Tuesday 9 January, 1996:
"I just d-didn't think he would g-go get her back," sobbed Lena. "He t-told me didn't actually like her, th-that she was just... useful. I never thought he w-w-would go to such, such effort for her."
"I know," murmured Dumbledore, stroking her hair.
"He, he protected me from her," Lena choked out, and another wave of tears rolled down her face and into Dumbledore's lap, upon which her head lay. "It just... hurts."
"Yes," said Dumbledore quietly. "Yes, I expect it does."
Lena turned her face up to him. He was staring straight ahead, his expression grave.
She sniffed. "It's wrong of me to feel like this, isn't it?" she whispered.
He glanced down at her. "I don't believe it is particularly useful to think of feelings as wrong or right in such complex circumstances as these," he replied. "They simply... are."
Closing her eyes, Lena said softly, "He wouldn't have done it if I had gone to see him when he asked last summer."
She felt Dumbledore pause in his stroking of her hair. After a short silence, he said, "If you had agreed to work with Voldemort, I doubt he would have felt the need for anyone else. And I suspect there is little the Order of the Phoenix could do to stop the two of you."
Lena opened her eyes. "I could have been a double agent, like Snape. Maybe I would have been more useful that way."
"You have done plenty for the Order," Dumbledore firmly told her. "It would have been far too dangerous if you had pretended to be with him. Harry couldn't have known the truth because of the connection, and it would have devastated him to think that you had betrayed him."
"Isn't this still a betrayal?" said Lena miserably. "To still feel this way about Voldemort?" She shook her head slightly. "The rest of the Order aren't going to trust me, not after what they just witnessed."
"Perhaps not," said Dumbledore. "But at the end of the day, what matters is that I do."
It was like a small ray of light in a sky of dark clouds. "Thank you," she whispered.
Dumbledore gave her a small smile, and patted her shoulder. "However," he continued, his expression becoming solemn again, "given that you are somewhat... emotionally compromised... I would suggest that you spend some time out of the thick of the action."
Frowning, Lena sat up, wiping her wet face with the back of her hand. "You mean leave Britain for a while?"
"It is not an order," he said slowly. "But I do think it would not be beneficial for either you or the Order to continue as if nothing has changed. There will, of course, be work for you on the continent as always."
Lena considered this for a moment. "Okay," she agreed eventually. "I'll leave tomorrow – that is to say, later this morning."
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well." He paused. "If you should like Remus to go with you, I suppose the Order might be able to manage without him for a short time – although it would make things more difficult."
"No," said Lena, after a slight hesitation. "He should stay here, there's so much more to do now that Voldemort has ten more Death Eaters."
"Then it is settled."
Lena gazed at the old wizard. It was strange to think that just three years ago, they had never even spoken.
"When you first came in here and saw me... having my breakdown," she said carefully, "the look on your face – I would have said you were afraid."
Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but the way his blue eyes looked into hers was unnerving. "I was," he replied simply.
Lena cocked her head. "Why?"
"Because it reminded me of the worst day of my life."
Lena's breath caught in her throat. There was such bitterness, such heartache in his voice–
"I will tell you about it one day," he went on. "But now, I must go downstairs and rejoin the meeting." He patted her knee and gave her a fatherly smile. "You should go back to bed. I know you don't feel it now, but you will be exhausted after everything that has happened tonight."
He rose to his feet, and Lena hastily copied him. He started towards the door, but Lena reached an arm out, saying, "Wait."
He stopped, looking at her curiously.
Lena swallowed, then stepped closer to him. She went up on her tiptoes and lightly kissed his wrinkled cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered again. "I mean it, really."
He look slightly surprised by the gesture, but inclined his head. He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then said, "I may never be on the same side as Lord Voldemort or forgive him for what he has done. But I will never begrudge you for the fact that when you had nothing else, he was kind to you."
It was after ten o'clock when Remus finally woke up, although it was still dark, as the bedroom didn't have a window. About to turn over and see if Lena was there, the events of the previous night – or rather, early morning – came flooding back, and he stifled a groan.
She had been sleeping by the time he'd gotten back to bed, which was just as well, as he still hadn't had a clue of what he wanted to say her. Now was no different. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and turned over to look at the rest of the bed.
It was empty.
He sighed in relief, sitting up. That gave him some time to think.
Getting up, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the lamp hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room. He went over to the wardrobe and opened it. Looking inside, he frowned. It was unusually spacious.
He shook his head slightly, trying to wake himself up a little more. He was missing something else...
Lena's suitcase. It was gone.
About to race downstairs, he stopped when after one more wild glance around the room, he noticed a small piece of parchment on the floor. It looked like it must have fallen off the bed when he was getting up.
He snatched up the parchment. The message on it was brief.
Remus,
After speaking with Dumbledore, I've decided to go abroad for a little while to clear my head. I'll be staying with Hedda. Please stay safe.
I love you.
Lena
He slumped back down on the bed, tightly gripping the note as he stared at it.
'Oh, Remus,' he thought despairingly, 'just what the fuck have you done?'
