The chapter starts several paragraphs down… reading the author's note is your choice…

Author's Note:

I realize I promised this chapter months ago, and I realize that all but the last few paragraphs have been sitting on my computer, completely finished, for almost that long, but sometimes things in real life become a lot more pressing that fanfiction. Thank God everything's alright now, and I'm the closest I have been in a long time to being semi-sane, because I can now finally focus on the promise I made when I started this story: it will be completed. I'm not one to leave things undone. Thank you all for being so extraordinarily patient & understanding, for never complaining, and for always encouraging me, because I know I don't always deserve it. As I do not personally know most of you, this is the best I can do by way of a gift of appreciation: 1) Highlight important parts from the previous chapter so you don't have to go back & read it to remember what's going on (as I had to do before I edited this, because it's been so long) – see below; and 2) Let you know that reviews are not required. So if you're reading this just to be nice, feel free to save your time. While reviews are always appreciated & adored, that's not why I'm writing this. Oh, and I suppose a new chapter is something of a gift, too… ;)

In the previous chapter: (incomplete text… lines deleted within passages)

Dear Aunt Sarah,

I won't be coming home for Christmas. I need to stay here and figure some things out. Did you think I would never discover the truth? Did you really believe you could shelter me for so long?

~~~

She [Hermione] couldn't quite bring herself to dismiss Elizabeth's troubled feelings as easily as Elizabeth could, especially since they'd had quite a lot of proof lately that Elizabeth's intuitions were to be trusted. And contrary to her friend, she could not believe that this business was anywhere near resolved. What were Sarah's reasons for keeping her niece so sheltered? Who was Elizabeth's father? How was Sirius involved? What had happened to Samantha, anyway? And why did Elizabeth not want to know?

There was something Elizabeth wasn't telling her.

~~~

Sirius looked up, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face. "I've made up my mind," he stated, "I'm going to confront Sarah."

"It's about time," James approved. "When?"

"Tomorrow in Hogsmeade."

"And then Samantha will be all yours, right?"
"As long as she loves me, I won't let her go."

~~~

From Lady Sam's Article, 'But From Where Do I Get the Power?'

My family is rumored to be descended from the ancient enchantress Queen Ellianne of Lilwalnia, one of the oldest Masters of the Magic, and she in turn was rumored to be half-fairy, and the fairies were the first to channel the Magic. Perhaps, I thought, blind optimist that I am, I could use the Magic to learn an Intoned Charm!

Alas, no, there is a second qualification: power. Not just ordinary "I'm descended from a very powerful wizarding family" power, but real intense, extraordinary power. In the old days, all that was needed was goodness, but today, with the Magic so hard to reach, it takes a rare witch or wizard indeed to ever stand a chance.

~~~

From Elizabeth's dream:

She pulled out a quill, and after glancing distractedly around the room, began a letter on a scrap of parchment . . . Only one line of the note was even remotely clear before Samantha folded and sealed the parchment, but it embedded itself in the mind of the dreamer: 'She'll have the power.'

~~~

But as he glanced through the fogged-up windows one more time, Sirius had the unsettled feeling in his stomach that he should be inside, not missing a moment with her [Samantha]. What am I worried about? he asked himself. We're young; I'll have her forever and longer.

~~~

Remus and Samantha, who were following behind, stopped when a hand reached out and brushed Samantha's cloak . . . "I was wondering if you would like to join me for a drink. I've been watching you for quite some time now and I must admit, you have me entranced."

. . . "Come now. I'm sure your friends can spare you for a little while."

"Perhaps, but Sirius couldn't." . . .

"Sirius? . . . Is he another who's attempting to win your affection?"

"He's already won . . . I love him." . . .

"I see . . . Forgive me for the intrusion then."

~~~

Then her voice rose in an impassioned sob. "I didn't know what else to do, Sirius! Believe me, I never meant to hurt her, I just got carried away, and, and . . . now she hates me! I was afraid that she would abandon me and hurt me, so I pushed her away myself and ended up losing her even faster!"

… Sarah was, indeed, becoming hysterical. "No, it's too late! I've lost her! I've lost her!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarah, of course you haven't." He continued to hold her, awkwardly, until she calmed down.

Little did he suspect that at that moment, he was losing Samantha, too.

