A/N: This is edited from what it was before. Not too much changed, though. No need to re-read.

"I would."

I am so intensely proud of myself. My voice has lost the annoying faded-out quality it gets around others. It's not exactly loud, but certainly much better compared to usual. Score.

I can finally see everyone's faces. They're all turned to me in shock. Normally, in a situation like this, I would have to fight desperately hard to keep from laughing. It's just what I do. I laugh through my tears, awkward moments, at funerals, when someone gets hurt and, occasionally, when something's funny. It's my way of dealing with stress. But right now I'm not at all stressed.

I don't actually think there is such a thing as a truly blank face – although Professor Snape comes pretty close – but I'm not wearing any particular expression as I survey their faces. Just as I don't think I'm feeling any particular emotion.

I kind of scare myself sometimes. I can't really tell what emotion I'm feeling, or if I'm even feeling anything at all.

You know that sort of invisible chamber in your chest where all your emotions exist? At least that's how I imagine it. Well most of the time, I don't feel anything in there. The easiest emotion to enter the chamber is probably sadness. I can get sad over many things, as long as they're properly worded or have accompanying music.

I cried in the first chapter of a book once, as a General in a war was dying. I knew almost nothing about him, but the author wrote his death so poetically and tragically that I was sobbing my heart out.

But other times, when people are sniffing over real life events, I'll automatically say something like 'oh that's horrible,' but I won't be able to muster up any real emotion. I don't think, anyway. I can't quite tell.

Another aspect of my personality is my logical side. It makes me wonder if I'm a bit sociological, or just really good at compartmentalizing.

Happiness is pretty easy to feel in the chamber too, but it's usually just the fleeting, smiling-at-a-butterfly kind. Which kind of contradicts the whole idea of the chamber, because it's supposed to be reserved for deep feelings. I'm pretty sure I think too much.

"What?" Molly says finally, her words sounding numb. I want to go over and pat her on the shoulder. Tell her no, this is not a dream. Don't bother surreptitiously pinching the inside of your arm. It'll just hurt.

"I really think I'm your best candidate," I tell them, looking the more important people in the eyes.

"Best candidate?" Minerva echoes weakly and I resist the urge to smile. That played out nicely. It gives me a good opening for my speech.

"I have no significant other," I hold up a finger.

"My parents and my Aunt are dead, so I have no family that I am closely connected to, to grieve over me once I'm gone." Another finger goes up.

"I'm not doing any extremely important work for the Ministry, and you don't use me for much more than paperwork here in the Order." Two more fingers rise.

I'm pretty sure I keep my face looking professionally distanced. It's how I'm feeling, after all. I think.

"I will not be missed nearly as much as most of you will, if you decided by some chance to try and take my place, and I am not afraid to die." I have six fingers in the air. "I really think that's quite a convincing argument."

My words are met by silence. There are quite a few dropped mouths. I lower my hands.

I'm pretty proud of myself for making that entire speech without once stuttering or mixing up my words. I try and remember if there's anything else that I missed as the silence gets a tad boring.

"You've shocked them," Luna's voice drifts toward me. "Congratulations."

She doesn't once look at me - she's doodling stick-men on the countertop - but I smile in her direction anyway.

"Thank you," I say. I really love Luna. She's got great hair.

"Is this about you wanting attention?" Hermione says, looking at me as though I'm a puzzle.

"No, it's not," I say coldly.

Okay. Hermione is not my favorite person. It's because of her anal unwillingness to let anyone else help with research that I was pushed to paperwork.

Bitter? Nope, not me.

"And I don't appreciate you assuming so. This is not some childish antic to earn myself the attention of others. This is about me…" I pause, not quite sure how to put it into words. Like usual.

"I really don't want people to continue to die at the hands of Voldemort." A few flinch but most are too shocked. "And I'm really not afraid to die. Of course I'd prefer it if I wasn't tortured," I shrug. "If you can manage that, I'd be most pleased."

