Two days later, Harry stopped by Willow's desk again on his way out of Dark Arts.

          "I just wanted to say thank you for the other day."

          "So it worked?" He nodded. "Goody! I thought it would."

          "Yeah, it did. We've got tryouts Sunday. I'll be helping out, so it's almost the best of both worlds."

          "Definitely of the good," she affirmed with a nod. "You're all set."

          Harry leaned in, glancing furtively around to make sure no one eavesdropped. "I wanted to ask … we were all wondering, when is it going to start? The extra stuff?"

          "In a, y'know, in a while. We're still getting things together," she rushed out, fervently hoping not to give anything away. Willow knew she wasn't the best liar.

          "Oh. Well, we're ready whenever you call for us."

          She wanted to smile at his disappointment; instead she nodded and continued to pack her things. "We'll tell you when. So listen, I hate to be a jerk, but I have to run – I've got a magic lesson with Dumbledore, like, now."

          "That's okay. Go ahead." She grabbed her bag and they walked to the door. In the hallway, he added, "Willow?"

          "Yeah, Harry?"

          "Good luck with your lesson." He walked down the corridor and out of sight.

          "Thanks," she whispered when he had gone, "'cuz I really need it."

When Willow arrived at Dumbledore's office, she found Tara lingering in the hallway outside.

          "Hey, Will."

          "Tara? Why're you here? Not that I mind or anything, but I thought it was me and Professor Dumbledore today."

          "Oh, it is. He and Jess are finishing up."

          Willow caught the tension in Tara's voice and the nervous flush in her cheeks. "And you're just waitin' to walk her home, huh?"

          "Sh-she gets shaken sometimes, after she does these. I-I'm just being friendly."

          "Somebody's defensive. Maybe 'cuz … somebody's got a cru-ush." She sing-songed the last part with a smile, but then she saw Tara's eyes. "Oh! Tara! I'm sorry! I was just playing around. Please don't go being all embarrassed."

          "N-no, it's okay, really."

          "Thinking it really isn't over here." Willow put her hands on Tara's shoulders. "You do like her, don't you? I mean, I was kidding, I only half thought so, but you do."

          "K-kind of, yeah. B-b-but it doesn't m-matter. She's not into that."

          "You don't know that for sure."

          "Y-yeah, I do. She l-likes boys."

          "As if that matters when it comes to you." She flashed a reassuring smile. "Does she know?"

          "Uh uh, b-but it's not just boys." Tara didn't want to say it, but she knew Willow wouldn't let go. Besides, she thought, she needs to know. "It's one b-boy."

          Willow finally caught on. "Grey?" Tara nodded. "But they're over. She let him go."

          "N-no. He l-let her go. She wants him to be happy, but she …"

          Despite knowing how deeply Grey loved her, Willow's stomach contracted. "That's not of the good."

          "She's not going to do anything about it, Will, b-but she's really hung up."

          After that unhappy revelation, they stood in silence for a minute, both feeling confused and upset. Willow finally broke the silence.

          "I should go in now." Tara nodded. "Hey, Tara, look at me." Blue eyes met green. "We'll work it out, okay? Once she accepts that she can't have Grey, and she can't because he's very Willow-centric," which she said more for herself than Tara, "we'll get her to notice you. I promise."

          Tara nodded silently, obviously unconvinced.

          When Willow slipped through the doorway, taking care not to make a sound, she saw Dumbledore and Jess both leaning over a stone bowl on his desk.

          "Hello? Professor?" Dumbledore didn't respond. "Professor Dumbledore? Jess? Hello?"

Neither reacted at all. Willow moved closer and peered at their faces. Both stared intently into the bowl, their expressions neutral and frozen. The bowl itself, covered in runes and markings that she didn't recognize, was filled with a strange glassy substance that seemed to be half liquid, half solid light.

The bowl looked like a porthole on a ship; beneath the glass, she could see part of an apartment lit by flickering torchlight. Two figures flitted in and out of one corner of the image, their movements blurry and indistinct. Willow leaned in closer, careful not to disturb the other two as she tried to get a better look at the inside. She rested one hand on its edge, careful not to tip it over with her weight, and craned her neck. The new position didn't help. Turning again, she slowly moved around, dragging her hand along the edge…

          … until her finger dipped into the liquid.

Suddenly she felt herself sucked in, falling through a long, cold tunnel that raised Goosebumps on her skin. Before she could summon the appropriate level of panic, she had landed on a wooden floor.

It was, in fact, the floor of the apartment she had just been staring at.

"Huh? What the heck?"

          "Shh," someone said. "Please don't say anything, Miss Rosenberg. We're at a delicate moment." Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "You're perfectly safe."

