Thanks to all reviewers! Given that it's been almost a year since I updated this thing, it probably looked like a oneshot. It was never meant to be, but other, more interesting plot bunnies came along. Still, I love Caroline as a character, and so I've decided to keep on going with this. It's not going to be a hugely long fic – meant to only go through about Halloween – but it won't be short, either.


The Choices We Make

Tuesday morning, and already I'd slipped into the pattern of Hogwarts life. Roll out of bed at seven, throw on my robes, grab a crumpet and get to class. I was the last one out of my dormitory, and when I finally got down into the Great Hall, after the staircases changed on me twice, most of the house tables were full.

It wasn't the usual atmosphere, though – Monday morning, the first day of school, had been busy and bustling, as people caught up on gossip and read over their schedules; but today was unusually tense. The low buzz of conversation did not sound at all like normal breakfast conversation, and as I made my way over to the Slytherin table, I noticed groups of people huddled over a Daily Prophet.

Over at the Ravenclaw tables, a girl was crying her heart out.

The only free seat left at the Slytherin tables was at the end, by Millicent Bulstrode. She was smirking unpleasantly as she read the Prophet, and I desperately wanted to snatch it from her hands; the girl was thick as a plank, but she – unlike Daphne Greengrass, Regina Avery, and Sonia Dolohov – wasn't a fan of Parkinson or Malfoy, so I didn't particularly want to alienate her.

When finally she seemed to be done, I practically grabbed the newspaper from her. "Sorry, Millicent, my subscription hasn't started yet…"

My apology died on my lips as I saw the headlines.

Scottish Muggleborns Slaughtered by Death Eaters

At 11:00 p.m. on the first of September, Ian and Eilidh Brocklehurst were slain in their home in Kildary, Ross-shire, near Inverness. Mr. and Mrs. Brocklehurst were both of muggleborn descent. Aurors on the scene reported that the Dark Mark – the sign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, most commonly associated with executions by his Death Eaters.

The Brocklehursts were found dead in their homes at about 2:00 a.m., when a muggle neighbor phoned in the police. A wizarding liaison in Ross-shire informed the Ministry at around 3:00 a.m., when Aurors arrived on scene and obliviated all muggle witnesses. They then conducted an investigation of the Brocklehurst home. No Death Eaters were located in the area; Aurors suspect they fled shortly after the murders of the Brocklehursts.

Ministry of Magic Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt told reporters that the Brocklehursts were likely killed by the Flagrantia curse, a varient of the benign Flagrate spell. In the previous war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his forces, Death Eater Antonin Dolohov was notorious for the use of this curse. Dolohov was recently captured after an attack on the Ministry of Magic, but he and twelve other Death Eaters escaped shortly after. Aurors would not reveal whether they suspected involvement by Dolohov in this attack.

Aurors did, however, inform reporters that they suspected that more than one assailant was involved in the deaths of the Brocklehursts. The number of Death Eaters supporting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unknown, but the Ministry suspects that there are between fifty and one hundred of these witches and wizards in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's employ, and that many more are sympathetic to him.

Aurors have denied accusations that routine security in wizarding areas and predominantly wizarding villages in Scotland was lax on August 31st and September 1st as preparations were made for the transport of students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Daily Prophet can reveal that in the week leading up to the start of term at Hogwarts, twelve aurors stationed in and around Inverness were pulled from the region to tighten security at Hogwarts and along the Hogwarts Express.

Aurors have not released at this time any further information relating to the deaths of the Brocklehursts.

Ian Brocklehurst was a well-respected employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, serving as a solicitor for indigent wizards and other magical beings. Aurors speculate that his recent work defending merpeople from infringement in their waters by wizards in the Hebrides may have prompted an attack by the Death Eaters, who aside from pushing forward a platform of He attended Hogwarts school from 1969 to 1976. He married his wife Eilidh, a healer at Saint Mungo's.

The Brocklehursts leave behind one daughter, Mandy, a sixth-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It still felt unreal to read these articles. There had been other killings this summer – a muggleborn wizard in Kent, and a group of muggles were tortured and killed in Devon. I'd never known anyone affected, though. Mandy Brocklehurst was a Ravenclaw in my year, smart, quiet, and in a clique with Padma Patil and Morag MacDougal; I didn't know her well, but I'd never wished any harm to her.

And my brother might – might – have been one of the Death Eaters responsible for slaughtering her family.

I looked over at the Ravenclaw table again, and saw that she was absent, along with her friends.

Our first class of the day was Potions. Still with the Gryffindors, and still with Snape. I was curious to see what mood Snape was in after these attacks. The rumor in Slytherin was that he was himself a Death Eater, and since Malfoy was eternally sucking up to him, it seemed likely. It didn't make sense, though, for Dumbledore to hire one. He might be a prejudiced, altruistic, naïve old man, but he was nobody's fool.

