Friday 2 October, 1981:

Lena was sulking.

Well, sulking might not have been the best way to describe it, supposed Lord Voldemort. Normal children sulked. She was quietly angry with herself. All because she, at the tender age of five, was still unable to defend herself from his Legilimency for more than a few seconds.

He shook his head fondly at the glowering girl, whose eyes were firmly fixed downwards. He reached across to her, putting his forefinger under her chin and gently pushing her head back up so she was looking at him. "If you spent more time around children your own age, you would understand how truly brilliant you are," he told her.

Her expression quickly changed from a scowl to a pout. "I'd rather spend more time with you," she said plaintively, her eyes gazing into his with a faint hopefulness.

It pleased him more than he could describe to hear her say such a thing, and he allowed a small smile on his lips. "I would not be adverse to such an arrangement, if it were not for the fact I am incredibly busy fighting a war," he said, retracting his hand from her chin.

"Why is it taking so long?" she complained.

This time, it was his turn to grimace. 'Because the other side has an interfering old fool called Albus Dumbledore, and some bloody baby that's damned difficult to get my hands on,' he thought to himself. But aloud, he answered, "Revolutions do not happen overnight, Lena. It takes times to change the fabric of a society – especially one with such resistance as this."

"Why don't you just kill them all?" asked Lena, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

He snorted in amusement. "Tempting as a genocide sounds, there needs to be enough wizards and witches left alive at the end of this war so the victor has truly won something."

"But you're going to win it soon, aren't you?" she pressed. "It's already been going on my whole life."

"I believe we have the advantage now," he said smoothly. "Perhaps by Christmas it will all be over."

"So probably before I've learnt how to be a proper Occlumens," she muttered.

"You are already a proper Occlumens," he chided her. "You're just not better at it than I am at Legilimency."

Instead of protesting, she cocked her head, looking at him curiously. "Why aren't you this lenient with all the Death Eaters when they can't do something?"

"Because they are adults," he said, "and you are not."

Of course, those were not the words that had immediately floated into his mind when she'd asked. But it would have far too dangerous to tell her the truth.

'Because you are the only one I love."

Friday 11 October, 1996:

Voldemort stared down at the fragments of the broken door that had kept Lena imprisoned for so long, his hands clenched in fists by his sides. The wooden shards were spattered in blood – the same blood he had followed a trail of from the stone beach.

He had been in Rotterdam when he'd felt the alert go off. Like Lena had used for the Lestrange Estate, his island was protected by Blood magic. It meant he could feel it when someone Apparated to or Disapparated from the island. Lena's escape was the first time the alarm had ever been triggered.

She had Splinched. That was evident from the blood and flesh that had been left on the spot on the beach from where she had Disapparated. But even in his anger and panic, he had quickly realised that she had already been injured. Now, as he inspected the wreckage of the door and her room, he could only come to the conclusion that she had broken past the Antiheka Enchantment by physical force and the sheer willpower she possessed that had impressed – and almost intimidated – him when she was a child.

He'd been too far away to immediately Apparate back, giving her ample opportunity to get herself out of his reach. The horrible irony was that the whole reason he'd gone to the continent was to find something that would make her want to stay with him.

There were stories of a potioneer in Denmark who had discovered the formula for a memory-altering solution more powerful than any attempt at Obliviation. Although it sounded almost too good to be true, Voldemort had been desperate for anything that would rewrite Lena's mind as it was supposed to be: devoted to him, untethered to the affection of others.

But she must have figured out he was going to be away for awhile – 'the extra food,' he realised. And she had taken the opportunity, first breaking the window, then smashing down the door and freeing herself.

His arrogance had cost him. He'd assumed she'd be powerless without magic, and had not bothered with other protective enchantments and safeguards. It had been a foolish oversight, an underestimation of her abilities.

'Not her abilities,' he corrected himself. No, it was much worse than that.

He had underestimated her desire to get away from him.

Wednesday 16 October, 1996:

As Lena drifted into consciousness, she felt like she was floating in water. Everything was slow, out of focus, the air strangely thick. Gradually, her eyes opened a crack and she tried to make out her surroundings. She was lying on some kind of bed, but the space around it was closed off by a curtain. However, the high stone ceiling was visible. There was a vague familiarity to the place – less so what she could actually see, but the atmosphere, which was imbued with magic. A very particular magic...

She was in the Hogwarts hospital wing. She had only ever set foot here once before, after Tara Selwyn and the others had attacked Maggie with the Blood Boiling Curse. Although she couldn't see the other beds, she did know there was at least one other occupant of the room at present, because he was sitting in a chair to her right, slumped forward and his face covered by his hands.