~~~

Samantha shivered as the door flung open with another customer and a blast of icy air met them. Her own butterbeer gone, she picked up what she assumed to be Remus' goblet and took a long sip, letting the warmth of the liquid seep through her bones.

~~~

She [Sarah – present day] tore at the letter eagerly, but stopped, petrified, as it fell open in her hands. She got as far as the first line, "Dear Aunt Sarah," before she began to scream. "Nick! Nicholas!" Her voice shaking, her hands going cold, everything swirling into nothingness around her, she was able to retain consciousness just long enough to be assured of her husband's coming toward her before collapsing into his arms.

Her last words before slipping into darkness were, "I've lost Elizabeth, too."

And finally . . .

Chapter Twelve: Under the Cover of Night

"Harry!" Elizabeth called as she jogged to catch up to him. "Hermione said you wanted to see me?"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied uncertainly. Quidditch practice had just ended and he was putting away the last of the equipment. Locking the broom cabinet and shouldering his Firebolt, he joined Elizabeth and the two set off back toward the castle. "But I didn't mean immediately."

"I know, but Hermione was helping me with some of the Transfiguration I'm behind on from last year and I really needed a break."

Harry's grin was just visible under the star-studded sky. The dark was coming on fast and there was no moon tonight to balance it. After a minute he asked, "So you're catching up on all your work then?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I'm almost done with all the make-up work from last year, but I'm still not doing so well in Charms."

"But that's your best subject."

"I know, but I abandoned it before because I was already ahead and I was so immersed in finding out about Intoned Charms that my grade just plummeted."

"Yes," Harry said patiently, "that's why we asked you to stop coming to Quidditch practices. But haven't you fixed that by now?"

"You want me to come back to practices, don't you?" she cried ecstatically.

Harry's tone remained the same. "You have improved your scores in Charms, haven't you?"

"You guys miss me! You miss challenging me to catch the Snitch, you miss having an outsider push you to improve . . ."

"Have your Charms grades improved?" he repeated.

". . . you miss how much fun it is when a non-team member makes everything more light-hearted . . ."

"Elizabeth!"

"No."

"What?! Why not?"

She sighed. "I can do all the Charms; that was never a problem. I just skipped a paper or two in there. The only way to make it up is by extra-credit, but I'm afraid to ask Professor Flitwick about it."

"Why?"

"He looks at me so, so . . ." Elizabeth looked at Harry with pleading eyes, as if begging him to understand without having to complete the thought. He nodded in gentle encouragement. "Oh, Harry!" she burst emphatically. "I just can't meet him in the eye anymore! I feel like he's furious with me for going against his advice and learning about the Ancient Magic! You saw how he fainted when I slipped up and performed that Intoned Charm to save Neville's Remembrall! It's like all the teachers are walking on pins and needles around me . . . like they're mad, or scared, or . . . something," she finished weakly.

"They're astonished, that's all. Give them time; they'll get over it," Harry said gently.

"Do you think I did anything wrong?"

"By ravaging your health with insensible amounts of work? Yes. By discovering you possess a talent that is widely considered to be extinct? Not at all. That's a good thing, you know."

Elizabeth gave a slight nod and walked on in thoughtful silence until Harry asked, "Will you start coming to practices again? We seemed to be improving a lot more before we banished you . . . and we miss you."

He was startled when she gave a squeak of pleasure and threw her arms around him. "Of course! Oh, thank you! But Harry," she stepped back. "Why?"

"I figured you could use a break, no matter what your marks are in Charms. And the twins are getting restless with the routine practices we've been having. We could use a little something new." He smiled; her grin was infectious. "Can I ask you a favor?" he asked.

She laughed. "I'm so thrilled I'd do anything right now!"

"I was wondering . . . when I write my next letter to Sirius, can I ask him about Samantha?"

Elizabeth stopped walking and turned until she could just make out Harry's face in the pale light filtering down from a castle window. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I just think there's more to the story than he's telling us. Sirius knows a lot, you know. And I have a feeling he knew your mother better than he claims."

