As the match with Hufflepuff grew nearer, Harry's mood worsened, mostly due to Cormac. He began visiting Ron more frequently in the hospital wing, along with Hermione, begging him to be well enough to play, but Madame Pomfrey refused time and again, scolding him for putting the match above his friend's health. When he wasn't in the hospital wing or the Quidditch pitch, he was obsessing over the Marauder's Map, scouring for Malfoy, taking detours to wherever he was.

Sharlen didn't miss a practice (most often accompanied by Piotr, who seemed to find her whenever she was outside the castle) and saw Harry have to break from coaching the rest of his team in an effort to keep Cormac from doing the same. She'd lost track of how many times he'd had to tell him to focus on guarding the goal posts and lay off shouting at their teammates.

Watching from the benches at practices, Sharlen quickly tired of his attitude; most of her life there had been nothing in the present to hold her interest, so she retreated heavily into the past and future through her visions. Being at Hogwarts amongst real people, she couldn't help but fall heavily into what happened directly around her, despite everything else they should have been worrying about. The day before the game, she transformed into an owl and soared over to where Cormac was berating one of the Beaters and cuffed him hard over the head with her wing. She perched on the goal post and transformed, standing in the hoop and glowering at him as he looked at her in disbelief. "I solemnly swear that I will curse you if you do not shut up and pay attention!" she shouted at him.

"You're not even in our house!" he shouted back, full of disdain. She narrowed her eyes at him and let go of the post with one hand, drawing it through the air in his direction, sealing his lips the way she had Pansy's.

It was rapidly becoming her favorite jinx. Gripping the broom with his legs, Cormac clutched at his sealed mouth while the other members of the Gryffindor team, save Ginny, howled with laughter. Harry gave her an approving smile and she flew back down to her place on the bleachers.

Sharlen followed the team into the locker rooms after practice let out and waited as he gave them parting words. Once the team left, Harry turned to her and deflated.

"He's going to be the death of me," he grumbled, looking tired. "Voldemort who?"

Sharlen gave a nervous laugh and reached up to rub his shoulders. "I wouldn't let that happen, you know that."

Harry grinned down at her, running his hands up her sides beneath her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin on his cold hands. Sharlen gasped as the vision hit—Harry was dueling alongside Sirius in front of a veiled dais in what she assumed was part of the Department of Mysteries. Flashes of spells were all around them and she could see far in the corner Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ginny hiding in various states of physical damage while the Order of the Phoenix duelled Death Eaters around them. From across the room, Bellatrix Lestrange shot the Killing Curse at Sirius; Sharlen gasped as it hit his chest and he fell slowly, as if for an eternity, behind the veiled dais and disappeared.

Sharlen gasped again and felt Harry move one hand from her side to her face, not thinking, trying to call her back—it was all part of their practice. She watched him waiting for Sirius to reemerge and continue fighting but he never came. Lupin came and restrained the Harry in the vision as the Harry before her in real time broke contact with her skin and the memory faded.

She realized she was sobbing. "What happened? What did you see?" Harry asked her, rubbing her shoulders, but she couldn't speak for the tears. Sirius's expression when the curse hit, the blankness of his eyes though the laughter hadn't gone from his face, raked through her and she instantly thought of Stacey and how she met the same fate.

"Sirius," she managed, gasping for air, tears spilling down her face. "I saw Sirius."

Harry screwed up his face with pain and pulled her to his chest, remaining silent while she cried—Harry's anguish over Sirius's death ringing through her, imagining Stacey's blank eyes as she lay dead on the floor of her living room.

The next day, Sharlen was trying to hurry Harry down to the Quidditch pitch—they were running late after a quick visit to Ron and he had just gotten distracted by Malfoy walking away from the entrance of the castle with two young girls in tow.

"Where're you going?" Harry demanded. Malfoy gave a short, humorless laugh at the sight of them.

"As if I'd tell you, because it's really your business, Potter," Malfoy spat at him. "You'd better hurry up, everyone'll be waiting for 'the Chosen Captain'—'the Boy Who Scored'—whatever they call you these days." He refused to acknowledge Sharlen as he and the two girls shoved past them down the hall.

Harry's aura brimmed with fury and frustration. "Where's he going?" he asked as Sharlen shoved him toward the door.

"Who cares what he gets up to? You've got a game to win!" she said irritably, as if she had any answer when he had literally just skirted them.

Stronger than her, Harry anchored himself to the ground, watching the silver-blond hair disappear further down the hall. "No, he's never missed a match until this year. Ever, whether Slytherin was playing or not. He never misses a chance to cheer against us, and now the entire school is down at the match. Just like before Christmas."