Lena's heart leapt as she recognised Remus, even though his hair was greyer and there were scars on his hands that hadn't been there before. He was yet to notice she was awake. Her throat felt too dry to say anything, so she attempted to reach out her hand to touch him.

The problem was that the moment she tried to move her hand from where it lay on her stomach, it erupted in pain.

"Oh, fuck," she croaked.

Remus' head shot up, his eyes wide. "Lena?" he whispered, leaning closer to her.

Even though her hand – which she had only just noticed was entirely wrapped from fingertips to wrist in a thin bandage made of a material she didn't recognise, as was the other – felt as though it was on fire, and she was so completely overjoyed to finally be reunited with Remus, Lena couldn't resist the urge to mess with him a little.

"Who?" she asked blankly.

His face, already pale, went even whiter. "L-lena," he repeated shakily. When she didn't respond, his expression grew even more concerned. "That's your name–"

Taking pity on him, Lena stopped the charade. "I know, honey." She smiled. "I was just screwing with you."

Remus immediately turned from anxious to exasperated, and he shook his head. "You little shit," he said disbelievingly.

Lena chuckled, even though it made her chest hurt. "I remember the first time you called me that," she said fondly. "We were in your office here, and I had just pretended to be madly in love with you because you'd eavesdropped on my conversation with Gemma."

He smiled too. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

"What a preposterous idea."

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Then Remus stood and bent over her, kissing her as softly as was possible. Both of their lips were dry and cracked, but neither cared.

After a couple of seconds, Remus pulled back slightly. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," he murmured.

Lena glanced down at her hands. "I think I might have some idea," she muttered. She looked back up at him. "How long was I unconscious?"

"About five days," he answered, straightening. "I should go tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake at last."

"Wait," said Lena hastily, not wanting him to leave her sight just yet. She tried to sit up, but winced at the pain that caused in her abdomen. It confused her. "I just Splinched, didn't I? So why haven't I healed yet?"

Remus carefully sat down on the side of the bed. "It's a little more complicated than that, love," he told her gently. "You lost a hell of a lot of blood. It took Dumbledore several hours to figure out why we couldn't stop the bleeding."

"Why, what happened?"

"You see," he began, "the Splinching was bad. Very nearly fatal. And because your life was in peril, some part of your subconscious started to call on the Nekrosía to heal you. Of course, the rest of your mind saw this happening and... well, for lack of a better term, it 'freaked out'. Essentially, your body went into complete shut down, and refused to allow any foreign magic inside, rejecting any of the healing spells Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey or Severus tried–"

"Severus?" interrupted Lena, surprised. "You're saying Snape was trying to heal me?"

Remus shrugged slightly. "He hasn't said a bad word against you since the battle at the Ministry. I'm not sure what changed for him, but it's certainly a welcome change. Anyway," he continued, "we'd been avoiding giving you the Moramortis injection because we were worried you wouldn't be able to cope with the side effects, but when Dumbledore realised it was the Nekrosía that was causing the problem, we gave it to you. Then you started to convulse–" He broke off for a moment, looking disturbed, then finished, "but after a minute, you settled down, and the healing spells started working."

"But because there was such significant blood-loss, it had become more than a mere case of Splinching."

"Exactly." Remus' eyes drifted from her face to her hands. Lena saw him suppress a shudder, and supposed he was remembering the mangled state they must have been in when he first saw her. "And your hands," he said, "are going to take a while to heal too." He glanced back up at her, troubled. "What happened to you, Lena?"

She gave him a small smile. "Why don't you go tell Madam Pomfrey I'm awake," she suggested, "and when she's finished examining me, I'll tell you the whole story, in as much horrific detail as you like."

Remus nodded slowly, but instead of getting up, he tenderly cupped her cheek. To Lena's distress, his eyes were wet. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Lena desperately wished she could take his hand. "But for what?" she asked, puzzled.

His voice cracked as he replied, "That I didn't find you." A tear began to roll down his cheek. "I failed you."

"Oh, Remus, no," she said, shaking her head as much as she could. "I was never expecting you to come rescue me. I didn't think anyone would, darling."

He wiped his cheek with the hand that wasn't on Lena's. "But you would have found me," he said sadly, and Lena felt a jolt of pain in her chest as she properly noticed how much he had aged in the four months since she'd last seen him.

She cleared her throat. "Now," she said firmly, "you listen here, Remus John Lupin – I have never once asked for you to protect me, or to be my knight-in-shining-armour. All I have ever asked of you is to love me. Have you, at any point in the last four months, stopped loving me?"

"No, of course not!" cried Remus, as if he had never been so offended by a question in all his life.

"Then you have not failed me," she told him, and sternly added, "and don't you dare ever think such a dreadful thought again."

