PART ONE: IN VITAM

Chapter VII: Five of Cups Upright

"My facial expressions?" My voice trembled ever so slightly on the last word, and I had to bite my tongue to get myself to calm down. Carefully, I adjusted my tone to something akin to sarcasm. "Don't you think that's weird? Do you fancy me or something?"

Rosier scrunched his nose in disgust. "She expresses anger in her mouth whereas you use your eyes. And your eyebrows lower slightly when you're thinking hard. Hers don't do that."

I wanted to scream or throw something at him. Preferably the Divination textbook that rested on the floor between us. My facial expressions? Who the fuck paid enough attention to those? Did he really expect me to believe such a ridiculous explanation?

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a scene from the Harry Potter books rose to the surface. At a wedding, Luna Lovegood recognized Harry even though he'd been under the guise of Polyjuice Potion. I pushed the memory away. The idea that the dangerous boy sitting in front of me, his broad shoulders making the broom closet feel even smaller, could have anything in common with sweet, spacey Luna Lovegood was outrageous.

"It's similar in dueling," said Rosier, who didn't seem to care that I was fuming with anger. "Lowering eyebrows, tightening the upper lip, teeth pressed together. Not everyone's the same, but you can usually tell when they're about to hex me." He glanced at me and then corrected himself. "I can usually tell."

"Can you tell I'm angry now?" I asked.

He laughed, one of the few genuine laughs I'd heard from him. "Yes. You want to hex me right now, don't you?"

I glanced at the black walnut wand resting on the crate. So close and yet so far away. "Very much."

"I know you're not Marlene," he said. His tone had returned to serious. "Do you need to keep this up? Or do you really want to be trapped in this broom closet for the full twelve hours?"

"If it'll get me out of here me to say I'm not Marlene, I'll say it."

"But who are you?" asked Rosier. "Who do you work for?"

"I work for no one." I doubted he'd believe me if I said I worked for Marlene McKinnon. "I'm still in school and haven't gotten a job yet."

Rosier's eyes sharpened. "Who do you want to work for?"

Another trick question, no doubt. "I support the rights of muggles and muggleborns, if that's what you mean."

"So do I. Perhaps we could help each other."

His arrogance infuriated me. The gall to lie to my face like that. Well, I was doing the same thing to him. I wondered if he found my constant repeating that I was Marlene equally as frustrating.

When I didn't respond, Rosier picked up his Divination textbook from the floor and began reading again.

At first, I thought it was another trick. That he'd only pretend to read, and then when I least expected it, he'd spring another provoking question on me. But as minutes crept past, I realized that Rosier actually was reading the book and that keeping my guard up for hours on end would quickly exhaust me.

My body stopped struggling against the magical restraints, and I relaxed as much as I could into the chair. There wasn't much to do when trapped in a body-bind curse, so I found myself watching the only other person in the broom closet.

Rosier, I noticed, had perfect posture. His shoulders straight and his ankles placed slightly in front of his knees; the only flaw in his sitting position was that his head tilted forward so he could read the book in his lap. I wondered if posture was something all aristocratic pureblood families instilled in their children. Would Draco Malfoy have the same impeccable posture, or was this something that only the Rosier family cared about?

Rosier also had a habit of tapping his wand against his knee. He did so in a steady rhythm as his eyes scanned the contents of the book. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and creases formed between his dark brows as he read carefully. When he encountered something challenging in the book, his chin would rise slightly and then he'd set about reading the paragraph again.

Watching Rosier could only be interesting for so long, and soon my mind moved onto other topics. First, I tried to come up with ways to escape. Rosier had said he'd locked and silenced the room by magic, so I couldn't kick and scream, hoping someone would come to my rescue. Of course, it was possible Rosier had been lying. Testing that theory, however, seemed like it would only upset him. I didn't want to know what he'd do if I annoyed him proper.

