Ophelia placed an ear to the thick wood, but either the door was too thick or it was enchanted against eavesdroppers, because she couldn't hear a thing besides the rustle of Tom's robes skimming the ground as he joined her.

A hand found the small of her back as he said, "Calm down. We don't know why they're here, yet," but he the tightness in his expression was far from reassuring.

"That's true." She swallowed. "They could be here for you, as well."

She'd been trying for humour there, but it fell flat. Tom just shook his head.

"Doubtful. The Ministry adores me."

Had anyone else said that, she might have suggested they had narcissistic personality disorder. Unfortunately, Tom was probably right. Not everyone received a reward for contributions to the school, after all.

"I'm going in," she decided, and pressed her palm against the door, pushing it open again.

Quick as lightning, Tom darted forward to pull it closed by the handle. "Oh, no you are not."

She blinked, sure she'd misheard. Had he not learned his lesson about trying to tell her what to do yet?

"Come again?" she asked.

Tom would have had to be deaf to miss the dangerous note of defiance in her voice.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" he hissed, as though that was indeed a distinct possibility.

"Considering they might be here for someone I'm rather fond of— myself— I think I have a vested interest in going in there to figure out if that's true or not!"

"And we will figure that out," Tom agreed tersely, still holding tight to the brass door handle. "But I am going inside, alone, without you." Like that wasn't enough clarification, he added, "By myself. Is that clear?"

Ophelia crossed her arms. "Of course. Go right on ahead."

His stiff posture eased, but only slightly. "Stay out of sight," he instructed, and slipped inside, easing the door shut behind him.

For her part, Ophelia began to count to ten. At five, her patience dwindled and she decided he was probably far enough away for her to follow.

As the old saying goes, she thought, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Besides, he deserved to be duped if he believed she'd actually take a back seat on this. It wasn't just her being impulsive or impetuous, either. If the Ministry were really there looking for her, then her best chance of evading them was from within the castle. At least inside she could sneak away in some hidden passage, like the one they used to sneak her into Hogsemeade. Outside of it, what was she expected to do? Wander blindly through the Forbidden Forest until she got far enough away to Apparate?

No. Thank. You.

"This is a place of learning, Minister. I do not appreciate you terrorizing my students," she heard Professor Dumbledore say from the next room, his surface calm bellying a serious warning.

"We wouldn't have to if you'd simply do something! The public is in outcry. They demand we do something, follow every lead. Well, Dumbledore, this is a lead," Leonard Spencer-Moon, the Minister of Magic, said with a note of finality.

Headmaster Dippet stood beside Dumbledore, and from her vantage point creeping around the perimeter of the Great Hall, Ophelia could just make out his flustered expression. "You can't believe she'd be here, Leonard. Surely if Grindelwald wanted the child educated he'd send her to the Durmstrang Institute, not Hogwarts."

"Grindelwald was expelled from Durmstrang," a Ministry witch pointed out.

"That's neither here nor there," the Minister said, and though Ophelia couldn't see him, she imagined he waved them off. "What matters is that we have information saying she is here, right beneath our very noses."

"If I may ask," Dumbledore cut in cordially, "who is the source? That sort of thing matters when determining credibility, you see."

Ophelia heard more than enough to determine that her time in Hogwarts had come to an abrupt end and was almost close enough to bolt down the corridor when an arm reached out of nowhere— no, out of a tapestry— and pulled her, silently struggling, into inky darkness.

"Never you mind about the source!" the Minister said, while she struggled against the unknown assailant. Both hands flew up to her face tearing relentlessly at the hand holding tight over her mouth, cutting her off into silence. "As far as we're concerned, for her to have snuck into Hogwarts as a student she must have had help, and we already know of at least one person here with both the ties to Grindelwald and enough pull to merge her into the fold unnoticed, Dumbledore. Don't think we've forgotten."

The air grew heavy as the weight of that thinly veiled accusation sunk in, then several people spoke all at once.