Sharlen stopped struggling, accepting defeat, and blew her hair out of her face. "Well? Do you want me to follow him?" she asked, standing in front of him.

"Yes, absolutely," Harry said gratefully, desperate to know where Malfoy was going. "Just be careful, okay? He's up to something, that much we know."

Sharlen nodded purposefully. "Go keep McLaggen in line. Go! You're late!" Harry took off toward the pitch and Sharlen turned to hurry after Malfoy before he got too far from her sight.

Trying not to alert him to being followed by running, Sharlen hurried along the corridors after him, up two flights of stairs, trying to keep up around the twists and turns of the castle. She was still prone to getting lost in the large castle and cursed herself for not grabbing the Marauder's Map from Harry before he took off for the match, afraid she was getting herself lost. Malfoy and the girls disappeared around a corner at the end of a long hall and she sped up.

When she came around the corner, she was faced with another long, empty corridor. Startled, she looked around herself. There were no suits of armor, statues, or tapestries he could have hidden behind. She sprinted to the other end of the hall and looked both ways but she didn't see any sign of them. Where…?

She heard a mix of cheers and cries from the Quidditch field and looked to the nearest window fretfully. How had she lost him? It was like he'd become completely invisible. And who were those two young girls? They had to be first- or second-year students...

More cries met her ears and she conceded, transforming and flying out the open window toward the pitch. Harry would not thank her for losing him, she thought disappointedly. As she neared the pitch she knew something was wrong—cries of outrage were coming from the Gryffindor side and she willed her wings to carry her faster. Circling the top of the pitch, she screeched in horror seeing Harry on the ground, bleeding heavily from his head. He appeared to be unconscious. She tore her eyes away from Harry and saw McLaggen hovering near the goal posts with a Beater's bat in his hand. It seemed her threat had done no good.

Outraged, she flew at McLaggen as Madame Hooch and the rest of the Gryffindor team flew down to see to Harry. She scratched and pecked at him all the way down to the ground, McLaggen trying in vain to swat her away and defend his skin at the same time. Transforming a few feet from the ground, she lunged at McLaggen as Coote and Peakes, the Gryffindor Beaters, attempted to restrain her, each clinging tightly to one of her arms so she couldn't get to him. "Are. You. Out. Of. Your. Mind?!"

"Sharlen, Sharlen!" Coote and Peakes shouted together, "They're bringing him to the hospital wing!" Sharlen abandoned her cause of maiming McLaggen and whipped around, sprinting in the direction of the teachers levitating Harry to the hospital wing.

Sharlen spent the afternoon by Harry's bedside, his head wrapped in a turban of bandages as he slept, occasionally tended by Madame Pomfrey. The nurse had long lost most of her fear of Sharlen and treated her more warmly, or as warmly as she was able—she was still the determined and strict nurse the school had always known. Hermione stayed briefly to make sure Harry was okay before retreating to her studies back in the Common Room, leaving Sharlen to give Ron a tarot reading. He was oddly susceptible to it, and she ended up doing several. He seemed to be in a particularly bright mood, especially when Hermione had visited and sat on the edge of his bed.

Examining an Ellipse spread for Ron, she pointed to the eight of cups. "This shows a great abandonment is coming," she explained. Ron was looking down at the cards, leaning on one hand with his legs crossed. "It's in the 'future' placement, so it's unclear from this alone who will do the abandoning. You or someone in your life." Ron nodded, thinking. She continued. "Here is your 'course of action' placement, the seven of wands. This depicts great perseverance, so despite this great abandonment, you're to invest in what lies before you and challenge yourself to face it and absolve it. That definitively falls on you."

When she finished the reading, Ron sat up straight, considering what she'd said. "Now, if you want we can delve further into that abandonment and predict more about it," she offered, but he shook his head and collected the deck, shuffling it.

"Nah, it's your turn," he said with a grin, handing her the deck. "Shuffle. What do you want to know?"

As Harry slept, it occurred to Sharlen that Ron was mildly proficient in Divination—not a Seer, but he did show signs of clairvoyance. "You might have done well with a Divination professor you respected," she told him as he furrowed his brow at a reading he was doing for her. She smiled a little at his concentration as he picked up the seven of swords and considered it deeply.

"What d'you mean?" he muttered, glancing at her briefly then back to the card.

"Well you and Harry don't respect Trelawney or her methods, wouldn't you say?" she pressed.