Hogwarts seemed to be in a poor mood this morning; the castle kept changing the paths down to the dungeons, and I had to double back twice. Finally the castle decided to let us down into the dungeons, and I found myself walking behind Potter and his little friends, Granger's bush of hair obscuring my view of the other two.

Then, of course, Malfoy and his thugs showed up.

They walked nonchalantly behind the Gryffindors for a while, smirking, until Malfoy pulled out his wand and whispered a nasty little trip jinx. Potter dodged it, but it hit the youngest Weasley brother. He fell, flat on his face. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle guffawed.

Potter and Granger turned around, their wands out, their faces set and ready for a fight. Weasley had his wand out, too, as soon as he was on his feet.

"Tripped, did you, Weasley? No wonder, with those mammoth feet of yours. You must have to by clown shoes to fit them. Still, what can one expect from a Weasel like you?" Malfoy was laughing, but his eyes looked deadly. He wanted a fight, and he wanted to hurt someone. That spell had been aimed at Potter.

"I'd be careful what you say, Malfoy," I said, wanting to get my own back for the previous evening. "Ferrets are part of the Mustilidae family too, you know."

Malfoy's eyes glinted, but it was Ron Weasley who yelled, "I don't need help from filthy little Slytherins like you!"

Stung, I said, "Fine. I won't bother in the future, Weasley." I brushed past him, but I could not help but see that Potter looked upset as I shoved my way into the Potions classroom.

I tried not to care as we waited for Snape. I'd been stupid, rash, reckless – I hated Malfoy, but I was already an outsider in Slytherin, and I didn't need to become even more alienated. None of the other houses would want to associate with me, anyway – and the murders last night had only cemented that.

I sat alone at a table, and glowered at everyone. There was hardly anyone in the NEWT potions class – myself and Malfoy from the Slytherins (Crabbe and Goyle just followed him everywhere; they'd left once he was in the dungeons), and four – four! – from the Gryffindors: Granger, Potter, Weasley, and Dean Thomas. When Snape walked into the classroom, his palpable fury at the Wizarding Examination Board sent shivers down our collective spine.

"So," he said, "Six students have managed to make it into my NEWT potions from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Six of you have managed to scrape" (here he looked especially at Weasley and Potter) "by the Wizarding Examinations Board and prove to me that you deserve to learn a little of the mysteries of advanced brewing." He glared at us.

"I'm sure by now your egos have been nicely inflated. You brought your OWLs home to Mummy and Daddy, who were no doubt very pleased indeed. I, however, am not here to congratulate you. I am here to drag you out of the most basic elements of brewing into the difficult, dangerous, and endlessly complex world of brewing. As of yet, not one of you has brewed a potion of any true complexity – you have followed a set of instructions, you have memorized a list of ingredients, and you haven't given a single thought to what the directions mean. NEWT potions will rectify that." He stared at us again, his black eyes fixing each of us with an uncomfortable glare.

"Most of you will leave this course by Christmas, I don't doubt. You will fail and fail again when faced with any truly challenging potions problem set to you. By the end of this year, if there are even half of you present in this room, I shall know I haven't been doing my job." He smirked widely, and looked at Potter again. I had the distinct impression that the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be one of the lucky three in seventh year.

Finally out of his lecture mode, Snape got full swing into his first lesson of the year. "Sixth year potions is a rigorous course centered around potions theory. For the first time in your life you will be asked to innovate in your brewing. Now that we are rid of your less able companions, the risk of death or permanent incapacitation is significantly less, but I have lost students to incorrectly-brewed potions before. There may be no incantations in this classroom, but that does not lessen the danger of experimental brewing."

"Our first study this year will be centered around projects that you will all be working on until Christmas holidays. You will be assigned a partner and will work with them to create an original potion I will assign you."

Groups. I hated groups. I hated working with partners. If they paired me up with Weasley or Malfoy, I thought, I might just die on the spot.

"Thomas and Weasley," Snape called out. I groaned. I could have tolerated Thomas.

"Potter and Malfoy," Snape said with a smirk. Both looked horrified and disgusted, but Malfoy slowly began to smile. No doubt he'd enjoy the opportunities that long hours together in a library would afford; but then, Malfoy had always overestimated his abilities as a duelist.

And then – that meant that I'd be working with – "Granger and Mandler," Snape read out, and I let my head fall forward onto my desk. Great. Just what I needed.