Elizabeth was about to spill her theories on the situation, which all ran along the same idea, when a voice, hurrying down from the front steps of the castle, met their ears.

"Miss Satine! Elizabeth!" Professor McGonagall was walking briskly toward them, and Elizabeth knew something unusual had happened when the professor did not even bother to ask the two students why they were out of the school in the dark. There was a letter clutched in her right hand, which she held out before Elizabeth upon reaching her. Elizabeth took it, but her eyes never left McGonagall's face. She waited. "It's from your father," McGonagall explained as soon as she had regained her breath.

"You mean my Uncle Nick," Elizabeth amended, causing her teacher's face to go momentarily rigid.

McGonagall, wisely decided not to enter into a family issue that was not rightfully her business, continued, "It's about Sarah. She's fallen incredibly ill and they are afraid they cannot have you home for Christmas, as they do not want to risk you getting sick as well, dear."

That's a good excuse so that no one will suspect me when I refuse to go home over holidays, Elizabeth thought, but she became increasingly worried as McGonagall continued. It was obvious that Sarah really was sick.

"They are not sure what it is, exactly, but it is some sort of magical malady that has confined her to bed. She is weak and cannot exert any energy," here the professor paused, before continuing in a tone she hoped would not worry the teenage girl, "and she seems to have lost all magical ability for the time being. The doctors are watching her day and night and are assured she is in no immediate danger, but they cannot predict when she will recover. I am sorry dear, but please know all the staff, especially me, will be here to ensure you have a good holiday at Hogwarts and to keep you updated. I'm quite sure she will be all right. Sarah has a strong disposition if I ever saw one. Now come, let me escort you two back to Gryffindor Tower. What you are doing out at this hour I cannot imagine!" But she spotted the broomstick on Harry's shoulder, and allowed her approval for the Gryffindor Quidditch team's long practices (and increased chances at winning the Cup) to outweigh her disapproval.

"We can walk back on our own, thank you, Professor," Elizabeth assured her. It looked to her like Professor McGonagall was in need of a strong cup of tea. "You should get some rest."

The Professor indeed looked flustered. "Why, yes, dear, thank you, I think I shall. But are sure you're all right?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. "I'll be okay," she murmured. "As long as she's not in any danger of dying . . ."

"Oh, no, dear, nowhere close!"

". . . then there's no use worrying myself sick over it."

"Of course not. Goodness knows you look pale enough already. Good night, Elizabeth, Harry."

"But Professor," Elizabeth called, just as McGonagall had turned in the other direction. "How is that you know my Aunt Sarah so well?"

The agitation on the professor's face visibly increased. "Your Aunt Sarah," she began cautiously, "and I worked together for a few years on an investigation of sorts and became close friends."

"The investigation about Samantha," Elizabeth nodded. "Good night, Professor McGonagall," she added quickly, suddenly wishing to be in Gryffindor Tower where she wouldn't be in risk of having a teacher suddenly ask her how she had discovered Nicholas and Sarah Reyes were her uncle and aunt.

"Goodnight," McGonagall repeated and watched as the teenagers strolled out of sight. So the truth had finally come out. She had known it wouldn't be too long before Elizabeth discovered it. When she'd closed this case twelve years ago, she had known it wasn't over yet. Gazing after Elizabeth's retreating figure, she shook her head as she thought, I just never thought it would come back to haunt me in the form of a sweet teenage girl. She sighed and made her way up to Dumbledore's office.

***

"Do you think she's sick because of me? Could my letter really have had that harsh of an effect on her?" Elizabeth lay gazing up at the vibrant hangings of her four-poster the next morning voicing the thoughts that had plagued her all night.

"Honestly, Elizabeth, don't be ridiculous," Hermione replied as she pulled a brush through her thick brown hair. "It's probably just some wizard's flu or something."

"But the doctors have never seen anything like it."

"Muggle doctors or magical?"

"Magical, I suppose."

"But you don't know for sure, so don't worry about it yet."

Elizabeth gave a weak smile and kicked fruitlessly at her heavy winter quilt. "You're right, Hermione. It's good to have you around . . . but, oh!" Hermione whirled around to see Elizabeth leap out of bed suddenly with a thunderstruck look on her face.

"What?" Hermione gasped.