"Well she's an old bat, isn't she? Unhinged, that one," he muttered knowingly.

Sharlen laughed. "But she has made true prophecies. She made the one about Harry, you know that."

Ron met her gaze meaningfully. "You know about the prophecy?"

"Dumbledore told me a few months ago."

Ron sighed and gave her a nod as if to say he understood what that meant to her. "Look, Trelawney's nice enough, Divination just isn't for me. I prefer to live in the present and not try and overanalyze what's to come. It's coming no matter what."

Sharlen was slightly taken aback by his honesty, but she nodded, her eyes searching his. His aura was a clear blue—truthful, intuitive.

Ron considered this and then looked over to his friend asleep in the next bed. "I never knew what I was getting into when Harry Potter shared a compartment with me on that first ride on the Hogwarts Express," he said with humor in his eyes. "He's my best mate. He's got a lot ahead of him, but Hermione and I… we're with him to the end."

"I am too," she said seriously, the smile gone from her face. Ron looked back at her and turned one corner of his mouth up.

"I hope that's true," he said quietly. "Hermione and I, well… We were worried at how quickly he fell for you. He just… has enough to worry about." Sharlen waited for more.

"And now?" she pressed.

"I dunno, I just have a good feeling about you. And how can you deny a marked man someone who makes him happy?"

Sharlen looked away with a shy smile.

"This says you're gonna suffer, but you're going to be… happy about it," he offered, looking back down at the spread of the tarot deck. He felt strong deja vu and Sharlen couldn't help but laugh.

"See this one is reversed?" she told him, pointing to the card he was stumped on. Ron nodded. "So I'm going to suffer and I'm going to suffer about it."

"Right, well, that's cheerful," he muttered with a laugh.

Sharlen heard Harry stir and looked over to see his eyes opening. She hurried off Ron's bed and settled onto Harry's, one hand on his chest to make sure he didn't try to sit up. "Fancy seeing you here," Ron told him with a grin.

"Don't try to move," Sharlen insisted as he reached up to feel the bandages on his head. "Not just yet. I'm glad you're awake."

"What happened?" he asked groggily, one hand holding her forearm lightly.

"Cracked skull," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling over to check his head. She tutted lightly to herself. "I've mended it of course but I'm keeping you overnight anyway, Potter. You took quite a hit to the head."

"Coote and Peakes caught you before you hit the ground. Then they stopped me from murdering McLaggen," Sharlen explained, smiling at him. Madame Pomfrey gave her a disapproving look, no doubt thinking it was uncouth for her to say things like that, but she didn't tell her off. "Then McGonagall took points from Slytherin for my attack and I've got detention."

"Yeah, that's the last thing I remember, him hitting the Bludger," Harry muttered angrily. "How bad was it?"

"Brutal, mate," Ron said easily. "Though I'm going to start a petition to have Luna do the commentary every match—that was brilliant."

Harry looked at Sharlen with a look of cold, slowly leaking anger. "I'm going to kill Cormac."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Sharlen whispered, kissing his scar.

"Ginny said you just made it," Ron said, sitting up straighter. "You left here with plenty of time to get to the match, what kept you?"

Harry relayed the meeting with Draco to him and Sharlen felt guilt spread throughout her slowly with every word. He looked at her expectantly and she shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, I lost him. He just disappeared around a corner, then I heard the outrage at the pitch and flew down."

Harry patted her knee and nodded, but his frustration burned all around him. Sharlen listened while he and Ron discussed his obsession with Draco, thinking carefully how to proceed. Ron said it wasn't unheard of for more than one person to be plotting something at Hogwarts and that his focus on Draco had maybe gone too far, and Harry expressed his anger at not knowing what he was up to.

When the two lapsed into silence, Sharlen piped up. "Ron, we have reason to believe he may be behind these attacks, truly. I know you've rolled your eyes at this before, but you two don't know him like I do. He's withering away, he's stressed, he's running a constant low-grade residual fear. He's not himself. That's worth exploring, considering the connections unbridled."

"But we don't have the means," Harry muttered darkly. Then, moments later, his eyes lit up and he sat up despite Sharlen's protests. Tentatively he said, "Kreacher?"

A loud crack issued in the hospital wing, and Harry quickly turned his wand to Madame Pomfrey's office door and performed the Muffliato Spell, hoping she wouldn't hear the commotion. Two house elves had appeared, fighting furiously, and Sharlen's jaw nearly dropped off her face when she saw the smaller of the two, dressed in far too many knitted hats and socks, and stood from Harry's bed.

"Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter, and if he does it again Dobby will be shutting his mouth for him!" Dobby cried shrilly, biting Kreacher's ear for good measure. Harry and Ron leapt from their beds to restrain the two elves. Sharlen stood rooted to the spot, a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. He knows who I am.

"Kreacher will say what he pleases about his Mudblood-apologist master, just as bad he is, oh what Kreacher wouldn't give-" but he was interrupted by Dobby's knobbly fist knocking out several of his teeth.

"I forbid both of you to keep hurting each other!" Harry said, quickly correcting himself. "Well, Kreacher, I demand you stop fighting Dobby, but Dobby I can only ask you to please stop."

"Dobby is a free elf and he will do anything Harry Potter asks him to!" the elf said furiously, large eyes watery. Both of the elves were tentatively released from Harry and Ron and fell to the floor, glowering at each other but keeping their hands, and teeth, to themselves.

Dobby turned his tennis-ball sized eyes to Sharlen and his expression melted into a fearful gape. Her eyes widened with fear to mirror his. For several seconds, no one moved. "Miss is here, miss is… With Harry Potter…?"

"Ah. Right. You know her from the Malfoys'," Harry said, shrugging. "She goes to school with us now, Dobby."

"H-hello Dobby…" Sharlen said carefully, swallowing hard though her mouth had turned to ash. "F-freedom is suiting you…"

Ron had picked up on her fear, giving her a curious look, and she damned herself for being so reactive. She knew he was wondering what in the world she could fear from a house elf. Dobby shook his head and his batlike ears flapped a little. He looked to be warring with himself. "But miss is… but she was always nice to Dobby… kind even… So does this mean…?"

Steeling herself, she knelt before him and lightly touched the topmost hat that teetered dangerously about a foot above his head. "You really do look well. I'm happy to see it. I'd be glad to knit you a green hat to add to your collection, I see you don't have one yet."

To her immediate relief, the elf broke into a grin. "Dobby would be most grateful miss, Dobby loves clothes!" Kreacher gave an unmistakable scoff of pure disgust and Dobby shot him a furious look. "Dobby's favorite is socks, miss!" He wiggled his toes somewhere deep in the seven pairs he had layered on his feet, the effect of which was for the tips to jump vaguely.

"Socks it is, then. A set, even," she said with a smile, straightening up beside Harry.

Mercifully the larger elf, Kreacher, addressed Harry. "Master called Kreacher?" he growled sourly, unphased by his newly absent teeth, which made Sharlen's stomach turn over. She was mildly shocked to notice first that neither elf appeared to have an aura she could see, or that she had never noticed this before in her dealings with Dobby at Malfoy Manor.

"Yes, I have something I'd like you to do," Harry said.

Sharlen looked at him, perplexed. "You inherited a house elf?"

Harry nodded. "Sirius's family house and Kreacher became mine when he died. I would have freed him," Harry said with a careful sidelong look at the dirty elf on the floor, "but he knows too much about the Order." Her eyebrows furrowed and her expression hardened. The Black family. So he knows Bellatrix. And Bellatrix knows me.

"Dobby will do it, sir!" Dobby said eagerly, pushing ahead of Kreacher. "Dobby will do anything Harry Potter asks!"

"It actually would be good to have two of you, if you like, Dobby," Harry said amicably. "I want you to tail Draco Malfoy—follow him everywhere, at all times, and tell me what he's doing, who he's meeting with, everything. I want regular reports, and he absolutely cannot know what you're up to."

Ron's look of exasperation was plain on his face and Sharlen's eyes narrowed, wondering what the elves would turn up with for Harry if they overheard Draco saying something incriminating to her.

"Master wants Kreacher to spy on the pureblood great-nephew of my old mistress?" Kreacher asked carefully, eyes widening. Sharlen broke out into a sweat again—if this other elf discovered who she was, there would be no hiding it from Harry. It was plain that this elf despised the idea of clothes and wouldn't be bribed by them.

Harry nodded. "That's the one."

"Dobby can do it, sir!"

Sharlen knew that Harry and Ron also noticed Kreacher's careful smirk, and Harry hurriedly added, "I forbid you to tip him off, pass him notes, interact with him in any way, or let him know what's going on. Under any circumstances." Kreacher looked thoughtful for several seconds, scrunching his face up to find a loophole in Harry's plan. But eventually he deflated, ears drooping.