Saturday 13 January, 1996:
For the hundredth time in the last hour, Lena closely examined the contents of the bronze-framed mirror she held in her hands. Her pale face with its dark shadows under the eyes stared back at her, but Lena ignored it. She was focused on the small gold thing in the top left corner, partly because she couldn't make out what it was, but also for the fact that it was a reflection of something that was not actually there.
Hedda had shown the mirror to Lena last night after they'd finished eating dinner. She had purchased it in an antique shop a few weeks ago, intrigued by whatever it was that had been hidden in the mirror. Unsuccessful at retrieving the golden thing, she'd asked Lena if she would like to try. Lena had eagerly accepted the challenge, and had taken the mirror back to the small bedroom in which she was sleeping. She had stayed up all night trying to uncover the mirror's secrets, but was yet to make any real progress. She had left the bedroom a little over an hour ago to grab a bite of breakfast, then had immediately returned to continue her experimentation. She hadn't moved from her bed since then.
The spare bedroom in Hedda's house – which was located in the Norwegian Wizarding village of Freyjerhavn – was only slightly larger than Lena's old one in the Knockturn Alley flat. The bed was on one side, and a wooden wardrobe on the other. Mortimer was currently sat upon the top of the wardrobe, playing a game by himself which involved throwing a mothball into a cup.
Lena picked up her wand and, vaguely hopeful, used it to draw a rune that looked roughly like an eye on the glass surface.
Nothing happened.
She sighed, dropping her wand and grabbing a pencil from beside her. She looked down at a piece of paper covered in her scrawled handwriting, and drew a line through the symbol she had just tried. Underneath were another twenty or so she hadn't yet attempted.
As she put the pencil back down, there was a knock on her door.
"Lena," came Hedda's voice, "you have a visitor."
Lena looked up, confused. A visitor? "Okay," she called out uncertainly.
The door opened to reveal Hedda standing with Valeriya.
Lena's eyes widened. She had not seen Valeriya since last summer, when her aunt had emphatically told her she would not be joining in the fight against Voldemort.
Valeriya nodded at Hedda, who flashed Lena a small smile before walking off. Valeriya closed the door behind her.
"I'd ask 'how are you'," said Valeriya quietly, leaning against the door, "but I suspect the more useful question is, 'how bad is it?'"
Lena shrugged. "I'm better than I was when I first heard the news," she answered truthfully. "But yeah, I'm still feeling pretty shit."
Valeriya nodded, moving closer to sit on the foot of the bed. "Did you break a lot of things?" she asked mildly.
"Yep," said Lena. "Including a portrait of Walburga Black. Burnt it to a crisp."
Valeriya snorted. "Well, I can't see that as a negative."
Lena half-smiled. She put the mirror behind her and inched a little closer to her aunt. "So, why are you here?"
The older woman raised an eyebrow. "You think I need an ulterior motive to come see how you're doing now that your parents are out of Azkaban?"
"Well, if you want to check up on me, you usually just send a note," Lena pointed out.
"I thought this occasion called for a more personal touch."
Lena spread her arms. "Why?" she said. "You knew I wouldn't be fine, but that I'd be dealing with it. So what do you think your presence has to add?"
"Because it's what people do when they care about someone who's having a rough time," Valeriya replied tersely. "They visit, and let them know there's someone to talk to, if they want."
"I have talked to someone," retorted Lena. "Dumbledore."
Valeriya stared at her for a moment, then carelessly looked around the room. "I see." She added under her breath, "Typical."
"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Lena, folding her arms.
Valeriya looked back at her. "When you were ill," she said, "you went to him. When Voldemort returned and sent you a message, you went to him. When anything goes wrong now, he's your first port of call."
"Oh, I wonder why that is?" asked Lena sarcastically. "Maybe because he's a genius who has never shown me anything but kindness and respect?"
"Which puts you," countered Valeriya, "in a perfect position for him to manipulate."
Uncrossing her arms, Lena narrowed her eyes at her aunt. "Are you calling me naive? Because if so, I suggest you leave."
"I am asking you to consider what your best interests are," Valeriya shot back, and Lena could tell she was having difficulty restraining from raising her voice, "and if he has them at heart. But fine," she stood up, "if I'm not wanted, I'll go." She walked over to the door, pausing when her hand was on the handle. She said quietly, "I just don't want you getting yourself killed."
"I appreciate that," Lena responded stiffly.
Valeriya sighed and opened the door. But before she walked through, she asked one more question. "Where's Remus?"
"Back in London."
Valeriya gave her a patronising look. "Did you have a fight?"
"There was a disagreement," admitted Lena, irritated, "but the reason he didn't come was because the Order needs him there."
"Did you hurt him?"
"No!" said Lena vehemently. She glared at her aunt. "Why would you even think that?"
"Because I find your relationship unhealthy," replied Valeriya matter-of-factly. "I think you have become completely co-dependent, and would refuse to separate from him even if staying together was detrimental to either him or yourself."
Lena got to her feet, her fists curled by her sides. "And what the fuck," she spat, "would you know about loving someone?"
Valeriya's jaw clenched, and Lena wondered for a moment if her aunt was going to draw her wand. But all Valeriya said, in a quiet voice, was, "Nothing, I suppose." And she left, shutting the door behind her with a bang.
