PART ONE: IN VITAM

Chapter XIII: Three of Wands Reversed

Switching the potions ingredients? Easy. Acting surprised when a potion exploded on Lily? Easy. Persuading Snape to distrust his friends and work with me to find the culprit? Easy. All of it was easy compared to what I had to do next: convince Evan Rosier that I was innocent.

My steps dragged on my way up to the North Tower that Tuesday. I was plagued by visions of Rosier taking one look at me and announcing to the world that I had messed with Lily's potion. Of course, logically, I knew Rosier wouldn't expose me. We were bound by mutually assured destruction. The bigger concern was that Rosier would realize my main goal. If he knew that I wanted to turn Snape against him, well, I could only imagine what kind of tricks Rosier would have up the sleeves of his robe.

When I entered the Divination classroom, Rosier's eyes lifted to mine. To my relief, no hint of suspicion resided in his stare.

He waited until I took my seat before asking, "How's Evans doing?"

I tried to have the right amount of resentment in my tone. "Why do you care?"

Rosier's gaze swept over my face. No doubt scrutinizing the narrowing of my brows and tightness in my jaw. I had practiced my expression in the mirrors of the Room of Requirement last night.

Finally, he said, "You don't think I had anything to do with it."

It wasn't a question. Still, I made sure to keep my voice low, aware that the two Ravenclaws a table over watched us with curiosity. Stebbins was almost falling out of her chair as she strained to hear our conversation. "No, not you. But the people in your house, the people you call friends."

Something akin to anger flashed across Rosier's face, but it disappeared as soon as it came. "They should not have done that."

"Who was it?" I asked. "Who did this?"

Rosier's mouth formed a grim line. His eyes swept across the violet tablecloth and over the deck of hand-painted cards that lay between us. "I have my suspicions." Then, he stared at me.

I fucked up.

I knew it as soon as it happened. I could feel the muscles in my face twitch, despite my best efforts to keep my expression controlled. But that was all it took. A single moment of weakness, and all my acting had been for nothing.

"What do you know?" asked Rosier. His voice suddenly sharp.

"What?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I could salvage this. I had to believe I could. "What are you talking about?"

"Marlene." He actually leaned forward, as if being closer would make my expressions easier to read.

I instinctively scooted back in my seat. Of course, running away like that was a sure sign of guilt. I tried to sound angry as I hissed, "Don't try to protect your friends. Everyone knows they're the ones who hurt Lily. Or do you want me to believe they didn't tell you their plans?"

"You…" Slowly, understanding formed in Rosier's eyes. He opened his mouth, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he managed a disbelieving, "You didn't, Marlene."

"Didn't what?" I asked.

But before Rosier couldn't answer, Professor Vablatsky tapped her wand on the edge of her desk and called for the start of class. She stood before the mahogany desk, her elegant maroon robes and severe features making her look like royalty as she began the lecture. "Today, we will focus on the Seven Card Horseshoe Spread. This is one of the more popular layouts among Seers, though it is not as detailed as the Celtic Cross layout or the Romany Spread."

I couldn't concentrate on a word Vablatsky said. Every fiber of my being focused on Rosier. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him shift position in his chair, lean his elbows on the table, remove them, write a couple sentences in his notebook before abandoning his quill, and then send several curious glances my way throughout the rest lecture.

"The fourth position," said Vablatsky, "at the center of the spread represents the querent. The querent, and their attitude towards the situation addressed, is a key component of the reading. Now, some Seers, like Imago, recommend reading this center card first. Other Seers believe that the cards should be read in order of their positions. Feel free to experiment with both methods and choose the one that suits you best."

Rosier knew. He knew that I'd been the one to switch Lily's potions ingredients. The guilt in my expression had given it away, and now he had yet another thing to blackmail me with.

I'd expected this, of course. I'd never really imagined that I could deceive Rosier for long. The more important truth, the thing I desperately needed to keep hidden, was why I'd messed with Lily's cauldron. Rosier couldn't find out about Snape.

But how could I stop Rosier? I couldn't keep boldly denying the accusations. Rosier trusted what he saw with his own eyes far more than anything I said. I probably couldn't stop him from figuring it out entirely, but perhaps I could slow him down. Keep him wondering why I did it…at least until I'd managed to sway Snape's opinion on his future Death Eater friends.

Vablatsky's voice cut through my thoughts. "You may begin practicing with your partner."

My smile came out more of a grimace as I forced myself to face Rosier.

He didn't look at me at first, as he flipped through the pages of his textbook to the chapter on the Seven Card Horseshoe Spread. When he finally met my gaze, his expression was calm and unreadable. "Do you want to read for me first?"

"Sure." No doubt he had planned some kind of test for me.

Rosier didn't pick up the deck right away. He only tapped the top on the cards with his index finger and said, "I'm curious. Why would Marlene McKinnon switch Lily Evans's potion ingredients?"

My gaze dropped down to the deck. He was going to ask that to the tarot cards? Really? When I found my voice, all I could say was: "Isn't this supposed to be about you?"

"I'm asking for you. Read it as if you're the querent."

