at something Remus had said. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like, waking up every day with those memories. The guilt of asking Cedric to take the Triwizard Cup with him, and not being able to save him, had been unbearable enough.

In any case, he had no plans on discussing the whole revelation with Ron or Hermione anytime soon – they had only just gotten over the shock of finding out what Lena's parents had done to Neville's. Neither they nor Ginny – nor Fred and George, who Ginny had confided in – had approached the topic with Lena, and she hadn't made any effort to address it with them. Nonetheless, there had been some awkwardness for the days following Christmas, and even now Harry sensed there was some lingering discomfort. Of course, they all had known the Lestranges were Death Eaters, but that they had tortured their friend's parents was apparently something else.

The sound of George's voice cut through Harry's internal musings.

"You know, Hermione," he was saying, "I'm surprised you approve of a game about cheating. Doesn't seem very... on brand for you."

Hermione shrugged, shuffling the cards for the next round. "It's not really 'cheating' when it's literally the whole premise of the game," she pointed out. "It's within the rules."

There must have been a lull in Lena and Remus' conversation, because Lena overheard this and snorted in amusement, drawing the attention of all the teenagers.

"What?" asked Fred, raising an eyebrow.

Lena gave them all a small smile. "It's just an interesting little oxymoron," she said. "A game where cheating is part of the rules."

"It's also the way that some people approach life," added Remus wryly.

"What does that mean?" questioned Ginny, wrinkling her nose.

"A little remark about the way people can construct moral codes," replied Remus dismissively. "Nothing more."

Lena chimed in, "Don't let us disturb you from your game, I'm sure it's a much more enjoyable way to spend New Year's Eve than discussing the complexities of moral philosophy."

The others turned back to the game, but Harry continued to look at Lena. The memory of the two of them sitting on a Transfigured bench on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest was playing in his mind.

"Are we ever going to have that conversation?" he said finally.

Lena, who had begun whispering something to Remus, snapped her gaze back to him. "What conversation?"

He quoted her words from three years ago back to her. "Good and evil are very small words for very big ideas. That was your response when I asked you about what Voldemort said to me the night he tried to take the Philosopher's Stone."

Now, everybody's eyes were darting between him and Lena – even Sirius, who (to Crookshanks' annoyance) had rolled onto his side and was watching with a curious expression.

If Lena was surprised Harry had addressed the subject in front of everyone else rather than when they were alone, she hid it.

"Ah, yes," she said softly. "'There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it'."

"Voldemort said that to you?" Sirius asked Harry, frowning.

"And to me," said Lena, before Harry could reply. "When I was very young."

"You actually knew him?" said Ginny in a hushed voice, and it occurred to Harry how little his friends really knew Lena.

"Yes," said Lena shortly, her gaze fixed on Harry. She spoke to him. "You wanted to know if I agreed. Well, I don't."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Then why didn't you say that to me when I asked you three years ago?"

"I don't agree with the sentiment that people who choose not to seek greater power are weak. As for good and evil – I believe there are such things, but, as I said to you before, they are far more complicated ideas than they are often treated."

"Okay," said Harry. "Explain that to me."

She arched an eyebrow. "You really want to do this? Now?"

Ron nudged him. "Why are you asking Lena about this, of all people?" He glanced at Lena, and blushed slightly. "No offence."

"None taken," said Lena, smiling wryly. "Or at least, very little."

Hesitantly, Hermione began to speak. "I– I think it makes sense." She looked at Lena. "You've been exposed to more... more terrible people than probably anyone else here. You actually have, erm, some authority on the subject."

"I'd be interested to hear what you think," said George bluntly, lying down on his stomach, and Fred and Ginny nodded in agreement.

Lena looked around at all of them with a slightly surprised expression, then glanced at Remus. He shrugged slightly, as if to say, 'Why not?'

She sighed and stood up. "All right." She came over and joined them in their circle. "Let's start off with a little hypothetical scenario. Imagine there is a runaway train barrelling down the railway tracks, and there is no way of stopping it. Ahead, five people are tied to the tracks. You are too far away to rescue them, but you are standing next to a lever. If you pull it, the train will switch to a different set of tracks before it reaches them. However, tied down on the other set of tracks is another man. What do you do?"

