DISCLAIMER:   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, To the Honour of the Mother is well worth reading.

Minerva III Mid afternoon…

At times like this, I really think Theodora had the right idea. Open a shop in Diagon Alley, change her name to the mysterious, Madam Malkin and offer 'Robes of Distinction' to all and sundry.

I don't think she's ever forgiven me for suggesting that she could still call herself Madam Malkin and proffer a more lucrative trade.

As her younger sister, it was my duty to goad her relentlessly. She doesn't see it that way…can't say I'm too surprised.

I'm just delaying the inevitable when I think of the news I had to bear to two of my students this morning. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.

I'm not even sure what I said, how I phrased it or whether or not it really sank in. I have the sense that these two students are the first of many I will have to counsel, comfort and …and I'm not sure what else, but the thought turns my stomach.

I received word from Albus just prior to lunch today and was then left with the quandary of finding the appropriate time to inform Mr Thomas and Miss Granger.

I would say, 'right time', but there is never a right time when one considers the fact that two of my students are now orphaned for no other reason, than their Muggle heritage.

I loathe the brutality of prejudice and the inherent fanaticism.

I came across Mr Thomas coming in from Quidditch practice and was able to talk to him fairly quickly. Suffice to say, his reaction was dramatic and immediate. I have allowed him to explore the grounds at his will and informed those who need to know, that he is grieving somewhere on the school grounds.

Hagrid, bless him, will be his guardian whilst he comes to terms with his loss.

I found Miss Granger on her way to lunch shortly after I had come from speaking with Hagrid.

To stop the school gossips from having too much of a field day, I asked Miss Granger to accompany me to my office to discuss 'something.'

Albus had already informed Messr's Potter and Weasley about Miss Granger's loss.

It was done so that they can support her and help her come to terms with the circumstances of her parents' deaths.

Poor girl thought she was in trouble, given the perplexed and pensive look on her face. Well she was, as degrees go; but not as the informant against Mr Potter's nightly activities. If I could have assured her without the whole school being all the more curious, I would have done so.

It's done now, and I feel as though I've splinched myself, neither one nor the other, just bone weary.

I worry for her, given the lack of reaction. It was all the more intense because she simply said nothing, just looked at me as though I was playing a sick, sadistic joke on her – then there was just a blank shell looking back at me.

No tears, no shouting, no questions…nothing.

What response can one possibly give when informed that your parents were placed under Imperio by Death Eaters and commanded to kill a Muggle family who were patients visiting the dental practice? Or that following that debauchery, they were then ordered to kill themselves…and did so?

I want to find the perpetrators of this abomination and…and…and that would just bring me down to their level.

I am so angry with Lucius Malfoy and his symbiotic crowd. They feed on one another's debauchery and malevolence like the parasites they are, then quietly retreat to their estates and grow fat off the corruption inherent in the Ministry.

I want them to feel the terror and pain they inflict, ten-fold. I want to know why they get away with all of this, yet we sit bound, waiting for them to batter down the gates.

I love too many people and this wonderful home to see it defiled by filth. I am determined to find a way for us to triumph, to see those who have brutalised so many, brought to heel and banished from conscious thought.

Late Afternoon…

I am worried about Miss Granger. I can't find her anywhere. It's as though she has dropped off the face of the world and I have no idea why I ranted by pen, when I should have been keeping a closer eye on her.

If you can somehow tell me where she is, please, I beg you – tell me now!

I could not be more worried if she were my own child.

I talked to Severus an hour or so ago and he promised to set out from the dungeons to look for her. He wants to talk to me later. I can sense his questions even before he asks them. Poor thing needs to learn to give a bit more of his trust. Now, however is not the time to start rumours of another corridor confrontation.

Albus forbade him from even being allowed to inform his students of their losses. Poor thing probably feels as though he is just the puppet of two very powerful men.

I hope he finds her safe.