So Close to Magic

by Sonny13

Winona was new to the whole 'magic' thing, but she was pretty sure that even by Hogwarts' standards, drawing the future was freaky. She's content just to let her secret gather dust in a dark corner of her mind, but as she soon learns, the future waits for nobody, and when the young boy from her visions finally arrives at Hogwarts, the real work begins. Fred/OC

47. I felt it when it happened

A/N: Hey guys, as promised, another update. After this we'll go back to weekly updates again, but I thought I'd make up for taking so long away. I also wanted to thank you for the response to the last chapter, I'm so relieved to know you guys are still liking the story and where it's going!

Also just wanted to let you know that this one's a tad wordy and canon-y. I kept in a lot of the conversation parts because it's important to the story that Winona hears all of it, but I summarised where I could. You'll see what I mean further down the line. Mixed into the canon conversations are lots of little original lines and hints and things, so I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

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When Winona woke up, her first thought was that she'd gone blind.

The world was pitch black around her, her hands still bound together as she lifted them to her face and began to rub at her eyes, hoping to clear them enough to see. But when that didn't work, she looked up and narrowed her eyes, trying to see something – anything.

There was nothing, just more blackness, but she decided she probably wasn't blind – she was likely just locked in some sort of dark prison. Wherever she was, it reeked so much of sweat and urine that it made her eyes sting and her throat seize up.

She tried to speak, but the words flickered and died, tangled in her throat. She cleared it, then tried again. "Hello?!" she shouted, voice hoarse from disuse. "Is anyone there?!"

From somewhere nearby there was a shuffling sound, followed by the huff of somebody taking a laboured breath. She flinched, throwing her bound hands up to her hair, intent on reaching for her wand, but it wasn't there. Her fingers met nothing but her own, ratty hair. Not-Moody – whoever the hell he was – had taken it.

"Who's there?" she demanded nervously, distantly wondering what her chances were of pulling some miraculous feat of powerful wandless magic and lighting up whatever dank cell she'd been stuffed into.

Whoever it was didn't speak, but let out a tiny, muted groan. Heart leaping into her throat, Winona inched forwards, her hands outstretched.

"Hello?" she asked again, quieter than before. Something deep in her gut told her that, whoever her companion may have been, they weren't staying silent of their own accord.

Her hands touched something, and she flinched back on instinct. The person didn't move, just kept breathing in laboured rasps, and she inched forwards again. The person was large and warm, and Winona tentatively ran her hands over their form, trying to figure out who it was.

"Hello?" she said once more. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

The faceless person let out a low groan, and by the deep timbre of the sound, Winona gathered it was a man. Whoever they were, they didn't wake. Slowly, carefully, Winona climbed to her feet, her bound hands held up above her so she wouldn't hit her head on a ceiling. But she was able to stand completely upright and stretch her arms high above her head, and she still didn't touch any sort of ceiling.

Were they in a cave of some kind? A pit? It reeked terribly, the pungent scent making her think that her cellmate had been in this cell far longer than she had. The urge to gag was overwhelming, but the last thing she needed was to add puke to the list of bad smells in their dark, creepy dungeon.

Her cellmate groaned again, this time in pain, or maybe despair, and Winona angled her head down towards them. Her eyes stung with tears, and she was actually kind of glad for the darkness, because it meant nobody could see her cry.

"We're gonna get out of this," she told the other prisoner, trying to sound reassuring and confident, although she wasn't so sure she achieved it. She didn't know who this person was – if they were good or bad, someone she knew or a complete stranger – but she realised with a thrum of panic that he was all she had. Literally the only thing. "You and me; we're gonna be okay," she promised him.

She paused, staring down into the shadows that shrouded him.

"Merlin, I really hope you're not a Death Eater," she mumbled.

Her head was swimming and the ground felt fluid underneath her. The blind panic from waking up in a dark cell began to calm, adrenaline fading just enough for her to begin feeling the pain.

Her whole body ached, skin buzzing and tense, like it were pulled too taut over her skeleton. She figured that was one of the after-effects of the Crutiatus Curse, and she grit her teeth against the feeling. The back of her skull throbbed something fierce, and she lifted her bound hands to gently prod at the spot. Her fingertips brushed a large lump on the underside of her skull and she hissed loudly as pain ricocheted through her head, like the worse migraine imaginable. Her ribs burned with every breath, and they only hurt worse when she pressed her hands to her chest.

She wanted to be somewhere else – anywhere else – and for a moment she imagined simply climbing out of this pit and making her way leisurely to Gryffindor Tower. She imagined climbing up the boys' staircase and sliding into the twins' dorm, finding Fred asleep in his bed. She saw herself curl around him, breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth, letting it heal her like its own kind of magic.

But the wish was just that; a wish. The reality was that she'd been trapped in some black pit with an unconscious stranger by a man who was certainly not the real Mad Eye Moody. The reality was that she was in pain – so much so that it threatened to send her back to sleep.

But the pain didn't matter. What mattered was getting out of here to stop the tournament from going ahead; what mattered was keeping Harry – and Cedric Diggory – safe from the harm that was about to befall them.

"Hello?!" she shouted upwards, praying that somebody was around to hear her. "Hello? Is anyone up there?! Help! Please help us!"

She screamed until her throat was raw, she screamed for so long she could swear she tasted blood. But nobody came for her, nobody heard. Tears pricked at her eyes again, sharp and unwelcome, and she was once again glad for the darkness as her lip began to wobble.

"Dammit," she sobbed, feeling along the hard, cold wall of her prison with her bound hands and slowly crouching down, down, down, until she was sat on the sticky floor once again. It was a relief for her ribs to be hunched over rather than stood straight, but the pain didn't disappear. It stayed, like a companion, her bones and muscles throbbing.

Where were her friends? Where were the teachers? Where was Dumbledore?

She sat there for an age, surrounded by silence that made her ears ring, trying to figure out how this had happened, how she'd gotten into this situation. Her tears stopped coming, but the darkness never lifted. It pressed in on her from all sides, like a tangible, weighty thing, making it harder and harder to breathe.

She tried shouting again, hoping against hope that someone might pass by wherever they were being held. That somebody would appear and rescue them, chasing the hungry darkness away.

She grew tired, but she didn't want to sleep, too afraid something might happen if she did. That she might miss her chance to get her and her silent companion to safety. Even despite her desperation to stay awake, sleep slowly began to claim her.

Before she could surrender completely, however, she was awoken by a searing pain in her right arm. She screamed, the pain familiar – she'd felt it in her vision, only yesterday – but she knew that this time it was no prediction. This time it was real, a warning, letting her know it was happening now.

The worst part was, it wasn't her own pain. Harry had his forearm slit open, blood forcibly stolen from him, used to reanimate Voldemort and bring him back to full power. She felt the urge to retch again, and it took a great deal of control not to.

Harry was already at the graveyard, which meant Cedric was already dead, which meant – she realised, above all else – she had failed.

The tears came again, the darkness suffocating and all-encompassing. For the first time in perhaps her whole life, Winona let herself cry with total abandon.

She cried for her past, for the family she'd lost all those years ago – her parents and uncles and friends. She cried for her childhood, marked not by birthdays and celebrations, but by foster homes and loneliness. She cried for Sirius, going so many years thinking his whole family dead, imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. She cried for Harry, her baby cousin, the boy with the weight of the entire world sat upon his tiny, wiry, innocent shoulders. She cried for herself, for the fact that she was cursed with this terrible, torturous foreknowledge. She cried because apparently this was how it all ended; her kept in a dark hole to be carted off to Voldemort like some kind of sacrificial offering.