I was pretty sure tarot readings weren't supposed to be done that way. However, simply refusing would just make him more suspicious. Better to play offensive. Trying to keep my eyes narrowed in anger, I snapped, "It wasn't me, you dobber. Why don't you ask the cards what those friends of yours are up to instead? Perhaps then you can figure out why they'd hurt Lily without telling you."

Rosier's left eyebrow quirked upward. He didn't say another word, however. He shuffled the hand-painted deck, taking his time before placing the cards back on the smooth tablecloth.

I flipped up the first card, then the second, the third. I moved from left to right, placing all seven cards in a V-shape with the open end facing Rosier.

I bit the insides of my cheeks, reminding myself that this reading was about Rosier and his friends. I focused on the memory of Snape sharing whispers with Dovetail and Avery in the corridor. They were the guilty party. I had to believe that if I wanted any hope of deceiving Rosier. His friends had injured Lily without telling him, and now the cards would speak to that situation.

My fingers lowered to tap the card on my far left. The painted surface depicted three figures standing beneath three golden circles. "The first position represents the past. The Three of Pentacles upright stands for collaboration, shared goals, and the pooling of energies." I smirked across the table at Rosier. "Your friendship with your housemates influences the current situation and how you feel about it. Perhaps something in that friendship is the reason they chose not to tell you about switching ingredients."

"I'm asking for you," said Rosier. He offered me a patient smile, though something angry and frustrated lurked in his dark eyes. "I want to know why you would want to send Lily Evans to the Hospital Wing and frame my friends. According to this card, some agreement or collaboration in your past brought about Evans's unfortunate incident."

He glanced to his right, making sure Vablatsky was out of earshot. Then, he slid his wand out of the pocket of his robes. He didn't utter a word as he gave the wand a subtle flick. A faint buzzing filled the air. Imperceptible, if I hadn't known Rosier had cast the muffling spell.

Finally, Rosier looked me in the eyes and asked, "Did the person who hired you to take the place of McKinnon put you up to this?"

I did my best to give a derisive snort. "All that fanfare just to ask that? I don't work for anyone, and I had nothing to do with this. Stop trying to pin your friends' actions on me."

"I thought it was one of them too," admitted Rosier calmly. "Until your eyebrows arched outwards when I mentioned my suspicions, and you kept looking down and to the side."

"Did you ever stop to consider that you could be reading my expressions wrong?"

"Those are the expressions of shame or guilt."

I wanted to slam my head on the table and scream. How could I win against someone like that? Someone who could tell from the twitch of the mouth or the blink of an eye whether I was lying or not. What could I do? How could I talk my way out of this?

The usual knowing smirk danced across Rosier's face as my hand moved to the second card in the Horseshoe spread. In swirling colors of green and blue, the card held the image of a man on top of a tower. The man held two wands, one in each hand, as he looked out over a beautiful scenery of mountains and lakes.

"The second position speaks to the situation at present. The Two of Wands upright indicates planning and progression. There is a goal in mind and now you have begun moving forward with concrete steps." I wanted to lie. I wanted to make up some fake meaning for the cards. But, of course, Rosier knew the tarot deck just as well as I did.

Sure enough, Rosier said, "There was an agreement or collaboration made between you and your employer. Switching the ingredients is a step taken to achieve the end goal of that collaboration."

I rolled my eyes. "If that was true, you'd be an even greater Seer than Professor Vablatsky. This reading is about you. So, then steps are being taken by your friends to achieve some goal. They didn't just want to harm Lily. There's some bigger goal they're aiming for."

Rosier didn't respond right away. His dark eyes surveyed me carefully, taking in every detail of my face. Then, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I think the cards are closer to your truth than you'd like, Marlene."

"Just keep pretending your friends aren't plotting something, Rosier," I snapped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Vablatsky making her way over to our table. Rosier noticed as well. His hand slid into the pocket of his robe and the faint buzzing that surrounded us vanished in an instant. I kept my voice calm and nonchalant as I said, "The third card represents hidden influences, the unseen conflicts and obstacles that you don't know about yet." I glanced down to see the image of a man and woman holding hands beneath a tree. "The Lovers upright. The unity of the lovers gives them confidence and strength. It's an empowering union. So that means some partnership is going cause you trouble."

Vablatsky stood over our table, nodding her head as she listened to our reading. Her presence meant that Rosier couldn't make some jab about how the cards spoke about me and what I'd done to Lily.

"The middle card," I continued, "represents the querent and your attitude toward the situation at hand."

Rosier shot me a meaningful look. I pretended not to notice as I stared down at the all too familiar image of a skeleton holding a scythe.

"Death upright. Generally, this card represents change or an important transition." My eyes raked over the bone-white face of death. "You want to change the current situation."

Vablatsky nodded her head before turning away and heading back to her desk at the front of the classroom. My gaze followed her billowing maroon robes as I longed for her to say that the period had ended and we all needed to pack up our belongings. Vablatsky, of course, said no such thing. She took a seat behind the mahogany desk and began flipping through some rolls of parchment.

"Fifth position," said Rosier, growing impatient. "What external forces influence you, Marlene?"

I stared down at the image of a man in red robes, holding a candle high above his head. "The Magician Reversed. The master of illusion. Someone may only be pretending to have your best interests at heart."