Lena threw herself back down on the bed, anger still coursing through her veins. The problem was her ire wasn't really for Valeriya. It was for herself.
Because what Valeriya had said was exactly what had distressed her so much when Remus had yelled he was never going to leave her.
What if the next time they argued she did hurt him? She had purposefully missed when she'd thrown things in his direction in the drawing room, but what if there came a time she was so desperate to be left alone she did intentionally hit him?
Her hands covered her mouth, worried that she might scream in frustration. Just as she thought she couldn't hold it in any longer, the feeling of something climbing up her leg proved the necessary distraction.
It was Mortimer, having come down from the wardrobe, and squeaking at Lena in concern. She sighed and sat up, picking up the Bowtruckle as she did so.
"Oh, Mortimer," she murmured. "I thought I'd become less of a mess over these last couple of years, but I'm starting to suspect I'm even more fucked up than before."
Sunday 4 February, 1996:
A quiet rustling sound woke Remus up. His hand fumbled around for his wand on the bedside table. Finding it, he lit the lamp and looked around the room blearily, searching for the source of the rustling and hoping it wasn't Kreacher sneaking around.
At last, after taking in the time – 8:42am – from his wristwatch, Remus' eyes fell upon Lena's bedside table. Standing there was Mortimer, fussing around with his bedding. Remus stared uncomprehendingly at the Bowtruckle for a few seconds, then scrambled out of bed.
Sitting next to the wardrobe was Lena's suitcase.
Not bothering to change out of his pyjamas, Remus barrelled downstairs. He quickly checked the drawing room, but she wasn't there, so he continued down to the kitchen, nearly tripping down the steps in his haste. And there, standing at the counter and fixing herself a cup of tea, was Lena. At Remus' noisy entrance, she glanced over her shoulder at him.
Remus stopped in his tracks, staring at her. Silence filled the room, until he broke it.
"You're back," he said unnecessarily.
"Of course," Lena replied casually, pouring the boiling water into her mug. "It's a full moon tonight." Finished with the kettle, she put it down and turned around to properly face him. She was wearing a dark green woollen dress that stopped just above her knees, and black boots that just reached them. Her lipstick was dark pink, and her hair was in a loose plait. A pair of gloves had been discarded on the table, and her long, black overcoat had been hung over the back of a chair.
Remus thought she looked tired, but absolutely beautiful.
He swallowed, his throat dry. "I didn't know if you would be." He ran a hand through his hair. "Back, I mean."
Lena folded her arms. "You thought I would leave you alone during a full moon just because we had a quarrel?" She sounded slightly offended.
"It seemed like a bit more than a 'quarrel'," said Remus, frowning.
"A fight, then," Lena amended dismissively. "In any case – did you really think I was abandoning you?"
"I didn't know what to think!" cried Remus. "I woke up, and you had just left–" He stopped abruptly, then sighed, rubbing his face. The last thing he wanted to do was have another argument. "Doesn't matter," he said quietly. "I'm just... happy you're home."
Lena's expression softened and she uncrossed her arms, walking over to him. Reaching Remus, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He was surprised for a moment, then returned the embrace with equal warmth.
After a little while, Remus slightly relinquished his hold, but didn't step away. Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.
"I'm so–"
She didn't let him finish. "Don't say sorry," she told him firmly, but not moving her forehead from his, "because I'm not going to either. That was the only way I could react at the time, and you had every right to be angry. I don't expect you to always understand the way I'm feeling, Remus. That wouldn't be fair. I just..." she hesitated, before finishing, "I need you."
Opening his eyes, Remus drew back so he could look at her. Holding her face between his hands, he whispered, "You have me. You always will, no matter what."
He kissed her, trying to put anything he hadn't said into the action. He felt her grip on his hips tighten, and her lips began moving against his with something akin to desperation.
Craving more, Remus moved forward, pushing Lena back until they hit the table. As soon as they did, Remus dropped his hands to her thighs and lifted her up onto the table. Lena made a surprised noise and pulled her head back.
She arched an eyebrow. "Are you actually suggesting–"
"Yes," breathed Remus, trying to recapture her lips as his hands started pushing her dress up.
"People eat from this table," Lena scolded him, half-disapproving and half-amused. "We have meetings around it."
"No one has to know," muttered Remus, and started to kiss the nape of her neck.
"Sirius could – ugh – come in at any moment," she tried to protest, her head lolling back as his lips climbed higher to her jaw.
"He hasn't been getting up until after ten," murmured Remus, still hiking her dress up. "It'll be fine."
Letting out a groan, Lena hooked her legs around Remus. "You," she mumbled, "are positively wicked."
Remus chuckled against her cheek. "I'll take that as a compliment," he whispered as his hands continued to explore, searching... Ah, there they were. "Now, help me get these damn tights off."
As soon as Moony had finished transforming, he bounded over to Lena, who was sitting with her back against the wall, and excitedly licked her face. She appreciated the enthusiasm, but she did prefer Remus' kisses – not that she would ever tell Moony that.
The more full moons they spent together, the better Moony understood Lena, and the better she learned to read his expressions and vocalisations. Now, they could practically hold an entire conversation.
And as Moony stopped his licking and instead started sniffing her, she could tell from the tension in his body that he was not pleased with the lingering scent he was picking up.
