My Lucifer is lonely… Standing there, killing time, can't commit to anything but a crime… All the good girls go to hell, 'cause even God herself has enemies. And once the water starts to rise and heaven's out of sight, she'll want the devil on her team. – Billie Eilish, all the good girls go to hell

April 15, 1978

"Lucius?"

"Yes?"

Layla took a sip of her pumpkin juice. Hogwarts students clamored excitedly around the bar and tables of the Three Broomsticks, but she paid the others no mind as she made eye contact with Lucius. His eyes crinkled a little with a mischievous smile, and she couldn't help but smile as well as she set her cup down. "Well, if we're supposed to be getting married, shouldn't we, you know, actually be planning a wedding?"

Casually waving his hand, Lucius answered, "Oh, no, don't fret over that, dearest. That has already been handled."

Layla paused with her cheeseburger halfway to her mouth. "Handled? Handled how?"

Lucius shrugged. "I really couldn't say. Father made the arrangements with some wedding planner out of Diagon Alley. There's not anything left for the two of us to worry about." He ate a chip, thought for a moment, then added, "Well, except you'll need to do a dress fitting when you come home for Easter break next week."

Layla swallowed a painfully large bite of cheeseburger. "Wait, your father bought me a wedding dress?"

Chuckling, Lucius said, "I seriously doubt he chose it personally. More likely he hired someone else to shop for and purchase it for you."

"That's… weird."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, laughing loudly, taking Layla by surprise and making her laugh along with him. It was so out of character for the picture of Lucius Malfoy that Layla had always known and feared as a child, for him to be so open and funny and kind. It was another chord of dissonance in Layla's world, but this one, at least, rang out on key. This was yet another moment that reminded Layla how little she knew about the man sitting across the table from her.

A flash of dark color by the bar caught Layla's eyes. Sirius Black leaned across the counter, inaudibly flirting with Rosmerta as she cleaned a glass and rolled her eyes at him. Layla's face fell as memories of Dumbledore's Army flashed through her mind; her old hopes, her old dreams, the fire within her chest to fight for what was right, no matter the cost. James Potter, his arm slung around Lily Evans's shoulders, walked up to Sirius, made a joke, and the three friends' laughter boomed throughout the room. James's laugh sounded so much like Harry's…

"Everything all right, dearest?" Lucius's voice cut through the din of the tavern, bringing Layla back to herself.

Layla nodded, taking a large swallow of pumpkin juice to help her choke down the memories. "Yeah, I'm ok," she said quietly. She suspected Lucius didn't entirely believe her, but he allowed her to brush off his concern nonetheless.

"I was saying that the wedding date is set," Lucius repeated. "July 1."

Layla raised an eyebrow. "Wow. The day after Hogwarts's graduation, huh?"

Lucius shrugged. "We didn't want to take any chances of the Order trying to steal you away from us again or something."

A wry smile tugged at Layla's lips. "I think the Order has lost interest in me again."

"Why?"

Staring down at the pumpkin juice in her hand, Layla replied, "I don't know. Probably too busy doing real work like fighting Death Eaters instead of chasing me and the ghosts of my past."

Lucius watched her face for a quiet moment; Layla swished her drink in her cup as a tightness settled into her chest. The warmth of Lucius's hand on hers startled Layla into glancing up at him. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'll keep you safe. No one hurts my family and lives. No one."

Swallowing hard, Layla nodded briefly, turning her eyes away from him, back to the bar where Sirius, James, Lily, and now Remus and Peter were all gathered together having a jolly old time. Shots were passed around the group of Gryffindors, who shouted their countdown before throwing the shots back quickly. Remus pulled a face like his shot had been too sour, and Lily elbowed him in the ribcage, teasing him too quietly for Layla to hear over James and Sirius's ruckus as they cornered Peter and forced him to take another shot for… some reason she couldn't decipher.