I considered moving, but decided it was more amusing to watch the little mudblood gather up all her books and totter over to my table, balancing her cauldron on top of everything else. She sat down with a clatter, and stacked her things right next to mine. We stared each other in the eye, suspiciously. We both knew how close we were in our scores – Granger had been on top for the past few years, true, but I'd always been right behind her.

Snape had to be crazy, I decided. Potter and Malfoy? One would end up dead before the end of the week. Granger and myself? He knew how deep our rivalries ran. He was trying to get people killed!

Still, I had to make the best of this – and with our combined talents, there was a good chance that we'd both make it through the class alive. We might even make a truly useful potion.

I can't help it; I'm a swot, and I freely admit it. I love books, I love learning, and I love theory. I don't know so much about Granger – I think she does, too, but with her knowledge is something that you need to do what you want, rather than a desirable thing in and of itself. Anyway, I found that I was looking forward to this assignment. It was just cool – the coolest thing I'd ever done in any class. Making up a potion? I mean, I knew about theoretical spellwork from my other classes; Flitwick himself was the author of several original spells, and I think McGonagall has taken out a patent on one of her transfiguration algorithms, but they'd always told us that such things were terribly dangerous for students and fullgrown wizards alike. People got killed that way – hadn't the Lovegood woman died in some stupid charm to illuminate snorcacks?

God, I'm rambling. Always do.

So when Snape came around with a small slip detailing our assignment, I snatched it first, and read it eagerly while Granger glared at me over her cauldron, peeved that I'd gotten to the instructions first.

You are to construct a surface-applicable potion which will cause items to become invisble. The potion is to operate within specific parameters. Please devise an original potion which will operate within a given time period, to be detailed exactly in an explanatory essay handed in with the potion by no later than December 18. The essay should contain a recipe, a summary of the process in which the potion is made, an explanation of the potion's intended effects and possible side effects, and a detailed explanation of how and why you discovered the correct solution for this potion.

When I was done reading (and re-reading, and highlighting) I handed the instructions over to Granger, who was by now seething, her foot tapping angrily against the ground. She scanned it quickly, her mouth forming an exaggerated 'O' of surprise, and then reread it more slowly.

When Granger was done she looked at me, her eyes alight with fervor. "Oh, but this is going to be exciting! I do love experimentation – have you done any theoretical work yet?"

I hadn't. I glared over the table. Granger was deliberately rubbing in the fact that she was everyone's favorite student, and so could get away with messing around with experimental charms. I wanted to scratch out her eyes.

"Mm, I've tried not to get my head blown of yet, Granger. Anyway, invisibility – invisibility isn't too difficult. I mean, it does take a bit of talent, but the theoretical work behind making objects invisible is well-established, so a little research ought to suffice there. Now, for the timing, I was thinking that some practical arithmancy –"

Granger, the showoff, cut me off. "Oh, yes, like how Professor Vector was saying last April about the relations of numbers to magic? About the connotations of numbers in non-wand magic, like Herbology and Potions? You know, I think she mentioned that the number seven has been related with binding. Now, if we applied the theory of binding to a specific time – like binding the potion when applied to a certain time in the future…"

It was my turn for one-upmanship. "Oh, yes, I see what you're getting at, but I think that the number thirteen is more closely associated with time – especially with endings. Now, in combination with a powered seven, that might produce the desired effect. I think, however, that this potion will rely strongly on intention by the brewers. We'll need wanded magic in combination, I think, don't you?"

Granger glared at me. She'd forgotten about the number thirteen, I felt sure, and I absolutely glowed with pride. I loved topping her in classes – and I rarely got the chance.

We were in arithmancy together, though, and we'd always been neck-and-neck for the top grades in that class. She, of course, did better than me – I tended to do better in class, especially when applying concepts to actual spellwork, but she was best at written assignments and on tests.

My reverie, and our scholastic competition, was cut off by Snape. "I trust you've now had a chance to review your assignment. I shall not waste more of today's classtime, however, as you doubtless haven't any idea where to start. Today we will delve a little further into the world of theoretical potions."

He proceeded to lecture us on the differences that stirring clockwise versus stirring widdershins would have on potions, and we all took frantic notes, as Snape never explained anything more than once.

I'd picked up my bags and was heading out the door when Granger grabbed my arm. I spun around, my short black hair momentarily in my eyes. "What do you want?" I snapped.

Granger looked at me coolly. "I just thought we ought to set a date to meet together to research in the library. I'm free Wednesday evenings from seven till curfew, since I don't have prefect duties that night."

Rubbing in that she was a prefect and I wasn't! "I'm free, too, Granger. Shall we make this a regular thing?"

"Let's just see how this first night plays out, Mandler," the mudblood said, putting a delicate stress on my last name.

We eyed each other for a moment, and then we walked away.