'Fantastic work today! Don't forget your homework, I want a roll of parchment on the most important muggle event of the twentieth century – and why it was Woodstock!'

Pip's words were followed by the cacophony of students gathering their things, already embroiled in their own conversations. The fourth years shuffled out of the sun-soaked classroom. A few offered nods or grins at their professor, who sat in her now routine spot at the edge of her desk, one leg crossed beneath the other.

Pip smiled back, reminded Derek Wright not to forget his Transfiguration textbook and straightened up the classroom with a swish of her wand. The corner of a Prince poster on the wall uncurled, a few chairs scraped back into place and dust vanished from the string of paper lanterns dipping from the ceiling. Pip had outfitted her classroom to her own tastes. The magnum opus was positioned pride of place on her desk: a lava lamp of vibrant orange and pink.

Pip had a newfound respect for muggles (that lava lamp was the sickest thing she'd ever seen) and also a newfound respect for teachers. A month had flown by at Hogwarts. A month Pip had spent marking piles of homework, tossing around ideas in the classroom and having students drop by her office for chitchat.

On the positive side, her students seemed to have accepted their unconventional new professor. On the less positive side, Pip's life beyond teaching was nonexistent. She was beginning to understand why the Hogwarts professors had missed so many meetings at Grimmauld Place last year.

There simply weren't enough hours in the day to juggle shaping the young minds of the wizarding world and go cavorting around with the Order. She'd missed a dozen Order meetings so far, and at this point it wasn't about dodging Sirius anymore. That was only an added bonus.

When a gap in Pip's schedule finally opened – a respite day – she knew exactly what she was going to do with it. It wasn't Order related.

On a drowsy Sunday morning, Pip followed her nose to the Hogwarts kitchens. The kitchens hadn't changed a bit since the nights she'd spent mucking around in them with Bill; hills of brass pots and pans, roaring stoves and a hundred or so house-elves in snowy white garb bustling around the place.

One such elf popped up at Pip's thigh and asked if it could be of any assistance.

'I was hoping I could borrow an oven,' Pip said. 'I'd like to do some baking, if that's alright.'

The elf squeaked out a confused but acquiescing response and Pip set up shop in a far corner of the kitchens where she wouldn't cause too much trouble. Or more accurately, where she wouldn't be witnessed causing too much trouble. She suspected the type of baking she had in mind wasn't one the house-elves would be particularly thrilled with.

As Pip got to work on a batch of *ahem* special brownies, she breathed in the comforting, rich scent of the kitchens. The elves hurried about carrying trays laden with sandwiches and soups twenty times their own weight. She could practically taste the tantalising food in the air.

It took a while for Pip to discern that the mound of stained, brown fabric she had originally thought was a sack of potatoes was muttering nearby. 'Kreacher!'

Kreacher levelled her with a contemptuous glare. 'The Bones brat is here...what does it want with Kreacher...Kreacher doesn't want to talk to it...'

'You know I can hear you, right?'

Kreacher lurched around so that Pip could only see his enormous ears and the back of his liver-spotted head. 'Kreacher will ignore it until it goes away.'

Pip observed that the other elves were conferring him with a wide berth, as though he carried a disease they were afraid to catch. Perhaps bitterness was contagious. For the first time, Pip experienced a slither of pity for the old elf.

She flicked a wooden spoon with her wand so it went swimming through the chocolaty brownie batter of its own accord. 'Well the Bones brat wants to know how you're liking Hogwarts.'

'If Kreacher's mistress could see what has become of him...waiting on mudbloods and blood traitors and all manner of filth...' Pip could see him eyeing the kitchen with disdain in the reflection of a shiny pan. 'Mistress's wicked son has condemned Kreacher...'

'Well you did try to get him – and the rest of us, mind you – killed,' she reasoned, crossing her arms. 'This is better than Azkaban, don't you think?'

Kreacher didn't care to concede the point. The inhabitants of Azkaban apparently had more of an appeal than the students of Hogwarts.