She finally allowed herself to mourn, sat in the endless black of her prison. She hoped it might feel healing, or cleansing in some way. Instead, all it felt was pathetic.

At some point she went from tears to dreams, and in her mind's eye she saw a ghostly pale figure. The person was tall and bald, with skin so smooth and white it looked like they were dead. They wore thick black robes shrouding their body, and their face was deformed, slits where their nose should be. Their eyes snapped open to reveal irises of milky, bloody red, and Winona awoke with a scream.

There were voices nearby, she could hear them, but not with her ears. The cell was still silent and black, but somehow she heard something, like a whisper in her own head, trying to tell her something. On trembling legs she climbed upright, ignoring the way that the ropes binding her wrists together had rubbed her skin raw.

Then a noise – a real, honest-to-Merlin sound – like the clicking of a heavy padlock.

"Help!" she screamed at the invisible space above her head, praying to whoever would listen that someone, anyone, would find them. "Help!"

A minute passed, then another, and just when Winona began to panic, thinking it was Not-Moody having returned to finally gift-wrap her for his master, the ceiling above her moved, pulling away to reveal a bright light that burned her sensitive eyes. She flinched, bringing her aching hands up to shield her eyes, but that didn't stop the voices from reaching her.

"Winnie!" a voice shouted, and it took a moment for her to place it around the deafening ringing in her ears.

"Harry," she gasped, tentatively squinting up into the light above to see her cousin stood, alive and in one piece, leaning into the hole she'd been imprisoned in. She'd thought she was out of tears to shed, but impossibly, her eyes began to sting once again. "Oh God, Harry!"

Dumbledore was there too, although far less important. The Headmaster's expression was stormy with fury as he flicked his wand at her hands, and the ropes still binding her wrists dissolved into nothing. Then he reached a hand down into the pit, and Winona didn't hesitate to take it, letting the old wizard pull her up out of her prison with surprising strength.

She barely even had her feet under her before Harry was there, crushing her in a desperate embrace. Her ribs flared and burned under his touch, and when she cried out in pain Harry leapt backwards, horror on his face, eyes foggy with trauma.

"Are you – what's wrong?" he demanded, voice trembling.

"My ribs, I think they're cracked," she told him hoarsely even as she scooped him up in another hug. This time he was more gentle, cradling her in his arms, the both of them shaking so much they nearly vibrated. "I'm so sorry," she said into Harry's shoulder, tears wetting his jersey.

"Win – I can't believe – I didn't know where you were – none of us did – but I never thought…" he trailed off, his voice still trembling. "I'm sorry."

"I saw Cedric," she whispered, squeezing him tighter and ignoring how much it hurt to do so. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I tried to warn Dumbledore, but Moody – or the person pretending to be Moody – he stopped me. I didn't see it coming. I'm so sorry."

They stayed clutching each other like lifelines, and Winona soaked up his presence, letting it wash over her, healing her in a way that went beyond the physical.

"Stunned – controlled by the Imperius Curse – very weak," came Dumbledore's voice, low and deeply troubled. Reluctantly, Winona pulled away from her cousin to glance down into the hole she'd spent the last several hours in, the open top now revealing just who her faceless cellmate had been.

It was Moody, and the sight of him made Winona gasp, gripping Harry's hand and dragging him back with what little strength she had left. But Dumbledore was calm, holding out a hand.

"It's okay, Winona," he said quietly. "This is the real Alastor Moody. He was just as much a victim as you."

Hand trembling in Harry's, Winona nodded once, trying not to grimace too obviously when it made the egg on the back of her head throb in protest.

"Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive," Dumbledore continued in a quieter voice. "Harry, throw down the imposter's cloak – he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

Harry did as he was told; Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak and climbed out of the offending pit again. Then, he picked up the flask that stood upon the desk – the one Winona recognised as the one Not-Moody would drink from almost every time she saw him – unscrewed it, and upturned its contents onto the floor. A thick, glutinous substance splattered onto the office floor.

"Polyjuice Potion," said Dumbledore needlessly – both she and Harry were familiar with the brew. "You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair… The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done … on the hour, every hour… We shall see."

Winona tried to ignore the way Not-Moody was in the room, unconscious – probably Stunned – on the floor of the office. She didn't look his way. She didn't want to remember the hungry hatred in his eyes as he'd jabbed his wand at her throat and cast the most vicious of curses.

Dumbledore turned to Winona, old eyes wide and imploring.

"What happened, Winona?"

She cleared her throat, which was still raw and sore from her desperate cries for help, and quietly began to explain. "Last night, just before dinner, I had a vision of Ced-"

She cut herself off, shutting her stinging eyes. It hit her rather suddenly, the reality of it all. A boy was dead; someone her own age; a classmate. She'd been paired with him in second-year Herbology. They hadn't been friends, exactly, but she'd known him. Smiled at him when they passed in the corridors. Bickered with him in class about the proper way to repot a Mandrake. Borrowed some mints on a day she'd forgotten to brush her teeth.

Harry squeezed her hand and she forced her eyes back open. She didn't look at her cousin, knowing she'd only find her own grief mirrored back at her.

"I saw the graveyard, and I saw what was going to happen there," she pressed stubbornly on, staring at Dumbledore intently, refusing to show weakness. She'd been weak enough today for one lifetime. "I was on my way to your office, to tell you and have you stop the tournament, and I took the path that came by this office, because it's quicker, and I ran into, er, him," she said, jabbing a finger at Not-Moody's unconscious form. "He knew, somehow, that I was on my way to you. I think he'd been watching me. Waiting to see if I'd have a vision that would put a wrench in his plans."

"And then?"

Winona gulped, gripping tight to Harry's hand and trying not to think about the terror she'd felt – the hopelessness. "And he Stunned me. Knocked me out. I came to in his office, and he, uh…"

"Yes?" pressed Dumbledore, not unkind, but still firm. He needed to know everything, no matter how uncomfortable the truth was to relive.

"He wanted to know what I'd seen. I wouldn't tell him, and then he…" the words got stuck in her throat. Harry's hand, trembling in hers, tightened. It was a tiny comfort, but it gave her the courage to press on. "He used the Crutiatus Curse," she confessed hollowly. "I just – I told him what I knew, because I figured it wouldn't hurt anyone; I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know."

Dumbledore was silent a few moments, considering her words carefully. "Did he say what he intended to do with you?"

Winona's skin was covered in a cold sweat, and she leant into Harry's side, but he gave off very little warmth. "He was going to give me to V-Voldemort," she stammered over the name. She'd had a long time to imagine what Voldemort might do to her once he had her; none of it was pleasant.

Dumbledore turned away from her, walking silently over to Not-Moody's desk and sitting down at the chair.

"Who is it, Dumbledore?" Winona asked impatiently.

"We'll find out shortly, I suppose," he said it airily, and Winona wanted to scowl, but instead she just turned to Harry, who looked hollow and haunted.

If they were going to wait out this imposter's Polyjuice dose, Winona wasn't going to do it without checking on her cousin. She dropped his hand, turning away from Dumbledore so her full attention was on Harry. She picked up his right arm, lifting it to the light with trembling hands so she could push away his sleeve to see the gruesome wound within.

"How does it feel?"

Harry looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"I felt it when it happened," she said, and while it wasn't the clearest answer she'd ever given, somehow Harry seemed to understand. Even with her exhausted limbs, she managed to tear a small section from her shirt and began to gently dab at Harry's wound. "I'm sorry I didn't stop this, Harry."