Then, it occurred to me that Helena would wonder where I'd gotten to. Perhaps she could pass through whatever locking spells Rosier had placed on the closet and then alert a professor or Marlene's friends to my predicament. Of course, if Rosier and I were discovered, Rosier would likely tell them that I wasn't Marlene. I couldn't afford that. Besides, I couldn't count on Helena to save me. If she was stalking Severus Snape or Regulus Black like I'd asked, then she might not even notice mt absence.

Scenario after scenario, plan after plan, spell after spell, ran through my head, but they were all useless. The body-bind curse kept me fixed in place, and I could do little more than think and hope. At least I knew that Rosier would let me go once the twelve hours had passed. He didn't want to draw attention to himself any more than I did. It seemed we were stuck in a waiting game until the time expired.

Eventually, when there were no more scenarios left to imagine, I found myself wondering about my old life. What were my friends up to? Were they sad when they found out what had happened to me? Or did they say that's what I deserved for driving while guttered? What had my funeral been like? My parents would be there. Did they cry when I was buried? Somehow, I couldn't picture it. If they did cry, it would've been for appearances. The only person I could imagine genuinely being sad at my funeral was my older brother—if he could get time off school to fly back from the United States. I could imagine it though. He'd stand in front of my casket and apologize for that time he accidentally broke my arm.

I wrenched my eyes shut. Deep breaths. It was better not to dwell on things left behind.

My inability to do anything productive began driving me insane. I still had so many things to learn: five years of spells to catch up on as well as potions, herbology, ancient runes, and divination homework to complete. I also needed to learn some defensive spells. Actually, now that I'd given it some thought, occlumency wouldn't be a bad thing either.

I could be in the Room of Requirement instead, consuming as much knowledge as the diadem allowed. Instead, I was stuck in a closet. Immobile and useless. Left with only my thoughts.

Rosier eventually finished Divination and took out his Potions textbook next. I watched, gritting my teeth with frustration. I think Rosier took pity on me, because he picked up his copy of Card Reading For All Occasions, opened it to the first page of our assigned reading, and propped it up on one of the crates for me. He even remembered to turn the page every once in awhile. It was slow reading, but at least it was something to do as the hours dragged on.

Having to sit in one place, unable to move even a finger, for twelve hours is its own special brand of torture. I wondered if Rosier knew this when he'd decided to lock me in that broom closet. He'd certainly come prepared for the hours of boredom. However, every so often he would pause to stretch out his arms and legs. He'd catch me watching him and send me one of his infuriating smirks.

We'd talk occasionally, when he needed a break from homework. He'd mark the place in the textbook with his wand and set the book on the floor by his feet. Then, he'd turn to me with a calm, emotionless expression, and make some comment, something to get a reaction out of me, before waiting to see what I had to say.

"One thing I'm curious about," he said during one of these breaks. "What kind of a witch are you?"

I tried to ignore him. I still had half a page left to read from the Divination textbook. It wasn't that I found the Celtic Cross layout particularly fascinating, but that I didn't want to listen to anything Rosier had to say.

He waited patiently, however, until I'd finished the page. Then, he asked again, "What kind of a witch are you that you couldn't cast a single basic spell in Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

I focused on the textbook. The page had ended midway through the sentence about the fourth position in the layout. However, I didn't think Rosier would turn the page to let me see the end of it. Not even if I asked nicely.

"I was having an off day," I said, finally tearing my eyes away from the textbook. "Are you telling me you've never had one of those?"

"More like an off week."

I couldn't exactly argue with that.

"You learned quickly though," he said. "But I have to wonder what kind of witch can brew a Polyjuice Potion but not cast a simple spell. Of course, someone else could be brewing the Polyjuice Potion for you, but who would ever choose someone who didn't know an ounce of magic to impersonate McKinnon? You could be pretending, I suppose, and overshot how little you'd think a seventh-year student would know." He frowned. He didn't believe that. I would've corrected my terrible magic sooner if I'd been faking.

"Is it really that hard for you to believe I had an off day?" I asked. "I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

He didn't bother justifying that with an answer, and he sunk into his thoughts. Before he started reading again, he remembered the turn the page for me.

During another one of these conversation breaks, he looked up from his Transfiguration book and asked, "What happened to the real McKinnon?"