'Probably should have had a shower after that last shag before coming down here,' Lena realised.
Moony, meanwhile, backed up a little and turned away from her, releasing an unhappy growl.
'I can smell him all over you.'
Lena held back a sigh. "Of course you can. He's..." she searched for the right word, "well, he's my man."
'Why?' He turned his head back to her, his lips curled in a snarl. 'He's so weak.'
"He is not," said Lena sharply, and Moony cowered slightly. More softly, she added, "I know you think of him as your jailer, but without his protection, you would be much worse off."
Moony gave her a disbelieving look.
"If you attacked someone," Lena explained patiently, "and people knew it was Remus, they would capture you and put you in a proper prison – one much worse than this. And that's if you're lucky – a lot of people don't have a problem with killing werewolves."
He was pacing around the small room, his haunches up. 'Then I would kill them before they had the chance.'
"It might not be you they go after. And if Remus dies, you're dead too, don't forget that."
He let out a frustrated growl and swiped at one of the walls with a large paw. 'It's not fair! Why does he always get to be in control of our body?'
"Because it was his first," Lena told him. "Look on the bright side – at least he isn't suppressing you with Wolfsbane anymore."
'Only because it makes him sick.' Moony sat, looking at her plaintively. 'He hates me just as much as I hate him.'
Lena crossed her arms. "Maybe if you weren't so mean to him – scratching and biting yourself, and leaving behind your angry memories for him when he transforms back – he would be inclined to think a little more kindly of you."
He sulkily scuffed the ground with a paw. 'He's stupid.'
"You wouldn't have me if it wasn't for Remus," she pointed out.
Moony paused, then stood up and walked back to her. Standing over her outstretched legs, he flopped down on top of them.
Lena winced. "Ow. You do realise you're a two-hundred-pound beast and not a little cub, don't you?"
He responded by rolling onto his back, presenting his belly, and looking at her expectantly.
"I'll take that as a 'no'," muttered Lena, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, she granted his request, and started to scratch. This was greeted with his usual almost-purring sound. She couldn't help but chuckle.
Remus might have been her man, but so was Moony – or rather, her wolf. And he knew it too.
Saturday 6 April, 1996:
It was absolutely ludicrous. Just a year ago, if anyone had told Lena that this might happen, she would have questioned their sanity. Even now, she could barely believe she was living in a world where Albus Dumbledore was on the run from the Ministry of Magic.
"Are you sure you don't want me to pay Fudge a visit, and put the fear of living hell into him?" Lena asked the unlikely fugitive. "I'd be more than happy to do it."
"I have no doubt that you would," replied Dumbledore wryly. "But as kind as the offer is, I am afraid I must decline. I suspect rumours would spread, and the last thing we need is people thinking I asked you to threaten the Minister for Magic."
It was dusk, and they were walking along Dunraven Bay, a beach on the south Welsh coastline. Dumbledore had sent a Patronus message to her earlier that day giving her a time and location to meet.
"And what about Umbridge?" said Lena distastefully. "The idea of her being in charge of Hogwarts–"
"I believe Dolores Umbridge will find that saying she is the Headmistress of Hogwarts is not necessarily the same thing as being the Headmistress," Dumbledore cut in. "And I trust that Minerva and the rest of the staff will take care of the students."
Lena sighed. "Nonetheless, it's a pity Harry won't be able to continue his defence group."
"That is a shame," agreed Dumbledore. He glanced at Lena out of the corner of his eye. "You never told me what they had called it."
She smirked. "Must have slipped my mind." Cocking her head to the side, she added slyly, "Did you like the name, then?"
A small smile graced Dumbledore's face. "I must admit I was somewhat... flattered."
There was a brief silence as they continued further down the beach.
"I have not had a chance to ask you about your last check-up at the IHO," said Dumbledore suddenly. "Has there been any change?"
"Yes, actually," said Lena, remembering her meeting with Healer Ghali almost a month ago. "Oh, nothing bad," she assured Dumbledore as he looked at her with concern. "She was telling me they're close to perfecting a new version of Moramortis – one that would only have to be taken biannually."
"Ah. That certainly sounds like an improvement."
"Yeah. Mind you, I've gotten used to sticking a needle in my arm every day." She paused, slightly shaking her head. "That's not a sentence I ever imagined myself saying two years ago."
Dumbledore made a 'hmm'-ing noise. "I suspect that is not the only thing that has come to pass that you would not have imagined two years ago," he murmured.
Lena laughed softly. "It's been a hell of a two years." Then her smile faded. "Although sometimes I don't think I've changed as much as I should have," she said quietly.
They had reached a particularly rocky area of the beach. Coming to a halt, Dumbledore inquired, "Has the... incident... from last January still been bothering you, Lena?"
She bit her lip. "I think.." she hesitated, before continuing, "I think I've accepted the fact that Voldemort broke my mother out of Azkaban. I mean, it still hurts to think about, but... I'm not in denial." She crossed her arms, hugging herself. "What frightens me is something else like that happening, and having that same reaction. Because I can't keep doing that. It's not just dangerous to me, but to everyone else. Especially–" She broke off, unwilling to the say the next word.
