Emma frowned down at the street of Diagon Alley from the window of their flat. Fred was lightly snoring behind her, George still hadn't come back from his date with Angelina, and their visit to the hospital wing was still so fresh in Emma's mind that if she closed her eyes she could see Ron's pale, unconscious face.

Fred had been out of sorts all night. Emma couldn't blame him. She didn't have siblings, but she had known what it was like to find out that Katie had almost died, and that had felt like death itself. And she had lost Sirius.

She wondered what Sirius would have to say about the position she found herself in. Obviously he would support her finding any way she could to fight, to help the war effort. How could he not without being hypocritical? But he would no doubt look at her dealings with Severus Snape as a contract with the devil. Maybe it was, but she felt that she could trust him, as instinctively as she felt that she could trust Sirius, or that she was in love with Fred. She couldn't put why into words, but she trusted Severus Snape.

She breathed out a light chuckle at this thought, her warm breath fogging the glass between her and the night air. A cat rushed up the alley, and in her paranoia for a moment she thought that it might be an Animagus, and she wondered what side it was on.

But sometimes, she told herself sternly, a cat was just a cat.

Emma had choices to make yet again. She could disclose to Fred the nature of everything she was doing for the Order, every mission, every interaction with Snape. After all, relationships were built on honesty. Openness was a form of honesty.

It was just as easy to tell herself that telling Fred would only cause trouble between them. And anyway, he started this whole mess of secrets. He thought he was protecting her, but she also felt, staring out at the night, that she was protecting him. There was a reason Severus Snape had no one in his life.

How would he ever know they would be safe, with all the things he had to do as a spy?

His words about the best way to lie played through her head and she shivered, her spine feeling suddenly cold.

Could she do that with Fred? Could she live a lie like it was the truth every day? Or would he be the one person she had to confess everything to, the one person she told the truth? They had already proved how poor they were at keeping a secret between them. No, there would be secrets she could not tell Fred. She would have to be okay with this thought, she would have to be able to lie to him and not blink an eye.

Could she?

She turned her head slightly, glancing at the bed where Fred continued his cadence of snoring into the pillowcase.

Emma was not raised to think about the complexities of war. She had been raised in a quiet, happy, normal Muggle household. Her parents had been surprised, confused, but proud when she received the news that she would be attending a wizarding school. There had been an expectation then, one that proved true, that the deeper Emma went into the wizarding world, the less of her life her parents would understand. What would they say if they could see her now, see the choices she had to juggle? Perhaps they were simple human questions, but they felt the furthest thing from simple.

Perhaps it wasn't human, either.

Fred stirred, turning to look at her as his eyes blinked open. She wondered if she'd made some sound she hadn't realized.

"Whassamatter?" he mumbled into the near-dark.

"Nothing," she half-lied. "Couldn't sleep."

"Is this about Ron?" he asked, sitting up slightly. "Madam Pomfrey said he'll be just fine."

Emma took a deep breath, glancing back down at the street below. Once she could imagine a world, recall a world, where the only thing that could have been on her mind in the middle of the night was a family or friend in ailment. Had the world truly been simpler then, or was it just the way she saw the world?

She was no longer a child, and she could no longer afford to look at the world through a child's eyes, tempting though it was. Fred seemed to be able to see the world as an adult, see her as an adult, and yet turn around and imagine that she still saw the world through a child's eyes.

Emma smiled softly, turning back to where he was watching her, obviously worried. His eyes changed as she approached the bed.

"I hadn't wanted to wake you," she said softly, crawling into bed. "It's nothing. But…since you're already awake."

His eyes widened slightly as she leaned in for a kiss, and she had the split-second impression that he'd meant to say something to her, perhaps a question. When their lips touched, however, he forgot whatever it was and she pulled him into a series of kisses growing rapidly in passion and fervor.

In the back of her mind, the face of Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly swam into view. For the first time of even thinking of that face, Emma wasn't afraid. She wasn't sure why, but she had a sudden and strong sense that fear would only make the way forward more difficult, would keep her from seeing clearly.

And that was what she needed now, she decided as Fred began to place kisses down her neck. She needed, no matter the cost, to seek and maintain clarity in how she looked at the world around her. Without it, she was blind. Without it, she might as well still be using a child's eyes to view something beyond her childhood comprehension.

After a round of sex, Fred fell asleep against her chest and she petted his hair as sleep took her, thinking all the while of how she would have to change.