The response made her roll her eyes. "I promised Harry I'd practice a Quidditch move with him before the game today! I was supposed to be up hours ago!"

She rushed out of her room, skidding to a halt in front of the boys' dormitory. "Harry!" she whispered fiercely through the door. "Harry, are you still in there?"

A groggy Ron answered. "Watcha want, 'Lizbeth?" he muttered, barely suppressing a yawn.

"Is Harry up?"

"No, wh –" he hadn't even finished the question before Elizabeth had burst past him into the room. She strode deliberately over to Harry's bed and stood over it with her hands perched on her hips in an annoyed gesture.

"Harry! Harry!" she said in an impatient whisper. He rolled over to face her, moaning in his half-consciousness. "Honestly, Harry!" she scolded. "You know how I hate waking up early and that I would only agree to do so if it was for something important! It took you forever to convince me to practice with you this morning. Now I'll admit I'm a little late, but look at you! Still in . . ." she broke off abruptly as she really did look at him. His face was pale and a sheen of sweat glowed over it in the weak early-morning sunshine. She took an involuntary step back when his eyelids fluttered open to reveal two glassy, bloodshot eyes, their emerald color significantly dimmed.

As Elizabeth stood there, one hand poised over her heart in shock, Ginny Weasley burst into the room, obviously in a rush. "Ron! You're up! Oh thank goodness! I need you to help me find my light blue cardigan; I think Mum might've packed it with your . . ." She had already crossed the room and opened Ron's trunk when she noticed Elizabeth was there. "What are you . . ." she broke off in the same shock as Elizabeth had as her eyes traveled to the object of Elizabeth's gaze. "Harry! Good heavens!"

Elizabeth had never been more relieved to see Ginny in her life as the petite red-head immediately rushed to Harry's side and began feeling his forehead and checking his pulse in a gentle manner that came naturally to a sweet little sister who was accustomed to looking after her older brothers. "He's burning up!" she exclaimed. "Ron, fetch me a cold, wet rag. Neville, could you get him a glass of water? And Dean or Seamus, call Madame Pomfrey up here immediately; I don't think he'll be able to make it to the Hospital Wing himself."

As all the boys scurried off, Ginny turned to Elizabeth. "What happened?" she asked quietly.

It took Elizabeth a moment to find her voice, and even then it felt like the words clung to her dry mouth. "I don't know. I just came to wake him up and he was like this. He was perfectly fine last night." Before Ginny could do more than nod thoughtfully, Elizabeth added, "I have to go," and rushed out of the room before Ginny had the chance to protest.

Upon reaching her own dormitory, she collapsed onto the bed dejectedly. She felt faint, and her heart was beating fast, but she wasn't sure why. Why did I flee like that? Ginny certainly could have used my help. But she also knew that as long as she was in that room, the panic pounding through her head would have prevented her from being of any use. Why?

She couldn't think, she had to get out, escape somewhere. She rushed through the Common Room and toward the portrait hole, but as soon as she stepped through she found herself face to face with Fred and George. She attempted to hurry past, but George grabbed her arm. "Elizabeth, wait! Did you hear about Harry? We met Dean and Seamus on the way to get Madame Pomfrey and they say he's really sick." Elizabeth didn't want to hear this, she already felt sick to her stomach. She tried to pull away, but in vain. "Listen, Lizzy, I know it's not the best time to be worried about Quidditch, but Harry wouldn't want us to forfeit the match for a silly fever. You have to play Seeker for him! Will you?"

She tore off down the hall without responding. The twins stared after her blankly. "What's gotten into her?"

***

Elizabeth paused in her mad dash down the fourth floor corridor to catch her breath, but once her heart had resumed a somewhat normal pace, she set off again. It felt good to simply run, even if she had no idea where she was going. But suddenly she did. With an idea that was based more on intuition than sense, she took a sharp right, skidding to a stop in front of a door a few yards later. McGonagall's office.

She knocked; no one answered. Her heart pounding even faster than when she had been moving, she reached for the doorknob. It was locked, and a tap of the wand with a simple 'Alohomora!' did not work, but then she never expected it to. Instead she held the cool silver knob cradled gently in her palm, closed her eyes, and let her power settle into the knob itself, carefully channeling magic with her mind. When she felt she had it, she whispered again, "Alohomora," and this time was rewarded with a successful click as the lock unlatched.