"Master thinks of everything," Kreacher muttered defeatedly, "And so
Kreacher will follow the Malfoy boy, though Kreacher would much prefer to serve him, yes, much prefer…"

"Right," Harry said irritably, "Off you go, then. I'll want regular reports, just make sure loads of people aren't around me when you give them. Ron, Hermione, and Sharlen are okay."

With another loud crack the two elves were gone.

"Dobby knows you from the Malfoys'?" Ron asked.

Sharlen nodded absently. "Yes. They were terrible to him. I'm glad to see he's free."

"It was all Harry's doing," Ron said eagerly. "He tricked Lucius Malfoy into giving Dobby a sock our second year."

"And now he's forever grateful to you," Sharlen said, looking to Harry. He shrugged modestly.

"He did try to save my life twice that year… by nearly killing me," he admitted.

Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office, wand raised to dim the lights and draw the curtains, and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of them. "Miss Down, you should have been out of here half an hour ago!" she said sternly. "And neither of you gentlemen have been dismissed! Return to your beds immediately!" She shooed Sharlen out before she could kiss Harry goodbye and closed the hospital wing door behind her with a wave of her wand.

Harry and Ron were permitted to leave the hospital wing Monday morning and did so without delay, meeting Hermione in the Great Hall. When Sharlen arrived, they were talking about Dean and Ginny.

"They've had a row," Hermione said as she walked up and took her seat beside Harry.

"Who has?" Sharlen asked, mildly curious.

"My sister and Dean," Ron muttered bitterly, shoving a roll into his mouth.

Instinctively Sharlen turned a little too openly to see Harry's aura. Bands of pale yellow, bright orange, pink, and thin, light red were clearly defined—optimism, hope, excitement, affection, and finally passion. Her heart sank instantly. His affection for Ginny had grown throughout the year and was becoming more and more apparent. He noticed her looking at him and the pale yellow grew into a brighter lemon; he was afraid of giving this away to her. He was trying to stifle it.

"What's wrong?" he asked her nervously. Her eyes grew sad.

"Nothing."

"Well, what did they fight about?" Harry asked, trying to seem casual.

"Dean was laughing about Cormac hitting that Bludger at you," Hermione said slowly, eyes on Sharlen.

"Well it must have looked funny," Ron admitted.

"It didn't look funny at all!" she shot back hotly. "Harry's lucky Coote and Peakes caught him or his injury would have been much worse!"

"Either way there's no reason for the two of them to split up over it," Harry interrupted. "Or are they still together?"

"They are, but why are you so interested?" Hermione asked, shooting him a sharp look. Sharlen was staring down at her plate miserably.

"I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!" Harry said hastily—a lie Sharlen knew was for her benefit.

Luna came up to the group with a letter for Harry from Dumbledore, but Sharlen had zoned out and hadn't noticed. She caught the tail-end of their conversation. "Eight o'clock is when he wants to meet."

"You haven't gotten the memory yet, Harry…" Hermione said carefully. Harry squirmed guiltily but said nothing.

"I have one for you too, Sharlen," Luna said dreamily, handing her a smaller note. Perplexed, Sharlen took it carefully and unfolded it. In Dumbledore's loopy scrawl, it read: "Come to my office at 9 o'clock. We have much to discuss."

"What is it?" Ron asked, leaning around Harry for a look. Luna had disappeared to the Ravenclaw table for a cup of tea.

"Dumbledore wants to see me tonight too," she said quietly, frowning at the note. "After Harry."

"What for?" Harry asked, reading the note over her shoulder.

Sharlen sighed and folded it, setting the note in the pocket of her robes. "It's probably about my guardian, and what will happen now that I'm of age," she lied.

The reaction was akin to mild outrage, a series of gasps and disappointed clucks. The trio leaned forward with various outcries, all about not knowing when her birthday was. "When did you turn seventeen?" Harry asked, an arm firmly around her shoulders.

She gave him a small smile. "A few weeks ago. It isn't a big deal, and a lot's been happening."

"But we didn't celebrate your birthday!" Hermione moaned sadly, looking to Harry and Ron for help.

"It's okay!" Sharlen assured them, holding up her hands. "Really! I've never celebrated it, it would seem strange to do so. Really. It's just another day to me."

Ron opted to change the conversation, sensing she was extremely uncomfortable talking about her birthday. "What do you think he'll say now that you're of age? Do you think Snape will still be your guardian?"

