.Chapter 8.

"You never attended Hogwarts, did you, Miss Greenstone?" Minerva McGonagall's stern voice contained a lilt of curiosity that Elena could not mistake.

She took a sip of her pumpkin juice, then answered carefully. "No, Professor McGonagall. I never did. I am sorry for it, it is a very beautiful school." She heard the cool formality of her words, and winced inwardly. Just relax, she told herself. McGonagall is trying to be friendly. Have you forgotten how to conduct pleasant conversation? Surely it hasn't been that long…

"Where did you go to school? If you don't mind my asking?" Minerva tried again. Elena had the feeling that being social with strangers was not something that came easily to the older woman, either. The thought made her feel a little less intimidated, but not much.

The Great Hall was just so enormous! And so noisy! Long tables of excited, chattering students filled her field of vision when she looked up from the head table. Massive banners hung suspended in mid air over each section of the hall, differentiating the four houses. The decorations were gorgeous, the feast itself was sumptuous, and despite the dark and ever-present threat of Voldemort's revival, the atmosphere in the cavernous dining hall was bright, positive and confident.

Elena had never felt so out of place. There had to have been some mistake. She did not belong in this place. She belonged in the shadows, alone with her nightmares. Her past was a burden that only she could carry. Sharing the load could only lead others into the web of danger that had her trapped, and it was only a matter of time before the spider came creeping back for her. When that happened, she had to be found alone. Anyone close to her would share her fate. It had happened before. She could not let it happen again!

But Professor McGonagall had asked her a question, and the necessity of answering coherently helped Elena to fight off the rising attack of panic.

Considering the question, she realised she had no choice but to answer truthfully, or be caught later in the lie. She chose to tell the truth. "I never attended a proper magic school," she answered simply, "I grew up in a Muggle community on a remote island off the coast of England."

"Were your parents Muggles, then?" That question from her right. Elena turned her head sharply and realised she was being addressed by the Grey-Eyed Man. Remus Lupin. She had not been aware that he had been listening.

"No," she replied shortly, though she was not actually offended by the question. She knew her upbringing had been strange.

"My parents were a witch and a wizard," she explained, "But they were … reclusive. They seemed to want nothing to do with wizard society. My brother and sister and I attended a Muggle school, and to the rest of our little village we were Muggles. But at home we learned a lot, both from my parents and from the books of magic which belonged once to my grandfather. Apparently he was a scholar…" Elena's voice trailed off as she realised that all teacher's faces at the head table were turned curiously towards her, and all other conversation had ceased. A moment later, as if they had sensed her anxiety, the heads turned away and polite chatter resumed.

All except Remus Lupin. He was still looking at her with the strange, direct intensity that so disconcerted her. Pretending to ignore him, she picked up her fork and took a small mouthful of honey-buttered groat. He chose that moment to speak again, his voice soft and inaudible to any at the table save her. "Were you happy there, living with the Muggles? Even though it was not the life you would have chosen for yourself?"

Elena was astonished by his questions. How had he known about her adolescent dissatisfaction with her isolated Muggle island life? The petulant anger she had felt at having her life's decisions made for her by her parents, for reasons that no one would explain to her? The guilt that consumed her, now that… now that…

She had to force herself to swallow, and found her throat unexpectedly dry. "I - " she began, then paused to reconsider. "Yes," she said at last, stealing a glance at his face from beneath her lowered eyelashes. "I was happy with my family."

"Then why did you leave?"

Elena took a sharp breath as the unintentional cruelty of his inquiry stabbed at her. "Because," she replied, her voice quiet and tight as she bowed her head again to blink away the tears that pricked infuriatingly at her eyelids, "My family is dead."