PART ONE: IN VITAM


Chapter XVII: Three of Wands Upright

On Wednesday, at our usual time, I made my way to the broom cupboard on the seventh floor. The wards had already been placed, and I could feel the hum of magic as I pulled on the doorknob. Inside, I found the familiar sight of Rosier seated in a black chair.

"Do you really have to keep stealing tarot cards?" I asked as I help up the Justice card for him to see. "I think writing on them counts as vandalism of school property."

Rosier grinned. "Did you like it? The ink becomes visible only after human touch and disappears after a certain time period."

"How'd you manage that?" With a flick of my wand, I summoned my own chair and took a seat opposite Rosier.

"Regular ink mixed with dusted fairy weed and then woven with a couple of spells," said Rosier, as if this was no big deal. "Took a few trials and error to make it work. I had a hard time finding a Slowing Spell that would blend with the Trigger Spell and allow the Vanishing Spell to take effect."

"Trigger Spell?"

"If you don't want a spell to take effect immediately, then you can lay down a charm that will only allow the spell to activate after a certain trigger has been released. In this case, the trigger is human touch."

As I listened to Rosier's words, I tried to recall the textbooks I'd read over the last few months. I could remember a reference to charms that would delay the effects of a spell, but the textbook had only said these were extremely difficult to manage and too advanced for the current course.

"Handy things," said Rosier. "For whatever reason, Hogwarts doesn't include them in its curriculum. Most people who learn them, either need Trigger Spells for their post-Hogwarts jobs or take the initiative to learn on their own."

"Then, how did you learn about Trigger Spells?"

"Are you interested?"

I would never admit myself impressed by Rosier's magic, so I only stared at him.

Without waiting for my answer, Rosier started rummaging through his bookbag. He pulled out a self-inking quill and a notebook before hastily scrawling something on a page. He tore out the parchment and handed it to me. I glanced down to see, in neat script, the title of a book: Advanced Techniques for Layering Charms and Spells by Lauraline Dovetail.

"Edythe's aunt," explained Rosier.

My eyes narrowed, and I preoccupied myself with putting the scrap of paper in my bookbag so that Rosier couldn't see my expression. No doubt Rosier wanted something from me. He wouldn't be this generous if he didn't get something out of it, right?

Once I had my expression under control, I sat upright. I flipped over the tarot card in my hands and traced the spot where the word "Wednesday" had once appeared. "Doesn't you enchantment run the risk of me touching it by accident and the ink disappearing before I got a chance to read it?"

"It is a risk," agreed Rosier. "But one I was willing to take. Worst outcome if you didn't see is you not showing up tonight."

"I could have seen the message and ignored it," I said.

Rosier's mouth twitched into a smile. "Would you have?"

Curiosity would have gotten the better of me. We both knew that.

I stared down at the painted image of a woman in reds and blues draped over a throne. "Justice upright. 'The decisions you made in the past will be measured with fairness.'"

"'The truth will come to light,'" Rosier quoted the textbook back at me. "'It will not be found in words of others, in gossip or rumors, but in the answers you seek.'"

The rumors that spread throughout Hogwarts over the last few days rang through my mind. Finally, I asked, "What truth do you want to come to light?"

"I want to find the person who murdered Christine Loughty."

"And you called me here because you need my help?"

"Yes." Rosier's face remained calm and controlled, as if he'd done nothing more than comment on tonight's dinner.

A million questions ran through my mind. Why did Rosier want to catch the culprit? Considering the victim was muggleborn, the culprit was most likely one of his fellow Slytherins or perhaps a Death Eater who had managed to enter Hogwarts grounds. Why would Rosier want to catch one of his own? Was this another one of his tricks?

I voiced none of those questions, however, and only said, "Considering you can read facial expressions, you should have no problem finding the culprit without me."

"There are hundreds of people at this school. I can't ask each one of them about Christine Loughty and watch their reactions." Rosier looked exhausted at the thought. "It is also much harder to read expressions accurately if I'm not familiar with the person."

"You can read my expressions just fine," I muttered.

Amusement colored Rosier's eyes. "I think we've spent enough time alone in this broom cupboard to say that I'm familiar with you."

"Hm." I tapped my finger against the edge of the Justice card. Finding Christine Loughty's murderer wasn't why I'd been brought to this world. I didn't need to stick my neck out for a dead girl I'd never met. I'd promised to save Marlene family. That was it. However, Marlene's younger brother was at this school. If there was a murderer walking around, targeting students descended from muggles, then there was nothing stopping Hartley from being the next target.

Of course, I'd rather eat a Venomous Tentacula than work with Rosier again. I still hadn't forgiven the tally-washer for ruining my attempts to build a friendship with Snape.

"Dumbledore and the other professors are already investigating," I said. "There's no need for us to step in."

"Perhaps they will catch the culprit eventually," said Rosier. "Perhaps they won't. Rather than leave this up to others, I'd rather make certain the culprit is caught. And I want to make certain this happens before the professors start asking too many questions. Who's to say that they'll find the culprit before someone mentions that Marlene McKinnon started acting out of character a few months ago?"

He wasn't wrong. The possibility had occurred to me as well. Over the past few days, I'd watched the professors hurry through the corridors, calling students to Dumbledore's office for questioning. Right now, their attention seemed focused on Loughty's housemates in Ravenclaw. But how long until they started looking to other houses?

I glanced at the boy sitting across from me. He seemed to be in no rush for an answer, letting me think over his words at my own pace.

What I couldn't figure out was why Rosier would want to catch the culprit. I refused to believe his only motivation was that the paranoia increased my chances of being caught. Yes, it was true that if I was discovered, I could rat out Rosier for a number of things. But the more I learned about Rosier, the more I believed that he could survive any suspicions that came his way. While it would be an inconvenience for him if I were caught, he certainly didn't need to hunt down a murderer to keep me safe.

"Why do you want to catch Loughty's killer?" I asked again.

"Justice," said Rosier, waving his hand carelessly in the direction of the tarot card. When he saw the disbelief on my face, he asked, "Is it that hard to believe that I don't like a murderer walking free on Hogwarts grounds?"

My honest answer was "yes", but I didn't think Rosier would appreciate that. Instead, I said, "I just don't think you'd go out of your way like this. Did you know Loughty?"

"Not at all," said Rosier. "I have seen her around. Her friend, Amrita Sanghera, is in Dueling Club. Loughty and their other two friends would stop by to watch. Seemed like a nice girl. Quiet but friendly."

My eyes narrowed as I shifted through his words. He hadn't answered my initial question but rather side-stepped it. However, I figured that was as much of an answer as I was going to get for the time being, so I switched tactics. "And what help do you think I can offer?"

