A/N: It's really starting to get interesting now! I absolutely love writing this, and I love that you guys are being great about reviewing. Thanks! A couple of you have been pretty close in your theories -- except there are a few things you couldn't possibly know yet. (Well, can't I have some secrets?!) Hope you like this chapter!
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It rained. Massive drops crashed headlong into the roof, giving off a loud, incessant pattering. Molly ruefully thought she hadn't heard such noise since she'd let Charlie take drumming lessons. What a mistake that'd been. Shaking off thoughts of her family, she glanced out the window, and saw only a wall of water. It was as if a river had been turned upside down above the hut. Molly worriedly wondered if the roof would leak, but glancing over at her father put those fears to rest. He was smiling -- a great, enormous smile, the sort that radiates happiness, until everyone viewing it has to grin as well.

Mr. Douglass was indeed very happy. When he had felt all hope was lost, that his dreams would never be fulfilled, his beloved daughter had returned. Had this been any other family, it would seem very sweet. But these were the Douglass's, and with them, nothing was ever how it appeared. Molly couldn't possibly know the true reason for the old man's elation.

It had been almost thirty years since Mr. Douglass's wife had died. Thirty years of silence; of cold nights when hunger would keep him awake, the silvery moon his only companion. Mr. Douglass didn't suffer from physical hunger, as his pantry was stocked with food. No, it was a different type he needed to quench -- social starvation. There was no use denying this craving had taken its toll on the man. He had gone mad -- barking, howling mad, all thoughts bent toward cruel, yet comforting revenge.

For who had put him here? Who had sentenced him to these horrid years of solitary confinement, staring at these same four walls? Who had sent him here, to a fate worse than death?

Mr. Douglass's warped mind could only come up with one answer: Johnston. Johnston, who'd foiled his plan, been able to come up with evidence against his family, and sent them on the run. Johnston, his enemy.

For years, thoughts of getting revenge on Johnston was all that was keeping Mr. Douglass alive. But without another to carry out his plans, (as he couldn't be seen), his careful, meticulous design lay unused in the back of his mind. But now, he thanked the god he'd not believed in for decades, he had been sent a messenger. One too confused, too misguided to think hard about an old, "broken" man's requests. Molly would be his puppet, yet again, and the evil cycle would begin anew. This time, he wouldn't make mistakes.

Molly suddenly looked away from the window which she'd been staring out of and smiled softly at her father. "It's wonderful to see you again, even under these circumstances," she half whispered, half spoke.

The aged, but still plotting trickster turned and gave a benign smile. "I'm very, very glad you've come."

***

The stone floor of the courtroom radiated icy cold. Molly shivered. Though only ten, she had a bit of knowledge of behavior in such circumstances, and she thought it best not to mention it. She filed into the dimly lit room alongside her mother and father. Molly could not help but notice that Mrs. Douglass clutched her hand with sweaty palms. Odd, thought Molly to herself. Her mother was always dry handed, even under pressure. Yes, very odd indeed.

Molly took her place alongside her parents next a large, burly man who was to be the prosecutor in the trial. Although he didn't look it, he was the best lawyer in all of England -- the very best money could buy. The Douglass's, realizing how very important their victory was, had splurged their last few galleons on him, Mr. Judd. Their fates, and the fate of Johnston, rested on his strong shoulders.

Molly's face must have shown her nerves, because Mr. Judd smiled over at her. Feeling slightly better, she looked around the room. Spectators filled the benches, and a row of standing men and women lined the back wall. Her stomach lurching nervously, she turned away and looked across the room at the defense. She could hardly believe what met her eye -- Johnston. Yet Johnston as he'd never looked before, so wild-eyed, so ruthless! Shuddering, she opted to look at the chilled floor. There, no eyes could follow her.

A few hours later, Molly was still staring at that spot. It had several dots on it, she had realized about a half hour after she'd sat down. Counting, she had reached one hundred seventy-three when she heard her named called. Her head rocketed up, and she felt distinctly dizzy. Yes, her parents had told her she'd be called, prepped her on what to say -- but now that it was really happening she just felt ill.

"Calling Molly Douglass to the stand." Knees trembling, Molly rose. Her father (who she secretly favored over her mother) gave her an encouraging sort of smile, and waved her up. As she had been daydreaming, the trial had been progressing steadily. A few witnesses had been called for the prosecution already, and now it was her turn.

"Ms. Douglass, do you swear, before all present, to tell the truth?"

Molly took a deep breath. It was okay. She knew the questions, knew her responses. She followed what her parents had told her to say. "I do," said Molly Douglass, little knowing those words would seal her fate.

She knew her lines.

***

"Mum's diary!" Ginny exclaimed, her sorrow momentarily forgotten. "We can read it and find out what she's really like! Maybe we can even figure out why she's... why she's..." Ginny trailed off. "Anyway, we ought to read it." Ginny's eyes, red from crying, flashed in excitement.

Ron crouched beside her, both staring at the little book. For such a tiny thing, small enough to fit inside Ron's hand, it had a huge amount of importance to the two children.

With a tiny crackle of the spine, Ron turned to the first page, dated September the first, and began to read. 'Today is the first day of a new beginning. I am to be called Molly Ludwig now, after my favorite composer. Perhaps a new name will mean a new person...'

"Weird," whispered Ron. "Didn't she say Ludwig was her maiden name? Definitely fishy." Ginny nodded, and the two began to read again. 'Just in case this diary falls into the wrong hands, I will only say this about my past -- I have no family. They died to moment I left home, and I hope to soon forget them.'

Ron, flabbergasted, searched Ginny's eyes. She looked as confused as he. Come to think of, their mother never had spoken very much about her family. Ginny could remember a few times when her questions had gone unanswered, her mother seeming to drift away. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now... Ginny did recall, however, Mrs. Weasley mentioning her parents had died in an accident -- though she followed this with a quick, "and I don't want to talk about it. Go clean your room." The two stories didn't match up.

Struck with a sinister thought, Ginny wondered aloud. "Has she been lying to us?" Her voice ended in a tiny squeak. She moved to turn the page, but Ron grabbed her shaking hand.

"I think," he said, "that it's time to owl Harry and Hermione."
***

A/N: Interesting, isn't it? But you are starting to get the picture, eh? PLEASE review, I work really hard on this story, and I'd appreciate it. Thanks! (Of course, include all theories in the review.) Viva la METMA!