Layla dared to study the group a little closer. Sirius's leather jacket pulled taut across his biceps as he threw back another shot of his own, seemingly done with torturing Peter. James's glasses fogged a little as he pulled Lily in close for a kiss. Though he smiled, Remus's face was pale and drained, despite the extra jumper he'd layered under his coat; Layla suspected that the recent full moon had been particularly rough for him. She felt a pang of guilt that she wasn't friends anymore with her former – future? – favorite professor. Not that there was anything she could do about that, of course. She'd made her choices, and she refused to regret them… right?

"Layla?"

Her attention flickered back to her fiance in front of her. "Sorry," she mumbled. Her wand felt unusually heavy in her coat pocket, perhaps weighted down by her recent sins.

"Is something the matter?" Lucius asked softly, with no hint of annoyance at her lack of attention span.

Layla thought for a moment, then said quietly, "Is it wrong if I'm a little jealous of them?" Lucius raised an eyebrow at her question. "They're just so happy, and things seem so much easier for them. There's no questions or doubt about who they are or where they stand or what they're doing with their lives."

"Do you have doubts, dearest?"

"Don't you?"

Lucius mulled over her question for a minute, then answered, "I've never had any doubts about my choices or who I was." Layla nodded, unsurprised, until he added, "At least, not until I met you. You, my dear, have brought everything I ever knew with absolute certainty into question, and I admit, I find it rather… disconcerting."

Layla's eyes widened. She set her empty cup down on the table, startled when it landed on an edge and nearly toppled. She caught it just in time and set it back to rights, before making eye contact with Lucius once again. As always, his sincerity caught her off guard. Despite the passing months, she still often struggled to reconcile her memories of Lucius Malfoy the Death Eater with Lucius Malfoy her fiance. "In what way?" she asked, so quietly she wasn't sure he would hear her over the din of the tavern.

"In all ways," he answered nearly as quietly. Layla wanted to ask him more about what he meant, but shouting across the room drew both of their attention.

"Fuck off, Snivellus," James responded coolly. Snape and several other Slytherin seventh years had crowded the Marauders' group by the bar; Peter got shoved hard back against Remus, whimpering a bit pathetically.

Snape snorted, derision dripping from his voice. "You Gryffindors think you're the baddest and strongest at everything, don't you? Please. You're nothing more than fucking hypocrites. Do you think you're making a difference in the world playing around with Evans, Potter? Creating real, positive change in the Wizarding World, eh?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Severus?" Lily asked, her tone icy.

Rabastan laughed openly. "No one's talking to you, mudblood," he sneered.

Sirius's wand moved so fast that Layla's eyes nearly missed it until it was pointed in Rabastan's face. "The fuck did you just say?" he snarled.

"You heard me, traitor," Rabastan said, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at the scene, then shook his head and offered Layla his hand. "Come. Let's go."

"Shouldn't we do something?" Layla asked nervously as Lucius pulled her up from her seat and dropped a few coins on their table.

"Definitely not," Lucius said, ushering her quickly out the door of the Three Broomsticks as the fight behind them continued to escalate. "That's not our fight."

"Going to hex me, Potter? As if that's not an abuse of power, Mr. Head Boy," Snape was saying as the door swung shut behind the couple.

Lucius's words played over again in Layla's mind. That's not our fight. Since when was it not her fight, to stand up to bullies and Death Eaters and do the right thing? To protect herself and other Muggleborns like her? She remembered hearing Hermione argue once about how protecting the rights of others should be everyone's fight, whether it affects one personally or not. Didn't she once believe that too?

Layla hit her elbow on a porch pillar, and she flinched a little too hard from it. That reminded her. Why she'd given up and chosen the easy way out of the war. War hurt too much. Fighting had cost her too damn much. She had paid her dues, and she was done.

A large poster tacked to a lamp post caught Layla's eye as she passed. See something? Say something! Take action to fight Death Eater activity in your neighborhood today! Contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately by owl to file any complaints.

Lucius noticed the subject of her gaze and made a small noise of disapproval at the flyer. "Ridiculous. Do they really believe that a community watch will be enough to take down the Death Eaters? Absurd."