"You're fishing for compliments," said Rosier with a grin. He didn't give me time to respond as he continued, "As Marlene McKinnon, you have access to people and information that I don't. You're also rather clever. You wouldn't have been able to pull off switching places with McKinnon if you weren't. You've gotten better at lying. I suppose you've been practicing. I'd like to see that. You're good at playing a part and digging for information. Also, I enjoy your company, and I think it's in both our interests to catch the culprit. It seems fairly obvious to me that we should work together on this."

Once again, I didn't feel as though he'd actually answered my question. The things he said all felt like hogwash. Even if there was some truth behind his words, he hadn't told me his real reason for wanting to do this.

What a frustrating human being.

"Do you at least have somewhere to start looking?" I asked.

"Are we going to trade information, then? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

I hesitated. "You do understand that if we catch the murderer, I will turn them over to the headmaster."

"Of course," said Rosier. "I want to stop the culprit from killing any more students. I don't particularly care what happens once the murderer is caught, but if you want to hand the person over to the headmaster, I'm fine with that."

All of his answers only confused me more. His words didn't make sense. He didn't make sense. A future Death Eater shouldn't want to hand over one of his own to Dumbledore. Had I been wrong about Rosier this whole time? He was, after all, barely a character in the Harry Potter books. It was possible that his story was different from the one Harry heard. Perhaps Rosier had never planned to walk the path of a Death Eater. Perhaps—

I almost rolled my eyes at my own foolish, desperate thoughts. The truth had been written out for me: Evan Rosier would become a Death Eater. No amount of wishful thinking or mental hoops on my part was going to change that. Instead, I needed to figure out why this future Death Eater wanted to hunt down one of his own kind. And to that end, I supposed I had no choice but to work together with Rosier.

"What do you know?" I asked at last. "It's a deal: I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

A smile crept on Rosier's face. He seemed to almost want to hide it. He ducked his head slightly. Then, when he lifted his gaze to meet mine, his expression was serious once again.

"I don't believe the culprit is a Slytherin student," said Rosier. "If they are, then they must be someone I'm not familiar with. But I know most of the upper classmen well enough to be able to distinguish when they are lying and when they are not. If it's not one of the upperclassmen but is a Slytherin, then our Death Eater spy must be a fourth year or even younger."

"Are you certain your classmates aren't lying to you? If I've improved at hiding my expressions, like you said, then maybe your classmates have improved as well. It's not impossible to deceive you, right?"

"I won't rule the possibility out," said Rosier. "But I don't go around advertising my ability to read expressions. It doesn't inspire warm friendships. The only people at Hogwarts who know are Edythe, Regulus, and you."

My head jerked slightly at that. I hadn't expected to be part of such an exclusive list. "Should I be flattered?"

Rosier sent me an amused glance as he said, "Edythe, because I told her when we were children, and I didn't know any better back then. Regulus, because he was going through a difficult time, and I had knowledge that would help him. And you..." Rosier smiled. "I thought it might make you admit that you're not Marlene McKinnon a little sooner."

I scowled at the memory of the Body-Bind Curse. "Do your friends all think you have some uncanny intuition then?"

"I suppose so. I haven't asked about it. But while I wouldn't rule out the possibility that one of my housemates has trained themselves to be an expert liar without me noticing, I would say that it's a less likely occurrence than someone else entirely being the culprit. As I'm sure you know, it's not easy to teach yourself to mask your facial expressions."

I didn't argue with him on that point. I would never admit to the time I'd spent in front of the mirrors in the Room of Requirement, trying to fake various expressions. Instead, I asked, "Have you ever met anyone whose facial expressions you couldn't read?"

"If I don't know the person well, I have a harder time reading. While there are many commonalities among people, there are also unique expressions. Though, there was one person, my father's friend, who I've never been able to read."

"Your father's friend?" I repeated. Any friend of his father's was likely a Death Eater.

Rosier smiled, knowing exactly what I wanted from him. "He works in the Department of Mysteries. Anyway, none of my housemates have ever had his level of acting talent. Based on this, at least for our initial list of suspects, I think we should focus beyond them. If we don't find any answers outside of Slytherin house, then I agree that we should consider my housemates."

I tapped the corner of the tarot card against my knee as I considered this. Could Rosier be lying in order to distract me from the true culprit hiding amongst his friends? Certainly. Had he acted puzzled when the students entered Hogwarts Castle in order to throw me off? Possibly. Was his proposal to work together all another one of his smoke and mirrors tricks? Most likely.

But he could also be telling the truth. Or at least, part of the truth.

"For all we know," I said, "it could be some student playing a horrible prank that went wrong."

"Process of elimination," said Rosier. "Given the facts, I believe the murder was calculated."

I had my own theories, of course, but I wanted to hear what Rosier had to say first. "And what facts are those?"

Rosier began recounting his experiences on that dreadful day. The events leading up to the Quidditch match and during the game itself, were all similar to mine. None of the Slytherins had been acting strange or were unaccounted for at any time.

"Attendance doesn't bar someone from being the culprit, though," said Rosier. "Christine Loughty was most likely under the Imperius Curse when she died."

If he expected me to be shocked, Rosier was sorely disappointed. I nodded my head and said, "My friends and I suspect as much. But how did you reach that conclusion as well?" As far as I knew, the fact that Loughty had strangled herself hadn't spread around the school yet.

"We'll get to that," said Rosier. "Regardless, nothing of note happened during the match. I know afterwards a couple of Hufflepuffs and a group of Ravenclaws mentioned seeing the Dark Mark during the match, but if they're telling the truth, the Mark wasn't visible from the Slytherin section of the stands. Edythe did notice Dumbledore, Shafiq, and McGonagall disappear together during the match. She mentioned to me during the match that some student was causing mischief." When he noticed my expression, Rosier added, "She didn't mention anything more than that. I believe her comment was only speculation."

"But Dovetail is one of the people who knows that you can read faces," I said. "She would know she'd need to learn how to mask her expressions if she planned to deceive you."

Rosier nodded, conceding the point. He then described the reaction in the Slytherin stands to the announcement mandating that all students return to the dorms. From what he described, there was nothing noticeably suspicious in the Slytherins reactions.

"I imagine we heard a lot of the same rumors as you did as we made our way back to castle," continued Rosier. "Some Ravenclaws said they saw the Dark Mark over the south side of the grounds. Which, of course, made everyone suspect someone was murdered. Simon and Edythe thought it must be a muggleborn."

"I imagine they used a less polite word," I muttered. "How did Dovetail know a muggleborn student was dead?"

"The Dark Mark is in the sky at Hogwarts. Who would the Death Eaters target? A muggleborn is the most obvious answer."

I also believed it was an easy deduction to make, so I didn't push the point. Though, I did think Rosier was too protective of his ex-girlfriend.

"Once we reached the castle, our prefect suggested we help guide the younger students back to the dungeons," said Rosier. "Probably a wise move. I wouldn't put it past some students to condemn my house, and in their fear and panic, try to corner a young Slytherin."