Sharlen thought a moment, leaning into Harry. He rubbed her arm and gave the top of her head a kiss. "I'm not sure, honestly," she said finally, watching the owls bringing post to students here and there. "I've always lived with him, so I'm sure I still will… I mean, I don't have the means to do anything differently. I'm not sure what would change now that I'm of age, really, and Snape hasn't tried to talk to me about it either. I wonder if he'll be there tonight too."

After a long day of classes she had a hard time focusing through, Sharlen found herself in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. She made no move to engage it or enter beyond it; brows furrowed, she glared hard at the space between them, unable to stop focusing on her interaction with Snape hours before.

In Potions class he had only allowed her to answer questions every few weeks or so, no longer trying to diffuse whatever suspicion fellow students had about them but rather trying to further distance himself from her altogether. That day however, in a double lesson, he began by introducing the classes to a darker branch of potion-making.

"There are certain brews that exist in the darker side of the magical world that enforce a different kind of imprisonment on a victim," he muttered, slamming the window shutters closed with a wave of his wand as he swept into the dungeon classroom. The class fell silent at once and readied their parchment and quills. Despite having no one to talk to or work with in Potions, it had become her most interesting lesson as the year went on—observing Snape in this habitat was so jarringly different than the one-on-one lessons she'd always had with him in his home. At his words, her eyes narrowed slightly. He went on to write three potions on the board: Visiodisrum, Marmore Dormitabit, and Exspiravit Ancora. Sharlen gripped her flask tightly under her desk.

"The first only needs to be delivered once and has only one known antidote," Snape began, facing away from the class, pacing slowly. "Essentially it causes frequent seizures in the temporal lobe that cause frightening auditory and visual hallucinations, as well as catatonia. The administrator has a certain control over what images and sounds are delivered at the time of administration. The second causes a type of sleep paralysis—the victim is able to consciously feel, hear, and see what is happening around and to them, but they are unable to react, scream, speak, or anything else. The last is perhaps the most treacherous, because it involves joining a ghost with a person's soul. They share one body, one mind, and cannot be conscious together." Sharlen took a deep breath and held it, shaking her head very slowly. "The marrying of ghost and person involves a complex spell—the potion serves as maintenance. The host must continue to drink the potion daily in order to remain in control of themselves; any lapse in dosage will allow the ghost imprisoned inside them to take over and control the body's actions. Anchored ghosts are often… destructive and vengeful."

He spent the remainder of the lesson discussing how to recognize these potions, other secondary magic involved with them, and famous victim cases and what they entailed. Sharlen took no notes, but simply glowered at Snape, gripping her quill so fiercely that it snapped.

After class was up, Sharlen held back until the other students had left and walked up to Snape as he straightened parchment. He didn't acknowledge her. "I find it hard to believe that was curriculum," she muttered darkly.

"In times of war it is wise to make students aware of the powers that may be used against them," he said dismissively. "The ability to recognize potions of this nature could be the difference between mental torture and success."

"So being an anchor is torture, yes?" she said, more loudly than she meant. She glared at him until he finally turned to face her.

"Were you not tortured when you found out what you were?" he asked quietly, staring down his hooked nose at her. She pressed her lips tighter together. "Most anchors are not so easily able to recover from the knowledge that another somewhat sentient being is caged within them. Ghosts can think, feel emotionally, act. It is often perceived as a sort of capturer within them and they form a sort of stockholm syndrome, unconvinced that what they're feeling is theirs alone and empathizing with the ghost bound within them despite the impossibility that the two will ever converse. You, on the other hand," he said with a pause, beginning to slowly pace again, "seem to have made peace with your situation."

"I did that," she said quietly, watching him pace, "I empathized. I still do. I wonder what she thinks of me, of my life, of what I hide from others. I wonder who she was, how miserable her life was. But I don't have the option of becoming unhinged by it. There are people who need me regardless."

She wasn't sure, but it seemed he had shaken his head. "How noble. How selfless."

"This has my father written all over it," she protested, returning to her original inquiry. "There's no way Dumbledore would want students to learn about magic this dark in a sixth-year Potions class. Are you hoping to expose me? Are you hoping someone else will realize what I keep in my flask?"

"As usual your perceptions are not entirely misguided," he announced, turning away from her again. "Your father does not intend to keep who and what you are a secret for much longer."

"Excuse me?" she said, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it is becoming opportune for him that you move into the light sooner rather than later."

"So he's hoping to expose me this way," she said quietly. "To turn people against me?"

"To initiate a fear of you," Snape said slowly, each word deliberate. "At the proper moment."

"I'm not playing his games, I'm not his pawn," Sharlen said darkly, frowning. "Being an anchor doesn't inherently make you dangerous."