But Dumbledore – like nearly always – knew. "Especially Remus," he finished for her, his voice gentle.
Lena stared down at her feet, worried if she looked Dumbledore in the eye that tears might start leaking out.
"I'm so scared I'm going to hurt him," she whispered. "But the idea of leaving him–" She swallowed, a lump in her throat. After a few seconds, she spoke again, a little louder. "We don't need to constantly be at each others' sides. We don't need to agree on everything. We don't need to sacrifice parts of ourselves to make the other happy." She took a deep breath. "But I need him." She finally looked up at Dumbledore again. "Is that selfish of me?"
He gazed at her wordlessly, then sat down on one of the larger rocks.
"I told you once," he began, "that when people such as you and I love, we do so unconditionally and bindingly. At the time, I was speaking in reference to your connection with Voldemort, but it is the same for Remus." Bitterness flickered in his eyes. "However, if you are asking me for advice on what constitutes as a healthy, romantic relationship, I cannot give it to you. I have not earned that right."
Lena felt a surge of guilt. 'You insensitive git,' she berated herself. 'He's only ever loved one man, and to the rest of the world they're archenemies. And you're just rubbing your relationship in his face.'
She sat down next to him and cautiously put her hand over his. After a moment, he turned his hand over and held hers. They looked out at the horizon, watching the sun sink lower.
"May I ask," ventured Lena, after a while, "if there was a particular reason you wanted to meet here this evening?" She gestured around the bay.
"My father once brought my brother and me here, when I was a boy," answered Dumbledore. "We spent hours in the water and climbing over these rocks." He paused. "That was over a century ago."
Lena blinked. Sometimes she forgot how much the old wizard had lived through. "Have you been back since then?" she asked.
Dumbledore glanced at her. "Not until now. I did not think I could endure the memories it brought back."
That confused Lena. "Playing on the beach with your brother and father doesn't sound so bad."
"No, they are wonderful memories – one of the happiest days of my life."
For a moment, Lena was still perplexed. Then she understood.
It was one of the last happy days.
"So why today?" she asked softly. "What's changed?"
Dumbledore smiled at her. "You are with me, Lena," he explained, squeezing her hand. "And that makes all the difference."
Friday 12 April, 1996:
Nervously, Harry knocked on the door to Snape's office. He had an essay on Hellebore to hand in. It was supposed to have been written and finished in class yesterday, but Umbridge had pulled Harry out two minutes into the lesson in order to (unsuccessfully) interrogate him about Dumbledore's whereabouts yet again. Snape would have been more than happy to give Harry a zero for his mark, but McGonagall had managed to convince the Potions Master to give Harry an extension until seven o'clock this evening. Harry was ready to hand it in with ten minutes to spare.
However, there was no response to his knock. He tried again, but was still met with silence.
Harry chewed on his bottom lip. Evidently, Snape was not there. So what was he supposed to do with the essay? He didn't like the idea of just leaving it on a desk in the classroom. Perhaps he should just wait another ten minutes, and see if Snape turned up...
Without really thinking about it, Harry tried turning the doorknob. To his surprise, it wasn't locked.
He shrugged to himself. 'Guess I'll just leave it on the desk.'
He opened the door fully and entered the office. However, there was something already on the desk: Dumbledore's Pensieve.
Approaching the desk, Harry stared at the basin, puzzled. Why wasn't it in Dumbledore's office?
He put down his essay next to it, peering inside. The silver-white contents were swirling inside. But whose memories were they: Dumbledore's or Snape's?
Harry glanced towards the office door, straining his ears. It didn't sound like anyone else was around. Gazing into the depths of the Pensieve, he was unable to resist pulling out his wand and prodding the silvery stuff. It began to swirl very fast. He leaned over, looking closer, and watched it become transparent. But he could make out a large room – the Great Hall, he thought.
He knew this could very well be a terrible idea, but curiosity was eating him up inside. He had always wondered why Dumbledore trusted Snape, and maybe this could provide him with an answer. But the Head of Slytherin could be back at any minute...
'Just a quick look,' decided Harry. 'If it's not relevant, I'll get out.'
He took a great gulp of breath, and plunged his face into the surface of unknown thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Harry head-first into the Pensieve.
Tuesday 16 April, 1996:
Curiously, Lena eyed the syringe Healer Ghali was holding. On appearance alone, the new Moramortis seemed exactly like the old version – pale red, with the viscosity of water.
Healer Ghali must have known what Lena was thinking, because she explained, "Although it looks very similar, there are some key differences. Firstly, there is an added ingredient – a newly-bred species of magical fungus that can only be grown in an extremely controlled environment such as our greenhouse. And it can only be added to the rest of the potion within minutes of being harvested, otherwise it will become toxic." She glanced down at the syringe. "Well, toxic to you. It's already poisonous to anybody else. If this touched my bare skin, or I accidentally consumed even the tiniest amount, I would be dead in less than a minute."
So the gloves she was wearing weren't just for hygienic purposes.
"The other principal difference," Healer Ghali went on, "is that it must be stored in subzero temperatures. If it's out of that for more than ten minutes, the Moramortis will lose all its effect. So I'll give you a chest for storage that will ensure it is kept at the right temperature."