Deadpan, I said, "She's trapped in a broom closet."

"Can we stop playing this game?" Rosier sounded exhausted and perhaps a little frustrated. In vain, I hoped I'd started wearing him out.

"You're the one playing a game," I said. "No matter how many times I tell you that I'm Marlene McKinnon and you're imagining things, you refuse to listen."

It became clear we weren't making any progress, and Rosier turned back to his book without any further comment. He was so frustrated with me, though, that he didn't turn the page of the Divination textbook for almost forty minutes, and I was left to memorize word-for-word the meanings of the ninth and tenth positions on the Celtic Cross layout.

I don't think Rosier counted on my imprisonment lasting the full twelve hours. Somewhere around hour eight, he started looking concerned. He kept checking his watch and glancing up at me. I wondered if he hoped to find that my nose hand suddenly grown in size or my hair had changed colors—something to show that the effects of the Polyjuice Potions were starting to wear off. I get a sense of smug satisfaction whenever he looked disappointed.

When there were about three hours remaining, Rosier ran out of books to read. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs in front of him. Then, he surveyed me quietly, his dark eyes inscrutable. I stared back, unwilling to back down from the challenge.

Then, abruptly, he said, "McKinnon fancies Sirius Black. She has since our third year when she heard him tell Peter that tall girls were just as fit as short ones."

"W-what?" I choked on the word.

"She told me that," said Rosier. "Last year in Divination when we were learning to use runes to read love fortunes."

"Yes," I said quickly. "I told you that. But why are you bringing that up now?"

Rosier mouth twitched into a smile. It faded swiftly, however, and he continued talking, "She's never had a boyfriend, and she's never been asked to Hogsmeade on a date. She went with Lupin and Pettigrew last year on Valentine's Day, and they ran into Black, whose date had gone badly. The four of them ended up spending the day together, and she'd called it 'the best Valentine's Day ever.'"

"What's your point?" I asked impatiently even as I tried to memorize what he was saying. There was a possibility he wanted to trick me, but if these scraps of information were true, I'd probably need them somewhere down the road.

"I can help you," said Rosier. "I told you, McKinnon's friends are getting suspicious. How long do you think you can keep this act up? How many clueless answers can you give before they begin to wonder if you're really the same McKinnon they've known all these years?"

I asked myself that question every morning. Frankly, I was shocked I survived this long without Lily or Dorcas accusing me of stealing Marlene's identity. But I couldn't let the fear hold onto me. If I let myself be overwhelmed, there'd be no moving forward.

"I'm not one of McKinnon's friends," said Rosier, "so there's a limit to what I know. But I learned a lot as her Divination partner last year. I can help you."

I scowled. "And what do you get out of this?"

"It's for the benefit of us both," said Rosier. "You don't want to be discovered, and I'd rather you be kept secret as well. It'd be inconvenient if you got caught and told someone about this incident."

My eyes narrowed. "And you're hoping if I stick around you, you'll figure out how I replaced Marlene."

His eyes glinted with amusement. "So you admit it?"

"Your tests are pointless," I said. "I am Marlene."

"Who was McKinnon's Divination partner before me?"

A simple question. One that the real Marlene would've been able to answer in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, had no clue. I gritted my teeth and said, "I told you. I'm not playing your game."

"Dorcas." Rosier provided the answer with a knowing smirk.

I was sinking fast. I knew it. He knew it. There was only so long I could keep this charade going. And now, here was a solution, presented to me on a golden platter. Rosier would fill in the details I didn't know, and in exchange I just had to let him try to figure out how I'd replaced Marlene. He'd never discover out the truth. It was a safe bet. One of the best bargains I'd get.

And yet…and yet…I couldn't trust him. He was going to be a Death Eater. One who would die fighting for the cause.

"You want to tell me things I already know about myself?" I asked, adding a little sneer to my voice. "What kind of idiot would agree to a deal like that?"

Rosier's amused expression vanished, and for a second, he looked plain exhausted with me. Then, his calm, collected mask settled back into place. "Don't make choices you'll come to regret."

