A/N: This chapter goes out to stella8h8chang who beta-read an original version of this ages ago, and to respitechristopher for reviewing this iteration. Really appreciated, dude!

The Dual Dialogue Charm is my own invention from Daphne Greengrass and the 6th Year From Hell. It's a short-range communication spell between two people that allows the caster to hold a conversation with a person so long as they're relatively nearby.


Chapter 32: So Close to Evil

On the Monday of the third week in November, Snape announced the new disciplinary procedures for the prefects—

"—Along with your Head Boy and Head Girl, they are hereby authorized to use corporal punishment to maintain order and discipline." There was an echo as the Headmaster's voice rang off the cold stone of the Great Hall.

The other teachers, save for the Carrows, paled as they listened. Daphne felt like she was turning green as Snape spoke.

Draco Malfoy looked neither pleased nor excited by the news. Instead, his fair skin had taken on a grayish tinge. He kept his eyes trained on Snape, regarding him with a haughty, unsmiling expression. Only when Crabbe and Goyle nudged him did Malfoy sneer in apparent approval.

Several things became clear in a matter of days. Except for Daphne and the sixth year girls' prefect, Willa Huxley, the Slytherin prefects were more than willing to use the Cruciatus Curse. The Death Eaters had also approved Bludgeoning Hexes and a set of semi-Unforgivable Curses, including Bone-Breakers and a variant of Incendio that could be contained in a slender, whip-like form to burn the target with frightening precision. At least two Ravenclaw prefects, Daniel Murker and Tilda Sweeney, seemed to not be bothered by the use of the more physically harmful curses and hexes — although they clearly had a hard time justifying the use of a curse as extreme as the Cruciatus.

Unless Snape or the Carrows happened to spot them disclipining another student. When that occurred, casting an Unforgivable was pretty much required.

"The Headmaster has also asked us to extend our patrols," Daphne said at the prefect meeting following the announcement. "Three hours extra at night, which means patrols now last until two o'clock in the morning. We'll have the new schedules for you next week. The weeks that you don't have the late night shifts, make sure you get enough sleep and catch up on your studies. It falls on your heads to maintain your responsibilities."

She shot pointed looks at all the seventh year prefects who were also in Dumbledore's Army. Daphne then returned to the agenda. She let out a tremendous sigh as she eyed the next topic.

"Th-this is a reminder," she said, holding back a strong surge of bile that threatened to come up, "if you see any students breaking curfew, the Headmaster has authorized the use of the C-Cruciatus . . . to . . . "

Her voice trembled far too much; she couldn't go any further. Draco Malfoy huffed impatiently and shoved past her.

"Use the Cruciatus to punish the students," he said with a sneer. Anthony shot Padma a sober look. Neville and Parvati fumed at Malfoy and Ernie and Susan refused to look at him.

He continued, his voice steady and cold, his awful smirk still on his face. "Anything past ten seconds uninterrupted, and things start getting messy."

He proceeded to instruct the prefects on Cruciatus casting, much in the same way Snape had instructed Daphne. She could hardly believe her ears; the cool detachment of his voice, the satisfaction on his face as he "educated" the others—

He was disgusting.

"You're not even bloody human!" she spat at him once they were alone in the prefect meeting room.

Stuffing his things into his bag, Malfoy snorted. "And you're a pathetic excuse for a Head Girl. If you can't handle it, go throw a wittle tea party. Leave the dirty work to the adults!"

"You told them how to throw the perfect FUCKING CRUCIATUS!" Daphne shouted at him, hardly believing what she was hearing. "You're just as evil as they are."

Malfoy picked up his bag and leaned towards her. "You know, you walk around with your head so far up your arse." He jabbed at her with his finger. "You've got absolutely no idea about anything, do you?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

He grunted. "Figures." Shaking his head, he walked to the door and threw it open.

She pushed past him, not wanting to follow him back to the dungeons. However, right as she brushed by him, Malfoy grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against the door. Daphne gasped as she looked at his face; his eyes were wild, as if they were shaking.

He jabbed his wand under her chin.