"You're not wrong," I muttered. Over the last few days, I heard many Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs deciding Slytherin house's collective guilt. There hadn't been any corridor hexing yet, as far as I knew.

"I watched the students' faces as they came in," said Rosier. "A vain attempt though. It's impossible to observe everyone when they're in such a large crowd, and I had no way of knowing what was said to trigger their expressions. Once students had stopped trickling in from the grounds, we went back to the common room to wait. All sorts of theories and rumors were flying around. Most of them were ludicrous—werewolves, vampires, the Giant Squid."

"I suppose no one blamed Slytherin house in your common room."

Rosier gave me a wry smile. "No, though I'm sure everyone thought it. It wasn't until our Quidditch team returned that we received any concrete news."

"Your Quidditch team heard something?"

Rosier nodded. "Shafiq and Roswell were tasked with escorting the Quidditch teams back from the stadium. Our team overheard them talking outside the changing room. From what Regulus could gather, the Dark Mark had been seen over the south side of the grounds, Jenn Creswell was missing in the Forbidden Forest, and Christine Loughty's wand had cast the Dark Mark into the sky."

"The professors said that?"

"You're hearing this third-hand, so the details may be muddled," admitted Rosier. "I don't know about you, but no one in the Slytherin common room thought that muggleborn Loughty would cast the Dark Mark under her own will. Common sense said that she was acting under the Imperius Curse. It was also possible she was threatened or coerced in some way. The most popular theory was that, while under the Imperius Curse, Loughty had murdered Cresswell and then cast the Dark Mark. We didn't know about Christine Loughty's death until breakfast Sunday morning."

"Sunday morning? That's late." From what I'd heard, the other houses had all learned about Loughty's fate sometime in the evening on Saturday. The Gryffindor team had heard from Roswell that a student had died, and from their common room, the news had spread to the other houses. It seemed no one had bothered to tell the Slytherins. Perhaps because the students had assumed that the guilty house didn't need to be told.

"As far as I know," said Rosier, "the rumor about Loughty's wand being used to cast the Dark Mark hasn't made it far outside the Slytherin common room. How did you and your friends conclude she was under the Imperius Curse?" He paused and then answered his own question. "Cresswell saw something."

I recounted for him how things had gone down on my end. Most of my story was similar to his, nothing eventful happened until after I'd returned to the Hufflepuff dorm room. My voice was flat as I recalled Jenn's words, about how she'd seen Loughty strangle herself, about how she'd fled into the Forbidden Forest until Professor Kettleburn and Professor Chen had found her.

Rosier's voice was grim as he said, "So, most likely, our murderer put Loughty under the Imperius Curse, had her cast the Dark Mark in the sky, and then had her strangle herself to death."

"That seems to be the case."

"The murderer most likely placed her under the curse some time in advance and attended the Quidditch match as an alibi."

"That makes it difficult to narrow down the list of suspects," I said. "Since we don't have a time or place where the Imperius Curse was cast, we can only really look at motive."

"Yes," said Rosier. "I think it's safe to say that she was targeted because she was a muggleborn."

"Which means the culprit is likely someone who hates muggleborns. The vast majority of people at Hogwarts that hate muggleborns to the point of violence are in your house."

Rosier frowned. "I know you want to investigate my housemates, but I watched them for days and no one gave any indication of guilt, of lying, of knowing more than they let on."

"There's a lot of upperclassmen in Slytherin house to pay attention to. Maybe you missed someone."

"Always possible," admitted Rosier. "But I spent the last few days watching my housemates, bringing up Christine Loughty in conversation, observing their reactions to mention of her. No one made any unnatural expression. Nothing out of the ordinary to hint that they could be the guilty party."

Rosier must have read the doubt on my face, because he said, "I am not protecting anyone. I also thought the murderer must be one of my housemates—someone with connections to Death Eaters, someone who wanted to prove themselves, or someone with enough hatred. But I have tried to find a single guilty or arrogant expression among them, and so far, I have seen none."

I also didn't think it was the Slytherins. I didn't think Snape, Dovetail, or Avery would be foolish enough to murder someone in the same location that Snape practiced his spells. I was less confident about Regulus Black and his dreadful friends; it was all too easy to imagine Wilkes or Burke trying out the Imperius Curse for fun and taking things too far.

However, as I puzzled over the Slytherin students, I was surprised to find that I did have confidence in Rosier's judgment. If he truly couldn't find guilt on the faces of his housemates, I believed him. The only doubt I had was whether Rosier had lied to protect the culprit. But if we were going to work together, I had to trust him on this. At least for now.

"Aye right," I said. "We'll set aside investigating the Slytherin students for now."

"I will keep looking," said Rosier. "But I believe we should focus our efforts outside of my house for the time being. We can make an initial list, and if we investigate the people on it and find nothing of note, then we'll expand the list to include my housemates."

I considered this. There was, of course, always the possibility that Loughty's death was some bizarre, unexpected scenario. But if we let ourselves get caught up in every possibility, then we'd never be able to move forward. It was best to begin by looking into the most likely culprits. I nodded as I said, "The only people I can think of who would want to cause a muggleborn student harm are Voldemort's supporters. With you ruling out the Slytherin upperclassmen for now, that leaves us with a short list."

"I'll make it even shorter," said Rosier. "The incantation to cast the Dark Mark isn't common knowledge. In fact, I believe it's kept secret, exclusive to Voldemort's inner circle. Which means our culprit is not just a supporter, but a fully indoctrinated Death Eater."

I frowned. I'd just assumed any old witch or wizard would know how to create the image of a skull and snake in the sky. "Can the Dark Mark be faked? Surely there's an Illusion Spell that would work."

"The Dark Mark is actually too complex for a single Illusion Spell," said Rosier. "Height and size are easy to replicate, but there's also movement. The weather around the Dark Mark also changes, becoming dark and cloudy. To replicate it accurately, without knowing the incantation, you'd need to layer several spells on top of each other. Regulus said that the professors had performed a reversal on Loughty's wand to see the last spell cast. If they could identify it as the Dark Mark, then it means she used a single incantation."

"Have you seen the Dark Mark cast?" Even if his da was a Death Eater, I couldn't image the Rosier family casting Dark Marks into the sky for fun on family holidays. Perhaps there had been a "bring your son to work" day.

"In the early days of the war, in our second year, people would replicate the Dark Mark for fun," said Rosier dryly. "Of course, every single fake skull cast into the sky caused mass panic. The Daily Prophet ran an article on how to tell a real Dark Mark from a fake."

"People don't do that anymore, right?"

"The Ministry started arresting people for casting the fake Marks," said Rosier. "Over time, the war turned too real for everyone, and the pranks stopped for the most part. You'll still see the occasional fake, but most people know what to look for now."

