"I still can't believe we're contemplating this."

Albus Dumbledore stared over his desk, looking into blue eyes that haunted him. Would she ever know how much like Tobias she looked? He realized that it was likely she knew all too well. Even if he didn't remind her, others would, just as they'd done to her student over the last six years. It was inevitable.

He stared at the parchment she'd brought back with her, folded and crumpled after their long ordeal. He'd put off this discussion for as long as he could. The full moon had waned, his granddaughter had rested, and he'd finally puzzled out most of what the scrap of paper meant.

A page out of Tom Marvolo Riddle's personal notes. A page out of the textbook of dark wizardry. A page out of the biography of the darkest wizard to walk the world in a hundred years.

The price he'd almost paid for it made him shudder.

"Does it have to be a mark?" For the tenth time that day, Desi asked the question that haunted her dreams. What if it went wrong? What if it backfired? "Can't we find some other means?"

He shook his head, sympathy radiating from him. He was meeting with her alone for a reason; he knew this wasn't going to be one of their better talks. Weight settled on his shoulders as he gathered the courage to face her inevitable ire. "We've examined this for days, Desdemona. Minerva and I have contemplated all the positive and negative consequences. In the end, Voldemort chose to use a Mark to ensure that the spell lived within the person, hence why transfiguring the Mark causes such pain. Our version will be similar – the spell with live within the person. Hence why it has to be a Mark. We've decided on the method and the purpose. We found the way to modify the spell so that we can remove some of the less-desirable traits of the Mark and adapt it to use strategically. Harry will still be the focus, but we'll be able to communicate with each other through him. Ingenious piece of wizardry, despite the intended purpose."

Desi glared at her beloved Papa. "I still can't believe you think this."

Dumbledore reached across the desk and took her hand. "Little one, if I could change the past, I would do so without a second's reservation. If I could bring your parents back, if I could have stopped you that night, if I could go back and try to save Tom Riddle before he lost himself, I would do all of these and more. I cannot; too many lives have been altered irrevocably by these events. However, I cannot dismiss something useful because it was once used for wrong. If I had, you would not be as happy as you are today." He smiled at her, his eyes filled with amusement and knowing.

She actually felt herself begin to blush. "About that, Papa..."

He held his free hand up to silence her. "You have no need to explain yourself to me. As it is, know that I am far happier for the both of you than you'll ever know. To see you smile, to see him with something to live for, is a magic beyond any I see in the classroom." A bittersweet twinge struck him, remembering his own Aurora. He took her hand in his own, holding it for a moment. "I will say, however, that as Headmaster, I appreciate the discretion the pair of you used over these months. It has made my life easier, so far as the school's governing is concerned. And, as your grandfather, all I can say is how grateful I am that the past is the past."

His thoughts wandered to another conversation he had, mere hours ago.

"You love my granddaughter. That much is clear to anyone with sight, Severus, regardless of what you want or are comfortable with."

"Headmaster, if you're..."

"I am not asking you to undo anything, Severus. For what little it may be worth, the two of you making your peace has undone damage I never thought would be undone. But I am concerned about one thing. What effect will your work for the Order have on your newfound peace with Desdemona?"

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"She has no idea what you do for us, does she? You have never told her about your spying on your old acquaintances in order to gather intelligence for the Order?"

Cold words. "You ordered me to secrecy about my work, Headmaster. I've kept that secret from her, regardless of my own conscience."

A tired nod. "Severus, I wish to ask one more thing of you, but I fear this may be too much for me to ask."

Quiet curiosity in black eyes. "What?"

"I want you to receive the Mark."

Silence.

"You know how she feels about..."

"Yes, I am more than aware, Headmaster. As aware as you are, I'd wager. I assume she refused."

"She neither accepted nor refused, Severus. I will not ask it of her."

A gasp. "She is not..."

"She has no choice in the matter, Severus. Her path has already been decided for her; all I can do is protect her until she turns down her road."

A dark glare. "What do you mean?"

Shoulders sagging under untold burdens. "I cannot tell you, Severus. If I could, I would. When it is time for you to know, you will know. But not until then. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore slipped his hand out of hers to rise from his desk and offer a treat to Fawkes, sitting on a perch near the window. It gave him a moment to regain his courage. The smile in her eyes right now was about to fade.