"But I won't be able to make it myself?"
Healer Ghali shook her head. "When you leave, I'll give you the amount for your next dose in six months, but after that you'll need to return here for more." She leaned over, "All right, roll your sleeve up."
Lena did as she asked.
"One last thing," added Healer Ghali, preparing the needle. "This isn't going to feel the same as your previous injections. I'm expecting it will cause you some pain for at least the next twelve hours, including a fever."
"Oh," said Lena. "Is that part of why you've asked me to stay overnight for observation?"
Healer Ghali nodded. "Part of the reason, yes. The rest of it, of course, being to make sure it works as it's supposed to. Right, ready?"
After a deep breath, Lena responded, "Yes."
It was like icy water flooding her blood system. As Healer Ghali withdrew the needle, Lena began to shiver. Her vision went blurry, and her hands latched on to the edge of the table they were sitting next to. She was worried she might pass out.
She felt a hand clasp her shoulder. "Lena?" came Healer Ghali's voice. "Try to slow your breathing."
It was hard, but after a minute it returned to normal, and her vision became a little clearer, Healer Ghali's face coming into focus.
"Good," said Healer Ghali encouragingly. "Now, let's move you to a bed; I think you could do with a lie-down."
Harry put the mirror Sirius had given him at the end of the Christmas holidays back in his trunk, feeling slightly less anxious about one thing, but a little more worried about another. He had just spoken to Sirius and Remus about Snape's memory which he had seen last Friday. Although he was still uncomfortable with what he'd witnessed his father do – and his mother's clear distaste for James at that age – the assurances of the two Marauders that James had matured over the following couple of years put his mind a little more at ease.
Merlin, he was glad he'd gotten out of the Pensieve before Snape had returned to the office. The idea of the Potions Master knowing that Harry had seen what was surely one of his worst memories was too horrifying to think about.
But while his father's schoolboy antics weighed less heavily on his mind, Harry wished that Lena had also been there at Grimmauld Place. He hadn't really heard from her since he'd returned to Hogwarts last January, so he hadn't even had a chance to talk about the mass Azkaban breakout with her. He knew how much Lena hated her parents – the subject had come up a fair few times during and after their Occlumency lessons – and he was worried that Voldemort might use that to manipulate Lena into doing something stupid. But it seemed that between the Order and her freelance work, she was being kept constantly busy.
And so, as the Easter holidays came to a close and the final school term started, was Harry. He had his careers advice meeting with McGonagall (and an interfering Umbridge), the Weasley twins left Hogwarts in style (leaving behind a corridor transformed into a swamp), he was introduced to Hagrid's younger giant half-brother Grawp, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup without him, and then OWLs were finally upon them.
Between his previous tutoring from Lena and Hermione's helpful study notes, Harry actually felt reasonably prepared for his exams – well, except Divination, but he didn't think that really counted as a proper subject. He was particularly confident for both his written and practical Defence Against the Dark Arts results; he didn't want to tempt fate, but he was expecting an 'O' for each.
His final exam was for History of Magic, on a Thursday afternoon. After two weeks of OWLs, he was feeling tired as he began writing, and the way the sunlight streamed into the Great Hall wasn't helping. But memories of Lena's lectures pertaining to the subject kept him from falling asleep, and by the end, he thought he might have scraped by with a pass.
"I think I might try to catch a bit of sleep before dinner," he told Ron and Hermione, yawning as they exited the Hall.
Ron nodded, rubbing his face. "I was going to head down to the Quidditch pitch for some celebratory flying, but I think you might have the right idea."
When they reached their dormitory, both boys practically collapsed onto their beds.
'I should do my Occlumency seal,' Harry thought sleepily, and started to picture the tunnel that was his visualisation of his connection with Voldemort. But as he drew closer to it, he saw a distant light glimmering at the end.
Curious, Harry took a step closer to the mouth of the tunnel, then he was gliding through it, closer to the light that grew brighter, until it swallowed everything...
He was standing in a bedroom. He had come here many times before, but this was his first time back for over fourteen years. He walked over to the bed, looking through the window on the other side that gave a sweeping view to the grounds of the Lestrange Estate.
Then he stiffened, sensing a presence in the doorway behind him. Her presence...
He turned around to look at Lena, who was watching him with a guarded expression.
"You came," he said quietly.
"You said it would be worth it," was her curt response.
He smiled. "And it is. I want to make an exchange."
"What kind?"
"I will give you your mother if you get what I need from the Department of Mysteries."
An indecipherable emotion flickered across her face. "My mother?" she repeated.
"You can finally do what you always wanted: kill her. All I need is for you to retrieve that certain object for me." He tilted his head slightly to the side. "That is what you do these days, isn't it? Procure things for... clients."
She continued to stare at him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Perhaps she needed some extra motivation...
"If you don't want her, I suppose I will just have to allow her to keep torturing and killing the Muggles and Mudbloods she comes across–"
Her voice cut through like a knife. "How long do I have?"
The bedroom faded around him, replaced by a series of images: a cool, dark corridor, a circular room with many doors, patches of dancing light on the walls and floor, a cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass sphere, aisle number ninety-seven...
Then he was back in the bedroom.