"Fear is dangerous," he said, sweeping from the classroom, "and fear is rarely logical. You're late for your next class."

She jumped back from Dumbledore's entrance as the gargoyle leapt to life, torn from her contemplation, and Harry stood before her. His aura was pulsating with a new-found determination and he was mildly surprised to see her there. "We ran late," he said, walking up to her. He took her hands between them. "Are you okay? You look a little lost."

"I feel a little lost," she admitted with a small laugh. "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think." He rubbed his scar absently, some large burden growing smaller in his eyes. "Just have to get that memory."

"Are you feeling alright? Is your scar bothering you?"

Harry shook his head and dropped his hand. "It twinges a bit from time to time. It's fine."

Sharlen nodded. "I'd better go up. Sweet dreams."

Harry leaned down to kiss her, gave her hand a quick squeeze, and left for Gryffindor Tower. Sharlen ascended the staircase and made her way to Dumbledore's office.

He was waiting for her behind his desk, looking a little tired but overall pleasant. She stood and waited. "You met Harry on your way up, I think," he said, more an observation than a question.

"I did."

"How did he seem?"

"Distracted but perfectly fine," she said with a nod. The Pensieve was before him. "Did you ask me here to see more memories?" She tried not to sound too hopeful, but Merope was on her mind.

Dumbledore nodded. "To show you what I've just shown Harry. Forgive me if I'm not overly enthused—the Pensieve is meant to alleviate overthinking, and revisiting the same recollections defeats its great purpose."

"But you're not ready for him to know I'm involved, so you couldn't show us together," Sharen said, walking up to the desk. The old man gave another slow nod.

"Indeed. He hasn't retrieved the memory and I'd say he's not quite ready to learn about you just yet."

"Professor Dumbledore, is there a way I can help with the memory? Harry has largely kept quiet about it around me, but… is there a way I could get it?" Dumbledore considered her carefully.

"I don't believe so," he said quietly over the tips of his fingers. "Professor Slughorn remains woefully frightened of you. He spent your father's years here at Hogwarts trying to collect him, seeing in him an ambition that was easy to define and that connection he has to him makes him all the more frightened of what he's become. You being a product of that reveals you as a concept quite unparalleled to him."

"'Concept,'" Sharlen scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'm a person."

"It is difficult to discern a difference in who a person is and what you perceive they must be like when fear is involved," Dumbledore said, standing. "Fear controls the mind like nothing else in this world, save for love. If you will, I'd like to show you the memory I showed Harry tonight before we retire for the day."

Sharlen stepped up, pressed her face into the Pensieve, and felt herself briefly falling into the memory.

Standing beside Dumbledore, she took in the extravagance of the room with pure awe. Extreme comforts and material trophies decorated the space where a large, highly groomed woman sat, ordering an elderly house elf around. Her eyes combed over every inch—she had never seen a place so highly decorated in riches. Looking at the woman and her adornments, the only word that stuck in her mind was "excess." The knock on the door startled her as the house elf ran to see the visitor inside.

Sharlen held her breath as the eighteen-year-old version of her father walked into the room. She made her way closer—there were similarities in his face to her own that were indiscernible now in his current state. They had the same jaw, the same prominent cheek bones, the same lip shape. His eyes were more of an almond shape, which complimented his present-day snake-like slits well; hers had always been much rounder, wider. Same dark hair, same skin tone. Would Harry start to draw these parallels now that he was seeing younger versions of her father more often in these memories? She shuttered to think about it and turned back to the large woman her father was flattering.

The house elf reentered the room with two boxes of different sizes. The first contained a gold cup with a badger on it. Sharlen listened as her father and the woman, Hepzibah Smith, revealed it as Hufflepuff's. He was looking at it hungrily and Sharlen knew that somewhere in the future of this memory he had turned it into a Horcrux. She tried to catch Dumbledore's eye, but he was set on the scene, looking even more tired but interested regardless.

The second box contained none other than Slytherin's locket, emblazoned with Salazaar Slytherin's "S," and a red gleam was easy to see in her father's eyes as he stared at it greedily. At first Sharlen was not sure, once he had it in his grip, that he would give it back, but it was just as quickly returned to the box and Dumbledore was leading her back out of the Pensieve.

Feet firmly back on the office floor, Sharlen said, "He got them. He turned them."

Dumbledore considered her for several seconds. "A few days later, Hepzibah Smith was found dead in her home and Hokey the house elf confessed to her murder. Voldemort planted a false memory of her accidentally poisoning her mistress and Hokey was sentenced for the murder. The cup and the locket were never recovered by the family."