Rosier let out a quiet laugh. "Are you sure you placed the cards right? Shouldn't you be the master of illusion? The friend pretending to have Evans's best interests at heart?"

I glanced down at the card before saying, "Or maybe you're the Magician."

"I'm not pretending to care about your best interests," said Rosier.

"But you are an expert at trickery and deception."

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Or maybe," I spoke carefully, gauging Rosier's reaction with each word, "the Magician is Voldemort."

I could see the shutters go down behind his eyes as he blocked my words out. He smiled with his usual calm, but any warmth that might have been there before had vanished. "Perhaps. The shadow of You-Know-Who hangs over us all."

We stared at one another. The cards spread across the tablecloth like a wall between us. Slowly, my gaze dropped down to the familiar specter of death. Then, I looked over at the next card in the reading, which bore the image of three swords bound together by red thread.

"The sixth position," I said, "directs what the querent should do about the current situation. The Three of Swords reversed indicates that you've faced recent grief or loss. The card means that you shouldn't hold onto this loss, but learn to let go and move forward." I offered Rosier a sharp look. "Stop obsessing over your friends' scheming and move ahead to a new part of your life. Maybe it's time to find some new friends."

There was a bitterness to Rosier's smile. "Perhaps you're the one obsessing. This collaboration, the reason you became Marlene McKinnon, perhaps it's better to let go than continue on your current course. Because likely it'll end in tragedy."

"The seventh card indicates the final result." I looked down at the final card. Similar to the Two of Wands, the card depicted a man, surrounded by three sticks, looked across fields at a mountain range. I knew what the card meant. I remembered the words from my textbook. Visions of photographs on a wall danced in my memory: Marlene's parents laughing, her brothers playing Quidditch on a hill, the McKinnon siblings dressed in matching knitted sweaters. My voice felt thick as I said, "The Three of Wands reversed. After setting out on a journey, you have not achieved the results you've hoped for."

Rosier's eyebrow quirked up, and his head tilted slightly to the left. I could feel him searching my face. Then, Rosier leaned across the table and tapped the top of blue-painted mountain range. "The Three of Wands reversed also reminds you that, even if the end result is not what you anticipated, all your hard work was not for nothing."

Was he trying to cheer me up?

I dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. This was Evan Rosier. Of course he wasn't trying to cheer me up. He wanted me to make a mistake. To waver and admit that his reading was the right one. Well, I'd be damned before I gave him the satisfaction.

I lifted my eyes from the array of cards and said, in steady tones, "You'll try to change your friends' actions, but due to external influences, you'll fail. Your friends will accomplish their goal. It's better to give up and move on rather than hold on to a lost cause."

Rosier's head jerked, as if I'd slapped him, but he recovered a heartbeat later. "Or the reason why you switched those potions ingredients and sent Lily Evans to the Hospital Wing, this great end goal of yours will fail."

I couldn't speak. I knew that these were only tarot cards. They didn't mean anything. Or, I hoped they didn't mean anything. I needed to snap back at Rosier, reject his words, keep the game of never-admit-anything going. But a gut-wrenching horror had filled me, and I could only stare mutely at the reversed Three of Wands. After setting out on a journey, you have not achieved the results you've hoped for.

Vablatsky's husky voice cut through my thoughts. "Unfortunately, our time together today has come to an end. Remember to read the chapter on the Romany Spread before Friday's class."

I barely registered my surroundings as I shoved my textbook into the bag and bolted for the trap door. All I could see were the faces of the McKinnon family, smiling out at me from the wall behind Marlene's four-poster bed.

Fail? I would fail?

No, it was only a tarot reading. I couldn't take it too seriously. The reading was for Rosier, anyway. It was about him and his friends. I couldn't let those words go to my head.

A firm hand grasped my forearm, and before I knew what was happening, someone began guiding me down the seventh-floor corridor.

"What?" I saw heavy-lidded eyes, a straight nose, and perfectly combed hair. "What are you doing?"

Rosier didn't even look at me as he practically dragged me towards the all-too-familiar broom closet. "We need to talk."

"You're going to tell me which one of your friends switched the ingredients?" I asked.

That wasn't worth an answer, apparently. Rosier flicked his wand, and I felt the familiar breeze pass through the corridor. His head jerked, and then he glanced behind him. I followed suit and, using the corner of my vision, spotted the two Ravenclaws, Stebbins and Johnson, watching us.

Rosier immediately released my arm, while I opened my bookbag. I rummaged around, shuffling the books about, before saying, a little louder than necessary, "Thanks for returning my quill."

"No problem," said Rosier. His voice carried down the corridor.

Under the watch of our two classmates, I probably have ditched Rosie. But avoiding him just meant he'd jump me in the corridor later. I'd rather have my teeth pulled than spend another twelve hours in a broom closet under a Body-Bind Curse.

We waited until Stebbins and Johnson were out of sight before heading to our usual broom closet.

"What's this about?" I asked, adding a good amount of impatience to my voice.

Rosier finished the last of his warding spells. His right arm dropped to his side, but he didn't put away the wand. Instead, with almost tired eyes, he turned to look at me. "Are you a Death Eater?"

"What?"

