She awoke to total silence underneath a massive pile of blankets on a bed that wasn't hers. Her arm held no ache, but she couldn't keep from remembering the searing pain, the body-wide ache that had resounded when Lucius had hit her.
Slimy bastard.
Dea sat up and found herself alone in the room, a large, well-furnished bedroom she hadn't seen during her explorations around the house. No sooner had she dug herself out from under the covers, however, than the painting on the wall started yelling at top volume.
It was a newly-hung painting of a very large witch wearing a set of spectacularly ugly floral-print robes. Her cheeks were heavily rouged and under one arm she held a large tabby cat that she stroked gently even while screaming raucously.
"She's awake!" the witch yelled, tipping her head back to get a little more volume out of her already voluminous windpipes. "The Yank's awake!"
The door was immediately yanked open by Remus, and after he half-stumbled into the room, eyes shaded from lack of sleep, Severus slunk in after him silently. The painting had been Dumbledore's version of diplomacy between the two—neither would allow the other to sit and watch over Dea. So, feeling as though he were refereeing a children's argument, Dumbledore had informed them that neither would do it, and he conjured the portrait of his great-aunt.
"How are you?" Remus asked, settling for standing at the foot of the bed with his hands shoved deeply into his robe pockets.
"Fine," Dea said, looking first at Remus, then at Severus. "They're coming, aren't they?" When Severus inclined his head, locks of black hair falling over his shoulders, she nodded slightly. "I knew they would."
"What did that… what hurt you?" The words were out of Remus's mouth nearly before she was done speaking.
"Lucius did it," Severus answered before she could. "He hit you, didn't he, when you flew away?" She nodded, eyes wide and still fixed on his. "He was thinking about it the whole time—" Knowing how she felt about his status as a Death Eater, Severus trailed off, sick with the feel of her breaking bones, with the sights and sounds he'd acquired from Lucius's brain.
"It's all right," she said quietly. There was no time for grudges now. In fact, there was little time for anything. She slid out of the bed, glad to see they'd left her in her robes. Remus started to take a step forward and she shook her head. "I'm fine. But there's no time to waste. We need to start the next step now, and we'll need as many people here as we can get."
"Already done," Remus said. "They're all waiting."
~~~
The downstairs rooms had been magically expanded to the size of ballrooms with one nearly empty room in the middle. In that room sat Harry with Dumbledore, Hermione, and Ron. Dea strode through the gathered masses, ignoring the stares, the murmurs.
"Hello, Harry," she said, smiling brightly, a little too brightly. Things were about to get down to the wire, and she couldn't imagine resting it all on a boy so spindly.
"'Lo, Miss Middlemarch." No nerves showed in his eyes, only a feverish intensity. He'll be glad when it's over, she thought, briefly brushing her hand over his shoulder. And who could blame him?
"It'll have to be you to go with him," she said, nodding at Dumbledore. "And you," she added, looking over her shoulder at Severus. Neither man was surprised, but Remus was.
"What about me?" he asked, stepping forward. "He's practically family, shouldn't I--?"
"No." Dumbledore was the one to answer, his voice firm. "Remus, we do not know how long we will have to travel."
"You can't travel much by magic, because that's easily detected," Dea said, nodding. "And you don't know if you'll come through full moon." She stepped back slightly, twining cool fingers with Remus's long ones in a gesture of comfort. "You understand."
He didn't speak, only nodded and squeezed her hand a little, wondering at how small her fingers were. A woman with hands no bigger than a girl's, and she'd faced down Malfoy with amusement.
She was insane.
"Let's get this done," she said briskly.
They sat in a row, Harry sitting between the Hogwarts faculty member who cared for him most and the one who cared for him least. But for the moment, at least, they were once again bound by a common cause, and bound by the losses they knew they could have.
From where she stood at the back of the room, Dea thought about her own losses, the fact that there were Death Eaters hunting for her, and that they'd be hunting for Severus when all was over.
A Pensieve sat in front of each of the men, empty at the moment, but only moments away from being filled. Three lines had formed in the back of the room, and Dea thought of amusement park rides with a small smile on her face.
