Dinner at Dunbar Castle was a wonder— and yet Fay found that she wasn't hungry that evening. She didn't want to talk to the other inhabitants. Not even Morag, to talk about unicorns, or her father about Quidditch. She especially didn't feel like talking to Briallen just then, not with her realizations about Harry Potter.

Instead, she wandered through the warmly-lit halls into the library. She entered through a large staircase, with the plans to the castle and a map of Scotland plastered to the wall. On the map were notes of magical locations within Scotland, highlighted in purple ink against the mere black of important muggle towns.

Fay knew the plans well enough to know that the secret passageways were not included in it.

She preferred the Dunbar Castle Library to the one at Hogwarts. Most of the time it was sparsely occupied, and her grandfather, Evander, did not insist on absolute silence. Instead, he was often making things with his hands to spruce up the place, like the paper butterflies on the shelves that flapped their wings, or the fluffy pillow cushions. It was all in a mint and lavender color scheme, and was like a little fairyland home.

Fay walked to the back— where all of the genealogy records were. The lives of all who took residence in the castle were recorded, with births, deaths, and marriages for anyone to come and see. Whether or not more was added was up to the individual families.

Of course, one family in particular had the largest, most extensive records— the ones who owned and managed the castle for years.

Fay knew where the large filling cabinet was, stacked with rows of boxes, boxes filled with scrolls recording the life of each and every Dunbar, and anyone who married into their family.

Some had been lost along the way, to marriage with other families in Britain. But if they were a part of the main bloodline, they were here.

The furthest back was her ancestor— Sir Ambrose. There were a few generations— a gap— between her ancestor and the resurgence of the scrolls— a fact that always made Fay suspect that the custom was never Ambrose's idea. Indeed, there seemed to be more legend than fact in that parchment.

The facts were thus: Sir Ambrose served in King Arthur's court, as a knight with magic. For his service, he was awarded the castle on the cliffside that would give his family his name and pay unto that castle's name later. He chose to hold a permanent court for all with magic in Scotland, a refuge from the Orkney clan and muggles alike.

Ever since Fay was a little girl, the ideas of chivalry and responsibility had been impressed into her, with the man who inspired the knight statue in the courtyard as her North Star.

"You're a pureblood," Ewan admitted to her, when she was a little girl, barely taller than her mother's riding boots— a mother that was long dead by that time. "Some, like the Malfoys, think that means they're better than everyone else. It doesn't. But it gives you privilege. What you do with it is up to you— but in this family, we use it to defend others who can't defend themselves. That is what chivalry is. Do you understand?"

"I do," Fay said to the cabinet as she ducked down to reach the bottom scrolls in a box marked with the most recent generations. Her hand first brushed against her own— still quite slender, with not much to it. Her date of birth— November 20th, 1979— her full name— Fay Rhiannon Dunbar— how long she'd been in school— 1991- to the present— her house— Gryffindor, as was traditional— and every report card of marks from that time.

She didn't have to reach far to find her mother's— Ewan Dunbar's first wife. Fay plopped down on an old rug, knitted by Evander in his spare time, and gently unrolled the scroll.

Dorcas Tabitha Meadowes

December 22, 1959—November 31, 1979

Just eleven days after Fay was born, Dorcas died. Fay wasn't one for Arithmancy (that was Alice, it was always Alice) but she knew that the number had to be significant. Numbers like that— they were rarely coincidences in their world.

A brief summation of her mother's life was in that document. She was a Gryffindor, too, in school, and had been roommates with the famous Lily Potter and Marlene McKinnon. Dorcas was not one for Quidditch, but she'd been a part of the Alchemy Club— that had to be where Fay had gotten it from— and was a champion racer in the magical horse circuit— particularly when it came to pegasi.

Then she joined the Order of the Phoenix, preferring that to the Auror Office, where Ewan had gone. She was good, too. Good enough for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to kill her himself. Eleven days after Fay was born.

She hadn't even told Ewan what exactly she did for Dumbledore, and the old wizard never cared to enlighten him after he lead to her death.

Fay never learned to ride the magical horses her mother's family bred and raced. The Meadoweses and the Dunbars wanted nothing to do with each other after the death of their shining girl. But at least she could fly, even if it was on a broom and not a pegasus, and at least her father let her collect the figurines, plushes, and posters that littered her room.

"Thought I might find you here."

Fay rolled the scroll back up as she looked to see her father standing there.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about Mum— if You-Know-Who's back—"

"He's not." Ewan's voice was as firm and solid and cold as the stone of the castle. "I won't have Dumbledore's fear-mongering. I know you haven't been well since the end of term."

"It started before then." Fay closed the doors to the cabinet, and turned to Ewan. "At the Quidditch World Cup. Maybe before then— with what happened with Quirrell, they say—"

"Fay, you know magic can't resurrect the dead," Ewan said. "That's why we read 'Babbitty Rabbitty' and 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.' So even our children know."

"I know that." Fay planted her hands on her hips. "But who even said that You-Know-Who was ever dead? What if he was waiting and biding his time—"

"This is exactly why I'm worried about you returning to Hogwarts," Ewan said. "You're fifteen— this isn't something for you to worry about. Whatever happened to those kids in the maze— that's for the adults to figure out."

"But what if he is back, Dad?" Fay insisted. "I know Harry Potter is many things, but he's not a liar."

"I do believe that he believes that the Dark Lord returned," Ewan said. "But Briallen's right— that boy must've seen something horrific—"

"But doesn't it explain all the activity with the Death Eaters running about again?"

"What are you getting at, Fay?"

For a moment, the young witch felt guilty. Her father looked old and tired— a man who lost the mother of his child to a darkness that they'd just managed to move on from— only to return.

"Mum would want me to help," she said in a quiet voice. "To avenge her."

"She died when you were eleven days old— you can't possibly know—"

"And I'd think you'd want me to do something, with all you've taught me about chivalry—"

"This isn't a game, or some adventure or Arthurian romance, Fay." Ewan pressed his hand to his wrinkled forehead. "I want you to promise me something. Don't let Dumbledore tell you to join the Order, or any army of his, for that matter. That man's not the saint he's made out to be, mark my words. I have no doubt he was involved in your mother's death."

"Dad—"

"Promise, or I will send you to an alternative school," Ewan said, folding his arms over his chest. "He's done it so many times, manipulating kids— just out of school— to kill and steal and lie and die for him. I won't let him to that to you, like did to—"

He couldn't finish the name.

Fay wanted to bravely protest. But she thought of Alice. Alice needed her now, more than ever.

"Fine. I promise."