"You replaced Marlene McKinnon, who is friends with people known to be Dumbledore supporters, and attacked Lily Evans, a known muggleborn. What else am I supposed to conclude?"

My mouth opened and closed. I couldn't find words.

"I didn't think you could be," said Rosier, tapping his wand against his thigh. "Your support of muggles and your hatred of Death Eaters seems real, but perhaps you're a better actor than I gave you credit for."

"I'm not a Death Eater."

"Let me see your left arm."

I blinked. "What?"

Rosier held out his hand. I couldn't see how it would hurt, so I obediently lifted my left arm. He grabbed me by the wrist, fingers digging into the skin, and with his other hand rolled up the sleeve of my robe. I watched, fascinated, as he pressed the tip of his aspen wand against my forearm.

He murmured something beneath his breath that sounded vaguely like "reveal". When nothing happened, Rosier released my wrist and stepped back. "You don't have one."

It was only then that I realized he'd been looking for a Dark Mark. I stared at the pale skin of my forearm before pulling down the sleeve of my robe. "I'm not a Death Eater."

"Not all of Voldemort's followers receive the Dark Mark."

My eyes narrowed. I wanted to ask how he knew that, but the answer seemed obvious enough. His father probably told him many things.

"Who do you work for?" asked Rosier. "Why did you take McKinnon's place?"

"I'm not working for anyone," I said, willing him to believe me. For once, I was speaking the truth.

"Why then? Why did you attack Lily Evans?"

"I didn't!"

"Don't lie." Rosier's upper lip curled in disgust. "I know it was you."

The broom closet felt small, too small. The two of us stood less than a meter apart, our heads bowed under the low ceiling. Rosier's face was devoid of expression except for the blaze of anger in his eyes.

I didn't know how to convince him. I knew no matter what I said, he'd go on believing I attacked Lily. It was the truth, after all. But how could I convince him that I wasn't a Death Eater, that I was here because Marlene had chosen me? I couldn't tell him outright.

To admit anything outright felt like the breaking of a dam. Once I admitted to one thing, I'd admit to everything. I couldn't do that. Not to anyone, and certainly not to Evan Rosier. But surely there was a way.

"I'm not a Death Eater," I said again. "I'm not working for anyone besides myself, Marlene McKinnon. I only want to protect the people I care about."

"And sending Evans to the Hospital Wing protects the people you care about?" asked Rosier, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't hurt Lily."

Rosier's head jerked. He knew I lied on that part. But the rest, Rosier understood that the rest had been the truth.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you do it? What do you hope to gain?"

I shook my head.

Frustration burned in Rosier's eyes, but after a moment, he took a step back and the emotions faded. "I hope you know what you're doing."

So did I.

I would've liked to have talked with Snape as soon as possible, but unfortunately, our schedules as well as our friend groups made it difficult to meet. We could barely exchange two civil words in the corridors without suspicious eyes following us, let alone hold an entire conversation.

Friday morning, on my way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Snape found me alone. I had been walking back from the Room of Requirement when Snape stepped out from behind an empty suit of armor. His face was pale as he glanced left, right, and behind before finally speaking to me.

"Are you free tonight?" he asked in a low whisper.

"After six."

"The third-floor corridor," said Snape. "On the right-hand side. Meet me there at seven tonight."

The description rang familiar in my head. Wasn't that where the Philosopher's Stone had been hidden? Of course, the Philosopher's Stone wouldn't reach Hogwarts until 1991. But the sudden reference to the Harry Potter books threw me, and I could only nod my head in mute agreement.

Snape's black eyes scanned the corridor once more before he walked past me as though we were strangers.

I had a hard time concentrating that day. I barely got any work done as I studied in the library with Lily, Dorcas, and Mary. Thankfully, Rosier didn't test me in Divination and the atmosphere was almost relaxing as we practiced the Seven Card Horseshoe Spread. However, in Charms, Professor Chen's lecture went over my head, and all my nonverbal spells went awry in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then, in Ancient Runes, I managed to botch my translation so badly that Professor Entwistle asked me to stay after class.

Around and around my head spun, unable to focus on anything else, as I tried to figure out how to go about accusing the Slytherins of attacking Lily. Rosier hadn't given me any hints in our broom closet conversations, and I didn't know enough about the Slytherin students to know who was a believable culprit. Most likely, Snape wouldn't expect me to come up with a name right away. I would just have to play dumb and earnest, and hope Snape would give me enough information to run with.

With that cheerful thought, I made my way up to the third floor after dinner.

Helena met up with me on the moving staircases as planned. With her body turned invisible, she alerted me to her presence by announcing: "Regulus Black is still in the Great Hall with those dreadful friends of his."

"Anything interesting?" I asked, trying to look nonchalant as I spoke to thin air.

"Sorrel Burke has a wand up his bottom."

I bit back a laugh as the staircase reached the third-floor corridor. Helena stopped speaking as I went in search of Snape.

It seemed that Snape had carefully selected a corridor with no eavesdropping portraits. There were also no broom closets to attract mischievous students, and it was a known hangout spot for the Bloody Baron. The ghost must have been haunting the Astronomy Tower currently, because the third-floor corridor was empty except for Snape. The thin boy sat on a stone ledge beneath a blue and red stained-glass window that depicted a wizard on a horse.