"Do you know where Potter is?!"

She recoiled. "What? Are you mental?"

Malfoy pressed himself even closer to her. "Where – is – he?" He slapped his palm flat against the door behind her head. "I know you fucking know!"

She watched him growing more and more enraged. She couldn't get to her wand, but if she freed her hand, she was certain she could punch him right in the crotch.

Or grab and twist. Either way, she wasn't picky.

"Answer me, you bitch! You . . . you whore of Gryffindor!"

She snickered. "You're joking." She lifted her leg, but Malfoy shoved her against the wall again, and this time, his body was practically on top of hers.

"Get some new material, Malfoy. And get off of me while you're at it!"

He leaned forwards and hissed in her ear. "Not until you answer me!"

Daphne remained silent; she had no bloody idea where the hell Harry was, but at least Little Lord Malfoy didn't either. As the son of Lucius Malfoy, Draco would most certainly have a direct line as to whether Harry was within reach of the Death Eaters, or whether he was still at large.

Judging by the tone of his voice, Harry was nowhere near Draco or his father's sights.

But there was something off about Malfoy. Sure, slamming girls around was part of the abusive prat's method of operation, but he seemed desperate. Really desperate. The longer she stared at him, she thought something flashed across his face, some hesitancy or—

She had no idea what it was, but she wasn't about to find out.

He sneered at her, but his eyes roamed over her face. " I should let Baddock and Pritchard do what they want," he growled under his breath. "Teach you a lesson."

That did it.

She bent her leg as much as she could. And when she felt his hand slide slowly down her arm, she rammed her knee right into his crotch.

Malfoy howled like a kneazle hitting a wall. "OW! EEE-YEAAAH!" He clutched his groin and doubled over, panting and hissing in pain.

"Don't ever touch me like that again, you slimy bastard!" she shouted. "Or next time? I'll make your balls explode!"

She stomped past him. Unfortunately, the further away she got from the now emasculated Malfoy, his words stuck in her mind.

(Graham Pritchard and Malcolm Baddock?)

(What the hell was that all about?)

Pritchard and Baddock were two of the cruelest Slytherin sixth years that she knew of. But why in the world would they want to teach her a lesson? She thought she had done a good job of distancing herself from Harry, even though her ties to the Weasleys were best left ambiguous, particularly when talking to her Slytherin peers. More importantly, she was compliant with the wishes of Snape and the Carrows, as much as possible.

Although doing so made her feel like she was compromising her soul.

Daphne swallowed; she needed to ask Blaise Zabini about Malfoy's ominous words. Perhaps he could translate the rodent's warnings into something resembling coherence. She continued to walk, mulling over his words as she made her way back to the dungeons.


Despite the new disciplinary procedures and the new patrolling schedules for the prefects, Dumbledore's Army continued with their late night insurgency, making sure to post graffiti supporting Harry Potter all over the school.

A few nights following the prefect's meeting, Ginny found herself on a mission with Lavender Brown. The two girls comprised "Team Lion" and, armed with their wands, black clothes and wrappings for their faces, they hit the Muggle Studies and Dark Arts floor with gusto.

As she put the finishing touches on her last sign, Ginny grinned beneath her mask. The D.A. had been very fortunate to have so many older prefects, as well as the Head Girl among their ranks. They all made sure to keep the rest of the D.A. informed of the patrolling schedules. This evening, for example, Daphne had scheduled Anthony and Padma to the first four floors, which included the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies classrooms.

The only problem with this arrangement was that the Carrows and Snape insisted on monitoring the prefects' patrols, as well as patrolling the school on their own. This certainly provided the opportunity for a surprise visit from everyone's favorite Death Eaters.

"Ginny," Lavender whispered. "Five minutes!"

She nodded. Lavender readjusted the black wrappings over her mouth.

Ginny finished the final sentence, dotting the exclamation point with a flourish. She stood back to admire her work through the narrow slit of her mask. She smiled and, just behind her, she could hear Lavender twitter her approval softly.