I almost laughed aloud at that. Too late. Far too late.

"You too," I said. And then, because I was feeling spiteful, I added, "Or you'll find yourself cornered in an alley choosing between death and Azkaban."

Those words didn't have the effect I wanted.

Rather that look disturbed or upset by this sudden prediction of his future, Rosier seemed almost…satisfied. He didn't smile or anything like that, but an unsettling blaze of triumph filled his dark eyes. Then, as soon as it had appeared, it vanished. Rosier looked away. I blinked and wondered if I'd misjudged him entirely.

The silence returned after that.

I don't know how we got through those last couple hours. I had finished the Divination reading, and Rosier was in no mood to give me another book to read. I could only sit, bound to the chair and trapped with my thoughts.

At first, Rosier seemed determined not to look at me, instead examining the crates and brooms that filled the cramped closet. Then, he suddenly turned to me, his eyes sharp and disappointed in turn, as if he'd expected me to have transformed into a toad. After that, Rosier refused to take his eyes off me, and I felt as though I was under a microscope, being examined for the smallest changes in my appearance.

I couldn't bear to look at him anymore, and I kept my gaze fixed on the black walnut wand. My stomach growled at some point but we both refused to acknowledge it. How long had we been there? How much longer did I have to endure this? When would this torture end?

At long last, Rosier let out a sigh, checked his watch, and said, "Well, I suppose it's not Polyjuice Potion."

"Either that or I've broken the record and brewed that longest lasting Potion known to wizardkind," I muttered. I regretted the words as soon as I said them. I didn't want Rosier to keep me trapped just in case I did turn out to be some kind of potion-brewing genius.

However, Rosier didn't seem to want to stay any more than I did. He gave me a scathing look and said, "Congratulations. You survived the test."

"Or I could actually be Marlene."

Rosier ignored me. He drummed his wand on his knee as he contemplated the situation before him.

"Are you ever going to let me out of this body-bind?" I asked.

Snapped out of his thoughts, Rosier looked at me. He raised his wand, but rather than point it at me, he waved it at the door. The nonverbal spell must have released the enchantments he'd placed on the room. He got to his feet, and with one hand, pushed open the door. His dark gaze scanned the corridor beyond. He waved his wand again, casting some sort of spell on the outside of the broom closet. Then, closing the door again, he turned back to me.

"My offer still stands," he said.

I glowered at him. "Released the body-bind."

With a lazy flick of his wand, Rosier lifted the curse.

I fell out of the chair and onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. I lay on the cool stones for a moment, my brain and my body trying to reconnect even as the humiliation turned my face bright scarlet. Finally, I managed to roll myself into a sitting position, using the wooden crates to prop myself up.

Rosier stood over me, his left eyebrow quirked slightly higher than the other and the faintest hint of amusement dancing about his lips.

"I can help you," he said yet again. "I won't mess you over. I don't want you to be discovered."

"As if I would ever work together with you." I tried to stand up, but my legs weren't ready to do that yet and I fell back against the crates.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," said Rosier. "When you're not mad."

He picked up his bookbag from the floor. Once he'd made sure he had all his belongings, he gave me a slight nod of farewell before he opened the door and disappeared out into the corridor.

I stared after him, watching as the door swung shut. Then, slowly, my arms still feeling like lead, I reached out and caught hold of the strap of my bookbag. I dragged it closer to me. The books weighed heavy against the floor, and one of the buckles scraped against the stone. When the bag was close enough, I reached a hand inside.

First, my fingers touched the cool, hard lines of the diadem. I pulled it out, examining the etched eagle and relieved to see that Rosier hadn't thought to search through my bag. I reached my hand in again and rummaged about until I felt the burning touch of the Veil shard.

With a sigh, I slumped back against the crates. Count my blessings. I could've come out of this in a much worse situation. Yes, I still had that pigheaded Rosier to deal with, but at least he hadn't discovered the most important things.

Once I had the strength to stand, I wrenched open the door and stepped out into the empty corridor beyond.