Layla frowned up at him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her closer as they passed a stranger on the sidewalk. "All it takes is for one person to decide to do the right thing, and the whole organization supporting him would collapse," she said firmly.

Lucius chuckled. "Oh, you think so?"

"I do."

"How very naive, my dear."

Layla bristled. "No, it's not."

"It certainly is. Incredibly childish. There's no white knight in this fairytale, dear."

"Maybe not, but if just one person decided they'd had enough of this pureblood nonsense and turned over the right information to the right people…"

Lucius's face grew hard. "Be careful what you say, my dear. We wouldn't want the wrong person to overhear you voicing such ridiculous opinions."

"What I'm saying is…"

"Darling, I know perfectly well what you're saying," Lucius snapped as he forced her to a stop in a more secluded spot on the street. He hissed, "But neither of us are going to be foolish enough to even suggest such an absurd notion again, now, are we?"

Layla hesitated, as a flash of the Lucius Malfoy she'd seen in the Department of Mysteries years ago appeared in the here and now in her fiance. She whispered, "What we're doing is wrong, though. If anyone knew the truth about me…"

"Enough, Layla," he replied, squeezing her around the ribs just the least bit too tightly. She squeaked in surprise. "I understand you. Enough. It can't and won't happen. Are we clear?"

Layla glared back at him for a moment, then sighed and softened her gaze. No more fighting, no more fighting, she internally resolved. "Yes."

"Good," he said, a victorious smirk appearing on his face. Layla bit her lip, a bit more worried now than before about just who exactly she was tying herself to.

"Miss Danes!" The voice of Professor Flitwick broke the tension, and Layla barely held in a sigh of relief as Lucius loosened his grip on her waist and allowed her to step back from him.

She turned to face her much shorter Head of House. "Hello, Professor, lovely to see you," Layla said, forcing a bright smile onto her face.

Flitwick returned the smile. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your day, Miss Danes, but Professor Dumbledore has been inquiring after you today. I believe he has some academic recommendations for your post-graduate career he's hoping to share with you if you could meet him in his office today."

Fear seized Layla's lungs, freezing them in place. She glanced quickly back over her shoulder at Lucius, who was wearing his carefully curated neutral expression. "Th-thank you, Professor," Layla struggled, turning back to him as she gripped the purse strap on her shoulder tightly. "I'll be sure to go see him as soon as possible."

Flitwick accepted her answer happily enough, wished her and Lucius a good day, and headed on his way to the Three Broomsticks. Lucius muttered, "Absolutely not. Not again, he doesn't."

"Lucius?"

"Like hell Dumbledore's getting his hands on you again," Lucius snarled. "I will pull you from the school if I must."

"I have to graduate, Lucius," Layla reminded him.

"Not from Hogwarts, you don't. Durmstrang is an excellent alternative."

"Durmstrang is in Eastern Europe!" Layla exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, we're only a couple of months from the end of term. How am I supposed to pass my exams with my term broken up so chaotically?"

"I don't care if you need to take an extra summer term," Lucius insisted. "I'm going to protect you, no matter what."

"Lucius," Layla hissed. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

"The hell I don't."

"Excuse me?"

"When it comes to keeping you safe, I'm in charge. You will listen to me and do as I say."

Straightening her spine a little taller, Layla snapped, "The fuck I will."

Lucius sucked a steadying breath in through his nose. "Layla, dear, please. I implore you to see reason. Have you ever had a pleasant experience in a meeting with Albus Dumbledore?"

Layla shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I can handle it for myself. It's not like I can just go missing from school mid-term without any sort of investigation. Dumbledore's not stupid."

Lucius pleaded, "Layla, don't be so –"

"Fuck off, Lucius," Layla snapped, sick of being bossed around for the day, turned her back on him, and practically ran in the direction of the school.

Just on the edge of the village, Layla groaned when she heard her name being called. She stopped just for a moment, indecisive over whether to answer, but it was just long enough. Bellatrix LeStrange stepped in front of her, a large, pretty smile on her face, an expression that wouldn't have seemed threatening in the least to anyone else – but Layla knew better. "Oh, hello," Layla answered, putting on her best Hermione Granger impression, hoping to come off braver than she felt.