Remus gazed at her like he couldn't quite believe she was real. "You," he said after a pause, "might be the most ridiculously stubborn, dangerously self-reliant, and insanely overconfident person who has ever lived."

Lena beamed at him. "Thank you."

Relief surged through Lena's body as soon as she saw the ebony wand Dumbledore pulled from out of his robes.

"You did pick it up, then. I wasn't sure what had happened to it."

"Of course," said Dumbledore, putting her wand next to where Mortimer was sleeping on the little table beside her hospital bed (the Bowtruckle had been off exploring the castle when she'd woken up, but hadn't left her side since he'd return to the hospital wing). "And I know it will be at least another week before you can hold it in your hands, but I thought its presence might bring you some comfort."

Lena smiled at him. "It does, thanks."

It was half-past-ten in the evening. Remus had left about ten minutes ago, convinced by Minerva to return to Kingsley's flat for a proper night's sleep, now that Lena's condition was no longer critical and she had woken up. Apparently, Minerva had been doing much over the past few days to make sure Remus was looking after himself – including forcing him to shave the scraggly beard he had grown during Lena's absence the previous day. For that, Lena was grateful; a moustache was about as much as she could handle on Remus.

Dumbledore had spoken to Lena earlier that day, after Madam Pomfrey had finished examining her. She had told him and Remus about her imprisonment on Voldemort's island, but she had not gotten the chance to ask him any questions about what had happened while she was gone. But now, the opportunity had arisen.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened to your hand," she said quietly, looking at the blackened and shrivelled body-part in question, "or are you going to make me guess?"

He gave her a knowing look. "But you do not need to guess, do you, Lena? You've had at least ten hours since you first saw my hand. You have already figured it out."

Lena breathed out slowly, reluctant to respond. Of course she recognised what afflicted his hand – she had been a student of the Dark Arts since she was a child. At last, she said, "It's a Death Curse."

"Yes," said Dumbledore simply. He added nonchalantly, "Such an unimaginative name."

Despite the morbidity of the subject, Lena snorted. "Yes, well, most Dark Arts practitioners fall into either one of two categories: a flair for dramatics, or an obsession with unpleasantness that inspires a lack of creativity. Clearly, the creator of this particular curse was part of the latter group." She paused. "It's been mostly contained to your hand, but it is still spreading."

Dumbledore nodded. "Severus did the best he could. But, yes–" his eyes looked intently into hers, "–I am dying."

Lena closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing to calm herself. Yes, from the moment she had seen his hand earlier that day, the idea had sparked in her head. But she had refused to engage with it, ignoring the terrible thought, pushing it away because it was just too much to bear.

"If I had been here," she whispered, her eyes still shut, "I could have–"

"There is nothing you could have done, Lena," came Dumbledore's gentle voice. "I sealed my own fate."

She opened her eyes. "It was a Horcrux, wasn't it?" she said. "The Death Curse was Voldemort's way of protecting it."

Dumbledore did not need to ask how she had come to that conclusion. For both of them, it was a logical sequence of thoughts. Death Curses could only be put on objects, ones that were already ingrained with Dark magic, otherwise the curse would destroy the object itself. And Lena knew Dumbledore was always searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"A ring," he confirmed. "One that belonged to the Gaunt family."

Lena frowned. "Could you not have destroyed it without touching it?" She assumed he had used the Sword of Gryffindor, as it was imbued with Basilisk venom.

He stared down at his hand which was resting in his lap. "Yes, I could have," he said, an oddness to his tone. "But I placed it upon my finger."

She stared at him, at first not sure if she had heard him correctly. "And why the hell," she finally asked, almost angry, "would a man as clever as you, do such a stupid thing?"

He looked up at her, and for the second time that day, to Lena's shock, she saw tears in the eyes of a man she cared about deeply.

"Because," he said quietly, "even the cleverest of people can become fools in the name of regret." He sighed, and drew his wand. He waved it, and Lena immediately recognised he was casting a sound-proofing spell. Whatever he was about to say was evidently never supposed to go beyond the two of them.

"What do you know of the Deathly Hallows, Lena?"

Lena blinked. "It's a legend derived from stories of three brothers from the Peverell family," she replied, a little uncertainly. "Three objects that if one possesses, they become the Master of Death." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Only you're about to tell me it's not just a legend."

Dumbledore let out a tiny chuckle. "My dear girl, I will never take for granted your extraordinary ability to predict in what direction a conversation is heading." The temporary humour in his expression quickly faded, and he became more serious. "I have, at some point in my life, come into contact with each of the Hallows, the Resurrection Stone being the most recent."