On the large wall directly in front of them, written in big bold block letters from Ginny's wand, several phrases blanketed the Muggle Studies' classroom—

"VIVA LA HARRY POTTER!"

"WE'LL FOLLOW POTTER TO VICTORY!"

"MUGGLE-BORNS ARE MAGICAL TOO! THEY'RE AS MAGICAL AS ME AND YOU!"

And finishing with the requisite anti-Carrow line—

"THE CARROWS AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT DIRTY ROTTEN BASTARDS!"

"Damn Shay and his football chants," Lavender said, giggling. Ginny nodded in agreement.

"Gin, it's time." Lavender smacked her on the arm. "Daphne's last message said the Carrows and Snape are checking up on the prefects and making sure they're doing their job."

Ginny nodded, when suddenly—

"Shit—"

"—a hippogriff!"

Both girls looked at their Galleons, which had just grown warm.

"Alecto's heading towards Team Lion! Padma."

They made sure their masks were secure and that Lavender's Glamour Charm to color the skin around their eyes black was still in effect. The girls snuck out into the hallway.

Lavender breathed out. "Moonlight," she whispered and pointed at the long windows that gave the corridor illumination. Ginny pointed to her left. The other Gryffindor gave her a "OK" sign, and they pressed themselves against the walls, hiding in the dark shadows of the hallway.

Ginny shuffled her feet side-by-side, clinging to the crevasses of the corridor's wall. She kept her breathing slow and steady. Every so often, Lavender's fingertips would brush against hers.

As they approached the corner that led to a doorway to a hidden stairwell leading to the sixth and seventh floors, she turned towards Lavender. "Twenty paces."

Lavender acknowledged that she heard her. The two girls continued to shuffle along the wall.

(Damn. Team Badger has Blaise's Invisibility Cloak! Would've come in handy right now.)

"FILCH! Don't fucking dawdle! Get . . . over . . . here . . . this instant!"

The girls gasped and froze in their spots. Ginny could feel her hands grasping the stone tight as they heard Filch and Alecto Carrow approach them.

All of a sudden, Ginny felt a tap on her head and a cool trickle run down her back. Looking down, she jumped; she now blended in with the walls and floors.

"Wha—?"

"Shut it, Ginny!"

"Whoa!" She exclaimed in a harsh whisper. Lavender had blended in with the walls as well.

"Disillusionment Charm."

Ginny resolved to give Lavender a big fat kiss once they got back to the common room. "I guessed!"

They started moving along the walls, when they heard the stomping of heavy foot falls heading right in their direction. Ginny spied a tapestry about five feet from where she and Lavender stood.

She grabbed Lavender's hand and, with a surprised squeal from the girl, they ducked under the tapestry — right as Alecto Carrow and Argus Filch rounded around the corner and walked towards them.

They heard the sounds of somebody being kicked or hit. A sharp MEOW tore through the air, nearly causing Ginny to yelp in surprise. Lavender slammed a hand over her mouth.

"Oww! Ohh-hhh . . . M-Mad-Madam Cah- . . . Carrow, please h-have mercy! Mrs. Norris, she's of a de-delicate con-constitution—"

"Pathetic!" They heard Alecto cut him off. "Disgusting Squib. Begging for vermin!"

"No! N-n-no . . . I'm j-just askin' fer s-some compassion! Mrs. Norris," the plea in Filch's voice nearly broke Ginny's heart, "she's never done nothin' t' nobody!"

Filch gave a great cry. "M-Miss, I-I mean Professor! Please . . . don't kill me!"

"Oh, we wouldn't kill you, foul creature. We need you to help us with our punishments!"

Ginny's heart thudded in her chest. This did not sound good at all.

"I'll do anything! Anything! J-just pl-pl-please don't hurt Mrs. Norris!"

Their voices were trailing off down the corridor, finally passing where Ginny and Lavender were hiding. The two girls listened to the vicious sounds of abuse emanating from Alecto's ugly mouth and the pathetic entreaties for mercy coming out of Filch's.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ginny and Lavender emerged out from under the tapestry. They swirled their heads left and right.