"Dangerous days for a young lady to wander the Wizarding World alone, you know," Bellatrix cooed. "Wherever is Lucius?"

Layla glanced around briefly, desperate for an excuse to get away from this Death Eater, inwardly praying that maybe Lucius had followed after her and would step in to rescue her. No such luck was found. "Oh, I just left him," Layla answered carefully. "I was just going back up to the castle to finish some homework."

Bellatrix tutted, reaching out and almost reassuringly rubbing Layla's arm. "Oh, you poor dear! Having to cut such a beautiful day short for something as useless as homework." Layla laughed nervously as Bellatrix continued. "Don't worry, darling; I'm sure you'll score beautifully on your exams, and then you'll be able to toss all that nonsense out the window and focus on your real future."

"Heh, sure," Layla offered, glancing over Bellatrix's shoulder, hoping to spot a friendly face in the crowd. She didn't.

"Anyway, I thought you should know," Bellatrix purred. "The Dark Lord's eye is still on you, darling girl. His invitation still stands, should you change your mind about accepting. You can always reach out to the family; we're always around."

Terror danced down Layla's spine, numbing the nerve endings. "I'm sorry?"

Bellatrix's smile grew darker. "You know, the Ministry loves to tout Hogwarts as the safest place in all of the United Kingdom, but we both know that nothing is out of reach when you know the right people."

Layla swallowed hard, her mouth going dry. "Well, thank you for your concern," she said slowly.

"Of course, darling. After all, we wouldn't want you to get into any sort of trouble, mixing with the wrong sort or anything." Bellatrix glanced to her right, and Layla followed her gaze. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were walking up the street, looking a little worse for the wear after the inevitable bar fight, but with James and Sirius nowhere to be seen. "After all, they say that Death Eaters are everywhere these days. You never know who might turn out to be one."

Layla opened her mouth, to say what exactly she wasn't sure yet, but when she turned back to face Bellatrix, the older woman was gone. Her whole body tremored as the fight or flight response ramped up, and she spun around, looking desperately in all directions for danger. No obvious threats presented themselves. Everyone looked like perfectly normal, happy, friendly people in the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. She took a deep, shaky breath. "Get it together, Layla," she mumbled to herself, setting off for the castle once again.

Ignoring Dumbledore's request for her to visit him in his office, Layla marched straight to the Room of Requirement instead. When the door finally appeared and she stepped inside, she was surprised to find the interior exactly the same as it had presented in her Dumbledore's Army days. Emotions flooded her, so fast she couldn't sort them neatly into categories, boxing everything into the easy-to-understand, compartmentalized organizations that she favored. Nostalgia, fear, heartbreak, love, happiness, fury, it all hit her at once until she sank to her knees on the floor, surrounded by the mirrored walls, her sobs wracking her shoulders until they turned to raging screams. She threw a wordless curse at the nearest Death Eater dummy, which shattered on impact, but somehow the violence of it made her feel just a little better about the world. She snorted with cold amusement. Just how fucked up was she by this damn war if violence was comforting now?

After staring at her hands on her knees and the tears that had dropped from her face to the backs of her hands for far longer than was probably logically necessary, Layla finally raised her head to take a better look around the room. That was when she realized that the room had, in fact, changed since her last visit in what felt like another lifetime. This time, a Pensieve sat, waiting to be used, a few meters in front of her.

Slowly, exhaustion settling into her bones as the rage of moments before drained, Layla got to her feet and tentatively approached the magical item. It occurred to her that she didn't have a clue how to use the damn thing, so the room chose that moment to manifest an instruction manual next to it. An ironic bark of a laugh escaped her before she could reign it in, and she set to studying the instructions. When she was sure she had a good enough grip on the magic that she wasn't going to cause brain damage, she dared to try extracting just the tiniest of memories, and dropped it in the Pensieve, then stuck her head in for a quick look.

"That wasn't bad," said Harry, "but there's definite room for improvement." Zacharias Smith glared at him. "Let's try again . . ."