"Voldemort made a Horcrux out of one of the Deathly Hallows?" said Lena, stunned.

He gave her a brief, wry smile. "Not to his knowledge, I imagine. Nor mine, until I set eyes on the black stone set in the ring, the mark of the Hallows inscribed upon it. And now," he continued, when Lena opened her mouth, "you want to ask me the question."

'Why did you want to use the Resurrection Stone?' It hung in the air between them, physically unasked, but demanding to be answered.

Then Dumbledore took a deep breath in, as though he was drawing in the question, accepting it. "You know of my brother Aberforth," he said. "But we once had a sister, younger than both of us, named Ariana."

Once. The grief that singular word held seemed to leak into the air, almost suffocating Lena. She listened in silence as Dumbledore told her the tragic tale of his sister.

"I wished to beg for her forgiveness," he finished, his voice steady but his lips beginning to tremble and his eyes still wet. "That is why I put on the ring."

"Oh, Albus," murmured Lena sadly. "I'm sorry."

If the use of his first name surprised Dumbledore, he didn't show it.

"But you understand now," he said softly, a couple of tears escaping the corners of his eyes. "You understand why, when you told me of your connection to Hecate's Orb, I could not turn away from you; why I must believe that despite the harm you have done, you can be better."

Yes, Lena understood. Dumbledore had once told her he had resisted meeting with her for so long because he was afraid he would see more of himself in her than he would have liked. But it was more than just that.

"You see her every time you look at me, don't you?"

Dumbledore lightly brushed away the tears on his face. "It is a strange thing," he admitted. "You resemble her in neither appearance nor temperament . Yet..."

When he didn't finish, Lena supplied, "You see something broken and dangerous. And you feel the need to protect it." She paused. "It's funny; I told Remus today that I don't need his protection, that I can always look after myself. But that's what you've done for me, ever since what happened with Lenora Travers. "

"Out of purely selfish motives," said Dumbledore, his voice laced with bitterness. "A futile attempt to right a wrong that could never be made right."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it really matters to me that you were driven by guilt over Ariana when you saved my life by contacting the IHO to tell them about my illness?" she said sharply. "Or on any occasion where any other person would have given up on me, condemned me, pushed me away? I owe you my life, and that is not a debt I take lightly."

Dumbledore gazed at her, his expression unreadable. "You do not owe me anything, Lena," he said finally.

"That's bullshit," she retorted, "and you know it." She fixed him with a determined stare. "When I've healed, I am going to find a way to save your life."

"That is immeasurably kind of you to offer, but it is not necessary."

Lena desperately wanted to sit up properly, but the pain in her abdomen would not allow it. "What do you mean it's unnecessary?" she asked, annoyed. "It's your life, it's very bloody necessary."

"I have made other arrangements," he replied, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Do they involve you dying?"

"Yes."

"Then we need to make a new arrangement."

He sighed. "This is not up for debate, Lena," he told her, sounding more tired than he had all evening. "I have made my decision."

"But I can't just let you die!" cried Lena. This time, she did try to push herself up, but it made her yelp in pain.

In a flash, Dumbledore was on his feet and gently pushing her back down. "You are not letting me do anything," he informed her flatly, "because it is out of your control." Satisfied she was properly lying down again, he straightened. "I think I have caused you enough distress tonight. You need more rest, we will speak again when your healing has progressed a little further."

Lena glared at him. "I'm not a child, you know."

He smiled in an irritatingly wise fashion. "I am one-hundred-and-fifteen years old, Lena," he reminded her. "You are all children to me."

Sunday 20 October, 1996:

"And I know it was Malfoy, but no one believes me! Not even Ron and Hermione!"

Lena looked at the frustrated Harry, frowning. She had been given a couple more pillows to prop her up so it was easier to interact with the boy pacing up and down beside her bed. The curtains were still drawn, as Dumbledore wanted to keep her presence in Hogwarts reasonably covert. However, they did not really need to keep their voices down, as Lena was once again the only patient in the hospital wing.

Katie Bell had been brought into the hospital wing the previous afternoon after coming into contact with a cursed necklace. She'd been transferred to St. Mungo's that morning. Harry was firmly of the opinion that Draco Malfoy, having been inducted into the Death Eaters at some point over the summer, was responsible.

She didn't disagree. Voldemort had told her he intended to punish Lucius for his failure in leading the Death Eaters at the Ministry, and with the elder Malfoy in Azkaban, the best way to do it was through his son.

"You said the necklace was wrapped," said Lena thoughtfully, "so presumably she was supposed to deliver it to someone."

Harry nodded. "But her friend said she didn't know who."

She nodded slowly. "It sounds like it was an assassination attempt," she remarked.

