The dripping sound echoing against the walls was all she could hear. It was infuriating, but it was hard to maintain any kind of anger in this kind of cold. It ate through your bones until you didn't even remember what warmth was. And darkness. The only light came from the far away surface and from the guards when they brought the food and new prisoners. There was wailing sometimes, but after a while it would die down.

She'd been a fool to think anyone would come, to think he would come. She realised that now. From hope, to anger, to sadness. Oh, how she'd cried at her plight, at the unfairness of it all. But eventually her tears ran out and all that was left was the cold, and the slow realisation that the only thing left of her soon would be an equally cold corpse. Unloved, unremembered, just forgotten. She started to make her peace. This life wasn't for her, and soon she'd slip out of it.

Rubbing a hand along her legs, she felt the sores caused by sleeping on the stone floor. They too felt cold, and she felt her consciousness slipping again. There was no way to know how much time had passed, so sleep took a hold of her quickly in here, like a frivolous spectre.

She woke hearing the steps of several people echoing down. Was it time for food again? Or was it something else. Her stomach burned with acid and the pain of hunger. She'd be glad even for the stale and yet damp bread now. She took a handful of water from the cistern in her cell, the water that dripped from above keeping the prisoners alive. It tasted briny and putrid but she drank it anyway.

As the steps came closer she watched in anticipation. They stopped at the door of her cell block. She vainly hoped they'd come to finish the job, until she spotted the hunched figure of a wizard with long white hair, caked with blood which was probably his own. They brought him in and in passing she saw his face was bloodied too. They had interrogated him, most likely. They threw him in the cell beside her. One of the guards looked her way and grimaced in disgust before leaving again. They brought no food.

For a long while, she thought they might have gone overboard and killed her new cellmate. Then she heard the groans, and the splashing of water, and the tap of fingers against the iron bars.

"Hello?" said a faint male voice. "If I'm not mistaken, I saw someone else when I was dragged in." He paused for a moment, but she didn't speak. "Oh, please don't tell me I'm talking to myself already," he sighed.

"I'm here," she replied in a hoarse voice.

"Oh good. I'm not crazy," the man laughed weakly. "Have you been here long?"

She rested her head against the wall, already regretting responding. What was the point of talking to anyone anyway? She'd be dead soon. "I don't know."

"I guess you wouldn't."

The man didn't speak any further, but she could hear the shallow breathing of someone who was asleep. He had been in a pretty bad state so him needing rest wasn't a surprise. She didn't know what to think, she just hoped he wouldn't scream when the other wardens came. He eventually did wake up with a misplaced 'good morning'. Her sense of time must have been pretty rattled because it was a while longer before the guards came with food. A scrap of bread for each of them. She ate quickly, the food barely sating her burning stomach.

They came some time later. You could hear them coming because you'd hear the cries of fear from the levels above before they got to you. As they came down, the cold became more tangible, like the whole pit was filling with water, ready to drown them all. Finally, the figure appeared in front of their cell block and her heart stopped. Any inkling of faith immediately was stripped from her and she pulled her legs against her body, waiting for the creature.

It passed straight through the bars of the cell block and moved towards them, sniffing out their life force. Hopelessness was laid over her like a blanket and she shook as it stopped in front of her cell. The tremors passed through her body as she watched it move on and she heard the inhalation of fear from the man in the cell next to her.

She closed her eyes at the pleas from the man. She heard as the creature took pleasure in ripping the man's hopes to shreds and consuming them. She fainted, hearing the man's pitiful cries: "I'm sorry, Luna… I'm so sorry…"

#

She stood up immediately, hearing the door to the incarceration wing open and her heart leapt at the sight she saw, unable to hold back a smile. Bigby had a downcast look as he let Harry in, and the smudge of red below his swollen nose told her Harry hadn't been so subtle about the news. It would be enough just to see him visit, but she figured he already had more of a handle on things than that.

Harry stopped before the small cell and sighed. He seemed angry, but she'd known him for too long to think he would be mad at her.