"Typical Gryffindor," Snape sneers, looking vaguely unsettled.

Thanks.

"Actually, Professor Snape, I was in Slytherin," I say, failing to hide all of my disappointment.

He peers at me.

"You could not have been."

Ouch.

"I sat under the Sorting Hat for a good five minutes," I nod. "It ruled out Hufflepuff first, said that I just had too many aspects of personality to waste me there. Then Ravenclaw. It was down to Slytherin or Gryffindor, but it decided on the former. Said that while I had bravery, it was always employed along with my 'formidable supply of cunningness'," I air-quote. "Apparently the Hat's taken to making up words in it's spare time."

"I don't remember you," he frowns.

"Obviously," I drawl.

"No!" Molly cries, and we all snap our gazes to her. "You're so sweet, and young, and you- you don't know what you're agreeing to-!"

"Molly," I interrupt her, holding up a hand, as it seems she won't stop. "I do know exactly what I'm agreeing to. I'm agreeing to death. And possibly a spot of torture along the way. It all seems rather simple to me," I shrug nonchalantly.

"Rather…" she goes back to her dumbfounded state.

"Ignoring all the other reasons why you shouldn't do this," Kingsley pinches the bridge of his nose, "do you think you're … emotionally capable?"

I stare at him, uncomprehending.

My feet hurt. I would really like to sit down, but then I'd seem even smaller and more vulnerable. Standing's probably better.

"It's just … I don't want to bring up bad memories but…"

"Spit it out," I shrug.

He doesn't take offense. Nobody ever does. I'm pretty sure they think I'm too cute and innocent to be purposefully offending. It makes standing up for yourself rather hard. Especially when people laugh if you get mad. I think it's made me a bit of a pushover actually.

"I was the Auror assigned to the … incident when you were sixteen…?"

"Yes, that's right."

See, I remember people, even if they don't remember me.

"You were quite distraught."

He looks awkward. I feel a bit powerful. Mwahaha!

"And," he looks around the table, "that was a complete accident."

I suddenly get what he's hinting at.

"Yes, well … that is what the Ministry reports say," I shrug.

My voice, thankfully, lessens the resemblance of that sentence to one off of a daytime soap opera. I say it casually, without much too much emotion or flair. I'm still feeling blank, though that's not too unusual for me.

"I – what?" He looks at me. "It wasn't an accident?"

"I believe that is what I so subtly hinted to," I nod.

"Well – huh." He looks quite baffled. "But you were so distraught."

"I'm lucky that I was so young," I shake my head. "You didn't really consider the possibility of me being anything but distraught, I believe. I couldn't make my hands shake very well."

He stares at me.

"Are you going to tell us what happened?" Harry looks in-between Kingsley and me. I shift my weight to my left foot.

I don't hear Kingsley's response, if he gives one. Snape has captured my gaze and – the tricky little bastard – starts performing Legimency.

It's in my best interest however, to have him know exactly what happened. Maybe I'll gain a supporter. So instead of directing my thoughts to yesterday's paperwork, I start at the beginning, and lead him through.

I wake up to screams. I'm padding downstairs. My wand is lifted. Expulso. The blood is stinking. I may have hit intestines. Um, gross? I stand over him. The life leaves his eyes. I nudge him once, twice. Yup, definitely gross. I assess my Aunt, pick up the Floo powder. The Ministry's here. Tears, sobs, a Calming Draft. My damn hands won't shake unless I hold them up in the air, parallel to the ground. I do this three times overall, and bunch them into a ball the rest of the time. I'm babbling, but my mind is clear. For the first time I'm glad of my tendency to mix up words, and stutter. The vision fades.

I blink.

"That's illegal," I tell him.

He snorts.

"And that wasn't?"

I shrug and belatedly realize that there are, in fact, others in the room. My eyes sweep across their faces.

I sigh.

My legs are going to get very tired tonight.