"So you do believe me, then?" asked Harry hopefully. "You think it was Malfoy too?"

"Oh, of course," answered Lena indifferently. "The more interesting question is, who was the intended target?" She chewed her lip, considering the possibilities. It only took a few seconds for a theory to formulate in her mind.

If Voldemort really wanted to punish Lucius, he would have given Draco an impossible task – one that even the great, Dark wizard could not accomplish.

'I have made other arrangements.'

Lena drew her mouth into a tight line. She had not properly spoken to Dumbledore since that first day she'd been awake, and now she could see why he was being so cagey with the details of his 'arrangements'. It evidently had something to do with the fact that her little cousin was trying to kill him.

'Crazy old man,' she thought in aggravation. 'What the hell have you got planned?' But aloud, she said to Harry, "Look, just keep an eye on Malfoy for the meantime, no doubt he'll be working on a new plan."

Harry sighed. "Yeah." He sunk into the chair next to her bed. "Why is it so difficult for everyone else to believe that Voldemort has made him a Death Eater?"

"Because they don't know him like we do," said Lena quietly. She gazed at Harry. He had first visited her on Thursday morning, the day after she'd woken up. She had known he'd wanted to ask about everything that had happened in her captivity, but had refrained from doing so, intuitively knowing she needed some time before approaching the subject with him. Now, she'd had a few days, and there was something she desperately wanted to share with him – something she had left out of her recount to Dumbledore and Remus. "He made me an offer."

He looked at her sharply, not needing to ask who 'he' was. "What sort of offer?"

Lena stared down at her hands. She could wiggle her fingers a little now, and the wrists had mended, but she still couldn't open and close them properly. "He asked if I would leave Britain with him, never to see any of you again, on the condition he would end the war."

"What?!" exclaimed Harry, shocked. "He actually said that to you?"

She inclined her head. "Yes. Of course, he retracted it almost immediately afterwards, before I could give an answer." She smiled bitterly. "I don't think he'd really thought it through."

Harry bit his lip. "I... I know how much you mean to him, Lena," he said hesitantly, "but I don't think I can really believe that if you'd said yes, he would have kept his word."

"Oh, absolutely not," agreed Lena quickly. "He would never give up the war. I think he just..." She swallowed, a small lump forming in her throat. "I think at that particular moment, he just wanted to hear me say I would choose him."

"But it wouldn't have been choosing him," said Harry, after a short pause. "It would be choosing..." He trailed off, but Lena finished it for him.

"You," she said softly. "And I think he realised it as soon as he saw what my answer would be."

Harry continued to stare at her for a little longer. Then he told her, "I'd hug you right now if you weren't so injured."

"That's because you're a big softie," she said lightly. But she relented, and clumsily gestured towards her cheek. "All right, you can give me a kiss."

He laughed, but leant over and gave the proffered cheek a quick peck. "You're the best non-biological sister I could ask for," he said as he moved back.

Lena grinned. "Don't be so sappy," she mock-scolded him. "It makes me sick, and I've got enough problems already."

Harry shook his head in amusement. "You do know the whole 'cold-hearted' and 'emotionless' act doesn't work for you anymore, right? We all know you're really sweet and caring."

"Sweet?" she repeated indignantly. "How dare you very much, I have never been sweet in my life!"

"Oh, no," said Harry seriously, although his lips were twitching. "That's how everybody talks about you now – the very sweet Lena Lestrange, who might be a little rough on the outside, but on the inside is all fluffy and squishy and full of rainbows–"

"Slander!" cried Lena dramatically. "You can't tarnish my dark and terrible reputation like that!"

"Too bad, your noble and heroic deeds have already captured our hearts."

Lena tossed her hair back. "Right, help me up. I need to go Hex some little Firsties to restore the fear and terror associated with my name."

"Miss Lestrange!" squawked Madam Pomfrey, who had just pulled open the curtain to see Lena trying to shift to the side of the bed. "You lie back down this instant! You are in no condition to go gallivanting around the castle."

"Or hexing kids," muttered Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

"Fine," grumbled Lena, settling back down.

Madam Pomfrey rounded on Harry, who shrunk back under her fierce glare. "Now, Mr Potter, I think you have excited your friend enough for this afternoon. I think it is time for your visit to end. Miss Lestrange needs rest."

"All right," said Harry sheepishly, standing. He glanced at Lena. "I'll come see you after class tomorrow."

"Bring your homework with you!" Lena called out to him as he began to leave. "I'm bored here!"

He looked back at her, smirking. "Nerd."

"Reprobate."

"I don't even know what that is."

"That's because you don't read enough."

"That's enough," snapped Madam Pomfrey. She pointed at Harry, then at the exit. "Out – now."