There was a brief silence, which was then broken by Ron.

"You pull the lever," he said, sounding a little uncertain. "Right? It's better to save five people than just one."

"What if that one man has just discovered a cure to a disease that could save thousands of lives, and if he dies, that cure is lost?"

Ron blinked a few times. "Well, er... then you save him."

"What if he's just an ordinary man, but the other five are all serial killers who may murder again if they live?"

Struggle was written across Ron's face. "Then you... you... you– look, you just make whatever choice will save the most people! You, you have to do whatever's the best thing for the greatest number of people, that's the right thing to do!"

"Congratulations, Ron," said Lena with a dry smile. "You're a utilitarian."

"He's a what?" asked Fred curiously.

"He believes in Utilitarianism," explained Lena. "It's consequentialist ethics, sometimes summed up as the greatest happiness for the greatest number – or, to put it more concisely, to act in the name of the 'greater good'."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Hermione, and everyone looked at her.

"That was Grindelwald's motto," she said in a hushed voice.

"Yes," said Lena nonchalantly, "he was also a utilitarian."

"But he killed lots of people," said Ron. "I was talking about saving as many people as possible."

"You see," said Lena, "that's the thing about consequentialism – goodness doesn't depend on the actual act of something, but whatever the final result of the action is. So, if the reason you're killing someone is because in the end it will help more people, it's fine. Which is exactly what you would be doing if you pulled the lever, and diverted the train to the other tracks: you are now, in part, responsible for that death."

"But how was what Grindelwald was doing acting in the 'greater good'?" asked George. "Wasn't he just trying to subjugate Muggles and make himself some kind of wizard dictator?"

"Do you know how Grindelwald first gained power?" inquired Lena. "Other than his being an extraordinarily talented wizard and, by all accounts, an exceptionally charismatic orator."

"World War One," answered Hermione immediately.

"Correct. The largest war the world had ever seen, with more than sixteen million casualties, a scale of destruction that was hitherto unknown to humanity. Grindelwald argued that it showed Muggles were incapable of ruling peacefully, and that wizards need to be in power, for the safety of the world. And to many wizards and witches who had just watched this senseless war play out, and feared that the Muggles' resolution to it had actually sowed the seeds for another war of at least equal devastation, Grindelwald's ideas didn't sound crazy at all."

"So, basically what you're saying," said Fred, "is that this unit– ulit–"

"Utilitarian," supplied Lena.

"Yeah, that. It basically means 'the ends justify the means', right?"

Lena nodded. "Or at least, in some branches of it. Utilitarianism encompasses several different schools of thought, but they are all based on consequences, as opposed to deontology."

"And what's that?" asked Ginny.

"Well," began Lena, "let's go back to that runaway train, work under the assumption that you know nothing about any of the people tied to the tracks, and say you choose not to pull the lever. A deontologist might justify their inaction by saying they have an ethical code which forbids them from killing under any circumstance, even to save someone else's life. To them, their goodness depends on an established set of rules."

"Rules that they make up?" asked George.

Lena shrugged. "Sometimes. Or it could be believing that as long as something is legal, it's not immoral. Or your rules could be your divine commandments, if you follow a particular faith. It's not really about who makes the rules, it's the fact they are a constructed moral code."

"It's a more rigid philosophy, then," said Hermione thoughtfully. "While consequentialism is more... flexible."

"That really depends on the individual," interjected Lena drily. "After all, as a very clever Muggle once wrote, 'the Devil can cite scripture for his purpose'."

Ron frowned. "It's beginning to sound like you really don't believe that there is 'good' and 'evil'," he said suspiciously.

Lena arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm not a nihilist – someone," she elaborated, upon seeing his blank expression, "who believes there is no such thing as morality, and that life is without meaning or purpose."

Harry, who despite staying silent during the discussion so far but had been listening carefully, finally spoke up. "Then what is it you believe? In your own personal opinion, what makes something morally good or bad?"