Sharlen nodded. "I don't know anything about the cup. The locket is… hidden with enchantments…" She felt a fierce tug in her mind and brought a hand to her face, confused. "I'm not the Secret Keeper but I know…" She found herself unable to finish the sentence. Dumbledore shook his head and returned to his seat.

"I thought as much."

"Why can't I just tell you where it is?" she said, frustrated. She looked at him helplessly. "Maybe I could bring you there if I can't say it? Show you?"

"I don't think you'll be able to, Miss Down," Dumbledore said carefully, leaning over his desk. "If you know the location but are not the Secret Keeper, that makes you a secondary Keeper. You are burdened with the knowledge but bound by the charm to never be able to reveal its location or any further details about it, even if you want to. Only the Secret Keeper can reveal the secret to others."

"What good will I be to Harry if I can't help him look for these Horcruxes?" she muttered, feeling completely helpless.

"We are still waiting on confirmation before we can even be worrying about that," Dumbledore said quickly. "Harry still has no idea that Horcruxes exist and far be it from me to plant that seed in his mind before we get that memory. No matter what it says, I'm sure we'll have our answer then. Besides… there is a chance I have already been shown this place many years ago and would then be able to find it. I will have to go exploring. Once we know the truth."

"I have already told you they exist," Sharlen said through gritted teeth, fists clenched. "And still you hesitate."

"I do."

"Do you infuriate Snape this way too?" she asked bitterly.

"Professor Snape, Sharlen." He looked at her with a kind smile. "Speaking of him, he has expressed concern with what will become of you now that you're of age."

"Has he now?" she asked sarcastically, dropping into the chair before his desk and crossing her arms. "News to me."

"He fears your father will want to utilize you in this war as a way to get to Harry," he explained calmly.

"How do you figure? What would turning seventeen have to do with it? My father was practically nonchalant about me coming here. He just changed his mind one day. He told me at the beginning of the year that it would only serve him to reveal who I was to Harry. He said it would destroy him."

"I'm sure he thinks that to be true," Dumbledore said, bringing his fingertips back together. "And it could very well play out like that. One last way to try and unhinge Harry before they meet for the final battle. It's not a bad tactic, and you were only too willing. Alternatively, if Harry does not find out about your origin, your father could use you as bait to lure him out, as he cares for you so deeply. Now that you're of age your magic will be undetectable to the Ministry outside of school—you'll be much more useful to him. He can use you for more than tormenting Harry now."

"It always was. I'm a ghost to the Ministry."

"That you are, but Professor Snape kept it that way," Dumbledore explained. "The Ministry cannot keep tabs on underage magic if they don't know someone exists, this is true—but in larger quantities of magic, they would have found you. That's why he kept your magical schooling under such a tight regimen all those years."

Sharlen watched him, thinking. "I believe I can help Harry. I believe he'll accept me and accept my help, when the time comes. Regardless of what my father thinks."

"I've said it before and I think it will work just as well now," Dumbledore said quietly. "The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."

"Harry has been lied to enough in his life," Sharlen said firmly. "The closer we get, the more it benefits him to know the truth about me and see the clearer picture here. So we can plan, so we can finish this together."

"This is why espionage would serve both of you well. Your father will try to use you to get to Harry if the two of you remain close." Sharlen stared at him, dumbfounded. "If you're able to convince Harry that you'll be working for him on the dark side, that would be the best case scenario to help him defeat Voldemort. If he is unable to accept that, it will be up to you to do it regardless."

"So you want me to start distancing myself from Harry so my father can't get to him through me?" Sharlen shouted. "All this time you allowed us to get close just to try and keep us apart now?"

"I am unsure what the best course is," he admitted quietly. Sharlen was vaguely aware of the other headmasters and headmistresses watching them avidly from their portraits. "The closer you are to Harry, the better the chance he will believe you mean him no harm when you reveal your origin. But, the possibility that he will reject you is great, and should that occur you will have a harder time assisting him in his task. Both courses of action have their ups and downs. I'm afraid that leaves the decision to you."

Dumbledore leaned forward on his desk and considered her closely. "No matter the outcome when you reveal yourself to Harry, you must persevere. I believe his best chance will be with your aid, whether he knows it or not."

Sharlen fell back against the chair, her robes balled up in her fists. Ginny swam into her mind. "Do you think it's cruel for me to be in his life like this? Do you think it's selfish?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I think it's pure, and a potentially necessary evil."