Pip's lips twitched upwards despite herself at his stubbornness – it was perhaps the one thing he had in common with his current master. 'Come on, help me with this would you.' He didn't turn, so Pip tested another tactic. 'You know as a teacher I could make you, but I would prefer not to do that.'

With faintly murderous eyes, Kreacher dragged himself to the stove as though it were the gallows instead.

Pip wasn't sure why, but she tried to coax out something resembling civil conversation from him while she worked, keeping an eye out to make sure he didn't sprinkle any poison into the batter. There was no reason to do so – in Kreacher's perfect world she would be six feet under and he would be gleefully polishing Bellatrix Lestrange's boots – but seeing him here in his own personal hell was downright depressing.

How is it I actually feel sorry for you?, she wondered as he intentionally knocked over a tray she was reaching for.

As Pip swept out of the kitchens, she resolved to draw one kind word out of Kreacher; one small act of non-malevolence that would prove to certain people that he deserved better than he was treated. And maybe if that worked, he wouldn't attempt to have them all murdered so often. She would annoy him into redemption.

With her treasure now concealed beneath a plaid tea towel, Pip manoeuvred her way through the castle towards her office.

On the way, one of her third years, Nigel Wolpert, stopped to show her a muggle gadget he'd collected (a can opener) and another hallway later Pip found herself chatting with Harry, Ron and Hermione. While she half-hid the brownie tray from Hermione's prying gaze, she watched Harry leaf through a tattered potions textbook with uncharacteristic interest.

Pip thought she was in the clear when she passed the deserted staffroom. Until...

'Professor Bones!' A first year was wailing, pigtails flying as she sprinted towards Pip. 'Peeves is on a rampage in the girl's lavatory! He's breaking everything!'

Oh shit.

Pip looked around for assistance but none came calling. With a groan, she dashed into the teacher's lounge, checking that the coast was clear before stashing the baked goods in a cobweb riddled cupboard.

It took fifteen solid minutes to track down Peeves and hex him out of the flooded bathroom (which looked like a bomb had detonated within it) when diplomacy failed. Pip crept back into the staffroom, but alas her creeping was for naught.

The staffroom was no longer empty. Instead it was packed with professors. Professors who were seated around a rectangular table in the centre of the room, each one munching on something brown and crumbly. In the middle of the table lay the plaid tea towel and the remnants of the brownies.

'These have such an unusual taste!' Flitwick remarked gaily. 'I must ask the house elves what flavour these are!'

Professor Sinistra and Professor Sprout mumbled through mouthfuls in agreement and Pip's eyes turned to stupefied saucepans. What were her moral obligations here? Should she stop them? Should she tell them?

While Pip's better-judgement warred with her sense of self-preservation, Snape plucked up the last remaining brownie. He inspected it with suspicion and took a whiff with his humungous nose.

Self-preservation it was. Sometimes honestly was not the best policy.

Pip slapped the brownie from Snape's flaring nostrils – 'Sorry, Severus, saw a bug on that one!' – and fled from the staffroom.

The rest of that Sunday, the staff of Hogwarts acted a little...odd. Flitwick giggled and charmed bubbles wherever he wandered, Sprout spent a good portion of the day dreamily staring at a patch of nondescript grass by the Herbology greenhouses and Sinistra decided it would be a marvellous idea to transfigure a disused stairwell into a waterslide until Pip hurried her off to bed.

Pip's rest day had been anything but restful.

October trapped the castle under a persistent cover of cloud and rain. The ceiling in the Great Hall thundered for days and the rain drumming against the windows was as constant as Pip's own heartbeat.

The year's first Hogsmeade trip was scheduled for midway through the month. It dawned a desolate day; chilly, furiously windy and topped off with sheets of icy sleet.

Pip wouldn't have bothered going under normal circumstances, only she was more afraid of standing up Fleur than she was of getting wet. She withdrew from the school with her hood drawn, face beneath it raw from the frost.