Snape's black eyes raised to mine when he heard my footsteps. His gaze held no warmth, and he only watched me with cold curiosity.

"Glad we finally got a chance to talk," I said. I dropped my bookbag onto the floor and leaned against the wall opposite.

"How's Lily doing?" asked Snape, not bothering with greetings.

"She's been holding herself together." In all honesty, Lily had been better than fine. She'd been unnaturally cheerful after returning to classes on Thursday. Not that I was going to tell Snape that. "I think she's more rattled than she's letting on."

Snape nodded, his mouth a thin, grim line.

"Has there been any word around the Slytherin common room about what happened?" I asked.

Snape shook his head. "Many of the students are complimenting the culprit for their creativity, but no one knows who it was."

"Or they do know and they're pretending not to," I said.

"Why would they pretend not to know?" asked Snape.

"In case there's a rat." I waved a careless hand in Snape's direction.

Snape frowned. "Edythe and John aren't usually careful."

I fought back a disgusted laugh. It was all too easy to picture Edythe Dovetail bragging to all Slytherin house about what muggleborn student she'd tortured that day. However, now wasn't the time to insult Snape's housemates. Instead, trying to look thoughtful, I asked, "What about Rosier? He's careful with me in Divination."

Snape's shoulders stiffened. Just like last time, Rosier was off limits for discussion.

It was better, I thought, to give up on mentioning Rosier for now. Keeping Snape on my side was more important. I leaned back against the desk and said, "It's not Rosier's style."

"It could be someone outside of Slytherin house," said Snape.

"Perhaps." I pretended to consider his words. Of course, I didn't want Snape to think it was someone outside of his house. I wanted him to distrust his fellow Slytherins. I wanted him to feel alienated from them. I wanted a wall to form between him and the future Death Eaters. That wouldn't work if he suspected it was someone outside of his house. I kept my tone casual as I asked, "Is there anyone in other houses you're suspicious of?"

To my surprise, Snape hesitated. He checked the corridor again for any students, then surveyed me quietly, before saying, "Persephone Rowle."

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I, of course, knew Persephone Rowle, the Ravenclaw prefect. She was tall and elegant and had a natural gift for spellwork. A day couldn't go by without a professor praising her. She and Lily had a friendly rivalry of sorts and always spoke politely to one another. I couldn't picture her saying a bad word about muggleborns, let alone trying to harm one.

A cold child passed through my shoulder as Helena reminded me to respond.

"What makes you suspicious?" I asked.

Snape shook his head. "It could be her."

My eyes narrowed. So he didn't want to tell me. He wanted to throw her name out there and have me trust him blindly. Well, the point wasn't to get future Death Eater names from Snape. I wanted to befriend him. Pushing for details wouldn't do that.

"What about Goyle?" I asked.

"Simon?" Snape frowned. "He's not smart enough."

Well, that was a blunt dismissal. I fought back at laugh. It seemed that Simon Goyle had a lot in common with his son.

Snape didn't notice my barely suppressed laughter. He hunched forward slightly, his hands resting on the stone window sill while his black eyes glared fiercely at the floor. "I thought it through over these past few days. I looked at them all, at my friends." He spat the last word. "It's not Edith and John's style to keep quiet. Rosier wouldn't do this. Cornelian talks big but doesn't have the nerve. Elise could do it. She's smart enough and malicious enough. Iain as well. He was oddly quiet in the common room after the incident."

In my head, I tried to connect all the names to faces. Cornelian Bulstrode sat two seats down from me in Charms class. He was a large boy with shaggy brown hair and a square jaw. Elise Flint was a tall, black-haired woman who hung around Dovetail, and Iain Proudfoot was a slender youth who was a member of the Dueling Club. Their faces flashed before my eyes as I tried to commit Snape's analysis of them to memory.

"So Elise Flint and Iain Proudfoot are our most likely culprits," I said at last.

"And Persephone Rowle."

I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from asking again what made Persephone Rowle so suspicious. "And Persephone Rowle. I think it'd be easier for you to investigate Flint and Proudfoot. I'll look into Rowle. She chats with Lily before Charms sometimes. I'll see if I can get something out of her."

Snape's eyes flashed with anger when I mentioned Lily, but he only nodded.

"We should keep meeting," I said. "To give each other updates. Does Monday and Thursday evening work?"

"We don't need to meet that often," said Snape almost instantly. "Thursday evenings should work."

My stomach dropped but I kept my expression casual. Meeting more often would be better; it would help me build a friendship of sorts with Snape. Still, I didn't want to push too hard too fast. "Then we'll meet here after dinner on Thursday next week?"

Snape nodded curtly. He didn't even bother to look at me as I pushed off the wall and picked up my bookbag from the floor.

I hesitated. I didn't want to leave with a begrudging goodbye. This wasn't about catching Lily's culprit. This was about befriending Snape. So, I gave him a thin smile and said, "We'll find them. Whoever did this to Lily, we'll find them and we'll make them pay."

At last, Snape lifted his gaze. His dark eyes met mine, and in a small, almost vulnerable voice, he asked, "Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"It'll take time," I said. "But, yes, I think she will. I'll help you. Together, we'll find a way."