Quickly, I recognized it as one of the halls on the seventh floor. I'd walked by this cupboard multiple times during my search for the Room of Requirement. My watch said the time was a little past 9:30 at night. The castle windows looked out over a pitch-black night sky, and the only light came from Hogwarts' enchanted candles.

I really had been trapped in a broom closet for twelve fucking hours.

I'd planned on going to the Room of Requirement that day. There was still time. I could put on the diadem and learn a few second-year charms. Maybe even start learning some defensive magic, so if Rosier tried to jump me again, I'd be ready…

I couldn't do it.

On a regular day, the diadem was draining to use, and if I tried it today, I wasn't certain I'd survive.

Gathering whatever energy had left in my limbs, I made my way down to the Hufflepuff Basement. I passed only a handful of students on my way. They all ignored me, much to my relief. And when I entered the Hufflepuff common room, the only person who spoke to me was a boy in my year, who asked if I'd given up studying early tonight. I gave a noncommittal nod and fled as fast as my weary legs allowed me.

When I entered the girls' dorm, Dorcas, Jenn, and Greta all sat on their beds, chatting away. Greta had an amber bottle resting on her bedside table. Firewhiskey.

I stood there for a moment, exhaustion forgotten and too overwhelmed to think.

Whiskey. Fucking whiskey.

It was my first time seeing alcohol since I'd traded places with Marlene. I'd been beginning to think Hogwarts students never drank.

And now, I found my dormmates having a calm night in with some firewhiskey.

When had they gotten it? How had they gotten it? How could I get some? I wanted nothing more than to chug down whatever was left in that bottle and pass out on my bed.

"Marlene? Are you all right?" Dorcas's eyes were wide with warmth and concern.

My hands curled into fists. I tore my eyes away from the bottle. "Fine."

I was not fine. But they didn't need to know that. With what little strength remained, I covered the two steps it took to reach my bed. I collapsed onto the mattress, not even caring that I still wore my sweater and jeans. I pulled the duvet over my head, blocking out the light, my dormmates, and the fucking firewhiskey.

I was not fine.

At this point, I wondered if I'd ever be fine again.

The rain came down in buckets. I lay the asphalt road, facing the black sky. My eyes refused to close even as water filled them, blurring my vision. The rain poured over my mouth and nose. I tried to thrash about, to move, but my body wouldn't obey me. Then, suddenly, I was no longer trapped under the rain, but submerged beneath the water, gasping for breath, unable to breathe. My vision filled with bright green—

I woke up, writhing and panting. My skin burned, and I shoved the duvet away from me. It was hot. So hot. A thin layer of sweat covered my skin. I drew in a shaking breath, and to my relief, I realized that I wasn't drowning.

I wasn't back in that house. I was in the Hufflepuff dormitory. The dim, golden light of the enchanted candle that Jenn always lit before bed fell upon the room, and I could see that my dormmates were all still fast asleep in their beds.

My heart slowed down and the tightness in my throat eased. I sank back into the pillows, letting my breathing even out. I wasn't there. I was in Hogwarts castle. I was alive.

I closed my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn't have me. The nightmares drifted at the edge of my mind.

I glanced at the analog clock on the bedside table. The bewitched hands emanated a faint, golden glow that indicated the time was 1:43 in the morning.

Well, it wasn't like I'd be getting anymore sleep.

As quietly as possible, I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and an oversized turtle-neck sweater. As I tiptoed out of the dorm, the light of Jenn's candle fell upon the amber bottle of firewhiskey. There were still a couple shots worth of alcohol at the bottom. A couple shots never hurt anyone. It might even make wearing the diadem more enjoyable. At the very least it might chase the nightmares away.

Gripping the strap of my bookbag, I turned away and headed for the exit. It was better, I reminded myself, to leave things like that behind.

The walk to the Room of Requirement was a quiet one. I kept to the shadows, worried that a prefect might stumble across me, and I'd find myself with a week's worth of detentions—something else to take away my valuable time with the diadem.