He moved off around the room again, stopping here and there to make suggestions. Slowly the general performance improved. Layla noticed that he avoided going near Cho and her friend for a while, but after walking twice around every other pair in the room seemed to feel he could not ignore them any longer.

"Oh no," said Cho rather wildly as he approached. "Expelliarmious! I mean, Expellimellius! I — oh, sorry, Marietta!" Her curly-haired friend's sleeve had caught fire; Marietta extinguished it with her own wand and glared at Harry as though it was his fault. "You made me nervous, I was doing all right before then!" Cho told Harry ruefully.

"That was quite good," Harry lied, but when she raised her eyebrows he said, "Well, no, it was lousy, but I know you can do it properly, I was watching from over there . . ." She laughed. Her friend Marietta looked at them rather sourly and turned away.

"Don't mind her," Cho muttered. "She doesn't really want to be here but I made her come with me. Her parents have forbidden her to do anything that might upset Umbridge, you see — her mum works for the Ministry."

"What about your parents?" asked Harry.

"Well, they've forbidden me to get on the wrong side of Umbridge too," said Cho, drawing herself up proudly. "But if they think I'm not going to fight You-Know-Who after what happened to Cedric —" She broke off, looking rather confused, and an awkward silence fell between them; Terry Boot's wand went whizzing past Harry's ear and hit Alicia Spinnet hard on the nose.

"Well, my father is very supportive of any anti-Ministry action!" said Luna Lovegood proudly from just behind Harry; evidently she had been eavesdropping on his conversation while Justin Finch-Fletchley attempted to disentangle himself from the robes that had flown up over his head. "He's always saying he'd believe anything of Fudge; I mean, the number of goblins Fudge has had assassinated! And of course, he uses the Department of Mysteries to develop terrible poisons, which he feeds secretly to anybody who disagrees with him. And then there's his Umgubular Slashkilter —"

"Don't ask," Harry muttered to Cho as she opened her mouth, looking puzzled. She giggled.

Layla gasped as she came out of her memory, small and silly an observation of a memory though it was. She couldn't help herself; tears sprung to her eyes again as the memory faded. It had all felt so intense, so vibrant, so real, that for a brief moment, it felt like she was home again. As another Dumbledore's Army lesson found its way to the forefront of her mind, she waved her wand a little, clinging to the memory, and said softly, "Expecto Patronum." But the expected raven didn't appear; instead, a dim blue light flickered for a mere moment, then extinguished.

April 16, 1978

"Danes, this better not be a damn waste of my perfectly good Sunday morning, or so help me…"

Layla flinched at the sound of Snape's voice, not tearing her eyes away from the Black Lake. She hadn't returned to Ravenclaw house the previous night, hiding from everyone in the Room of Requirement instead. It had been a surprisingly comfortable night, but her stomach squeezed even now with hunger pains since the room apparently could not provide food. Not that it particularly mattered at the moment, anyway.

"Well?" Snape pressed, thoroughly annoyed. "Why the bloody hell are we meeting on the edge of the Forbidden Forest? You missed our study session last night, by the way, not that you seem to have noticed with that ridiculous cryptic note you sent me this morning."

"I'm done, Snape," Layla said quietly, but it still felt far too loud inside her head.

He waited a few moments for her to continue, but when she didn't, demanded, "What do you mean, you're done? You've improved, as much as I loathe to admit it, but you certainly aren't nearly to the point of ceasing your lessons."

"Not the lessons," she corrected. "All of it. I'm just done." Her voice, though so small, seemed to echo uncomfortably around her. She thought to herself that there really ought to be more emotion and inflection in her voice, but she was pretty sure she had spent the previous night crying and screaming every emotion she was capable of out of her system. Now she was just… empty. It seemed like something she should care about, but she couldn't bring herself to even feel that.

Snape studied her for a long minute, then asked, "What happened?"

