By midnight, they were too tired to move, much less think, but a solid idea had started to show itself at Dea's prodding. She hadn't been a Ravenclaw for naught; her brains were as worthwhile to the Order as her healing. By the end of the night, Mundungus Fletcher had no more qualms with the middle-aged brunette. She was earning her place.
"They don't like to be taken off-guard," she'd noted, watching everyone's faces. Some looked as though they were considering it, others looked confused.
"They never have been taken off-guard," Severus put in, his long fingers splaying and contracting on the scarred wooden table they sat at. "The Dark Lord has been surprised at times, yes, but they have never been off-guard."
"You mean they've never been on the defensive," Dea insisted. And so, among murmurs of understanding, they'd begun to formulate plans.
From where he sat, isolated even among the group, Severus knew she was right, and kept a sneer locked on his face as though ridiculing her. It was not news to him that many would die in the war against Voldemort, but he would not encourage Dea in planning.
He would not help her die again.
He was the first out the door late that night, demons chasing him out the door. Instead of Apparating, he walked, his feet traveling faster and faster as he carried himself away from the house and away from her.
"And so you call it 'brainstorming'?" Arthur's brow furrowed and he pressed a hand to his head. "Well, it's a bit mixed around up there, but it certainly doesn't feel like a storm."
The Weasleys had decided to stay a while, since Remus was gone and it was easier for Arthur to get to the Ministry from the Order. Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione were asleep upstairs, not having realized the evening was going to culminate in a meeting.
"You look troubled, dear." Molly leaned over the table, her hands clasped around an ever-present cup of tea. "Is there anything we can do?"
Dea smiled and shook her head, cursing the thoughts that kept roiling through it. James and Lily, Christmas presents, faithful Death Eater and undead girl… "No, I'm fine. Just a bit worked up, is all."
"It's all those storms!" Arthur exclaimed, nodding wisely.
"Is there anyone who could… and who would be willing… to do some research?" Dea asked suddenly, pinning down one swirling thought in her head. "Perhaps some research on if emotions are magically linked with memories? And maybe some information about Pensieves?"
Molly was nodding before Dea even finished her sentence. "If you want a bookreader, Hermione's your girl."
"Your son's girlfriend?" Dea asked mischievously, hiding her small smile with her teacup. When Molly looked at her, eyes wide, she knew she'd hit her mark.
"Girlfriend? Oh, no, Dea, they're just friends. She's not his girlfriend at all." Molly shook her head and chuckled into her teacup. "What a silly notion."
Satisfied that she'd planted the seed in Molly's mind, knowing that life had to continue even in the midst of madness, she stood. "Well then, my mistake. I believe I'm off to bed." And when she'd disappeared up the stairs, Arthur sighed and looked at his wife.
"What a strange woman," he said. "I wonder if she's ever seen one of those fellytones without wires."
~~~
Time passed quickly with houseguests to share it with, but as days passed and brought the school term closer and closer, Dea began to long for time alone. A course of action was becoming clearer with each meeting of the Order, and Dea willingly committed herself to it, even going so far as to place herself in the middle of the plan. When she suggested as such, Dumbledore was the first to speak.
"That would mean quite possibly placing yourself directly in danger," he spoke quietly, his eyes focused on her across the lengthened table.
"I know." How could she not? It had been her idea, however incomplete, however distant in the future. "But relatively, the risk is small. And we still don't know what comes after."
The rest of the Order was quiet, the mood somber. The time had come for strategizing, for what Tonks and Hermione and Dea all called "war games," enjoying the small amount of humor the Muggle phrase leant the proceedings. At this meeting, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all huddled together on one side of the table, their youth overshadowed by the necessity of their presence.
"It'll have to do with me," Harry said quietly, one of the few times he'd bothered to speak.
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "It must."
And though the timing was eerie and couldn't have been more unsettling, Harry gasped and covered his forehead with his palm, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Simultaneously, Severus stood up, clapping his hand over the spot on his arm where the Dark Mark burned. Without a word, he strode quickly from the house, leaving the gathered witches and wizards shocked and silent.