For the first time, Snape looked at me with some warmth. He didn't say thanks, but I knew he was grateful for my help.

Perfect.

"See you next week," I said, and then I turned and started down the corridor towards the moving staircases.

It was a good start. We had a plan in place. I'd arranged to see Snape on a weekly basis. Step by step. These things couldn't be rushed.

"Persephone Rowle," repeated Helena's disembodied voice. "Do you think he's trying to place the blame on her?"

I pictured the good-natured girl who'd asked me earlier this week how Lily was doing. "If Snape's suspicious of her, then she must have expressed anti-muggle views."

"The Rowle family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," said Helena thoughtfully.

"Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

"Cantankerus Nott's Pure-Blood Directory," scoffed Helena. "It lists the twenty-eight families who he believed to have kept their bloodlines untainted. You can bet your friend's family is in there."

There had been no mention of this Pure-Blood Directory in the Harry Potter books, but I could imagine names like Malfoy, Black, and Lestrange on the list beside Rosier.

As we reached the Grand Staircase, I asked, "Can you keep an eye on Snape? I want to know what he does after meeting with me."

"Will you be in the Room of Requirement?"

"Of course."

Helena didn't say a word of goodbye, but I assumed she had left by the lack of conversation. I stepped onto one of the moving stairs and held the handrail as it glided across the hall.

Thing appeared to have gone well with Snape, but one could never be certain.

After reaching the seventh floor, I made my way through the familiar web of passages, deeper into the castle. I was about two turns away from the Room of Requirements when I heard voices.

"Aren't you having fun, Bottlebrush?" a sneering voice asked.

I stepped back against the wall and ever so slightly peaked my head around the corner. Five boys stood about the corridor. In the candlelight, I could make out the green and silver ties of Slytherins.

Oh fuck my luck. Was the seventh floor actually a Slytherin hangout spot, and Rosier had neglected to tell me?

Bit by bit, as I took in the scene before me, the pieces began to fall into place. The four boys standing were all in Slytherin. I didn't recognize them, so they had to be sixth years at the most. The boy kneeling on the ground wore the blue and bronze tie of a Ravenclaw. I assumed he was Bottlebrush.

"We're having fun," said a second voice, this one was lazy and uncaring. "Tergumis."

I watched, open-mouthed, as a tall, thin-faced boy flicked his wand. Bottlebrush immediately let out a shriek. He started clawing at his left arm, fingernails digging into the skin.

At first, I didn't understand what the spell had done. Then, as Bottlebrush pulled back the sleeve of his robe, I saw that his pale skin had turned thick and leathery. Wrinkles formed across his forearms as the skin tightened, creeping up to his hands and fingers.

"Stop," cried Bottlebrush. "I was wrong! I was wrong! Just stop!"

"Someone will hear," said one of the Slytherin boys. This one sat to the back of the group, his head slightly turned away from the violence in front of him.

A red-haired boy pointed his wand at the howling Ravenclaw and said, "Silencio."

As if someone had hit the "mute" button, Bottlebrush's mouth then began to move soundlessly. He writhed on the ground, clutching his charred arm. The Slytherins ignored his pleas, laughing as the curse crept up his neck to his mouth. Only then did one of the boys perform the counter-curse.

Bottlebrush's skin returned to normal. He collapsed onto the stone floor, gasping for breath, tears in the corners of his eyes.

"'Sorry,'" scoffed the thin-faced boy. "Like a 'sorry' will make up for the fact that you claimed to be descended from the noble house of Burke."

Bottlebrush opened his mouth, as if to protest the accusation, but of course he couldn't utter a word in his defense.

"To think," the boy continued, "you would claim to share blood with Sorrel."

The Slytherin boy with thick, dark curls, who had to be Sorrel Burke, sneered at this.

The real Marlene McKinnon would probably jump out from behind the corner to defend the poor Ravenclaw boy. The real Marlene McKinnon had argued with Dovetail for years over this kind of cruelty. The real Marlene McKinnon cared about doing the right thing.

And if any of her friends were around to witness this, I would play the part of valiant Marlene. But there was no one to know. I could just turn around and walk away. This wasn't my business. No need to make more enemies. I was here to save Marlene's family, and that was all. I felt pity for the Ravenclaw boy, but this wasn't my business. I wasn't the real Marlene McKinnon. Too bad for him.

Sorrel Burke's voice was low and deadly as he continued to speak. "The noble house of Burke has existed since the age of Merlin. My ancestors were among the first students to attend Hogwarts. Marriages between witches and wizards have kept the blood pure throughout centuries. And yet you, a filthy halfblood, dare claim to be descended from the line of Burke. You, who snogs other boys behind the greenhouses, dare say that we share blood."

"Sorrel," the dark-haired boy spoke a word a warning that went unheeded.

"That a filthy lowlife like you even utters the name of 'Burke'—"

With one foot raised, ready to take a step away, I had stopped. I drew in breath, but my chest still felt tight. I was drowning in memories. Memories of a life I'd left behind. My older brother, his back pushed against the wall, his face pale, as school boys made crude gestures. Not my brother. Not him. My chest felt tight. Suffocating. It was suffocating.