Layla shrugged. She didn't want to explain; she didn't want him to care. She didn't want to continue to go over and over every memory, all that she had lost, all that she had fought for, all that she sacrificed. All the blood she'd shed, the blood of others she'd spilled. What had been the damn point of it all? Even their victories had been dramatic losses, until the very end when she'd lost all right as a Muggleborn to even exist. And then, of course, the damn time-turner throwing her back twenty years? It was all just fucking ridiculous, more than any one person should have to endure in a lifetime. Now she's expected to survive it all, all over again, for someone else's lifetime? She shook her head, and refusing to make eye contact with Snape, said quietly, "It doesn't matter anymore. Could you… could you just kill me?"

The air between the two felt like lightning was going to strike the ground they stood on at any moment. "What the fuck, Danes?" Snape demanded incredulously. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

Layla sighed heavily. "Oh come on, you've done it enough times, and I don't have the damn guts to do it myself."

"What. The. Fuck," Snape repeated slowly, growing more visibly angry with every word. "Danes, I don't mean to tell you whether or not your life is worth living, but… What the fuck?" He grabbed her upper arm and shook her; Layla barely reacted except to roll her eyes. "Aside from the fact that I've actually never killed anyone, how the fuck do you expect it to play out if I did kill you? Because it's not looking ideal for me if I do."

"A simple 'no' would've sufficed," Layla grumbled.

"Really? Well, how's this then: NO!" Snape snapped.

"Fine! Fuck off, then!" Layla snapped back, attempting to storm off up the lake beach. Snape's grip on her arm forcing her to stop only served to stoke her temper. She turned on him, teeth bared and ready for a fight, but stopped short at the genuine look of concern on Snape's face.

"What the fuck, Danes?" he asked again, his voice surprisingly more gentle this time. Damn it, he actually gave a fuck.

Layla hugged, "What do you expect me to say, Snape? I thought about just walking up to another random Death Eater or maybe even You-Know-Who himself, confessing to being Muggleborn, and just letting the end come, but I'm really just not prepared to deal with the torture and shit that would come with that option, and besides that, Lucius would never let me do it. You were my best shot, honestly."

"That's…"

"Pathetic?"

"Dark."

"Stupid."

"Complete idiocy, yes."

"Well, I didn't have the will or the guts to do it myself. Is suicide by cop a thing in the Wizarding World? Hmm, but then I'd have to do something bad enough to warrant that, which means some rather serious violence on my part, and I'm not sure I can make myself…"

"Just, stop." She looked up at him, and for a moment, she actually saw him as a young boy, just another kid like her, lost and scared and alone in a world that had been so cruel and unfair to them both. Maybe there was more to him than just a monster of a teacher who abused his students. "You know, by all accounts, I really ought to inform Lucius of this."

Layla's face paled as that thought struck her. "Please, don't," she breathed.

"He'd be heartbroken to lose you, you know. I imagine Regulus would completely go to pieces, as well."

The thought of Regulus finding out what she'd asked Snape to do… "They don't need to know," Layla insisted.

"They would've known if you had died," Snape reminded her, his voice colder than his wary eyes. Layla shivered, the morning air suddenly seeming too chilly. "I wonder how your other little friends would've felt to find out you'd been killed, whether by your hand or mine, hm? I can just picture your stupid roommate's tears, and Black may be a right asshole, but I have my doubts about if he's quite ready to see you dead yet."

"All right, enough," she snapped, but Snape only pressed harder.

"Granted, assuming killing you isn't somehow a breach of our Unbreakable Vow, I probably could get away with it without getting arrested, but someone would have to take the blame for your murder. The Ministry will probably blame it on Lucius, of course; it's always the spouse, after all. And the Order is so desperate to pin something on him and lock him away; you'd just be handing him to them on a silver platter."

"Stop it!" Layla shouted, ripping her arm free of his grip, even though it stung to do so. "I fucking get it, Snape, and fuck you."

"I didn't quite catch that, was that the apology you owe me for making such a ludicrous request?" Snape taunted.

Layla huffed, "I'm sorry. You're right, and I'm wrong, and fuck you. Better?"