On the way to Hogsmeade, Filch poked her with a security sensor, she had a hasty, wind-drowned conversation with a mousy brown haired Tonks, and Pip replenished her supplies from Mundungus Fletcher at the mouth of the village. Pip's weed stash had been obliterated by the brownie incident, which thankfully had gone further uninvestigated.

She doubted Dumbledore would be ecstatic in the knowledge that she'd accidentally drugged his staff.

Hogsmeade's usual charm was lost to the weather and the war. Nobody lingered on the streets and the most popular shops like the tea-cosied atrocity that was Madam Puddifoots barely showed signs of life. The other shops, Zonkos included, were boarded up or plastered with mouldering wanted posters.

Crossing the threshold into Gladrags Wizardwear was like slipping into a hot bath. Pip's skin shivered in delight from the heated store but her cheeks were still bitten scarlet from the wind when she tossed her hood back.

'So they got you too, huh?'

Pip supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to see a disgruntled Ginny there, one of Fleur's less enthusiastic bridesmaids.

'Best Woman,' Pip grinned, flashing an imaginary badge on her chest.

'At least you had a choice,' Ginny seethed.

Fleur chose that moment to emerge from an ocean of fabrics and stride towards them, her miniature bobbing along at her elbow. 'Pip, you 'ave finally arrived! Zis iz my little sister, Gabrielle!' The mini-Fleur shot them an angelic smile. 'She 'az already been fitted,' Fleur said. 'Now it iz your turn.'

Without another word, she shoved both Pip and Ginny into a small side-room. Light instrumental music played from somewhere in the shop while the two of them were subjected to an inspection by a magical tape measure. Pip whacked it away when it got a little too comfortable squeezing her chest. It was worse than bloody Filch and his security sensor.

Meanwhile, Fleur had pounced on a harried shop assistant who took her through fabric options for the bridesmaids dresses, Ginny dropping waspish comments beneath her breath the whole time.

Fleur at last seemed to settle on a shimmering gold material and after an hour or so released her prisoners. Ginny stormed off for a date with the dashing Dean Thomas but Pip dawdled so she wouldn't have to brave the weather outside.

Fleur waited till Gabrielle was out of earshot, inspecting a pair of glossy purple shoes, to round on Pip. Her tone was slightly critical. 'It 'az been too long, Pip. Nobody 'az seen you! You 'ave not been to any Order meetings!'

Since when had Fleur taken an interested in Order matters? Pip's surprise must've shown on her features because Fleur's smile was as amused as it was proud. 'I waz inducted last week.'

Fuck, she really must love Bill.

'Congratulations,' Pip chortled. It was hard to imagine Fleur gallivanting around with the likes of Mad-Eye Moody, but she guessed the same could be said for herself. 'Welcome to bedlam!'

Fleur allowed herself a laugh. 'You would 'ave known if you 'ad come,' she pointed out. 'Come to ze next one. It will not be az bad az you think.'

With the way she was astutely watching for Pip's reaction, Pip got the sense that Fleur knew more about the reasons for Pip's evasion than she let on. 'What do you mean by that?' she asked warily.

Fleur shrugged but her expression remained sly. 'Come to ze next one,' she simply repeated.

With that helpful little titbit, Pip replaced her hood and cringed against the freezing air outside. Somehow it was worse than before. She trudged her way back through Hogsmeade, looking like an arctic explorer battling the elements. She might as well have been nude for all the use the layers she'd draped herself in did.

Along Hogwarts' sludgy road, Pip made out a bunch of distant figures through her wind-stung eyes. The four silhouettes – three short, one tall – flickered in and out of focus like ghosts in the sleet. As she squinted at them, a sound split through the howling gale that froze Pip in her tracks. A terrible scream – shrill, unnatural, metallic.

Pip's blood ran as icy as her numb skin. She raced through the sludge underfoot, shadowing the four figures who stopped to form a wall of black cloaks.

Beyond them, a girl was suspended six feet in the air. Her dark hair was being viciously whipped around by the wind, her features contorted in anguish, her pupils rolled back into her skull.

