The next day at lunch, Ron finally vocalized the question we've all been asking ourselves since the visit to the hospital wing: "Is Abigail really going to obliviate us?"

At first I too had thought that she was just embarrassed about that thing she told us about her obsessing over Lucius Malfoy as a little girl, but when I gave it more thought, I realised she could have meant it because of a bigger reason: my friends and I knew more than we ought to about the whole affair. We knew that she bore the last Mark, that she had sworn allegiance with the late Dark Lord, and that she was charged with a mission to assassinate her sister. We had forgotten about that last bit, actually, since getting caught up with the other mission concerning Malfoy, but seeing the old man again brought memories of their meeting in the piano room back into sharper focus. And with everything that we've been witnesses to, our worry over her seriousness was genuine.

"I really can't say for sure," Hermione began, "after all, I was once convinced that she wasn't going to go through with her last task."

"Well, she's kind of in a hurry to leave, isn't she? Maybe she won't bother. Dumbledore will have his say, I think."

The moment Ron said Dumbledore's name, my eyes snapped up to check on him at the High Table – but the headmaster was not there. I mechanically pulled out the Marauder's Map and opened it under the table. Ron and Hermione stuck their heads with mine and we searched for the professor's dot on the Map. It was some time before we found him at the hospital wing. Nearby, Sam, Weller, and Rigel stood by Abigail's bedside. Automatically, we jumped out of our seats and went on our way. It seemed that Dumbledore was returning her wand, and her friends were there to say goodbye.

We reached the hospital wing gasping for air. We earned curious looks from Abigail and her other visitors.

"You're not doing this right now?" Hermione began, panting. Abigail was just reclaiming her wand from the headmaster.

She raised her wand. "Well, now that you're all here-"

"Ms. Silversmith." Dumbledore said simply, but effectively stopping her.

"I hate loose ends," she murmured to herself.

"Oh, then you have nothing to worry about, young Smith. I don't suppose this count as one," with that, Dumbledore took his leave.

"Loose ends?" Rigel yelled, "what is wrong with you? Don't you care, at all, about anything or anyone but yourself and your stupid missions?"

"Stupid missions?" Abigail yelled back, indignant.

"Alright, calm down. We're in others' company," Weller tried to quell the potential war.

"Oh, didn't you know, Rei? Everybody here already knows!" Rigel said, arms flailing.

"Not everybody," Weller hissed. As one, we all looked over to Malfoy's bed. He was still unconscious, and his father was sleeping in the chair next to his bed.

"Alright, look, I don't have time to explain-"

Rigel snatched Abigail's wand from her hand then, shutting her up. "Explain."

I felt the room starting to shake. I was instantly reminded of a shattered piano, and the powerful wave of magic that had caused it to detonate itself. I started feeling nervous, and my hand found its way to the pocket that held my wand again.

But before I knew it, everything went still. I blinked stupidly at the scene before me: Hermione had made her way to sit next to Abigail on the bed, and was hugging and petting the smaller girl like she was a cat. The most astonishing thing was that it worked.

"There, there. It's alright," she cooed.

Everybody else simply had dumbfounded looks on our faces, silently asking each other, "The fuck just happened?"

Abigail's shoulders dropped, and she leaned into Hermione. "I'm sorry," she said to the group in general.

Rigel shifted a little. "I know. But I'm not."

I was with Rigel on this one, now that Abigail had taken to obliviating everyone, all around. We stood waiting for her explanation.

Quietly, she turned herself loose from Hermione's embrace. "He woke up last night."

It was almost enough explanation for us all. "That's faster than the rest. They usually stay unconscious for days. I'm terrified that it didn't work, and I would have to try again, but this time with him knowing. I wish you hadn't stepped in, Harry."

Oh, it was going to be my fault after all? Unbelievable. "You're blaming me?"

"Partially. You knew I was going to do it anyway, no matter the circumstances, and the best circumstance was him not knowing."

"What is wrong with you?" It was Ron who asked it this time.

"She doesn't care about anyone or anything but herself," Rigel accused, and the small Slytherin visibly flinched.

"You're right, as usual, Rigel. I don't." Her remark prompted Hermione to leave her side and stand with the rest of us.

"Here's your bloody wand." Said wand was dropped onto her lap carelessly. Arms crossed, Rigel defiantly stood waiting to have their memories taken. I was much less inclined to do so.

"But she's not done explaining." Ron demanded. I voiced my agreement.

"You really want to hear my selfish explanation?" she bit back, bitterly.

Weller had a hand on Rigel's shoulder before another word was said.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to, remember?"

"But you meant to. Is it so hard for you to understand that that really bothers me?" Rigel asked, though I sensed that they didn't really expect an answer.

"Me, too. Why do you want to, well, disappear so badly? Just help us understand." It was the most I've so far heard Weller say.

Abigail broke down crying. She bared everything that she was by doing so; helpless, alone, and just plain miserable. I broke a little inside, remembering seeing someone like that before. It was the bathroom incident of sixth year with Malfoy.

"I can't afford to care about anyone, or having anyone care about me. You know what happened with my father! They used me to get him, and then used him to get me! Damn it, I don't know how to make anyone understand anything!" she said between sobs.

But it did help us understand. I realised I have not heard the whole story of how she came to swear allegiance with Voldemort, but I got it now that it could only have been under gruesome circumstances. Most of all, I really did understand how she felt; I've had more than enough people dying for me and my bloody destiny.

By its own volition, my hand took hers and squeezed it. I tried to convey all my sincerity in my next words to her, hoping they would help even a little, "I do understand."

She looked up at me, walls crumbling. It was not unlike looking into a mirror; there was guilt, suppressed anger, and a love withheld. I felt a great part of my own burden fall away.

All of a sudden, I was pushed aside. "Oi!" I yelled at the Slytherin prefect who had decided that that was the moment to jump their best friend and forgive her helplessness.

"I hate you," Rigel told Abigail.

"I know," was her reply.

"I hate you all." Weller confessed, and she turned away to leave.

I heard Ron whisper to Sam, "is that the Slytherin way of expressing affection?"

The brunette shrugged. "Wouldn't surprise me if it was."

I chanced a glance at Malfoy. My eyes found his bandaged left arm. "Well, for now I guess you have one less thing to worry about, Abigail; I saw Malfoy's arm after, you know, and the Mark was gone."

Abigail shook her head. "It might not entirely be. Your interference might have messed up the process in some way. And now that he knows, the second time around is going to really hurt."

I was a little confused. Hermione echoed it, "what do you mean?"

"I already broke his arm and I'm not even sure if the Harvest was successful."

And now I was mildly shocked. I looked again at Malfoy's bound arm. I couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to me until now; if it was just simply 'erasing' the Dark Mark, why was the arm bandaged? And she would still insist on it? "What is wrong with you?" I asked the question this time.

"The last time I failed to Harvest a Mark properly, the Death Eater died," she had regained her usual tone which tries to hide all emotion, but I could sense the remainder of an overwhelming guilt in them.

I looked over at Malfoy, but his eyes remained closed. "How long ago was that?" I asked, no longer bothering to conceal my worry over Malfoy's well-being.

"My first Harvest. It was my father."

We all looked at her in utter shock, and needless to say 'utter shock' didn't quite cover it.

Author's Notes

Why is it taking so long to finish this story? Man, I'm getting really bored.