As Lena started twisting her hair around her finger – which Harry knew meant she was carefully considering her answer – he glanced behind her at where Remus was still sitting in the armchair, and tried to gage his reaction. However, Remus appeared wrapped up in his own thoughts, staring at the floor while he nursed a nearly empty tumbler of Firewhisky. Harry looked over at Sirius. His godfather was still lying on his side, watching their conversation with interest, but apparently unwilling to contribute.

At last, Lena let go of her hair, and said, "All right. I think that, for the most part, people aren't inherently evil. They care about people. They have flaws. They try to do what they believe is right. The issue is less about what lies in their hearts, but the ideas to which they are introduced."

"So... it's not people but ideas which are evil?" said Ginny slowly.

Lena bit her lip. "Welllll..." She took a deep breath. "Okay, let's try this."

She held out her right hand so the palm was flat and facing upwards. She closed the hand for a moment, then opened it again. But this time, it wasn't empty. In the centre was what looked like a small, grey egg. Surprised, all the teenagers moved closer to see it more clearly.

"This," announced Lena, "is an Idea. Someone has had a new thought. It has not been acted upon. No one has yet looked for evidence to support it. It is simply an idea. Now, the more this person thinks about it, the more they like this idea. But let's say there are no definitive facts to confirm that this idea is true, or correct. Neither is there any evidence to unequivocally disprove it. Nonetheless, the person still thinks it is a beautiful idea, and so: they believe in it."

The moment she said 'believe', a crack formed around the middle of the egg. A second later, the top half of the eggshell broke off, revealing that something was inside the egg. It was transparent, silvery and wispy, shaped in a way that vaguely resembled a bird. Hermione and Ginny gasped, and Ron muttered under his breath, "Blimey". Although Harry said nothing, he was still impressed – he knew it was just a magical illusion, but it looked so real.

As the wispy creature sluggishly made its way out of the shell, Lena continued, "Now, the idea is a Belief. It is delicate, shaped–" the creature shuddered, and formed small wings, "–but malleable. It is not truly dangerous, but sometimes quite alluring." The creature flapped its new wings and began to fly around in a small circle in front of Lena. "It can be attacked by many things." She raised one of her hands above the creature and flourished her fingers. At once, tiny lightning bolts rained down on it. "Opposing beliefs. Changes of circumstance. Those who would try to turn it into a weapon."

Somehow, the little winged creature just managed to avoid each bolt as it continued flying in its circle.

Lena went on. "But as long as this person wants to hold on to the belief, it has an impenetrable protection: that the person understands the nature of it. They know it is just that, a belief; nothing more, nothing less. And if that's forgotten, if the person starts thinking that their belief is an indisputable truth–"

Suddenly, she snatched the creature out of the air, enclosing it with a fist and startling everyone else.

"The idea that became a belief," said Lena quietly, staring down at her fist, "has now become one of the most dangerous things in the world: a Delusion."

With that, she opened her hand again. Harry and the others all recoiled, moving back to their original positions. The creature was no longer pretty and silver. It was now spindly, black and opaque, dripping with some kind of dark sludge. It was almost skeletal, the head still bird-like, but the body and legs – there were now six, rather than two – were like a horrible hybrid of a spider and a lizard.

"Entire wars can be built on delusions," Lena told them. "That people are inferior, dangerous, bad because they look different, live somewhere else, pray to a different god – or no god at all." She looked up at Hermione. "A delusion like a Muggle-born being less of a witch or wizard, and that a Pureblood–" she gestured vaguely around the room, "–is somehow more. A delusion can make the most well-intentioned of people do monstrous things." She turned her gaze to Harry. "You want to know what I think is unquestionably evil? A person who knowingly and purposefully turns other peoples' beliefs into delusions."

She said it so calmly, but there so much pain in her eyes that Harry knew exactly who she was talking about.

"But even then," he mused, "they could be manipulating those people because they truly think it's the right thing to do." He wasn't trying to comfort Lena; he was just trying to understand how Voldemort thought.

Lena half-smiled. "That's true. But of course, just because thinking something is right doesn't make it so." She closed her hand again, vanishing the little monster. "And that brings us to what things are unquestionably good. Let's go back to ideas." She opened her hand and once more an egg sat in her palm. "Imagine the person was able to determine whether the idea was correct or not. If it's the latter, then the idea is – in keeping with this visual metaphor – empty, and they can get rid of it. But if it is unequivocally correct, then what we have is an absolute truth."