"Coast clear," Lavender whispered and sighed. "Kudos to Carrow."

"What for?"

Lavender hummed regretfully. "That was possibly the first time I've ever felt sorry for Filch and Mrs. Norris. That's the lowest level of life, kicking a cat!"

"Only the most depraved of individuals."

The two girls crept among the shadows towards the portrait that opened to the secret stairwells. The sooner they could tell the others about the near encounter with Alecto and the ominous warning about future "punishments", the better.


A week passed, and the mystery about the vandalism on the first floor classrooms had still not been solved.

Daphne sat on her bed, using her Dual-Dialogue Charm to hold several conversations with Michael and his two best mates. It was late, just before nine o'clock, and she had had a particularly rough day. Snape had been harping on her to find the vandals. Of course, she had come up empty-handed. And after providing lie after lie about what she was doing to catch the reprobates, she was exhausted.

Right now, what she needed was some cheering up.

Terry had just written a ghastly, but hysterical, limerick ("There once was a wizard from Comstock. And he happened to have a very large—"), when the door to her dormitory burst open. She looked up in time to see Pansy Parkinson flying into their bathroom.

Daphne tried to get back to conversation, but she heard sounds of retching coming from one of the stalls.

"Michael," she wrote, "I'll be right back."

She sealed up her parchment, shoved it under her pillow, and made her way to the bathroom.

"Pansy?"

Daphne heard spluttering and spitting and moaning as it echoed against the stone and wood. She followed the sounds until she saw a pair of feet facing towards her from inside the stall furthest from the door. Carefully, she pushed the stall door open.

"G-go . . . away."

Pansy was draped over the toilet, heaving loudly into the porcelain seat. She coughed, and spat, and groaned loudly.

And Daphne heard the splash of sick hit the water.

"I'll go get help."

"No!" Pansy jerked her hand out, reaching for Daphne's. "D-don't . . . get anyone. Don't n-need—"

She retched again.

Wincing in disgust, Daphne hesitated. What the hell was she supposed to do? Leave Pansy alone with her vomit? Stand and watch the girl, ignoring the thick scent of bile filling the air?

Or help her out, no matter how unwilling she was?

And there was the million-Galleon question: why in the name of Merlin was Pansy Parkinson so sick?

Rolling her eyes, Daphne reached down and pulled Pansy's hair away from her face, letting the girl spit into the toilet without impediment.

Pansy swallowed. After several moments of spitting and wiping her mouth, she twisted around to sit on the cold floor. "W-water?"

Daphne rushed over to get her a glass. "Here," she said, keeping her voice mild. Pansy took it without hesitation, practically gulping it down in one drink. Daphne let her sit for a few more moments, composing herself before she asked what was wrong.

(Oh Godric!)

(What if she's pregnant?)

Holding back her own nausea at the thought of little Malfoys sulking and snarking around Hogwarts, Daphne was just about to open her mouth to ask her why she was so sick, when—

"Y-you cast the Cruciatus Curse on Lovegood, right? On the night of the raids?"

She was startled. Pansy, however, stared at her with a serious expression.

So Daphne responded honestly. "I did."

Pansy tore her eyes away from her face and focused on the floor. "D-did it make you sick?"

Daphne lowered herself to the floor and nodded as she crossed her legs. "I couldn't eat or sleep for a week. I made myself sick at night." She paused. Admitting what had been happening to her, even after a few weeks had passed, might be construed as a sign of weakness, especially by Pansy Parkinson. But looking at the state Parkinson had worked herself into, watching her lean against the toilet as if it was the only thing holding her up, and seeing how pale and worn and drawn she was, she decided to tell her, if only to draw the other girl in and create some grotesque bond between them.

"I've had nightmares about it. The screaming, the seizing, watching Lun- . . . Lovegood's face as I cursed her. Still do."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Every night?" she asked weakly.

"Every night."

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" Daphne kept her voice mild, although she suspected that Pansy had been no victim; the sight of her getting sick in the toilet felt all-too-familiar. "Did someone attack you?"

There was no response, but the girl's chin trembled.