At first, I refused to light my wand in case someone noticed me. It wasn't until I walked head-first into a pillar that I muttered lumos under my breath. In the end, I needn't have worried, and I made it to the Room without encountering another soul.

Almost as soon as I entered the Room, I threw my bookbag down on the floor and went to the shelves. I pulled out the heavy textbooks and dropped them on the desk, each with a heavy thud. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Intermediate Transfiguration. Self-Defensive Spellwork. The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts. Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. All of the Standard Book of Spells versions.

By the time I was done, I'd taken out almost half the books on the shelf. I stood there, gasping for breath, aware that I'd probably done something crazy but unwilling to dwell on it. I grabbed the first book from the stack, Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, and sat down in the armchair.

I was wrestling Ravenclaw's Diadem out of my bag when a melancholy voice asked: "What are you looking for?"

How Helena knew I'd be in the Room of Requirement at this hour, I didn't ask. My manic battle with the diadem subsided, and I looked over my shoulder at the silvery figure.

"Defenses," I said.

"Did something happen?"

I untangled the diadem from the bookbag strap as an excuse not to respond right away. How much to tell her? I'd already trusted Helena with my plan regarding the three potential betrayers, and I'd already told her that Rosier was suspicious of me. What difference would more information make?

"Rosier knows I'm not Marlene," I said. "He decided to trap me in a broom closet for twelve hours to discover if I had used Polyjuice Potion. When he discovered that wasn't how I replaced Marlene, he decided to offer to help me pretend to be her."

"He locked you in a broom closet?" Helena's voice rose in pitch. "Is he mad? He could face expulsion for that."

"He knows I won't tell." I turned back to the textbook and began flipping through the table of contents. "I can't risk it."

Helena frowned. Her gray eyes lowered in thought. "You do not suppose he will tell Dumbledore what Marlene did."

"He can't risk it either." I found the chapter in the book that might relate to what I wanted and started flipping through the pages. "He knows I'll tell Dumbledore his family are Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" A crease appeared between Helena's elegant brows. "You said he offered to help you?"

I filled her in, haltingly, about what Rosier and I had discussed. With each detail, Helena's face grew darker with worry.

"You are not acting the part nearly as well as we had thought," she said when I had finished.

"He could be lying," I pointed out. "He wants to make me nervous about Marlene's friends so that I have no choice but to take up his offer."

"Why did you refuse?" asked Helena.

I'd thought refusing was obvious. He was a future Death Eater, a part of the very people who would kill Marlene's family. He would join with people who tormented and murdered muggles and muggleborns. I couldn't work with someone like that.

In the end, I only said, "He'll use me until he learns what he wants and then he'll betray me."

"As long as you are on your guard around him," said Helena, "I do not see why you cannot take advantage of the information he offers you. He wants to discover how you have replaced Marlene. Unless he is more intelligent than either you or I know, then he will never discover the truth."

"He'll be a Death Eater," I said.

"As will Regulus Black and Severus Snape."

"You want to me work with the guy who locked me in a broom closet?"

"It is not as though you have an abundance of people to choose from," said Helena, her voice growing thin with impatience. "If you have another person willing to tell you about Marlene's life, then by all means choose them instead."

I bit the insides of my cheeks. She was right, of course. Not that I wanted to admit it just yet.

"Never mind that now. We'll figure that out later."

The Transfiguration textbook lay open in front of me. At the top of the page, the title "Chapter 10: Transfiguring Dissimilar Objects" was printed in black serif font. I carefully placed the diadem on top of my head, and then, the Room of Requirement faded to the background as my mind focused on the words in front of me. Theory. Incantations. Wand movement. Importance of equalizing the size and weight. Possible side effects of having too much mass. Duration of the spell altered. See chapter fifteen for charms to make transfigurations more durable…

I tugged the diadem off my head, ignoring the feeling of nausea that swept over me.

"Any luck?" asked Helena.

"Too advanced," I muttered, reaching for Intermediate Transfiguration. I opened the to the table of contents just as the nausea became too much for me. I rested my forehead on the book's smooth, cool pages and took a deep breath.