Again, the egg hatched. But this time, the creature that flew out was gold and its shape clearly defined. It reminded Harry of a phoenix, although much smaller and without the scarlet plumage.

"An absolute truth," said Lena softly, her eyes following the bird as it soared around the drawing room, "can be the most important and powerful thing in the world."

"You mean like facts?" said Hermione.

"Yes, but not only that." Lena's eyes flicked to Harry. "Your mother's love for you wasn't just a belief, or even a feeling. It was her absolute truth – that she would do anything to protect to you."

Harry's stomach twisted, and he stared down at his lap. "Yeah," he muttered. "Too bad Voldemort ruined her sacrifice last summer when he used my blood in his resurrection."

For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Remus spoke, and his voice was sharp. "I would think that you more than anyone would understand that Lily's sacrifice was more than just a physical shield from Voldemort."

The chastisement in his tone initially made Harry want to argue, but he paused, thinking about Remus' words. "Sorry," he said instead. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful."

Remus' expression softened. "I didn't think you were," he replied gently. "I just wanted you to remember that it's about more than just fighting."

Their attentions were both drawn to Lena as she held up a hand, and the gold bird flew to it and appeared to melt into her palm, disappearing. A silence settled over the drawing room, everyone seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

Then it was broken by the sound of a needle being lowered onto a record, and everyone looked at Sirius. Harry hadn't noticed the previous record finishing; he didn't think anyone had, they'd all been so engaged in the discussion. As the slow strums of a guitar began, Sirius turned around from the record player to look at all of them.

"All right," he said, "enough talking for tonight. It's New Year's Eve, for Merlin's sake."

On the record, a voice began to sing.

'If you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there,
She once was a true love of mine.'

Sirius, meanwhile, had walked over to Hermione. "You're up first," he told her.

"What?" squeaked Hermione, looking alarmed as Sirius pulled her to her feet.

"To dance," said Sirius simply, leading her over to an empty space in the room.

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. "Oh, I don't think so–"

But Sirius ignored her protestations, taking one of her hands and placing it on his shoulder, then putting his own on her waist. "It's not a waltz," he instructed. "It's just trying to move in time to music, and still enjoying yourself even if you look ridiculous."

With these words of wisdom imparted, he began to guide her around the room, occasionally spinning her gently. Gradually, Hermione became less stiff, moving more freely and smiling.

Lena glanced behind her at Remus. But instead of asking him to dance, she turned back to Harry and offered her hand. "Shall we?" she said.

Harry blinked in surprise, but replied, "Sure." Taking her hand, they both stood up and assumed the same position that Hermione and Sirius had. A moment later, George and Ginny did the same, as everyone else stood up too.

It wasn't like the Yule Ball, everybody trying to follow the same steps, too focused on counting in their heads to even think about enjoying the dance. It was a fusion of styles, at least half of which Harry thought Fred and George had just made up on the spot. Everybody kept changing partners, showing off their solo moves, and laughing. They kept going, song after song.

None of them noticed the clock striking midnight, or the distant sound of fireworks exploding into the sky.

The students returned to Hogwarts one week later. Lena was pleased with the progress Harry had made in his Occlumency lessons during the holidays. Nevertheless, she was still anxious about what could happen if Voldemort made a concentrated attack on Harry's mind sometime during the school-term. She just hoped he would be sensible and let someone – either a friend or one of the Order members at Hogwarts – know as soon as he sensed an unwelcome presence in his mind.

It was on the second night of 12 Grimmauld Place once again being only Sirius, Remus and Lena's residence that news arrived. At half-past-one in the morning, Lena was lying in bed, reading, as a tired Remus slept next to her. However, she soon became aware of noise and movement downstairs, which was proceeded by a knock on their door. Before she could get up to open it, Sirius stuck his head through.

"Lena, Remus," he called, waking up the latter, "emergency Order meeting. Now."