They'd come in droves, members of the Order, family members of Order members, Hogwarts students. Though there was no way of guaranteeing they were loyal, there was no chance of them betraying Grimmauld Place or staging a siege—Mad Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the door, inspecting wands on the way in and modifying memories on the way out. Tonks, Mundungus, and Arthur stood behind the sitting wizards, wands poised for any sign of trouble.
They had all come to help. They had come to share their memories of love, of family, of people lost in the fight against Voldemort.
They had come to load the wands.
Three people started the flood; Molly Weasley stood in front of Harry, Minerva McGonagall in front of Severus, and Remus in front of Dumbledore. They stepped to the Pensieves, extracted a memory from their head, and deposited it in the Pensieve. Then they stepped to the side, or back to the end of the line, and the process repeated itself.
Some memories were a bright silver, so bright they were almost white, and others were the lovely, tarnished color of old silver, the shades multi-tonal and swirling. A few memories, Dea noted with fascination, were chrome-colored, winking in the dim light like a fine automobile.
When the Pensieves appeared to grow full, the person sitting behind them would dip their wand in the bowl, mutter the incantation, and watch as the wispy, silvery memories were sucked into their wands.
When everyone had taken their turn, and some several, the rooms began to clear out, and Dea stepped in front of the trio. "You each have a memory or two stored away in your own minds, don't you? Something you can use?" Harry nodded, Dumbledore merely regarded her with a smile, and Severus looked deeply shamed.
She felt her heart wrench for the man who had come from the abused boy, the scared and lonely boy she'd known so long ago. "I've not given any of mine yet," she said casually, stepping in front of him.
Slowly, purposefully, she withdrew selected memories from her head, slipping them into the bowl one by one.
Her parents, with so much love they needed a few more children to give it to, hugging the three of their mismatched children with blissful smiles.
Her siblings, accepting what they didn't understand out of love, watching with glee as she popped out of a fire.
"Take those," she said quietly, for Severus only. "But not in your wand."
Understanding, the look on his face nearly pained, he took the wand, dipped it into her memories, then pulled them to his own head. He tilted his head back immediately, feeling something he hadn't felt in years.
Tears.
"We're not done," she said, fighting her own tears. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry and Albus depart, leaving them alone with their pasts. She withdrew one more memory, placed it in the bowl-like instrument, then touched her hand to his face. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for it all."
He said nothing, had nothing to say, but he did not jerk from her touch, and she kept her hand on his face even as he drew her last memory from the Pensieve.
"Like this." Her voice was impatient, her face pouty as she tried the charm for what seemed to be the hundredth time.
"No!" He grabbed her wrist, but was gentle as he turned it. "Like that." Her skin was slightly warm, his own fingers cool in the damp of the castle.
As he let go of her wrist, she practiced the movement again, a small smile on her face. "All right, Sev, best you watch it now or I'll never get it right again."
"If all you've in you is one good go, Dea, then save it for exams," he said. She turned to face him, wand poised at the ready, and he ducked to the side, a crooked thin-lipped smile on his face. "Don't point that at me, Middlemarch. If you're wanting a target for your spell, try it on yourself. Oh, that's right. You did that last week." The thin smile turned into an actual grin, lifting his sharp cheekbones and making the dark eyes crinkle at the corners.
She glowered and kept her wand pointed at him menacingly, chasing him around the room and shouting threats at the top of her lungs.
And in the memory, it was obvious how much she had loved him.
It was impossible to overlook how much he had loved her, even as he would have sworn he knew nothing of love.
His eyes glittered, not hard for once, but far away, guilty in some ways, hurting for the taint he'd brought on them both. "I'm sorry," he echoed back to her, knowing it could be his last opportunity to say it. He brought his hand up to cover hers over his cheek, and spoke one word that took more bravery than he knew he had. "Friends?"
He knew nothing of it, nothing of friendship, camaraderie, true affection. But he was, if nothing else, intelligent enough to learn.
Thinking of her, hands linked with Remus's wide-palmed hands, Severus knew he was also intelligent enough to give away what he knew he no longer had.
"Friends," she agreed, closing her eyes.
The time to act was upon them.