"Marcy, what is this place?" Charlie Lawson asked tentatively, placing his hand against the door that had suddenly materialized in front of his face. His sister Abbie, who considered herself an expert on Hogwarts, was frowning as she traced its unmarred wood face with her fingertips, "What was it Professor said…don't trust things that we can't see where the brain is…"

"It doesn't have a brain you idiot," Abbie interrupted, turning to look at Marcy, who was standing in the center of the hallway with a very large piece of old parchment in her hands. They had not been allowed to look at it the entire way to the indistinguishable hallway, although Marcy had kept her head buried in it, leading them this way and that, mumbling things about Filch and detection as they clamored about, "But I am perplexed. What is this place?"

Charlie watched as Marcy indicated for them to hush and knocked on the door three times, in rapid sequence. The door handle, which was ornate and unlike any others in the castle, turned slowly and opened into a room barely bathed in candlelight. It was dark, musty, and smelled of cobwebs and soot as Marcy hustled them inside, slamming the door behind them before he could even mutter an objection.

They were standing in a rather large study, he noticed almost immediately. Sconces with melting candles lined the walls, covered in a sheen of dust that did not even attempt to conceal its age. There were books that lined two walls, thousands upon thousands of books with moldy and well bent bindings that had titles ranging from the most mundane to the most horrific. A large fireplace lined the farthest wall, the bricks along its face slipped off in strange directions as if it had melted in perfect sequence with the candle wax. The kindle in its base had not been lit, although a large bucket of firewood sat unused in the corner. In the middle of the room the most notable features of all were five large velvet armchairs, each upholstered in one of the house colors. Andrew Potter and Michael Weasley were seated in the burgundy and navy chairs, respectively, and nodded to Charlie in almost a pompous manner.

"What is going on here? Where are we?" he asked as he took the yellow Hufflepuff chair. Abbie crinkled up her nose as she turned to the green chair and sank unappreciatively into it, casting Marcy a slightly apologizing smile as she placed as little skin on the chair as possible. Marcy did not seem to mind as she pulled the silver chair, the one that represented the crest, closer to Andrew and curled her hands together on his lap. Charlie could not help but groan a little under his breath.

"This is the Room of Requirement," she said simply, not bothering to look him directly in the face, "It can become anything you want it to be, as long as you concentrate long and hard enough. This here was the study of the founders of Hogwarts. With the charms placed so heavily on this castle, we thought this might be the best place to discuss our…predicament." She said the last word carefully as she studied Andrew Potter's face, which was tense and unreadable. Her left hand had latched onto his, causing an angry bubble to rise up in Charlie's stomach.

"Are you listening Lawson?" Andrew piped up, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in his voice. Charlie shrugged and nodded on.

"Charlie this is serious. Andrew's in a lot of trouble," Marcy said heavily, her hand still lying comfortably in its position, "We don't really know who or what is after him, but he's the key to the next rising. He is who they'll come after."

"That's…that's absurd Marcy," Abbie interrupted, her face covered in exasperation, "there isn't going to be a third rising and you of all people should be aware of that. Your dad helped to get rid of them all. So did yours Andrew."

"Not all of them," Michael piped in, "Someone went after my parents remember?"

"Besides, evil always exists," Marcy said, "You can't have good without evil. It just doesn't work that way."

Charlie sat quietly in his chair, playing with the soft butter yellow velvet under his fingers. Why was Andrew bloody Potter another Chosen One? The Potter line had always been stupidly famous, what with James Potter and his infamous run in Hogwarts, and then the betrayal of the Black family, and then Harry himself having to fight off You-Know-Who. Did his son have to do it too? Charlie twisted his thumbnail into the fabric until it started to pill and shred. He was not asking for fame, but did that have to mean that the Potter's were the only ones to get it, especially when fame always got you the girl.