"Feels familiar?" she asked.

With the hint of a smirk, he shook his head, and pulled out a silver key to open her cell. She followed him to the bench and sat down. "Took it out on Bigs, I saw," she said after a while.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his face, "had to be told from Hermione. Bastard's lucky it was just a punch, he deserves a beating for not telling me."

"So what the hell is going on?" she asked. "They haven't interrogated me or anything, I'd figure if they had anything you wouldn't be here?"

"Well, if they had anything they wouldn't have let me in," he said with a frown. "From what I hear, Fuller issued the warrant himself, going over the Assistant-Director's head. He's keeping the reasons close to his chest, but Hermione is friends with his assistant. He doesn't have anything concrete, he's just… he must have read your file and gotten it into his head."

"What?" She turned to look at him if he was serious. "Nothing? He just issued a warrant because… What the hell is on my record that would get me thrown in here?"

"I haven't spoken to him yet, but the investigation team had put forward the 'revenge' hypothesis and he must have gotten the idea from that. I mean, you are the best Auror in the department, and you have as much of a reason to take that revenge as anyone. Plus, you know Azkaban's location." He scoffed. "I knew he was desperate, but I'm as surprised as you are. I don't know what got into his head."

Mathilda shook her head, incredulous at the news. "And here I was ready to fall on my sword…"

"You being my sword, I don't see that being a good idea," Harry said with a smile.

She leaned against his arm and relaxed. She'd been waiting in here for some kind of fear to manifest, but it hadn't happened, and now it wouldn't. "So what now?" she asked.

"I told Greengrass to send over one of his lawyers, to prevent Bigby or Robards from trying anything stupid. You should be out tomorrow, if not today. We've called a Wizengamot meeting as well. We'll be having a no-confidence vote for Fuller. In a way it all works out perfectly. We were looking for a scapegoat for the investigation going nowhere, now Fuller's mistake is letting us sacrifice him to the whims of public opinion."

She nodded. It was impressive how much pull they had just after a year of playing at this game. But more than that, she was lucky he was here. There was a time it didn't matter what proof they had.

#

"I've got to go," she said in a huff. "Things are getting worse and worse out there and Robards doesn't appreciate lateness."

She looked up to Julian and saw him reading something over tea, apparently absorbed in it so badly he didn't hear her. She walked over to him and scanned his reading. It was an article from last year, some kind of interview with one Harry Potter. "The hell are you reading?"

"Oh. You haven't read this?"

She shook her head and lifted the cover to see the front page of the Quibbler and chuckled. "Where did you get this?"

"A friend lent it to me. He was warning everyone before it happened, about You-Know-Who, and about Sirius Black's innocence."

"Sure. Why the interest?"

"They're saying he's some kind of saviour, that he has the power to fight him."

She laughed, turning to take her coat. "Please don't tell me you believe that."

"He did survive before. Maybe it's not so crazy."

"Yeah, I'm sure a baby survived the Killing Curse. Bloody hell, it's this kind of nonsense that makes the Ministry so complacent. 'Oh, don't worry about anything, Harry Potter will save us.' It was the same with Dumbledore fifty years back. You know, except for the fact Harry Potter is a kid, and probably has as much chance of winning a duel against You-Know-Who as Ludo Bagman."

"You never know, that's all I'm saying."

"All right, but I really have to go."

Julian waved back as she went to the floo and made her way to the AD. The past few months had been a race to deal with the Death Eater attacks that were ever increasing. Now knowing You-Know-Who was behind it all, a lot of Aurors had lost their nerve. They were more careful, more paranoid and that was on top of most of them being woefully underqualified for the job.

She had joined three years ago, recruited from Patrol, and soon realised that wearing a golden pin didn't mean you knew what you were doing with a wand. Mary at the dispatch desk told her she would go with Dawlish to provide security at Diagon Alley today. It was a thankless task, as the street saw few visitors as of late.

She stopped by her cubicle to prepare her report files for later and saw Kingsley hurriedly make his way towards his. "'Morning."