Harry laughed, but it was utterly without humour. He looked sour, although not at her. Rather at the universe as a whole. It had done them both so dirty. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner," he whispered, guilt like a song in his voice. They both watched as she gently tied the piece of fabric around his arm, hoping to cover the bloodied wound some, keep it safe from infection. "I should have known you'd never just disappear like that."

That surprised her. "You didn't think anything was wrong?"

Now he looked ashamed. "Well, Fred and George were really worried. I didn't realise you were missing until they asked me if I knew where you were. I figured you'd gone off to sketch and lost track of time. I thought it was strange that you weren't there at the beginning of the third task, but I was so distracted – I guess I just assumed…"

"It's okay," she assured him. "I understand. You were in a life-or-death situation. I'd probably be more worried if you were focused on where I was."

Harry looked at her – really, truly looked – and Winona knew he was seeing her red, puffy eyes. "Did he hurt you?" he asked in a worried undertone.

She nearly smiled at his concern. Nearly. "Other than the Unforgivable Curse, he mostly left me be," she promised him. "I'm okay, Harry. This wasn't your fault."

When he met her eyes this time, it was with a renewed intensity. "It wasn't yours either, Winnie."

And she really wished she could believe him.

Harry read the look on her face just as clearly as if he'd read her mind, and he sighed, shoulders slumping, but she knew he wasn't angry with her. He understood, surely, that she'd step into Fiendfyre before ever intentionally letting him get hurt. That she had put his safety and protection on her own shoulders a long, long time ago. That she felt responsible for him; because in some ways, they were all one another had.

"Winona," said Dumbledore, his eyes boring into hers. It took her a moment to realise he was holding something out to her, and her eyes snapped down to the object in his hand.

Her wand.

She snatched it from him suddenly, as if she half thought he might take it back and keep it from her longer. The wood was smooth and warm against her skin, the familiar ridges along its body pressing against her palm, soothing her like nothing else could.

Before she could thank the Headmaster, Harry abruptly gasped.

Winona whipped around to stare at the man on the floor as he slowly began to change. The stolen form of Moody disappeared, the body shrinking and growing and twisting into another person entirely. The fake leg popped off to make room for a real one, and so did the magical eye. Winona didn't recognise the man who replaced Moody on the floor, but judging by Harry's intake of breath, her cousin certainly did.

Footsteps hit the floor outside the office, and Winona threw up her wand on instinct, ready to fight tooth and nail to get them out alive. She didn't even feel foolish when she realised it was just Snape and McGonagall returning, but she still hastily lowered it from where it was pointed in their faces.

They weren't alone – the small elf Winona knew to be Winky was stood at Snape's heels, tennis-ball-eyes open wide, glittering with tears she'd yet to shed. "Crouch," Snape breathed, staring at the Death Eater on the floor. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," murmured Professor McGonagall. Her eyes flickered distractedly to Winona, and then she did a double-take as she realised what she was seeing. "Andrews?!" she gasped, crossing the space between them in only two steps, gripping her arms. Winona tried not to flinch away from the contact. "Are you – what – Albus?!"

"The imposter had her locked away, along with the real Alastor Moody," Dumbledore explained briskly, his eyes and attention still focused on Barty Crouch.

McGonagall turned her eyes onto Winona again, horror sparkling in their kind depths. "You look a mess, dear," she said, surprisingly soft as she pushed Winona's tangled hair off her face. "Are you hurt? We should get you to the Hospital Wing-"

"Winona stays too, Minerva," said Dumbledore plainly.

McGonagall looked torn between shouting and passing out right there. She seemed like she could use a stiff drink, and Winona wished she weren't a student just so she could offer the older witch a shot of firewhisky.

The house elf – Winky – let out a loud, high-pitched noise of great distress, scurrying swiftly across the room to throw herself onto Barty Crouch Jr's chest. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" she asked in her pitchy voice. "You is killed him!" she snarled up at Dumbledore when Crouch Jr didn't respond. "You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply Stunned, Winky," said Dumbledore calmly. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"

Winona watched, feeling vaguely shellshocked, as Snape handed Dumbledore a small glass vial of clear liquid. Winona might not have passed Potions with anything higher than an Acceptable on her best day, but even she knew Veritaserum when she saw it.

Dumbledore administered the potion to the unconscious Crouch Jr, then pointed his wand at the man's thin chest and said, "Rennervate."

Crouch's son opened his eyes. Winona expected him to struggle, maybe try to fight or flee. But instead he just lay slumped against the wall, eyes glassy and unfocused. Winona hated him with such fervour, she was surprised he didn't spontaneously combust under the strength of her lethal glower.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked, leant down so he was right in the dark wizard's face.

"Yes," Crouch Jr muttered without hesitation.

"I would like you to tell us," said Dumbledore softly, as if asking something pleasant and inconsequential, "how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Crouch Junior didn't answer for a long, drawn-out moment, and Winona got the feeling he was doing his best to avoid answering the question. But Veritaserum was a very powerful potion, and with the amount she'd seen Dumbledore force into his mouth, she was convinced he'd spill his darkest secret if they only asked.

And so they listened and Barty Crouch's son. The heard his tale, from beginning to end. How his mother had taken his place in his cell in Azkaban, and how his father had hidden him away, keeping him under the Imperius Curse so he couldn't escape and return to his master like he so desired. How the house elf had persuaded Crouch Sr. into letting him go to the Quidditch World Cup. How he'd stolen the wand and cast the Dark Mark into the sky, and how Voldemort had returned to liberate him from his father's control.

He'd attacked the real Alastor Moody when they found out he'd be teaching this year at Hogwarts, and he'd replaced him, keeping him locked in that dank cell for the whole year, chopping off clumps of his hair for the Polyjuice Potion.

"My master sent me word of my father's escape," Crouch told them, catching them up to the more recent of events. He was doing his best to fight the Veritaserum, but ultimately he was failing. "He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything."

"Map?" asked Dumbledore quickly. "What map is this?"

Winona shifted forwards, instinct telling her to protect the map – the thing she and the twins had treasured in their early years at school, the thing that helped Harry in all his endeavours, the thing that her own father and uncle had created during their time at school. It was as close to a family heirloom as Winona was likely to get.

Dumbledore noticed the way she anxiously shifted her weight, icy eyes flickering to her, but she fell still and they just as quickly flicked back to Crouch Jr.

"Potter's map of Hogwarts," he revealed. Winona had never wanted to hit somebody more. "Potter saw me on it. He saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape's office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape.

"For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. The Seer saw what I was planning, she went to get Dumbledore. But I had just enough time to stun Krum and kill my father."

"No!" wailed Winky, the sound terrible, and an unpleasant chill ran down the length of Winona's spine. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you saying?"

"You killed your father," Dumbledore said, in the same soft voice. He didn't seem surprised, whereas Winona's insides were a storm of shock. Who could murder their own father? Who could possibly do such a thing? She hadn't known Sirius long, but the thought of anything ever happening to him was like a knife to the heart. "What did you do with the body?"

"Carried it into the forest. Covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me. I watched Potter run into the castle. He met Snape. Black and Dumbledore joined them. I watched Potter and Black bringing Dumbledore out of the castle. I walked back out of the forest, doubled around behind them, went to meet them. I told Dumbledore Snape had told me where to come.

"Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father's body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I transfigured my father's body. He became a bone … I buried it, while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin."