It was not that he fancied Marcy, not necessarily anyway. He had always known the way she felt for Andrew, the way she was almost fated to care more for the Potter name than she ever would for him. His was not anything really important and he had come to accept that a very long time ago. He was okay with just taking care of her as a best friend. But Charlie had also seen the way he had treated her, his rollercoaster-ride of emotions that seemed to envelop her. He had barely spoken to her after the Minister's parting and had treated her like some sort of abomination after some sort of run-in on the Express at the beginning of the year. If Charlie was truthful with himself, he cared much more about her well being, something he was sure Andrew cared little about.

"So how are you the key?" Charlie asked lazily, not bothering to look Andrew in the eye.

"A prophecy."

"That's impossible! The hall of prophecy was destroyed years ago!" Abbie yelled again.

"Not quite that kind of prophecy," Andrew interjected, "This one, an evil one, said that I'm the tip of the scale. If I pick good, the wizarding world will be saved. If I pick evil…"

"Well that's easy then isn't it?" Abbie interjected again, "just pick good. You're obviously not a bad person…"

"It can't possibly be that easy," Marcy muttered. She had let go of Andrew's hand, much to Charlie's amusement, but she had busied herself with the silly old parchment and was scanning it nervously now, "If it was that easy, they wouldn't have made a prophecy. They would have just assumed." She looked at Andrew, an emotion bubbling over her eyes that not even the founders themselves could have missed, Charlie reckoned, "So we need to do whatever we can, from now until Andrew turns 18, to keep him safe. For all our sakes," She smiled at him and gripped his shoulder and Charlie felt a part of himself, the part that he assured himself did not fancy Marcy, slip uncontrollably.

"How exactly do you think we are going to do that?" He asked angrily, "We're bloody fourth years."

"That's why you're here. Here's the plan," Michael started.

Abbie Lawson ruffled her fingers through her short hair as she clamored through the portrait hole into Gryffindor Tower almost three months later. Spring had finally come two weeks prior, melting a good portion of the winter snow off the grounds and towers of the castle. She had spent the morning studying for her Transfiguration final and breaking things off with her boyfriend. The look in his eyes had almost made her take everything back, but the stream of logic that always ran through her head had allowed him to walk away from her.

She saw her brother, his things packed and bundled around his feet, playing a game of Exploding Snap with what she assumed was his inanimate shadow. She smiled sadly at him as she sunk into the arm of his chair, patting him awkwardly on the head.

"You ready Char?"

He smiled unhappily at the irritating childhood nickname and nodded solemnly. He had always been a very affectionate family-centered child, she remembered fondly, and was sure he was not looking forward to the trip to Ottery St. Catchpole; the opposite direction of their family home in the hills of Ireland.

Three months ago, Abbie would have expected the day he visited Marcy Malfoy's house for the first time to be filled with awkward teenage babbling and unusually sweaty palms. She had assumed that he had taken a fancy to their best friend. But his anger and resentment towards her had just about boiled over in the last months they had spent tagging alongside Andrew Potter and his friends.

Michael and Marcy had suggested that they all spend more time with the Potter boy in an attempt to keep the "evil" out of him. Abbie accompanied him to his study clubs in the evening and Charlie reluctantly followed him, Marcy, and Michael to every Quidditch practice. The group of five ventured together to Hogsmeade and most events around the castle and spent their times between lessons together in the Room of Requirement, researching forms of evil. Michael and Andrew barely studied for their NEWTs and Marcy seemed hardly unscathed by the fact that their OWLs were just around the corner. The girl had seemed desperate as ever to protect Andrew, who would not be 18 and out of the danger of the prophecy for another year. She had even completely abandoned her studies on Astral Projection, although her slips from reality had grown steadier over the course of the year. She had broken almost three times now and Abbie was sure it would happen even more frequently once summer hit full force.

"Let's just go," Charlie said, interrupting her daydream. Michael, Andrew, and Marcy were waiting at the entrance hall.

"Char…"

"I said let's go…" he said again, with more force, dragging his trunk towards the portrait hole. Abbie looked around Gryffindor hall solemnly then, a feeling in her heart screaming that things would never quite be the same again. She had lost Joseph and, with a sinking sensation, she knew he was losing Charlie too.

Even if he swore he did not fancy Marcy in the tiniest bit.