I had been born into a relatively peaceful time in my country. Rosier had told me about the war, giving me an explanation of its beginnings, but I couldn't truly grasp the horror of growing up alongside a war. I couldn't imagine being twelve years old, opening the morning newspaper, and reading an article on how to tell when a murderer's calling card was real or fake. What was it like to spend my early teenage years being warned constantly that my friends and family could be under the Imperius Curse? To live in constant fear that I would be called to the headmaster's office with the news that the Dark Mark had appeared over my family home?

I had been in this world barely three months and already I had felt the crushing horrors of this war. A thirteen-year-old girl had died. She had been forced to strangle herself. What must it have been like? To close her hands around her own throat. To be unable to stop herself. I could feel the tips of my fingers digging into the road. Desperate. Had Loughty felt like that too? Or had she been blinded by the Imperius Curse? Perhaps that was the kinder option.

"Marlene," Rosier's voice was almost gentle as he said my name. "Are you all right?"

I tore my gaze away from the floor of the broom cupboard. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes as I said, "Sorry, I was thinking."

"About what?"

Of course, I would never tell him the real answer. Instead, I sorted through this new knowledge about the Dark Mark and what it would mean for our murderer. Finally, I asked, "Would Voldemort and the Death Eaters share the incantation with someone outside their circle?"

"As far as I know, its incantation is kept secret," said Rosier. "It's their calling card, after all. What would happen if any random witch or wizard off the street could cast a full-fledged Dark Mark into the sky?"

"So, you think the culprit can only be a properly initiated Death Eater?"

"Yes."

I watched him carefully. His gaze was straightforward and unwavering, even though he was still withholding information from me. I knew his game because I played the same one. It was a game of half-truths, questions instead of answers, refusing to outright confirm anything.

What did that make us? One shameless liar working together with another.

"All right," I said. "So, we're looking for a teacher or student who has been fully initiated as a Death Eater." I recalled Draco Malfoy in his sixth year, a proud, spoiled boy branded with that horrible mark on his arm. "I doubt age is a bar to recruitment."

"Probably not," said Rosier. "Though, I would rule out the underclassmen for the time being. The culprit carefully planned Loughty's murder. They cast the Imperius Curse in advance, planned to have alibi in the Quidditch match, and chose a muggle method of murder—strangulation—to create panic. While it's not impossible, I would guess the eleven-, twelve-, and thirteen-year-olds students aren't coming up with such elaborate murder plots."

"Not impossible," I said, "But I agree that we should restrict our initial investigation to the teaching staff and the upperclassmen. And as you're insisting that it's not any of the older Slytherins, that leaves us with the older students in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff."

The only non-Slytherin students who the Harry Potter books had named as becoming Death Eaters were Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr. How would Rosier react if I mentioned Crouch's name? Would he be surprised? Did he already know Crouch's fate? Probably not. At this point in time, Crouch was nothing more than a slightly arrogant, fifth-year prefect. Rosier would probably wonder how I even knew a snot-nosed brat like that existed.

"This is where it starts becoming more difficult," said Rosier.

"You don't know who has ties to Death Eaters?" I asked. "They don't show up to your family holiday parties?"

The look Rosier gave me was scathing. Then, he only said, "We shouldn't limit our search by people related to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I doubt every Death Eater can list off their pureblood family lineage back to the days of the Hogwarts founders. The Death Eaters would be a very small group in that case."

I nodded. After all, Snape was a half-blood, and Peter had no connections to the old, pureblood families. Voldemort's own father was a muggle, though I doubted his followers knew that.

Rosier glanced at my grim expression and then said, "Sometimes it's surprising, the people who are lured in by what the Death Eaters promise."

My eyes narrowed, but Rosier remained as inscrutable as always. Was he mocking me? Of course, he couldn't know that Peter Pettigrew would become a Death Eater and betray his friends. Perhaps he was speaking of himself. What lure could the Death Eaters have for someone like Rosier?

"I suppose for our initial investigation," said Rosier, "we can exclude muggleborn students and teachers."

"Hm." I stared down at the Judgment card. While Christine Loughty's death had never been mentioned in the Harry Potter books, I figured the event had still occurred. In which case, it was probably safe to exclude the professors who worked at Hogwarts in the 1990s from the list of suspects.

The problem was: how do I convey that information to Rosier without just pulling their names out of thin air?

"I think we can rule out Binns," I said. "Seeing as he's, uh, already dead and all."

"Yes, I agree. Though, it would make History of Magic more interesting if he turned into a rampaging murderer in the middle of talking about the goblin rebellions." He glanced at me. "You're lucky you never had to sit through one of his classes."

I supposed I could thank the real Marlene for not forcing NEWT History of Magic, on me. But still, she had made me sit though NEWT Divination with this tally-washer. For that, there was no forgiveness.

"McGonagall is close to Dumbledore," I added. "I don't believe she would do something like this."

"Sometimes it's the ones closest to you who are the traitors," said Rosier. "Though, I also doubt that McGonagall is a Death Eater—especially considering her father is a muggle."

"Her father is a muggle?" My voice jumped up an octave, and my brain whirred as I tried to recall that scrap of information from the books.

Rosier gave me a half-amused, half-curious glance. "It's not some secret, Marlene."

I shook my head, realizing that my reaction may have been a little strong. "I'd never heard."

"Of course, it's not impossible for someone with a muggle parent to join the Death Eaters."

We sat in silence for a moment, pondering our long list of suspects. Rosier shifted in his seat and glanced down at the watch on his wrist.

"Don't you have Dueling Club tonight?" I asked.

"Yes," said Rosier. "In an hour. If Sanghera attends, I'll see if I can get any information out of it.

"Don't traumatize the poor girl." I knew exactly what Rosier's interrogations were like.

Rosier smiled, as if this was some fond memory for him. "Only for you."

I rolled my eyes. "Anyway. Before we start ruling anyone else out, I think we should do more research. I haven't been serious in my investigations yet, and I think I may be able to get more out of Lily and James if I ask the right questions."

"You're right," said Rosier after only moment's pause. "The news that Loughty strangled herself might make for some interesting reactions in the Slytherin room common room. I'll spread the word and keep my eyes open."

"Let me know if you find anything new."

"Should we meet back here on Saturday?" asked Rosier. "The usual time?"

I hesitated. I glanced across the narrow broom cupboard at the boy in front of me. His dark, heavy-set eyes stared at me with a quiet seriousness that made me want to scoot my chair backwards and put as much space between me and him as possible.

I hadn't forgotten why I'd ended our broom cupboard meetings in the first place. Being trapped in a small space with Rosier on a regular basis screamed disaster for me. Especially after we'd been seen in the corridors by three of Marlene's friends. Especially after he'd spread the very rumor that turned Snape against me. Especially because he was a future Death Eater.

Still, there was a Death Eater at Hogwarts who had murdered a muggleborn. This put Hartley in danger, the one person I couldn't lose.

Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded and said, "I'll see you Saturday."