"Desdemona, there is something we need to talk about concerning the Mark." He heard her chair scrape backward behind him as she pushed away from the desk, his back to the woman in the room, his eyes fixed on some faraway cloud floating on an unseen wisp of air. "Once the spell has been perfected and the criteria agreed upon, only a select group of people will be asked to carry the mark. You will not be one of them. I don't want you to receive it."

Desi fell back into the chair she was rising from. "What? You're kidding, right? I mean, after what happened with me at Malfoy Manor with Pettigrew, the very sort of thing you want to use the Mark to prevent from happening again, and you don't want me to have it?"

He turned away from the window to face his granddaughter. "I don't want you involved in this anymore. I want you safe. I want to fall asleep at night knowing you are not in any danger, and I have not done anything to put you in harm's way. I do not want to give Voldemort any more reason than he already has to come after you."

"Too late, Papa. I cost him two of his inner circle in the span of a few months, and I took away his means of revenge against the only one brave enough to turn his back on him. I've undone his work and I've found the means of replicating what he did. Do you honestly think protecting me from the workings of the Order is going to protect me now?"

A quiet voice echoed off silent walls. "No. But I will not willingly let you risk yourself further."

"Then you're being exceedingly selfish and narrow-minded."

"That is my right, Desdemona. You are all I have left in this world. I will be exceedingly selfish and narrow-minded where you are concerned. I have earned the right to a little selfishness, and I choose to use it on your safety."

The finality in his voice stopped the tirade Desi was about to launch. In the back of her mind, a student's voice rang clearly.

With all due respect, Professor, maybe you should see it from his point of view.

He'd lost his son and daughter-in-law to Voldemort. He'd spent twenty one years without his grandchild. He'd carried guilt and remorse over every student he'd ever taught as they fell, one way or another. He'd worked tirelessly, without complaint or request, to ensure the safety of as many innocent people as he could. He felt personally responsible for neglecting the student who eventually caused the chaos in which they lived.

Her Papa had earned the right to be selfish. He'd been selfless one time too many.

As much as she hated it, as much as it intruded on her rights, she didn't see the purpose in pressing this point. She owed the man before her so much; would it really cost her that much to bow to his wishes? Was it wrong to heed her grandfather this once?

"Alright, I won't wear the mark." The response cost her humility and pride. "For you. Only for you. But I'm still involved with the Order. I will not sit idly by and watch what happens. I will not hide. I deserve that much."

He nodded. It was fair. He'd been responsible for instilling her sense of duty and purpose; he couldn't ask her to stop now. "Thank you, little one." He held out his hand to the woman who he loved with all his heart, and as he felt her slip her hand inside his once again, he couldn't help but see the eleven year old girl she'd once been, the one who had made a rash decision that decided her entire destiny.

"Why did you ask the Sorting Hat to place you in Slytherin?"

"Papa, they were teasing him. He needs a friend. Remember, you told me to look out for people who needed me. He needs me, Papa. He looks like he needs a friend more than anyone I've ever seen in my life."

"Your life hasn't been that long, little one."

"I know, Papa. But if the Sorting Hat disagreed, why would I be in Slytherin now? Isn't it his judgment in the end?"

He'd never been able to answer that question for her.

He hadn't been able to do a lot of things for her. However, he'd protect her from any more harm with his last breath. It was the least he owed her. Especially after he told her the rest of what he needed to say.

The warm weather allowed Desdemona the chance to do what she hadn't done in twenty-five years. Most of the students were in Hogsmeade for another weekend, or off doing homework or spending time getting into mischief. This meant that she could sit, alone and uninterrupted, under a trio of pine trees off by themselves near the lake.

It felt odd sitting underneath them again, staring at a sight that hadn't seen much change in all these years. It brought so many things full-circle, and put her in the mood she needed to be in; calm reflection.

So many things to consider. Where to begin?

Start with the biggest, Desi dear, then build from there.

Her father's voice spoke to her in the back of her mind. Moments like this, she missed her parents desperately. They'd been so wise. Granted, her father had been referring to building blocks when she was three, but the words had always made sense for every other problem she'd dealt with in the years since.

Alright, the biggest problem. Her and Severus. What was going to happen to them? Was she going to stay here and teach Potions forever? Was he going to stay and teach defense? What did the future hold for them? So many questions that neither of them had asked aloud. He said he loved her. The words she'd longed to hear so many years ago had changed things forever for her. She couldn't walk away from him. Not again. He'd always be part of her from now on. Then again, he always had been.