"Drastically," he sneered, but it has considerably less venom behind it than usual. "Do we need to find you some more professional help for this particular problem, or was this a one-time, poorly-thought-through act of desperation that doesn't require any outside assistance in preventing a repeat performance?"

Layla snorted derisively. "Yeah, because any halfway decent psychologist wouldn't throw me in the looney bin on first hearing the basics of my story." She sighed heavily, then kicked a decent-sized rock into the water. "Maybe I'm not ok," she quietly admitted. "But maybe I don't actually want to die. I just don't exactly want to live anymore either."

Snape was quiet. Just when Layla began to question if he had left her alone, he said, "I think more of us have felt that than admit it, but we do what we can. We survive."

"Why? What's the point?"

"Whatever you decide it is. Love, hate, revenge, career, family. The point of life is whatever you decide to do with it, I suppose."

Layla mulled that over in her mind for a few minutes of mutual silence between the two seventh years, as they watched the giant squid sunning his tentacles over the water's surface in the morning light. Finally, she nodded. "Maybe you're right. Thanks, Snape." Snape nodded quietly, and the two stood together in comfortable silence a little longer. Snape bent down, examining a rock a little more closely, as Layla asked, "Hey, Snape? Why are you choosing the Death Eaters, anyway?"

Snape glanced around before daring to answer, double-checking that they truly were alone. Satisfied, he said, "Because wizarding society has grown too comfortable living in hiding, in fear of Muggle persecution. For too many centuries we've lived in shadows to make the weak, pathetic Muggles more comfortable. The Ministry of Magic is corrupt and no longer looks for the best interests of wizards, but prioritizes the welfare of Muggles and lesser creatures. It's time that wizards prove they have the power to create a perfect, pure, magical world." Layla gaped at him for a moment, biting her lip in the uncomfortable silence that followed. He looked up at her, a smirk on his face. "Don't ask such questions if you can't handle the answers."

"What about Lily?"

"What about her?"

"You know that, by your ideas, she'd have her magic taken away. She'd be a second-class citizen, no better than a Muggle."

"Nonsense," Snape scoffed. "If she would just make smarter decisions about who she associated with…" he trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. "The Dark Lord pursues power over purity. Lily is an incredibly talented witch. There's always been a place for her with us if she would just stop being such a stubborn, bullheaded Gryffindor and take it."

Layla turned away, unwilling to argue the issue further. She bit her lip again, mulling over her own experience under a Voldemort-controlled Ministry of Magic compared to the picture Snape was painting of what current Death Eaters hoped to achieve. It didn't fit together, of course, but she knew it wouldn't. "You know, where I'm from? Death Eaters were throwing Muggleborns as young as ten into Azkaban, under accusations that we stole our wands and our magic from purebloods."

Snape's eyes snapped to Layla's face, though she refused to meet his gaze. "What? That can't be; it's not even possible to gain magic by simply stealing a wand. Muggleborns are born wizards and witches."

"Not according to your friends," Layla sniped.

Snape's eyes hardened. "You're wrong. There are even Muggleborn Death Eaters; maybe fewer of them than purebloods and halfbloods, but they exist. Maybe that's how things were for your world, but that's not what's happening here."

"You sure about that?" Layla asked, finally making eye contact with him. Snape's frown deepened, and he looked away, shaking his head. Without saying anything more, he stood up and stormed off toward the castle. Layla sighed heavily, waited there a few more minutes to make sure she wouldn't run into him again, and returned to the school herself.

Layla had intended to get something to eat at last in the Great Hall; instead, she was stopped short on the steps up to the Entrance Hall. Sirius Black was sitting there with a Daily Prophet in his hands, and their eyes met as he turned a page. The headline of the front page jumped out at Layla: Terror in Gloucestershire, with a massive black and white photographer of the Dark Mark writhing beneath it. Layla didn't need to know more than that to guess what had happened. Noticing Layla's gaze, Sirius said, "It seems the Death Eaters had themselves a busy weekend."

Steeling herself to face him, Layla replied as cooly as she could manage, "I wouldn't know. Lucius and I haven't really had the time to keep up with the news, what with the wedding coming up."