Winona felt vaguely sick, thinking that the transfigured body of Barty Crouch lay buried in front of Hagrid's hut. This man was insane – he was the worst kind of loon. He was the kind with a cause behind him, a loyalty to all the wrong things.

Winky continued to sob, gripping Crouch Jr's robes in her little hands, like if she tugged at him hard enough he might admit he was lying. That he hadn't killed her master after all. That everything was going to go back to the way it had been before.

Finally Dumbledore murmured, "And you attacked Miss Black?"

"I used the map. I saw her rushing to the Headmaster's office last night before dinner, and so I intercepted her. She was most anxious to stop the tournament. I knew I couldn't let her reach Dumbledore, so I kidnapped her, got what information I needed, and locked her in my trunk with the real Alastor Moody, so that when the deed was done and my Lord was back to his full strength, I would be able to deliver the Seer to him. He has great plans for her; his newest tool to wield against all those who dare to stand against him."

Winona shuddered again, gripping Harry's hand even more tightly. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain in her body was making her head swim. But she stayed standing, listening to every word. She needed to know the truth. She needed to know what she'd missed.

"And tonight?" Dumbledore demanded.

Crouch Jr gave a proud smile, so wide it showed off every one of his crooked teeth. "I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner," he whispered. "Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honoured by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

"You said your master had great plans for Miss Black," Dumbledore pressed, the question taking Winona by surprise. "What does he intend to do with her?"

"With the Seer at his side, the Dark Lord will have mastery over all time," Crouch Jr sneered. "His enemies cannot hope to defeat him when he sees all their plans laid out before him."

A powerful wave of hatred and indignation crashed over Winona, making her heady with the force of it. "I will never work for him," she snarled, hands curled into fists, the desire to hit him all-encompassing.

Without looking up at her Dumbledore held out an arm, silently ordering her back. Crouch Jr was smiling now, nearly hysterical, like she'd said something funny. "Black will have no choice," he tittered. "She will be twisted and shaped and forged into my master's most powerful weapon. And with her at his side, he will rule over you all."

When he grinned now, it was with madness shining in his beady eyes. He had told them everything, the truth serum loosening his tongue. But knowing all of this didn't make Winona feel any safer. If anything, all she felt was violated.

She couldn't quite say she'd ever trusted Moody on any level that mattered, but she'd trusted him as far as any student trusted a teacher to keep them safe. Knowing that trust was false; knowing Crouch had been watching her all this time, conspiring to kill Harry and capture her for his Dark Lord's intent – it left Winona feeling (not for the first time that day) like she needed to gag.

And because this time there was nothing stopping her from doing so, Winona took several large steps away from the others, pressed a hand against the stone wall of the dark office, bent at the waist and promptly threw up what little remained in her stomach.

Silence reigned as Winona retched in the corner. She felt a hand rubbing comforting circles onto her back, and by the time she'd finished puking, Dumbledore had Crouch Jr secured with tight ropes and McGonagall was stood next to her, the look on her face sympathetic.

"Sorry," Winona croaked at the Transfiguration professor.

McGonagall's only reply was to flick her wand at the pile of sick in the corner. It vanished in an instant, and Winona felt better now that it was gone.

"Minerva," said Dumbledore quietly, "could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry and Winona upstairs?"

"Of course," she said without a moment's hesitation. Winona noticed she looked slightly nauseous, and felt bad for being sick in front of her. However, when the professor drew her wand and pointed it at Barty Crouch Jr, her hand was steady as stone.

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Severus, please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour's time if he needs me."

Snape swept obediently out of the room. "Harry?" Dumbledore said gently, and Winona realised she'd nearly forgotten Harry was there at all.

He looked frightfully pale, swaying where he stood like he might keel over at any moment. He was trembling from head to toe, and although Winona wasn't much better she still didn't hesitate to wind an arm around his waist, taking as much of his weight as she could.

"This way, Winona," said Dumbledore quietly. She nodded, wincing when it made her head swim, then began to gently lead Harry out of Not-Moody's office and up the passageway towards the Headmaster's office. "I want you to come up to my office first," he told them quietly. "Sirius is waiting for us there."

Harry was still trembling, now with such force he was nearly vibrating on the spot. Winona held him tighter, taking a little more of his weight, the only thing she could think to do to help ease his burden.

"You're okay," she whispered to him, eyes stinging again with traitorous tears. Really, how many times could she cry in one night?

Harry didn't appear to hear her. "Professor," he mumbled, eyes glassy and distant. Winona got the feeling he was seeing something none of them ever could. "Where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?"

Dumbledore paused a moment before he answered, and Winona was hit with a wave of grief so strong that this time a tear actually did escape her eye, trailing down the length of her cheek. She'd been right – somebody had died tonight. And she'd forever have to live with the guilt of feeling pure relief over the fact that it hadn't been Harry.

"They are with Professor Sprout," Dumbledore finally told him. His voice trembled, and in that single moment Winona thought he seemed more human than he ever had before. "She was Head of Cedric's House, and knew him best."

They had reached the gargoyle that protected Dumbledore's office. He gave the password and it sprang aside, then he led Harry and Winona up the moving spiral staircase. Dumbledore pushed open the large oak doors to reveal Sirius stood before his desk.

Her father's face was as ashen and gaunt as it had been the night she'd seen him for the first time in that courtyard the year before. He crossed the room so quickly that he almost didn't seem to move at all. One moment he was by the desk and the next he was stood over the two of them, stormy eyes sweeping them, searching for injury.

The moment he saw she was crying, Sirius swept her up into a tight embrace. She cried out again as he squeezed her ribs, and he leapt back at though burned. "Pup?" he asked anxiously.

"My ribs," she whispered, one arm still wrapped around a bleary-eyed Harry. "I think they're broken."

"Who… How?" he asked, voice like the calm before a storm.

"Not important," she said, looking worriedly at Harry.

"I think I would beg to differ."

"I'm fine, Sirius," she lied. She wasn't fine now, but she would be. She'd survive. For now, the focus had to be on Harry. Sirius seemed reluctant tp agree, but his eyes went to his Godson, who was almost entirely being held up by Winona, the look in his eyes distant and foggy.

"Harry?" Sirius asked, dread in his voice. Harry made a low noise that might have been an acknowledgement. Sirius' eyes went dark. "I knew it – I knew something like this – what happened?" he demanded as he helped Winona lower Harry carefully into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

Harry still didn't speak, and despite her shaking knees and aching ribs, Winona collapsed to the floor in front of her cousin, looking up into his pale face. "Harry?" she asked gently, hand finding his, holding tight.

"What happened?" Sirius asked again, and she could hear the desperation in his voice. She imagined how scary it must have been – his children had been involved in something horrendous tonight, and he hadn't been able to be there for any of it.

But he were there now, and to Winona, that said everything she needed to know.

Dumbledore began to tell Sirius everything that had happened in the last day, and everything that Barty Crouch Jr had said just now in that office. Sirius just about blew a gasket when he learned how Crouch had attacked her and held her prisoner. But Dumbledore was able to calm him, and Winona didn't even look up from her cousin as they spoke.

She had to focus on Harry. She had to keep focusing on Harry. Because if she stopped, she felt like she might fall apart entirely.

She smoothed Harry's perpetually messy hair out of his face. He flinched when her fingertips brushed over his scar, and the subtle movement made Winona frown in concern.

There was a soft rush of wings. Fawkes the phoenix had left his perch, flown across the office, and landed on the knee Winona wasn't holding. " 'Lo, Fawkes," whispered Harry as if in a daze. He stroked his trembling fingers down the length of Fawkes' plumage, and Winona watched him, heart heavy like lead in her chest.