"You dare accuse—" Professor Kettleburn started, the rest of his sentence drowned out by Slughorn sputtering, "Now, now, Leonard. You were always a brilliant pupil, but this really—"

"I told you to wait outside."

That last voice wasn't one of the many arguing in the next room, but instead close enough for her to feel warm breath fanning across her cheek right by her ear. Ophelia stopped struggling and turned her head just enough to make out Tom's face, obscured by shadows and looking far from pleased. Rather reluctantly, he lowered his hand from her mouth.

"You only asked if I'd understood what you'd said, not if I planned on obeying. A rookie mistake on your part." She twisted to face him fully, just in time to watch his eyes narrow at her excuse. "And, really, could you think of no other less kidnap-y ways of getting me into this corridor?"

He ignored the jab, focusing again on the dispute settling in the other room to hear Professor Dippet say in a voice brittle with age, "I have only the highest faith in my professor's, Minister, as well as everyone else in my castle."

"Then, if you are telling the truth and the girl isn't here, it hurts no one if we search anyway," Moon countered.

The headmaster hesitated. "The girl... She has a name, Minister," he reminded him, so gentle he sounded like he might shatter. "She is a person innocent of any crimes her relatives commit, much like you or I. What... What is it you plan on doing to her when you find her?"

"Not so innocent," Moon rationalized. "She has evaded authorities for years. That's a crime in and of itself, plus several accounts say she's aided Grindelwald on numerous occasions."

"That is not an answer," Dumbledore noted, just as genial as before the Minister accuses him of treason.

"It is not your jobs to assess her crimes, nor what we do when we capture criminals!" Moon exclaimed with exasperation. "It is to teach and to stay out of our way."

"But it is also our job to protect our students," Dumbledore said.

Quick as a whip, an Auror asked, "So you admit she's here?"

"Of course she's not here!" Slughorn blustered before anyone else could get a word in. "Do you think I'd miss a student like that? I'd sense her from half a village away. I have a sense for this kind of thing, as you well know, Leonard. It was my own recommendation that got you your first job in the Ministry!"

"Again, if you're so sure she's not here, it will do no harm for us to check."

They all turned to the Headmaster, who looked uncharacteristically grave.

At length, he sighed, "Very well."

A sharp clap pierced through the room, followed by the slapping sound of feet dispersing across the Great Hall and through the corridors.

"Time to go," Tom whispered.

Ophelia didn't need telling twice. She let him take her by the wrist and drag her down the passage, out a portrait on the other side, they moved in synch, deftly rerouting anytime the patter of footsteps sounded down one of the many halls.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He didn't respond, just squeezed her hand tighter, to the point that it bridged on painful. She flexed each finger individually to fight off the numbness creeping in from the loss of blood flow.

No one could ignore someone with quite the cutting focus of Tom, Ophelia thought with more than a small degree of annoyance, and continued to let him guide her up a set of winding stairs to the second floor. Only when they neared the bathroom did the penny drop. She slowed until Tom resorted to physically dragging her, her heels skidding on the polished floors.

"We are not going to hide in the—" she winced at the sound of her own too-loud voice and continued in a hush, "—the Chamber of Secrets!"

"Correct. We aren't hiding. You are."

Her eyes flashed. "You know very well what I meant and it wasn't that."

They froze, their eyes locking at the sound of voices coming from the exact same direction they were heading. Ophelia mentally calculated the odds of reaching the bathroom in time, which was looking more and more appealing by the second. Rounding up, it seemed suspiciously like a nice, round zero.

"Looks like you lucked out," Julius said at a normal volume, making Ophelia's bones nearly jump out of her skin. He'd been so quiet she'd nearly forgotten he was there, ever present. Ever watching, and, although as far she knew there'd been no Seers in the Grindelwald line, at least that she knew of, sometimes when she caught him staring she felt a premonition of sorts. An eerie chill she passed off as guilt for being the one to end his life. Of course he'd be bitter about being murdered. "You won't be hiding in the Chamber after all. They'll catch you long before that."

"Okay, backwards it is," she decided, and started pulling Tom down the corridor from which they'd just come.