Lena and a bleary-eyed Remus exchanged a look, but quickly got up. They didn't bother to change out of their pyjamas, but put on jumpers over the top, grabbed their wands and hurried downstairs. Gathered in the kitchen with Sirius were Moody, Kingsley, Emmeline, Hestia, Tonks and Bill. From their worried expressions, Lena could tell it was bad news. Really bad.

"Well, I think this is everyone who's coming," announced Moody. "Apart from Dumbledore, who'll be here soon, after he's found out all he can from his contact."

"What's happened?" asked Remus, frowning.

"Mass breakout," replied Moody shortly. "At Azkaban. Ten convicted Death Eaters." His magical eye flicked to Lena, whose heart temporarily stopped.

"Who?" said Remus quietly. He put his hand on Lena's shoulder, and a moment later her heartbeat restarted, the sound filling her ears.

"Rookwood, Dolohov..." his normal eye also fell upon Lena, "... your parents and uncle Rabastan, Travers..."

He listed four more names, but Lena didn't properly hear them. Both her body and mind felt completely paralysed.

She heard Sirius' voice as though he were a great distance away. "I'm guessing they didn't manage it on their own," he was saying.

Kingsley nodded. "I think it's safe to assume that You-Know-Who was responsible for their escape."

Lena's immobility was broken by a violent shudder. 'He couldn't have,' said a small, childish voice inside her mind. 'He wouldn't.'

Her lungs started to hurt, as though they weren't getting enough air. She took a desperate, ragged breath, and staggered a few steps over to the table to prop herself up against it.

Remus followed her over. "I'm so sorry, Lena," he murmured to her, stroking her back as she continued to gasp for air.

"She's out," Lena managed to choke out. "She's– free."

"I know," said Remus softly. "But I promise you, she will never get the chance to hurt you again. I won't let that happen."

But Lena barely heard his words. "How could he?" she whispered, staring down at her trembling hands that were grasping the table. "How could he, when he knows... he knows! He– I– it's so... so... fuck!" A strangled whimper escaped her as she shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake the very thought from her mind.

Suddenly, Remus' hands tightened around her shoulders and yanked her so that she was facing him. His expression no longer held comfort and concern, but a glare.

"Please tell me," he said through gritted teeth, his voice low so that none of the other Order members who were watching them could properly hear what he was saying, "that the reason you are upset is that your mother escaped, and not because Voldemort was the one that helped her."

Lena shook herself free of his grasp and snarled, "You don't understand. You couldn't understand."

"This is not the time for a lovers' quarrel," said Moody loudly. "We need to–"

But Remus didn't appear to care about they needed, because he completely ignored Moody.

"You're right," he said to Lena. "I don't. And I have tried so hard, but it's impossible. I get that what he did for you when you were young was important, but now that you know exactly what he is, and still feel–" He spread his hands helplessly, "–what is it, jealousy?"

Rage and pain were writhing, tearing, boiling inside Lena, and it was becoming more and more difficult to hold them in. Without making a conscious decision, she snatched up one of the kitchen chairs and threw it over the table and into the wall.

"That's enough!" roared Moody. "You need to calm yourself down, Lestrange–"

"Do not," hissed Lena, her fists clenched, "tell me what to do."

"Look, Lena," began Bill, trying to sound reassuring, "we understand how difficult this must be for you right now, but–"

"Actually, Bill–" Remus interrupted, "we don't understand, because even Lena doesn't understand what she's feeling right now, which is why she's now doing what she always does when things get too difficult – throwing a tantrum."

Lena slammed her fist against the table. "Why are you being like this?" she yelled at him.

"Because ten people who have hurt and killed countless others have just broken out of Azkaban," Remus shouted back, "and you're taking it as a personal slight from Voldemort!"

Her head starting to throb painfully, Lena gripped its sides. "He knows better than anyone what she did to me," she said hoarsely. "He would never–"

Remus let out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. Bellatrix was his right hand, of course he wants her back by his side." He shook his head despairingly. "I love you, Lena, but fucking hell – you need to grow up."