But what did that mean? She couldn't even begin to answer those questions. What did she want in life? She'd spent twenty years in America trying to answer that, and failed miserably. All she'd wanted was to come back to the life she'd always known. For so many of those years, with scarce visits from her Papa and fewer still from others in the wizarding world, she'd watched life drift by, her cauldron and potions her only refuge. She lived vicariously through others, letters from the few old friends she had filling in for her the gaps in time. Students she'd gone to school with getting married, having families, living their lives. Eventually, losing their lives.

Her physical safety had meant an end to most of her dreams. No wedding day for her, no children, no place in her world. Not even living with American wizardkind, out of fear and protection. Just herself, a cauldron, and an occasional visit from a familiar face.

And endless nights' dreams laced with anger, bitterness, fear, and loneliness.

This wasn't resolving anything for her. This was a conversation for two, not for one. What did he want? Was it too soon to ask? Could he walk away from her? Where did they go from here?

On to another problem, since that one was nowhere near resolution.

Their discussion last night after the meeting of the Order had been unusually calm for the two of them. He would receive the Fire Mark. That's what they'd begun calling it, for lack of a better name. She hated the name, and she hated that he'd been asked to wear it, but understood why. Sev was important to the Order; he'd almost inevitably be in the middle of everything when all was said and done. Of everyone in the Order, he alone knew what they were getting themselves into, and he had been the loudest voice in discussions surrounding the ethics of the Fire Mark, which was unusual for the man who usually kept silent while letting others banter about details. He was in the inner circle, those few chosen to bear the Mark. The Light Bearers. Honestly, who came up with these inane names anyway? Desi suspected Tonks came up with that one. It sounded like some drivel she'd invent.

The Mark was close to being perfected. Minerva McGonagall had been spending every available moment working on it, trying to make sure it didn't affect animagi or metamorphmagi. Harry would be the focus; he would be the one who knew where everyone was and possibly how they were, but he would not be the only one who could call others to him. Definitely no torture; that one had been an unspoken given. A tool, so that what happened in the Ministry two years ago never happened again.

Some people wondered why Desi herself wasn't receiving it. Sev mentioned it when they talked after he returned from the most recent meeting. A couple of people were uneasy with the younger Dumbledore remaining markless. Many of the rest just assumed that, given her family history, she was hesitant to do so. A few even whispered it was because of her temper. She never once said a word to change their minds. Her grandfather wanted her safe, needed her safe. She now knew why.

She needed to stay alive.

Sometimes, her responsibility was more pressure than she needed.

Desi sighed, sitting under the shade with pine needles surrounding her, the bark digging into her back. She still hated the Mark. She still hated the idea of having something new burned into Sev's flesh, something that could take him away from her again. But, at least this time, it could be undone.

Now that she'd finally emotionally resolved that conflict in her mind, it was time to tackle another. What to do with the Slytherin rebellion? In the last few weeks, a round dozen of the students in Slytherin House had quietly been rejecting their parents' lifestyles. She felt personally responsible for all of them; it had been her lecturing during Defense classes first term that began this shift in power in their house. Reinforcing their decisions had been several small episodes, such as the rumor of Lucius Malfoy's capture, and the still-widely-discussed attack on their head of house. All of these points, plus the advancing of age and experience and conversations with others, had led them to decide that life would be better lived by choosing another path. Only two people in the entire school knew who all twelve were; herself and her grandfather. Not even Severus knew who they were, and he was their head of house. They'd all been given a choice: stay in this world and pretend to be what they weren't, or go into hiding as Desdemona herself had once done.

Several had taken the second option. Safe houses in other countries were being prepared for them to go to once the school year was out. A pair had created a third option, deciding to work with the Order once they graduated; they'd already provided the Headmaster with a wealth of intelligence without realizing it, simply by letting things slip when talking to him.

Only one had chosen the most dangerous route possible. Draco Malfoy had decided to stay by his mother's side. The toll of her husband's absence, plus the as-yet-unexplained destruction of her property, had caused Narcissa Malfoy a wealth of stress and heartache. Draco stubbornly refused to cause his mother more pain by leaving her or openly working against the man his father pledged allegiance to so many years ago. Besides, as he reminded Desdemona, he wasn't going to be suddenly perfect and righteous. He preferred to make his own decisions, not serve as a lackey to either side, thank you very much. He'd spent the last few weeks working on the inevitable masquerade he would undertake once leaving the school, convincing most of the students that the rumors about himself that they heard were fiction. He'd managed to persuade the school that he was still the cruel, twisted, cold Draco Malfoy they'd always known, and any comments about his shifting to a Gryffindor frame of mind had been greatly exaggerated. To his credit, he'd done this so well that Desi herself occasionally forgot.