He didn't object, or he didn't at first, until they noticed the rising tide of steps growing in front of them as well. Their focus swiveled back an forth at the sound of people closing in, trapping them from both sides, invisible walls sliding closer by the second. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"Like cornered mice," Julius said, more amused than sympathetic.

III

"Shut up," Ophelia muttered, quiet enough that she might have been talking to herself.

"I didn't say anything."

She looked at him, really looked at him, eyes alit with grim intensity. "I know. That wasn't meant for you."

There wasn't any time to ask her to elaborate on that frankly dubious admission. There wasn't time for much of anything. With nowhere else to retreat to, he backed her into the wall, pressing her into the cold stone behind him with one hand, while flicking his wand between both ends of the corridor, waiting for time to run out. Waiting to be caught.

His fingers tightened around the smooth wood of his wand until they trembled and burned. Fury sliced through his caution. Staying there, frozen, weak, ensured only that they'd be caught by twice the number of people, so he grit his teeth and pressed onward, returning the way they came. There was still a chance they didn't know what Ophelia looked like.

His wand wipped to the ready, a curse already formed on his tongue, when the first person turned into his field of vision. He was so focused on eliminating the obstacle in his path that he didn't bother to take in their identity, not until Ophelia tackled into his arm, sending the spell wide.

"Is that any way to treat someone who's been tracking you like— like an owl?" Rabastan asked, affronted. "Had my darling Ophelia not been there to save me, who knows what grisly fate you had in store."

"Be quiet, you," Fenella said, appearing out of thin air to elbow him in the side. "I'll show you a grisly fate if you don't get on with it." She blew a lock of ebony hair out of her face and faced Tom and Ophelia, sizing them up. "So it's true, then. You really are related to him. Funny, I wouldn't have guessed."

Ophelia didn't waver, affecting an award-winning expression of befuddlement. "Guessed what?"

Fenella answered with a condescending snort. "Please, drop the act. We both know you don't have the time and I don't have the patience. Now, strip."

Then, Fenella was right in front of her, tearing off Ophelia's robes, darting looks over their shoulders every few seconds as she shoved Ophelia's arms through her own robes of Slytherin green. It struck Tom that they must know. Somehow they'd found out about Ophelia's connection to Grindelwald and the Ministry's dangerous interest. While Fenella slid on Ophelia's Gryffindor robes, looking as though it was about as flattering as a potato sack covered in bubotuber puss, Rabastan stepped up beside Tom, still rubbing at his injured side.

"The whole school knows," he explained. "I mean, we," he drew a line between himself and Fenella, "were eavesdropping of course. Rookie mistake for the Ministry to air out their dirty laundry in the middle of the Great Hall where anybody could hear. But they had eyes on them the second they stepped out through old Everard's fire, and word travels fast. And you know what I thought first? I thought, 'Wow, I'm surprised Tom didn't know about Grindelwald's niece slumming it at Hogwarts. I, a delightful and loyal friend, should go tell him.' And then I realised, there was no way in hell you missed that. I'd stake Fenella's life on it."

"Can't stake your own life, can you?" Fenella muttered mutinously under her breath, pulling her second arm through.

"So, the obvious conclusion after that was that my dear, lovely Ophelia must have been far more interesting than I ever gave her credit for. Naturally a girl would need to have a murderous relative for you to show any interest."

Rabastan clapped his palm to his forehead in the universal "What was I thinking?" pose.

Fenella wrinkled her nose at her hair, pinching a long, copper strand between her fingers with extreme distaste. She spared a glance at Ophelia, who, despite her evident bewilderment, had donned Fenella's robes without complaint.

"Too long," she sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped. Would you mind? I don't trust Rabastan within six leagues of my hair."

She threw all hair in a great sheet over her shoulder, her back to Tom, and waited. Having caught on to the ploy at work, he didn't think twice about severing her hair to just below her shoulder blades and vanishing the evidence of their deceit. Before he could continue, however, she stepped away and tapped her wand to her head. A stream of silver shot through her scalp, binding and smothering the copper from her hair until there was none left, just waves of gray.