"Are you feeling ill?" asked Helena.

"The usual."

"I do not want to see you vomit again."

I snorted. "You're not even near the top of the list of people who have seen me throw up the most." I rolled my head to the side and let my eyes flutter shut.

Rain falling from a black sky.

My eyes snapped open. I could feel Helena's gaze on me, studying me carefully.

To distract us both, I asked, "What's been going on with Snape and Regulus Black?"

For a moment, I thought Helena would ignore me. Then, in her sorrowful voice, she said, "Severus Snape was in a right mood today. I know he argued with that horrible girl, Dovefeather or whatever her name is, but I missed the fight itself." She gave a dramatic sigh. "It is difficult to trail both Severus Snape and Regulus Black as well as keep an eye on you."

Perhaps I ought to tell her that I'd approached Snape today and that was probably part of the reason he'd been angry. However, I couldn't find the words to explain it to her. In a large part because I was embarrassed to have messed up so badly.

"Do you have any clue as to what they were fighting about?" I asked.

Helena shook her head. "Something about a shield spell. Snape did not say much about it. He wondered where Rosier had been all day, but I suppose we know the answer to that."

"Yes, we do." The anger and humiliation still burned in my chest, but I pushed it aside.

I found the chapter on object transformation. My hands trembled a little when I went to pick up the diadem. I ignored the shaking and slid the cool metal onto my head.

The words snapped into focus. "Chapter 6: Object to Object Transformation." Theory. Wandwork. Mass. Appearance. Different incantations for transforming into specific objects. A general all-purpose incantation, though its success-rate was significantly lower than a tailored incantation. At last, I found the words for transforming headwear.

I dropped the diadem onto the desk.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" asked Helena.

I nodded mutely.

Once the world had stopped spinning, I turned to contemplate the diadem. For a heartbeat, my mind went blank and I couldn't figure out what shape to use. Then, the familiar smile and the feel of a soft hat on my head, rose from my memory. I raised my wand and said, "Petasumari" with a jab and flick.

Helena and I watched, fascinated, as the silver turned black, the eagle shrank and disappeared, the gemstone expanded and darkened until, when the spell was done, the silver diadem had disappeared, and in its place sat a plain, black baseball cap.

"You transfigured it," said Helena. Her thin mouth tugged into a frown and her gray eyes looked over the cap with distaste. "Into what?"

"A hat," I said softly.

"Marlene transformed the diadem into a pointed cap when she used it. She claimed the hat was stylish, but I never saw the appeal."

I still remembered my brother's smile when he presented me with the Red Sox hat. He'd been gone for almost six months, studying in Boston, and had come home for the Christmas holidays. "For my baby sister," he'd said as he'd placed the hat on my head. "Come visit me when you can."

I extended a hand, fingertips quivering, and touched the hard brim of the black hat. The real Marlene McKinnon would probably never wear a baseball cap. But it was a piece of me. A small piece. Surely, I was allowed that much.

"It won't be enough," I said. "Witches and wizards can undo transfiguration spells. I can't risk someone stumbling across it in my bag and figuring out I have Ravenclaw's diadem stashed away. I need a spell to hide the transfiguration."

Helena hesitated and then said, "Marlene found a spell that would render the transfiguration nearly impossible to undo by anyone but her."

My head snapped up. "A spell? What is it?"

"I do not know it," said Helena. "I believe she found it in a book."

"A library book?" My mind spun in circles. I needed that spell. Anything to keep the diadem hidden.

"You could check your library records," said Helena. "If she found the spell there, you may be able to find the book."

I glanced at the huge grandfather clock that rested in the corner of the Room. The hands pointed to a little past four in the morning. I still had a few more hours before I'd be expected to meet my friends in the Great Hall for breakfast.

Examining the stack of books, I selected The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts. I placed the diadem-turned-baseball-cap on my head, and soon I read through textbooks at lightning speed again. But unlike the other times, I wasn't reading every page. I jumped and skipped about, searching for certain information. Defensive spells that could protect me from attacks. Countercurses that could free me from magical bindings. Enchantments that could hide traces of an object's origins.