Dumbledore finally stopped talking, sitting down opposite them, behind his grand desk. He was staring directly at Harry, who Winona saw was avoiding his eyes. She knew Dumbledore needed to know everything that had happened to him – but to make him relive it immediately? That was just cruel. He needed to rest.

"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," said Dumbledore, just as Winona had known he would.

"No," she snapped, turning on the Headmaster with a furious scowl. "He doesn't need this right now. He deserves time to rest. He needs it."

Dumbledore eyed her contemplatively, but to her relief, Sirius backed her up. "Winona's right," he agreed. "We can leave that till morning. For now, let him sleep. Let him rest."

But it was like talking to a brick wall. Dumbledore ignored them both and instead looked intently at Harry, who very reluctantly raised his head to meet the Headmaster's deep blue stare.

"If I thought I could help you," Dumbledore began gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

And Winona hated that she knew he had a point. Harry saw it too, and with a thick swallow, he reluctantly began to tell them everything that had happened once he'd reached the cup in the maze.

He told them how Cedric had died, how the potion that revived Voldemort had bubbled, and how Wormtail had been there at his master's side – Sirius made an animalistic sound at that, like he were more dog than human, hatred in his heart. Without stopping to think about it, Winona took her father's hand. It was much larger than hers, calloused and cool, but something about it made her feel safe, like a little girl crossing a busy road.

Sirius gave a shuddering sigh as she gripped his hand, and some of the tension seemed to bleed out of his shoulders. She put her other hand around it too, so she was holding one of his in both of hers, cradling it tenderly.

Winona had always thought she'd never needed parents. She'd gotten by without them well enough; without love or comfort or kindness. But now that Sirius was here, stood over them, tall and concerned, she wondered how she could have ever lived without him in her life. For the first time since she'd learned who he was, she began to think of him as her dad.

Sirius held tight to Harry's shoulder with the hand not wrapped in his daughter's, and together they were a family, linked in a very literal way.

Once or twice, Sirius made a noise as though about to say something, his hand still tight on Harry's shoulder, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him. Winona held onto his hand so tightly she thought it must hurt, and as Harry kept speaking, tears spilt from her eyes. She couldn't stop them now, they were coming hot and constant, leaking from her like liquid grief.

When Harry told them about how Wormtail had pierced his arm with the dagger, however, Sirius let out a vehement exclamation and Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry started. Dumbledore walked around the desk and told Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry did as he was told.

"He was bleeding pretty badly," said Winona in a rasp. "I tried to patch him up as best I could…but I didn't have supplies…"

Sirius squeezed her hand. "You did good, Pup," he told her tenderly. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

Dumbledore untied the fabric she'd wrapped around Harry's wound, exposing it to the air and their eyes. It looked ugly and grotesque, and more than anything else, it looked painful.

"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry whispered. "He said the protection my – my mother left in me – he'd have it too. And he was right – he could touch me without hurting himself. He touched my face."

The thought of that psychopathic creep laying so much as a finger on Harry made rage burn like poison in her blood. But there was nothing she could do about it now. She hated that, too.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, moving away from Harry and sitting down in his chair once again. Winona let go of her dad's hand to retie the makeshift bandage around Harry's arm. He attempted a grateful smile, but it was more of a grimace, and she squeezed his hand before returning to her dad's side. "Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please," Dumbledore urged him.

Harry went on; he explained how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, and told them all he could remember of Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters. Then he told them how Voldemort had untied him, returned his wand to him, and prepared to duel. He told them how his and Voldemort's wands had become connected by a beam of golden light, but he fell abruptly silent, something about this detail making it impossible to speak.

Sirius was the one to break the silence. "The wands connected?" he asked, looking from Harry to Dumbledore. "Why?"

Dumbledore seemed to be thinking about something very deeply, and Winona watched him in silence. He always seemed to know everything about everything. Was it his breadth of experience, or was it simply that he really was that calculating?

"Priori Incantatem," he finally muttered.

His stared locked with Harry's, and they seemed to share a moment of deep, wordless understanding.

"What's that?" Winona demanded, staring hard at Dumbledore. Was it good? Bad? Dangerous?

"The Reverse Spell effect?" asked Sirius sharply, and Winona tilted her head to look up at him curiously.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact," he added, and he pointed at the scarlet-and-gold bird perched peacefully on Harry's knee.

Harry blinked in slow surprise. "My wand's feather came from Fawkes?"

"Yes," Dumbledore almost smiled. "Mr Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."

"But if their wands have the same core, that means they're like brothers, right?" Winona asked, beginning to understand as she lifted her hand, drying her sticky face with end of her sleeve. "What happens when a wand meets its brother? Will they even work against one another?"

"Indeed they won't," confirmed Dumbledore with a slow nod of his head. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle … a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed – in reverse. The most recent first … and then those which preceded it…"

Winona wasn't sure what that meant, exactly. The spells the wand had performed were reversed? How could a spell be reversed after it had already been cast? Did transfigured things revert back to their initial form? Did stunned victims revive themselves?

"Which means," said Dumbledore slowly, his eyes fixed upon Harry's pallid face, "that some form of Cedric must have reappeared."

Harry looked particularly sick as he nodded. Winona gasped as she realised exactly what that meant. Sirius was similarly surprised. "Diggory came back to life?" he asked sharply.

"No spell can reawaken the dead," said Dumbledore heavily. "All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand … am I correct, Harry?"

Harry began to tremble again, and Winona left her dad's side to instead stand behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his body, folding them over his jutted collarbones and holding him tightly against her. She half expected Harry to shrug her off, but to her surprise, he leaned into the comfort, drawing from her as much as she did from him.

"He spoke to me," her cousin whispered. "The … the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."

"An echo," corrected Dumbledore, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared … less recent victims of Voldemort's wand."

"An old man," Harry told them, his voice a mere croak. "Bertha Jorkins. And…" it was almost like the last of it was too hard to day, and Winona felt her throat seize up at the possibilities.

"Your parents?" Dumbledore finished knowingly.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he whispered. Winona hugged him tighter, squeezing him like she could hold all the pieces of him together with just her touch. He needed to know he wasn't alone, that they was there. Both her and Sirius. He still had a family.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath as Harry confessed to seeing his parents, and Winona could barely imagine how hard it was to hear. The echoes of his very best friends – come alive again for brief moment to see and save their son. Winona thought about how she would feel if it were the the twins in their place, and her hands trembled from the terror the horrible thought wrought.

"The last murders the wand performed," said Dumbledore gravely. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows … what did they do?"

Harry described how the figures that had emerged from the wand had prowled the edges of the golden web, how Voldemort had seemed to fear them, how the shadow of Harry's father had told him what to do, how Cedric's had made his final request.

At that Harry stopped talking and Sirius made a sound like he were in pain. Winona looked up at her dad to find his face buried in his own hands. Her lip trembled and she held Harry tighter.

"I will say it again," said Dumbledore steadily. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me – both of you – to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace … Sirius, would you like to stay with them?"

Sirius nodded, and Dumbledore turned to Winona.

"Is there anything you wish to add, Winona?" he asked her quietly. "Barty Crouch spoke to you; held you captive. Did he divulge anything that we haven't already mentioned here tonight?"

Winona slowly shook her head. "Just that Voldemort wants me – my visions – for himself." She sighed, the sound nearly going unheard. "Which I suppose isn't exactly breaking news."