Derision crossed Sirius's face, and Layla narrowed her eyes at it. "Liar," he bit out. "Tell me, does Malfoy even keep track of how many Muggles he's killed? As long a list as it must be, I can't expect him to remember them all by name, but surely he must be able to pinpoint a number, right? Or is that not the sort of pillow talk he romances you with?"

Opening her mouth to retort, she was surprised when she heard Professor McGonagall's voice instead saying, "Miss Danes, there you are. You are expected in Professor Dumbledore's office immediately." Layla looked up from Sirius to the door, and indeed, there stood McGonagall, dressed in her favorite shade of green robes as usual. The Gryffindor Head of House glanced between Layla and Sirius for a moment, then added, "Black, I suggest you take a trip to the Herbology greenhouses. I do believe Mr. Pettigrew was in need of your assistance with a class project?"

Sirius threw his most charming smile over his shoulder at McGonagall. "Of course, Minerva; anything for you." McGonagall's eyes narrowed a fraction, but as she let the breach of protocol slip by, the warmth there betrayed her affection for the boy.

Layla rolled her eyes as Sirius stood and headed out onto the grounds, then followed McGonagall up to Dumbledore's office. The teacher ushered the student inside, then left her alone in the empty office. Layla took the chance to look around but was quickly interrupted by Dumbledore's calm voice. "Ah, Miss Danes, at last. I do hope you'll forgive me for interrupting your weekend."

Layla took a steadying breath. It never became less weird, seeing and having a conversation with a man whose dead body you had seen with your own eyes, whose funeral you had attended. She looked up to see the Headmaster descending the stairs behind his desk. "It's certainly been an eventful enough weekend, Professor; I think I can handle a small break from it," she said softly. What was the right way to play this situation? Calm and collected, intimidating, sweet and pleasant? She couldn't decide; she wasn't sure this was a situation she could win this time.

"I hear congratulations are in order, by the way," Dumbledore proceeded. "Do you have any other post-graduation plans?"

Layla shrugged as Dumbledore faced her from the other side of his desk. "It would appear that my future is rather nicely settled," she answered, doing her best to imitate Dumbledore's cool sense of detachment from the outcome of the conversation.

Dumbledore nodded as he took his seat behind his desk. He gestured for Layla to sit, so she did, anxiously tugging at the sleeve of her sweater. "I do hope that the future will be conducive to your ethics," Dumbledore pressed.

Layla sighed, shifting on the edge of her seat. "Let's not play games, shall we, Professor?" she said tiredly. "You mean to ask me again to join the Order, don't you?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore said, mischief lighting his eyes.

"I can't," Layla answered. "Are we done here then?"

"If you insist," Dumbledore said smoothly. "Though perhaps can't and won't are two different things."

"Why should I?" Layla snarled. "It's my life on the line if I did."

"Of course, it is," Dumbledore replied. "It's also your life on the line if you don't. I think you and I both know that you won't fair well among the Death Eaters, particularly if any of them discover the truth about your history."

"So I'm just supposed to condemn myself for certain, throwing in my lot with your Order?"

"These are dark and difficult times," Dumbledore said, folding his hands in front of him. "We all must choose between doing what is right and what is easy."

"Perhaps you and I have different definitions of those words, Dumbledore," Layla sneered. "I threw away two years of my life fighting in your name. Forgive me if I'm no longer eager to launch myself into the fray under your banner."

"But the fight must be carried on," Dumbledore insisted. "Fighting is the only way to hold evil at bay, even if it can never be truly eradicated."

Layla hesitated, and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. At that moment, it didn't matter what she believed, who she was, or what she wanted. It didn't matter that Layla felt like she might finally be ready to take up her wand and fight for what was right again. If the purpose of life is what you make it, then Layla refused to make war her life's purpose. "Love is all that truly matters in the end, Professor," she muttered quietly, taking the opportunity to stand, turn her back on the Headmaster, and leave. She half expected to be cursed in the back on the way out, but Dumbledore said nothing and allowed her to walk out the door.