She stepped inside cautiously, unsure where to look. Perhaps she was being ridiculous and had just broken into a teacher's office for no reason. But it had to be there; she could feel that it was there. If Sarah ever received it, it would have been handed over to McGonagall as evidence, she rationalized. Still, reason was getting her nowhere. She had no idea where to look. She closed her eyes, focused her mind, and whispered, "Point me." When she opened them again, her eyes were immediately drawn to a chest of drawers in the back of the room. Towards this she made her way, and when she had intoned the top drawer to open, there it was – the letter.

She snatched it triumphantly and fled.

***

In the surge of energy that followed her successful letter-napping mission, Elizabeth regained some control over her emotions and found herself stopping at the door to the hospital wing without trepidation. She wanted foremost to see how Harry was doing, although if the lump that formed in her throat at the mere thought of him was any omen, she couldn't expect much improvement. She was also hoping to talk with him. He had seen the look in Sirius' eyes the other day in Hogsmeade; he knew there was more to all this than his godfather was saying. She just hoped he had a clue as to what. But Harry dashed all these hopes from her mind the moment she had persuaded Madam Pomfrey to let her enter.

"Elizabeth!" he cried, trying in vain to sit up, but falling back against his pillow in weakness. Elizabeth winced at the sickly color of his face. "Did Fred and George find you?"

She sighed. "I can't do it, Harry." The pleading look in his eyes forced her to bite back tears.

"But you promised! Back in one of the first practices you joined, remember? You promised to jump in as reserve Seeker if we ever need you to!"

"I know, Harry, but I honestly never thought it would come down to me taking your place."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cuz getting injured at Hogwarts is such a rare occurrence. There are no hazards that could keep me off the field here."

Elizabeth sighed in frustration. "I don't fly for competition, Harry. I fly for fun."

"All the flying you've done these past few months has been to help our team practice. That sounds like competition to me."

"Preparing for competition. It's completely different. I want Gryffindor to win, and to win you need to practice."

"And a Seeker; you can't do much without one, you know. If you truly wanted Gryffindor to win, you'd play for me this afternoon."

"Maybe you'll be better by then."

Elizabeth gave Harry a hopeful smile, and he looked back with raised eyebrows. Then his expression sobered. Elizabeth watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled his wand out of his pocket. For a moment she had the ridiculous thought that he was going to curse her into playing, but then she knew exactly what was coming. "Lumos!" he whispered. Nothing happened. Another wave of nausea crashed down on her, similar to the feeling she'd had that morning. "She is weak and cannot exert any energy and she seems to have lost all magical ability for the time being." Remembering McGonagall's words about Sarah seemed to freeze her heart in place. And now Harry . . . She couldn't keep back the feeling that this was all her fault.

"Oh, all right!" she conceded, hoping to break the tension. "If it means so much to you, I'll take your place as Seeker in the match!"

Harry laughed, and even the light force of such an action caused him to cringe in pain. But he was pleased enough to grin, "Not like you ever had a choice. All of Gryffindor would be furious if you refused. I'm sure Fred and George have already boasted of the excellent replacement they found to the entire house."

"The entire house? I have to let down the entire house?" she repeated, blood rushing from her face.

Harry sighed.

"B-but I haven't even been to practice in weeks! How can I . . ?"

"Elizabeth," he said gently. "You'll be fine. Look, we'll just go over everything right now."
"Harry, you're not well enough." He nearly laughed at how solemn her face became. Ron's theories about the Satines may have had a certain degree of ridiculousness, but Elizabeth certainly did possess that protective nature . . .

"I'm fine to talk," he replied. "And I could certainly use the company." Elizabeth nodded and perched on the edge of his bed.

Before long, an entire hour had disappeared in rapid Quidditch discussion. Nervous as she was about the upcoming match, and worried as she was about Harry's health, Elizabeth had welcomed the brief respite that her conversation with him had offered. She noticed that it took a lot these days to tear her mind from the unsettling events of the past, and she was not surprised when they surfaced once again as soon as she left the infirmary. With a sigh, she made her way to the library and curled up at a table in a dark corner. Not as cozy as by the fire in the common room, of course, but she was not in much of a mood to be surrounded by Gryffindors anticipating the impending match.