"Good morning," he answered, sorting through the pile of paperwork on his desk.

"What are you on this week?" she asked.

"Hogsmeade."

Again. She scanned the cubicles ahead and frowned at Tonks extirpating her boot from a paper bin. Somehow Kingsley and Tonks always managed to get stuck on Hogsmeade duty. If the metamorph's disposition was any indication, she wasn't very happy with the assignment. She'd been in a foul mood for weeks.

She found Dawlish exiting Robards' office. "Anything special?"

John shook his head and started towards the elevators. "Maybe a tip, we're going to change our patrol route. If anything happens, don't go too far."

John Dawlish wasn't the worst Auror, but he had gotten twitchy lately. No matter where they were he always looked like he expected You-Know-Who himself to appear from around a corner. They started their shift around the main square, where few witches and wizards could be seen making their way into Gringotts in a hurry. They continued south and passed through the alleys of the librarian district.

By noon they stopped for food and it seemed like it would be another boring day in the increasingly deserted streets. Either by way of the tip they got or coincidence, they met two masked individuals near an apothecary. They were standing over a body, searching it. When they spotted the two Aurors, they ran. Dawlish hesitated, but she wasn't going to let a chance like that slide. She gave chase, and heard Dawlish curse behind her.

They went further into side streets and she dodged a poorly cast stunner as they went. Around a corner, she saw them enter an abandoned shop. She looked behind her; there was no sign of Dawlish, and no knowing if he followed. There was no time.

She saw a flash of a robe through the window and narrowed her eyes. "Piece of cake, you can do this," she whispered to herself. With a twist, she disappeared and reappeared in the room inside the house. She fired a disarming spell before the first one could turn around and dove behind a counter. Turning over she spotted the second one further inside, going for a window.

She sent a blasting hex at his back and the shop was filled with the sound of shattering glass. The other one was scrambling for his wand and dropped to the floor. With a decided dash, she kicked forward into the person's mask, breaking it. The man cursed, and she put the heel of her boot on his neck, pinning him.

"You stupid bitch," he spat. "The Dark Lord is going to cut you to pieces."

"Shut your mouth or I'll crush your windpipe," she said with a twist of her foot.

She conjured a rope and bound him. Stepping through splinters and broken glass, she went over to the other one. The blast had impaled him on a jutting shard in the window and blood spilled down the awning and onto the floor. He was dead.

She sent a Patronus message to the Ministry asking for an investigation team, watching the ethereal gazelle dart through the street. When it came back, Dawlish still wasn't there, so she sent another to warn him. He looked furious when he arrived and the look he gave her when he saw the corpse of one of the Death Eaters didn't bode well. But she didn't care, she had just stopped two criminals caught in the act. She was better than him and he knew it.

Robards sent her home after she handed in her report. It was still early and Julian wouldn't be back from the Department of Transportation until later. She washed up in the bathroom and brushed away her curls from her face. A congealed trickle of blood ran down her cheek. She smiled at her reflection.

#

The lawyer arrived mere minutes after Harry left. He was very thorough and reassuring, but she would have to spend an evening locked up since Fuller showed no sign of backing down. Bigby looked uncomfortable during the interview, where he would ask questions and they would invariably be denied by the lawyer. Afterwards, she was sent back to her cell and Bigby didn't meet her eye once. At least he felt bad about it. No doubt Fuller had made threats to him in desperation.

Alfred came in to visit during the night. Unlike Harry who just walked in, he waited for Tim Brenton to open the cell door and walk away.

"Hey there," he said with a brief hug, and whispered: "Is it safe to talk?"

She nodded. "Privacy was a feature when the wing was rebuilt. What's going on?"

"Well, Harry hoped him threatening the no-confidence vote would be enough to get Fuller to bend, but they're having a session tomorrow." He laughed, looking back to the exit. "I don't know how they did it, but the press is in an uproar. Fuller is coming across as a desperate fool incarcerating a decorated Auror. They're really pulling out all the stops."