Bottlebrush pushed himself off the floor, just high enough so that he could shake his head. His protests were lost in the silencing charm.

Memories of holding my brother's shoulders while he cried. He had sat behind the rear wall of our house, his knees pulled up to his chest. He had tried to stifle his tears, worried that ma might hear through the open kitchen window. What could a little sister do to comfort her brother? I didn't know then. I still didn't know now.

"Rubbish like you might as well be a muggle," said the red-haired boy.

Sorrel Burke casually twirled his wand in his hand. His eyes were icy as he looked down on the whimpering Bottlebrush. "If I ever hear the name of my family pass through your mouth again…" His voice lowered to a hiss and gestured to the thin-faced boy beside him. "Wilkes here will make sure your name reaches the Death Eaters."

I needed to leave. There was no one to see me go, no one to think that was out of character for Marlene. I could walk away, take the long route to the Room of Requirement, and pretend this never happened. I was here to save the McKinnons. That was it. This wasn't my business.

"I imagine the Death Eaters will have fun with you," continued Burke. "I've heard stories, you know, about what they do to muggles, mudbloods, and—"

And then, he said that word. A word that I had heard thrown at my brother countless times before. A word that never failed to make his face pale and his hands shake. A word that always made my blood boil.

All sense of reason snapped.

Images of my brother's smiling face as he slipped the baseball cap on over my head flashed before my eyes.

I stepped out from behind the corner. My voice echoed through the corridor as I found myself asking, "What do you think you're doing?"

I immediately regretted it. Five heads snapped in my direction. Burke almost dropped his wand, while the red-haired boy's eyes narrowed, as if he recognized me but didn't know from where.

Wilkes scowled. "Keep your wand out of other people's business."

The red-head boy raised his wand at me—

I punched him in the jaw.

A clean, straight punch. Just like my ex taught me. I pivoted off my left foot. The knuckles of my middle and index fingers hit first. The impact, the force, everything about it was good.

The red-head stumbled backwards, his wand dropped from his grasp.

As I heard the clatter of the wand hitting the floor, I realized my mistake. Oh right, I was a witch now.

"Crucio."

The Unforgivable Curse hit me in the back, just below the left shoulder blade.

It began as a single, searing pain. A lone knife blade beneath my left shoulder. But then it started to spread, as if more knives had been inserted. The pain grew white-hot and started to shift, as if someone began twisted in the knives.

My legs gave out beneath me. I didn't remember hitting the floor, but I could feel my fingernails digging into the stone ground.

I wouldn't die from the pain, right? I wouldn't. I couldn't die again. Not again.

Laughter swirled around me. I bit into my cheeks until I tasted blood. I refused to cry out. Even as I lay on the floor, my body writhing in pain. I refused to scream, refused to give them the satisfaction.

But the pain.

Like a thousand white-hot knives being stabbed into my flesh and twisted. Over and over again. Overwhelming and endless. Not even dying hurt this much.

"Stop."

The single voice cut through the laughter, and immediately, the other three Slytherins stopped what they were doing. The pain in my body lessened, the unseen knives being removed one by one, as Wilkes turned to face the dark-haired boy who had remained silent throughout all the violence and cruelty around him.

Gritting my teeth, I lifted my head off the floor. There, sitting on the floor, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, sat a handsome boy with sleek, comb-over hair. His sharp facial features were familiar, though I couldn't immediately place where I'd seen them before. Then, bit by bit, the pieces fell into place. Before now, I had only seen him at a distance, but now I looked fully on the face of Regulus Black.

His gray eyes scanned my face before he looked up at Wilkes and said, "You don't recognize her? She's Rosier's Divination partner."

The effect of these words was instantaneous. Burke's shoulders stiffened, and Wilkes ended the Cruciatus Curse immediately.

The pain swiftly drained out of my body, and I lay on the floor, face down, gasping for breath.

Over. It was over. I had lived.

"Hippogriff shit," said Burke. But even as he spoke, recognition colored his eyes as he looked over my face. He groaned. "Rosier, really?"

"I told you we should have left Bottlebrush alone," muttered Regulus.

I stared up at the group of Slytherins. If this was Regulus Black, then the others must be his friends that I'd heard so much about from Helena. There was Sorrel Burke, who apparently had "a wand up his bottom." Then, the red-head would be Burton Madler, and the one who had cast the Unforgivable Curse would be Travis Wilkes.

Regulus got to his feet. He pointed his wand at me and then silently waved it in a half-arc. Immediately, my body felt warm and soft, as all the pain of the last few minutes faded away.

My body instinctively wanted to scuttle backwards until my back pressed against the wall of the corridor. To protect myself against these dreadful Slytherins, all of whom would undoubtedly end up Death Eaters. However, I refused to show such weakness. I carefully sat upright and kept my expression calm and casual. As if we were simply acquaintances meeting on the street, and they hadn't tortured me mere seconds earlier.

Bottlebrush lay on the floor, not daring to move. His eyes met mine and he quickly looked away. It was probably for the best he continued to play dead.

Regulus extended a hand to me. "I'm sorry, McKinnon. It was our mistake." He spoke with the very posh accent that Sirius tried to hide. With a glance over at his red-headed friend, Regulus added, "Though you probably shouldn't have hit Burton."