My head spun. The world tilted in and out of place.

Finally, I wrenched the baseball cap from my head, tossed it onto the desk, and found the metal bucket that had materialized beside the armchair.

I vomited, my throat burning, until I knelt on the stone floor, my hands and legs trembling, with nothing left inside me.

"Maybe," said Helena tentatively, "you should take a break."

I shook my head.

"Not even my mother could learn at the rate you are and feel right." Helena spoke gently, as if she feared I would run away at the slightest miswording.

"There's still so much to do." My voice came out a thin rasp as I dragged myself back into the armchair.

"You do not need to learn everything in a week or even a month," said Helena. "You have time."

My hands curled into fists to hide their trembling. She didn't get it. She didn't understand the crushing weight that hovered around me, threatening to come crashing down if I stopped for long enough. I had to hold it back. All those thoughts and fears. The heavy truths that were kept at bay by the singular focus that I must keep moving forward.

Slowly, I raised my head to meet Helena's gaze. In a voice that didn't feel like my own, I said, "I died."

I immediately regretted the words. My hands reached for the diadem, and my fingers closed around the soft fabric of the baseball cap. My brother's laughing face when I complained that I'd get called an American for wearing it flashed before my eyes. Before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out of me.

"I died. And yet, here I am. Why did Marlene do that? She had such a good life. She played Quidditch, she fancied Sirius Black, she laughed and smiled. She has so many good memories with her friends. A family that loves her. So many people adore her. Even Rosier—who should hate her guts—liked her. She didn't need to give it all up. There had to be another way. So why did she do it? I don't get it. I don't understand." My chest tightened with each word, and my voice became contorted. I had to stop and take several deep breaths until I was calm enough to speak. "I should be dead. Instead, I'm here in her place."

"We all die," said Helena gently. The wall of mirrors could be seen through her translucent body. I could see the deep shadows under my eyes reflected back at me. Helena extended a silvery hand and said, "Not everyone gets a second chance like you."

"Did you regret too when you died?" I asked. My voice was small and unlike me. I hated it. I swallowed and tried again, this time with more confidence. "Did you remember all the things you did and didn't do?"

"Of course."

"I remember it. All the times I said I'd change and then I didn't. I said I'd stop drinking, I'd get a real job, I'd move out of that house. Because I thought I had more time." Instinctively, I pulled my knees up to my chest, curling into a tight ball, while my hands clutched the baseball cap.

Helena hesitated and then she drifted down so that she mimicked sitting on the edge of the mahogany desk. "I spent my life envious of my mother. I hated her, in the end. I hated that she was more talented than me and that I was known as nothing more than Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. As she lay on her sick bed, wishing me to return so that she could look upon her daughter one last time, all I could think about was surpassing her." Helena's gaze focused on the floor, as if she didn't dare look at me. "I liked to imagine myself coming home as a witch of great renown, someone who stories were sung about in halls. My mother would be proud of me. Instead, I returned to Hogwarts a ghost, and my mother had already passed from this world."

"I'm sorry." My words came out as little more than a whisper.

Her gaze turned towards me. "We have more time now, Marlene. We had best not waste it on unimportant things."

Unimportant things?

I didn't know what was important or unimportant anymore. I just knew that I had to save Marlene's family. Was that important? I could hear the ring of my brother's laughter. Yes. Family was important. So were friends. I closed my eyes, expecting to see the faces of friends from my world. Instead, I saw James Potter with his hazel eyes and warm smile. I saw Dorcas patiently helping me cast a spell in Charms class. I saw Lily offer me a potion she'd brewed to relieve headaches. I saw Mary with bright eyes as she talked about her boyfriend. I saw Peter proudly show me his empty dinner plate, proof that he was eating properly.

We had best not waste it on unimportant things.

My thoughts slowly faded to nothingness, and at last, I let myself drift away. Helena watched over me as I fell asleep in the Room of Requirement that night, curled up in the overstuffed armchair with the black baseball cap clutched close to my heart.