The vision of Samantha writing by candlelight with shadows under her eyes hovered before Elizabeth as she carefully removed the letter from the safety of her pocket. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the worn, cream-colored parchment. And there was Samantha's flowing script handwriting . . .

Sarah,

I have so much to tell you, but it will have to wait until we are together again. You cannot imagine how I long to see your face… I'm coming home. I know I've been long absent, but one day soon you shall see me dance in through the doorway once again and we will talk and laugh and be the sisters we always should have been. I cannot tell you where I am, but my search has not been in vain. I told you she had a daughter, the day I last heard your voice, do you remember? Well, I have found the proof of it now. And just as I promised, my daughter shall be named after her. My daughter. It makes me shiver just to write it.

Please do not speak of this yet, because I'm still not sure what will happen next. I don't know much. I don't know if you'll ever believe me, I don't know if Sirius will ever forgive me, and I don't know what will happen to this child. But I know this: I love her, and she's given me the strength to finally break free. And Sarah – she'll have the power.

Tell Sirius I love him. I'll be home with you soon.

Love always, your sister,

Samantha

Elizabeth, fingering her mother's handwriting gently, felt no surge of emotion, no mournful longing . . .but there was a terseness in the air as she folded the letter and placed it carefully in her pocket – an indefinite suspension, like she was hanging in midair waiting for whatever was coming. Something's building . . . she could feel it as she silently exited the library and went in search of Fred and George. Perhaps it would be good to get up in the air for awhile and escape the foreboding feeling that was following her. But then again, if I can't leave it on the ground . . . She shuddered to think of the consequences that could result if she were preoccupied in the air. Fred and George had better be five times as good as those Ravenclaw beaters . . .

***

The wind rose in a violent wail as Elizabeth stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch that afternoon. Her head was spinning and she felt sick to her stomach. As she looked up, she realized the howling in her ears was not the wind at all, but the cheers of stands packed with eager spectators. She bit her lip as the thought that she should not be flying crossed her mind for the hundredth time that day. She felt cold, breathless, shaky . . . but before she knew it, she had mounted her broom and was shooting into the blustery sky at the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle.

Lee Jordan's voice cut across the stands. "It looks like Potter won't be playing today – rumor has it he has yet to recover from a nasty prank courtesy of the Weasley twins this morning – but what a pretty replacement those two rascals have dug up . . ."

Elizabeth tuned out the sounds around her and focused on seeing through the veil of hair that whipped sharply across her face. If only she had had the presence of mind to pull it back . . . She sighed in exasperation. She had to find that Snitch and end this game before the stresses of the day managed to collapse on her and render her already foggy mind completely senseless.

She was aware of the Gryffindor Chasers moving seamlessly below her, and she turned long enough to watch Angelina Johnson score a third goal on the Ravenclaw keeper. On the other end of the pitch, Ron let out an ecstatic whoop. Elizabeth smiled slightly – it was good to see him so energetic after how worn he had appeared this morning when Harry was discovered to be ill – but something else from the corner of her eye caught her attention just then.

As if in a dream, her teammates and the Ravenclaw players faded, to be replaced by a different set of teams – an alternate Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match. A boy wearing the scarlet red robes of Gryffindor darted before her eyes, weaving in and out of the other players. Elizabeth had seen him before in her dreams, but this time she knew who he was. "Oi, James!" Sirius called to a boy with messy black hair, who was clinging to the Quaffle, desperately searching for a way out of the three blue-clad Chasers and two Bludgers that were pummeling towards him. James flung the red ball from his arms, and Sirius caught it with deft skill. Before the opposition could catch on, he was hurtling towards the gold hoops rising far above the pitch. The applause was deafening as the Quaffle sailed effortlessly past the Keeper. Sirius grinned and turned towards the stands, his eyes twinkling in triumph . . . and then his face fell. He frowned, and Elizabeth turned to follow his gaze.