"What happened?" Daphne's voice was quiet, but insistent.

More silence . . . and then a soft sigh.

"I tortured two girls today." Pansy's voice was distant, as if she was speaking in a tunnel. "Third-year Hufflepuffs. Amycus asked me to. W-we left them on the floor. Unconscious. Twitching." She let out a sob that she had been holding back. "D-did it feel c-cold when you cursed L-Lovegood?"

"Cold. Like a shock." Daphne felt her own resolve breaking. "And then like you were dropped in a bucket of slime. Afterward, for a day after, you still felt like you were covered in ooze. It suffocates you too. Consumes you."

Pansy brought her arm up, pressing it into her face as she cried. "I've Blu-Bludgeoned others b-before! I've h-hit and f-fought! And I HATE MUDBLOODS! " She gasped in between her tears. "I hate them! B-but I've never felt l-like this." She crumbled before Daphne's eyes, her head falling into her hands, weeping freely. " Amycus said you g-get used to it . . . it g-gets better . . . I'll get used t-to it . . ."

But her words were barely audible. She continued to cry with her head low, rocking back and forth as she sobbed.

Daphne reached out, laying her palm flat on Pansy's back and patted her gently. She swayed until she leaned forward, collapsing onto Daphne and letting her comfort her until she was finished crying.

Eventually, Daphne managed to get her into bed, getting from her own nightstand a small vial of sleeping draught Eddie had given to her when she had told him about her nightmares. It was a special brew, one that allowed the person to sleep without the burden of dreams.

Or nightmares.

"Here. This'll calm you down." Daphne offered her the draught. Pansy grabbed it without argument, downed the contents, and promptly fell asleep.

Daphne eyed the empty vial and the now slumbering Slytherin. She snorted cynically.

"Bint."

Resolving to get more of the sleeping solution from Eddie tomorrow, Daphne returned to her own bed, pulling out the parchment that she had been using to communicate with Terry, Anthony, and Michael. However, she felt uneasy about starting up a conversation with them in the dormitory, regardless of whether Pansy was conscious or not.

Packing up her belongings, she headed down the stairs to the common room, fumbling with her Galleon to let Ernie and Susan know about the Hufflepuffs that Pansy had cursed. She pocketed her Galleon as she walked into the common room.

Daphne found a spot at a table and dropped her bag on the floor. Since she was up and her mind was racing around, she thought she should get some schoolwork done. Daphne got settled and looked around her, feeling more and more troubled as she did so. Some students were still up, listening to the Wireless as it played older, more traditional wizard songs. She cringed as she heard the shrill cries of a banshee choir screeching through the speakers and eyed the Wireless woefully.

Unfortunately for wizard music lovers, bands like The Weird Sisters, The Lethifolds, and The Vampire Babies had become scarce since the fall of the Ministry. They all had one thing in common: they were bands that promoted the marriage of Muggle music and wizard music in their art.

Now, the airwaves were inundated with more traditional wizard music, and the result made Daphne's ears bleed.

She picked up a quill, about to send another message to Michael through the parchment, when a series of laughs made her look up. She saw a disturbing sight. In the corner of the room, Crabbe and Goyle sat with sixth years Graham Pritchard and Malcolm Baddock, laughing at something Crabbe had just said.

She continued to look at them, narrowing her eyes as she overheard them joking about beating up a few of the younger students in the others Houses. She curled her lip in disgust as they chortled and punched their fists in the air. Crabbe waved his wand as if he was casting the Cruciatus, chuckling as he did so.

It nearly made her curse him all the way back to the Founder's Era.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Crabbe caught her eyes. He elbowed Pritchard and Baddock and pointed at her. The two boys turned their heads and flashed her grins, ones that chilled her bones and made her heart race. She didn't expect them to resemble Amycus and Alecto Carrow so much. They looked like the Carrows when they were just about to curse a student.

She continued to stare at them, unblinking and unmoving. Her stomach gave a horrible lurch as Pritchard puckered his lips. He blew her a kiss and leered at her, his face growing more predatory and feral.