Harry hurriedly departed, with one final wave to Lena as he went out the doors to the hospital wing. A smile played on Lena's lips as he disappeared from her sight, but there was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she remembered that with every Horcrux that was destroyed, the closer it came to Harry's turn.

Monday 28 October, 1996:

It was with a spring in his step Remus walked along the corridors of Hogwarts to the hospital wing. He'd been unable to visit Lena since Friday morning, busy all weekend with work for the Order, and he couldn't wait to see her again.

It was taking time, but she was healing. The pain in her abdomen had lessened, and her hands had mostly mended, although they were still a little ginger. It was the aftermath of the blood loss that was still keeping her in bed. She couldn't walk more than a few steps without collapsing yet, and still required Blood Replenishing potions three times a day. However, according to Madam Pomfrey, it was likely she would be ready to leave the hospital wing by the end of the week.

The trouble was they weren't quite sure where she would be going once she left. Remus was still staying with Kingsley, but the flat in Hammersmith wasn't really big enough for three people. The Order had moved its Headquarters back to 12 Grimmauld Place when they'd learned that Harry had inherited it, but neither he nor Lena felt comfortable living there without Sirius. And the Lestrange Estate was still out of the question.

Valeriya had offered the use of her Knockturn Alley flat, as she was rarely in Britain these days. She had not gone to see Lena in-person at Hogwarts, but had given Remus a letter to pass on to her niece once she'd been alerted to Lena's return and subsequent ongoing recovery. While not entirely sure what the contents of the letter were, he could tell from Lena's reaction that it had at least gone some small way in repairing their fractured relationship. But unfortunately using Valeriya's flat was not the wisest option right now, as Knockturn Alley had become a hotspot for Death Eaters and their associates.

It was looking like they would have to find an entirely new place to stay – which, with Lena's fortune, should not have been a problem, except she was the only one who could withdraw funds from her Gringotts vault, and she had to visit the bank in order to do that.

Reaching the doors of the hospital wing, Remus pushed them open and went inside, heading straight to Lena's bed, the curtains drawn around it. At the sound of his entrance, Madam Pomfrey popped her head out of her office. Seeing him, she gave him a warm smile, which Remus returned.

He gently pulled the curtain back, and was greeted by the sight of Lena sitting up in bed, Mortimer perched on her shoulder, and reading a book. Her hair had been divided into two messy pigtails, and there was more colour in her cheeks than the last time he'd visited, which was wonderful to see.

She looked up at him, and a smile spread across her face. "Hello."

"Hey." He stepped through and closed the curtain behind him. Before he took his seat on the chair by the side of her bed, he stooped over and kissed her – a little more passionately than Madam Pomfrey probably would have deemed appropriate for her patient. Sure enough, Lena was slightly short of breath when she pulled back.

"Sorry," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Mortimer, meanwhile, had scampered off somewhere during the kiss. Clearly, he thought it was going to be one of those sorts of visits.

"It's okay," Lena assured Remus, eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you too. How was your weekend?"

"Exhausting," he admitted, sitting down. "And a little bit heartbreaking to realise just how many of the recent Hogwarts graduates want to join the Death Eaters."

"You mean the Slytherin graduates."

Remus sighed. "Yes," he conceded. "But none of your former Defence Against the Dark Arts classmates," he added. "Obviously you got through to them." Not wanting to spend the rest of his time with her that evening discussing such unpleasant matters, he changed the subject. "What are you reading?" he asked, nodding at the book in her hands.

She held it up for him. "Matilda," she told him. "It's a Muggle children's book. Erin brought it for me when she visited yesterday. It was her favourite when she was younger, and she's kept a copy in her trunk ever since she started at Hogwarts."

Remus wracked his brain. "Erin Hughes?" he finally said. "She was one of your ducklings, right?"

Lena groaned. "Oh, don't you start calling them that too!"

"Oh, come on," he protested, grinning, "it's an apt description. It was adorable, the way they used to follow you around."

"Just as long as you don't start calling me 'Mother Duck', like Maggie and Rolf did," grumbled Lena.

The mention of her friends made Remus remember something. "How are you going with writing?" he inquired. Because Lena hadn't been able to use her hands properly, she'd had him write – under her dictation – letters to both Maggie and Rolf to let them know how she was last week.

"Well, my hands start trembling if I write for too long," replied Lena. "But I'm okay with short notes now, which is good."

He nodded. "So, tell me, then – what's the story about?" He indicated once again to the book.

Lena glanced down at it. "A girl who's incredibly intelligent and can move objects around with her mind. She comes from a horrible family, with parents who don't like her or appreciate her brilliance. But when she goes to school she meets a teacher who immediately realises she's special, and they become very close."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Sounds strangely familiar," he commented. Tilting his head to the side, he gave her his best roguish smile. "Do they get together in the end?"