A girl was sitting in the stands, paying no attention to the game whatsoever. Elizabeth's heart gave a sickening somersault as she realized who it was. Samantha had a thick book in her hands, and her soft brown curls brushed the pages as she pored over it, absorbed. All around her students cheered, and a bright-eyed Lily Potter turned to her, crying, "Sammy! Did you see that spectacular play the boys just pulled off?" Her cheeks were tinged with excitement, nearly matching the color of her vibrant red hair. Samantha turned an unfeeling gaze on her, shrugged, and went back to her book.

Elizabeth gulped; Sirius was hovering almost right beside her, and she had a close-up view of his face as a spasm of pain flickered across it. He willed Samantha to look at him, to cheer with him. Finally she lifted her eyes to meet his, her eyebrows raised in a manner clearly expressing annoyance. He stared at her, and a struggle seemed to be raging within him, but Elizabeth couldn't be sure what it was. Suddenly, a bright red object came hurtling towards him, and Sirius nearly tumbled off his broom. The Quaffle dropped into the possession of the Ravenclaws amid a sea of groans from the Gryffindor stands. "Sirius! What do you think you're doing?!" James Potter's voice could be heard over the noise. Samantha smirked at Sirius and returned to her book; and Sirius, severely disheartened, slowly returned to the thick of the game.

"Elizabeth!" Fred's desperate voice penetrated Elizabeth's vision, jilting her back to the game at hand. She jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being creamed by a Bludger, and shook her head, trying to regain her wits. It had seemed so real. She could have sworn Sirius had been flying right there beside her. But he was gone, and the telltale signs of Lily's bright hair and Samantha's big book had disappeared from the stands.

Fred zoomed past her, whacking the Bludger and sending it sailing towards a Ravenclaw Chaser, before returning to her side. "What was that?" His voice was painfully loud all of a sudden. "It looked like you were in a trance or something. I don't think it's necessary to look that hard!" He paused when he realized she wasn't listening; her eyes were trained on the opposite end of the field. "What?" he asked. "Do you see the Snitch?"

She did; it was glittering about midway up the right Gryffindor goalpost, but this wasn't what had attracted her attention. Ron's face, which had been glowing with the healthful exuberance of exertion just a moment ago, had gone pale. His eyes looked glassy even from this distance, and his lips were pursed in a thin, white line. He seemed to be shaking on his broom. Elizabeth didn't pause for a second; she was tearing down the pitch at top speed to get to him. I have to reach him, she thought desperately, it will be all my fault if he falls.

She could feel Fred right behind her as she neared the golden hoops. "Grab the Snitch!" he bellowed in her ear. "I've got Ron!" She wanted to ignore him, but the thought of Harry made her obey. The guilt of his illness weighed inexplicably hard upon her. And now Ron, too . . . if she lost this game for them on top of everything else . . . She curved into a sharp dive and felt the warmth of the fluttering Snitch settle into her palm. At the same moment as she was pulling up, she saw Ron's eyes roll back in his head, and watched as he slumped limply off his broom, thankfully right into his brother's arms.

The stands were in an uproar. Some were yelling themselves hoarse with the thrill of victory, others were staring at Ron in varied degrees of shock and concern, and still more were trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Even the other team members, who had all been focused on a play taking place down at the Ravenclaw end of the pitch, were not all aware that the game had ended.

Angelina, finally discerning that their Seeker held the Snitch, let out a whoop, cried, "Come on, girls, we've won!", dropped the Quaffle, and tore off down the pitch, her fellow Chasers close behind. But when she reached the Gryffindor end of the field and joined the rest of the team on the ground, she stopped short. "Goodness, Liz, what's wrong?" she asked, thoroughly startled by the tears streaming silently from the girl's big eyes.

Fred looked up at this exclamation and frowned. "Now, really, Elizabeth, he's probably just caught the flu from Harry. They sleep in the same dorm after all. It's nothing to cry about."