He sat down across from her, looking relieved. "Did you ever think this was going to be it? I know I nearly had a heart attack when I found out."

"Maybe," she answered, "but we knew that going in, didn't we?"

"Sure. I mean, I knew, but you knew. Maybe that's the difference between a bad Auror and a good Auror."

"You're not a bad Auror," she laughed. "Where in the world did you get that idea?"

"Just feels like I'm always making mistakes. Why didn't I notice that? How could I have done this better? Why didn't I think of that? Then you and Harry, you do it like it's the easiest thing in the world. And I think that maybe I wasn't cut out for it."

"Trust me. You're cut out for it."

"Thanks," Alfred said with a smile. "Say, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He pointed a finger at his solar plexus and she instantly knew what he was going to ask. "It's some kind of enchantment, isn't it? Is that how you made your entry in Ecuador? I've never seen a spell like that, or the way you fought then."

She smiled and opened two buttons on her shirt to let the plate show. The dazzling gold embedded into her bone shone brightly, the metal as warm as the skin next to it. "Oh, you should be jealous," she said with a smirk. "I guess Harry thought I would accept if he offered to magically enhance me, and well… of course I did. Surprisingly, it wasn't that painful. Means a lot to me that he thought I could put it to good use. Hermione said something about it not being finished, but I don't know. It feels pretty finished to me."

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be too covetous," Alfred said, standing up. "You are our fearless warrior, after all. Both to us and the rest of the Aurors."

Fearless. She probably was by now. After all, she'd already gotten everything she ever hoped for.

#

Robards called her in after her mandatory leave. She was expecting a pat on the back, maybe a compliment from the Director in written form. Nothing special, or groundbreaking. What she didn't expect was Robards grimly sitting in his chair, and after a moment of silence, sliding a piece of parchment across his desk bearing the mark of the DMLE Correctional Committee.

"You're being transferred. Demoted, as it is, back to patrol. There's an option for resignation, but that's up to you. This isn't my decision, but the decision is final."

She stood there, dumbstruck for a good minute. In just one instant she had years of hard work obliterated by one thin sheaf of parchment. "This is a bloody joke, right? Dawlish can't follow because of his fat arse and I get demoted?"

"The committee's decision is out of my hands. You can thank Minister Scrimgeour's stringent measures for that. The death of a suspect with the testimony of a veteran Auror made them decide against you. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

"A suspect? The fucker with a mask? I can't fucking believe this!"

"Be that as it may, the decision was made. I'm sorry, but you are discharged as of now."

She snatched the paper from the desk and tossed her Auror pin in its place. She felt angry and betrayed and left the office in a straight line for Dawlish, who meekly met her gaze as she approached. She shoved him in the shoulder, making him stumble back. "You gutless little shit. You go and tell to those paper-pushers and you don't even have the courage to face me. Do you have any pride as a man, or did you lose that in the divorce too?"

"You brought this on yourself," he replied, "going out alone and killing a suspect. You're unpredictable and dangerous, and I'm surprised you lasted this long."

"You make it sound like an insult," she said, stepping up to him. "I could wipe the floor with you and you bloody know it. That's why you went around my back and bitched to the committee. Unpredictable and dangerous sound like badges of honour to me. You can rot in a ditch, Dawlish."

With a last shove, she exited the department. She was aware of the looks she got, and the silence of those that would not speak out. On the way out she was stopped by Kingsley, who looked genuinely shocked.

"I just heard what happened," he said. "I'm sorry. This is the kind of nonsense we have to deal with these days."

"That cunt Dawlish feels threatened and I get made a Bobette."

"Look," he said, lowering his voice, "this might be for the best. The way things are shaping up, things will get worse before they get better, and anyone with a badge will be a target."

"Well, gee, that's a relief," she said sarcastically.

"There is light at the end of the tunnel," he said with a smile. "Take care."

But there didn't seem to be much light at all at the moment. She simply went home and sat with a glass of whisky and her troubles, thinking what she was going to tell Julian. Becoming an Auror had been her calling and he had been against it, so he would probably be relieved. No matter how she spun it in her mind, there was no way she could be happy about it.