As with all major life changes, the first week was the hardest. Emma began to develop a face that she used both at home and at work. As Severus Snape had told her, she needed to absolutely live the story she would give to everyone else. Why would they mistrust the face they saw every day? She knew, as hard as it was, that the only people she could trust on the matters of the war were Severus and Albus, the only people who had the answers to the questions that plagued her.

Emma made it her personal mission, as well, to not only work well for Dolores Umbridge, but to ingratiate herself to the woman, making herself as indispensible to the Ministry as possible. Not that she cared much for her work, but having some measure of clout and a certain sort of contact within the Ministry would make her far more useful to the war effort. Perhaps it wasn't keeping her head down exactly, but with the changed birth records, Emma felt a bit more brazen in the glistening Ministry halls.

Toward the end of the week, a very small, very private meeting of key Order members was called, and somehow Emma found herself sitting between Mad-Eye and Severus at a small table in the second-floor sitting room of 12 Grimmauld Place. Albus had his back to the window, Kingsley was tapping the table rhythmically, and Remus was just entering, rubbing his eyes and looking about three years older since Christmas. Emma shivered slightly as his eyes met hers with confusion.

"Tonks is unable to make it because of work, but Kingsley is here on his behalf and hers," Albus said softly, completely devoid of his usual twinkle. "As we all know, there are some very important factions in the balance here."

Emma felt like she ought to be taking notes, but aside from the fact that everything they were sharing was incredibly secret, she didn't want to remind them all of how recently she had been a student – a student of most of the men at the table, in fact.

"The werewolves will not fight against the Death Eaters," Remus said wearily. "Not en masse. It's a question, at this point, of winning over a few here and there."

Perhaps this wouldn't have sounded so different from the general wizarding situation, except that the default for the werewolf population was certainly fighting for Voldemort, not imagined neutrality driven by fear. Because the drive for werewolves was not fear, but vengeance and desperation.

"I've spoken with some of our more highly placed Squibs," Kingsley said, and Emma frowned. "Obviously, there is only so much we can do, only so many people and places we can protect, but nearly all our protections are now in place."

"Excellent," Albus murmured, and Emma felt her stomach turn. How long had Squibs been keeping an eye on Muggle government and life for the wizarding world? Obviously, she was grateful now that they were able to protect the Muggles so effectively, but she did wonder if it had always been so magnanimous. "Alastor?"

"Families of Order members in all quarters are as well-protected as is possible," Mad-Eye growled. "And the number of safe houses at our disposal is not only double that from the first war, but it's due to grow to half again as many by the time Potter is of age."

This date was obviously significant for more than legal reasons, although Emma wasn't sure what those reasons were. She judged this by the way Albus stiffened at the mention of the date, and how Severus's pinky twitched just slightly. It held no special meaning to anyone else at the table.

"Emma," Albus said, turning to her with a small smile, still without sparkle. "How are things at the Ministry? How are Umbridge and Scrimgeour?"

"It's difficult to say," she said honestly. No point trying to seem cleverer than she was. It would help no one. "Umbridge is always up to something, but whether that something is anything new or particularly dangerous I've yet to discover."

"Not surprising. And Scrimgeour?"

Emma shrugged slightly and said, "Honestly, I hardly see Scrimgeour, which seems promising on the Umbridge front. The more she trusts me, the less likely I am to be called in for meetings with the Minister. But it does pose problems for keeping an eye on him. Hardly anybody sees him in person anymore, just those who report directly to him and Percy Weasley."

The men at the table with her nodded at this news, but it wasn't good news. The narrower Scrimgeour's circle of influence, the more paranoid the man was. Paranoid men might think they were protecting themselves, but usually all they did was make themselves more vulnerable to a clever, patient, persuasive enemy. And nearly all the Death Eaters they knew of in the Ministry matched that description perfectly.

The talk then went on to Death Eaters, movements, methods, and probable concerns that could and should be soon addressed by the Order. Emma listened carefully to this, but she gave little input, unlike the men around her. She had learned and learned well at school that sometimes silence was the most useful tool. She soaked up the information quietly, and would discuss things with Severus later as needed.

Although Emma had felt intimidated when she sat down at the meeting, she felt remarkably confident by the end of it, until Remus caught her on the way downstairs to the front door, grabbing her by the elbow. He whispered in her ear, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

For a brief flash Emma was angry that he asked, as if she was still a child, but he said, "You have an awful lot of people who care about you. The rest of us have no kin."

"You have Tonks," she countered, and before he could argue that it was different, she shook her elbow free and left.