"You have until midnight. Bring it back here. I will be waiting with Bellatrix." He moved closer towards her, and extended his long-fingered hand. "Do we have an agreement?"
After a second that seemed to last for an eternity, she reached out and took his hand. "We have an agreement."
"NO!"
Harry awoke, his scar on fire and his heart pounding. He had to stop Lena from making the biggest mistake of her life.
"Smart plan," Harry spat at Hermione. "Really smart plan."
They were stuck in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, without wands, and there were less than six hours until midnight.
"We need to get back up to the castle," said Hermione faintly.
"You think?" he shot back, starting to jog back in the direction they had come. He groaned to himself. "I'm running out of time!" he muttered.
Hermione caught up to him. "Out of time to do what?" she said, sounding exasperated. "Harry, just what the hell is going on? Why is it so important to talk to Sirius or whoever's at Grimmauld Place right now? If you're worried that Voldemort is trying to break into your mind, why didn't you just tell Snape–"
"I'm not telling Snape anything!" snapped Harry, rubbing his forehead. His scar was prickling.
His shout after his vision of Lena and Voldemort had woken up Ron, who'd demanded to know what had happened. But Harry couldn't bring himself to tell the truth – that Lena was betraying the Order for revenge upon her mother. His friends wouldn't understand why she was doing it – they would just think she had gone evil, and he suspected most of the Order would feel the same. Snape certainly would take delight in the idea that Lena was loyal to Voldemort. Maybe if Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts, Harry could have spoken to him and he could have helped, but the Headmaster was gone and Harry had no way of contacting him.
So he'd told Ron – and Hermione, who they had found sitting in the common room, talking to Ginny – that he'd felt Voldemort trying to break through into his mind, and wanted to see if Lena, or at least Remus or Sirius, was at Grimmauld Place and to speak to them. And the only way he could do that, he'd said, was to use Umbridge's fireplace. Ron and Hermione thought it was risky, but they agreed to help him get into Umbridge's office, and distract the toad-like woman while he contacted whoever he could.
They didn't know about Sirius' mirror. And they'd had no idea that everything he'd told them was a complete and utter lie.
He knew Lena wasn't going to be there, and he didn't want to talk to Sirius and Remus. He wanted to use the Floo Network to get to the Ministry of Magic, go to the Department of Mysteries, and find Lena before she could take the weapon back to Voldemort. If he could just talk to her, he was sure he could get through to her...
But that plan had all gone up in smoke. Umbridge had burst in before he could step into the fireplace, and to stop her from torturing him, Hermione had led them to the Forest for a bust-up between the old hag, the centaurs, and Grawp. Which brought them to their current predicament.
"I just need to get back to the castle and use the Floo," he said brusquely.
Suddenly, Hermione stopped and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back with a surprising amount of strength.
"No," she hissed, glaring daggers at him. "I know exactly what that look in your eye is. This is a saving-people-thing, isn't it?"
"What are you talking–"
She cut him off. "It's the same look you had when you decided we were going down the trapdoor in First Year and when we saved Sirius from the Dementors. And I might not have been there when you and Ron went down to the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny, or during the Tournament when you saved Fleur's sister, but I bet you had it then too." She put her hands on her hips and demanded, "So tell me now: who is it we're trying to save, and from what?"
"That," said a voice from behind Harry, "is an excellent question."
Harry turned around and saw Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna coming towards them. All of them looked a little worse for wear – there were several long scratches running the length of Ginny's cheek; a large purple lump was swelling above Neville's right eye; Ron's lip was bleeding – but all were looking rather pleased with themselves.
"How did you get away?" asked Harry in amazement. The last time he'd seen them, they were all being held captive by the Inquisitorial Squad.
"Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx – oh, here you go." Ron held out Harry and Hermione's wands. "But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy – Bat Bogey Hex – it was brilliant, his whole face was covered in these great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you out of the window heading into the Forest and followed. What've you done with Umbridge?"
"She got carried away," said Harry. "By a herd of centaurs."
"And they left you behind?" asked Ginny, looking astonished.
"No, they got chased off by Grawp."
"Who's Grawp?" Luna asked interestedly.
"Hagrid's little brother," said Ron promptly. "Anyway, never mind that now. Hermione's right – now I've had some time to think about it, this clearly isn't just a 'needing-to-talk-to-someone' thing. It's one of your saving-people things."
Harry threw his hands in the air, frustrated. "I don't have a 'saving-people' thing!"
"Oh, you definitely do," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "So, who is it this time?"
Annoyed, Harry rubbed his scar again. It was starting to throb. Realising it would take too much time to come up with another lie that would convince them, he decided to risk telling the truth.
"Fine," he said, in a tone that clearly implied it wasn't. "It's Lena."
Ron, Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look.
"You're saying Lena's in trouble," said Ron disbelievingly, "and although she can't get herself out of it... you can?"
Harry bristled. "She hasn't been attacked," he responded, irritated. "I just know she's going to do something... bad... and I want to stop her before she does it."
"Is that what you saw?" asked Hermione anxiously. "In your dream?"
Harry nodded.
"Are you a sort of Seer?" inquired Luna, sounding intrigued.