Daphne felt her heart speeding up. What Pritchard was on about, she didn't know—

(" . . . Should just let Baddock and Pritchard do whatever they want . . . teach you a lesson . . .")

"Oh – bloody – hell!"

Malfoy's words from a few days ago stampeded back into her head. She felt the blood drain from her face. It had just dawned on her what Malfoy meant, hitting her with all the force of a giant's fist.

It was disgusting and dirty. Never had she felt more vulnerable.

Pritchard and Baddock jumped off of the shelves they were sitting on. They slowly prowled towards her. Daphne felt a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. She cursed; they were going to attack her. Here, in the middle of the Slytherin common room! There was no Blaise or Millicent or Theodore to help her. And she wasn't quite sure she could trust anyone else to assist her in fighting back if necessary.

She was truly alone.

"Shit!" she exclaimed under her breath. Slowly, she reached into her robes and pulled out her wand, readying it under the table, forcing herself to quell her nerves. Crabbe and Goyle were getting up to follow them.

(They wouldn't do anything here, would they?)

(Not in front of all these people!)

But right then, the door to the common room opened. Pritchard and the others retreated back to their corner. Daphne caught Crabbe whispering something to him that made the other boy smile. She kept her wand out, and looked to her right.

Professor Slughorn was walking briskly towards her.

"Oh, good! Miss Greengrass, you're here," the Potions Master said breathlessly. "Please come with me."

Daphne saw his face. Slughorn looked as happy as ever, but something about his voice didn't quite gel with his demeanor. He sounded hurried and hassled. His hair, usually combed properly, looked mussed and frazzled, belying his apparently jovial appearance.

"Professor, is everything all right?"

"Why yes, yes. Now, if you just come with me, we can discuss the matters further."

"What matters?"

"No, no. Not here. Now, please," he said, a note of urgency in his voice, "gather your belongings. You need to come with me. And don't you worry." He tapped his nose with the tip of his finger. "I shall escort you without incident."

Daphne shoved everything into her bag, sealing it shut and shouldering the weight on the left side of her body. She snatched up the parchment she had been using to communicate with Michael—

When she saw a note, left by Anthony Goldstein.

"Flitwick came for us. We're going to McGonagall's office. Something about Michael's family. Tony."

Daphne's heart stopped. She looked up at Slughorn, knowing her face had just paled. "Professor? What's going on?"

"Now now, there'll be time enough to talk and answer all of your questions. Come."

Daphne flew out of chair and followed Slughorn out of the common room, practically forgetting Pansy and Pritchard and the other sadistic bastards of Slytherin.

Once they were some ways out of the corridors of the dungeons, Daphne turned back to Slughorn. "Professor? What's going on?"

He shook his head, further frustrating Daphne. "Walls have ears, Miss Greengrass. Professor McGonagall asked me to escort you personally to her office."

She felt nauseous. "Oh no . . ."

Slughorn's face lost some of the superficial sparkle that he had worn in the common room. "Please don't, Miss Greengrass. We'll be there soon enough."

They got on the first set of stairs that led up to the first floor. "Does th-this have anything to do w-with. . . ." She thought about her words carefully, but then realized that she had gone to Slughorn's office earlier that year with Michael right by her side. "Does this have anything to do with Michael Corner? The Ravenclaw?"

"You'll see in good time, child."

Slughorn's dismissive tone infuriated Daphne. Why wasn't he giving her straight answers? Walls and eavesdroppers be dammed! McGonagall's office seemed ages away, even though they were now walking down the corridor that led to her door.

In the dim light of scattered wall sconces, flames flickered, casting foreboding shadows across Slughorn's and Daphne's faces. Despite the low light, Daphne craned her neck, spying something in front of McGonagall's door.

There were two figures, small and grey, pacing back and forth in front of it.

She yelped when she realized they were house-elves. One was old, wearing a clean white tea towel with a crest on it. And the other wore several hats all piled on top of each other, an overly-large, knobbily-knitted sweater, and many, many socks. The house-elf wearing so many different clothes jumped up in the air as soon as he noticed her, nearly knocking over his stack of hats.