"Well he's not going to get you," declared Sirius, and when she looked over at him, it was to find him looking so set, so defiant, that she almost believed him.

"He said – just after he cast the second Crutiatus Curse-"

"The what?" exclaimed Sirius, absolutely livid. "He tortured you?!"

"I'm okay," she assured him quickly. "But he said that by the end of tonight, we'd both know our fates. What do you suppose that means?" she asked Dumbledore.

The Headmaster's expression was grave. "I'm not sure," he admitted, and Winona took another deep, calming breath. The lungful of air made her head spin and she swayed where she stood, held up only by Harry. "You need to get to the Hospital Wing and have your injuries seen to," Dumbledore told her sternly.

She shut her eyes but didn't nod, fearing it might make her sick again. When she opened them again Sirius was there no longer, a great black dog in his place. Winona reluctantly let go of her cousin and gave him space to stand up. He wasn't limping anymore, and at her curious look he nodded to Fawkes. "He healed me," he explained. Winona wanted to squeeze that bird until it burst, she was so grateful.

The walk down to the hospital wing was made in silence. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't easy, either. It was borne from the bone-deep exhaustion of them, but Winona found comfort in threading her fingers through Sirius' thick, shaggy coat, feeling his head bob beneath her hand.

When Dumbledore pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing, it was to reveal Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron, Hermione and the twins all grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. They appeared to be demanding to know where she and Harry were and what had happened to them.

All of them whipped around as she, Harry, Dumbledore, and the black dog entered, and Mrs Weasley let out a kind of muffled scream at the sight of them.

"Harry! Winona!" she cried hysterically, rushing in their direction. But Dumbledore stepped in her path before she could reach them, forcing her to a stop. Fred had moved forwards, too, but at the sight of Dumbledore acting like a barrier between them, he came to a jerky stop.

"Molly," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand, "please listen to me for a moment. Both Harry and Winona have been through a terrible ordeal tonight. Harry has just had to relive his for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. Winona has injuries that must be attended to, and then she needs the same. If they would like you all to stay with them," he added, looking around at Ron, Hermione, Bill and the twins too, "you may do so. But I do not want you questioning either of them until they are ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."

Mrs Weasley nodded obediently, her skin ashen from the ordeal of the evening. She rounded on her gathered children and Hermione as though they were all being terribly noisy, and hissed, "Did you hear? He needs quiet!"

"Headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey, staring at the great black dog that was Sirius, "may I ask what-?"

"This dog will be remaining with Harry and Winona for a while," said Dumbledore simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained," he added, a tiny hint of the usual sparkle returning to his eyes. It might have been a relief to see, were Winona not so plagued by grief. "Harry – I will wait while you get into bed. Poppy, Winona, has some rather extensive injuries. I think it's best she's tended to, first."

"Of course," said Madam Pomfrey, scurried forwards, already beginning to flick her wand at Winona, magically scanning her for injuries. "Three broken ribs, extensive bruising, a split lip and a concussion," she tutted, beginning to shepherd her onto the closest nearby bed.

But – almost instinctively – Winona grabbed hold of Harry and stubbornly refused to be prised from him. "Winona," said Dumbledore calmly. She turned her wide eyes onto him. "Harry is safe now. So are you. There is no danger. You can let him go."

Winona didn't move so much as a muscle.

Slowly, Harry turned to look at her. "I'm okay, Winnie," he reassured her. Sirius snuffled at her leg, too, gently nudging her towards the bed. It took a great deal of effort, but eventually she was able to let go of her cousin and follow Madam Pomfrey over to the empty bed.

"I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge," Dumbledore informed them as she reluctantly sat down on the starchy covers of the hospital bed. "And I would like you both to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school. Oh, and Winona, it probably goes without saying, but if you have a vision – of any sort – have Madam Pomfrey send for me at once."

"Yes, sir," said Winona quietly, realising now how much her throat ached from overuse. With a satisfied nod, Dumbledore left through the double doors, leaving Winona, Harry and their family alone.

With the Headmaster gone, Madam Pomfrey turned her attention onto Winona while the others crowded into the space between her and Harry's beds, hovering anxiously.

"This will sting, dear," said Madam Pomfrey apologetically. Then, without so much as a countdown, she muttered, "Episkey."

Winona grunted in pain as her cracked ribs snapped back into alignment and healed themselves, heat flaring across her torso. She collapsed back onto the pillows of the bed with a groan, lifting her sore hand up to her face, throwing it over her eyes.

"What did you do to your wrists?" the medi-witch tutted, taking her hands carefully in her own to look over her red, raw and aching wrists. She'd struggled against her bindings so desperately that in some places she'd even broken the skin.

Madam Pomfrey produced a little canister of ointment, leaning forwards to begin rubbing it onto her wrists, only for Winona to flinch back out of instinct. Madam Pomfrey took one look at her terrified eyes and knew she wasn't going to be getting anywhere near her. She sighed quietly.

"Perhaps Mrs Weasley would like to-" she began carefully.

"I'll do it."

It was Fred who'd spoken up. Winona had barely even known he was in the room, she was so distracted by the events of the last day. Now that she looked at him properly, Winona could see he looked about ready to explode with the need to reach for her.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "I hardly think it's appropriate-"

"Oh, you'd best just let him do it, Poppy," said Mrs Weasley, looking between Harry and Winona tearfully, as if she didn't know where she needed to focus the most of her worried stare.

"Yeah, they'll be insufferable if you don't," added George, a tiny smile on his lips. Nobody else laughed despite his attempt to ease the tension, but the smile remained on his face, comforting Winona like nothing else.

Madam Pomfrey reluctantly handed the ointment to Fred, then quickly fetched a steaming potion from the cupboard beside the bed. "Very well," she murmured unhappily. "Drink this. It'll heal your concussion, but not instantaneously. Try to avoid sleeping for another hour or so yet."

Winona hummed in distant agreement, taking the vial of potion and tossing it back swiftly, as though it were a shot of firewhisky. It tasted terrible – like the inside of a diseased frog – but she choked it down and relaxed against her pillows as Fred took a seat on the edge of her bed.

Instead of immediately spreading the salve on her wrists, Fred brought her into an extremely gentle embrace. Winona tucked her face into the side of his neck, breathing him in, soaking up his warmth, and she let herself lean there for a long few minutes.

Ron, Hermione, Bill and Mrs Weasley's attention slid to Harry, giving the young couple a moment alone, while George joined his twin at Winona's bedside.

"You've no idea how worried I've been," Fred breathed into her hair, holding her tenderly, as though she might tear like paper if he gripped her too tight.

"It's true," said George, and Winona peeked over Fred's shoulder to find his twin stood there, a relieved look on his face. "He's been an utter wreck."

"Are you all right?" Fred asked, still clutching her to him, like the weight of her against him was the only thing holding him together. "Tell me you're all right."

"I'm fine," she lied again. She didn't want to, didn't feel good about it, but what else could she do? She wasn't the one who'd faced Voldemort. She wasn't the one who'd had her blood stolen and her friend murdered right before her eyes. "Harry's the one who isn't all right," she said, trying to convince herself it was true.

Fred didn't look like he believed her, but she really hadn't expected him to.

"Winona," said a new voice, and she looked up to see Mrs Weasley standing over her, tears shining in her kind, almond eyes.

Winona reluctantly detached herself from Fred to shuffle towards her, and the older woman swept her up in a tight hug, squeezing her almost to the point of suffocation. It didn't hurt as much now that her ribs were healed, but the bruising down her side from where she'd hit the wall still ached as she was held.