Two of the black-cloaked figures rushed forward to pull her down. The girl dropped like a puppet cut from invisible marionette strings. She landed atop them and began screaming and thrashing as though possessed.

'Hold her still!'

Pip didn't have the wherewithal to recognise the voice. Instead, she dropped to her now soaking knees in the circle surrounding the girl. It was Katie Bell. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, as she screamed and screamed. Pip reached for her, unsure what to do, as hysteria and horror coursed through her. Katie abruptly grabbed her forearm in a crushing death-grip.

Pip gasped and placed her other hand on Katie's pincer-like fingers. 'What happened!'

'We don't know!'

Pip's eyes flew up at to meet Harry's. Ron and Hermione were equally as petrified on either side of him, but the fourth face was concentrated; its silver eyes were trained on Katie as its owner furiously murmured counter-curses over the girl's twitching form.

What little breath Pip had left escaped her lungs at the sight of Sirius. This was not the reunion she had imagined. Why was it that her fear had suddenly doubled?

'No! No!'

The cries snapped Pip back into the dire situation. Leanne, one of her seventh years, was almost hyperventilating in the place Katie had fallen. Pip called out, fighting against the roaring wind to be heard, but Leanne was beyond words.

'Harry, go up to the school and get help!' Sirius instructed, not breaking from his countercurses. His voice was low, tight and authoritative. He seemed oblivious to the tempest of sleet around them.

Harry sprinted off to comply and Pip tried again with Leanne while simultaneously adding her own weak protective spells to Sirius's. She couldn't keep the panic from seeping through her tone. 'Leanne! I need you to tell me what happened!'

'It – it was when the pa – package tore!' Leanne stammered through tears.

Pip followed her stare to a sodden paper shell on the ground, an ornate opal necklace spilling from it. Ron had done the same; his hand had almost closed around it when Hermione tugged him back the same second Sirius shouted.

'Don't touch it!'

'Where'd she get it, Leanne!' Pip bellowed atop the storm.

Leanne's words were broken by sobs. She was hugging herself and rocking. 'Well that's why – why we were arguing! She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks hold – holding it! Said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it! She looked all funny when she said it...oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been imperiused and I didn't realise!'

Leanne broke off into a wail and Hermione ran to comfort her. In the distance, Harry reappeared through the sleet with someone wearing an enormous beaverskin coat that could only be Hagrid.

'Pip!'

Pip locked eyes with Sirius, reading his intention almost immediately. She nodded, struggled to her feet and bolted towards the Three Broomsticks. She swore as she slipped on a patch of sludge on the high street, cold adrenaline pumping through her as she launched off again.

Pip charged into the Three Broomsticks like a battering ram, rather at odds with the tinkling doorbell that announced her arrival. She frantically scanned the pub, ignoring the nonplussed looks she was met with, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. With another curse, she rushed upon the women's bathroom. Nothing. Pip threw open the stalls, searched the sinks and did the same in the men's for good measure.

Inside, Dung was conducting a no-doubt illegal transaction with a hag. His mouth popped agape, goldfish style.

'Dung! Have you seen anything weird! Anything suspicious!'

'Not sure I'm the one to be asking that, Pip...' He spread his arms wide at her irate cry. 'Honestly, I haven't! Not unless you count yourself bursting into the bloke's!'

Pip retraced the Three Broomsticks another four times. Whoever had cursed Katie was long gone.

Defeated, she raced back to the castle, heading straight for the Hospital Wing. McGonagall and Snape stood by a drawn curtain in deep, worried conversation with Madam Pomfrey.

Beyond the curtain, Katie was finally still. She was ghostly pale, so white she could've been a corpse. According to Snape, had she got the full blast of that necklace, she would've been. Pip now realised why Dumbledore wanted more loyal eyes at Hogwarts.

Shaken, she returned to her office in silence and poured a stiff drink. The liquor sloshed over the sides of the glass and onto her clammy, trembling hands. At the sound of a familiar voice over her shoulder, the glass slipped from Pip's fingers and shattered against the stone floor.

'Easy there, love.'