She couldn't have lingered anyway, since she had a late shift at the Ministry that day. Not a night shift, thankfully. It was deemed unsafe to do those during the war except guard compliment. She just would have a late dinner. Emma checked in through the employee entrance, and she spotted Umbridge in the Atrium later than usual, talking with a wizard Emma couldn't recall the name of, someone from Magical Law Enforcement. Yardley? Yambly? She'd have to keep her eye on that one.

Emma stepped into the lift and found herself, unfortunately, face-to-face with Percy Weasley.

"Miss Norwick," he said stuffily.

"Percy," she said, more out of habit than any sort of fondness for the man. Strange to think of him like a man now, when he still acted so much like a boy.

"I saw my family at Christmas," he said slowly as the lift began to move. "I was surprised not to see you there."

Was he attempting to bait her? Did he think she would divulge information to him? She'd started dating Fred after Percy had effectively left the family. He knew they were close friends, but she saw no reason for him to know more than that.

"I spent Christmas with family."

She didn't think Percy would go to great lengths to confirm this, and anyway, it wasn't a lie. Not exactly the truth he thought he was hearing, but Emma hardly cared. She got off on her floor and didn't look back at him, trying to walk as naturally as possible, despite knowing that he was watching her as he waited for the lift doors to close.

Emma settled in her desk and pulled the closest stack of paperwork toward her. The wording on so many new incident forms was troubling her. The longer she worked at the Ministry, the more she noted that a tighter and tighter fist was being drawn about the employees. Perhaps it was for their own safety. Perhaps it would aid the law enforcement in these difficult times. But Emma wasn't naïve enough to believe this. She saw these measures as desperation, desperation easily exploited by Death Eaters.

Were things truly this bleak, or was she simply seeing darkness wherever she turned? She liked to think it wasn't a figment of her imagination, but the alternative wasn't much better. Better to see and be wrong than to not see and hope there was nothing when something was lurking.

Emma signed a few forms and sent them along, checking the clock every five minutes. The last thing she needed was to be late for dinner and have Fred ask her questions. She wasn't in the mood to have her lying-face tested.

The hours crept by slowly, silent but for the scratching of her quill on parchment. Memos came and went. She frowned at every bit of paperwork off Umbridge's desk. She felt as though pieces of a puzzle were floating around in her head, but she couldn't find a way to make them fit together.

Finally, she pushed away the work that remained, shoving a few quick, minor forms to complete into her bag to be done either that night or in the morning, and she locked her office, walking as quickly as possible to the lift. There was nothing unusual about her behavior, should she be noticed by anyone. Many employees working a later shift were hasty on their way out, either from a desire to be home and see family, or sheer hunger.

Emma crossed the Atrium toward the Apparition point and she noticed the Death Eater whose name she could not recall once more. She was leaning toward Yardley. This time, he was talking to a man she barely knew but whose name she certainly did: Pius Thicknesse. Thicknesse was a fairly prominent politician, not especially clever, not particularly talented, but very good at the art of empty diplomacy. Anyone reasonably shrewd could see straight through the man, but there were few enough shrewd people in the world that Emma suspected he'd make Minister someday.

The fact that these two men were talking could easily be nothing. After all, many Ministry employees communicated with each other during the course of their work. Something about the way the two men were standing, however, gave Emma pause. She slowed her pace and felt her heartbeat quicken as Thicknesse's eyes glazed over her distant figure lazily. If he saw anything strange about her pace or the fact that she was observing him speaking to the man who might be called Yardley, he gave no change in expression or posture to show it. The Death Eater was not facing, and did not look at her as she passed.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she should come up with some excuse to get closer, or to follow one of them, to investigate this puzzling scenario. She was expected back at the flat, but she could make an excuse for a brief detour, surely. And something in her gut told her that this was important. Getting closer was a trick that she didn't think she could pull off, but following one of them….

Emma had been walking too slowly, staring too long, and she realized that if Thicknesse looked at her a second time, he might not be so dismissive. Tempting though it was, Emma decided it would be safer to go on her way, be on time to dinner, and send a quick message out to relevant parties about what exactly she had witnessed. They didn't expect her to do everything, and as Severus had warned her, it was best to keep her head down as much as possible. The less known Death Eaters observed her the better. Just in case.

She listened to the hasty rhythm of her heels on the smooth floor of the corridor and she ignored the exciting twisting in her stomach. Sirius had thrown himself into the thick of things without much thought, and Sirius was dead. Remus was right about one thing, she did have people who cared about her, and she didn't want to push her luck.