"Oh, dear," Mrs Weasley breathed. "We were so worried about you – about you both…"

"We're okay," Winona assured her, but it felt too much like another lie. "We're alive," she tried again.

Harry ducked out from behind the curtain, dressed in the clean pyjamas, although dirt and blood still stained his ashen skin. He climbed silently into an empty bed, and Winona wished she had the strength to leave her bed and go sit by his. But she was so exhausted, it pulled at her like an anchor, making her heady with the need to sleep.

Sirius snuffled at the bottom of Harry's bed, then crawled underneath it and laid his head on his paws. His large, dark eyes peered up at Winona, and she nodded at him, reassuring him she was all right.

Fred finally picked up the canister of ointment, screwing off the lid and gently beginning to rub the balm into her raw skin. It was warm against her wounds, but in a soothing sort of way, and Winona sighed, leaning into her boyfriend's touch.

Ron, Hermione took the open seats around Harry's bed, Fred and George sat on Winona's side, Fred still rubbing in the ointment in tiny, soothing circles, while Mrs Weasley and Bill sat in the middle, between them all.

Mrs Weasley sniffled sadly as she smoothed Harry's bedcovers unnecessarily. Madam Pomfrey reappeared with a small bottle of some purple potion, tipping the contents into a goblet and handing it over. "You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," she said gently, all the usual severity gone from her voice. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep."

Harry didn't even hesitate to take the goblet, throwing back its contents and handing it back with his eyes already heavy-lidded. His eyes slid shut and he went limp, falling immediately into sleep.

Hermione reached over to carefully remove the circular glasses from his face, folding them delicately and placing them on the bedside table for when he woke up. Winona turned to Madam Pomfrey hopefully. "You don't s'pose I could get any of that?"

"Not now, dear," she shook her head. "Like I said, your concussion needs to clear before you can sleep – potion or not."

With that Madam Pomfrey made her way into her back office to do whatever it was she usually did, leaving Winona with the others, relaxed into her pillows but reluctantly forcing herself to stay conscious.

She turned her head to the side, watching Harry sleep in silence for a long few minutes. The others seemed to chewing on their words; she could feel it. She knew they had questions – questions only she had the ability to answer right now – but they were struggling to follow Dumbledore's orders and not demand the answers they were so desperate for.

Nobody said anything – despite the temptation to do so – sitting in blissful quiet. Winona let herself enjoy Fred's ministrations, sighing to herself softly and soaking up the presence of her strange, mismatched sort of family.

"Where's your bag?" George asked suddenly, voice quiet but still disturbing the careful peace.

Winona glanced down at herself, finding herself surprised to find she didn't have it.

Mrs Weasley was still staring at her with tears glittering in her eyes, but Winona expertly avoided her gaze, focusing instead on George, who sat to her left. "I didn't even realise I didn't have it with me," she confessed. "Guess that shows how hectic it's been."

But it hadn't answered George's question, and they all knew it.

Winona shuffled to the side on her bed, making enough space for Fred to climb onto it with her. He glanced self-consciously at the others, his mother only a few feet away, but with Winona staring up at him with her big, sad eyes, he couldn't possibly say no.

He cradled her to him carefully, and she saw Bill eyeing his younger brother with understandable curiosity. The side that came out of Fred when she was around was rarely seen by anyone outside their tiny circle. Bill was so used to Fred being a loud, boisterous ratbag. She could imagine it was strange, seeing him curled around Winona like he wanted to protect her from the world's harm.

She snuggled into Fred, breathing him in, and let herself rest.

At some point, Winona was finally allowed to fall asleep in Fred's arms, her hand resting softly on his broad chest, and she was so exhausted that even without the Dreamless Sleep potion, not even the nightmares seemed able to reach her. She slept without a single bad dream.

Winona was awoken some indeterminate time later by the sound of raised voices, and she roused slowly, nuzzling her head into the side of Fred's neck. "Whass 'appening?" she asked drowsily, finding that the way her body had ached and hurt before she'd fallen asleep was gone. She still felt sore, but the pain wasn't quite down to her bones, like it had been earlier.

"I'm not sure," Fred whispered back. Opening her eyes, she found it was still dark – probably very early in the morning, the hospital wing lit only by a few candles. The sounds of the shouting were coming through the door across from them, and Winona shrank further against Fred when the doors burst violently open.

It was McGonagall and Snape, followed closely by an irate-looking Fudge. McGonagall looked like she ought to have smoke pouring from her ears, and Fudge's face was turning an alarming shade of purple.

McGonagall was shouting at the Minister like he'd murdered her first born, but Fudge wasn't backing down from the fight like any sane person would. Snape just looked apathetic, as per usual.

Still groggy from her short sleep, it took Winona longer than it should have to work out what was happening, and even then, it was only because Dumbledore arrived and got Snape and McGonagall to explain it in no uncertain terms.

"When we told Mr Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," said Snape in a low, bored voice, as if he had somewhere better to be, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch-"

"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall snarled. "I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but-"

"My dear woman!" roared Fudge, the words echoing with condescension, "as Minister for Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous-"

But McGonagall spoke over him like he'd said nothing at all, and Winona sat up in bed with Fred, whose arm remained wrapped loosely around her, a protective gesture that certainly didn't make her want to smile.

McGonagall's hands were balled tightly into fists, and some distant, violent part of Winona's brain hoped she'd hit the Minister to shut him. She'd have paid good money to watch McGonagall to punch Fudge clean across the face; and she knew she definitely wasn't alone in that wish.

"The moment that – that thing entered the room," her Head of House screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, "it swooped down on Crouch and – and-"

She didn't seem able to finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. Everybody in the room knew how it was going to end. Barty Crouch Jr was gone; his soul sucked from his body in a fate worse than death. Winona swung her legs around the side of her bed, fury vibrating in her bones.

Fred reached for her, trying to pull her back down, but she ignored him.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" snarled Fudge self-righteously, defending his mistake – if, truly, it had been a mistake at all. Beyond her inner-circle, Winona was no longer sure who she could trust. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

"But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, maddeningly calm. "He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" blustered Fudge. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore replied. "Those people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge looked rather like somebody had slapped him clear across the face. He spluttered like words were escaping him, peering at Dumbledore as if he didn't recognise the man stood in front of him.

"You-Know-Who … returned?" he finally stammered. "Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore…"

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," said Dumbledore patiently, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort — learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins — went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."

"See here, Dumbledore," said Fudge, "you – you can't seriously believe that. You-Know-Who – back? Come now, come now … certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders – but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore…"

"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," said Dumbledore steadily. He believed Harry entirely, and Winona felt her hate for him thaw just a little. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office. I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."

Winona looked at her cousin to find him sitting up, wide awake and taut with tension. Sirius was still positioned under his bed, his head raised and his mouth pulled back to reveal sharp teeth clenched in a snarl.

"You are – er – prepared to take Harry's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?" Fudge asked, sounding strangely giddy. Sirius growled again, low and threatening, and Fudge shifted his weight, nervous.

"Certainly, I believe Harry," said Dumbledore, eyes no longer reminding Winona of ice, but rather fire. They burned as they stared the Minister down. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; and I heard all of Winona's predictions leading up to this moment," he said, voice like steel. "Together, the three make sense. They explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

"You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, a young Seer of questionable reputability, and a boy who … well …"

Winona's hands balled into fists, and she felt Fred's hands close over them. "As hot as it would be to watch you knock the Minister for Magic on his arse," Fred whispered in her ear. "I really think now isn't the time."