A somber atmosphere had seeped into the corridors and common rooms of Hogwarts in week following Loughty's death. Classes resumed on Monday, but the younger students had to be escorted from one class to the next by professors or prefects, and outdoor activities had been limited to certain times and places. Laughter could barely be heard in the castle, and when someone did giggle, the mirth was quickly stifled. Students kept their heads down and did their work. When they talked, it was mostly about Christine Loughty.

Dorcas remained constantly on edge, worrying about where Jenn was and how Jenn was feeling. She snapped once over dinner when Mary said Madam Pomfrey was doing everything that she could to help Jenn through the shock. After an apology, Dorcas retreated to the Hufflepuff Basement.

Jenn attended classes when she could, but she had permission from Dumbledore to retreat to the Hospital Wing if she ever felt overwhelmed. I rarely saw her in the Hufflepuff dorm. She would return late at night, usually escorted by Dorcas, and leave early in the morning. Her sketchbook remained on the bedside table, untouched.

There were times in the night where Jenn would wake up with a shriek, and Dorcas would rush to her bedside to reassure her. I already had to deal with my own nightmares; I didn't need Jenn's added to the mix. I took to spending most of my nights in the Room of Requirement. Thankfully, the ever-prepared Room provided me a small cot with soft linen sheets.

After our broom cupboard meeting on Wednesday, I kept my word to Rosier and started my investigation. Unfortunately, my friend circle was rather limited. I tried mentioning the incident to some Hufflepuff seventh-years, Adrian Jones and Joseph Huang, before Charms class; however, the words died in my throat when I' realized I'd never had a proper conversation with them after becoming Marlene.

At dinner Thursday night, James and Lily shared the news the Dark Mark had been cast from Loughty's wand. I tried to look shocked along with the rest of my friends. I asked a couple questions, but James and Lily didn't seem to know much beyond what I already knew. Then, when I returned to the Hufflepuff Basement, I tried bringing up Loughty to Hartley and his friend group. No matter what questions I asked, no one had any news beyond what was already circulating in the rumor mill. The best source of information would be Jenn, of course. But one look at the girl who could barely muster the willpower to show up to class, and I decided that questioning Jenn could wait.

Which meant that I needed to find another source, one outside the Hufflepuff Basement or Marlene's friend group.

During lunch on Friday, I made my way over to the Ravenclaw table. However, I couldn't find the familiar head of brown curls anywhere. Eventually, with the help of his over-eager friends, I found Aaron Bottlebrush in the library, flipping half-heartedly through his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. At the sound of my footsteps, Aaron looked up with shadowed eyes. I gave him a sympathetic smile as I slid into the seat across from him.

"How are things going for you?" I asked, as I opened my bookbag.

"I've been better," admitted Aaron.

"Me too. But, thinking of you, I made a stop by the kitchens." I pulled a small object wrapped in white napkins out of my bookbag and held it up for Aaron to see. Then, I quickly hid the contraband beneath the table. "Madam Pince will give me a lifelong ban if she sees me with eclairs in the library, so you'll have to eat them later."

"You didn't have to."

"I know," I said as I stealthily slipped the wrapped sweets into his bookbag. "But I figured it must have been a rough week in the Ravenclaw common room, and some chocolate eclairs might make your day a little better."

"Thank you."

"I didn't know Christine Loughty. But I've heard she was a very sweet girl." My words were chosen carefully, as I tried to steer the conversation in the right direction.

"I didn't know her well either," said Aaron. "I would see her around the common room, of course, but she was two years younger, so we didn't interact much. It's odd to think…someone you see almost every day but don't think much about—and then suddenly, she's gone."

I had no idea how to comfort someone, so I only could only say, uselessly, "It's difficult."

"I just don't understand how anyone could want to hurt her," said Aaron, frustration creeping into his voice. "She was nice and kind— I don't know how anyone could dislike her, especially not to the point of doing something like this."

I let out a long sigh and said, "You know why someone would target her. It has nothing to do with who she was as a person."

"I know. It just makes me ill."

"Me too." My eyes narrowed as I tried to find the right tone for my next question. "How are her friends handling it?"

Aaron's face paled at my question, and he quickly ducked his head. I didn't have Rosier's talents, but even I could tell that meant Aaron wanted to hide something.

"Not well," said Aaron at last. "They spent most the weekend with the professors, talking with Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. People from the Ministry were here and her parents. And then—" Aaron hesitated.

I glanced over my shoulder; there was no one within earshot. Most students were in the Great Hall for lunch. Still, I made sure to keep my voice low as I asked, "What happened?"

"It's just… The professors told us not to talk about it. I trust you, but… Last night…" Aaron swallowed his words.

Agonizing curiosity thundered in my chest. I wanted to jump over the library desk and ask him what had happened. However, I remained quietly in my chair, waiting patiently for Aaron to come to terms with whatever moral dilemma held him back.

At last, after a painfully long wait, Aaron said, "Last night, one of Christine's friends, Amrita Sanghera, she… I don't know what to call it. She had a breakdown of sorts. Only a few of us were around. Me, Barty, Theresia, Arjun… but she said—" Aaron's voice dropped to a whisper. "Amrita said that Christine had begun acting odd after lunch, the day before she…you know…the day before the Quidditch match."

"Odd in what way?"

"It was hard to make sense of," admitted Aaron. "Amrita, Theresia, and Jane had been with the professors and then the Ministry representatives for days. I don't think Amrita had time to process, and then it all just…hit her at once. She kept saying it must have been then. That Christine had been 'spaced out' after lunch. Her friends didn't think much of it at the time. But now…" Aaron ran a hand through his curly hair. "When they were heading down to the Great Hall for lunch that Friday, Christine realized that she'd left her Divination textbook in the North Tower. Her friends waited while she ran to get it. Amrita said that was the only time Christine was by herself all day."

I tried to keep my expression calm, tried not to show my excitement. "Where did they wait for her?"

"What?" Aaron stared at me as if I'd grown another head. "Why does that matter?"

At first, I didn't understand why he would find my question odd. Of course, the route Loughty took to the Divination classroom from the sixth floor was important. How else would I be able to figure out where the culprit ambushed her? Then, I remembered that not everyone was trying to solve Loughty's murder.

Keeping my tone casual, I said, "Sorry, I forget not everyone over-analyzes things. I'm just trying to make sense of it. It's all so overwhelming. She went to the Divination Tower from the sixth floor. Did they wait for her on the Moving Stairs?"

Aaron frowned before saying, "I don't think they were far. I think— Sorry, Amrita wasn't speaking clearly. But I think she said they had just reached the Moving Stairs."

"Did she say anything else?" I asked. Then, not wanting to sound too eager, I added, "I really hope Sanghera doesn't blame herself. No one would have expected it."

"I haven't seen her since last night," said Aaron. "Arjun escorted her to the headmaster's office once she'd calmed down enough."

I nodded. If that was the case, then the professors knew the time and location where Loughty had been cursed. Considering they had access to every student's timetables, they probably had a more efficient way of narrowing down the suspects with this information than I did.