"Who'd have thought dyeing my hair so often to infuriate my father would have a practical purpose," she mused. "Although... this will definitely top the list. He's going to butcher me when he sees, and he definitely will. He's the Minister's aide, you know. I can practically see the blood vessels popping in his face already."

"I don't think silver is really your colour, Fen, but it'll have to do. Come on!" Rabastan weaved her arm through his in a faux imitation of how a proper gentleman might escort a lady, herding her past Tom and Ophelia, pausing just once to lavish Ophelia with an over-the-top declaration of his undying love.

She didn't even blink at his confession. She'd been a victim to one of those declarations every week for the past year, as were most of the women at Hogwarts, including the ninety year old Arithmacy professor. Rabastan was widely considered by faculty and students alike as a menace.

"I can't let them get involved," she said, finally snapping back to her senses. "They can't get into trouble because of me. This is serious. This is—"

"Their choice," Tom cut her off, and dragged her off down away from where the other two left. "You're doing them a favour. They prefer it this way. Nothing makes them happier than to make their parent's life unliveable, and pretending to be you for half the Ministry to chase after is simply the most effective way to do it."

"If you say so," she replied, letting the matter drop, though he could tell she didn't like it.

"I think we should split up, too," she blurted out as they walked, eyes fixed low, past a mixed group of whispering Ravenclaw and Slytherin third-years.

"That's nice," said Tom, looking both ways for trouble before slipping into a passage hidden behind a portrait of a weeping widow.

"I'm serious."

"You also think that it would be a good idea for Alice Crouch and Ephiriam Longbottom to get married, so your judgement is suspect at best."

"I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I. He'd never survive her."

A striped gray cat sprinted down the passage and stopped abruptly at Tom's feet, staring fixedly up at him and flicking its tail. Another came up beside the first, and another, and another, their eyes glistening like crescent moons in the gloom.

Ophelia stepped into the tunnel after Tom, took one look at felines, and promptly stumbled back out. "Kneazles!" she cursed. "We have to get out of here before their handlers catch up."

Too late. They already had. A ray of light crept through the other end of the passage, illuminating the kneazles in a harsh silhouette, only to vanish as a shadow cut them back into darkness.

"I think they've found something!" the woman called back to her associates.

Ophelia's hand stretched out over his shoulder, jerking him backwards into the corridor. "I said, let's go!"

They hadn't even turned a corner before the portrait creeped open again and kneazles began nipping at their heels, their handlers not far behind.

"Kneazles are usually pets," she explained, gasping for breath as they reached a dead end and were forced to backtrack to descend down a flight of stairs, aware they were on perfect view for anyone to fire down spells from above. "But some lunatic decided they could be trained to help magical law enforcement, since they're adept at detecting suspicious individuals."

"This has gone on long enough." As his foot connected with the lowermost step, Tom spun around on his heel and hissed, "Serpensortia!"

A long, slender snake shot head-to-tail from the tip of his wand, landing with a lunge in front of one nearest snarling kneazles. The strike missed its mark, but only just.

"What are you doing?" Ophelia demanded, though Tom thought it quite obvious. "If it bites them they'll die!"

"So?" He ushered her forward, taking care to position himself between Ophelia and their pursuers, especially after a spell grazed over her shoulder, slicing through the fabric of her robes. He added tensely, "That's the whole point."

"We're not trying to hurt them!"

"Maybe you're not. They certainly don't mind hurting us. I'm just returning the favour."

"The people are one thing!" she protested. "Those poor kneazles are just doing what they're told."

In a less time-sensitive situation, Tom might have stopped and stared. "You value those animals' lives more than— never mind. I don't care. I'm sure I don't want to know."

Ophelia jiggled doorknob after doorknob as they ran, until they finally came upon one that was unlocked and fell inside. Tom crossed the room in a few short strides, searching desperately for another means of escape, or at the very least some place to hide Ophelia. It was in this analysis that he realised they weren't entirely alone.

"So it seems the rumours are true. I thought surely they were false this time. For Grindelwald's child to be here, of all places... but now that I look at you, the resemblance is uncanny."