"Who?"

"The girl and the teacher."

She gave him an amused look. "Well, Matilda is five, so I think that might be a tad inappropriate."

He blushed slightly. "Oh, right."

Lena chuckled. "Don't worry, I know what you were getting at," she said. "Yes, I find her a somewhat... relatable character." She flicked back through the book. "She's got some brilliant ways of getting back at her parents for being awful to her." There was a wistfulness in her eyes.

"What's the teacher character like?" questioned Remus, curious. "Male, female, young, old–"

"I killed my father," said Lena quietly.

Remus broke off, staring at her in surprise. It hadn't even occurred to him until now that since he'd gotten Lena back, they hadn't once mentioned what had happened to her father in the Department of Mysteries. He briefly wondered if she'd spoken to Dumbledore on the matter, but he got the sense that this was the first time she had said the words aloud since the day it had happened.

"I... I know," he replied hesitantly, when he'd recovered his wits. "They found his body in the Space Chamber–"

"I deliberately killed him, Remus."

There was something a little eerie about the calm way Lena said it. It was not totally emotionless, nor rooted in tiredness like her admission of killing her grandmother. Her tone was more one of, 'I want you to understand this'.

He tried to respond, but words were not forthcoming, so Lena continued.

"I'd already won our duel," she told him. "He was Disarmed, at my mercy. I could have easily just captured him. But I decided to speak to him, and what he said in return made me mad. So I pushed my hand forward–" she imitated the gesture, "–smashing him into the wall, and I killed him."

Remus stared at her, trying to process this information. "What made you so mad?" he asked eventually.

"He was telling me that if it wasn't for the side I'd chosen, he might be proud to be my father."

"Ah." The memory he had seen of Voldemort telling Lena he'd be proud if he was her father played in his head. "That was a..." he struggled for the right phrase, "... poor choice of words, on his behalf."

Lena half-snorted. "Yeah." She stared ahead, her expression distant, and Remus knew she was replaying the moment in her mind. "I used to imagine killing my mother over and over," she murmured. "But the idea of murdering my father never once crossed my mind."

Remus bit his lip. As far as the Ministry was concerned, the death of Rodolphus Lestrange was a closed case. He was an escaped Death Eater, whose death was a consequence of trespassing in the Department of Mysteries. Outside of Azkaban, there was no one to mourn him. Remus wasn't even sure what they had done with the body. He doubted that even if Lena felt compelled to confess the truth to a Ministry official, they would charge her with murder. After all, one less Death Eater to worry about was a good thing.

"Are you glad you did it?" he said at last.

Her eyes met his. After a few seconds, she answered, "Not really."

"Do you regret it?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "But I'm angry."

He furrowed his brow. "With yourself?"

She shook her head. "I'm angry I was put in that position," she said flatly. "That I had a father so indifferent to me that he had no qualms about my mother abusing me. That their parenting allowed something to grow inside of me, something twisted and sadistic and unable to let things go, which I can't control. That of all the Death Eaters I could have ran into at the Department of Mysteries, it was him." She closed her eyes. "I am so furious that I felt, in that moment, I had to kill my father." Reopening her eyes, she continued, "I didn't feel it at the time, though. It was only after Voldemort pointed out now we had both murdered our fathers..."

Remus moved to sit on the edge of her bed and very gently held her hands. "Tell me," he said, "do you think Voldemort is glad he killed his father?"

"Yes."

"Then the two of you are not as alike as he would like you to think," was Remus' simple response.

Lena stared down at their clasped hands for a little while, then mentioned offhandedly, "He's not very happy about our relationship."

Remus nearly laughed out loud. "What a shame," he said wryly. "And I was so hoping for his blessing."

She glanced up at him. "I told him he could go fuck himself."

It took an enormous amount of self-restraint for Remus not to throw himself on top of her and give her a thorough shagging. Instead, he contented himself with remarking, "Well, you do have a way with words." He let go of her hands and began to move back to the chair.

"By the way, I think it would be sensible if we got married."

Remus very nearly missed the chair as he went to sit down. He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "You what?"

"It would be sensible if we got married," repeated Lena matter-of-factly. She looked completely composed.

Remus, on the other hand, gaped at her, aware his heart had started to loudly thump in his chest. "Are you... proposing to me?" he asked incredulously, once his mind was capable of forming words again.

She shrugged. "I suppose so. It would certainly make things simpler, logistically speaking."

"Logistically?" said Remus faintly.

"If you were my husband, you would have equal access to the Lestrange vault," she explained. "And there would be other legal benefits, of course."

"Oh, of course," muttered Remus, running a hand through his hair.

"So, are we agreed?"

He continued to stare at her, still in disbelief. "I don't know, are you sure there isn't a way to make your proposal less romantic?" he deadpanned.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Romantic?" she said, sounding amused.

"Yeah, you know, maybe mention something about love–"

"I thought it was pretty well-established that we're completely and utterly in love with each other," said Lena, like she couldn't quite understand what he was fussing about.

"–or wanting to spend the rest of your life with me."

"Again, this is not new information." She was eyeing him as though he was the one not acting like a regular human being. "What's the matter, do you not want to marry me?"

"Marry–" Remus put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked at her. "Lena, you've never, at any point, given me the slightest indication you're interested in marriage!"

"Well, I'd never really given it much thought, beyond the fact that I don't need to sign a legally-binding document to prove that I love you," she said indifferently. "But after being apart from you for four months, it occurred to me that you're not officially my next-of-kin, and if we were married, we would be able to make decisions for each other if one of us was incapable of doing so for themself." She tilted her head to the side. "But if you don't like the idea–"

"What, the idea we should treat marriage as some kind of business partnership?"

"That's completely misinterpreting my words! I was trying to emphasise the practicality of such a venture."

"Why the hell would I want you to be practical when proposing marriage to me?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "Ugh, what do you want? Some grandiose, cliché, romantic gesture? Would you like me to sing you a song?"

"Don't be so facetious–"

"Wise men say, only fools rush in..."

Remus knew Lena could sing nicely and in tune perfectly well when she wanted to; he'd heard her singing along to her cassette tapes in the car enough times. However, on this occasion, she had chosen to belt the lyrics with little regard for pitch and tone.

"Oh, sweet Merlin," he mumbled to himself.

She ignored him, continuing, "But I can't help–" she sucked in a deep breath, "–falling in love – with – you!"

He was so desperately glad there were no other patients in the hospital wing. "Okay, Lena, you've made your point–" he started to say, sure he could hear Madam Pomfrey laughing in the background, but Lena didn't stop.

"Oh, shall I stay..." She paused momentarily, to quickly tell him, "I'm going to keep singing until you agree to marry me," and then took another big breath. "Would it be – a – sin..."

Remus shook his head. "You are such a drama queen."

"Oh, if I can't help–"

"This is ridiculous!"

"–FALLING IN LOVE – WITH – YOU!"

"For Merlin's sake, all right!" said Remus loudly. "I'll marry you!"

A smile immediately spread across Lena's face. "Really?"

"Of course, you absolute lunatic, you're the love of my life." Once again, he sat on the edge of her bed. The initial shock and incredulity had worn off, and a warm feeling of happiness had spread through his body.

He was going to marry her. Lena Lestrange was going to be his wife.

Remus was about to kiss her when it occurred to him something was missing. "We don't even have an engagement ring."

Lena opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a small squeaking. It was Mortimer, scuttling up the bed towards them. He climbed up into Remus' hand, and stretched out his arm, a look of intense concentration on his tiny face.

"What's he–" began Remus, but broke off as an offshoot began to grow off Mortimer's arm. It stopped at about one-and-a-half inches in length. Mortimer gave it a tug with his other hand, and pulled it off, dropping it in Remus' palm.

Remus blinked. "I didn't know Bowtruckles could do that," he remarked.

"Neither did I," murmured Lena, inspecting the green growth. Then she held out left hand, smiling at him. "Try it."

Mortimer scampered down off his hand, and Remus picked up the offshoot between his thumb and forefinger. It felt more like grass than a twig. He wrapped it around Lena's ring finger. When he'd finished carefully tying it off, the centre wiggled slightly, and before their eyes, a tiny white flower grew.

"Oh, that's beautiful," whispered Lena, and looked down at Mortimer, who was standing on her lap. "Thank you, Mortimer."

"Yes, thank you," agreed Remus, smiling at the little creature.

He squeaked happily in response. And this time, when the newly engaged couple kissed, he stayed with them.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter :) Some responses to reviews:

Laleh: It's really a combination of things about Lena that captivate Remus. Yes, it's her intelligence and her charisma, but initially what fascinates him most is the way she defies his expectations about her, and then just when he thinks he has her figured out... she defies them again. So her complexity intrigues him, but he only really starts to like her when he realises she genuinely likes him and doesn't care that he's a werewolf. Does that answer your question?

1saaa: Thank you very much for binging :) Regarding my Hogwarts house: I was a Ravenclaw on the first version of Pottermore, but sorted into Gryffindor when they re-did it. But I think when I was eleven, it probably would have been Ravenclaw. But you never really know for sure, do you? :D