She could feel the whirling inside of her spinning more and more out of control, and knew she had to get out of there before it all exploded. Barely holding in a howl of pain, she ran out of the kitchen, pushing past the other stunned Order members. As she ascended the stairs as quickly as she could, she heard Remus calling her name, followed by him beginning to pursue her. Reaching the top, she tried to call back to him to leave her alone, but the words came out an indecipherable, mangled mess. She started for the main staircase, but before she could set a foot on the bottom step, Remus caught up to her.

"Lena," he said, trying to take her by the elbow, "I'm sorry for yelling at you in front of the others, but–"

Ducking out of his reach, her voice cracked as she said, "Just leave me alone, Remus, I don't want to talk."

But Remus shook his head, stepping in front of her so that she couldn't get to the stairs. "I know you want space, but I don't think it's a good idea to leave you on your own right now, I don't think it's safe–"

"No, I want to be alone!"

"Please, Lena–"

"STOP IT!" she screamed, and the curtain covering Walburga's portrait flew open.

"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS AND BLOOD TRAITORS, BEFOULING MY HOME WITH THEIR IMPURE WAYS!" screeched Sirius' mother. "BEGONE FROM THIS NOBLE HOUSE, ENEMIES OF THIS HONOURABLE FAMILY!"

"SHUT UP!" Lena bellowed at the portrait. "JUST SHUT UP, YOU MISERABLE BITCH!"

The painted woman's eyes fell upon Lena and narrowed. "Ungrateful whelp!" Walburga shrieked. "Whore of a beast! An undeserving burden upon your poor, good mother–"

It might have been the worst possible insult to throw at Lena at that moment in time.

A primal scream erupted from her, and in one fluid movement, she pulled her wand out of her jumper sleeve and forcefully swung it at Walburga's portrait.

"Have you ever seen her lose control?"

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever witnessed Lestrange truly lose control of her temper? Because I have. And believe me, Lupin – hearing about it is not the same thing as seeing it with your own eyes."

Remus felt as though his heart was in his mouth as he watched blue fire pour out of Lena's wand. It hit the painting, and its subject screamed. But for the first time, it was not a sound of anger, but of total agony.

The canvas – that had remained untouched throughout six months of desperate attempts to remove and destroy it – began to burn. It blackened and shrivelled as Walburga writhed and howled. The sound – combined with Lena's unrelenting enraged scream – brought Sirius and Tonks running up from the kitchen, but Remus didn't see their shocked expressions, unable to tear his eyes away from the woman he loved.

She continued to point her wand at the portrait with a firm grip, but her arm was violently shaking. Her face was contorted by her screaming, her wide-open eyes glaring at the painting. Unlike the prior occasions during which Remus had seen her angry, they were not icy, but full of such intense, white-hot fury that one might have thought it was them, and not her wand, that was burning Walburga. And while Remus did not possess the extraordinary skill of wizards and witches who could feel the magic of others, at this moment he could almost see Lena's magic trying to burst out of her, practically making her skin glow.

But the most frightening thing about it all was that the complete lack of black veins spreading across her body meant that this had nothing to do with Hecate's Orb – this was all Lena.

Barely audible over Lena and Walburga, another anguished voice joined the fray: Kreacher, drawn out of wherever he'd been scrounging around that night by the cries of his beloved mistress. Upon seeing what Lena was doing to the portrait, he howled furiously and threw himself at her. Without taking her eyes off Walburga, Lena swung her other arm out and backhanded Kreacher in the face before he could touch her, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground.

Woozily, the house-elf shook his head and tried to stand up to attempt another attack on Lena, but Sirius yelled, "No, Kreacher!", and he froze, his bloodshot eyes staring at Lena with pure hatred as she continued to destroy the painting that had been his only company for ten years.

At last, Lena's scream faded out and she finally lowered her wand. Everything went silent as the portrait suddenly disintegrated into ash, until the noiselessness was broken by Kreacher beginning to sob. As Sirius ordered the desolate house-elf to go back to his den, Lena slowly turned her face back to Remus', her chest heaving. Once she was looking at him, he involuntarily flinched.

There was no other word for her expression but monstrous. Gone were anger and pain, replaced by something more akin to what he imagined his face looked like during a full moon. An irrepressible want – no, need – to hurt, to break, to destroy.