What was so dangerous about this route was the inevitable pressure that would come about to follow in his father's footsteps. Voldemort's Death Eaters were waning in number. Besides the obvious loss of Malfoy and Pettigrew, who was now spending his time in the St. Mungo's ward for criminal and insane patients after recovering from the removal of his mark, three more had been captured separately by the Ministry, their marks transfigured as well. Already, some students had been pulled from the school and their house, evidently to begin their careers working for Voldemort, including Draco's former best friends Crabbe and Goyle. Eventually and unavoidably, Draco Malfoy would be asked to make a decision that could irrevocably change his life.

She prayed that day would come as late as possible.

Harry's scar had caused him another hospital stay, after Voldemort realized Pettigrew wasn't returning. This time, Desi had felt such intense guilt that she'd remained by his side for the entire time he laid in that bed. It was her fault, indirectly, that he felt Voldemort's wrath. Five Death Eaters gone. Five Marks removed. Five less people to draw strength from. Voldemort was weakening. His plans called for change. A small victory for the Order. Not that it lessened her guilt any.

The sun began to slide down the sky, and still she sat by the lake, feet asleep, contemplating worries or images that had haunted her mind, oblivious to the fact that she was being observed from a window in the astronomy tower by a man dressed in black who had learned by now when to give her the space she needed.

"It's time, Desi."

She looked up from her office desk, covered in scrolls of homework from the third years' recent lessons into healing potions. Not having windows in her office took away the ability to tell passage of time by sunlight. The man in her doorway was uncharacteristically nervous. It made her smile impishly, albeit briefly, to see him fidgeting so much.

He in turn had to bite his lip to not chuckle. A smudge of ink lined her cheek and her auburn hair tried to escape the loose braid she'd woven it into. As she sat at her desk, Severus had the disconcerting memory of her at thirteen, the two of them studying in the library for exams, her second year and his sixth. She looked now a lot like she had that night.

The first time Desi told him she loved him.

"You're never going to learn anything with that attitude."

"Excuse me, Severus Snape. You're a fine one to talk about attitudes."

"What's that supposed to me, Desi?"

"Well, you spend every waking moment acting as if you have to prove your self to every single person you meet. You're rude, condescending, and about as friendly as Professor Treguna's pet raven."

"I do not."

"Sev, you do. Why do you think the Marauders treat you the way they do?"

"The who?"

A bitten lip. "Um, Potter and Black and Pettigrew."

A sneer. "Don't forget your little tutor Lupin in that group."

"Fine, whatever. You know, they'd leave you alone if you stopped acting like such an insufferable know-it-all."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Desi."

Rolled eyes. "You just proved my point, Sev. Bloody havens, why did I decide to fall in love with such a disagreeable jerk?"

Silence. A dropped quill. A matching jaw. "What did you say?"

Wide blue eyes. "Um, probably shouldn't have said that."

"Desdemona..."

"Fine. I love you, Sev. There. Happy now? Of course, now you're going to give me a list three scrolls long of reasons why I'm stupid, insane, or foolish. And a list equally long of reasons why you don't deserve anyone loving you. So, let's save the paper and just agree to disagree and get back to our work, because, unlike you, I actually care whether or not I pass transfiguration. You don't have a grandfather who taught the subject."

The memory still made him stop breathing for a moment.

She pushed away the quill and parchment and rose from her desk, stretching her arms. "Are you ready?"

He shook his head as he walked towards the desk, meeting her halfway. "I'll never be ready to undergo something like this."

Desdemona stared at him, searching his black eyes for some hidden depth. "I know. I'm not exactly thrilled you're doing this either. You don't have to, Sev. Papa won't make you do this. If you're not comfortable..."

He raised a finger to her lips to silence her. "I have to do this, Desi. I'm in the inner circle for a reason; I'm the only one in the Order who understands exactly what this means. I don't look forward to this, but it is the responsibility I decided to bear years ago. I left my life to serve your grandfather and his cause; I can't turn back on that vow now."

The tone of nobility did little to ease Desi's heartache. "Well, then. You'd best be off. I know Papa and Harry left an hour ago."

Severus reached up to wipe away the lone tear that escaped her vivid blue eyes. "You're not coming?"

She shook her head. "Papa forbade me. He said I didn't need to be there." Her lower lip trembled, despite her best efforts to stay calm. "I think he's right."

If he could, in that moment, Severus would have changed his mind about receiving the Mark, only to spare her pain. If he could, he'd stop time forever, living in a moment where he loved and was loved in return, where nothing could harm either of them, and where he could spend every moment staring into those eyes and hearing her laugh.

Some things were out of his control.

Instead, he bent down to lay a soft kiss on Desi's wavering lips, his left hand smoothing away errant strands of hair from her face. She pulled away and looked up at him, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I'll see you when you get back." With finality in her voice, she gestured towards the door. With hesitation, he finally walked through the threshold.

Within moments, she was alone in her office yet again, too upset to grade papers. Instead, she left the room, walking around the castle until she came to a window that faced the Quidditch pitch, where she could sit and stare blankly outside into the moonlight, blissfully uninterrupted.

It wasn't meant to be.

"Professor Drecorum?" A quiet voice called out from the middle of the hallway, causing her to turn her head to see a familiar face framed by bright red hair. Ron Weasley. Part of her was surprised to see him alone; she never saw him without Harry or Hermione at his side. At her nod, he timidly approached her.

"Ron, what can I do for you?" She worked on pulling herself together; it wouldn't do to have a student see her so upset.

Ron began wringing his hands, fidgeting much the same way Sev had been doing moments ago in her office doorway. "Professor, I was hoping...oh, never mind." He turned to walk away, stopping in his steps at the clearing of her throat.

Desi sighed loudly. "Ron, is there something you want to talk about?"

He slowly turned to face his Potions teacher, barely nodding as he did. "I just – well, I don't know what to say, really, but I was hoping that maybe you would."

The sheepish look on his face made her smile. "Come on. Let's go to my office. We can talk there." Leading her student back to the room she'd left moments ago she forgot, for a moment, her own melancholy, focusing instead on the stress and concern she'd seen etched in the young man's face.

Once inside her office, she shut the door and offered him a seat. "Would you like to give me an idea of what is on your mind tonight, Ron? Or shall I begin guessing?"

Ron fumbled with his hands some more, trying to find the words he was looking for. He didn't know what had made him call out to Drecorum in the hallway; some voice inside him just told him to do it. He didn't want to admit how worried he was right now. Somehow, he had a feeling she understood. But he still didn't know how to say so.

Desi reached into her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a pair of butterbeer bottles, handing one to the nervous young man in front of her. "You're worried about Harry, aren't you?"

He simply nodded. Words didn't come close to expressing how he felt. This wasn't the same as when he worried about Ginny when she was in the chamber with the basilisk. He knew then why he was scared for her. This was different; it was vague and unreal and intangible and unexplainable. All he knew was that his best friend was going to have to face danger; real danger, not simply running-around-the-castle-at-night danger. And he couldn't always be there to help. He felt useless and bitter and frustrated all at once.

Sometimes, bluntness had its virtues, Desi thought as she opened her own bottle and took a sip. "Ron, you're his best friend. Frankly, I'd be concerned if you weren't worried about him, given what's going on tonight. Which, knowing Harry, you know all about, even though you're not supposed to." A guilty shifting of his weight in the chair confirmed that guess.

Ron looked up finally, feeling brave enough to voice some of his worries. "It's more than that. Professor, Harry's my friend. I've known him since the first train ride to Hogwarts. It hasn't always been the easiest thing in the world, being the best friend of the boy who lived and all. Sometimes, I wish I'd chosen to sit somewhere else on the train that day; it would be easier being friends with Neville or Seamus. And then I feel horrible thinking that, because he doesn't deserve it. It's not his fault that he's going to have to face you-know-who someday. Some days, I hate him because he's so important and everything. But then I see him when he's at his worst, when he has you-know-who in his head or he has to go through something he hates because it's best for everyone else, and I feel so guilty. I know it's not his fault that all of this is what he deals with. But sometimes, I don't know what to do besides smile and nod. I don't know how to help, how to make it easier or be more useful. And this is totally not making any sense..." He trailed off, mumbling, staring at a spot on the floor.

Desi set down her bottle with an audible thump and faced the young man sitting before her, all pretense of a professor-student conversation gone. This was now a talk between equals; Ron needed that right now. "Ron, you're making sense. Not the most coherent sense, but sense nonetheless. I'm not going to pretend that I know everything that Harry is going through, but he and I have talked. He feels as retched as you do right now. Some days, he worries about how his friendship will affect you and Hermione. Some days, he feels guilty about dragging you two into these problems. But he has told me, on more than one occasion, that having you two as friends has been one of the best things about the last seven years. Without you and Hermione, he really wonders how he would have made it. Ron, don't sell yourself short. The role of the best friend isn't always easy when the friend in question has to deal with some problem larger than you can fathom. One day, ask my best friend about it; I'm sure Remus could tell you stories about worrying about me and what could happen eventually."

A look of slight relief and gratitude crept across Ron's face, wrenching Desi's heart. She knew the toll that the inevitable future was taking on Harry, but foolishly, she'd forgotten to account for how it would affect those closest to him. Now she understood what her grandfather meant by regret.

"As for doing something more than smiling and nodding," she sighed, reaching again into a desk drawer. She couldn't believe she was about to do this. Desi pulled out a small bottle of silver liquid and handed it to the red-haired Gryffindor, who stared at it in confusion. "Sometimes, all a best friend can do is be there to share the pain when necessary." At his dumbfounded expression, she smiled sadly. "You never know when sharing the pain will be the only way to save your best friend."

He looked at her, understanding finally creeping into his eyes. Ron knew what was in the bottle; he'd gotten one just like it for her, once, last term. He only hoped he'd have the courage to use it if it ever came to that.

"I feel bad sometimes, because I don't feel like I'm much use. Like, Hermione's really smart, and Harry's really brave, but sometimes I wonder why I'm even around. And then I feel even worse, because I wonder if I'm useless. And sometimes I feel jealous, and sometimes I feel guilty, and sometimes I don't even know what to do about how I feel. I don't want to lose my best friend, Professor, and sometimes I feel like, in the end, I will."

"Ron, your loyalty is your purpose. Don't you think knowing he has a friend like you makes things a little easier for Harry? Don't you think it makes him that less fearful, knowing that you would be there for him if he really needed you? It does. More than I think either of you will ever know. And as for losing your best friend, no one can answer that. I know it worries me, and it keeps my grandfather awake at night, knowing a seventeen year old boy is asked to shoulder responsibility that would make grown men shudder. However, if you dwell on something that may never come to pass, you will only harm yourself, and Harry, in the end."

Desi stood up and rubbed her tired eyes. Waxing philosophical was exhausting, but at least it gave her something to focus on while something she disagreed with was taking place hundreds of miles away. "I'm probably making as little sense as you feel like you're making, Ron. I'm sorry. I know this – Harry needs you. He will need a best friend now more than he has in all the years he's been here. He needs someone loyal and dependable, who will keep him grounded and sane and aware of how his decisions affect those around him. He needs someone to help him laugh occasionally, someone to remind him he's still a human being. There will be moments when the responsibility that's been heaped on him will be too much, and that is when he will need you the most. Don't discredit yourself in the least, Ron Weasley. In the end, you may find yourself more important than you ever dreamed you would."

He sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence between the pair heavy but comforting. He took in everything Drecorum said, trying to understand it all. How it fit in with what he already knew. How it made sense given seven years of friendship. How it still made him uneasy, but less so now. He hadn't known why he stopped the professor in the hallway, but now he was glad he had. If nothing else, his conscience was eased somewhat.

"I wish they weren't doing it." Ron whispered, unaware he'd even spoken aloud. "I wish they had chosen something else. I wish he didn't have to go through with it."

Desi knew exactly what he meant by that. "Ron, you're not alone in that thought."

Ron took that moment to really look at his professor, whose voice was laden with fatigue and quiet frustration. Harry had been right – she really was against this new mark; this decision affected more people than just his best friend. It showed in the chill in her voice, her sudden clenching of her fists, and the sag in her shoulders.

She didn't approve of it either. Somehow, knowing this made him feel less guilty for not supporting something that affected his best friend so much.

Both teacher and student remained in the room, silence their only companion, somehow gaining relief that there was another person who shared their sentiments.