Tom's wand was out, aimed squarely at Walburga Black's heart. Her dark, hooded eyes roved over them both slowly, unhurried and unimpressed, stopping at the wand. Of all the rooms in the castle, they had to find the one with the only woman who didn't fall flat at Tom's feet.

She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

"Stay where you are," Tom barked, fully intending to rearrange some of her finer features if she took another step closer.

Ophelia, having locked the door, turned slowly with her hands in the air to send Tom a warning look that clearly said she'd rearrange some of his finer features if he did anything rash.

"I'm... I'm not his child," she told her, sparing anxious looks at the door, as though expecting the Minister of Magic to burst through at any second.

Walburga disregarded Tom's warning entirely. She stalked closer and closer, until Tom came to the decision that he'd curse her to oblivion if she didn't halt soon, Ophelia's wishes be damned. Just when he'd resolved to do it, though, she stopped, mere feet away from Ophelia.

Outside, the shouts grew louder. Doors banged open, like they'd been blasted off their hinges, one after another.

"I don't believe you." Walburga leaned in, both hands cupped like vices on Ophelia's shoulders, and whispered into her ear, "Grindelwald will always find an ally in The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Ophelia looked stricken, frozen in place, as Walburga pushed past her out the door. Harsh shouts rung down the corridor as the most formidable Black gave the Ministry's best a piece of her mind. The distraction was enough to allow Tom and Ophelia to slip away.

Tom sensed her confliction. To accept the help of someone who supported Grindelwald, who's sole reason for helping her was because they believed in what Grindelwald stood for and thought aiding her aided him, felt wrong. Tom, of course, couldn't have cared less. As far as he was concerned, the ends justified the means, but he still knew it weighed heavy on her heart, because he knew her. He knew how her mind worked, as illogical as he thought it was.

Soon enough, Tom could see it. They were so close to their escape, the statue of the crone almost within touching distance. He reached around the back for the lever and pulled, watching as the entrance to the tunnel slid into view.

"Okay, you first."

Tom knew what she was going to say a second before she said it. It was written clear as moonlight on her face.

"I'm going alone, Tom."

They didn't have time for this.

"No. I said I'd protect you, and I plan on doing just that."

"Tom, I..." she shook her head, an indescribable heaviness building between them. "We're not the same people we were when you promised that. I'm different now. You're different. I won't hold you to those words. I don't need to be protected anymore. I haven't for a long time now, thanks to you. You helped me see that." Seeing his stormy expression, she continued, "It's for your own good. You'll get over this sooner rather than later. People move on far quicker than they'd like to imagine."

"This conversation is a waste of time," Tom retorted with a roll of the eyes, something he never did before he met her. "I won't get over you. You told me it's who we choose, not who we're born to that matter. You said we can choose our family, and I choose you."

She paused and Tom knew then he'd won. With painful slowness, her hand dropped from the stone arm of the statue. Three steps had her closing the distance between them and wrapping both arms tight around his torso. Before he knew it, his own arms automatically fell around her as well, pulling her tight enough that he could feel her erratic heart beat against his rib cage.

"I know," she whispered into his robes just as the world began to sway. "I chose you, too."

Abruptly, the strength fled his legs in a rush. "You... you cursed me."

Ophelia didn't respond. He watched rather than felt her lower him gently to the ground, watched her expression as, with a devastatingly sweet touch, she brought his head to rest against the wall, leaving him immobile in a sitting position.

"You don't understand what it is you're trying to do, but I know better, so I can't let you do it. I can't take you away from all this." Her voice cracked, fraying at the edges. "I won't ruin your life."

He wanted desperately to refute her, but he couldn't even move his lips.

He couldn't open his eyes. Before sleep swept into its relentless tide, though, he could have sworn he felt a heavyhearted kiss upon his brow, as soft and fleeting as the gust of a butterfly's wings.

And when he awoke, she was long gone.

A/N

Who knew that professor Dippet was in his 300's when he died? I sure didn't.