Letting out a vicious snarl, she shoved him out of her way and ran up the staircase. He watched her go, momentarily too stunned to follow. Then he glanced back at Tonks and Sirius. The former looked terrified, while his best friend wore a very worried expression.

"Remus," he started to say, a warning in his voice, but Remus didn't stay to listen, running up the steps, taking two at a time. He knew before he'd reached the landing, from the sound of something smashing, that Lena had gone into the drawing room. She had left the door open, and Remus paused to take in a deep breath before he entered. As he went in, she was picking up the spindle-legged table with wandless magic, and she threw it at one of the tapestry-covered walls. Upon impact, it shattered into splinters, joining glass fragments from the cabinet door she had already broken on the floor.

Remus swallowed. "Lena," he began, his voice hoarse, and her head snapped towards him.

"I told you," she hissed, "to leave me alone."

He slowly shook his head and took a cautious step forward. "I really don't think I should do that."

"Get out."

"No," replied Remus, more confidently than he felt. A second later, a small crystal bottle went flying past him about three feet to his right and smashed on the floor. Pale blue liquid seeped out, staining the carpet, and a sharp odour filled Remus' nose.

"I SAID, GET OUT!"

"Or what?" snapped Remus, some of his earlier anger beginning to return. "You'll keep throwing the contents of that cabinet at me until you run out of things?"

Lena threw her head back and shrieked, the sound sending a chill down Remus' spine. After a few seconds, she shaped the horrible sound into words.

"JUST FUCK OFF! FUCK! OFF!"

"I am not leaving you," Remus shouted back, "when you are such a danger to yourself!"

Lena screamed in frustration, and a wide, metre-long crack appeared in the floor of the centre of the room.

"I AM A DANGER TO YOU!" she yelled at him. "I AM A DANGER TO EVERYONE! SO WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME?!"

Gesticulating wildly, Remus roared, "I AM NEVER – GOING – TO DO –THAT!"

"WHY?!"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!"

There was a brief silence, during which a shaking Remus hoped he had finally got through to her.

Then Lena doubled over, crying out as if in agony. Remus started towards her, then stopped as she straightened, spun around and punched the wall with a howl of rage. Immediately more cracks began to spread through the floor, the ceiling and the walls. The shards of everything she had broken rose into the air and began to whirl around like a tornado. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees.

"LENA!"

Both she and Remus turned around to face the doorway, where Dumbledore stood, his eyes fixed on Lena.

Remus blinked a few times. He had never heard the old wizard shout like that – not out of anger, but... desperation.

He looked back at Lena, who was staring at Dumbledore with an indecipherable expression. All the fragments and splinters had frozen in mid-air. Then she shuddered, and everything dropped to the ground. Covering her face with her hands, she slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor.

Immediately, Remus started towards her, but was stopped by Dumbledore putting a firm hand on his shoulder. He raised his wand, and wordlessly repaired all the cracks throughout the room that Lena had made. As the last one was sealed, Remus tried to step forward again, but found himself held back.

He looked at Dumbledore angrily. "Let go, I need to–"

"What you need to do," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice low but firm, "is go back downstairs to the kitchen and rejoin the meeting."

"No!" protested Remus. "My priority is Lena–"

"And there is nothing you can do for her at this time," said Dumbledore simply. He glanced over at the young woman, who was still hiding her face as she shivered. "Go downstairs, and I will speak with Lena." Remus opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore cut him off. "That was not a request, Remus."

Remus gazed at Lena longingly. He just wanted to go over to her and–

Well, he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to do. Hold her? Comfort her? Chastise her some more for getting upset that Voldemort had done something she perceived as unkind to her?

He sighed, frustrated. "Fine," he told Dumbledore tersely. "I'll do as I'm told."

He strode out of the room, but couldn't help pausing for a moment at the doorway to watch Dumbledore approach Lena, who finally looked up.

Tears were streaming down her face.

Remus quickly left and headed back to the impromptu Order meeting downstairs, pausing at the top of the steps to make his own angry dent in the wall.

In case you're wondering, the song they're dancing to on New Year's Eve is 'Girl From the North Country' by Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash.