Anger coursed through Voldemort, making his blood hot. He want to destroy things, crush them, burn them–

"My Lord?"

"What?" snapped Voldemort, glaring at the female Carrow who stood to his right.

She squirmed under his furious glare, as though trying to make herself smaller. In a low voice, she told him, "The Mudblood is dead. I... I think his heart gave out."

"Ah." Voldemort lowered his wand, eyeing the recently deceased man lying crumpled on the floor a few feet in front of him. He had been so caught up in his rage that he hadn't noticed the screaming stop.

Now, he couldn't even remember the Mudblood's name. Was it Andrews? Anderson? All he knew was that the man worked – or rather, had worked – at the Ministry, in the Administration Registration Department.

The Dark Lord had learned from his spies at the Ministry that a few days ago, there had been a new entry in the official marital records: Remus Lupin and Lena Lestrange.

Voldemort knew perfectly well this Mudblood had nothing to do with that abominable union. But when his spies had mentioned this piece of filth was one of the employees in the Department, it had seemed like a good opportunity to make an example of him. And his family.

"Leave me."

Alecto Carrow and her brother Amycus exchanged a surprised look, but both nodded and murmured, "Yes, my Lord." They exited the Mudblood's house, leaving Voldemort alone with the three corpses lying on the living room floor: the Mudblood Ministry employee, his filthy Muggle wife, and...

He walked over to the body of the child. It lay on the floor, spreadeagled, staring up with wide, frozen eyes. She must have been about five or six – at any rate, around the same age as Lena had been before everything had gone wrong.

He stared down at her. She looked nothing like Lena; instead of long, black hair, this girl had a mop of fair curls. Her face was round, with a button nose and brown eyes. But the starkest difference was the expression of terror, permanently stuck to her face by death. She had been screaming for her mother when his Killing Curse had struck her.

She was the first of the Mudblood family he had killed. As effective as the Cruciatus Curse was as a torture device, Voldemort had discovered, through years of experimentation, nothing compared to the pain parents felt when they watched their children die before their eyes. So he had started with the girl, moved onto the mother, and had finished with the father – although his ending had been slightly premature. The man had been under the Cruciatus Curse for less than ten minutes when he had succumbed.

'Pathetic,' thought Voldemort disgustedly. Some wizards and witches could spend hours enduring such torture, and live to walk away. Although, to be fair to the Mudblood, Voldemort had perhaps been a little overzealous with the force behind the Cruciatus Curse tonight, courtesy of his mind being preoccupied with thoughts of Lena and her new mongrel husband.

He couldn't make sense of it. How could someone as extraordinary as Lena choose to wed a man who was so completely unremarkable, with the exception of his being a diseased beast? True, the thought of her with any man was enough to make Voldemort feel slightly nauseous, but this was unthinkable. What was more, it was unforgivable.

But the worst thing was that he knew she truly didn't give a damn what he thought about it. She didn't care about disappointing him – if anything, she would be pleased to know how infuriated he had been when the news had reached him.

It was maddening. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to seek Lupin out and kill him. But on the other...

The anger and hatred he had felt as a young boy had paled in comparison to the fury and detestation that had fuelled Lena when he had first met her as a four year old child. What he had seen inside her mind had been enough to make him recoil. There was darkness, and there was... whatever it was that had been growing inside her.

So he had tried to stop it, teaching her Occlumency so that she could channel her emotions into something productive, into becoming a great witch. And everything he had seen of her since then, from afar and up close, had told him he was successful. But the more he thought about some of her behaviour during the time she was with him on his island, the more he felt like he had missed something important. Something she had once done, which had changed her forever. Something which was making every instinct he had tell him that it would be unwise to upset her more than he already had.

Voldemort glanced over at the Mudblood father's body, and internally sighed. 'Consider yourself fortunate,' he silently said to the corpse, 'that you will never have to deal with the painful intricacies of a relationship with a grown-up daughter.'

Not that he imagined this little girl would have caused half the suffering that Lena had inflicted upon him. He supposed that was the one upside of having unexceptional children – standards were so low that it was much more difficult to be a disappointment.

But it did make it so much easier to kill them.

He turned away from the dead child and strode out of the room. He went out the front door, pausing on the doorstep. The house was on the outskirts of the village, far away enough that he was not clearly visible to the neighbours.

Pointing his wand upwards, he murmured, "Morsmordre."

Green light shot into the air, forming the skull and serpent sign in the sky, marking that the world had been rid of one more Mudblood – and Muggle and brat – this night. And as Voldemort stepped away from the door to give himself more space to Disapparate, he was glad he had at least one reason to celebrate on his seventieth birthday.

Friday 31 January, 1997:

Not for the first time in the last hour, Lena glared at the gold speck in the mirror as a grumpy, indistinct noise escaped her. It had been over a year since Hedda had given her the bronze-framed mirror with the reflection of an object that did not exist as a puzzle to solve, yet she was still no closer to discovering its secret.

Frustrated, she dropped the mirror onto the desk. As she did, a small movement from the picture frame to her left caught her eye.

It was one of the photos that Maggie had taken at her and Remus' wedding. It was of the newly-married couple. Although it had been properly developed as a Wizarding photograph, there was never much movement from the couple inside the picture. Their arms were almost always around each others' waists as they gazed adoringly into each others' eyes. But Lena's disgruntled sound had prompted the photograph-version of herself to shoot her a dirty look, as though she was ruining their eternal moment.

Lena and Remus had settled easily into married life, as there was very little difference to the last couple of years. It was really just the technicalities they had to get used to – such as referring to each other as husband and wife, instead of 'partners'. They hadn't gone on a honeymoon, but Dumbledore had given them a few days after the wedding without any missions for the Order. After that, however, they had both been very busy until last night, as it had been a full moon.

Moony didn't necessarily understand the concept of marriage, but he seemed to sense that something had happened to make his bond with Lena more permanent. And he had been so attached to her ever since her return from Voldemort's imprisonment that the desire to escape his confinement and hunt down humans had significantly lessened.

Now, as noon approached, Remus was sleeping off his exhaustion from the transformation, while Lena finally had some free time to work in her study on the problem of the mirror, which remained stubbornly enigmatic. She had tried drawing an assortment of runes on the glass, a multitude of intricate spells, and read up on as much magical theory on reflections as she could find, but the mirror still refused to yield any answers. And as Lena was unused to being ignorant, it was really bugging her.

She leant back in her chair, stretching out her legs underneath the desk and flexing her wrists until there were some satisfying cracks. Frustrating as the mirror was, she had to admit the puzzle was a somewhat pleasant preoccupation compared to the work she had been doing for the Order. Important as it was, surveillance could be tedious. In the past month, she'd only gotten into one actual fight, and it hadn't even been with a proper Death Eater, just a spy whose interrogation hadn't revealed anything they didn't already know.

There was a knock on the study door, and a moment later it was opened by a yawning Remus. "Morning, darling."

Lena checked her wristwatch. 11:56am. "Only just," she replied with a smile, and stood up. "Have you had breakfast?"

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "Tizzy's making some bacon and eggs, did you want any?"

"Well, it's been hours since I've had breakfast, so I could do with some lunch." She walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, studying his face.

Placing his hands on her hips, he smiled tiredly. "I'm all right," he told her. "Bit sore, nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips.

Remus glanced over her shoulder, looking at her desk. "Is that Hedda's mirror?"

Lena nodded. "I'm still working on it." She sighed and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Remus' collarbone. "I just can't crack it," she mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled, his hand stroking her back. "Surely it's nice, just for once, to actually have a challenge," he murmured into her ear.

She pulled back. "And what, feel like a person of average intelligence?" She stuck her tongue out. "Blergh. No thank you."

"Ah, there's that charming condescension that makes you such a catch," said Remus wryly. He let go of Lena and crossed over to the desk, picking up the mirror with a curious expression. "Didn't you do a lot of research into reflections during your Seventh Year, when you were doing that essay for Dumbledore?"

"Yeah," said Lena, "a lot. But this mirror – I know something's been put inside it, but I just can't get it out, or even figure out what 'it' is." She folded her arms. "Whatever this is, it's some seriously obscure magic."

Remus put the mirror back down and sat on the edge of the desk. "I'm guessing you haven't mentioned it to Dumbledore," he said.

Lena snorted. "Maybe in another world where there wasn't a war on." She walked over to Remus and slumped down into her chair. "The sentiment's right, of course," she added, glancing up at him. "If anyone might be able to shed some light on it, it's Dumbledore."

Her husband gazed at her with a thoughtful expression. "Do you ever wonder," he said, after a long pause, "what you might see in the Mirror of Erised if you looked in it now?"

She and Remus had spoken of her encounter with the Mirror of Erised not long after she had translated Astris' account. At the time, Remus had been a lot less concerned about her seeing herself holding Hecate's Orb than he was about the Voldemort aspect of the image.

Lena drew her legs up onto the chair, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her expression very earnest, she answered, "Yes. Because I at least know it wouldn't be the same image I saw five years ago."

Still looking at her intently, Remus nodded slowly. "You've changed," he said quietly.

"Well, I should hope so," replied Lena with a dry smile. "You'd expect there to be some personal growth in somebody between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "That's not exactly what I meant," he said. "I was talking about since you came back. From your imprisonment."

Biting her lip, Lena thought about this. It was true – she had changed. Not hugely, but there was a fundamental difference.

"For the longest time," she began, her tone reflective, "I was so afraid of how I felt about Voldemort. It was... messy. A tangle of emotions. Abandonment, anger, love. I thought it would be unbearable to disappoint him, and I loathed myself for thinking that. I felt like I was strangling myself, desperate for air but too scared to let go. So I shoved that tangled mess down, deep down, trying to hide it. But the knowledge that it existed haunted me." She smiled bitterly. "Somewhere along the way, I became more afraid of the mess than I was of actually seeing Voldemort again. Then we met at the Ministry, I got angry, and..." She shrugged. "The world didn't end. I spent four months incarcerated by him, saw him nearly every day. We spoke, we argued, we lamented that things didn't turn out differently, but I never once lost control. I didn't lose myself."

Remus tilted his head to the side, silently asking the question: 'Why not?'

Lena let go of her legs, dropping her feet to the floor, and edged forward on her seat. Resting her hands on the side of his legs, she told him, "I grew up. I saw that the monster I had created inside my head as a lonely child was not as dangerous as the one standing in front of me, the one that wanted to destroy everything, everyone, I love." She let out a slow, deep breath, then continued, "I know I wouldn't be who I am today without Voldemort. I will always remember the kindness he showed me, the care he had for me. I suppose, in a way, that acknowledgement is a kind of love." She stood up so her eyes were level with Remus'. Calmly, she told him, "But I'm done with letting that get in the way of the life I've made for myself. I want him to lose. And if that means he has to die... I'm okay with it."

She and Remus held each others' gazes for a long moment. Then Remus smiled.

"You have always possessed," he said, "such a remarkable determination in getting whatever it is you need. But I think it's only now that you finally know what it is you want."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"What everyone wants," answered Remus softly, "even if they don't know it. To look into the Mirror of Erised, and see only yourself, just as you are."

His words seemed to hang in the air for a second. Then Lena absorbed them, straight into her soul.

It was an idea that just a year ago would have sounded crazy and impossible. But how many times had she told herself that the impossible was simply what was yet to be possible?

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I'd like that very much." She slipped her arms around Remus' neck and hugged him tightly.

Remus returned the embrace with equal warmth. "Good," he said. "But for the moment, will you settle with bacon and eggs? Because I suspect that Tizzy has almost–"

"Bloody hell!" Lena quickly released Remus. Looking over his shoulder, her eyes had fallen on Hedda's mirror, particularly the mysterious golden blur. And all the pieces had finally slotted into place. "Remus Lupin, I knew I had a good reason for loving you!"

He looked at her with faint surprise. "What, you only just figured it out– hey!" he protested as she unceremoniously pushed him aside so she could reach the mirror.

"It's a prototype!" Lena breathed, almost quivering with excitement as she picked up the object in question.

Remus frowned, turning around to also look at the mirror. "Of what?"

"The Mirror of Erised!" She pointed at the indistinct golden thing. "It's desire! That's why it can't be made out clearly – it's an early attempt at making the reflection show the heart's deepest desire. Of course I wasn't able to break through and get it out, that's the whole point of it!"

"But the Philosopher's Stone–"

"Was a real object put inside the Mirror," interrupted Lena, waving her hand dismissively. "Trying to get the gold thing out would be like trying to pull out the Mirror of Erised's ability to reflect desire." She hastily put the mirror down, and started reaching for a piece of paper and a pen. "I've got to write to Hedda and tell her I've finally solved it!" She paused in the middle of the action, turning her face to Remus. "And, of course, I couldn't have done it without my very clever husband." Suddenly, he looked somehow even more attractive than usual, and there was a pulsating in her groin. "Very clever, and very handsome."

Remus blinked, barely managing to register the fact that her voice had dropped to almost a purr before he was pushed back into the chair. He stared up at her almost predatory smile, and realised he no longer felt tired. "Right," he said, licking his lips to relieve them of their sudden dryness, "yes, you're very welc–"

He was cut off by Lena, who had lowered herself onto his lap and started vigorously snogging him.

Standing just outside the study, Tizzy quietly closed the door, careful not to alert her mistress or Mr Lupin to her presence. It was all right; she could keep the bacon and eggs warm in the frying pan.

Sunday 23 March, 1997:

Keeping the fact Harry was a Horcrux a secret from him was one thing, but Lena hated being so enigmatic about the whole Malfoy–Snape–Dumbledore situation with him. Particularly when there were things he was right about.

When she had finished her meeting with Dumbledore in his office – Order business – she had found Harry waiting for her in the Gargoyle Corridor. He was by himself because Ron and Hermione were in Hogsmeade practising for their Apparition tests, and he had eagerly asked her whether she'd spoken with the headmaster regarding his suspicions about Malfoy. But Lena had to disappoint him, keeping her responses vague, and his eagerness had quickly turned into frustration.

"But why can't Dumbledore just order Malfoy to push up his sleeve? Then he'll see the Dark Mark on his arm, and that would be enough grounds for an arrest, wouldn't it?"

Lena glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye as the staircase they had just stepped onto began moving down to the first floor. Inwardly, she sighed. It really wasn't fair that everyone, herself included, was being so dismissive towards Harry's theory about her cousin. But she had promised Dumbledore she wouldn't tell him the truth. It was vital he was kept in the dark.

"As I have told you countless times," she said to him, trying to keep her tone patient, "Dumbledore is well aware of all the facts you possess, along with many others that you don't. He's just as concerned as you are that somebody else will get hurt in these reckless attempts on his life, but there are other factors he has to consider – which," she added quickly as Harry opened his mouth, "he does not need to explain to you at present."

As the staircase connected with the landing, Harry let out a sound that was almost a growl. "You can't expect me to just do nothing when Malfoy nearly kills my best friend!" he said angrily, following her into the first-floor corridor.

"You saved Ron's life with that bezoar," replied Lena lightly. "I wouldn't say that was nothing."

"You know what I mean," snapped Harry, stopping her by reaching his arm out in front of her. "Look, when Hermione tells me I'm acting this way because I've got some kind of, of hero complex, and to forget about it, I get it. That's Hermione, blindly trusting that the grownups have it all handled." He took a deep breath. "But you, Lena – you've always told me to keep searching for answers if I don't have them." He folded his arms stubbornly. "So can you blame me for being suspicious when suddenly you start telling me to stop?"

"I'm not asking you to stop, Harry," said Lena. She put a hand on his shoulder, and was momentarily unnerved by the fact he was now the same height as her. She shook her head slightly, and continued, "I'm asking you to trust me."

Harry stared at her for a long moment. At last, he shrugged off her hand and responded in a bitter voice, "That would never be good enough for you."

That stung, but only because it was true. 'Trust me, I know better than you' was a wall that Lena had never allowed to block her path. She either scaled it, or hammered away at it until she broke through. But she couldn't allow Harry to do the same. After Dumbledore died, everything depended on Voldemort believing that Snape was truly on his side, and that meant Harry had to hate the man who ended the old wizard's life. And Harry, for all the other ways in which he was remarkable, was not that great of an actor. Or, if it came down to it, an Occlumens.

"We all have different roles to play," she told him, but this did nothing to placate the exasperated boy.

"And what, mine is the helpless, useless child?"

"Harry–"

"I'm not a kid, Lena!" he shouted, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists. "When are you and Dumbledore going to stop treating me like one?!"

Fragments of her last argument with Irina flickered through Lena's mind.

'Then stop acting like a little child!'

'If I'm acting like a child, it's because you're treating me like one!'

A small shiver ran through her body as she recalled the unadulterated fury that had filled her in the minutes leading up to the killing of her grandmother. Maybe if she had actually listened to Irina, rather than allowing her ego to control her emotions, Lena wouldn't have become a murderer at the age of eleven.

She was trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry that this was his opportunity to learn from her mistakes without just sounding like a hypocrite when there came the sound of footsteps from further along the corridor. Distracted, Lena glanced in their direction, her eyes widening when she saw the source of them.

It was Neville Longbottom. He spotted her at exactly the same time, and their eyes met.

She knew he had been part of Harry's group that had gone to the Ministry nine months ago, but they had not crossed paths then, or since. The only time they had ever spoken to each other was still their first meeting, when she had returned his dropped bag to him in the Grand Staircase.

"Whatever," muttered Harry, drawing Lena's attention back to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, refusing to look at her. "I won't take up anymore of your precious time, you've probably got loads of important stuff to do." He turned around and walked quickly back towards the stairs.

Lena let him go without a word. Her thoughts were too jumbled to formulate anything to say to him that would make him less upset. She would just have to wait until the next time she came to Hogwarts for a meeting with Dumbledore, or Harry was in Hogsmeade. Instead, she looked back at Neville. He had stopped about twenty feet away from her and was watching her, not with anger or hatred, but curiosity.

She swallowed. "Hi," she said hesitantly.

Neville bit his lip, then cautiously replied, "Hello."

Slowly, Lena approached him. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced to each other." Stopping in front of him, she paused before extending her left hand. "Lena Lestrange."

Neville looked down at the proffered hand. "Not Lena Lupin?" he said, after a moment.

She realised he had been looking at her wedding ring, and wondered how he knew Remus was the one who had given it to her. Perhaps he had overheard Harry, Hermione or one of the Weasleys say something once. In any case, Lena knew what he was really commenting upon was the fact she hadn't changed her last name despite being given the opportunity.

"No," she replied with a small smile. "Not Lupin."

Neville seemed to study her face for a few seconds, before nodding. "Right," he said, then grasped her hand firmly. "Neville Longbottom."

Lena's smile broadened a little. "I've heard quite a bit about you," she told him when they'd finished shaking hands.

He raised his eyebrows. "About what a rubbish wizard I am?"

"No. About how talented a Herbologist you are."

"Oh," said Neville, looking surprised.

"You know, my friend Maggie works at the Gorllewinol Greenhouses," said Lena offhandedly.

"Really?" His face visibly brightened. "Do you know if it's true they're developing a new sub-species of Fluxweed there?" he asked eagerly.

His sheer enthusiasm for magical plants nearly made Lena laugh; it reminded her of Maggie. Glancing at her wristwatch, she said, "Well, I've got to keep moving, otherwise I'll be running late for my next... engagement... but if you walk with me to the gates, I'll tell you everything I know about what they're doing."

"Sure!" said Neville immediately, and fell into step with her as Lena continued on her way to the school's gates.

They chatted easily, although the conversation nearly exhausted all of Lena's Herbology knowledge. It wasn't until they drew close to the gate that Neville went quiet. Lena could see Tonks, who was on Guard duty, watching them from her sentry position, although she was a little too far away to clearly make out her expression.

"At the Ministry," Neville finally said, stopping as they reached the gate, "your father–"

"I killed him," said Lena simply. She looked away from Neville for a second, gathering her thoughts, before she turned her gaze back to him. "I'm very sorry for what he, my mother, my uncle and Crouch did to your parents."

Neville stared down at his feet. "Wasn't your fault," he murmured.

"No," said Lena levelly, "but I should have spoken to you about it long ago to express my condolences. For my failure to show you that common decency, I apologise."

Looking back up at her, Neville quietly said, "It always confused me, you know. Because everyone said you were like them, but Harry... the two of you were such good friends, and I couldn't understand why, why..." he trailed off.

"Sometimes," said Lena slowly, "people form attachments to each other that are highly illogical." She shrugged. "But I suppose if everybody behaved entirely logically, we'd all grow bored of each other very quickly, and then what would we have?"

Neville smiled. "You're really not what I expected you to be like," he told her.

She chuckled. "Thank Merlin for that. I do so hate to be predictable. " Once again, she stuck her hand out, and this time he didn't hesitate before taking it. "I'll see you around, Neville."

"It was good to finally properly meet you," replied Neville, letting go. He turned around and started heading back to the castle.

"You know," Tonks remarked to Lena as she slipped out the gate, "for someone with such an unfriendly reputation, you don't seem to have a lot of difficulty making friends."

Lena snorted, Harry's angry face flashing in her mind. "Oh, making friends is the easy part. Keeping friends – now, that's where it can get difficult."

Wednesday 9 April, 1997:

Two days before she and Remus were due to depart England for her next injection at the IHO, Lena headed to Gringotts, requiring a currency exchange. Diagon Alley was practically deserted as she made her way to the Wizarding bank. Nobody lingered outside these days.

Lena's eyes were drawn to the boarded-up store of Ollivander's. She wondered if Voldemort had gotten what information he needed out of the wandmaker yet, and if so, whether he was still alive. Perhaps he had been charged with crafting a new wand for Voldemort, one that would not be impeded by a connection to Harry's.

She let out a small sigh as she thought of the boy. She hadn't seen him since his last outburst at Hogwarts, and daren't write him a letter, in case of interception. It didn't sit right with her to be leaving things unresolved for so long, but she wouldn't have a chance to speak with him until at least after she had returned from the continent. However, that did mean she had time to think of the right words to say to him, to convince him she wasn't keeping secrets from him because she thought he was too young or couldn't handle the truth, but that it was just too dangerous to tell him – or anyone else – what was really going on.

Sometimes Lena wondered if it had been a mistake to allow herself to become so close with Harry, especially after she had learned of the fragment of Voldemort's soul that was trapped inside of him. She'd never really had much difficulty keeping her distance from other people before him. Now it felt like every way she turned, there was someone she cared about in her path.

At that moment, just as she was about to ascend the stairs to the entrance of Gringotts, someone literally stepped into her trajectory. Exiting the bank was Narcissa Malfoy, who Lena had not spoken to since she was a five year old child living under the oppressive thumb of Bellatrix in the Lestrange house.

Narcissa looked much older than Lena remembered her. The white-blonde hair now just seemed white, and there were crow's feet on her face that could not be hidden by makeup. Her mouth was set in a thin, grim line rather than a haughty sneer, and she was thinner than ever. Apparently, with a husband in Azkaban and a son recently inducted into the Death Eaters only to be given a suicide mission, she was not coping well.

Lena didn't slow her pace, but Narcissa halted on the top step when she noticed her niece, recognising her more quickly than Lena would have expected – and hoped. She kept her gaze firmly off her aunt, wanting to avoid a confrontation. But just as she was about to pass by her, Narcissa reached out to touch her arm.

Acting instinctively, Lena caught the outstretched hand by the wrist, stopping and finally looking her in the eye. And quite unintentionally, as the contact was made, she saw inside Narcissa's mind.

Fear was the overwhelming emotion. Narcissa was frightened for Draco. The Unbreakable Vow that Snape had made her did little to stay her terror. And among the fear was anxiety for Lucius, what Azkaban might be doing to him. She felt utterly alone, and desperate. She wanted to shout at Lena for siding with the enemy, but was also crying out for help.

You brought this upon yourself. For a brief moment, that was what Lena wanted to snap at her. Narcissa had made her own choices in her life that had led to these consequences. It was her and Lucius' fault that their son suffered. Blinded by prejudice and their obsession with an imagined supremacy, they had picked the side that served a power-mad psychopath – what had she expected? Nobody had forced her into the position she was in now; her sister Andromeda was proof of that.

Lena continued to stare at the scared and pathetic woman, and her initial anger and disgust subsided. But she still felt no sympathy for Narcissa. Nor did she feel any obligation to help her. But what was most surprising to her was that she had no desire to say anything at all. No snide remark or clever quip. Nothing. There was a time, not that long ago, when Lena would have been unable to pass up such an opportunity, a need to acknowledge their connection – whether that be with malicious intent, or just to assert some kind of moral superiority. But now such an interaction just seemed meaningless. It wouldn't change anything.

So she simply let go of the wrist and gave Narcissa the most miniscule shake of her head. Then she strode away, through the doors of Gringotts, leaving behind the wretched woman on the steps, without conciliatory words, or a chastisement, or any indication she had known exactly what she was thinking.

And Lena didn't look back.

Sunday 13 April, 1997:

From the moment Lena had set foot inside the IHO Headquarters, she could tell something was wrong. There was a sense of dread hanging thickly in the atmosphere. Those who worked there moved around quickly, murmuring to each other in hushed voices, their faces tired with dark shadows under their eyes.

Lena was waiting alone in Healer Ghali's office, having been ushered there by some tight-lipped administrative staff member. It was nearly ten minutes after their appointment was due to begin when the breathless Healer barrelled into the room.

"I'm so sorry, Lena, I've been in meetings all day and only just noticed the time," apologised Healer Ghali, shutting the door behind her. "How are you feeling?" she added distractedly, dumping a large pile of folders onto her desk.

"I'm well, thank you," replied Lena politely. She was about to ask if everything was all right, but stopped herself just in time; evidently, it wasn't.

"Good, good," muttered Healer Ghali, opening a cabinet next to her desk and peering inside. "Now, Moramortis, Moramortis... aha!" She grabbed the box that contained Lena's treatment. "Here we are." She opened the box, pulling out a vial and a syringe, and started preparing it for injection. "You've got everything you need for your stay overnight?"

"Yes," answered Lena, patting the small suitcase next to her.

"And you've recovered from your injuries from last October?" inquired Healer Ghali, glancing at her. "I must say, the file your Madam Pomfrey sent over to me was a very interesting read."

"I can imagine," said Lena wryly. "And yes, fully recovered."

Healer Ghali nodded, her mind clearly still occupied with something else. "Wonderful. Now, if you'll roll up your sleeve..."

Lena did as she asked as Healer Ghali approached her with the syringe, but felt a little apprehensive. She would prefer that the person injecting her with the Moramortis was fully focused on the task at hand. Fortunately, the sight of a ring on her left hand was enough to bring the Healer back to the present.

"Is that a wedding ring?" she asked, blinking.

"Yep," said Lena with a small smile. "Remus and I got married a few months ago."

"Oh, congratulations!" The brightness in her voice didn't quite reach Healer Ghali's eyes. Dabbing Lena's arm with some cotton wool, she continued, "Was it a nice ceremony?"

"Very nice," replied Lena, closely watching Healer Ghali's hands as she readied the syringe for injection.

They were trembling.

Noticing Lena's gaze, Healer Ghali smiled weakly. "Sorry, you've just caught me at a bit of a stressful time. Give me a moment–" She fumbled with the syringe, nearly stabbing herself in the hand with the needle. "Whoops."

Lena couldn't stand it any longer. She reached out and gently took the syringe from Healer Ghali, who didn't protest, but rather put her face in her hands. After Lena had put the syringe back on the desk, she turned to Healer Ghali.

"Kamilah," she said quietly, using the Healer's given name for the first time, "what's wrong?"

The older woman looked up from her hands, and Lena's heart skipped a beat as she saw the fearful expression on her face. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she responded, "I... I really shouldn't tell you. I could get into a lot of trouble..."

When she didn't continue, Lena said, "It's bad, then."

A small bark of nervous laughter escaped Healer Ghali. "Oh, yes. It's bad."

Lena swallowed. This was really what the Wizarding world needed on top of a war – the IHO keeping some sort of crisis top secret.

She looked Healer Ghali steadily in the eye. "Tell me."

Lena waited until she was back at the Swiss house the next day to speak to Remus of what she had learned. She knew he could sense there was something weighing heavily on her mind, but he waited patiently for her to reveal it to him, rather than immediately probing her for information.

Once they were both sitting on the sofa in the living room, each with a mug of tea in their hands, Lena took a deep breath and began.

"Healer Ghali told me," she said, "that there's a... situation. In Norway. On Nordaustlandet."

Remus blanched. "Isn't that where Svartlager is?"

"Yes," answered Lena grimly. "And that has to be–" She stopped herself, trying to regather her thoughts. She had to explain this as clearly as she could. "About ten days ago," she said at last, "the IHO received a message that someone on the island had died from an unknown illness. By the time the experts they'd sent out to investigate arrived, another two people had been killed by the same thing. The three victims were all suspected to be workers at Svartlager, but of course, the place officially doesn't exist. I mean, everybody knows it's on Nordaustlandet, but the only people who actually know where it is are the people employed there, and they're supposedly bound by a magical contract to never reveal its location. All of them live in a small settlement on the island. Or rather, lived."

"They're dead?" asked Remus, sounding sickened. "All of them?"

"Seventeen witches and wizards, all dead in the span of a week," confirmed Lena. "But it doesn't stop there. Two of the IHO officials who went looking for Svartlager, hoping to find the source of the illness, came across an area where all the plant life and insects were dead. Shortly after they rejoined the others to tell them of their findings, they realised they'd been infected too. They both died in the early hours of yesterday morning."

She could tell Remus had about a thousand questions, but the one he asked was, "Is it a contagious disease?"

Lena shook her head. "It's not viral, but it's... how do I put this?" She paused, considering. "Okay. The origin of it is almost certainly something inside Svartlager. That's why the workers all died first, because they were the only living things allowed inside. But whatever the source is, it has started to spread – far enough that it's covered the vicinity of Svartlager, and by merely entering that zone, you become infected. And you die." She stared down at her almost untouched mug of tea for a moment. When she looked back up at Remus, her expression was very grave. "The IHO can't even keep looking for the cause, because to enter the infectious area is a death sentence. There's no protective equipment or magic that works against it, because it eats through everything. They only know that whatever it is, it's spreading further and further – and quickly."

Remus stared at her, his anxiety almost tangible. "How quickly?"

She shrugged. "At the moment, it's still located to less than half of Nordaustlandet, but today they're evacuating the last of the IHO officials who've been there investigating it. But there's no reason to believe that the water surrounding the island will stop the spread when it eventually reaches it, which will probably be in only a few weeks or less." She shook her head in disbelief. "It's like nothing they've ever encountered before, Remus," she told him quietly. "This disease, it just drains life from whatever it can – algae, grass, weeds, bugs, birds, reindeer, people. It spares nothing. You get infected, you're gone. The IHO doesn't even know where to begin looking for a cure."

At this point, Remus looked like he was on the verge of throwing up. "But surely they can figure it out before it starts to spread to populated areas–"

"No, Remus, they're terrified," interrupted Lena, a little sharply. "And these are the foremost experts in the field of magical diseases. All anyone knows is that something must have gone wrong inside Svartlager. One of the items that someone sent there – either it's been mishandled, or come into contact with something it shouldn't have, or maybe it just grew unstable for some reason – is the cause of this, but nobody can get close enough to find out what."

Remus' face was very pale as he continued to stare at her. Lena couldn't blame him; she was frightened. She could handle evil, murderous wizards, even one whom she had once loved like a father. But this was the unknown – a silent, growing shadow of death that, at present, was unstoppable. And without knowing the point of its origin, the means to ending it were too far out of reach.

"I just wish I could get my hands on a list of everything that's inside Svartlager," she muttered, taking a sip of tea. "But the only inventory is most likely inside the bloody place–"

"Lena," said Remus suddenly, and she finally noticed there was more than just fear in his expression: there was also something that looked almost like... guilt. "There's something I haven't told you."

Obviously, it feels a little weird that I've finally reached the part in the story where there is a threat from a dangerous illness at a time when the world is in the midst of an actual pandemic. I hope nobody feels I'm being insensitive; I didn't want to spend ages figuring out a new course for the story when I've already spent so long writing it.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciated it. Oh, and the title of the previous chapter was a reference to the song 'Landslide' by Fleetwood Mac ('Take my love, take it down...').