"It's almost time for class," said Aaron with a groan. He stared down at his textbook with a helpless expression. "Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Shafiq. He's always so meticulous about checking homework."

"Right," I muttered. I could barely concentrate on Aaron's words. "I have Divination next."

"Divination?" Aaron's eyes widened.

"The irony," I muttered as I picked up my bookbag from the floor. "I need to go, or I'll be late."

Aaron's goodbye was lost as I raced from the library and headed for the Moving Stairs.

Vablatsky had mentioned that the third years had their class on Fridays as well. It was the class before mine. That meant that an hour had passed between when Loughty had been cursed and when I walked through these halls. Such a short period of time, and yet it felt as though the whole world had tipped out of balance as a consequence.

I reached the sixth-floor landing of the Moving Stairs. From here, looking over the wooden railings, I could see the entirety of the hall. I could see the staircase moving down from the seventh floor to the sixth. There was no way the Imperius Curse could have been cast within view of this location without Loughty's friends noticing.

I dug through my bookbag and pulled out a quill and a leather-bound notebook. Once the Moving Staircase reached me, I stepped on and let it carry me up to the seventh floor. Opening the notebook to an empty page, I wrote the words "Seventh Floor Landing" and then an arrow pointing down.

After departing from the Moving Stairs, I made my way across the landing into the corridor beyond. The fastest route to the North Tower from here required me to take a right. I found myself in a long corridor, the left side lined with classroom and the right side lined stained-glass windows. The first door on my left was marked 7A. I scribbled the words "studyhall 7A" in the notebook and then another arrow pointing down. The next door over was 7B. I wrote that down as well. Next was a corridor leading to the Arithmancy classroom and studyhall 7C. I drew an arrow pointing to the right, wrote down both these rooms, and then continued on. Professor Vablatsky's office, Professor Chen's office, take a left, studyhall 7D, past the corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room, past the corridor leading to the Hall of Hexes, and then I arrived at the trapdoor leading up to the Divination classroom. The golden stepladder descended to meet me.

I looked down at the open notebook in my hands, the names of every location Loughty would have passed written in messy, black ink. My fingers traced the path outlined by the arrows. Then, I snapped the notebook shut, scampered up the stepladder, then raced up the spiral staircase.

When I opened the door of the Divination classroom, I was greeted by the curious stares of Stebbins and Johnson. The person I was most eager to see had his head down as he stared into the shallow bowl in front of him. Then, slowly, his lifted his gaze and caught sight of me in the doorway. His brows narrowed, and his head tilted slightly to the right in a silent question.

It was odd that I found relief in the familiar sight.

"Were you being chased by a boggart?" asked Rosier as I collapsed into the chair opposite him.

"Cast your spell-thing," I said. "I have something important to tell you."

"Ah, yes, my 'spell-thing'. Is that a technical term?" Despite his sarcasm, Rosier didn't miss a beat. Within seconds, a faint buzzing filled the air around us.

Quickly, before Vablatsky arrived, I recounted what I'd learned from Aaron. When I finished my story, Rosier wore a deep frown, and there was something in his eyes akin to anger.

"Such careful planning," he muttered. "What a pain."

"The culprit wasn't so careful if we were able to narrow down where and when Loughty was cursed," I said.

Rosier opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the classroom door opened and Vablatsky briskly entered. Her brown eyes swept over her four students, effectively silencing all conversation, and then she said, "Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor Vablatsky."

Rosier and I exchanged glances. Our discussion would continue later.

"Scrying is a complex and often thankless art in the practice of divination. Unlike tarot readings, scrying does not always provide an answer. Some seers insist that only the untouched surface of water can provide a true scrying. Other seers have found that disturbed waters provide insight, even its answers are not as clear."

I tried to take diligent notes during Valbatsky's lecture. However, my Divination notebook was the same one that I'd used to write down Loughty's path to the North Tower. I flipped back to the page of messy words and arrows.

Rosier noticed my scribbles, and he peered over the table. Then, slowly, his gaze turned to Vablatsky in her magenta robes. I followed his line of sight.

Professor Mara Vablatsky. I'd had class with her twice a week ever since I'd traded places with Marlene. She was a tall woman, even taller than me, with long, brown hair that she always wore in a tight bun. As a teacher, she was calm, intelligent, and stern. I certainly sat a little straighter whenever she walked into the classroom. As to whether she was a true seer, I had no clue if she'd ever given prophecies. I'd never seen her go into a trance the way Trelawney had, but that didn't mean much given that Trelawney's true prophecies had been few and far between. And then in regards to her personal life, well, I knew nothing about Vablatsky outside of the North Tower.

Could she be the Death Eater in hiding? Did she secretly harbor hatred towards muggles and muggleborns? Enough to murder one of her own students? I couldn't really imagine the proud professor doing such a thing. It just seemed so beneath her. But she would definitely have been on the seventh floor when Loughty returned for her Divination textbook. That alone was enough to make Vablatsky a suspect despite my gut feeling.

After what felt like an age, Vablatsky's lecture ended with the words: "You may now begin practicing."

I turned to face the shallow, metal bowl in front of me. Clear water, maybe two centimeters deep, had been poured into the bowl prior to class. Vablatsky had also provided a glass bowl of small pebbles, a bottle of oil, and a round piece of glass.

"Even though Loughty passed by Vablatsky and Chen's offices," said Rosier after recasting the muffling spell, "that doesn't mean that they were in their offices at that time."

"Loughty returned to the Divination classroom almost immediately," I said. "If she wasn't in her office, then Vablatsky was likely still in the North Tower."

Rosier nodded. "Loughty most likely encountered Vablatsky, but that doesn't mean that Vablatsky was the one who cast the Imperius Curse."

We could feel Vablatsky's gaze on us, and our conversation was put on hold. I took two pebbles and casually dropped them into the bowl, one after the other. The ripples rolled to the edges of the bowl. I saw no images on the water's surface, and the ripples meant nothing to me except the logical result of dropping a pebble into water. I already missed the tarot cards.

"Who else would have been on the seventh floor that day?" I asked. "The other third years in Divination, anyone who had a free period could have been in one of the study halls."

"Chen had Charms class with the sixth years. There wouldn't have been time for a professor or student from one of the lower floors to arrive in time to curse Loughty," said Rosier. "Though it's possible someone excused themselves from class early." He dropped a pebble into his own bowl. Considering his blank stare, I figured he was as unsuccessful with the scrying as I was.

"Dumbledore must be asking the same questions," I said. "He has access to every student and teacher's timetable. He could easily find out if anyone left class early that morning."

Rosier nodded. "If the teaching staff has this information and they haven't caught the murderer yet, then the culprit has an alibi during the time that Loughty was retrieving her Divination textbook."

"So then, we're back to square one." Disappointment crept into my voice. "If Loughty ran back to get her book, is it possible she was a random victim?"