#

She was released the next day, before they even brought her breakfast. Harry and Hermione stood together waiting for her. She was still wearing plum robes, while Harry had probably quickly changed beforehand.

"That was quick," she said, looking between the two of them.

"Glad to have you back," Hermione said with a smile.

"Walk with us," Harry said, and she did. "You're probably going to hate this, but the press is in the lobby waiting for you. They took the spurned hero story to heart, and now they want to see you."

"I don't follow. Why do they want to see me? I was just released because you shafted Fuller."

"Because you're a hero now," he said with a smile. "You're the spotless Captain who braved the unfairness of the system. It might have been only a day but they were already crying in the streets to see you released."

"Oh, you're right, I don't like this."

"Just smile for the camera, or don't, they'll love you either way."

She felt herself clam up as they entered the atrium. The area beyond the lobby was packed with reporters, all craning to have a look at her. She now realised she wasn't even wearing her Auror robes, just the clothes she was arrested with. She straightened her shirt and trousers and preened her hair. What if they wrote about Harry Potter's slob friend?

She wasn't sure what to do with the newlywed couple flanking her. Cameras flashed in her direction and she realised she forgot to smile, and couldn't force herself to because she thought she might look unnatural. Harry took half a step forward and all murmurs stopped, waiting for him to speak.

"The Wizengamot convened this morning about the handling of the Azkaban investigation. It has quickly come to light that the arrest of Auror Greshaw was a result of executive overreach. Director Fuller launched on this witch hunt without the approval of the Assistant-Director, the Minister or the Chief Auror. This, combined with previous failures on the Director's part, led to the decision to dismiss Director Fuller from his position effective immediately. In the meantime Assistant-Director Fairbanks will take over leadership of the investigation and the department."

Hermione quickly took over from him. "Director Fairbanks decided to dismiss the charges against Auror Greshaw and has pledged to work closely with the Auror Department to prevent such mishaps in the future. As you can imagine, Ms. Greshaw has been through quite an ordeal, but wanted to come and show she was ready to resume her work as Auror Captain."

Sensing the end of the statement, a flurry of questions came from the reporters. Harry calmed them down and pointed to a red haired witch with glasses. The woman shoved forward, holding her quill and pad. "Could we just have a few words from Captain Greshaw? How was it being betrayed by your Head of Department? What did you think when you were first arrested? Was there any bad blood between you and Mr. Fuller before this?"

Mathilda didn't know how to answer. They all looked at her expectantly, like they were looking for some revelation about the whole thing. What the hell could she say? All she'd seen was the interior of a cell for the past day.

"I, er… Um, it's good to be out, I guess…"

There was a moment of silence, and she thought that they might come at her throat demanding answers. But then a few people started to clap, and a few more, and before she knew what was happening, the assembly of reporters and journalists were clapping and cheering for her. She looked towards Harry, and chuckled seeing him grin. Life really was a cakewalk if you had him on your side.

#

Things had changed after Dumbledore's death. For all the good the posting of Aurors at Hogsmeade did, it still ended in defeat. The mood was clear around the DMLE, and Patrol officers were going about their daily business with a sense of foreboding and helplessness. Calls of domestic disturbance and drunkenness were the least of anyone's worries with the attacks increasing in frequency, and the increasing lack of effective fight the Aurors put up.

Everyone could feel the end was coming. She wasn't even at the Ministry when it happened. In the span of a day, Scrimgeour had been killed and Voldemort's puppet put in his place. The dissolution of the AD was announced and all reports said that many of her former colleagues were on the run or dead, and some others had been repurposed. She understood the meaning of Kingsley's warning, because if she had still been an Auror at the time, she had no idea what she would have done. Voldemort had won.

She talked with Julian about leaving, about what it would mean for their friends and family. She wasn't sure herself, and he wasn't pressing the issue either. But if they were staying, and if they did want to fight, she didn't know where to start. The first resistance broadcast was talked about around the same time the first muggle-born trials started. There was no way to contact them, just a call to 'stay strong' and 'help was coming'.