Dea counted to ten in her head, trying to keep her breathing even. She made it to eight before bolting from the table, barely making it to the washroom before getting violently ill.
I think it's the scars that are the trouble. Her own voice, an ancient statement to a boy she'd loved, mocked her; in her mind's eyes she could see the pale, corded arm seared with the heated mark.
With a small moan, she laid her cheek against the porcelain of the claw-footed tub and cried out her despair.
~~~
"This is everything you found?" Dea held the enormous sheaf of parchment in her hand and looked at Hermione.
"Well yes," the girl said hesitantly. "It's not much, I know, but it was all I was able to get from the limited resources I had with me, plus what I know from classes." After a momentary look of chagrin, she brightened up. "I'm sure I can look more up in the school library, though, there's tons—"
Dea laid a gentle hand on the girls' shoulder and shook her head. "No, this is plenty. This is more than plenty." Looking at the sheer volume of material Hermione had painstakingly copied by hand, Dea sighed. "Don't you miss computers? Just a little?"
Hermione smiled then, shyness gone. "A little," she agreed. She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in confidentially. "But don't mention it to Ron's dad. He gets very manic and his eyes get quite large." With a theatrical shudder, she leaned back. "It's frightening."
They shared a laugh, companionable, but Hermione quickly sobered. "This idea you've had," she said slowly. "It's dangerous, isn't it?" They'd been told only the bare minimum, as Dumbledore had judged the fewer who knew, the better. But before Dea could answer, she shook her head. "I can tell because of the way Professor Snape acts." When she saw the older woman flinch, Hermione sighed. "Sorry. But he's not happy about this."
"He's not happy about anything," Dea retorted, wondering who, exactly, the adult in the situation was.
Hermione bit her lip, uncomfortable with the personal turn in conversation. "I should go," she said quickly. "The train will be leaving soon." She started to run out the door, then turned to look back at Dea. "Owl if you need more research!"
Looking at the stack of reading material she clutched, Dea sighed. More research? Highly unlikely.
~~~
She was elbow-deep in Pensieve trivia when she heard the door open and shut. Thankful for the interruption and half-hoping it was one of the Weasley twins with some bizarre invention or another to lighten up her day, she leapt from her seat at the kitchen table and rushed out—headlong into Remus.
He looked tired but well; he'd apparently not starved on his mission, for his face, while still thin, was less gaunt than it had been when he left. His cheeks were covered in dark stubble, and his eyes were drooping with fatigue.
Realizing she was practically standing on his toes, Dea stepped back quickly, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she said, a small smile quirking her lips. "I thought it might be one of the Weasleys."
He grinned then, easing the travel-wear from his face. "It seems you've settled in and met everyone, then," he said approvingly. He'd traveled more miles than he ever cared to travel again, but the results were good. There were werewolves and half-giants and many others who were willing to help in any way they could. The time was coming to choose sides, and they did not wish to choose improperly.
"You've been gone over a month," she said, rushing to throw on tea. Water onto boil, now where are the damned tea leaves? Molly had been there so often that Dea had started taking her for granted. As she stood helplessly, hands on hips, Remus eased her aside and opened the proper canister himself.
"And here I thought no one would notice," he said quietly, looking down at her. "I'm sorry for the way it was when I left, Amadea," he said cautiously. "Things are better now, yes?"
Stunned by the gentility in his tone, she blinked owlishly at him for a moment. "Yes, things are better now."
"I hate to interrupt anything," Severus spoke from the doorway of the kitchen, having seen more than enough. He'd entered the house quietly, as was his habit, hoping Dea would be upstairs or busy. "But I've a message for the werewolf." His lips stretched into a thin imitation of a smile as Remus turned to him, and he tried to ignore the idiotic and identical looks on Dea's and Remus's faces. "Albus wishes to see you," he said coldly, and turned to walk out of the house. "Don't take too long," he called as he neared the front door, laying his hand to the doorhandle and taking a deep breath to steady himself, to flush out the jealousy that wanted to settle in. "It's a full moon tonight."