          She didn't say anything. Instead, she followed his gaze across the apartment.

          What she saw there sucked the air from her lungs.

          Willow and Dumbledore filled the doorway to the living room of a good-sized flat. Inside the room, she saw Jess watching two other figures. One was obviously a younger version of her, with her dark hair cut much shorter and tattered robes draped across her malnourished frame. The pale skin on the duplicate looked sickly, as if she hadn't seen the sun in weeks. The contrast between them was striking, but Willow ignored it.

          On the far wall, Grey dangled from two wooden stakes.

One ran through each shoulder, holding him upright like some grotesque painting on the wall of an abattoir. Dark magic fluttered and danced along his bare chest, carving bloody, crimson furrows in its wake. He hung listlessly, all the energy needed to scream already drained from him by the ordeal. The two versions of Jess, past and present, watched as the life seeped from him. The past version cackled with delight, moving the spells to and fro across the pale flesh and gleefully observing the muscles jumping and twitching in pain. The present version traced the cuts with her eyes, silently weeping as she watched herself torture Grey.

          The horrible image struck Willow with physical force. She dropped to her knees and retched, salty tears rolling over her cheeks and splashing on the floor as her stomach revolted. Dumbledore's soothing hand came down on her back as she shut her eyes tight.

          "Time to go," whispered Jess's soft Irish voice.

          "Give me your hand, Willow." She reached out and felt Dumbledore's leathery skin on her own. Her stomach flipped at the sensation of rising, and when she opened her eyes again, she crashed to the stone floor of Dumbledore's office.

          "I'm sorry you had to see that, Willow," Jess said above her.

          "Was … was that real?" She asked, the answer already painfully clear. Hot bile burned her throat as the image of Grey flashed before her mind's eye.

          "Yes, my dear. Quite real, I'm afraid."

          "How?"

          "This device is known as a pensieve," he pointed to the stone bowl, "and Miss O'Brien and I have been using it to help her confront some of her more … difficult moments. It holds stray thoughts, allowing you to view them as you wish."

          Willow, still kneeling on the floor in semi-shock, tried to process that and couldn't. When she tried to think, all she could see was Grey pinned to that wall.

          Anger ripped through her, exploding up from her chest like a bolt of lightning. Willow's eyes blackened as she felt her magic erupt in her veins, the anger and pain fueling its return. She leveled her hateful gaze at Jess.

"If you hurt him ever again, we'll play that scene out the exact same way, except you'll hang in his place."

          The dark-haired sorceress gasped in horror. "What? I wouldn't … I'd never … I'd kill myself before I did that again."

          "You won't have to. I'll kill you first," she snarled. The room suddenly hummed with power.

          "Jessica, leave now," Dumbledore commanded. Jess backed away and dashed out of the room, a look of mixed pity and fear on her face; Willow rose to follow, but Dumbledore drew his wand. She caught a brief glimmer of something in his eyes and paused. The old, frail wizard suddenly loomed over her, looking neither old nor frail. "You, Miss Rosenberg, will stay."

          "Or what?"

          "Or I will make you stay." He spoke in the same grandfatherly voice he always used, but at the edge of his tone she heard the warning. She could feel his power coalesce around him, and suddenly she understood that challenging Albus Dumbledore would be a very large error.

          The realization landed on her like a bucket of ice water.

          "Oh goddess…" She collapsed to the floor. "What am I doing?"

          The wand disappeared into his robe and he dropped to one knee beside her. "You are learning, my dear."

          "You did this … on purpose? You let me see that?"

          "No. I would not have done that. That does not mean, however, that the exercise is wasted. Do you know why?"

          "Because … because it's totally obvious that I don't have total control. Except I already knew that."

          "Yes, but I'm not sure you understand it. You gave your wand to Miss Summers when you were not using it, assuming that would keep you from straying from the proper path, correct?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Did it work?"

          "N-no," her shoulders slumped, "not at all."

          "Correct. It did not, and it will not. The magic is within you, Willow. You cannot ignore it and hope that it will fade away. As you have just seen, there will be things that will always force it to the surface, no matter how hard you try and wish it gone." He stood and offered his hand, "That is why you must learn to control it, rather than rid yourself of it. Now come, let's work on your focus a bit. This is a particularly good time to do so, given how unraveled you must feel."

          She took his hand and stood up. "Okay, but Professor?"

          "Yes?"

          "Next time, could you put one of those 'Back in 5 Minutes' signs on the table? So I don't just barge in and stick my hand into that bowl?"

          Dumbledore smiled. "Certainly, my dear. Certainly."