"Everything about this murder has been too meticulous," said Rosier. "Getting a textbook to vanish at a certain time isn't easy magic, but it's certainly possible. Vanishing Spell and a Trigger Spell. The culprit would have needed to have access to the textbook beforehand, though."

"Would their spell casting have been obvious?" I asked. "Could they have cast both the Vanishing Spell and the Trigger Spell in front of others?"

Rosier frowned. "I suppose anything is possible. Maybe someone proficient in layering spell could do it. I would

"Maybe Loughty's friends would know someone who had access to her Divination textbook," I suggested. I had no idea how to walk up to three girls mourning the death of their friend and ask them if anyone held the dead girl's Divination textbook on Friday morning. The only thing I would gain was a reputation of "insensitive and crazy".

"Amrita didn't come to Dueling Club on Wednesday," said Rosier. "Not surprising, given everything that's happened. But I might be able to speak with her later, using Dueling Club as an excuse."

Vablatsky made her way over to our table. Rosier quickly lifted the muffliato spell, and we both occupied ourselves with scrying. Rosier tipped the bottle of oil over the bowl, letting a few drops fall onto the water's surface, while I picked up the round piece of glass and held it over the water's surface.

"Scrying requires concentration," Vablatsky reminded us when we reached out table. "Many practitioners enter a state of meditation before attempting hydromancy."

I nodded my head as I tilted the mirror to once side. I saw a flash of green that might have been a vision, but I realized a moment later that I'd caught a glimpse of Rosier's Slytherin tie.

"I believe the oil is taking the shape of mushrooms," said Rosier, flipping through his textbook with feigned enthusiasm.

I lifted my head to look down at the surface of Rosier's water where the oil had formed a giant, wonky blob. With a glance at Rosier, I said, "Perhaps it's a snake."

He gave me a scathing look.

"It's sleeping," I said. "Coiled up."

"Ah, yes, I see," said Vablatsky. If she noticed my sarcasm, she chose to ignore it. "Mushrooms are strongly associated with the cycle of life and death. They have many interpretations: transformation, fertility, the changing cycle in motion. Snakes are also symbols of transformation. Just as a snake sheds its skin, so to can you be a new person. It can be a healing process, if tended to carefully."

"Oh, I see," I mumbled.

Rosier scribbled down his "observations" in his notebook as Vablatsky wandered away to check on our classmates. We worked in silence for a few minutes, cleaning out our water bowls between scrying attempts.

As our class drew to a close, I had yet to see a single image in the water's surface. The oil had only formed a circle, and the glass had remained clear and undisturbed.

"Are you having any luck?" I asked helplessly.

"Only my reflection," said Rosier.

I tossed a pebble into his bowl and watched the ripples dance across the surface. "Surely you can get some meaning out of your distorted reflection."

Rosier ducked his head to hide his laugh. We both glanced over at Vablatsky, who thankfully was still occupied with teaching Stebbins and Johnson. Then, he said, "It probably means some lunatic is going to impersonate my Divination partner and spend the next year ruining my life."

"Not the worst reading you've ever done."


On Saturday, the school held a commemoration for Christine Loughty. The students from all houses and years gathered in the Great Hall. The usual house banners had been colored black, and they hung like dark clouds over the students' heads. The world seemed heavy and exhausted as I stood between Greta and Dorcas and watched people, one by one, step up to the golden podium to talk.

Professor Chen, who was the head of Ravenclaw house, spoke first. His black robes made him look older than his years. However, his voice was clear at rang through the Great Hall. "We are in pain. We have questions that linger with us. Unfortunately, there are no easy answers for this sudden, tragic loss. As difficult and painful as it is, we must accept this loss."

Throughout the Great Hall, sobs could be heard. I looked around to see a group of crying girls, who looked young enough to be third years. A few other students, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, even one young Slytherin girl cried as well.

Professor Chen seemed to be choking up a little as he neared the end of his speech. "As her friends, classmates, teachers, as her school, we must express our sadness, we must acknowledge our loss, acknowledge the great importance of Christine's life and the great loss that her passing brings."

A table had been placed at the front of the hall, and photographs of Loughty had been placed on the table. Her small, round face smiled out at the world as she proudly showed off her Ravenclaw badge. There was another photo of her with her three friends: Amrita Sanghera, Jane Oakwood, and Theresia Zhao. A picture of her playing gobstones with her club. A picture of her holding her brown owl, a gentle smile on her face. She seemed approachable and nice, and the sight of her round cheeks and big eyes reminded me yet again that she had been only thirteen years old.

"I'll never forget the day I first met Christine." Jane Oakwood looked tiny as she stood behind the podium. Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she never once glanced up from the piece of parchment on which her speech was written. "We stood in the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted into our houses. I was so nervous when the Sorting Hat started singing. But Christine, who had only known about magic for two months, took my hand in hers and said everything would be all right, because no matter what, we'd be together. That was the kind of person she was."

Dorcas had her arms around Jenn's shoulders, but when I looked over at her, Jenn's face remained dry. Perhaps she had cried out all her tears. She stared up at the photographs of Loughty with what might have been sorrow and guilt.

At last, Dumbledore stepped up to the podium. His blue eyes swept over the student body before, in gentle tones, he said, "While we have gathered here to mourn the loss of a dear student, we also pay tribute and celebrate a life that was filled with kindness and warmth even in the darkest of times."

I hoped no one did this for me after I died.

Thankfully, I couldn't imagine my ma standing in front of whatever scant crowd bothered to attend my funeral and talking about what a lovely person I was. I'd be impressed if my da showed up at all.

Perhaps my brother would insist on saying a few words, of telling the world that I had been a good little sister. Even if I'd made my mistakes, I had done my best. I'd always remembered his birthday. I'd hugged him when he cried. Over and over again, I'd told him that I would be there. The moment he needed me, I would come running.

I couldn't do that for him anymore.

"Let us not remember Christine Loughty as a victim of this terrible war or as a victim of the hatred of humankind. Instead, let us remember her for who she was. A warm-hearted girl who comforted strangers when she saw that they were afraid. A helpful teammate who took the time to teach new members of the gobstones club. An eager student who showed up early to every one of her classes. A loving friend who baked biscuits for her friends on weekends, not because of any special reason, but because she wanted to share her happiness with them. Let us remember Christine Loughty as a young lady who stepped into this world with kindness and friendship, who was taken from us far too young, but who still made her mark on this world."

I hoped it was peaceful beyond the Veil. Perhaps beyond the door to death was somewhere peaceful and gentle, a place where a nice girl like Christine Loughty could find happiness. Perhaps she could say hello to real Marlene McKinnon for me and pass on my apology. Sorry, that you had to die, while I live on. It probably wasn't fair that people like Marlene McKinnon and Christine Loughty died so young, while I received a second chance.

"Marlene, come on." A gentle hand closed around my wrist.

I withdrew from my thoughts and looked down into Lily's bright green eyes.

"It's over," said Lily. "Come with me."

I nodded, but I couldn't quite find words yet. Christine was loved. She was loved by so many people, and yet she was dead. Someone had murdered her.

Still holding me by the wrist, Lily led me out of the Great Hall. The Marauders and Mary waited for us in the corridor beyond. I glanced about, looking for Dorcas, but I realized she must have gone somewhere with Jenn.

"Are you all right, Marlene?" asked Peter, staring up at me with watery eyes.

"Yes." I finally found my voice. "It was sad, wasn't it?"

Mary wiped her red eyes with a handkerchief. "She was so young."

"Let's find a quiet place," said Remus, as a large group of fourth year students exited the Great Hall, crowding the corridor.

We went to an empty studyhall on the second floor. Sirius held open the door, while the rest of slipped inside. I found a desk to lean against, while Remus and Peter sat at one of the tables. Lily's worried gaze scanned room, probably checking on each one of her friends. James slipped his hand into hers, and when she sent him a wide-eyed stare, he shifted so that his arm wrapped around her waist. Mary seemed too anxious to sit still, and she paced back and forth at the front of the room.

"Who could do such a thing?" Mary's voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes again. "Everything I hear— She seemed so lovely. What kind of, of—of monster could do this?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Sirius spoke in a humorless voice. He folded his arms across his chest and said, "It's not like they're subtle about hating muggleborns."

"You really think it's the Slytherins?" asked Lily.

"Not all of them," said Sirius. "Murder is a whole different level from casting a few hexes in the corridor. But do I believe some of them are capable of killing a little girl? Yes. Some of them are planning to join the Death Eaters as soon as they graduate from here."

"It's hard to picture," said Peter softly. "We've attended classes with them for seven years. They're not good people, but…"

"And they want to torture and kill us as soon as they leave this place," said Lily. James's hold on her waist tightened. Lily laid a hand over his, and the tension eased in his shoulders ever so slightly.

"Graduation is not some morality switch," said Sirius. "If they're planning on joining a violent group, then they probably already have those kinds of thoughts now. What's to say this isn't some Slytherins application to Voldemort's little hate-and-murder club?"

"Some of them have tried to cast the Imperius Curse before," said Mary. "It's not impossible one of them cast it on Loughty and got carried away."

"Who could it be?" asked Lily. "I know the professors are investigating, but whenever I ask about it, they keep quiet."

James nodded along with her words but remained uncharacteristically silent. His gaze remained unfocused and downcast.

"Emmeline was questioned by Professor Chen," said Remus. "She told me about it during Charms yesterday. She thinks they're looking for other students that may be under the Imperius Curse."

"That makes sense," said Mary. "If the culprit case the curse on one person, there's nothing stopping them from casting it on more students."

"The Daily Prophet recommends coming up with a safe word," said Lily.

"That doesn't mean much if someone in our group is already under the Imperius Curse," muttered Remus.

"It's paranoia," said Sirius. "Now every student is going to start suspecting their classmates of being under the Imperius Curse."

"Is it still paranoia when someone's actually died?" asked Remus darkly.

Peter seemed to shrink in his chair as the conversation went on. A shadow had entered his eyes, and his head bent low, as if burdened by some unseen weight. I wanted to reach out to him, to remind him that his friends were here, that there was no need to bear the weight alone. But I had my own worries, and I couldn't find the strength in me to help someone else right then.

"It's paranoia when they start pointing fingers at every person who has a bad day," said Sirius. "You know what's going to happen."

"Students are going to start reporting to the professors whenever someone acts slightly odd," I muttered. I could feel a headache building up behind my eyes. "Or they'll start taking matters into their own hands."

I wasn't surprised by any of this. As soon as I'd heard that Loughty had been under the Imperius Curse, I knew it was only a matter of time before word reached the rumor mill. Once one use of the Imperius Curse was confirmed, the paranoia would become overwhelming. Who would they point fingers at? I needed to make sure it wasn't me.

I kept my face neutral, putting all those hours I'd spent practicing expressions in the Room of Requirement to good use. My headache grew as the conversation dragged on. Not long ago, I'd overheard these people discussing whether or not I was under the Imperius Curse. How long until one of them got called in for questioning by the professors? What if one of them mentioned how much Marlene McKinnon's personality had changed? What would I do once suspicion fell on me?

"I hate it."

James's voice broke through my thoughts. He still had his arm wrapped around Lily's waist, holding her tightly, as if she was the only thing that kept him grounded. His hazel eyes, however, looked around at his friends, meeting our gazes directly, one at a time, as he spoke.

"I hate what this sick bastard has done to us," said James. "What those people have done to us. They brought this war into the world. My childhood, the days before the Dark Mark ever appeared in the sky, I can barely remember those days. What I remember are the deaths, the newspaper stories, the tears, the mourning, the hatred. That was my childhood. But I also remember my days here. I remember crossing the lake on boats together when we first arrived, Dorcas screaming the first time she accidentally flushed Moaning Myrtle down the toilet, Lily yelling at me when I first asked her out in third year, the four of us holding a funeral for Peter's pet toad, Sirius stealing—"

"Better leave that memory out, mate," said Sirius, as he sent a quick glance in Lily's direction.

"Right," said James with a grin. "It was good memory. The point is that Hogwarts has been my home for the past seven years. The place where I met all of you. The place where, even if for short time, I could forget the violence and hatred that waited outside. And now, it's gone. Those people entered our home and killed a poor girl. I won't let them do this. I can't. If they want to dedicate their lives after Hogwart to destroying this world, then I'll dedicate my life to stopping them."

I glanced about the room. Remus sat up a little straighter, while Mary's tears had stopped. Peter finally raised his head. While there was a still a shadow in his gaze, it seemed further away than before. Sirius had a sort of knowing smile on his face, like he expected nothing less of James.

A light had entered Lily's eyes as she looked up at James. He glanced down at her, and she nodded her head once. He smiled, as if some silent agreement had passed between them, and pulled her into a proper hug.

It was all too easy to see. James would do exactly as he said: join the Order of the Phoenix and spend his life fighting Death Eaters. And then, he and Lily would die young. They were all alike.

Marlene McKinnon. Christine Loughty. James Potter. Lily Potter.

Kind, friendly, brave people.

Let us not remember Christine Loughty as a victim of this terrible war or as a victim of the hatred of humankind. Instead, let us remember her for who she was.

That was the kind of person she was.

As difficult and painful as it is, we must accept this loss.

Accept this loss? Accept this death?

What a load of hogwash.


A/N: I live! I'm meant to be studying for the bar, but what better time to write than when you're trying to procrastinate something else.

This was a long and complicated chapter to write. Please let me know if anything is confusing. I'm excited to write the next couple chapters, as they're parts of the story that have existed since I first imagined the plot.

Please leave a review!