"Oh! Miss Daffy! Dobby is so happy to see you! Dobby and Kreacher is waiting for you!"

She ran up to him. "Dobby, what's going on?"

Slughorn cut in on her. "Please let Professor McGonagall know that we are outside. Er, Dobby. Please." He regarded the house-elves, particularly Dobby, with an incredulous expression.

Dobby bobbed his head, his hats weaving perilously as he did so. He knocked on the thick wood door in a melodious way, making Daphne think this was some sort of signal that had been worked out between him and McGonagall.

Her heart pounded as the door opened. McGonagall's face emerged, with no sign of any trouble or distress.

"Miss Greengrass. Please come in." She beckoned her with her arm. As Daphne stepped past Dobby and Kreacher, she heard Slughorn speak behind her.

"Minerva, do you need me for any other matters?"

"It would be best if we can ensure Snape and the Carrows are preoccupied for the next few hours."

Slughorn blanched. "Pr-preoccupied? Y-you surely don't mean—?"

"Yes, Horace." McGonagall's voice sounded a little strident. "I'm sure you can think of something, with your exemplary intellect." She gave him a nod, and shut the door before he could respond.

As soon as the door closed, McGonagall's face fell, and Daphne felt her hands on her shoulders. "Miss Greengrass, please come this way. We have an emergency that concerns you, Miss Weasley, and Mister Corner."

Daphne let out a gasp, but she allowed McGonagall to lead her towards the couches in front of the large fireplace next to her desk.

And they weren't alone.

Michael Corner was already seated, his face red and blotchy. Daphne barely registered anyone else in the room. She broke away from McGonagall and ran towards him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, cupping his cheeks. Michael shook his head soundlessly and he pulled her to him, falling into her body, burying his head in her shoulder.

There was a cough behind her. "Miss Greengrass?" McGonagall asked.

Daphne pulled away, finally seeing Ginny, Terry and Anthony for the first time. Ginny's face, too, was streaked with red. She had clearly been crying.

"Ginny?" she whispered.

"Miss Greengrass," McGonagall repeated, extending her hand. "Please sit down."

Daphne took a seat in between Michael and Ginny. Terry and Anthony resumed their seats on the other side of Michael. She noticed Flitwick standing next to the head of Gryffindor House.

"Approximately one hour ago, a small group of Order members and Aurors were attacked by Death Eaters and Ministry officials as they were transporting a group from one of our protected safe houses."

She felt like her chest was collapsing. "No."

McGonagall's mouth pressed together in a firm line. "We don't know much as of right now. But what we do know is that Mister Corner's parents were among those who were being transported."

Daphne's grip around Michael tightened as she felt his body shudder.

"And Arthur Weasley was supposed to escort them to the departure point."

"What?" Daphne's eyes flashed over to Ginny. The Gryffindor grasped her free hand. "A-Arthur?" Her voice sounded weak. "They're all right? Aren't they? Arthur and Michael's parents?"

"We don't know, Miss Greengrass." McGonagall said. "And we won't know the status of survivors for some time yet."

Daphne shook. Arthur Weasley? The man had been so good to her — hell, his entire family had been.

And Ginny.

They hadn't been on the best terms since the raid. Although Ginny had been civil to her, there was a definite chill in their relationship. They had barely spoken. Daphne really couldn't blame her, though; of course Ginny would be loyal to Luna, especially over the girl who tortured her. Despite the fact that said girl had been living with the Weasleys and she knew Daphne better than—

It didn't matter. What was done was done.

But this? All of this, with the safe house, and Michael's family and Arthur Weasley . . . this was no time to dwell on any awkwardness. Ginny needed her friends with her. Her family. Arthur was her father, for Godric's sake! Daphne had lived with them since the summer. Right now, she was the closet thing to a family that Ginny had at school.

She chanced squeezing Ginny's hand, and felt heartened when the Gryffindor responded in kind.

McGonagall regarded them all with sad eyes. "I wish I had more information for you." Her own voice trembled as she spoke. "All we can do for right now is wait."