"It's complicated," Ginny told her, before turning to Harry. "When you say something bad–"
"She's going to the Department of Mysteries to get whatever it is Voldemort's been trying to get this year," Harry said quickly.
"Why?" said Ron, perplexed.
Harry took a deep breath, but before he could answer the question, someone else spoke.
"When you say 'Lena', do you mean Lena Lestrange?"
Neville's voice was soft, but calm. His face gave nothing away.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all looked at him, their expressions mingled with shock and horror. Neville's presence hadn't even crossed Harry's mind when he'd decided to tell them all the truth.
"Neville," said Hermione in a hushed voice, "I'm so sorry–"
Harry interrupted her. They didn't have time for this.
"Lena hates her parents," he told Neville plainly. "Her mother hurt her a lot when she was a child. The whole deal she's made with Voldemort–" he ignored the gasps of the others, "–is that she gets to kill Bellatrix."
"Hang on," said Ron, sounding panicked, "she's made a deal–"
"She gets him this weapon, he gives her Bellatrix," said Harry impatiently. "I know it sounds terrible, but you don't understand how Lena's mind works. Even I barely do, and I've been inside it."
"And you're certain what you saw is real?" said Hermione, frowning.
"Positive," said Harry. "It was just like the memories I saw last summer, only this was happening right now." He sighed. "I'm not asking any of you to come with me, I just–"
"You're intending to go to the Department of Mysteries to stop Lena," interjected Hermione. "That's the idea, right?"
"Yes, but–"
"Then we're coming with you," said Ginny firmly. "Lena helped you save my life in the Chamber. I'm not going to forget that just because she had a screwed-up childhood and makes bad choices because of it."
Ron nodded. "And I don't know much about the Department of Mysteries, but I know you're going to need as much help as you can get. You're not going alone, mate." He glanced at Neville. "'Course, I'm not speaking for everyone..."
Neville looked at Harry. "You believe she's a good person?"
Harry swallowed. "I know that she tries to be."
There was a pause, then Neville replied, "Okay. Count me in."
About to protest, Harry stopped. Maybe if Neville was there too, it might give Lena greater clarity of thought. He bit his lip. "All right," he decided, "but we need to hurry back to the castle–"
"Wait," said Ginny suddenly. "Were you trying to use Umbridge's fireplace to Floo to the Ministry?"
"Yeah, why?"
"They close the Ministry network down at seven p.m.," she explained. "I remember Dad mentioning it once."
They wouldn't make it in time. Harry swore under his breath.
"Well, I've got a broom," began Ron, "but I don't think it could carry more than two."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Then I just don't know how we're all going to get–"
He broke off, noticing Luna pointing at something over his shoulder. Neville was looking in the same direction. He turned around to see what it was.
Several Thestrals were standing a short distance away, eying Harry and Hermione keenly.
'The blood,' realised Harry. He and Hermione had been spattered with Grawp's blood during the young giant's fight with the centaurs.
Luna smiled brightly. "We fly, of course!"
I had a couple of reviews for the last chapter mention The Good Place, in relation to the moral philosophy discussion. So, that scene (the Trolley Problem stuff in particular) is actually one I had in mind from a very early stage of writing To Be Human - like, back when I was writing the Philosopher's Stone section. Of course, then that Good Place episode came out, and I thought, 'Crap, I hope none of my readers who watch this show will think I just stole this straight from here'. I decided to stick with it because it's a very famous thought experiment with lots of variations, and I figured Lena would have come across it in her extensive reading. But yeah - The Good Place is awesome, and I would definitely recommend watching it if you haven't already :)
Couple of responses to reviews (and shout-outs to RHatch89 and LoveFiction2019 for their consistent encouragement - I really appreciate it!):
AlienfromNorth: It's really interesting to me that 'psycho' is what stood out for you, because that wasn't the original word I chose. In that line, the focus is supposed to be more on the 'I love you' - that's what really distresses her, because at that moment, Lena wishes he didn't. Lena is always quite frank about her emotional instability, so words like 'psycho', 'crazy' and 'insane' don't really upset her; she finds intelligence-related insults - 'stupid', 'idiot', 'moron' - more offensive, because they're inaccurate (and it was one of those I was originally going to use in that line, but I didn't want to detract from the more important part). The other thing is that by that point, Remus doesn't think her breakdown is childish - it's hurtful. The ten escaped Death Eaters tortured and killed a lot of people he knew, and he knows that this has brought them a step closer to another all-out war. But she's upset by Voldemort helping Bellatrix, taking it personally rather than focusing on the larger picture. So he's hurt and angry. Of course, calling her a psycho isn't cool. But he is upset too, and is still trying to be there for her, even though she is intentionally making it difficult, so he snaps a little. But thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, I appreciate how different experiences can shape a response to reading something, and it's really good to hear different perspectives on what I write.
Clara: So lovely to hear from you again! I guess the idea with showing Lena celebrating Christmas at Newt's house was to a) contrast it to the Christmas Eve dinner in her Fifth Year, showing the human connections she has made since then, and b) to highlight when she's having the breakdown that even though she has all these people in her life who are good and kind to her, she still can't let go of Voldemort.
Of course, as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, especially the changes I've made from canon.