In hindsight, she should've run months ago. She was going through a wand-check when five of the Ministry's new enforcers approached her, and five more behind her. One of them pushed the guard back, still holding her wand. She fought as they tried to subdue her, catching one in the jaw and another with a wandless tripping jinx. They overpowered her and pushed her to the ground.

"This is the one," one of them said. "The bitch Auror who killed my brother."

Looking up, she finally recognised the man. It was the one she'd kicked in the face in her arrest before she got sacked. And now he was part of the Ministry like nothing had happened. "Let me go you coward!"

The man laughed and bent down. "The bosses told me the same, to let it go at first. That is until I talked to that husband of yours."

"What did you do to him!" she spat.

"I didn't have to do nothing. He started talking when I told him we knew where his sister lived." The man laughed cruelly at her widening eyes. "He told us all about you being a bastard child. A magic stealing mudblood adopted into a blood-traitor household."

"You're lying."

"I don't bloody care if you believe me. Tell me, Jim," he said, turning to the fat one to his left, "what's the punishment for being a blood traitor?"

"Death," he replied.

"Death," the man echoed. "Remember how the woman screamed under the Cruciatus?"

"No!" she said, pushing against the hold.

"Yes. And for you, stealing magic and killing the great man my brother was. You won't get off so easy."

She was gagged and bound. She thought she would be brought in for trial, but they extended her no such formalities. A man was waiting by the courtrooms and a rope was bound around her neck. The rope was a portkey that brought them into a small harbour where a dingy boat was waiting, the smallest of seafaring vessels. She knew her parents were dead, she knew where that ship was taking her. To Azkaban, the home of Dementors where criminals were sent to rot out of sight of the public.

She still refused to believe Julian had betrayed her. In all likelihood he was dead as well. As the ship caught the waves, she wondered why they hadn't just portkeyed her directly to the island, but as the fortress came into view, she understood. This was a place where hope was sent to die.

When she was finally alone, she cried. When the crying subsided, she got hungry, and cold, and numb. That is until some untold number of weeks later, a man was thrown in the cell next to her. His name was Xenophilius Lovegood, and he had much hope to give to the Dementors.

She could hear his trembling breath in the aftermath of the creature's visit. It must have lingered on him, because it was many hours before he regained consciousness. It was too much of a distraction to have someone to talk to, so she simply asked. "Who's Luna?"

"My daughter," his echo replied, "I'm Xenophilius."

"Mathilda," she called back. "What happened to her?"

"She got taken."

Mathilda closed her eyes, thinking how losing a child wouldn't make him last long.

"But she's fine, I'm sure," Xeno continued. "Shall I tell you a secret?"

"Fine."

"We're all going to be saved."

"I'm sure," she replied grimly, but the man paid her comment no heed.

"As we speak, Harry Potter is out there, fighting Voldemort's minions and saving my daughter. Because he's her friend, and that's what Harry Potter does for his friends. I know it."

"Harry Potter is just a boy, old man," she said.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd met him," Xeno whispered back. "He's a great man, as great as Dumbledore or Merlin. He'll save us all… even if we don't deserve it."

The man was clearly driven insane by loss, but she indulged him. He told the craziest stories of how this boy saviour had fought Voldemort on multiple occasions. How he slayed great beasts sent by Salazar from the grave and how he battled dragons. It was complete nonsense, but it was the only conversation to be had.

As the days went by, the stories grew shorter, and Xeno's breath grew weaker. The Dementors seemed to seek him out in particular, and every time, Xeno would cry out the name of his lost daughter. After some time the stories stopped. The guards spared only a glance to the cell and stopped bringing bread. She was alone, again. The company had kept her alive for a time, but now she could feel her end approaching. Unlike the dead man in the cell beside hers, she didn't think anyone would save them. She was ready.