Reluctantly, Winona uncurled her fists and turned to look at Harry, whose eyes were blazing as he glared up at Fudge. "You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge," Harry said, sounding perfectly calm, but Winona could sense the storm brewing underneath.

Fudge seemed slightly embarrassed to be called out like that, and Winona felt a dip of pride for her cousin. She had the strongest urge to close the gaps between their two cots and celebrate with a high-five, but she managed to hold herself back.

"And if I have?" Fudge snapped defensively, turning his attention to Dumbledore as if Harry wasn't worth his time. "If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about your students very quiet indeed? Not informing the Ministry of Miss Andrew's Sight? Hiding that Potter is a Parselmouth? And having funny turns all over the place-"

"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" interjected Dumbledore coolly.

"You admit that he has been having these pains, then?" said Fudge quickly. "Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly – hallucinations?"

"Are you insinuating that my cousin is crazy?" Winona demanded, her voice hot from her place on the bed. Fudge turned to look at her in surprise, apparently not having noticed her before now.

"Your cousin?" Fudge echoed, as if that were the important part.

"Don't play dumb," Winona snapped at him. "It's awfully unbecoming."

Fudge went purple in the face and lifted a finger in her direction, opening her mouth to let her have it, only for Dumbledore to interrupt before he could get going.

"Listen to me, Cornelius," he said, taking a step toward Fudge, radiating a feeling of great importance. "Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous."

Fudge scoffed like Dumbledore was talking rubbish. "You'll forgive me, Dumbledore," he spat, "but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before."

"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed, but Mrs Weasley forced him back down onto it, keeping him from approaching the Minister, who looked about ready to explode with nervous fury. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy-"

"Malfoy was cleared!" hissed Fudge, visibly affronted. "A very old family – donations to excellent causes-"

"Macnair!"

"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"

"Avery – Nott – Crabbe – Goyle-"

"You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" argued Fudge, unable to see the correlation between the two. "You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven's sake, Dumbledore – the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too – his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them – the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?"

"Don't you dare-" snarled Winona, but Fred's hand slapped over her mouth, muffling the terrible names that were sure to follow.

Thankfully, nobody was around to slap a hand over McGonagall's mouth. "You fool!" she cried, and Winona was reminded again of why McGonagall had always been her favourite teacher. "Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"

"I see no evidence to the contrary!" shouted Fudge, now matching her anger, his face purpling even more, until he looked more like a frustrated grape than anything else. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"

Fudge was more concerned with politics and reputation than he was with the safety of their world and all the people in it. He made Winona sick. Convinced Winona wasn't about to go about cussing out the Minister, Fred dropped his hand from her mouth.

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeated calmly, voice ringing with the simple truth. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors-"

"Preposterous!" shouted Fudge again.

"Fucking blithering idiot," Winona muttered to Fred under her breath, and her boyfriend smothered a smirk.

"Remove the dementors?" Fudge squawked. "I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" said Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge was silent, staring at Dumbledore like he'd gone raving mad. Like he wasn't making sense. But as far as Winona was concerned, Fudge was the crazy one. It took a special degree of fool to stay blind to the danger sitting now at their doorstep.

"The second step you must take — and at once," Dumbledore pressed on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late, or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"

"You – you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped, shaking his head and taking several large steps back from Dumbledore, like he felt safer with space between them. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career-"

"You are blinded," growled Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him like a tangible thing, his eyes blazing once more, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any – and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now – take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"

"Insane," whispered Fudge, still backing away. "Mad…"

Silence reigned, all of them staring at Fudge, and Fudge staring back like he were surrounded by mentally incompetent strangers. Winona held onto Fred's more tightly, and felt her pulse beginning to calm as he slowly swiped his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand.

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," Dumbledore finally broke the tense quiet, voice deep and rumbling, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I shall act as I see fit."

It was a mere statement, but Crouch flinched like Dumbledore had threatened to curse him.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore," he said, waving a finger in the Headmaster's face. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me-"

"The only one against whom I intend to work," said Dumbledore calmly, making Fudge look the fool, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

Fudge fell silent again, rocking his weight back and forwards, anxiously fiddling with the bowler hat he had clutched in pale hands. "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be…"

Snape abruptly made his way forwards, past Dumbledore and all the way up to Fudge, where he pulled up the left sleeve of his robes and shoved his bare forearm in the Minister's face.

"There," he Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

But Fudge wasn't listening, and Winona knew it was a lost cause. There was no getting through to him, but she had to try.

"You are a fool," she said, and they all turned to look at her in surprise. "I've seen the future, Fudge. I see it every time I close my eyes. These deaths? These disappearances? They're just the beginning. There is pain and suffering coming like none you have ever known. Is the weak grip you have on your illusion of power really so important to you that you would risk the lives of the innocent people you're supposed to serve?"

Fudge's eyes were wide, mouth flapping like a fish who didn't know what to say. "Young lady, I am the Minister for Magic-" he tried to say importantly, but Winona was so beyond caring.

"Which is why you need to pull your head out of your arse and listen," she snapped.

Fred and George let out matching guffaws at her blunt words, but nobody else in the room was laughing. Mrs Weasley looked about ready to melt into the floor in horror. "Just because you have certain skills, Miss Andrews-"

"It's Black," Winona corrected him sharply. The room went silent again.

"What?" asked Fudge, going from purple to white in an instant.

"My name," she said, slow and deliberate, "is Winona Black." Harry's eyes were wide, and she felt the twins' resounding surprise. "I'm taking back the name your Ministry stole from me."

"You think just because of Rita Skeeter's article you can-"

"Rita Skeeter has nothing to do with this decision – or any other," Winona snapped, but she couldn't help but notice the way everyone around her was shifting – like they all knew something she didn't. She wondered, distantly, what Fudge was talking about. What article?

Fudge narrowed his eyes. "You would do well to remember your place, Miss Andrews-" he said snidely.

"You mean the place where I had the Minister for Magic begging me to work for his administration?" she asked innocently. Fudge went still. "You want the power I have for yourself, and if you ever expect to see so much as a lick of the future, you'll listen to what Harry is telling you."

Fudge didn't quite seem to know how to respond to that. He cleared his throat, thinking hard, until finally his expression went hard. Winona knew then that he'd chosen his hill to die on. "I think you greatly overestimate your value, Miss Black," he finally used her name, and she knew the battle was lost.

He turned back to Dumbledore, effectively dismissing her. With his attention finally diverted, Winona sank back against Fred. The rhythm of his heart beating against her was calming, and she tried to match her breathing to his as a way to keep herself distracted.

"I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough," Fudge told Dumbledore in a dark rasp. "I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the room, and stopped at Harry's bed. Winona sat up straight again, knowing that if he so much as looked at her cousin the wrong way, Fred was going to get his wish and watch her knock the Minister to the floor with more than just her words.

"Your winnings," Fudge said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto the bedside table. The coins within made a loud jangling noise, and it looked awfully heavy. Winona had never seen so much money at one time before, and by the way Fred's hand tightened on her hip, she knew neither had he. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…"

He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving them in terrible, ringing silence.

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A/N: Hope you all enjoyed – I'll be back again in a week or so with another new chapter.

Spotlight review goes to: kkoni94 – thanks so much for reviewing, and thanks for your kind words. I like my fanfictions to add and expand on the world they're set in, making my characters fit into the HP universe. It's sort of like a sandbox to play in, and I'm really glad you like the way I incorporate parts of the wizarding world into my story. Thanks again, and I hope you liked this one, too!