Madler held a hand to the left side of his jaw as he gave me a reproachful stare. I hoped it hurt.

Regulus still had his hand extended to me. I regarded it carefully. If he'd been anyone else, I would've rejected it. But this was Regulus Black. The same Regulus Black who would destroy one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Even if he was piece of shit now, he would change. And I wanted to make that change happen sooner. So, I took the hand and let him help me to my feet.

"You tell Rosier about this," snapped Burke, "and I'll hex you into next week."

"Obviously," said Regulus, quickly cutting across his friend, "we would prefer if you didn't tell Rosier about this little incident. Rosier never wanted you to be dragged into some petty house quarrels."

So it seemed Rosier had people he didn't allow his housemates to touch. I was one of those people, and judging by Snape and Rosier's past words, Lily was one of them too. But why, I wondered, did his housemates listen to him?

"He'll probably find out even if I don't say anything," I muttered.

Rosier let out a laugh and glanced over at Wilkes. "Yes, he tends to be like that."

Did Regulus know about Rosier's uncanny ability to read facial expressions? He must have at least noticed that Rosier always knew things he shouldn't.

"We should go," said Wilkes.

"Good night, McKinnon," said Regulus with practiced politeness. He sent one long, almost agonized glance to the floor behind me. Then, he turned and followed his friends in the direction of the moving staircases.

I frowned and looked behind me. Bottlebrush still lay on the floor. At the sound of the Slytherins retreating footsteps, he lifted his head and turned his large, brown eyes to me.

I pushed back the memories of my brother and squatted on the floor beside Bottlebrush. "Anything permanent?"

He shook his head. He opened his mouth, but still no sound came out.

I didn't know the direct counter to the Silencing Charm, so I pointed my wand at Bottlebrush's throat and said, "Finite Incantatem," hoping that a general counter-spell was enough.

It seemed that it was. Bottlebrush coughed and, in a dry voice, said, "Thank you."

A wave of guilt passed over me, as I remembered I'd initially planned to look the other way.

"Are you…" Bottlebrush gave a dry cough. "Are you hurt?"

A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the pain. Still, I managed a thin smile as I said, "It didn't kill me."

"Good. Did—" Bottlebrush broke off, his face pale. After taking a deep breath, he tried again. "Did you hear them?"

I opened my mouth as Sorrel Burke's words echoed through my head: a filthy halfblood who snogs other boys behind the greenhouses. My hands curled into fists. A fire raged in my head. I hadn't taken Helena's words about Regulus's friends seriously. She'd called them dreadful plenty of times, but I'd taken it to mean they were petty, rich, boarding-school brats. Even with Dovetail and Avery, I hadn't seen them straight up torture anyone before now. The Ravenclaw boy before me overlapped with images of my brother holding back tears behind the house.

In the end, I decided to be honest. "Yes. I'm sorry." Before I could stop myself, I added, "I won't tell anyone, of course. But you should know, there is nothing wrong with you snogging boys or fancying boys or even shagging boys."

Bottlebrush stared at me in surprised. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out as if he was under the Silencing Charm again. At last, he managed a strangled, "Thank you."

"If they ever bother you again, let me know." I glanced over my shoulder and then added, "I'll set Rosier on them. Apparently, that works."

Bottlebrush nodded, though his eyes wouldn't meet mine. "I didn't think they would. They saw me and— It was awhile back. Last year. Why would they care about what happened last year? I thought all of them but Regulus had forgotten. But then, tonight, I was telling my friend that my grandma was a Burke but she married a muggleborn and then— I-I didn't think Regulus would—"

"It's okay," I said. My attention focused in on that last bit. At Hogwarts, students generally didn't use one another's first names unless they were on good terms. Why was this Ravenclaw boy using Regulus Black's name so casually?

Bottlebrush, however, had started tearing up again, and I figured now wasn't the best time for an interrogation.

"Do you want me to walk you back to the Ravenclaw common room?" I asked.

Bottlebrush look up at me with wide, surprised eyes. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Please."

"No worries." I got to my feet and watched as Bottlebrush gathered his things with shaking hands.

I wanted to comfort him, to tell him again and again that this wasn't his fault. The boys, the ones who had hurt him and called him terrible things, they deserved all the blame.

There were so many things I wished I had said to my brother. So many things I wanted this boy to understand. But in the end, the only words I could muster were: "If you ever want someone to talk to, come find me."

Bottlebrush slung his bookbag over his shoulder before sending me a nervous glance. "I didn't introduce— I'm Aaron Bottlebrush."

"I'm Marlene McKinnon."

As we started down the corridor, I spared one last glance to where Regulus had sat on the floor. It was if the image had been burned there. The image of him with his head slightly turned away, as if he hadn't wanted to see the violence unfolding before him. Perhaps, by pure luck, I had stumbled upon it. The path to Regulus Black.

A/N: I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this chapter. The start of the Regulus Black arc. I'm really excited to write it. I really want to do it justice.

Also, a lot of people have asked me if I knew a lot tarot prior to writing this. I did not. Beyond a basic knowledge of the most famous cards, I knew very little about tarot readings and card meanings. I did a lot of research to write this fic.

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, y'all are amazing!