Elizabeth trembled. To be honest, she wasn't sure why she was feeling like this. This was the second time that day when she had completely lost hold over her emotions – this morning the sight of Harry had made her abandon him and Ginny, and now she was standing on the Quidditch pitch, in the midst of the entire school, unable to stem her tears.

Fred was still waiting for an answer, but instead of the simple, "You're right; I'll be fine," that she planned to give, she burst forth with, "This is all my fault!"

"Elizabeth!" Angelina chided. "That's ridiculous!"

"You saved him, if anything," Fred added. "You were the one who noticed he was about to fall."

"But it is!" she sobbed through growing tears. "Ron, Harry, Aunt Sarah . . . it's all my fault!"

"Aunt who?" asked Fred.

"See?" whispered George. "I told you she's been going nutters lately."

"How?" Angelina inquired gently. "How is this your fault?"

If Fred and George had been annoyed by Elizabeth's ridiculous assertions before, these sentiments faded into genuine worry at the look of utter helplessness that now overwhelmed her face. "That's just it . . . I don't know," she whispered, her own terror at the thought stopping her tears.

There was a brief silence, interrupted by the gentle voice of reason that was Hermione Granger. "Let's get Ron to the hospital wing."

***

When Elizabeth awoke, it was dark. She rubbed her eyes furiously in an attempt to recall where she was. Then she spotted a tuft of red hair tousled on a pristine pillow. Ron, her mind registered. He was asleep on a low bed, a small nightstand, where lay a pair of glasses, separating it from a second bed – Harry. The hospital wing. She remembered now – after the game she had insisted that Madame Pomfrey allow her to stay with the two boys. Hermione and Ginny had been there for a long time, too, but had left around ten, insisting that Elizabeth join them soon.

She must have fallen asleep in her chair soon afterwards. What time was it now? She glanced at her watch – just before midnight. Why hadn't Madame Pomfrey shooed her out yet? She glanced around, but the matron was nowhere to be seen. She wanted to leave, to go back to her dorm and get some real sleep, but she could not just leave Harry and Ron without any care.

I'll just wait ten minutes, she thought. The matron couldn't be far off. Settling back in her chair, Elizabeth closed her eyes. A chill shiver worked its way down her spine… she'd had that dream again while sleeping beside the two boys, but she could recall nothing more than the sickening feeling in her stomach that it always caused. How could it be so vivid while she was dreaming it, yet vanish like a wisp of smoke when she awoke? She could always recall her dreams. Maybe I don't want to remember this one . . .

Not desiring to dwell on the thought, she was about to go off in search of Madame Pomfrey when that very woman's voice drifted in from the hallway. ". . . and you say she just dropped without warning?" she was asking.

Elizabeth stiffened, attempting to flatten herself against her chair in order to pass unnoticed.

A second voice gave its assent. It was Flitwick. "Right in the middle of a sentence when her eyes rolled back and she passed out . . ."

"Goodness," Madam Pomfrey murmured. "As if I don't have enough on my hands without the beginning of an epidemic." There was a rustling behind the curtain just a hand length from Elizabeth as whoever it was was placed gently on a bed. The matron's voice dropped to a whisper. "She looks just like the others." She sounded genuinely frightened.

Elizabeth heard her move to the medicine cabinet. Glancing at the motionless figures of Ron and Harry beside her, her hand tightened to a deathly grip on her chair. Please not Hermione, please not Hermione . . . her mind began chanting as slowly, slowly, she moved to see around the curtain . . . her throat seized up.

It was McGonagall.

Elizabeth couldn't move; she was frozen, half peering beyond the curtain, half behind it, anchored to her chair. Madam Pomfrey, returning with several bottles, gasped at the sight of her. "Miss Satine! Well, I never! What exactly do you thing you're doing, young lady?"

Elizabeth took one look at her exasperated expression, and at Flitwick's solemn, puzzled one behind her, before tearing from the hospital wing in a surge of panic.

"Miss Satine!" The matron's voice rang out behind her, but Elizabeth was long gone, racing through corridors, head pounding. And just as before, a direction suddenly became clear to her. Taking a sharp right, she found her way to the entrance hall unimpeded, pausing only slightly to catch her breath before opening the great oak front doors and slipping silently out into the dark cover of night.

She'd made up her mind – she had to see Sirius.