Later

I couldn't remember so much what happened after that. I slipped on the floor after Stunning Ron in my hurry to return to the others. I can definitely remember seeing Dumbledore and Voldemort at each other's throats. And though both of them could kill me in less than a minute; I sometimes almost wish I could stand beside Dumbledore, fight with him like any other member of the Order.

And Fudge does not realise the truth until it stands before him head-on. Only then can he truly see.

"He's back."

Minister of the Obvious, Cornelius Fudge. The cover's blown, the story's out. No more a "phoney war". The Second Wizarding War has begun.

I did not arrive at Hogwarts until several hours later. I groggily entered Dumbledore's study only to see Harry in a fit of grief, with Albus as calm as ever; several smashed instruments on the floor. Those little silver instruments that calmed me in my childish rages, gave me sighs of contentment in my troubled youth, fragmented on the floor, my innocence and my childhood along with them.

I do not cry. I sidestep the wreckage and sit on my old stool near the Sorting Hat. I tuck my knees into my chest and hug them, holding myself together. Maybe, if I squat like this, on a precarious old stool, I can mend and Sirius will come back.

But no amount of wishing could ever bring back the dead. No matter how many charms I instill, how many runes I cast, fortunes I tell, warnings I heed, all is for nought in the end. The Sight is a foreshadowing, oft of death and once it is done it is done and I cannot change anything, however much I wish I could.

Harry hears me sniff, and whirls around to stare at me.

"You!" He cries accusingly. "You knew! All along you knew! Why didn't you stop this happening? Why couldn't you stop this happening?"

More blood on my hands.

"I-I tried Harry," I choke out. "I tried to warn him, but-"

"But you didn't try hard enough!"

"I know." I stood back and let the deaths pass me by. Bode, Sirius- even Kreacher's betrayal, I just let it happen. I did not hold up my hand to stop these plotting men. And let Harry be the one thing standing in their way.

Were there ever a case of survivor's guilt, I do most heartily confess to be deserving of it.

"This pain is part of being human... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

So after all that I've done, all the people I have killed, hearts that I have broken (through death only), families torn through bereavement because of me- after all that, and I'm still human? I think back to that Celtic evening, when the unicorn came to me and ate from my hand. How could you be so pure as to capture a unicorn, and yet be stained with so much blood? It beggars belief. Do grief and guilt recompense someone? Can taking life ever be forgiven?

My grief turns to anger.

Why was I so foolish? Why did I not press Sirius' case? I knew he should get out more often. Why did I not voice my own thoughts? We were to treat him so badly, Molly scolding him in his own house, even! Why is it that everything seems so clear in hindsight?

It has been a hard lesson, and I hope to be the wiser for it.

We were wrong to mistreat Kreacher too. I was wrong. He and I are similar than we thought.

And he is still there. After Harry left, Albus summoned me to him.

"There is a reason that Rowle was not there tonight,"

"Yes," I said. "The only one of the ten escapees not present."

"Voldemort is trying to tell you something."

"Why? I am powerless in the face of Lord Voldemort's magic, and I cannot kill my own father. My only hope to bring around their downfall is through Harry- and your orders."

That is nothing but the truth. It was luck that kept me alive tonight. Had my father been there, I would be doomed. I've survived so far, but we shall meet again.

"Indeed. But why would Voldemort deliberately not allow your father to be there tonight?"

"Because he knew that I would be there."

"And that is the most frightening of all. You must be the invisible face of this war, Marion. You are not the Chosen One- you are the Chooser. Ironically, despite your beliefs you might make a Slytherin as yet."

Without a word I turned and went for the door.

"I am not yet finished."

He opened a drawer, and retrieved a small box with a letter addressed for me.

"Despite your failure last night to recognise your own fear, you have proven to be useful to me, Marion. You have spied for us, guarded the prophecy for us, gained allies for us, killed for us and fought for us. You have captured a Death Eater and killed a second. You have made progress, my dear and for a girl who is now-" he paused to make a calculation "-twelve, you have done very well; and Sirius has something for you."

"But he is dead!"

"Sadly, yes. But the dead can speak to us in ways we cannot imagine. And after all, those that love us never truly leave us."

He hands it to me and inside the bluish sateen lies a necklace, and slowly I lift it out to the light.

It is of old seed pearls strung on a length of gold wire. An ornate pendant, a bronzish key covered with intricately worked flowers and vines, hung across the middle. Along the width of the key hang seven iridescent red glass beads, that glimmer mysteriously. I do not know their provenance, but they must be the jewels of a medieval queen, or a warlock's favourite apprentice girl. What my mother would have given to own such a piece! I place it reverently, almost feeling inadequate to touch it, and pick up the letter.

"Marion.

Thank you for your help, and your warning- but my life is my own, and you know that as well as anybody. That aside, enjoy your inheritance from me; and live your life always to the full, and not just for my sake. You deserve as much a life as anyone.

As you know, my brother Regulus was in the Death Eaters. And, after a while, he got cold feet. You were lucky, but not everyone is. Death Eater or die. And once you are a Death Eater that's it. You don't argue, you don't disobey. If Voldemort told your father to kill you then he will stop at nothing. But I think you'll be fine, you stay one step ahead of the game. I could tell you to behave yourself and keep out of trouble but we both know that that would be a big lie.

Always watch, Marion, for people who may be tempted to join the life of the Death Eater because very few deserve Azkaban and nobody deserves Voldemort. Harry has everything now, the house and Kreacher. Please watch out for the kids who may think it's cool, or believe that that's what they want. Please do what you can to stop them, because you know the ending before it's begun. Death, one way or another.

This necklace belonged to Regulus' girlfriend, after he died my mother took back the necklace and promptly sent the girl away. The old hag would turn in her grave to think that I have given it to you!

Anyway, this comes with a riddle, which I think you'll find interesting:

If one did happen to possess

Finery beyond a golden dress

Yea, a greater treasure

More precious than value

And higher than measure

Would you even now

In twilit days

With aged brow

Your treasures keep

In secrecies vile

While millions weep

There are two people it is said

One is quick and one is dead

Why in one your tears could pour

When more is safety and safety is more?

"Any idea what it is?"

"Haven't the foggiest, but it certainly giving the impression that there's safety in numbers. Whatever it is, it's important and I think that the necklace is a clue as well. Whatever the treasures are, there are seven. " I hold up the necklace. "So each bead must be one of the seven. And they are all in hiding" I point to the pendant. "Somewhere under lock and key."

At home

I get home to shrieking that feels almost as though the battle at the ministry is still going on around me.

"Where HAVE you been? I've been worried sick!" I wish I had had time to explain to Joanie where I was before I left. My eyes slide past her irate face to the clock on the wall. Five hours. That is how late I am.

I look back at Joanie; and it makes it worse. I've truly been awful to her today. She tries so hard to keep me safe, and I do stupid reckless things like that completely against the grain she has worked so hard to sow for me. I forget, sometimes, that I'm not the only one who has been hurt by the Ministry. I'm not the only one forced to kill people, suffered and punished. Joanie's gone through as much as I have, and more maturely. Would it have been that hard to send a Patronus? That was selfish of me.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it.

"Go to bed."

"Don't leave me! Not to my ghosts!"

She shrugs, and that night I sleep in the trestle bed by hers, and not for the last time I think of Sirius, and the mysteries, and I what I might have to do to survive.