She'd been on the edge of sleep when she heard the commotion. Cries, blasts and incantations echoing down the hole. A booming voice was followed by a blinding silver light. She dragged her weak body towards the bars and saw, an incandescent flash passing by, trampling one of the cloaked creatures. It went back up, and down, driving Dementors away like a torrent of starlight. It slowed, and stopped before her cell. A great, majestic, white stag. It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

It was some time before the voices and the steps reached the lowest levels where she resided. She could make out two voices.

"…where they kept Xeno and a former Auror."

"All right," the second voice said. "Open it."

To her surprise, the first man was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror who had given her the ominous warning. Behind him, she saw a tall, thin boy. Her eyes widened as she recognised his face, eyes determined and bright. He had the look about him of someone who had looked death in the face more than once, the countenance of a Hero. It was Harry Potter; Xeno had been right all along, only he didn't live long enough to see it.

There was pain in Harry's eyes as he looked into the cell beside her, then anger, flickering in his iris.

"He's been dead for some time," she said. "He knew you would come."

Kingsley opened the cell door and with a last look towards Xeno's cell, Harry Potter stepped inside and knelt beside her, taking a bottle out of a bag. "Here."

She drank from it, pure and fresh water. It was reinvigorating, and with every passing moment she could feel warmth flowing back into her body, almost burning her.

"You were an Auror?" she heard him ask in a low voice.

"Yes."

Then in a fashion she never expected to see in this wretched place, he smiled. It ignited something in her she didn't know still existed. Hope, being rediscovered, making her heart beat and her lungs breathe. "Voldemort is dead," he said, "but the fight isn't over. I think I'll be an Auror too, so maybe one day we'll get to work together."

She laughed; a foreign sound in the echoey space. Hope reminded her of all she'd lost. Her parents. Her marriage. Her job, and likely many of her friends. The laughter turned into sobs and in an ultimate moment of weakness, she rested her head against the boy's bony shoulder, crying profusely. Hope came with loss, and loss came with hope. Harry Potter truly was as great as Xenophilius had told. He'd dragged her out of this pit of despair on the back of a great white stag.

#

She was glad she'd gone back to work so quickly, because it let her witness something truly marvellous: the impotent fury of Tobias Fuller. Her hand was itching for her wand as she saw him stride towards Harry, but Harry saw him and simply smiled.

"You!" Fuller shouted. "You think this will stand? You think you can just get rid of everyone that doesn't please you! You mark my words, boy, your day of reckoning will come and I will be there to see it!"

"You made a mistake," Harry replied calmly, "on a crucial DMLE investigation. You were desperate to keep your position even though you were unfit for it. The Wizengamot decided to put someone in charge who can handle it. Now, if that's all, I'm going to ask you to leave unless you have any business within the department."

"You're a sly snake, Potter. Don't think people don't see you for what you are. Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won't."

She'd never tire to see the look of victory on his face, and she'd seen it often throughout the years. He turned towards her cubicle and nodded. The day was spent picking up the pieces where Fuller had left it. Acting Director Fairbanks had opened a string of inquiries into continental terrorist groups, and that's where they looked, even if there was nothing to find.

They went for drinks after work, the five of them. Ginny was watching her alcohol consumption in preparation for the big game, and it was as much a celebration of Mathilda's freedom as it was a toast to the Harpies. Ginny took out four tickets out of her pocket and handed them out. "VIP seats. I already gave some to the family."

"To one more victory in a long string of victories," Hermione said.

"Cheers to that," Alfred said.

"Don't bloody jinx it," Ginny warned. "To Mathilda, a hero and innocent of all crimes the wicked Fuller slandered her with!"

"Still can't believe I made the bloody papers."

"I do!" Hermione said, taking something out of her bag. "A good picture, I think."

She handed the newspaper clipping to Harry, who nodded in approval. "I think it's lovely. We should frame it."

"Please don't," she plead.

"So you'll be teaching in September?" Alfred asked Harry.

"Yup. Guest lectures for a while. Sent the letter confirming it to McGonagall last week."

"And what am I supposed to do with myself?" Mathilda asked.

"It's not even a semester, I'll be back before you know it."

"You know, on average you haven't been much of an Auror lately. Your thing with the ICW, the coma, now teaching?"

"You're blaming me for the coma?"

"Yeah!" she said with an accusatory wave. "I guess I am!"

"Well it's not exile, I'll have free floo travel whenever I want. We'll see plenty of each other."

"Watch out, Hermione," Ginny said with a glint in her eyes, "you have competition. And like you said, she's quite striking."

"I think it's sweet," Hermione answered.

"What about you, Al?" Harry asked feigning sadness. "Not going to miss your dear old Harry?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

As the conversation turned to quidditch, Harry caught her eye. His serious look meant to ask something that had been hanging in the air ever since she got out. He was asking if she was fine with her ordeal. She nodded faintly. She was all right. She felt stronger than ever. Nothing short of death would break her now.

#

Her return to the land of the living had been surreal to put it lightly. She and dozens of other prisoners had been portkeyed over to St. Mungo's. There, she slept restfully for what felt like the first time in years. The whole place was a mess, part of it having been ransacked in attacks and the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. She was brought clothes after her sores healed and her muscles felt stronger. She also got a temporary wand, pillage from the fallen followers of Voldemort. She dearly wished she had her own, but since it had probably been snapped, she wouldn't complain.

She went to the Ministry, where people she had never seen wore the Auror insignia, matching faces on a list of known sympathisers. In the lobby was a great crowd, huddled together.

"My husband, John Wendley. I haven't seen him since August — My son, Charlie's his name, he's five years old — My sister, Camelia, she lived in the Bobbleton borough."

People were looking for lost relatives, loved ones. And she filed in, hoping to find out what had happened to her family. Her mind raced as she waited, maybe, just maybe, but then, she didn't have much hope they were still alive. A woman with large bags under her eyes greeted her. "How can I help you?"

"Um." She stood there now, hesitating before she blurted out the names. "Mary and Simon Greshaw. They lived just outside of London."

The woman went through a great roll of parchment, scanning names, and her face soured. "I'm sorry. They're deceased. We're still working out how to contact the muggle authorities for burial arrangements."

"Right," she said, feeling the sting once more. "What about Julian Windcombe? He's my husband."

She looked over the list again, and over another list. And another. "I'm sorry but we don't have that name on file. Have you checked place of residence, St. Mungo's, Hogwarts? We still don't have a proper census."

"That's okay. I'll… thank you."

She walked away. She thought of their apartment and what she might find there. In the end it was nothing but aimlessness that brought her there. She stared at the grooves in the wooden door for some time before she got the courage to enter. She broke the locking enchantment with a wave of her wand and stepped inside. Seeing it looked lived in, she let herself hope. From the living room she spotted him, standing in the kitchen with a glass of pumpkin juice.

He startled as he turned and dropped the glass. Julian had never been good at lying. She felt a sense of dread as she read the expression on his face: guilt.

"Mathilda… You're alive."

Indignation washed over her as she stood, taking in the pathetic shell of a man she once thought she loved. Weak. Traitorous. Unworthy.

"You told them," she said, almost in a whisper.

"What do you mean?" he said, trying on a smile. "You're alive! That's incredible. We should be celebrating."

She lifted her wand at him and he froze. "My parents are dead because of you. Do you know what I had to go through? What I had to suffer because you couldn't show one ounce of loyalty!"

"I had no choice," he said, his smile dropping. "They were going to kill my sister!"

"I'm sick of it," she said with disgust, "sick of you. I'm sick of weak men pretending they're worthy of respect! But thank you, because rotting in that prison taught me to see things as they truly are. You're nothing."

"Mathilda, put the wand down."

"I've found what I was looking for down there. I'm going to be the best Auror this country has ever seen, and this time I'll have someone watching my back." She smiled, feeling like the foolish Pandora, finding a glimmer of hope at the bottom of a sea of misery. "Why don't you watch me from the next life?"